HANGMAN

November 1955

Dad's gonna drop his body to the bottom of a lake, this time Darry is sure of it.

It's been forty minutes of stone cold silence from Dad who just doesn't get like that. Mom is the one who could give you the silent treatment, ice ya out like Dad calls it. Dad is the opposite in that he just screams and screams and keeps ranting about something even when there's nothing else really left to say and it's just time to move on already.

Darry's pushed himself against the door, the furthest he can be from his father, as he leans his head against the window and watches the shadowy figures of the trees pass them by. It's late and he's tired and scared out of his mind. But at least they ain't out in the cold.

They've got a truck now so they don't have to walk or take the bus everywhere. It ain't new or nothing, but it gets the job done. That's what Dad says anyhow. Darry remembers him driving back from the used car dealership over there in Owasso where his best friend Ben moved to. Which is kinda a hassle since now Ben goes to a new school and everything, so it's just Darry hanging around with a bunch of kids his mom doesn't approve of. At least they're fun! Which is hard to come by in the fifth grade.

Darry doesn't like school much, but he's pretty good at it for some reason. He's been on the honor roll for the past two years now. Dad had been so proud, he framed both certificates side by side in the family room and took Darry to the store where he could get whatever he wanted. Then when they was ringing up his snacks and candy (and milk and eggs too because Darry remembered Mom saying something about running out), he boasted to the cashier.

"My son right here made honor roll. That's right. He got his momma's genes for sure!"

Making his dad that proud was enough to keep him from giving lip to the teacher or jumping the fence during recess to skip the second half of the day. Making Dad proud is… man, he can't explain it. He just likes being talked about and pat on the back. It makes him feel real grown and responsible sorta.

Now that's all out the window and Darry is as good as dead.

Why'd he have to go and be so darn stupid?

After driving for what feels like forever, Dad suddenly turns down a dirt road and pulls to a stop at an empty field. Darry's so close to saying his graces, it's not even funny. It's like he'll get up and just pee himself right then and there. And he must look it too cause then Dad turns, he shakes his head at Darry, and tells him to get out.

Darry climbs out the car impossibly slow, making note about how his dad leaves the car engine on. Maybe he's doing the right thing and instead of knocking him into next year, Dad's just leaving him here. That happened to Ben once. After he found out Ben had been stealing cigarettes and selling them 2 cents a pop to middle schoolers, his dad drove a whole hour away from their house and told Ben to find his own way home.

It's supposed to snow in a couple days, but Darry thinks just maybe he can hold his own. It can't be that hard finding his way back, can it?

Dad's waiting for him at the back of the truck. He doesn't move until Darry is right next to him which is when he unlocks the trunk and goes digging through it for something. It's a switch or collection of belts with sleek, metal ends. It's gotta be. Maybe he took Darry all the way out here to whoop him real good and hard so he'd have nowhere to run and no one to go crying to. Last time his father was beating on him, Darry just couldn't take it no more and screamed in his face then ran all the way down the street and just kept running till he got lost. When he figured his way back it was dark out and the police were sitting on the porch talking to Mom. That was a couple months ago and Dad hasn't hit him since. Well, now's a good a time as any to start back.

To his surprise, Dad pulls out a four pack of beer.

"Now, I ain't finna hit ya, cause that don't seem to work for you. It sure as hell never worked for me. So I'll cut'cha a deal. Since you wanna run around here like a man and sneak out at night and steal beer with your buddies, I'm gonna treat you like a man. And us men, when we're talking, we have us a cold, hard beer."

Darry gawks at his father, mouth wide open, as he surveys the sweating bottle in his father's hand. Is this a trick? Nah, it has to be! And no way was he falling for it.

"No thank you," says Darry, "Sir." He adds that last part quickly, hoping his father didn't catch on to him forgetting. That's one thing he's always been real strict about, manners.

"No, no, son, I ain't asking." Dad pops the lid off the beer against the back of the truck like he's done it a million times. The top jets off with a tiny pop and lands at their feet. The beer sizzles between them and the whole time Dad's eyes never leave his.

Darry is about physically shaking as he takes the beer from his father. His whole face and neck and ears are hot and he's thinking for sure this is a trick, one of them tricks that's got no right answer.

Oh darn, darn, Glory, Lord— please.

Darry promises God he'll never miss another chore again, never talk back to his Mom and he'll call his Meemaw everyday till he's grown and he'll mow the lawn right when Dad tells him and he'll try extra, extra hard in school, just please, he's too young to die. He ain't even made it to junior high yet!

"Drink some."

"Huh?"

Dad becomes hard-looking. "Have you lost your mind?"

