We got no money but we got heart {we're gonna rattle this ghost town}
May 12th, 2013
3:21 PM
“So….” Billy trailed off, leaning back comfortably in the lawn chair, “That was a slight disaster.”
The sun bore down on the three people in the backyard of the Castle residence, blue skies with fluffy clouds. The grass was green, full of wispy cankerwort and sun-yellow dandelions. Peonies were blooming on the sides of the lawns, pinks and blues and violets. It would’ve been a tranquil afternoon on a Sunday, if it weren’t for the fact that the reason that they were in the backyard was because Lisa had broken her arm riding her bike and needed to be taken to the ER.
Frank had loaded Lisa in the car while Maria had pointed her finger at the two boys and one adult and told them to behave while they were gone. Billy had given her a thumbs-up and she had narrowed her eyes at him, a staring contest going on between the two of them until Frank had pulled out of the driveway, Peter and Frankie waving to Lisa from the curb as she sat in the backseat.
Frankie flopped on the grass, near Billy. “She’s going to be okay, right?”
Billy pulled out a pair of sunglasses, perching them on his nose. “Yeah, she'll be okay. Lisa’s a fighter, and it looked like it was only a fracture.”
Frankie frowns, lifting himself on his arms. “Peter, what’s the difference between a fracture and a broken bone?”
Peter’s voice comes from the tree, where he’s sitting on a branch that he managed to climb. It’s low and soft. “A fracture is a broken bone. What Lisa’s got is a hairline fracture. That’s when it’s just a little break.”
Billy squints from where he is on the chair. “How’d you get all the way up there?”
Peter shrugs. He’s quiet today.
“Did you do your homework?” Billy asks Frankie, who assumes the wide-eyed innocent look of me? Why would I do anything? Billy grins. “It’s alright. I’m the cool uncle.”
Frankie grins, then he sits up. “Can we play soccer?”
Billy pulls down his sunglasses, raising his eyebrows. “What did your mom say?”
Frankie slouches. “Sit and be patient and don’t do anything that’s slightly dangerous.”
Peter ignores them all from his perch in the tree.
“Right,” Billy pulls off his sunglasses, standing up from his chair. “Unfortunately, I seemed to have short-term memory loss. What’s the thing I’m supposed to be doin’ again?”
Frankie grins and races off to grab the soccer ball from inside the house, sneakers flying and kicking up dirt. As he slams the back door open, probably tracking dirt into the house, Billy walks over to the tree Peter is currently hiding in. He looks up, shading his eyes. “You gonna come down or…?”
Peter balances himself on the tree, almost examining the ground underneath him.
Billy squints, hands on his hips. “What are you doing?”
Peter stands up on the branch, slightly shaking the limb.
“You’re gonna fall.”
Peter crouches, knees tensed as he prepares for impact.
Billy’s eyes widen. “Wait. Shit, kid. Please don’t-”
Peter jumps.
Billy swears.
Peter rolls as soon he hits the ground, taking it with his shoulder and somersaulting on the grass. He pops up on his feet, a small smirk on his face. He’s wearing a tank-top and basketball shorts with worn-out sneakers, taped-up glasses crooked on his face. There’s a leaf in his brown hair.
Billy gives him a look. It’s one you give to a cat that’s about to knock something over. “I realize now why Maria doesn’t let you ten feet out of her sight whenever you’re here.”
Peter shrugs, pushing his glasses back on his nose.
Frankie bursts out of the house, carrying the soccer ball. He grins when he sees Peter. “Okay, Uncle Billy’s on my team and our goal is the fence! Got it?”
“Hey bud, I don’t think that’s fair,” Billy tries to intervene, but he’s interrupted by Frankie tossing the ball on the ground and shouting, Peter immediately racing after the ball.
Billy rolls his eyes and then he goes after the ball.
