American Outlaw Part 6

"I don't know, Jesse," Rhonda said. "My mom might not like it."

But her mother, Linda, surprised us both. She looked at me real hard when I told her what had happened, listening to every word. Then she informed me that, if I agreed to a few conditions, I was welcome to stay.

"First things first, Jesse," her mom said. "There's not going to be any bulls.h.i.t bulls.h.i.t going on with my daughter under this roof." going on with my daughter under this roof."

I blushed. "No."

"I mean it. We have a spare bedroom, and that's where you'll stay. You're not to sleep in Rhonda's room." Rhonda's mom was pretty, just like her daughter, and when she smiled you could see how they were related. However, she wasn't smiling now. Not even a little bit. "Not on special occasions, not when I'm not around- a little bit. "Not on special occasions, not when I'm not around-you don't do it. Is that understood?" Is that understood?"

I nodded. "Yes."

"I want you to have a job. I know a couple of people who could probably use a strong kid like you to help make deliveries. How does that sound to you?"

"It sounds good," I said.

"You're to go to school," she continued. "Every day. I mean, if you're not trying, then I don't see any reason I should let you live with me and my daughter. Do you?" day. I mean, if you're not trying, then I don't see any reason I should let you live with me and my daughter. Do you?"

"No," I agreed.

"Good." Now she smiled. "And h.e.l.l, if you have the energy, help me out a little around here. I hate hate doing the d.a.m.n dishes. So far, Rhonda's hopeless. How are you at doing dishes, kiddo?" doing the d.a.m.n dishes. So far, Rhonda's hopeless. How are you at doing dishes, kiddo?"

I laughed, relieved. Rhonda gave me a hug. "I'm super good," I said, too choked up to add more. My arms remained braided around her daughter's waist. "I'm the best dishwasher in the whole world."

So I moved into their spare bedroom, and for the first time in my life, I was part of a family. We ate meals together every night. It was what I had dreamed of. Linda was such a great person to me-she made a point of checking in to see whether I was doing my schoolwork and whether I was actually going to my job, which turned out to be working at a furniture store. She didn't pretend to like my dad, either. That made me appreciate her even more.

Rhonda and I were totally in love. By necessity, we were pretty chaste, but that didn't keep me from being one hundred percent sprung over her. She was going to turn sixteen soon, and I wanted to blow her mind with a great surprise.

"What do you want for your birthday?" I whispered to her one night when we were cuddling together, outside the house.

"Oh, I don't know," Rhonda said. "Whatever you get me will be great, I just know it." She smiled at me.

"I'm gonna totally bowl you over," I boasted. "I'm gonna blow your mind."

"Sure, Jesse." She laughed. "Blow it!"

I'm sure she was expecting me to spend twenty dollars at the mall jewelry store. Maybe show up with a gold-leaf necklace, one of those babies that turn your neck spinach green in two days. Instead, the day of her birthday, there appeared in her driveway a 1961 sea-foam green Volkswagen Beetle.

"Jesse!" she exclaimed. "What . . . is this?"

"It's your car," I said.

"Oh my G.o.d!" She was so excited, she was literally dancing from foot to foot. "What?"

"It's your car," I repeated, proudly. I held out a key ring to her-a single key dangled from it. "Here. Take it for a ride, if you want."

I still haven't forgotten the way Rhonda's face looked when she took that key. She was totally intoxicated on surprise and hyperexcitement. But I saw that she also looked proud. Of me, for having gotten this done for her.

"Oh, Jesse," Rhonda said. "You are so sweet. You are so so good to me." She gazed up at me lovingly. "How in the world did you do all this?" good to me." She gazed up at me lovingly. "How in the world did you do all this?"

I grinned. "Don't worry about that."

I hadn't bought the car outright, of course. I was way too broke for that. I'd gotten a working engine from one guy, and a Volkswagen sh.e.l.l from another. The wheels and fenders came in from yet another source. Truthfully, there were a few stolen parts on it-Linda hadn't reformed me completely. But I'd painted it myself, and done lots of body work to the car, removing every dent I could find. It looked cherry.

"What can I do for you in return?" she said, smiling.

"You could drive me to football practice," I answered truthfully. "If I'm much later, coach'll freaking kill me."

That year, my junior year, was when I really became a star. The coaches realized they could play me on offense and defense, as well as the special teams, and I would never ask for a breather. The whole season, I never came off the field-much to the dismay of my backup, a good-natured roly-poly kid named Mike. coaches realized they could play me on offense and defense, as well as the special teams, and I would never ask for a breather. The whole season, I never came off the field-much to the dismay of my backup, a good-natured roly-poly kid named Mike.

Mike had the kind of fat girth you could get away with on a football field: his shapeless bulk packed tight around an oblong skeleton. His bright red hair was complemented by freckles and a hapless expression on his doughy face.

