Naked Girl in My Arms Gasps, and I Blink at the Double

YOSHI A STEEL- TIPPED COWBOY BOOT jabs my shin. The half- *13 naked girl in my arms gasps, and I blink at the double- *12 barreled shotgun pointed at my nose. Sloppy. I’ve been *11 having so much fun that I didn’t hear Grams coming. 10 And I’ve got damn good ears. 9 “Get up and get out!” my grandmother yells, grip- 8 ping the stock. “I’ve had enough of you tom-cattin’ around 7 while I’m workin’ day and night to keep your belly fed.” 6 “ Yoshi?” whispers the drowsy girl draped across me in 5 the barn loft. W“ ho —?” 4 “Stay calm,” I reply. “No sudden moves. It’ll be okay.” 3 Wide-eyed, she sits up, grabs her sweater, and holds it 2 over her bra like a shield. 1 3rd Pass 3rd Pass master master 1 What’s her name again? Zora? Zelda? No, Zoë. That’s it. 2 Zoë’s visiting town from Topeka over winter break. 3 Last night, we hit it off, standing in line for chili cheese 4 dogs at Dairy Queen. I’m not sure what time it is, but we 5 headed back to the farm at around midnight. 6 Now Grams is standing with her boots shoulder-width 7 apart between us and the loft’s one-story drop-off. She ges- 8 tures with her weapon toward the wooden ladder. 9 Zoë doesn’t have to be told twice. She hurries out from 10 beneath the Mexican blanket and across the straw-littered 11 floor. Then she scrambles down to the ground level and 12 sprints out the open barn door without looking back. Not 13 that we bonded emotionally or anything. 14 Zoë will be all right. Her cousins’ property is just down 15 the road. 16 Meanwhile, my grandmother returns her attention to 17 me. “What’d I tell you about picking up strange girls?” 18 “Well,” I begin, “you don’t like me hooking up with 19 local girls, either, and I only have so much willpower. After 20 all, they’re usually the ones hitting on me and —” 21 “You know better than to bring anyone home!” Grams 22 fires a warning shot, knocking a hole in the roof that she’ll 23 be cussing later. She isn’t the type to kid. The way I figure 24 it, this effectively terminates her role as my legal guardian. 25 “What?” I ask. “No good-bye hug?” 26s As Grams lowers the barrel, I push up into a tight 27r crouch and launch myself over her head. It’s a glorious, 2 3rd Pass 3rdPass master master ninja-looking move, one I’ve nailed a hundred times. But 1 not with a gun pointed at me or after slamming a six-pack 2 of Bud Light. 3 Instead of landing neatly behind Grams on the plank 4 floor, I overshoot the edge of the loft and, waving my arms 5 for balance, fall another story down to hit the ground near 6 the hogpen. Contrary to superstition, I don’t always land 7 on my feet. 8 Off-balance, I turn my ankle and, wincing, dart into 9 the early-morning light. 10 I didn’t feel the winter chill in the barn. Not half buried 11 in straw with a warm, enthusiastic girl draped over me and 12 alcohol heating my belly. 13 Outside, the wind bites my skin, and I yank together 14 my unsnapped Western-style shirt. Glancing at Grams’s 15 old farmhouse, I hesitate. I don’t have much in the way 16 of belongings, but a change of clothes would be nice. 17 Besides, it’s the only home I’ve ever known. 18 Bam. Grams gets another round off. So much for 19 that idea. 20 On the upside, she’s a great shot. Grams must have 21 more familial affection for me than she realizes, or I’d be 22 dead by now. Still, it’d be idiotic to push my luck. 23 What the hell. It’s time I moved on. Because of my 24 grandmother, I’ve got no friends, and I wasn’t getting much 25 out of my senior year of high school anyway. s26 Within seconds, my semi-restored 1972 Mercury r27 3 3rd Pass 3rdPass master master 1 Cougar roars to life. I make a U-turn and hit the accelera- 2 tor, peeling out on the long gravel drive. 3 Farewell, Kansas! 4 I’ve got a few hundred bucks on my cash card. Enough 5 to hightail it to the only family I have left — my big sister, 6 Ruby, in Austin. 