issue91thetracks

                                                  ZYGOTE IN MY COFFEE.COM

***BIO*** Steve Barker lives & writes in Seattle. He is an editor for the Seattle-based, literary magazine When it Rains From the Ground Up. For mor information check out www.myspace.com/barkker

Home

Submit

The Tracks

by Steve Barker

The sun rose into the gray sky turning the snow into dirty water running down the curb into a grate. James sloshed through it as he crossed Foster Court. It was barely after seven and most houses were still dark that Sunday morning. A few places glowed with Christmas lights. The rest had taken down their decorations until next season. James was careful as he walked up the steps to his friend Ryan’s house because the shadows of the trees kept the cobblestone icy. He rang the doorbell and waited. A few minutes passed and he rang it again. After a short while a little boy in an oversized T-shirt opened the door.

“Hey, James,” the little boy said rubbing his eyes.

“Can you get Ryan?”

“He’s still asleep. What are you up to?”

“Nothing, just go wake him up.”

“He got mad at me the last time I did that. I’ve still got a bruise on my arm.”

“Just tell him I told you to. I’ve got something really cool to show him.”
“Alright, but if he hits me I’m never doing this again,” he closed the door.

James turned and sat on the steps. The court was quiet except for a few birds and the sound of a river of melted snow running into the sewer. Ten minutes later the door opened and Ryan came busting out in a ski jacket and wool hat.

“So, what’s up? I don’t like getting up this early on a Sunday.”

“Don’t worry, dude, I could barely sleep. You got to see what I stole from my brother.”

“What is it?”

“Let’s just go to the tracks.”

The two boys were walking through the center of Foster Court when they heard someone call for them.
“Guys, wait up,” said the little boy, now dressed in his snowsuit.

“No, Nate. Go home,” Ryan yelled as he kept walking.

“Come on guys, I want to see what’s so cool.”

“Go home,” Ryan raised his arm and made a fist.

Nate pulled back. “I’m never waking him up for you again,” he shouted.

James and Ryan climbed a cold chain link fence and their feet stung as they landed on the other side. They slipped their skinny bodies through a missing board in a second fence to an isolated piece of railroad tracks.

“So what’d you get?” Ryan asked.

James dug into his coat pocket and pulled out a Michael Jackson Thriller cassette tape.

“I’ve already heard that album,” Ryan said with a disappointed tone.

“No, dude, check it out,” James opened up the case revealing six Players cigarettes. “I found a pack in my brother’s coat pocket last night and took a few,” he said taking a seat on the wet railroad track. Ryan took a seat across from him. James pulled off his glove and shoved his sweaty hand into his pocket pulling out a pack of matches. He put a cigarette between his lips and passed one to Ryan. James struck a match, but before he could get it to the cigarette the wind blew it out. He tried again with the same results.

“Let me try,” Ryan said, grabbing at the matchbook.

James pulled it towards him. “No, let me try one more time.” This time he was able to get it lit. He took a pull and coughed out a cloud of smoke. “MMM, that’s good,” he said handing over the matches to Ryan.

Ryan examined the matches. “Satchel’s Grill, what’s that?”

“Not sure. I swiped them from my dad’s sock drawer. He’s got all sorts of matches in there, he’ll never know they’re gone.”

Ryan struck a match and it went out immediately. “Let me just see your cigarette.”

James passed his cigarette across the tracks and Ryan held them together until his was lit. He breathed deeply then let out a thick haze of smoke.

“I can’t wait until five years when we can buy these ourselves. It’s so stupid that you have to be eighteen to buy cigarettes,” James said, then sucked on his cigarette.

“I know. Like what’s the problem?” Ryan let out a light cough. “Did you bring any gum or anything with you?”

“Shit, I forgot about that. We can walk down the tracks to Mobil and get some when we’re done.”

“Did you bring any money?”

“No, you?”

“No,” Ryan said.

“How about a five finger discount?”

“It’s your turn. I did it last time.”

“Okay fine,” James said staring at the ash as a gust of wind blew it off his cigarette. He pushed his face in his gloves. “Do you think Ashley likes me?”

“You guys did slow dance to two songs at the Christmas dance.”

“I know but every time I put my hand on her ass she backed away.”

“Maybe she was just nervous because Mr. Anderson was watching the whole time. You know he caught Ben and Stacey making out in the stairwell and called their parents.”

“Yeah. She never said anything about the chocolates I gave her. They were more expensive then the ones I got for my mom.”

“If you want I can call her tonight and ask,” Ryan said, blowing a stream of smoke from his nostrils.

“No, don’t do that. Call Jen and ask her if she knows anything. I don’t want her to know that I like her.”

Once they finished their cigarettes, they walked down the train tracks then passed through a patch of grass where the snow had melted.

“Wait here and I’ll be right back.” James left Ryan under a pole with a blue Pegasus on the top.

