Chapter Three

            I heard a crash three aisles over and went to investigate.

      “Shit!” Mickey cursed and chased the red cans like chickens around a coup. They rolled the length of the aisle in all directions. Mickey spun with them, as though he thought if he stopped them fast enough, he could undo their falling. That instinct to catch something before it falls had kicked in, only too late. And he was unsure where to even start picking them up.

     “Shit again,” he said in a near-whisper, to himself and finally stood still.

     “Mick, what’re you doing?” I stood at the end-cap with my hands on my head, smiling at my goofy friend.

     “Oh hey, Dunc. I was just stocking this and tipped the box of Spaghettios. Help me?”

     I laughed, “I’m just headed to the back. The frozen food truck is here.”

     His posture sagged, “Oh. Okay, Am.”

     Mickey took to calling me “Am” at work, ever since I got the Assistant Manager job at IGA. He used it to distinguish between his friend, Duncan, talking to him, and his shift manager talking to him. It’s how he kept the two of me straight.

     He thought he was clever, and I didn’t discourage him. Rhonda liked that he gave me a nickname. With her, “Oh Mickey, it’s perfect for him,” I was stuck with it.

     Since her death, she had become a new conscience in my head. My own, not so refined or defined, had been pushed aside, and a very distinct Roni set of values had transplanted in its place. I let him call me “Am” because she liked it when she was living. Now that she was gone, her conscience told mine it was the right thing to do, even if I thought it was silly. If I didn’t let him, her conscience would put mine in a guilt choke-hold. My own conscience still hadn’t recovered from the Christmas tree bonfire debacle. She slapped me around good for that one.

     Mickey started to pick up the cans and I walked away, satisfied that he could handle it.

            Stocking shelves at the IGA was a part-time job in high school that turned into a full-time job after graduation so I could sock money away for college. After a couple years of working, I realized I had no interest in more school. Mickey wasn’t going and neither was Rhonda. She started as a cashier with us at IGA. Then she got a better paying job for Tate, keeping the books for his restaurant and bar, The Hive. That Mickey and Rhonda were still in town was reason enough for me to stay, too. We were a package deal.

     Rushville is a small town. There aren’t many jobs, so I stayed on at the IGA and used the money for rent so I could move out from my mom’s basement.

     After three years of stocking shelves, they put me on third shift. The shipments would come in and we could stock the shelves through the night when we wouldn’t be in the way of the customers. Mr. Larson promoted me to assistant manager and it seemed it was going to be my career, rather than the stop-through I had intended it to be.

     I pushed through the metal doors and helped the driver unload the truck. Dean came back from stocking the deli and helped me sort the pallets.

     “Ok, looks good,” I said.

     Dean pulled the pallets into the freezer, leaving the product, still to be stocked, accessible for stocking later and I walked to the floor to check on Mickey.

     A stray Spaghettios can had rolled against the butcher’s case and I leaned down to pick it up. That’s when I heard the voices, and stopped mid-stoop, to listen.

     “I don’t know,” Mickey said. There was a terror in his voice.

     “Now, Mickey, I know that’s not true. Why don’t you just tell me everything you do know?”

     “But…we already told ya everything. I swear.” Mickey stammered and sounded as though he may cry. I pictured his full face gone red, his eyes wet.

     “I don’t mean to scare you. I don’t think you did anything wrong, buddy, but Roni deserves to have the people responsible for her death pay for it.”

     Cal, the bastard.

     I realized I was still hunched over an aisle away and stood, took a deep breath, and approached their aisle.

     “Roni deserves it, Mickey. If Duncan did something to her, we need to put him in jail.”

     “No,” Mickey said, “Duncan didn’t do anything. Roni just…”

     “Hi Cal,” I interrupted.

     Mickey was backed up against the shelves, grasping a box of Instant Spuds to his chest, his knuckles whitened by his grip, face red and pained.

     Cal stood over him. He was taller than Mickey by a few inches. He used his extra height to bare down over Mickey, who was shrinking to the floor.

     I walked to them, and rested my hand on Mickey’s shoulder. I felt him relax in my grip. Cal stepped back and I eased Mickey to me. “What are you doing?” I asked. “Get away from him.”

     “I was just leaving,” he said. “I’ll talk to you again soon, Mickey. I know you have something to tell me.” He rested his hand on his holster, tapped his fingers against the black leather, then turned on his heels and walked away.

     Mickey sniffled, still clutching the box of spuds.

     “What did he say to you?” I rested my hands on his shoulders and made him look me in the eye.

     “Just about Roni and you. He wanted to know about the night…” he had never been able to say the night she died, so rephrased, “that night last year.”

     “And you told him…?”

     “I told him nothin’, Dunc. I swear.” He looked panicked all over again. He stared hard into my eyes, pleading with me to be convinced he’d done nothing wrong. “At least I don’t think I did. Shit, I can’t remember. He scared the hell out of me.” He smacked his forehead, punishing himself.

     “Okay, buddy, okay. Calm down. I’m not blaming you. He shook you up pretty good, why don’t you go on break.”

     He relaxed. “It was just like that night, Duncan. Just like that night when he was yelling at us at her house. Remember? It freaked me out.”

     “I know.” I squeezed his shoulders then dropped my hands. “Go on break.” Then I started stocking the shelves.

     That night last year. It wriggled in my brain all over again. I pushed it away as I pulled the boxes of E-Z Potatoes to the front of the shelf. Damn Cal. He didn’t like us when Roni was alive; he hated us now.

     Grief takes many forms. Mickey clung to me in his grief. Feeling like he could keep Rhonda near if he kept me near.