7 8 Could be the adrenaline, could be my metabolism, but 9 I feel sober enough to drive. I stop for gas and munchies 10 (four bacon cheeseburgers, six packs of beef jerky, and a 11 two-liter bottle of Coke) outside Wichita, and just over an 12 hour later, pull over in Tonkawa, Oklahoma, for a nap. I 13 don’t, strictly speaking, need the sleep, but I relish it. 14 Continuing on my way, I sing along to country music 15 and the pain in my ankle fades to a dull ache. By the time I 16 hit OK City, it’s gone and the bruise has vanished, too. 17 Being what I am has its advantages. 18 I don’t feel that guilty about disappointing Grams. 19 Wind blows. Seasons change. And I hook up with nearly 20 every smokin’ girl who catches my eye. Since puberty, I’ve 21 worked my way through a sizable percentage of the decent 22 Homo sapiens females (and a couple of the gloriously inde- 23 cent ones) near my age residing in Butler County. 24 So, no regrets, or at least few regrets, even if Zoë did 25 cost me room and board. 26s I don’t blame Grams, either. She’s got a no-tolerance 27r policy when it comes to friends, babes, or showing so 4 3rd Pass 3rdPass master master much as a whisker in public — like I’d be stupid enough to 1 tell anyone that we’re werecats. I understand that it’s a dan- 2 gerous world, that our keys to survival are secrets, lies, and 3 loneliness. My whole life, I’ve never known any different. 4 Cruising down I-35 South, I’m ready for some- 5 thing new. 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 s26 r27 5 3rd Pass 3rdPass master master CLYDE 13* 12* 11* SOMETIMES IT FEELS LIKE I’m the one haunting this little 10 neighborhood park, but no. That’s the literal domain of my 9 best bud, Travis. The big question is why. 8 Why is he still here? Why isn’t he resting in peace? 7 I start off with a safer subject, our friend Aimee. “She 6 hasn’t been to the paintball range since . you know,” I 5 say. We don’t usually talk about the night he was murdered. 4 “She claims nobody wants to go with her.” 3 “Why don’t you go?” Travis asks. 2 Maybe talking about Aimee isn’t so safe after all. 1 She’s attractive enough in a friend sort of way, and her 3rd Pass 3rdPass master master comic-book collection rivals mine. But paintball seems 1 more like a date than just hanging out, and no way can I 2 cross that line. 3 I’d never do that to Travis, especially now that he’s 4 dead. 5 Seated by the chain-link fence that’s become a shrine 6 to his memory, I peel a blade of dry brown grass in two. 7 “You know I’m a lousy shot.” 8 Partly to distract him, I display the most recent cards in 9 a row on the paved walk, and Travis floats down for a closer 10 look. At first, people from all over Austin — including a few 11 ass-wipes from Waterloo High who never spoke to him 12 when he was alive — brought not only cards (“ Forever in 13 Our Hearts”) but also homemade signs (“We Love You, 14 Travis!”), flowers, and candles. Now it’s just those of us who 15 knew him. 16 With the holidays came red bows, candy canes, and a 17 beaded snowflake ornament, not that we get a lot of snow. 18 I spot a new contribution, a four-inch-long Oaxacan wood 19 carving of an armadillo. Like the plush dillos, it obviously 20 was left by someone in the loose network of local shifters 21 who knows that Travis was a werearmadillo. 22 “Do ghosts make New Year’s resolutions?” I ask, toss- 23 ing the grass aside. 24 “Like what?” Travis replies. “You think I should lose 25 weight?” s26 “Very funny, Mr. Incorporeal.” He appears vaguely r27 7 3rd Pass 3rdPass master master 1 translucent, but otherwise looks like he always has — barrel 2 body, bowl haircut, Longhorns jersey, and blue jeans. 3 Travis is the first friend I’ve lost . or sort of lost, given 4 that his spirit is still here. As the wind picks up, blowing 5 empty swings, it’s hard to know how to feel about that. 6 I’ve been doing my homework, trying to figure out why 7 he became a ghost in the first place. At first, I figured he 8 was too upset to move on — pissed off at having been mur- 9 dered, wanting his life back, and freaked out by the grieving 10 of the family he left behind.

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