MICHAEL SAAD - SPLITS IN THE SKIN

Michael Saad is a full time teacher who, when not lesson planning or marking, tries to squeeze in fictional writing as a past-time to keep him from hounding government officials on education, health care, the economy, and the environment.   He is happily married to his wife Jodi, and together they have two wonderful children.  They reside in Alberta, Canada where Mike can escape to the mountainous Provincial Parks for seclusion from his semi-frequent disillusionment of provincial, federal, and international politics.  Once there, Mike finds extreme delight in his regular discourse with the various ghosts and goblins he encounters in the vast forests.
Mike’s other previously published works have appeared in Orange Magazine, Open Minds Quarterly, B.C. Historical News, Halfway Down the Stairs, Nil Desperandum, Heater Magazine, Fiction-on-the-Web, Under the Bed, SQ Mag, The Cross & the Cosmos, Youth Imagination Magazine, Non-Local Science Fiction Magazine and The Laurier Institute for Strategic and Military Studies.  His first novel – All the Devils Are Here – has been released by Tumbleweed Books to good reviews, and his latest novella, entitled Let There Be Night, has just been released by Dark Passages Publishing out of New York.
Author website: https://msaadwriter.wordpress.com/2015/11/21/welcome-to-michael-saads-author-page/
Pinterest author site : https://www.pinterest.ca/mikes0487/published-writing-by-michael-saad/
   

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Splits in the Skin
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​SEPTEMBER, 1997
 
      So this is what burning in Hell feels like, Devin Keller thought, as he sat bored-stupid in Grade 11 English class.  He was pulling at a hangnail on his thumb, just to feel the stinging pain so he could remember that he hadn’t died and gone to a purgatory with poetry terms as flames and his crotchety teacher as the Devil himself.
      “This class is so lame,” he grumbled to Cindy, the hot blond girl sitting behind him.   Devon was what many kids in school called a grease monkey.  He didn't care much about his appearance.  He had straight, un-styled hair that sat on his head like a mushroom cap and a pale complexion speckled with bits of acne on his chin.  He wore a loose-fitting, green camouflage coat that contrasted with the ratty pair of faded blue jeans he had on.  Cindy, on the other hand, was pretty – her make-up, wavy hair, and nose stud gave her the appearance of a young woman in her early 20s.      
      The teacher, Mr. Monts, droned on about figurative language and Devon wanted no more of it.  Thankfully, the old man shut up and assigned some mother-long poem for the kids to read.   
“How long didja stay at the River party this weekend?”  Devon asked. “Were you there when they started passing around the weed?” 
            “Yeah,” Cindy said, keeping her voice down. 
            “Frick, those guys were crazy-cool,” Devon said.  “They brought in tokes the size of cucumbers.”
            “That was gross,” Cindy said
            “That was awesome!” Devon said, a little too loudly.  “The buzz on those things hit you like a bullwhip.”
            “Mr. Keiler!” Monts called out.  “While YOU may be proud of your weekend exploits, the rest of us don’t need to hear them."
            “Oh come on,” Devon rolled his eyes.  “As if you never smoked anything before.”
            “I beg your pardon?”  Monts shot back.  The rest of the class froze. 
            “I said it’s not like you never smoked pot when you were a teenager.” 
            “As a matter of fact I didn’t.  I had better things to do than fry my brain cells.”
            “Whatever, pot doesn’t fry brain cells, that’s a myth.”  
            “And I suppose you’re the definitive expert on that, hey Devon?”
            “Dude, I heard of people out there – smart, successful people - who smoke weed.  They got good paying jobs, nice houses, cars, everything.  They use marijuana to deal with stress and stuff, and to just have a good time.”
            “You keep telling yourself that, kid.  You’ll be like every other pothead that’s left this school – unemployed, unmarried, destitute - a real winner,  just like you think your buddies are.”
            “Whatever man.  If I wanna smoke dope that ain’t anybody’s business, especially yours.”    
            “I agree with you 100%.”  Monts replied.  “So keep it to yourself and don’t beleaguer the rest of
us with your stories.  I don’t want to hear them in my classroom.”
            “Well, your classroom sucks!” Devon shot back.  He saw Cindy slump in her seat.  Devon knew the response he was going to get from Monts, and closed his binder. 
            “Kid, if all you want to do is smoke dope, then go ahead and smoke dope!  There’s the door! 
Get out of here and make this class better for the rest of us!” 
            “Fine!”  Devon kicked his desk as he stood up, “I don’t need this frickin’ class any way.”  He
stormed out of the room, and slammed the door before the teacher could reply. 
 
