Black Gum Read Free Page B

under Shane’s eye. “What’s this dagger mean?”
    “Nothing.”
    He pointed at the “580” across Shane’s chin. “What’s this mean?”
    “It’s the area code.”
    “Where am I?”
    Shane told him.
    “Do you have a videogame system?”
    “Yeah.”
    The man rummaged through his bags. Pulled out a loaf of white bread. “I got this bread. Can I come over and play?”
    Shane motioned with the bag of chips. “No.”
    The man was quiet for a bit. “What’s these teardrops mean?”
    “Means I’m super sad.”
    “What’s this on your neck?”
    “It’s a Buddha.”
    “It’s a Buddha!” the man yelled. He pointed at the giant tattoo on his face. “You know what this pirate ship means?”
    “What?”
    The man in the leather jacket hopped up and put his hands on his knees and leaned into Shane’s face. “It means I’m a motherfucking PIRATE.”
    After that the man sat down, put some sunglasses on, ate his bread, and said not one more word to Shane Tilden. He got up and left.
    The snow picked up again.
    The clerk came out and lit a cigarette. Offered the pack to Shane.
    “No, thanks. I only smoke when I drink.”
    The clerk nodded. “Me, too.”
    Cars hissed past on the wet road. I took a cigarette.
    The clerk said, “You attract them.”
    “I seem to.”
    “All that shit on your face.”
    “Yeah.”
    We smoked and sat and after a time we went back to Charlie’s. Shane gathered his things and left without saying a word.

GO BE NORMAL

    I signed up for an online dating site. I spent a lot of time picking the right profile picture.
    I couldn’t figure what to write in the “About Me” section.
    Charlie saw me on the computer and came up and looked over my shoulder.
    “OkCupid.”
    “Yeah.”
    He took a sip of beer. “They make those for queers, too, you know.”
    “Shut up.”
    “You have a kind of sad need for pussy, don’t you?”
    “I just like it.”
    “I don’t know if that’s true.”
    “I’m not gay.”
    “That’s not what I’m saying.”
    I turned back to the computer. “I got a message already.”
    “Have fun fucking weird internet people. I’m gonna go be normal and not get laid until I see something I actually like.”
    I waited fifteen minutes before I responded to this message. The woman’s name was Hanna.

 
     
    IF I’D MET YOU WHEN I WAS YOUNG,
    I WOULD HAVE KILLED YOU

    That Sunday, Charlie told me we needed to go to church.
    I told him I’d pass. He told me they paid $50 just to show up.
    I said, “Okay.”
     
    The preacher paced at the podium. He raised his arm above his head. “If I’d met you when I was young, I would have killed you.”
    Dropped his hand on “killed.”
    The church was cramped. Christmas tree in the corner. Someone coughed.
    The preacher smiled. One gold tooth. “If I’d met you when I was young, I would have killed you.”
    Someone said, “I don’t blame you.”
    He paced faster. Windpants swishing. Despite the cold in the room, he began to sweat. That mantra, repeated as he ran his fingers through wet curly hair: “If I’d met you when I was young, I would have killed you.”
    Over and over. The room churning a bit. Behind us, someone spoke in tongues.
    The congregation said it with him, everyone shouting “killed” with the holy man, his hand chopping the air.
    He stopped and so did the crowd.
    Took a breath. “My friend Harold was bad. He was bad. If Harold and I met you, back when we were young, we would have killed you.”
    Leaned on the podium. “Harold had a stomach, he could never keep it down. Anything he ate was gonna tear him up. Changed with the seasons. In the summer he couldn’t eat hardly anything without getting sick. In the winter, when it got cold like it is, he could eat everything. Never seen someone eat as much. But just in the winter. Didn’t eat more than a sandwich in the summer. He drank a lot of coffee. On top of everything else. His favorite mug had a snake on it. He liked robots and we were