"Jesse," Mike whined, "why don't you ever get hurt, man?"

"Built way too tough," I explained. "Bones made of t.i.tanium, Mike."

"I'll shoot him for you, Mike," Bobby volunteered. "For the right price, he's a dead man."

Tom Dixon and his gang of seniors had graduated. That meant that it was pretty much Bobby's and my team, even though we were only juniors. We kind of battled with each other for authority. I preferred to lead by example; Bobby, by the force of psychotic bl.u.s.ter.

"No f.u.c.kING UP UP tonight!" he'd scream in the locker room before our games. "NO p.u.s.s.iES, NO CRYING!" tonight!" he'd scream in the locker room before our games. "NO p.u.s.s.iES, NO CRYING!"

"Let's play smart and hard," I announced firmly.

"TAKE 'EM OUT AT THE KNEES AND GOUGE THEIR EYEb.a.l.l.s EYEb.a.l.l.s!!" Bobby boomed.

The kids on the team looked vaguely confused, not to mention mildly frightened by the spastic giant screaming in front of them. "It's all about protecting the football," I explained.

"TAKE 'EM HARD, CUZ THEY DESERVE TO DIE DIE!"

"Let's get out there and win," I added.

It was interesting, because I was such an angry, sick f.u.c.k on the field, but in the locker room, I was your average kid. Maybe even a little bit quieter than the rest of them. Yet under the lights, it was like a switch would turn over in me, and I was out for blood.

Our first game that year was with Notre Dame, our rival high school. There had been several articles about me in the paper, referencing the good year I was coming off of. Well, the other teams didn't like that at all. So right away, the first play of the game, Notre Dame decided to try to get into my head. Their tight end was a big white guy with an even bigger mouth. school. There had been several articles about me in the paper, referencing the good year I was coming off of. Well, the other teams didn't like that at all. So right away, the first play of the game, Notre Dame decided to try to get into my head. Their tight end was a big white guy with an even bigger mouth.

"Yo, Jesse James," he yelled. "I heard your mom's a wh.o.r.e! Actually, I know know she is, because I put my she is, because I put my b.a.l.l.s b.a.l.l.s in your wh.o.r.e mom's mouth just last night! Hey, are you deaf, Jesse James?" in your wh.o.r.e mom's mouth just last night! Hey, are you deaf, Jesse James?"

I didn't say anything. I was letting the hate build up in me, letting it heat my blood.

He kept going. "You know what? f.u.c.k you, f.a.ggot! And your wh.o.r.e mom, too." His voice was harsh and loud, and he was so relentless, people up in the stands could probably hear him. "She didn't lick my b.a.l.l.s right! Can you finish the job?"

No response. I just stared into the top of his skull, at the stripes that bisected his helmet, willing them to become the entire universe for me.

"Aren't you gonna say s.h.i.t?" he said, just as his center hiked the ball.

I flew off the line and punched him. It was maybe the best uppercut of my life. I punched him so hard, and in precisely the right place, that my knuckles punched up behind behind his sternum, and my hand disappeared beneath his rib cage. his sternum, and my hand disappeared beneath his rib cage.

He gasped awfully. He dropped to the ground, and I ran over him and sacked the quarterback. As I was lying there, on top of the QB, savoring the moment, the foulmouthed kid stumbled to his feet, then jumped on my back. He wailed away at me with harmless, puny blows. "You DIRTY SON OF A b.i.t.c.h!"

I just covered up and laughed, letting him work my back. Eventually, my teammates pulled him off me and beat him down into the ground some more. Their team came to his rescue, and soon a whole bunch of heads were getting knocked, just like they should in high school games.

"Nice punch, James," Bobby whispered to me, out of breath, as we lined up again.

"Maybe I should get into boxing," I said, laughing.

"Both of us should. There's good money in it."

I wasn't all that surprised when my dad started coming to games. I was getting press in the local papers and stuff, slowly becoming a star player. So sure enough, that's when he started showing up. He would sit up in the stands all alone, high up, in a section all by himself, so I could be sure to see him.

"That your pops, James?"

I frowned. "Yeah, that's him."

"I thought you and him didn't talk anymore."

"We don't."

"So why's he here?"

"Beats me," I muttered. "Maybe the man just loves a good game of football."

I didn't know what my dad wanted me to think. Was it a white flag, his f.u.c.ked-up way of saying sorry, since he sure wouldn't say it out loud to me? It wasn't really his style to be remorseful, though, not even in silence. After a while, I kind of figured he was sending a different kind of message: by sitting there, he was telling my coaches and my community that he had some part in my success. That I never could have gotten this way all by myself.

"What's wrong, Jesse?" Linda asked me one night, when we were eating dinner together.