***
 
            “You’re suspended already?!”  His mother shouted the second he walked into their trailer.  “You haven’t been to school a week yet!”
            “Monts was being a prick!”  Devon said, brushing past her and heading down the
hallway to his room.  “He was judging me.”
            “Don’t you brush me off, mister,” she followed him.  She grabbed at the sleeve of his coat, forcing him to turn around.  “I want to know everything that went on in that classroom today.” 
Deborah MacLeod-Keiler wasn't physically overbearing.  She was a skinny lady with pasty white skin, unkempt brown hair tied in a ponytail, oval-rimmed glasses, and a feisty spirit that made up for all of it.  She dressed frumpily, with plain-colored clothes that often didn’t match.  She was a hard worker who put all her effort into her job, and not so much in her appearance.  But she never held back when she had ammo to use against her son. 
            Devon threw his hands in the air.  “I was just talking about the party this weekend and Monts spazzed on my head.  Told me I was a pothead and would wind up being a loser with no job.” 
            “Uh-huh.  And what were you talking about in regards to the party?”
            “Nothing,” Devon said.  “I was only talkin’ about how we were having fun.” 
            “Devon William Keiler, don’t you lie to me.  Your vice-principal phoned me at work and told me your were talking about smoking, and I quote, ‘ reefers the size of cucumbers’ at that party when you were supposed to be doing your school work!” 
            “So what if I was talkin’ about that?  I’m seventeen, I can do what I want.”  He turned away, shaking his head in disgust. 
“And Heaven Forbid that Mr. Monts asked you to stop talking about smoking pot in his class,” his mother pressed, “and you gave him lip!  The same lip you’re giving me now!”  She snatched his arm a second time, the feel of her dry, chapped hands felt like sandpaper against his skin.
“God, don’t touch me those gross hands!” 
“I’m sorry,” his mother let him go.  The skin on her knuckles was so raw it had split in places, leaving tiny red cuts between them.   “They’re dry from work.  I need lotion on them.”   
“You got sores all over them.  They look like witch claws, for frick sakes.”
“You don’t have to be nasty about it."
“And I don’t have to put up with your nagging, either!” 
“Oh my son, that’s where you’re wrong," his mother said.  "If you wanna live under my roof, yes you do have to put up with my nagging.  This nagging is called parenting, and I am doing my job.”
            “Well, to hell with you and your stupid job!”  Devon said, pulling away from her.  “I’ll go find
some place else ta live!”
            “Oh will you now? And who will you live with Devon, your friends with the cucumber-sized reefers?” 
            “Maybe I frickin’ will!” Devon shouted, slamming his bedroom door.  He pulled out his duffel bag and started packing. 
 
***
 
ONE WEEK LATER
            “Holy Cripes, Devon,” his buddy Pudge Boake said, “what the hell are those?” 
            “Joker joints, kiddies,” the mustached man answered for them.   He was a spectacle at the party – he wore red shorts, no shirt, and had one, messed-up afro sitting on his head.  He staggered up to the two boys, holding an open towel with three large marijuana joints on it.  They looked like paper missiles.   “These ain’t for the queasy.”
            “Holy crap, man,” Devon said.  “I heard those are powerful.” 
            “The buzz on these’ll send you to Holy Mother Russia and back,” the mustached man hollered, loud enough for everyone at the party to hear. “These little saplings are going to meet Ra-Ra-Rasputin himself.”
            Devon looked at Pudge, who shrugged.  Neither boy knew what the guy was talking about, but they each took a joint.  They were the youngest people at this party – Pudge’s older cousin brought them to this farm, three kilometers out of town.  Sitting on the land was a white, older-looking house with a double garage, a barn, a Quonset, two sheds, and several animal pens.   This was the home of “Crazy Harvey,” a man Devon or Pudge had never met, but had heard about.  He was a legend among the local drug scene, and to be at one of Crazy Harvey’s parties meant that you had been given a ticket equivalent to the Oscars’ biggest bash, at least in Devon and Pudge’s minds.
            “Come on saplings,” the mustached man said, “take a drag!” 
            The rest of the crowd began goading the boys.  Most of the people were wasted already, sitting in lawn chairs or torn-out car seats, smoking, drinking, and laughing around a fire pit behind the garage.  
            “Holy crap, I never done anything this big before,” Pudge said 
“Quit bellyachin' about it – he gave them to us."  Devon said.  “We gotta do this.”
            “Smart boy,” the mustached man said.  “Now smoke those things before we throw yer asses out on the road.” 
            Pudge put the joint in his mouth and drew in a heavy breath.  His eyes shot open and he burst into a coughing fit.    
“Ah, ya little worm,” the mustached man said.  “This is a reefer, not yer Mama’s titty.  Come on Einstein, let’s see you.”
            Devon responded, inhaling lightly.  A soft buzz tickled his brain.  Everyone watching laughed.
            “Atta boy,” the mustached man replied.  “You’ve entered a brave new world.”  He put his arm
around Devon and walked him to the pit.  A stranger gave him a high five and unfolded a lawn chair for him.     
            “Any boy who can handle one of Ralpho’s jokers deserves a place by the fire.” 
            Devon reveled in the limelight.  He wasn’t sure where Pudge went, but it didn’t matter.
            Another man walked into the firepit area, doing a bad imitation salsa dance.  He immediately
drew all of the attention away from Devon    He handed out joints to everyone, much to the merriment of the party-goers.
            “Okay, sapling,” the mustached man, who Devon now knew to be Ralpho, said, “now it’s time to watch a master at work.”
            “Hey Hoss!”  Ralpho called out.  “Show this pup how it’s done.” 
             The man continued his wobbly salsa over to Devon.  The man was bulky, with a tan face and dirty-blond mullet.  He wore a loose hunting jacket, faded jeans, and a dirty ball cap that indicated to Devon who he was.   
            The man took Devon’s reefer out of his hands, held it to his lips, and took one of the deepest breaths of smoke Devon had ever seen.  The man’s face at one point went beat red, but he exhaled in a calm, billow of smoke.         
“I’m tellin’ ya,” Ralpho said, “that guy can smoke the entire jungle in Peru and still
prance around like a stallion.” 
            Everyone cheered as the man handed the toke back to Devon, and continued his goofy dance around the fire. 
            Nevertheless, even before that display, Devon knew he was in the presence of a legend.  The man’s ball cap had read “Harvey Farming.” 
            It was Crazy Harvey himself. 
 
***
 
            It was the wildest party Devon had ever been to in his life.
            He woke up at seven in the morning, still buzzed but alert.  He, like so many others, passed out around the fire pit.  Dusty smoke were all that was left of the inferno they had going at midnight.
            People were half naked, spooning on the ground, and slumping in lawn chairs.   There was no sign of Pudge or his cousin anywhere. 
            "Frick,” Devon muttered, standing up.  He smelled like campfire smoke.  Pudge and his cousin had both gotten drunk last night, and Devon didn’t put it past either of them to have driven home without him. 
            Devon looked around the yard, wondering what to do.  To his amazement, he wasn’t the first one awake. 
Crazy Harvey was walking around the back yard, collecting liquor bottles and picking up joints.  He had two garbage bags with him.  The last Devon had seen him, around two in the morning, Harvey was glassy eyed and stumbling around like he’d stepped off a roller coaster.  
Devon went over to him.  “Can I help you clean up?” 
Harvey looked at him, trying to register who he was.  “You’re the kid who sucked back Ralpho’s
reefer, hey?”   
“I’m Devon.”  He answered sheepishly.  He had lost the reefer at some point.  He wasn’t sure
what happened to it.  He had been too stoned to remember.
            “Take a bag, kid,” Harvey said.  “Clean up the evidence for me okay?  I got a respectable farm to run.”
 
