The Bleeding Season Read online

  Donald’s eyes had grown moist. “He has no right,” he whispered, “no right to do this to us.”

  “Imagine a good Catholic boy turning up faggot.”

  “Jesus,” I groaned.

  The pain on Donald’s face was nearly tangible. He’d heard the slurs and hatred for years, just never from Bernard.

  “You are what you are, Donny,” Bernard said. “You just couldn’t seem to go with it, to be what you are and be OK with it. Eventually, it’ll probably kill you. Nobody to love but that goddamn bottle, hiding from yourself and from all the shit everyone always gave you. So you hit a bar now and then, find someone to share a few hours with—maybe a weekend—then it’s back to work at that office, wasting away and typing up someone else’s thoughts, not even able to make the ten-minute drive home without stopping at the package store first. That’s how bad it is, Donny. Most people would give anything for your brains, and you tossed them aside like garbage. You met a guy once, some secret lover you had, but it didn’t work out like you thought, like you hoped, like you needed it to. You were in love, you told me so, but he was just experimenting, right? Just pretending, just drunk, just anything but queer. And you were still hurt when you got to college. You brought your bottle with you when it all went to shit, and you couldn’t shake it, couldn’t cope, so you walked away from school like some whipped puppy and you’ve been pining for him ever since, living like some goddamn drunken monk or something. I always thought you were better than all that, I always thought you’d be the one who’d make it out, who’d really be something. We all knew what the deal was, man, you never had to make any big announcements, and when you did you weren’t telling us anything we didn’t already know. We accepted you, man, shit even Rick did. For all the crap he talks and all the arguing between you two, he always stood up for you. Besides, you’re not so different from the rest of us, not really. Not when you get right down to the bare fucking bone. You’re lonely…and angry. Rage, man, always the rage. Always there to remind us how unfair life is, how when we open our arms it kicks us in the teeth every fucking time.”

  The tape clicked, and Bernard’s voice was silenced.

  Donald sank slowly back onto the couch like a deflating balloon, and Rick braced himself against the window casing, his eyes still trained on the falling flakes of snow.

  “Turn it off,” Donald said softly. “You don’t have to listen, Alan.”

  But I didn’t turn it off, and neither did anyone else. Instead, another click signaled the monologue was about to continue. I settled deeper into the chair, felt my bowels quiver and the beginnings of perspiration seep through my palms.

  “Alan,” Bernard said fondly, “you didn’t think I’d forget about you, did you? How could I, you and I were friends first, remember? Do you, do you remember the first day we met? I do. We were seven, and it was just a few days before Halloween. My mother and I had just moved into the neighborhood and I didn’t know anyone. I was playing on the front lawn in a new costume I’d gotten—a tiger costume—do you remember? Great costume, man, head to toe, built-in feet, the works. I was playing, and you were riding your bike. You stopped to say hello, and I was surprised how friendly you were, how you just talked to me and seemed to want to be my friend. You never even mentioned my glasses, or how thick they were, or how skinny I was, how much shorter I was than most kids our age—none of it. You just told me your name and pointed up the street at your house and said that’s where you lived. Then you told me my costume was cool and you had to be a ghost again for the second year in a row because your mom couldn’t afford a good costume. Plus, she’d cut up a perfectly good sheet making the eyeholes so there was nothing left to do with it except leave it a costume or shred it for rags.”

  I was stunned that he had remembered such detail. I looked to the floor, my memories of that afternoon as clear and bright as the day it happened.

  “Then the two Berringer twins showed up on their bikes, came to a screeching stop right in front of the driveway, like they came out of nowhere, scared the hell out of me. And I knew by the look on your face that they were trouble. Those little motherfuckers, Christ I hated them, terrorizing the whole neighborhood, always picking on kids younger than them. They were thirteen; we were seven. Jackie and Johnny Berringer. Cocksuckers. I remember you told me to go in my house, but I didn’t get it and just stood there. Then they started making fun of me, calling me all kinds of names because I had that costume on. I was so scared, and I kept hoping my mother would hear them and come outside, but she never did. You told me to go inside again, then the twins got off their bikes and started pushing you, telling you to mind your own business and that I was a baby for dressing like that. Do you remember, Alan?”

