Tom worked third shift at the Steak and Shake. He was 42 years old, had a wife, two kids, and a mustache. He had a huge arrowhead collection. His grandma had told him he was a quarter Indian, on account of the fact that his late grandpa had been one hundred percent Cherokee. This was not in fact true. His grandpa was a Tennessee Hillbilly like most everybody else in his neighborhood. They had all come up to Cleveland in the fifties and sixties, to work in the factories.
Tom’s grandma gave him his first Arrowhead. She said it was passed down from his grandfather’s grandfather and so on and so forth. Tom’s grandma, Nanna Jane, had actually bought the arrowhead at Jaime’s flea market, a pretty nice flea market as far as flea markets go, for a quarter. As Tom got older, and both his knowledge about and collection of arrowheads grew, he realized that the first Arrowhead Nanna Jane had given him had been a fake. He didn’t have the heart to take it out of the showcases he had built to display his arrowhead collection.
When guests would come over, he would start the tour at the beginning. With the arrowhead he knew was a fake. Because he loved his Nanna Jane more than he loved his arrowhead collection. Which was to say a lot. He would say this is the arrowhead that started the whole collection. It was my grandfather’s grandfather, who was a bonafide Cherokee Indian Chief. He double figured, first he figured most people don’t know shit about arrowheads so who could call his bluff and second he figured he wasn’t hurting anybody. Tom all in all was a pretty good guy.
All the people that regularly ate at Steak and shake between the hours of 12 and 8 knew about Tom was he had a mustache, and a penchant for fucking up orders. If you would order no onions you would get extra onions. If you asked for mayonnaise on the side you would get mayonnaise all over the bun. If you asked for your burger well done, you would find a pube on your plate. That probably wasn’t Tom’s fault but who knows.
It didn’t matter tonight because it was Thursday and Tom didn’t work Thursdays. He was watching the kids while his wife was at a Tupper ware party her sister was hosting. The kids were good, A boy twelve and a girl sixteen. The boy’s name was Patrick after his mother’s father. The girl was named April, after the month preceding May. She was a cute girl. Her cousin John would think of her when he beat off. He always felt bad after and told God that would be the last time. He asked God, to make him better looking so he could get a girlfriend who would have sex with him, or at the very least let him get to second base, and then he would just beat off to the thought of her letting him have sex with her. Or maybe if better looking was too much of a miracle maybe God could help him get a better car stereo, because the girls at school seemed to like guys with nice stereos. John didn’t ask for a better car, he had an 84 Mercury Topaz his Uncle Tom had gotten at a police auction for three hundred dollars, because he knew that was just wasting your time like asking to win the lottery. No a car stereo was definitely doable and therefore enough of a carrot to try and keep impure thoughts of your cousin out of your mind at least when your dicks in your hand, or vice versa.
Tom’s wife pulled the covers back and slid into bed. It was twelve thirty. Tom was awake. Of course he was awake, he was used to working 12 to 8. He wouldn’t fall asleep till the next morning when his wife was on her way to work. But he liked to lay next to her and smell her neck. Sometimes he would pretend he was asleep and let her give him the kind of kiss you can only give someone you love when they’re asleep. She turned her body towards her side of the bed the right side and was asleep. The morning would come to soon for her tomorrow. She wasn’t used to being up this late. Tom thought about a lot of things when everybody else was sleeping. Tonight he thought about high school. He hadn’t been a hotshot in high school, and didn’t long to go back. But there are only so many things to think about when everybody else is asleep. So tonight he was thinking about high school. He started out trying to think of every teacher he had for homeroom. He had gotten to junior year with Mr. Hilya when he heard a noise downstairs. He got out of bed quietly so he wouldn’t wake Jane. And headed to their closet.
Tom had a security alarm system sign on display outside the house like most of the people in the neighborhood. It didn’t mean shit to a burglar with half a brain. If you could afford a security system you wouldn’t live in this fucking neighborhood to begin with. Tom knew that too that’s why he kept a gun in the closet.
He pulled the gun off the top shelf of the closet. It was an old handgun. Tom didn’t know much about guns. But how much did you need to know this is my handle this is my spout when I get all steamed up tea comes out, right. Right.
He headed downstairs with the gun. As much out of boredom as anything else. It hadn’t been that loud of a noise. As Tom walked down the stairs, he didn’t really expect to find anything. Maybe he would make a sandwich. The steps from the upstairs went down to the living room. And before his foot sunk into the carpet he saw his nephew Jonnie sitting on the couch with a look of intense concentration on his face.
Tom used his quietest hearable voice.
Jesus, jonnie what the fuck are you doing here its 2 in the morning.
Jonnie sat bolt up right.
Nothing.
Tom smiled
John didn’t look up but mumbled
Because we don’t have cable at home.
Jesus Jonnie, get a fucking magazine or just use your imagination. I almost fucking shot you.
I don’t have a good imagination Uncle Tom and nobody has magazines anymore they all just go on the Internet. And we don’t even have computer.
Tom couldn’t help laughing.
Okay, Jonnie I am gonna get a sandwich, and go back upstairs. Wait till I get upstairs. Then you do what you got to do, clean up and go home. I got a couple old playboys I can give you tomorrow. That way we don’t have to meet like this again. Okay
Okay.
Tom hustled in the kitchen made a quick sandwich and hurried up the stairs.
From → Short Stories