***
 
            Devon worked hard that morning.  He picked up the butts of dozens of joints and cigarettes, helped Crazy Harvey move his fire pit, and even drove some of Harvey’s old pick-ups over the party site.  By noon, he had watched almost everyone wake up and stagger home, except for the odd person who just kept sleeping.
            “Don’t worry about them, kid,” Harvey said as Devon helped him stack lawn chairs in the garage,
“a tornado can run through here and it wouldn’t wake those potheads up.”         
            “Is there anything else I can do for you?”  Devon asked. 
            “We’ll give ’em one more hour’s sleep,”  Harvey said.  “Then you can help me kick their asses outta here.  But you don’t hafta do that.  Don’t you gotta be home or somthin’?” 
            Devon shrugged his shoulders.  He had been living the past week at Pudge’s house.  Pudge lived
with his older brother, who was never home and probably had no idea Devon had been staying there.  The only way Devon managed to keep his mother off of his back was by promising her he would go back to school.  After suffering through the first couple days in that hellhole, he had skipped the past two - so far with no truancy calls to her.
            “I don’t got anywhere to go.”  Devon said.  He wasn’t certain Pudge wanted him to stay
at his brother’s house anymore.    “I don’t mind stayin’ here if you could use the help.”
            “Hey Harvey,” a lady came into the garage.  Devon had seen her the night before, spaced out
on a lawn chair before disappearing just after midnight.  “Are you running slave labor here?   I’ve got
lunch made.  Bring your little whipping boy and we’ll eat on the porch.” 
            “Come on, kid.”  Harvey slapped him on the shoulder.  “My old lady’s got some feed for us.”        
 
***
 
“I’d sooner feed you than those stoners passed out on our lawn,” Harvey’s wife, Josie, told
Devon as he sat down on the back deck with Harvey, Josie and their four year old son Max.
            “Thank-you, Ma’am,” Devon replied. 
“Well, those junkies better be off our lot in half-an-hour or they’re gonna get the hose,” Harvey
said, playing with his son at the table.
They ate a meal of farmer’s sausage, perogies, and creamed corn.  Devon hadn’t eaten so well in
a month. He had fended for himself with his mom working so many night shifts, and the past week with Pudge they had scraped by on toast and cans of alphabet pasta.   
“So Devon, do you need to use the phone?” Josie asked.  “You ain’t got parents that are gonna be
out here looking for you, I hope.”  
“No Ma’am,” Devon answered.  “I don’t live with my mom anymore.  She’s too busy shacking
 up with her new boyfriend to care about me.  My Dad left when I was young, so I don’t bother
with him anymore either.” 
“You go to high school here in town?”  Harvey asked.
“Yeah,” Devon said.  “Grade 11.” 
Their small talk centered on where Devon was currently living, and his plans for the future.  Devon dodged the issue of school.  Much to his surprise, he was more candid about his family life and his relationship with his mother.  He felt comfortable talking to Harvey and Josie about it.
“You poor thing,” Josie responded.  
“Hey, take it from me, kid, parents just don’t get it.”  Harvey said. 
The next words out of Harvey’s mouth made Devon slide off his chair.
“Tell you what, why don’t you come and work for me?”  Harvey said.  “I can teach you a little bit 
about farming.  It’s a late harvest this year.  I can use the extra help.   If your Mom’s okay with it, I can keep you busy here a couple nights a week and some weekends.”
“Aw man,” Devon said.  “That’d be awesome.”
“Okay, it’s a deal,” Harvey winked at him.  “You’re in, kid.”  He reached across the table and
shook Devon’s hand, then motioned for him to stand up. 
            “Now you wanna help me hose down some potheads, and get ’em off my property?” 
 
