Dancing in the Remains

1 Manson walked into the trailer, his face bloody and his knees scraped. Grandma looked up from behind the newspaper she read. “O dear.” She calmly stated as she neatly folded her paper up. “What did you get up to this time?” “Fell into a ditch.” Manson gazed at the floor, his young eyes frightened of potential scorn. “Be honest.” Grandma sternly yet lovingly demanded. “Was it those boys again?” Manson sniffled, fresh blood dripping from his nose. “They pushed me.” “Did they now?” Grandma pressed a wet rag against Manson's wounds. “I’ll have to go have a talk with them.” “No!” Manson pleaded, looking up in earnest. He quickly looked away once grandma's eyes met his. “What are you afraid of?” The blood surrounding Manson's face was gone, absorbed into the moist rag. “They call me a teachers' pet.” Grandma was now wiping clean his bruised knees. “I don't want them calling me a grandma's boy too.” “And what if they do?” Grandma rinsed the rag out under a stream of hot water. “What will you do?” “I...dodon't know.” Tears welled in Manson's eyes. “Hey,” grandma sweetly said, raising Manson's chin, forcing him to look at her. “Those boys and their words mean nothing. You’re smart. They're jealous of that.” “Really?” Manson questioned, unsure. “Yes, really. Now come over here.” They hugged. “I love you, grandma.” Grandma took Manson by the shoulders and looked him in the eyes. “I love you too.” *** Manson rode down the street past the railroad tracks. He stopped at the crosswalk, waiting for the light to turn green. His long, greasy blond hair rested on his shoulders as he waited. He rode past the local grocery store, past the elementary and middle school, past the bus garage, and down country roads. His legs ached but he didn’t care. He reached the end of a dirt road which splintered into paths leading deep into the forest. He walked his bike down one of the paths, the sun illuminating him through gaps in the green canopy. The old shack he was accustomed to seeing came into view. Its dingy brown wood looked ready to collapse. There was a broken window that was covered with a sheet. Even with the sheet blocking the interior from view, white smoak still crept out of the battered frame. After parking his bike Manson threw the door wide open. Smoke billowed out and the sound of coughing could be heard. Manson walked away as the smoke dissipated in the air. “Tell your friends to leave!” He shouted. He jumped into an old, broken down car that sat next to the building. It was severely rusted and vines covered its lifeless frame. “Man… what the hell.” Dex stumbled out of the shack, a blunt still in his mouth. “Why you gota ruin the fun man?” Manson pulled out a cigarette and lit it. “I told you not to fucking bring anybody out here.” “Remember when you used to be fun?” Manson blew smoke. “Remember the last time you weren't high?” Dex chuckled stupidly. “No.” Four people stumbled out of the shack. Dex turned to them. “You guys better leave.” Manson tried to ignore the conversation that followed. He closed his eyes and enjoyed his cigarette. Eventually the voices faded and only Dex was left. “Somebody's coming to pick them up.” He jumped into the passenger's seat. “Does it look like I give a fuck?” “Bad day, hu?” “Every day’s a bad day.” “There’s your signature optimism!” Dex threw the rest of his blunt out the window. “You know those things kill you right?” He nodded at the cigarette. Manson laughed. “You’re funny.” “Seriously man, they’ll like… destroy your lungs and shit!” “I’ve never seen you high enough to take the moral high-ground.” Manson leaned over and blew smoke in Dexs face. He coughed dramatically. “How was work?” Dex asked after a little while. “Same old, same old.” “Fuck Mindy yet?” “Yeah, we did it on the register in front of all the customers.” Dex shifted lower in his seat. The old cushions moaned beneath him. “Better hit that before it’s too late.” “She’s seventeen dude.” “Two years younger than you, big deal. You went to school with her for fucks sake!” Manson knocked ash off the end of his cigarette. It fell through the rusty floor and onto the ground. He took a long drag. Two years? Had it really been that long? “I’m just sayin’ dude, you better bang her before she heads off to college next semester.” “What makes you think she’s going to college?” “Well she sure as hell ain't stayin’ in this shit town. She’s too good for that.” “Us on the other hand…” Manson said it kiddingly but on the inside it sat like a blister. “Maybe you man, I’m outa here soon.” “Yah, where.” Manson asked in mocking disbelief. “Colorado. Gona live with my cousin.” Manson snapped his head towards Dex. “Are you serious right now?” “Yah, I’m leavin at the end of the summer.” Dex sunk even lower in his seat until he was practically lying down. “My cousins got me set up with a job and everything. And in Colorado, I can smoke all the kush I want.” Manson was silent. He let the rest of his cigarette fall to the floor. “Better than cush, there’s men!” Dex didn’t notice as Manson silently stood up and left. He kept talking, until he suddenly realized he was alone. He sat up, watching as Manson walked his bike to the road. “Did you bring any munchies!” Dex Shouted. “They’re by the shack, where my bike was parked.” “I love you!” “You’re a homo.” “Always and forever.” Manson rode back slower than he came. The wheels turned methodically against the pavement. He didn’t want to go home. He couldn’t remember the last time he did. He rode through the trailer park, slower and slower until he came to his house. It was small, cramped, and ugly. He walked inside. As always the curtains were drawn. His mom was sitting in front of the TV smoking a cigarette. Her eyes were baggy and her movements were slow. “How was work.” Her voice was coarse. “Fine.” “You should go see grandma. She’s been asking for you all day.” “No she hasn't.” Manson said resentfully. “She’s been asking for Dan.” His mother didn’t look away from the TV. Manson marched to the backroom, gently tapping on the door. “Dan, is that you?” “Sure is grandma.” Manson walked in gently, closing the door behind him. The room was stuffy and smelled. “I heard you’re in the military!” “Sure am Grandma.” Manson sat on the bed next to her. She was propped up against the backboard. “Are you enjoying it?” Manson gave the same answer he always did. He’d had this conversation too many times to count. “How’s your brother doing?” The conversation always came to this question. Usually near the end. It was the part that Manson hated the most. “Mansons fine.” He couldn’t find it in him to say anything else. “Did he graduate?” “Yes.” “O good! We were worried there for a while that he wouldn’t make it!” “You shouldn’t worry about him so much Grandma. He’s an A student.” Manson said through gritted teeth and watery eyes. “I love him and all, but he doesn’t have the drive you have! And his friend Dex? A bad influence that boy is! He does illegal drugs and has intercourse with men! Ever since…” Manson listened to the spiel drag on and on. He looked at his Grandma's withered face. She didn’t have much longer, he knew this. He only had to endure this living hell for a little while longer. The all too familiar guilt hit him as he fantasized about her death. Eventually she fell asleep. He snuck out into his room and laid on the bed, gazing numbly at the ceiling. His grandma's words echoed in his head and he felt like dying.