  I felt myself nod, as if somehow he could see me.

  “Jackie grabbed me and pushed me down,” Bernard said, his voice shaking. “I started to cry—shit I was a baby then and they were a lot older than us but…but then all of a sudden you went wild and started attacking them.” Bernard’s tone changed and it suddenly sounded like he was stifling laughter. “You weren’t a hell of a lot bigger than I was physically, and…Christ, they wailed the piss out of you that day, right there in my front yard. But you just kept getting up. They’d hit you and down you’d go; lip all busted up, nose bleeding. But you kept getting up, and you’d come back swinging. I tried to help but they pushed me down again and tore my costume and…I was crying and screaming for my mother, and you were lying in the driveway all bloody but on your way back for more…then the Berringer twins took off. I guess they were afraid my mother would hear all the screaming. They didn’t know yet that she drank too much and usually slept in the afternoons. I never forgot that, Alan. You didn’t even know me, but you defended me because you knew those two little sick fuckers were going to beat somebody up, and you didn’t want it to be me. Nobody had ever done anything like that for me. Nobody.”

  At only seven, I’d seen some cruelty and brutality in the world, but not much, and nothing quite like what I witnessed that day. Bernard was so innocent, so small and weak and trusting. A little boy in a special tiger costume his mother had made, playing in his yard, minding his own business, the new kid in town totally unaware what the local bullies had in store for him. Welcome to the neighborhood. And even years later, I was still unable to understand what joy the Berringer twins derived from stopping and terrorizing a little boy who had done nothing to provoke them, a boy they didn’t even know. And yet, the concept that they had so quickly determined Bernard was somehow less human, less important and thereby expendable was both repugnant and curious.

  Bernard’s voice interrupted my thoughts. “The next day you introduced me to Tommy and Rick and Donald,” he said, “and we spent the day playing in the tree house in Tommy’s yard. If it hadn’t been for you, Alan, I don’t know if I’d have had any friends at all. Probably not.”

  I wanted to let the emotion go, but I kept it bound and under control. He was letting me off the hook for some reason, praising me while he’d torn the others to shreds, and fond reminiscence had again given way to morbid uneasiness and confusion.

  “I probably should’ve just mentioned that day,” Bernard continued, “and let you tell the story, Alan. You were always so good at telling stories. As long as I can remember all you ever wanted to do was write.”

  When he mentioned my writing I knew I’d been wrong. He wasn’t going to spare me after all.

  “You were always scribbling in those little notebooks you used to carry around. Man, some of those stories were really good. You had a natural talent for it, no question about it. My favorite was the one you wrote—oh, I want to say it was around fourth, fifth grade, somewhere in there—about the jet and the UFO. Remember that one? The UFO stopped time and altered it or something and took everyone onboard away then replaced them, only they didn’t remember any of it. Then they realized there was twenty minutes no one could account for, the exact amount of time radio communication had been cut off—sh
it, that was so good. Just like on The Twilight Zone or an episode of The Outer Limits on TV. All that talent at such a young age, what a shame that just like Rick and Donald you threw it away.”

  “Fuck this,” Donald said suddenly. “Shut it off.”

  “Let it go,” I said.

  Neither of us moved.

  “What the hell happened, Alan?” Bernard asked in a nearly tender tone. “You were going to be Steinbeck, man. What was it all the teachers said? If only that Chance kid would show up for school and stay out of trouble and study and use his talents…yeah, if only. But you knew better—and you really did.” Brief, ironic laughter. “You were so cool back then, God I idolized you. It was like you knew who you were and what you wanted and how your life would be, and you didn’t need all the bullshit at school and all the stupid social crap. You always walked your own path, man, and I respected the hell out of you for that.