***  
APRIL – SIX MONTHS LATER
 
“Who-hoo!”  Devon cheered along with the rest of the male party-goers as one of the girls stood up on Harvey’s picnic table and took off her bra, throwing it into the crowd.  The girl, who was in her early 20s, had gotten high on the magic mushrooms that Devon was in charge of passing around. 
She proceeded to take the rest of her clothes off, then leapt off the table onto a crowd of men, who
held her up and carried her around Harvey’s property.
            “Hey, you idiots,” Harvey shouted, watching the spectacle, “make sure nothing happens to her!” 
He nudged Devon on the shoulder.  “Follow those potheads, will ya?  Make sure they don’t do anything
stupid to that girl.  The last thing I need is for cops to come out here because some girl got felt up by a
bunch of druggies.”  Devon followed the men – there were three of them.  Other than the free groping,
they didn’t appear to be out of line.  The girl was giddy, but disorientated, and Devon’s presence kept
the men in check.
            “Take her to the patio deck,” Devon said.  He pulled open one of Josie’s loungers and they set her on it, where the girl curled up and went to sleep.  No one knew where any of her clothes were, so Devon covered her with one of Josie’s tablecloths.
            Six months into his employment for Crazy Harvey , Devon worked like a husky dog, and
felt like he learned more in six months working for the guy than he had during eleven years of school.  In that time he had completed just about every job he could possibly do for Harvey and Josie, from helping with the harvest, cleaning up the yard, working on equipment, and even babysitting young Max, to whom he had taken a real liking.  He was developing a sense of responsibility, bringing home a weekly paycheck and helping his mother with the grocery bill.  He had moved back in with her on the condition that he be allowed to work, while he, in turn, would go to school, which he did sporadically.  His grades were awful, but it kept his mother off his case. 
            The real incentive, of course, had been the parties and the women, weed, and stories that came
with them.  And tonight was no exception.  Even though he was underage, Devon was allowed to attend in order to be an extra set of eyes and ears for Harvey and Josie.  They had hired him to keep tabs on everybody, because Harvey was paranoid about people getting too rowdy or carried away.  He also had to keep an eye out for drunk or stoned drivers, which Harvey wouldn’t allow.
            “I don’t want nothin’ goin’ on that’s gonna bring the cops here,” Harvey had told him.  “The fuzz
don’t care about us smokin’ weed or drinking so long as it stays on my property.  But if people start
drivin’ drunk from my property, or there’s fights or women getting' raped, that’s gonna do me in, and I
got a respectable farm operation to run.”
            “So if anybody asks,” Harvey instructed Devon, “you’re my nephew, you’re eighteen, and you’re
as sober as the Pope on Sunday.”   
            “Got it,” Devon said, though he was doing a lousy job of it tonight.  He had taken two drags from one of Ralpho’s rolls.  At least he knew to stay away from the Bong, which did him in a couple weeks back, and caused him to get home only minutes before his mother did on a Friday night.
            He waited for the men to leave the patio deck.  When they finally did, he heard the back door open.  It was little Max, dressed in his pajamas. 
            “Hey Bud,” Devon said, “you’re supposed to be sleeping.” 
            “Are you stoned or just buzzed?”  The boy asked. 
            “Neither,” Devon lied.  “Go to bed.”
            “Where’s my mom?” 
            When Devon had last seen Josie, she was red-eyed, lying in a lawn chair watching Harvey
inhale a Bong until he had smoke coming out of his ears, another one of his tricks. 
            “She’s busy right now,” Devon replied.  “What do you want?” 
            “I want someone to read me a story,” Max said.  “I can’t sleep.” 
            “I’ll read you one, Bud,”  Devon answered.  In the background, he could hear everyone
chanting ‘Hoss – Hoss – Hoss!’   Harvey was putting on another show. 
           
 
 
***
            Early the next morning Harvey was the first one up, cleaning the yard.  Devon, who had slept on the porch next to the naked girl, jumped up the second he heard Harvey.  The first thing he did was cover up the girl with the tablecloth, which she had kicked off during the night.  
            “Man, I love this job,” Devon mumbled to himself as he watched the girl kick off the cover again.  Her brown hair made him realize he forgot to call his mother – she had wanted him home last night.   
            Ah whatever, Devon dismissed the thought, she knows where I am.  He leapt over the porch railing and waved to get Harvey’s attention.  Harvey had the garage open and was rummaging for garbage bags.
            “What, did you stay over last night?”  Harvey asked.  “I thought you went home.” 
            “I stayed and watched over that girl on your deck,” Devon replied.
“Oh, you mean the naked one?”  Harvey remembered.  “Good job, kid.  I thought Josie covered her up.”
“No, I did,” Devon answered.  Josie had been too spun out to put her own son to bed.  She had
staggered onto the porch at around 2 AM and had asked Devon where Max was. 
“Devon,” she had slurred, “where’s my boy Maxie?”
“I put him to bed,” Devon said.  “I read him a story.  He fell asleep.  Everything’s cool.”
“Good boy,” she muttered, looking like she was going to pass out before she hit the door,
 “Harv and I really gotta quit doing this.  We’re bad parents.”
“No, you’re not,” Devon countered, but she had stumbled into the house, ignoring him.
      “Yeah, Josie was probably too smashed to do anything like that,” Harv said, laughing.  “As for me?  I was just fine.  Maybe that’s a sign I need a stronger high, hey kid?  Weed just don’t cut it for me anymore.  I’ve been smoking that crap since before you were a tyke like Max.”    
            “Maybe Ralpho can get you some B.C. Bud,” Devon said, “or one of those super bongs.”
            “Nah.  Been there, smoked them all.  My body’s just used to it.  Besides, I don’t like dealin’ with the shady types.  I grow my own, or get it from Ralpho, you know that.”     
            “Right,” Devon said.  Harvey had made it clear to Devon from the get-go that he was
 not a drug dealer of any sort.   I have a respectable farm to run, Harvey had reminded him.     
            Devon really had nothing more to say to Harvey.  What exactly Harvey would do, Devon had no
 idea, but the man was full of surprises. 
            “Tell you what, kid,” Harvey threw him a garbage bag.  “Help me clean up this morning and I’ll
pay you for a day-and-a-half.”    
            “Sure,” Devon took the bag. 
            “Devon Wilson Keiler, what the hell is going on here?”  An angry, shocked voice came from behind him. 
            He turned around to see his mother standing in the open garage doorway, a look of utter disgust on her face.  She had come from the front yard, and would have seen the passed out party-goers, half-smoked joints, and empty beer cans lying around the property.   
            “Aw Ma, what are you doing here?”  Devon threw his hands up.
            “Excuse me?”  Her eyes shot daggers at him.  “I’m looking for my son who was supposed to be home at 1:00 last night.  A son who told me he was working as a farmhand.”
            “That’s what I’m doing,” Devon said.  He glanced at Harvey, hoping for some help but instead got a nasty glare back from the man. 
            “Oh, that’s what you’re doing, is it?” his mother shot back.  “That’s why this place reeks of marijuana smoke, instead of animal manure?  That’s why I see more people passed out on this lot than I see farm equipment?  That’s why no one answered the phone here this morning when I woke up and realized my son didn’t come home.” 
            “Well, I’m staying here,” Devon responded.  “I’m getting paid to help clean up.” 
            “Clean-up after this drug fest,” his mother said, fuming.  “I don’t think so.  You’re coming home with me right now.” 
            “No!”  Devon said.  “Harvey’s paying me a day-and-a-half’s wage’s to-”    
            “Absolutely not!”  Deborah cut him off.   She charged past him and pointed her finger at Harvey’s face.
            “And you, buster, if I find out you’ve been giving my son weed I will have the full wrath of this community raining like hellfire on this little drug pit of yours, so help me God I will.”
            “Lady, you don’t even know what the hell yer talkin’ about!”  Harvey swatted her hand away.  “There ain’t nothin’ like that goin’ on here.  It’s all adults comin’ for a little get together.  I didn’t even know your kid was here.”
            Devon supposed that wasn’t a lie, but it was clear whose side Harvey was on – his own.  Devon had never seen Harvey yell before and the whole situation threw him off guard. 
            “Ma, quit accusing Harvey!”  Devon stepped in.  “What are you doing?”
            “I’m protecting my son,” she answered.  “From scum like him!” 
            “Lady, take you and yer kid off of my damn property and don’t come back!”   His face went red and spittle flew from his mouth as he spoke.  He picked up a crowbar. 
            “Harvey, I can stay and help you if you want,” Devon said, pleading.  “Don’t worry about her.”
            “Get out!”  Harvey shouted, making it clear he might just smack Devon with the crowbar if he didn’t back off.  “Get the hell off of my property.  You can’t prove nothing!”
            “Come on, Devon, we’re going,” Deborah grabbed her son’s arm.  She threw one more threat at Harvey.  “If you speak to my son again, I will report you, and everything I saw here, to the police, and to every damn person who buys an ounce of your crop.   You leave us alone.”
            “Go to hell, you stupid broad!” Harvey slammed the crowbar onto an old irrigation pivot.  He hit it so hard that the table it was sitting on crumpled like tinfoil, sending everything crashing to the floor.  Harvey didn’t even seem to notice or care what he had just done -  he wasn’t going to be intimidated. 
            “You God-damn psycho, I don’t want you anywhere near my son again.” 
            Devon felt like a helpless duckling as his mother led him to her car.  He wanted to reason with Harvey, but it was clear that Harvey wasn't going to listen. 
            “Get outta here, you bloody cow!”  Harvey shouted as the car pulled away.  Devon felt like his chest split open.  He wanted to leap out of the car and run back to Harvey’s to apologize, but he didn’t.  All he could do was sit in there, watching his life roll away like the dust of the gravel road. 
 