Peter manages to get the ball away from Frankie, dribbling it across the lawn. Frankie tries to catch up, but he’s overtaken by Billy, who blocks Peter’s way to the goal. Billy widens his stance, hands wide in front of him. “C’mon kid. Show me what you got.”
Peter squints. The tip of his tongue peeks out of the side of his mouth and he readies his foot, putting weight on one leg.
And promptly gets the ball taken away from him by Frankie, who immediately heads toward the other side of the yard. “Snooze, you lose!”
Billy snorts and Peter chases after Frankie, ending in a slight shoving match which is only escalated by Billy joining in. “All right, you two. Maria said no funny business and that means-ow! That’s it!”
He picks the two kids up, slinging them on his back like potatoes. Frankie laughs and shouts in protest and Peter goes tense and still. Very still. “Now we all have to sit on the porch and think about our actions.” He grunts, shouldering the weight. “Jeez Frankie, what have you been eating? You weigh like a ton of bricks.”
“Please put me down.”
Peter’s voice is soft. And tense. And firm.
Billy puts Peter down.
The older child of the group sits down on the wooden porch, hands wrapped around his chest and head down, hair falling in front of his face. Frankie gets set down as well and he walks over to Peter, with Billy standing tentatively over by the grass. “Hey Peter? Are you okay?”
Peter looks up and there’s an expression on his face that can’t quite be placed. It vanishes after a second and it’s like it was never there. “Yeah. Just….anxious, I guess.”
Frankie sits down next to Peter and pats his shoulder. “Lisa’s gonna be okay. And we’ll definitely get our homework done.”
“I did my homework.”
“Can you do mine?”
“Ten bucks.”
“Okay,” Billy interjects, “As much as I fully support this black market homework thing, Peter, are you actually okay?”
Peter gives a grin. “Yup. Perfectly fine.”
Billy eyes him, lingering on the thin frame and the yellow marks on the arms. “If ya say so.”
Peter lies back on the porch, hands crossed over his stomach, evidently glad to be done with the questioning. Frankie tears the dandelions and wisps apart, throwing some parts at Billy, who makes a disapproving noise, and putting some in Peter’s hair, who closes his eyes and throws an arm over his face. Billy sits down on the grass and they sit in silence for a few minutes, Peter yawning and Frankie eventually growing bored, flopping down beside Peter. “Can you say one of your poems?”
Peter yawns. “Why?”
“I’m bored,” Frankie whines, “And you never say a poem while I’m around. Please Peter, please. I’ll stop calling you Peterbug.”
“Peterbug?” Billy repeats, a grin curling on the sides of his mouth. Peter kicks the ball over at him.
“Fine, fine.” Peter makes himself comfortable. “I found this one when I went to the library.”
He clears his throat.
“If a man says half himself in the light, adroit
Way a tune shakes into equilibrium,
Or approximates to a note that never comes:
Says half himself in the way two pencil-lines
Flow to each other and softly separate,
In the resolute way plane lifts and leaps from plane:
Who knows what intimacies our eyes may shout,
What evident secrets daily foreheads flaunt,
What panes of glass conceal our beating hearts?”
Peter says all of it staring at the sky, dandelions in his hair. Frankie tears up more dandelions, listening to Peter’s quiet voice. Billy drapes his hands over his knees, staring curiously at Peter. “You memorize that all by yourself?”
Peter shrugs.
“He can do more,” Frankie adds, nudging Peter. “He’s got, like, all the poems memorized.”
“You’re a pretty good artist,” Peter says in return, closing his eyes. Frankie grins shyly. “I liked your dragons. ‘Specially the green and red one.”
Billy snorts. “Nerds.”
Frankie childishly pouts. “Peter. Teach me how to climb trees really high. And then jump.”
Peter sits up, shaking the dandelion from his hair. His shirt rides up a bit, and just for a moment, a bruise peeking up from his hip can be seen. But only for a moment and the other two don’t see it. “Absolutely.”
Billy groans.