  “I never would’ve guessed you’d fucking blow it by getting married instead. Christ, man, you were going to New York, you were going to write and live in Greenwich Village and hang with artists and date hippie chicks and write great novels and be the coolest guy since Kerouac or James Dean or…Tell me, man, was Toni worth it? Was she? She’s a great gal—I always liked her—but like I said before, when you’re lying in bed at night, alone with God, and you ask yourself that question—and you know you do—what answer echoes through your mind?

  “Toni’s a small town girl. Always was, always will be. She wasn’t cut out for all that. She was thinking more along the lines of a nice little house with the picket fence, the two-point-five kids, the dog and a Volvo in the driveway. Nothing wrong with that, but it was never you, was it, Alan? You gave up all you wanted because you knew she could never be a part of the world you’d envisioned and dreamed of creating for yourself your entire fucking life.” Bernard’s volume had increased again, and he stopped and drew a series of deep breaths before continuing. “The only way you two could be together was for you to give up what you wanted and stay here. Get a job, make a life. A life? In Potter’s Cove? Fuck, good luck. How’s that security guard position working out? Making more than minimum wage yet? Never did get that house, or the babies or the picket fence or the Volvo. Shit, you didn’t even get the dog, so what the hell was the point? Do you resent Toni now, all these years later? Every time you look in the mirror and see you’re another year older, a few pounds heavier, a bit more miserable than the year before. Every time you put that uniform on and spend the shift wondering what if instead of doing one of the few things that made you happy, that made you who you were, do you resent her then? And does she resent you, too, Alan? She never realized you really weren’t that good at anything but writing, did she? Bet she realizes it now. Bet she realizes she should’ve picked someone else to spend her life with. But it’s the way it is, and it’s easier than tearing it down and starting over, right?

  “Do you ever go through your old stories? Shit, do you even still have them? Do you ever think about what might have been?”

  As he paused I could almost see him smiling, lying on the cot in that basement, the recorder in hand, just inches from his lips.

  “Why is he doing this?” Donald asked. “Why? What the hell did he do that was so wonderful with his goddamn life? What right does he have to—”

  “And what about me?” Bernard said, as if in response. “Yeah, what about me. Christ, we’re all a bunch of stereotypes and we don’t even realize it. But you know what? Most people are, fellas. Most of us have no idea how fucked up we really are, much less those around us, and even given the chance, we’re not sure we want to know. You know, the day Tommy was killed I saw him coming down the staircase at school. He was headed for the exit and the bus, and I was going the other way. We saw each other and smiled then I gave him a playful punch in the arm and told him I’d see him later. Well, I didn’t see him later. The next fucking time I saw him he was in a casket. What I’d really wanted to do when I saw him was just smile, maybe even give him a hug, tell him thank you for being my friend. But, hey, men don’t do shit like that. So here’s a punch in the arm instead and a too cool ‘Seeya later’ mumble. Bunch of goddamn hypocrites, all of us. Hell, I’m as guilty as the rest of you—some might say more so—but I never had the potential you guys did. I couldn’t play sports; I wasn’t tough or good-looking or highly intelligent or talented. All I could do was talk. Always been a decent talker; that’s why sales worked out for me for so long. It was a safe place to hide for a while…but the truth always catches up to us, fellas. None of us can hold out forever. Eventually truth finds all of us and forces us into the light, whether we want to be there or not. Reality’s a bitch, ain’t it? Scary shit, man.

  “Almost as scary as being ignored. Not that you guys would know anything about that, you’ve all spent your lives scratching and clawing at the edge of the cliffs you’re hanging off of to make certain of that. That’s what the rebel routine with you was all about, Alan, and it was even one of the reasons why you stepped in and tried to defend me from the Berringer twins that day. Even taking a beating was somehow preferable to being ignored. But, Christ, I’d have given my balls to be ignored just once. To be left the fuck alone by bullies and kids giving me a hard time and girls laughing at me for this or that. Not you guys, though. Our lives may be complete dog shit, but please God, just don’t let us be ignored. Anything but that.