 
 
ONE WEEK LATER
            “Get off my friggin’ case!”  Devon kicked the coffee table, then stormed out of his mother’s living room and into the kitchen. “I hate school, I hate family functions, and I hate living here!” 
            “Well, what a rough lot you have in life, son,” Debbie responded.   “You have a mother and a family that cares about you, who would rather have you over for a family supper instead of letting you go smoke dope at some junk farm.  Woe is you.” 
            “You ruined my life,” Devon said, marching to his room.  “I hope you’re happy.”
            “Yes, Devon,” his mother answered.   “That is every mother’s goal in life.  Ruin the life of her first born.  I’m so happy you think that’s what I set out to do.” 
            “You’re a bloody witch!” Devon hollered.  For the past week he hadn’t been allowed to go out to Harvey’s property.  He had been forced to attend school and wasn’t allowed out of the house.  He was positive Harvey hated him.  He walked into his room and slammed the door. 
            “All I am asking you to do is to spend an evening with your grandparents.”  Debbie spoke through the closed door.   “Why do you have to treat it like I’m sending you to prison?”
            “I already am in prison!”  He pulled out a duffel back and started packing, then stopped, realizing there was no where he could go. 
            He threw the bag against the wall. 
            His mother slowly opened the door.  She rolled her eyes as she peered into his room.
            “I thought I told you I didn’t like that poster up on your wall.” 
            Devon looked over his shoulder.  He really didn’t need to look because he knew full well what poster she was referring to. 
            “You might have.”  He shrugged.  “I like it.” 
            Debbie put up her hand, wanting to respond, but didn’t.  “Just be ready for six o’ clock, okay?”  He could see the struggle on his mother’s face, and he reveled in it.
            “I’m busy tonight, I’ve got homework.”  Was his only reply before she shut the door. 
            He turned and smirked at his poster.  It was of the American flag, only instead of 50 stars it was 50 marijuana leafs, and the 13 stripes were replaced by 13 marijuana joints.   Harvey had the same poster in his garage, and had given Devon his extra one.  In actual fact, his mother had been barking at him for days to take it down.  
            There ain’t no friggin’ way that’s comin’ down, he smirked with resolve, and pride.         
 