"Nothing," I said. I never wanted to unload myself onto Linda. I felt guilty enough just sleeping under her roof and eating her food.

"Uh-huh," she said slowly, looking at me unbelievingly. She was a smart lady, way too smart to fall for my act.

"It's nothing," I said. I nodded at her and Rhonda. "Promise."

"You know," said Linda, in the tone of someone who knows she's got your number, but is too kind to put it in a mean way, "I happened to see your dad up in the stands the other night."

"Well, yeah," I said, after a while. "He comes to the games nowadays."

"Does he ever try to talk to you? Talk about what happened?"

I shook my head. "No. We haven't discussed it."

Linda was silent. She looked across the table at her own daughter.

"Did your folks move to another house?" Linda asked.

"They didn't have to," I said. "The insurance paid for them to fix it up. There's a new roof on the house. They still live there."

Linda looked at me real straight for a second. "Jesse, I want you to listen to me."

I looked at her.

"Your dad doesn't know what he's missing."

I just looked at my plate and shrugged.

"You hear me, son?" Linda snapped. "Do you even get get what I'm trying to say?" what I'm trying to say?"

I looked at her. I had never seen her worked up like that.

She shook her head, then closed her eyes, ma.s.saging her forehead. "You are always welcome in this house, Jesse. Please, please know that."

Gradually my dad started driving by Rhonda's house after work. It would always be in the early evenings-he'd cruise by real slow in his work truck loaded high with tons of junk. I figured he was showing me how much work he had to do without me.

When both of us had watched him come by for the third time in as many days, Rhonda asked me, "What are you going to do, Jesse?"

I shrugged. "Nothing, I guess."

Seeing him ate me up inside. Was he really in trouble? If I turned my back on my own dad, then I wasn't much better than he was. But I just couldn't tell him I was sorry. I needed to hear it from him first. He He had started it. He chose to believe that I could have burned down his home on purpose. had started it. He chose to believe that I could have burned down his home on purpose.

So I didn't contact him, and I didn't show my face at the swap meets. My weekends were free to work a real job, the one that Linda had gotten me, delivering furniture from a store in town. I became a dedicated worker ant for them, happily getting lost in the physical labor of it-the driving, the lifting, the sweating. The money wasn't too hot, but secretly it felt kind of gratifying to be earning some legit cash for once. meets. My weekends were free to work a real job, the one that Linda had gotten me, delivering furniture from a store in town. I became a dedicated worker ant for them, happily getting lost in the physical labor of it-the driving, the lifting, the sweating. The money wasn't too hot, but secretly it felt kind of gratifying to be earning some legit cash for once.

I was at the store one Sat.u.r.day afternoon when my boss told me that Linda herself had bought something.

"It's that big armoire in the back, kid. Can you get this one yourself, or you need some help on it?"

I eyed the armoire she had purchased. It didn't appear to be too unmanageable. "No problem. I can take this one myself. Be back in an hour."

"Don't get lost over there, kid!" my boss called after me. "I know your girlfriend lives there!"

Happily, I drove the big furniture truck to Linda and Rhonda's house. It was my house, too, now. It felt good to realize that.

I parked the truck in their driveway and unloaded the armoire from the back of the truck. Though it was big, it was a light piece, and I carried it easily to their front door, where I set it down. I had my own key, so I unlocked the front door and stepped inside.

"Jesse!" Rhonda yelped.

She was tangled up on the couch, her shirt halfway off, and there was another guy there with her.

"What . . . what are you doing here?" she asked.

My mouth hung open and I pointed dumbly to the armoire that was still in her driveway. I was too stunned to even comment on the scene I saw before me. "Your mom . . . bought something."

As I stood there, staring soundlessly, I recognized the kid on the couch with her. He was a quarterback on an opposing high school's team. John something-or-other, from Ramona High. I guess I'm supposed to kill this kid, I guess I'm supposed to kill this kid, I thought. I thought.

But there was no power in my arms or legs. John gave me a so so what? what? look, a tough guy thing, I guess. But I didn't move an inch toward him. I wasn't feeling rage or vengeance. I just stared sadly at my girlfriend for a second, who was tucking her shirt back into her pants. Smoothing her hair. look, a tough guy thing, I guess. But I didn't move an inch toward him. I wasn't feeling rage or vengeance. I just stared sadly at my girlfriend for a second, who was tucking her shirt back into her pants. Smoothing her hair.

"Jesse . . ." she started, with a pained look, but I cut her off and walked out of her house. I left the armoire standing there in the driveway.

I got back in the truck and started up the engine. For a second, I just sat there, letting the truck idle. Then, slowly, I reversed out of their driveway, and made my way back to the office. There was hardly any traffic on the street; I made every single light.

"That was quick," my boss remarked. "No lunchtime nookie, huh?"