"No sir," gulps Darry, shrinking under the glare his father throws at him.

"Then act like you got some manners." Dad stares him down good before he motions to the beer for Darry to take a swing. So that's what he does.

Darry doesn't feel nowhere near as cool as the first time he tried it. When he glances up at Dad, he raises a brow and Darry knows that means to take another drink.

"That make ya feel good, son? Drinking like a man."

Darry shakes his head and remembers Dad don't like that. "No, sir."

Dad nods then turns away from Darry to look at the open field before them.

"I like to come here n' think sometimes. Easier out in the open and all," says Dad.

Sitting around and thinking is pretty lousy and pointless, though, despite what Mom says, Darry's got brains enough to keep his trap shut about it. Adults do an awful lot of sitting around thinking; never seems to do them any good either. Sometimes Mom sits around in the kitchen and looks through boxes of pictures and letters and whatnot and just stares around at nothing. Thinking. When she gets like that, Dad gives Darry a dollar and tells him to take his brothers to the corner store and make scarce. When he remembers that, he supposes it can't be an all too bad thing if it lands him a couple of ice pops.

"You know, your Mama's the one who got me into nature and all that. I was never really one for hunting or fishing or whatever these hill billies out here do for fun. I didn't become a gunslinger, not a real one at least, till I met that woman, I tell you."

And that's just a plain lie. Mom? Hunting and shooting? There's just no way. Dad turns to sees the look on Darry's face and laughs.

"Don't believe me, huh? Well, you know how your Meemaw lives in Texas now, all the way down in Dallas? And how your Mama goes down there to visit? Yeah, well, that's where she grew up. Not out here. Back then, she lived with your Meemaw and your Pawpaw. And you know what else? Growing up, she was the oldest, just like you. She had five little brothers. Can you believe that? Her whole life, just living in a house of boys. It's probably how she deals with us so good, huh?

"She grew up on one of them ranches, way far out of town, so I guess not Dallas then, but somewhere out there, I don't know. Your Mama was a small town girl from that rural gun-toting part of Texas where you can drive miles and miles without seeing another house. She had cows and chickens and even a couple of horses too. And she loved it out there, she really did. Says the farm life is good for your spirit and hard on your hands. She grew up like that, always working and taking care of everybody. Damn near raised those boys all by her lonesome. I mean… sure, she had Meemaw, but that's the thing that's unfair about being born first, a lot of responsibility you didn't ask for gets put on ya. Not everybody can handle that kinda thing, you know. Shoot, I don't think I could've been somebody's big brother, that's for sure.

"Anyways, it was the six of them, your Meemaw, and your Pawpaw. He was a right stickler for the rule book, a born worker, who took rather kindly to your Ma."

Dad grows quiet suddenly, the playful thoughtfulness leaving his tone. The tail lights of his truck reflect back into his eyes and all Darry can see is just plain mean on his face.

"Yeah… your ol' Pawpaw, he liked to drink. Just like you now, huh? After a long hard day, he liked himself two nice warm beers and a plate of ribs and baked beans waiting for him when he got home. He held that house down with two jobs and never took out no loans or ever owed a cent to nobody. Which… you gotta respect, I suppose.

"The thing about Pawpaw though is that he never really knew how to stop after that second beer. On nights when it was just two, he'd be all red and rosy, sweet as pie and telling Meemaw all about how much he loved her. He used to be real nifty with a guitar and would sit on the porch with all his boys and sing songs from his days in the army. But sometimes two wouldn't be enough, and so he'd go on and have himself a couple more— three, or four, maybe six. And the thing about beer is it makes you real woozy and not think right and more times than none, he'd find himself wandering to the wrong room and into the wrong bed."

Dad clenches his jaw and pulls out a pack of cools. Mom never lets him smoke, but Darry doesn't dare utter a word. Dad lights it quickly with a heated, jagged breath.

"It turns you into a different person, ya hear? Makes you lose any kinda sense at all." Dad blows out a whiff of smoke. "You know, that's how your Mama lost two of her brothers. Uncle Shawn in a drunk driving accident and your Uncle Dom drank and drank till his stomach couldn't take it no more. He was just a little older than you, I believe."

They sit with that for a while. Darry can't tell if his dad is lying to scare him or if he really did have an Uncle Dom who died when he was a kid. Darry ain't never heard of no one dying just from drinking. He suddenly feels sick to his stomach.

"Good glory, your mother wouldn't want you to hear a lick of this. But you're tough now, ain't'cha? All big and bad? Go on, take another sip, slicker."