  “Rick, that’s why you still dress like a high school kid and go to the gym and try to act like you’re eighteen instead of thirty-eight. Donald, it’s why you drink yourself into oblivion, and Alan, it’s why you stay with Toni and endure. Without all of the window dressing you’d all just fade away, and that’s what terrifies you. I know, because I did it. I faded; I took the fall just to see what was down in that pit, and guess what, fellas? There is something down there in the dark.

  “You know what else I realized? The dark’s not so bad. As a matter of fact, I like it.” His breathing rate became a bit heavier. “It’s where I belong, it’s safer here for me.”

  Donald pulled his cigarettes from his shirt pocket and stabbed one between his lips without lighting it. “What the hell is he babbling about?”

  I shrugged and stared at the tape deck, waiting for Bernard to continue.

  “But every road comes to an end,” he said, “and mine’s almost there. I tried, man, I really fucking did, but the shit was already decided—preordained, you know what I mean? Think real hard—try to remember, and you will.”

  Rick turned from the window, faced us, his mouth set firmly shut, jaw working as he ground his teeth.

  “The point is,” Bernard went on, “I’m not the harmless little loser-boy you thought I was. Outside of our group I never had a social life really. Girls never paid any attention to me, and when they did it was to laugh at me or give me one of those looks to let me know there was no chance in hell they’d ever have anything to do with me. The friendships and bonds I had with you guys only went so far…but when you went off and did your own thing, well, so did I. I stopped running from the rage, man. I faced it, grabbed it; used it.

  “Quick confession…I was never in the Marines, but I did take off not long after graduation, I mean, I had to do something, right? You all had shit going on and I had nothing—no life, no plans, no girlfriend-soon-to-be-wife, not even a jail cell to sit in and pass the time.”

  “Sonofabitch,” Rick muttered.

  “My mother’s lifestyle had started to catch up to her and her health wasn’t the best. All that booze was starting to rot through her system, but she was still relatively young and I knew that I’d probably spend years caring for her, so I started to set things up a few months before graduation. I decided on the Marines because I knew it would blow everybody’s mind. Who’d ever think scrawny little Bernard with the coke-bottle glasses could be a Marine? I told everyone that’s where I was headed, but what I really did was save almost every dime I earned at work after school. I remember the last night I spent
in Potter’s Cove. It was a while after graduation, and Rick, you were already serving your sentence, had been for a few months, but Donny and Alan, you guys took me out to dinner at Brannigan’s, remember? We had steaks and potatoes and beer and…Christ, we laughed our asses off that night. For a couple hours life was almost fucking bearable. It was quite a sendoff, only the next morning when you guys drove me to the bus station, I wasn’t headed for boot camp.”

  I saw Donald shake his head, draw on the still unlit cigarette and run his hands through his hair. “This is madness.”

  “It was a new beginning, though. I went away to begin what I was finally able to admit was my destiny.” Bernard was quiet for a time, but the tape kept rolling. “See, we all have the rage, fellas, but so few of us ever figure out what to do with it, how to love it and nurture it—like a loyal pet. I went to New York City, got a room and lived there until my money ran out. Less than a year later I was back in Potter’s Cove telling you how I’d fallen off a training platform and wrecked my knee. Well I did hurt my knee but it wasn’t from any training platform. I fell chasing somebody, if you want the truth. People run really fast when they’re afraid. When they’re terrified.

  “New York was incredible. I had no idea how perfect a setting it was for me to begin my journey, but within a few days it was so obvious. A human zoo, that’s how I saw it, with me as the warden. See, here’s what I figured out down in the dark, fellas…the power I’d lacked my whole life was right there in front of me all along. When you step back and separate yourself from the herd it changes everything. That’s when I figured out I could do whatever I wanted. And that’s when I changed the world around me from a zoo to a slaughterhouse.”

  I felt my heart sink and I looked quickly to Rick, who was staring back at me with an I-told-you-so scowl.

  “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” I asked.