***
 
            It took three weeks before Devon had a chance to get to back to Harvey’s place, and he pounced on it. 
            “You have my cell number if you need anything.”  His mother repeated.  She had to attend a training workshop for her new job.   It required her to travel out of town and stay overnight, which she loathed to do because it meant leaving Devon alone. 
“Yeah, I know Ma, I’ll be fine.”  He answered.  
“I want you to promise me you won’t be going to any parties, or do anything stupid.”  
“Yeah, I won’t, God! Your man’s waiting for you in the car!”  
She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples.  Chris, her newest fling, was also attending the workshop and had offered to drive.
“He’s not as important to me as you-”
“I don’t care, all right?  Just go!”
“Okay, okay,” she said, her voice wavering.  “I’m going.  Just be good, okay?”
“This is why we don’t talk,” Devon said. 
“I guess so,” she said.  Tears welled up in her eyes as she headed out the door.  Devon took satisfaction in finally piercing her armor, not an easy thing to do.   
“I love you,” she replied feebly as she opened the front door.
“Whatever,” Devon answered. 
He waited ten minutes after she had left, then was immediately on his bike, heading out on the secondary highway toward Harvey’s house.  It took him just under an hour to pedal there.  When he arrived, there was no one on the lot.  It was still midday, but it looked like no one was in the house.  The front and back doors were locked and the curtains drawn.  Devon hoped the family hadn’t gone somewhere. 
The lot looked more unkempt than usual.  Seeding equipment, tractor parts, and loose tools were strewn around the yard.   Devon hoped this was a sign that Harvey still needed some help. 
He leaned his bike against the patio and looked at the garage.  The main doors were shut but the side doorway was slightly open.   To his relief, Devon could hear Harvey inside. 
“Harvey?” Devon rapped on the door.   “It’s me, Devon.”
“Who the hell’s there?”  An angry voice shot out of the building.  Devon jumped.
Harvey flung the door open. 
“What the hell do you want?”  He barked.  Devon could tell something wasn’t right.  Harvey’s words were slurred, his face flushed red, and his eyes were wide and pink.
“Harvey, it’s me, Devon.  I came to say I’m sorry, for what happened a couple weeks back.” 
“Devy, oh Devy,”  Harvey lunged at him and gave him a hug.  “Hey, I missed you kid, you were a good worker.”  It was clear the guy was spaced out, unusual for a man who could smoke just about anything and keep on walking. 
He gave Devon another hug, then stumbled into the garage. 
“Come on in, buddy.” 
Devon walked into the garage and noticed the work table was covered with glass tubules, jars, and colored bongs.  There were several medications on the counter, a bottle of bleach, and packets of sugar candies. 
“The old lady and the kid are gone to see her parents for the week,” Harvey explained.  “Give me a little time to make a super high.  I got some high quality crank here.”
“Crank?”  Devon asked. 
“Crank, Quick, Johnny Jib,”  Harvey laughed at the confusion on Devon’s face.  “Speed?”
“Oh, speed.  Okay.” 
“Say, that stupid old lady of yours ain’t around, is she?”
“No - God no, Harv!” Devon said, “No, that’s why I’m here.  She’s a crazy old bag.  I want nothing to do with her.” 
“She;s a friggin’ ho, isn’t she?”  Harvey said. 
“Yeah, man.  I’m sorry.  I want to come back, I wanna work for you again.” 
Harvey laughed, though there didn’t seem to be anything to laugh about. 
“Just so long as that dumb broad don’t bring the cops out here, hey kid?  That’s the last frickin’ thing I need.” 
“She doesn’t have to know anything.  I can work for you on weekends, a couple hours after school or somethin’  Whatever you need help with.” 
“Whatever, hey?”  Harvey chuckled. 
“Whatever you want.” 
“Tell you what kid, you can help me snort this crank.  I’m making strawberry flavors. The stuff’s too raw to choke down on its own, plus the ladies like the sugar candies, you know?  I'll only give you a little bit - same amount as I would the ladies cuz this crap’ll send you to Never Never Land in a hurry.”   He handed Devon a pebble of pink rock.  It looked like a cheap piece of jewelry a kid would get in a toy machine. 
“What do I do?”  Devon asked. 
“You eat it, or crush it up and snort it, smoke it, you can even shove it up yer arse if you want to.” 
“I’ll just taste it.” Devon put the piece in mouth and sucked on it, then crunched it with his teeth.  The strawberry sweetness lasted only for a moment.   It was followed by a strong bitter taste which made Devon’s tongue curl.  He refused to spit it out, and forced himself to swallow.     
“I don’t feel anything,” Devon replied. 
“Yeah, you may not right away,” Harvey said.  “It’s better if you smoke it.”
Devon watched him inhale from one of the glass pipes.  It was a short drag.  He blew out a burst of smoke. 
“Wanna try, kid?  Just take a little bit in.” 
Devon took a small whiff from the pipe.  Within seconds he felt a rush of tingles dance down his neck, back, and arms. 
“Whoa crap,” he giggled.  “Wow.  What is that, man?”
“It’s my crank, kid,”  Harvey said, giving him a pat on the shoulder.  “Old Harvey’s gonna take care of you.”            


***

 MAY - ONE WEEK LATER
 
“Devon!  Devon!”  His mother rapped on his bedroom door.  “You’ve got three seconds and then I’m coming in.”  Her voice had that panicky edge that annoyed the hell out of him. 
“All right, all right,” he slumped out of bed.  Agitation writhed inside of him.  He was still in a cold sweat, and wiped his brow with the edge of his bedspread.  He got up and opened his door.
“Omigod, you look terrible,” was her first reply.  “What were you doing last night?” 
“Nothing,” Devon said.  “I was over at Pudge’s cousins’.  We played video games.” 
“Did you have supper there?”
“Yeah,” he replied.  “We ate after school and I just stayed there the rest of the night.”
She tried to pry more information from him – how late he stayed out, what games he played.  He had an answer for every one of her questions.  Of course, they were all lies.  She didn’t know Pudge’s cousin, so he knew she would have difficulty checking up on his story. 
The truth was that he had gone to Harvey’s after school and smoked crank in his garage.  He couldn’t remember how long he had been there, didn’t remember if he even ate supper at all.  At one point he recalled Harvey cutting him off and making him go home.   Harvey made arrangements for Ralpho to drive him home, and Devon vaguely remembered riding in Ralpho’s truck.   Did Ralpho bring Devon into the house, and put him in bed as well?  Devon couldn’t remember.  He knew enough to get his clothes in the wash before his mother came home.
“Well, I’m glad you had fun,” his mother said.  “I was worried you were dead in there.”
 “What’s that supposed to mean?” Devon said with a scowl.
“Look at the time,” she said, shrugging.  “One-thirty in the afternoon.”
Oh crap, Devon thought but didn’t dare say.  His curtains were drawn and alarm clock covered.  He had assumed it was still morning. 
“I thought I’d better get you up.  You had two phone calls today.” 
“From who?”
“Some girl named Josie.  The first time she phoned I said you were sleeping.  The second time was two minutes ago.  I said you’d call her back.” 
      He butted past his mother and raced to the cordless phone.  Why would Josie be phoning?
      The call display read “J. Cross.”   Josie had called him on her cell.  Thankfully, Josie’s cell was listed under her maiden name. 
            “So who’s Josie?”  His mother asked playfully. 
            “Never mind,” Devon said.  He started scratching the side of his face. 
            “Devon, what are you doing?  You’re going to scratch your face off!  Do you have a rash or someth-”
            “WILL YOU JUST GO AWAY, PLEASE?”  Devon yelled, holding his hand to her face in a ‘back-off’ gesture.
            “Fine.”  His mother raised her hands in a defensive posture.  “I’m backing off.”  She walked down the hallway to her room.
            Devon dialed the number.  Josie answered immediately.
            “Devon,” her voice was worried.  “What’s been going on in that garage?  Harvey hasn’t left it since last night. He’s been in there all week.  The yard’s a mess and he’s supposed to start seeding.  I go to the garage and he just sends me away.  This isn’t like him.”
            “I don’t know.”  Devon lied, not knowing what to say.  “I know he’s been working on the pivot.”  His voice dropped to a low whisper.  “I’ll come out there and talk to him.”
            “Would you please?”  Josie pleaded.  “He won’t talk to me.  I think he’s been using, and way too much at that.  He won’t tell me what he’s been smoking, but it’s more than just weed, isn’t it?” 
            “I’ll talk to him,” Devon said.  “I’ll come out right away.” 
 