     I spent hours staring at pictures, drinking too much, reeling from her absence, talking to the conscience she’d transplanted in my head. I took care of Mickey for her and he had grown to depend on me being both Roni and Duncan. I let memories of her consume me.

     Even in defending Mickey tonight, with Cal’s threats hovering over him, he looked at me like he had looked at her so many times. She was his big defender. She was the one who had taken care of him. I was a sad surrogate in her place.

     Cal turned his grief to hate and had spent the last year making certain we knew it was all aimed at us because we were the last people to see her alive.

***

     Rhonda sat up and the wing of tangled hair more resembled a nest. She untangled and straightened it the best she could and pulled her feet from my lap. Mickey readjusted in his seat to make room for her to sit.

     If you’re serious, then let’s go,” she said. “Right now.”

     Mickey smiled but the uncertainty did not leave his face.

     I said, “Okay, then.” We drove to her house.

     Mickey asked, “Where to?”

     Roni only laughed. The joy she felt presented itself as a glow that overwhelmed her face.

     I took the laugh to mean she didn’t even know where, but she was excited to be going… wherever it might have been.

     We pulled into her yard and filed out of the car. She dug keys from her pocket and slipped one into the lock, telling us to stay quiet with one slender finger to her lips. The glow had turned devious as her excitement grew.

     Once inside, she said, “I’ll be right back. Stay here.”

     We heard her banging around, then footsteps overhead. She was in the attic. More banging – drawers slamming. Mickey and I did not speak. My stomach had curdled though, and the sour taste of fear crept up. I felt like a coward; I was afraid of the unknown adventure she wanted for us.

     She bounded down the hall with a suitcase, tilting to one side as she carried it. The weight of it nearly toppled her and she bounced off the wall of the narrow hallway.

     She put it down by my feet.

     “We’ll get your stuff on the way out of town. I just have one more thing to get,” she said, and escaped to the kitchen, returning in seconds with a sealed plastic container. She held it up to us, “Rainy Day Fund.”

     Mickey picked up her suitcase while she turned off the light. I walked out the front door and held it open for them.

     Cal pulled up just as we had put her suitcase in the trunk. “What are you doing?”

     “We’re leaving,” She answered. The cool tone in her voice angered him.

     “With these idiots? Are you kidding me? You’re not going anywhere, Rhonda.”

     She approached him like a cat circling the legs of her owner. “Calvin.” She circled him. He stood still as she moved behind him and back to the front to face him. “Cal,” she said again. She was confident in her ability to shut him down.

     He didn’t move. ”This town is killing me slowly. There is nothing for me here. I have to get out. My friends are taking me.”

     He was not capable of saying anything to her in anger just then. A spell, I thought. The deep magic Roni had over everyone kept anger away.

     Instead, he looked to us. “You assholes. What have you done to my sister? Put some stupid idea in her head that she has to leave. What are you going to do to her when you get away from here? You don’t even have a plan. I swear to God, you are not taking my sister anywhere! Do you hear me?”

     He rushed up on Mickey and shoved him. “Hey Retard, do you hear me?”

     Mickey tumbled to the ground.

     I ran to his side. Cal kicked me in the ribs as I bent to Mickey.

     “And you, Manning. Total loser. Criminal for a dad, drunk for a mom. No good. If you think you are going to go anywhere with an Eastwood, you’re in for a rude awakening.” He kicked again, knocking the air from my lungs. I gasped, and Rhonda pounced.

     “Goddammit! Get away from them. Step away from my friends and go. It was my idea. I have to get out of here, now!” She swung at him with her purse. “These are the best friends I’ve ever had. They are my family now.”

     Cal cowered under her rage with his arms raised to protect his face.

     “Go, you ape!”

     Mickey and I dove into the car, leaving the door open for Rhonda. She swung again, smacking Cal on the side of his face with her purse before she jumped in the car and we drove off.

     Her urgency frightened me. This was not the wish-hanger of earlier that night. This was someone desperate. I hadn’t seen it before and I wondered what she was running from. She wasn’t just running to a freedom; she was also running from an enslavement. I worried, but took comfort that it would all be over soon. We would be gone.

     Rhonda said, “Your place. Then we’re driving to Springfield to the train station.”

     She turned to look in the rearview mirror, afraid her brother was in pursuit. When she saw that she was free of him, she rested her head on Mickey’s shoulder and made a soft apology for her brother.

     Mickey stared out the window and seemed to address the night sky, “I’m not a retard.”

     “I know, baby. I know. I’m so sorry,” Roni said.

     I wanted to answer, as well; I wanted to reassure him, too, but I could never make him feel as good as Rhonda could. She was Mickey’s defender. On that night, she was even mine. It meant more coming from her, I thought.

     In that dark moment as we drove away from her house, we shared a silence that made us more together than ever before. Not a silence of loneliness, fear, or even of discomfort. Our mutual silence bound us to the same moment and we each relished the first inklings of a new freedom. A freedom, first for Rhonda, and then for us.

***

     We all handle grief differently. I not only grieved the loss of Rhonda, I grieved the loss of the dream she thrust upon us; the dream we reluctantly held – the dream that took root like so many pines – the dream that had died with her.

     Thirty-five minutes had passed and the boxes were now empty. Mickey hadn’t returned.

     First, angry with him for taking such a long break, I stomped to the break room. But once I saw he was not there, I went to the back room.

     “Dean, have you seen Mickey?”

     “Nope.”

     I ran to the wide-open receiving dock door. “Mickey!” I yelled into the alley.

     No answer. My fear for him, and the sense that I had failed Rhonda by not being there for him, swarmed around me. I could only imagine that Cal had gotten a hold of him.

     I left the store in the care of Dean and went out into the cold February night in search of my friend, my surrogate responsibility. I went looking for Rhonda’s Mickey.