Some Place Better Than Here

Chapter 31: A Case of You

When I got to the intersection closest to his house, I saw that I was on Penelope Street, just west of the boardwalk. After ten more minutes of walking, the road hit Atlantic Way. I continued past downtown Carraway Beach and The Alley, staggering along the curb closest to the boardwalk. There wasn't a soul in sight. It was weird seeing the Old Abandoned Beach House from the street.

In the end, it turned out Danny was right. The walk to 22 Bayview Avenue from Atlantic Way did take about two hours. By the time I got to Danae's Bay, the blue of the morning was lifting against the night sky, and early birds were chirping as I pushed through the screen door. Coming home.

So, it was the guilt that killed me.

As I leaned against the back of the front door, after slamming it in Danny's face, I hated myself.

I heard grumbling from the kitchen and the limping stagger of Jim's footsteps. Guilt and anxiety stretched and split open my stomach. What was he going to say now? Would I be in trouble because Danny showed up? When he limped around the wall, leaning on his cane with a joint tucked in his lips, he had a self-satisfying look on his face.

"I'm glad'ya told that cuck ta finally leave ya 'lone." He hummed.

"Yeah."

Only later did it occur to me that he'd been listening in on our entire conversation. I could just see him sitting there—grinning at Danny's desperation. Finding some sort of amusement in our drama, like our feelings were just a part of a game meant to entertain him.

"See, I toldj'ya, Mare, that he was no good. Right?" He straightened his hunched spine in order to start preaching. "You know, they come in all sortsa shapes and sizes. The terrorists, right? Young kids ya wouldn't 'spect are trying to enforce the Islam, spread the Sharie Law. Startin' up revolts 'gainst our government, trying t' shut down free speech. Calling President Trump, Hitler. Can ya believe that? Hitler?" Jim recited what any conspiracy vlogger would say. "It's a scary, scary world."

I just kept rocking.

"See. I know ya think I'm the bad guy, but I'm just tryin' to protect you. You can't trust no one, right? If there's one thing I've learned—it's that," he said with the pointing of his finger.

Jim kept looming around, just waiting to get some reaction from me that I was not going to give.

" 'Kay. I get it. Be mad at me because I shooed your boyfriend 'way." The tremor of Jim's voice picked up with a steady incline of fanaticism that seemed tied to the staccato snapping of his open hand. "Jus' don't come cryin' ta me after you two've been t'gether for a while, and you're both sicka each other and start bangin' other people and he ends up leavin' ya 'cause he knocked up some broad."

The long muscle of his forearm popped out as he drove his weight into the cane.

"Mare, it's just—it's a nasty world. A nasty, nasty, nasty world. I've seen that happen too many times, right? Ya know, Mare, itta happened to your Mum, right?"

"What? What happened to my mom?"

Jim then stopped. Taking his time to look inward, inward on the past. "Come outside," he said, taking a step in the direction of the door.

Settling down into his favorite lawn chair on the porch, he rolled the leg of his shorts over his right knee, revealing several scars, and began extending the joint as best he could.

"Physician told me today that what's been actin' my knee up is a wearin' down of the cartlidge. Said it's most likely the osto-thritis caused by tearin' my ACL when I was a kid. Y'know I blew it playin' all that football, right? So ya see, Mare," Jim kicked his knee out. "I only gotta 'bout a fifteen to twenty degree extension in the knee. Gonna try t' get one of those medical marijuana cards. Lawyer says I might get outta jail time if I present it in court. Six fuckin' months for havin' a roach in the cup'older. Retarded, right?"