James strolled through the aisles with one eye on the man behind the counter who was sipping a coffee and flipping through the newspaper. James took off his gloves dropping one on the floor. He picked it up, grabbed a pack of gum and slipped it inside his warm mitt. Headed towards the door he noticed a bargain bin full of holiday cologne and perfume. He gave a quick glance back at the man behind the counter who hadn’t even lifted his head since James walked in and snatched a box then stuffed it inside his coat. With his eyes on the ground he pushed through the door.

Ryan was still standing under the sign when James walked towards him with an uneasy look on his face. “Just go,” he said as he speed walked to the train tracks.

“Did you get it?” Ryan asked as they stepped foot onto the wooden planks of the train tracks.

“Of course. And a little something extra too.”

“I hope it’s food. I still haven’t eaten anything yet.”

“No it’s not food, but now there’s no chance of us getting caught. How about another smoke?”

The two boys sat back down on the train tracks and each lit up another cigarette. The sun was much brighter now and the grass around them was becoming more visible. James pulled a box of Brute aftershave from his coat.

“Now our clothes won’t smell either,” James flaunted the green package with a Santa Claus in a tuxedo on it.

“Nice.” Ryan reached for the shiny box. He pulled the bottle from the cardboard. The sun reflected off the silver bell at the tip of Santa’s hat. He dropped the empty container to the ground.

“We should destroy the evidence,” James said as he tore the box in half. He struck a match and lit Santa’s beard on fire. He held the burning cardboard and lit up another piece.

“Check this out,” Ryan grabbed at a wet piece of newspaper. “Let me see the matches.”

“That won’t work it’s too wet,” James said, throwing the matches over to Ryan. Ryan lit a piece of the front page and it burned a little then faded out. “Told you,” James said.

James had lit the whole box on fire and a small flame burned in the center of the train tracks. Ryan crumpled up a page from the inside of the paper and dropped it on top. The flame rose. “Let me see some of that,” James said reaching for the paper. He crumpled up a page and dropped it on top. The boys repeated this a few times. With every new piece of paper the flame rose.
The fire was about a foot high when they could hear someone calling in the distance.

“Ryan,” the voice yelled. “Ryan,” they heard again. “Ryan, I thought I told you. You are not supposed to leave Foster Court.”

“Oh, shit,” Ryan said. “It’s my Mom. Nate must have ratted us out,” Ryan said uncapping the bottle of Brute. He splashed some on his coat and hands. “Give me some gum.”

“Here,” James handed him a piece of gum and took the aftershave. He splashed it on himself and shoved a stick of gum in his mouth. They stepped on the fire and snuck through the opening in the wooden fence. Ryan’s mother was on the other side of the chain link fence shaking her head.

“I went to make you breakfast and you weren’t there. I was worried sick,” she yelled as the boys dragged their feet walking closer to her.

“Sorry, Mom,” Ryan said with his head hung low.

“Hi, Mrs. Johnston,” James said.

The boys climbed the fence and Ryan's mother dragged him home. “Don’t think I’m not going to speak with your parents, James.”

James spit his gum out into the bare garden outside his house before entering. His father, a big man with a beard, was standing by the front steps. “Take your boots off and meet me in the kitchen,” James’s father said.

In the kitchen James’s father was sitting at the table with a steaming cup of coffee in front of him. “I just got off the phone with Mrs. Johnston. She said you and Ryan were playing on the train tracks again.”

“Yes, I’m sorry it will never happen again,” James said, eyes on the ground.

“So, what were you two doing there?”

“Just exploring.”

“Exploring,” he said in an unconvinced tone. “You know, I noticed a book of matches missing this morning.”

“Missing from where? I didn’t take them.”

“Okay,” he tugged at his beard. “I want to let you know they were a very significant pack of matches to me.”

“I didn’t take them,” James repeated himself.

“You said that.” His father pulled his hand from his beard and took a slow sip of coffee. “Just so you know, they were from Satchel’s Grill. That was the last place I had dinner with your grandmother. They were very important to me.”

“Oh, if I see them I’ll give them back to you.”

James’s father stared curiously around the room. “What’s that smell?” he asked getting up from his chair.

“I don’t smell anything.”

James’s father walked over to his son. He leaned in and smelled him. “You stink. You smell like cheap cologne and smoke.”

“Huh? I don’t know. I was over at Paul’s house yesterday and his dad smokes.”

“Missing matches and cheap cologne,” he said sitting back down. “I know what this is about. You were smoking grass, weren’t you?”

“No way dad. I don’t do that sort of stuff.”

“I hope not.”

“I swear, Dad, I didn’t take the matches.”

“Alright, son, but if I find out you did you’re in a lot of trouble. Go wash up. We’re leaving for church in an hour.”

James left the table and ran upstairs to his room. He pulled the matches from his pocket and stared at the golden letters, Satchel’s Grill. He flipped open the book seeing that half the pack was missing. He crept down the hallway into his parent’s room, slipped through the door and slowly pulled open his father’s sock drawer. The loud roar of a fire truck siren startled him. He dropped the matches in the drawer and ran to his parents’ foggy window. He rubbed a circle of condensation away and looked over at the tracks. A fireman climbed the chain link and James watched as the smoke and flames rose higher and higher.

July 2007