*** 
 
            With sweat draining down the side of his face, Devon rode his bike down secondary highway 13 to Harvey’s farm.  He pedaled hard and fast.   He didn’t take any water, and his throat was dry with thirst.  He knew what Harvey was doing, and needed to get to him, now. 
            “Where are you going?”  His mother asked him as he headed out the door.
            “Out,” was all Devon replied. 
            “Out where?”
            “Out on my bike!” 
            He had ridden along this highway dozens of times in the past eight months.  He should have been getting better, but the sun drained him today.  He was getting a headache. 
            The roar of vehicles flying by him at a hundred kilometers made him wince.  For the final stretch of the way, he started grinding his teeth. 
            When he arrived at the farm, he headed straight to the garage.  Josie or Max were nowhere to be seen, but they were likely in the house.  Devon didn’t even bother to look.  He knew exactly where Harvey would be, and he needed to get to him.
            Both doors to the garage were closed.  Devon rapped on the open window – the stench of cat piss leached through the screen. 
To hell with that, Devon chided, then went to the side door and started kicking it. 
“Harvey,” he shouted.  “Let me in, please.  Come on, buddy, I know what you’re doing in there.”
“Who is it?!”  An irritated voice could be heard through the door.  Harvey opened it.  “What the hell do you want?!”
“It’s me, Devo,” Devon replied.  “Harvey, hey, listen, Josie called my house.”
“Kid,” Harvey smiled.  The man looked rumpled.  His had no hat on, his hair was greasy and matted.  His eyes were blood red and he smelt like he hadn’t showered in days.  He had on the exact same clothes he had on yesterday – that much Devon remembered. 
“What the hell are you doing here?”  Harvey asked. 
“Please Harv, let me in,” Devon said, wiping the sweat from under his nose.  “I need a hit.”    
 