It burns against his throat and his lips feel numb, but Darry takes another small sip. He's afraid to move a single muscle and doesn't, not even with the cold nipping at his arms and his feet feeling so heavy they might as well be made of stone.

"My Pops liked to drink too. But he didn't care for beer so much as his whiskey. Yeah, whiskey and gin. My ol' man spent more time hanging round bars and gambling away our rent than being at home. And when he wasn't slugging a drink, he was slugging one of us. It was just me n' your Uncle Jack back then. You remember Uncle Jack don't'cha? It's been a… a long while since he passed. You probably don't remember him much, huh? Shoot, he sure loved you."

Dad's eyes are glossy and Darry's stomach drops. He feels something awful about taking that beer now. His heart pounds and he can feel goose bumps climbing up his neck to his chin. Dad never talks about Uncle Jack or his dad or New York ever unless he's talking some smack about sports.

"He was a good brother." Dad sniffs and looks to the side, shooting a wad of spit into the mud. "Anyway, Pops drank day and night and picked fights with one too many 'fore it landed him in an early grave. I was bout, what? Fifteen when he died? I was lucky Jack was nineteen then and took me in like he did, even with the hood I was.

"You see, I'm just like my ol' man. I didn't wanna believe it at the time, but I was. Especially back then. Angry too, all the time, without even knowing why. I picked fights and smoked and drank and I didn't care what nobody had to say, I was my own man. Well, Jack set me good and straight the day he kicked me out. I was piss drunk and made some trouble with the wrong people and ended up getting him and his girl involved— it was a mess. I was a mess. Kicking me to the curb was the best thing he coulda done for me.

"I joined the military soon after cause I didn't have anywhere else to be. Picked up some bad habits and did… I did a lot of things, Darry. Saw too much when I was just a kid and shipped off over there in Europe. It was hell, but it was good for me. Showed me a lot of that freedom I took for granted."

Dad takes a swing of his own beer for the first time since opening it and alternates between smoking and drinking.

"I fell on hard times when I got back. There was a time where not a day would go by that I was sober. I'd lay in bed at night, feeling the weight of everything on my— on my chest, and when I couldn't be a man anymore, when I hurt my back and stopped getting feeling in my leg, your Mama was there. And she took care of me and stuck by me and I will never be able to make up for everything I put her through, never. That's what drinking gets you, a whole lot of regret. And you come out the other side of it numb. I guess you could say I was numb for a while… Then you came along."

Dad gives a faint smile, glancing down at Darry.

"I guess the point I'm trying to make is that you're too damn smart and just… good to be doing all that. So I want you to take another drink, son. And think real hard about what I'm telling you. You're not like most people, Darry. You aren't meant to throw your life away and run around here stealing and tryna look tough for your little friends. You're gonna get out, I just know it. So this whole troublemaker act you got going on has got to stop. And if you don't have the sense to listen to what I'm saying, at least think of your Mama. She bout gave herself a heart attack when she found you like that last night. You ain't being a drunk at ten years old, not under my roof ya ain't."

He doesn't mean to, but Darry's got tears in his eyes. He tries blinking real hard and swallowing a knot in his throat. It doesn't work though, and suddenly Darry's sobbing like a baby, embarrassment and anger and every feeling clawing at his chest. Dad doesn't seem bothered in the slightest. He simply rubs Darry's back, gently taking the beer from his hands before he pours it empty by the side of the truck. Then he chucks the glass into the field.

Darry stands there crying for a while, shivering and weeping into his father's flannel. He hadn't meant nothing by taking that beer from the store. In fact, he'd felt sort of bad shoving it down his pants and booking it down the street once the mart owner realized what he and his friends were up to. Darry just don't think all too good sometimes. Mom be saying that all the time and right about know, Darry is thinking she's right.

When he finally calms down, Darry looks up at his dad, his eye burning from the crying and brick, cold November air.

"Dad?"

"Yes, son."

"I'm sorry."

Dad just nods, staring out into the dark, thinking to himself.

"I know, big man," Dad finally says. "You're a good kid. I ain't bring you all the way down here to make ya feel bad about drinking some liquor. The devil's not in the drink, son. There are plenty of fellows out there who can have a beer or two and find their way home nice and quiet, no trouble at all."

Dad sucks in long and hard at his cigarette and holds it for so long, Darry's convinced he'll swallow. But then he blows smoke out from his nose and mouth and taps some ashes on the pocket of his jeans. He smudges his pinkie finger against the ash and stares hard at nothing. Then he turns to Darry suddenly with a careful, steady look, not a trace of anger or disappointment, seeming more serious than Darry had ever seen him.

"The devil's in us Darrel Junior. And don't you forget that."