Amber by Dan-Dwayne Spencer (e book reader .TXT) 📕

gave you with my icepick in the gym shower last year?” He reached over, poking my side with his elbow. “Damn, you sure looked funny, all naked and dancing around trying to keep away from me.”

“Yeah, that was a shitty thing to do,” I exclaimed.

Jimmy stomped on the brake—tires screaming. Cars blared their horns as they drove around the Mustang. Roger slid off the shallow bench seat and landed half on the floorboard and half not. Jimmy had gone from a good time guy into an instant rage. He bellowed, “Get your asses out of this car. I’ll go alone.”

“You’re not leaving with my money unless I’m coming along,” I bellowed back, sticking a thumb in my chest for emphasis.

I was tired of always coddling Jimmy, the bully. Before our reckless decision to run away to a rock concert in New York State, I had always brown-nosed him, manipulating him. I learned from the best, my mother manipulated everyone she met. To be blunt, I was stepping off the merry-go-round of emotional horse shit. Even if he beat me black and blue, I’d decided to speak my mind.

I yelled, “Hell no. You stabbed my naked butt with a frackin’ ice pick. How the hell do you expect me to feel? You’re crazy if you think I’ll laugh about it? Dugan, I have a shit-load of reasons not to trust you. If I had any sense at all, I would get out—right now.”

“What’s stopping you? And take numbnuts Reynolds here, with you.”

An ear-shattering scream came from the back seat. Jimmy and I all but jumped out of our skins. “Shut up, just shut the hell up.” Roger’s face had turned bright red. His trembling hands were over his ears and he stared at the mat under his feet as he shrieked, “Stop acting like idiots. Jimmy Dugan, you’re a lot of things, but stupid is not one of them. You know we didn’t like what you did. Asking us to laugh at it is… Well, it makes you look dumb, and you know it.”

I sat there in shock. I’d never seen Roger be so aggressive before. Jimmy and I looked at each other, not sure what to do next.

In a quieter voice, Roger exclaimed, “I can’t take it.” With quivering intensity, he looked up at us. “Either, we go to Woodstock and you get to gloat to your old man about how he couldn’t stop us, or we don’t go and tonight you two-step back into your boxing rings. Dugan, is your pride so important you can’t admit Arland’s right and just go on?” He turned from Jimmy to face me. “And, you, Arland James Loveless, stop bitching. You’re acting like your mother.”

Was it true? Had I gone from mimicking mom’s manipulative behavior to duplicating her anger and bitterness? For an instant, a brief moment taken out of time, I looked at myself and hated what I saw.

Jimmy got quiet. His eyes narrowed. He stepped off the break-pedal, and we were moving again. After several minutes of silence, Jimmy spoke, “So, numbnuts, what’s your story? Why do you want to run off to Woodstock?”

“You expect me to open up to you? Let’s just say. It’s time for the invisible man to make his appearance.”

“Whatever, dude.” Jimmy rolled his eyes and looked my way. He was wearing his menacing, wide-faced grin again. It made me wonder if no one had ever stood up to him before. He possessed this awesome power of intimidation and he lorded it over us. Then his expression changed. For once, he gave me a smiling glance and the feeling behind it was genuinely friendly. Maybe he had been waiting all along, hoping someone would speak their mind. For whatever it was worth, I did it, and it felt good to sit there as equals. I was also glad Roger stepped in when he did; otherwise, Jimmy would have beat me to a pulp.

“James, huh? I never pegged you for a James. Maybe a Betty, but never a James,” Jimmy smirked.

I sighed and ignored his crude jab—his remark was amateurish. My mother could have sarcastically diced him up into chopped liver by the time he got out one crude remark. I was used to taking verbal blows from a world-class contender. “I think I misjudged you, Jimmy. I mean, I’ve always blamed you for your badass behavior, but I think I understand you better now.”

He laughed it off, “And, now you’re suddenly some frackin’ psycho genius?”

“No. I’m just a guy whose parents continually hurt him.” I looked over at Jimmy. His grin faded into the most serious expression.

He contemplated my statement. “They box you around?”

“It’s different,” I explained. “They hit with words. Jimmy, a fist leaves a bruise, and bruises fade away; words cut deep and take longer to heal. I get sliced to bits every time I walk into the house.” He wouldn’t look my way. I said, “I’d rather my mother hit me than make me feel like dirt every time she looks at me. That kind of thing messes with your head and makes you crazy.”

He swallowed hard. “I didn’t know.”

“Yeah. Like I didn’t know your dad uses you for a punching bag.” I shrugged. “Roger is the only one I’ve ever talked to about it.” I made it a point to look out the window. I couldn’t make eye contact with Jimmy right then. “I guess we both have family secrets we’d rather keep to ourselves.” I reached over and took the pack of cigarettes out of his sleeve, popped one out, grabbed the lighter from the dash, and lit the cigarette.

“Since when do you smoke?” Jimmy’s smile returned.

“Since now.” I took a deep drag on the cigarette and exhaled in a fit of coughing.

Jimmy pulled a drag deeper than I had and held his breath for a while before