***
 
TWO HOURS LATER
 
            “So you bike all the way here cuz Josie called yer house,” Ralpho said, “and then you just come in and start snorting crank?”  He laughed with that high-pitched squall of his.
            Devon reclined on the lawn-chair inside the garage, letting the buzz roll over his brain and down his spine.  He took a third snort of Harvey’s crank.  Ralpho’s words were like background noise, the nattering of a radio when someone wasn’t listening.  To be perfectly honest, Devon didn’t even know Ralpho was there – Devon hadn’t seen his truck when he rolled up to Harvey’s garage.  Of course, Devon hadn’t paid much attention to anything.  He just needed his fix. 
            “God, Harv,” Ralpho said.  “I think you better cut the kid off.  He’s gone already.” 
            “Frick you , man,” Devon hissed.  “You wanna take my buzz away, you can go to hell.” 
             “Watch it, pup,” Ralpho responded with an angry glare.  “I’ll stuff that straw so far down your nose you’ll havta pull it though your ass to get it out.” 
            “Take it easy, you idiots,” Harvey said.  He sat in his own lawn chair at the center of his garage.  Next to him was a carpenter’s table covered in aluminum foil.  On it were the white crystals and powder he had spent the week making.  “You freakin’ losers are gonna snort me empty.”  He folded up the foil into a ball and set it on his side counter.
            “I’m puttin’ this away,” he returned back to his chair, “until I got time ta make more.”
            Devon simply laughed, watching the lights on the roof of the garage spin in circles. 
            “You’re cuttin’ us all off,” Ralpho said.  “If I didn’t know any better, Hoss, I’d say yer addicted to the stuff.”
            “I ain’t addicted ta nothing.”  Harvey said.  “I can handle this bunny food, are you kiddin’ me?  I’m the big Hoss.  I can handle anything.”
            “I don’t know, man,” Ralpho chided.  “Usually your passin’ the weed around, but this stuff, you’re not so generous with.”
            “Screw you, man!”  Harvey lashed back.  “you want more crank, or weed, or booze, you frickin’ go make it yerself!  I ain’t your damn pharmacy!”
            “You tell the prick, Harv,” Devon said, laughing.  The tingling that resonated through his body made him feel alive, powerful.  He could beat anybody.  He could fly.
            “Hey take it easy, Harv,” Ralpho replied, then turned to Devon.  “And you shut up, will ya?  Or I’m gonna club you in the head.”
            “Crazy Harvey don’t get addicted ta nothing.”  Devon said, un-phased.  “You’re a frickin’ moron, Ralpho.” 
            A sharp knock at the door jarred all three men, and made Devon jump in his chair.  He started laughing, he didn’t know why, but he couldn’t control it.  He just let it come.
            “Who is it?”  Harvey called, the irritation returning to his voice.
            The door jerked open.  Josie stood in the doorway, with a set of keys in the door.  She looked stressed.
            “Aw, what the hell do you want now?”  Harvey shot up.  “I told you not to come in here!” 
            “What the hell are you guys doing?”  Josie’s voice was angry, afraid.   “Jesus, Harvey, you should have started seeding a week ago!” 
            “I TOLD YOU IT’S TOO GODDAMN WET FOR SEEDING!”  He hollered.  “NOW GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE.”        
            “Holy Crap, Harv,” Ralpho grabbed his arm.  “Relax, man.  She’s your wife, for frick sake.”
            “Hey don’ touch Harvey,” Devon said, still snickering.  He wanted to see Harvey get mad. 
            “I told you to shut up, kid.”  Ralpho glared at him.
            “You’re stoned,  Harvey,” Josie teared up.  “You’ve gotta stop smoking whatever it is your making in here.  You’re losing control.” 
            “Don’t you tell me nuthin’”  Harvey thrust a finger at her.  “I can handle it, all right!   Aren’t you supposed to be makin’ the kid supper or somethin?’”
            “She’s right,” Ralpho pulled Harvey’s arm.  “You’re gonna stop man, this stuff is way too strong.   Let’s shut it down-”
            In a flash, Harvey shoved Ralpho backwards into the side table. 
            “Harvey!”   Josie shouted.
            “Holy frick, Harvey, “ Ralpho yelled.  “This stuff’s gotten to you, man!”  Ralpho immediately lunged at the rolled up tinfoil at the center table.  “We’re stopping this now.” 
            “DON’T YOU TOUCH MY SPEED!”  Like a wildcat, Harvey grabbed his crowbar and struck Ralpho over the head with it.  Ralpho collapsed face down, blood trickling from his head. 
            “GODDAMN IT, HARVEY, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!”  Josie screamed.
“Mommy, what’s going on?”  Little Max said, running into the garage.  The sight of Ralpho unconscious and bleeding on the garage floor stopped him in his tracks. 
“Damn it, Josie did you see what you did!”  Harvey screamed, throwing the crowbar down on the ground.  “Now the kid had to see that!” 
“I’m calling the police,” Josie shouted.  “Max, you run into the house right now!”
“You’re not going anywhere!” Harvey lunged at his wife, grabbing her arms.  She immediately started flailing. 
“Harv?”  Devon stopped laughing.  He was dizzy, but was starting to register what was happening. 
“Daddy!”  Little Max wailed. 
“Grab the kid!”  Harvey hollered to Devon.  “Grab Max!  Now!” 
Devon shot out of the chair, and stumbled toward Max.  The little boy was paralyzed with fear, and started crying.  Devon wrapped his arms around the boy awkwardly, which only made him cry more. 
“Get your damn hands off of him, Devon!”  Josie spat, trying to break out of Harvey’s grip.
Devon stumbled as he tried to keep Max in his grip.  He could see Harvey was red in the face, trying to keep his wife contained.  But he could also see the wild look in Harvey’s eye.   A wave of dizziness crept over him.
“You’re not going anywhere!”  Harvey yelled at his wife.  He grabbed a spool of cord from his center table and wrestled Josie to the ground.  He started tying her legs and arms.  She was crying, pleading with him to let her and Max go. 
Harvey kicked the spool towards Devon.     
“Tie the boy up!”  He barked at Devon. 
“Please Devon, no!”  Josie screamed.  “Oh God!” 
“Harv?” Devon responded. 
“DO IT!”  Harvey shouted.  “The goddamn cops have got to them!” 
“Cops?”  Devon asked.  “What cops?  Harv, what are you talking about?”   
“Harvey, you son -of-a-bitch, let me go!”   Josie wailed.
The side door suddenly flew open. 
            “What the hell is going on here!”  Debbie hollered.  “Stop this right now!”
“Mom?”  Devon asked, keeping his grip on a wailing Max.
“Devon Wilson Keiler, what the hell are you doing?!”  
“Mom, I’m stoned,” Devon blurted out, letting go of Max. 
“Get out of here, honey,” Debbie guided the little boy out. 
“Stay away from him!”  Harvey yelled.  He lifted his fist at Debbie. 
“Harv, don’t!  That’s my ma!”  Devon pleaded. 
“You got a lot of nerve buster,” Debbie got right in his face.  “You better get the hell out of here.  I called the cops and they’ll be here in five minutes.”  She shoved him in the chest.    
“YOU STUPID WHORE!”  Harvey screamed.  “You’re the one who brought the damn cops here to take away my farm, aren’t ya?!” 
“Harvey?!”  Josie screamed.  “What the hell is wrong with you?!” 
“The God…damn…cops – I’ve been tryin’ ta keep them away from my farm since I got this place,” Harvey held his hands over his head.  He paused for a moment, seeming to be deep in thought, trying to process the situation that had just befallen him.   His thoughts appeared only to make him more agitated.   “Now the Fuzz are comin’ to take it.  They’re the ones who hit Ralpho, see?”  He pointed to his friend, whose face sat in a pool of blood.  “They cracked his head open.” 
“You’re not making any sense, Harvey,”  Debbie said.  “You’re spun out on whatever it is you’ve been using.  Get the hell out of here.” 
“It was the cops,” Harvey stumbled towards her, pleading.  “Don’t you see, it was the bloody cops that did this.   They’ve been out to get my place since I got here!”   He looked at Devon.  “Tell them, kid, tell them what they’re trying to do.” 
Devon looked at him, realizing the man was completely falling apart. 
“There were no cops here, Harv.”  Devon said, wanting to believe him, wishing that he could.  “There never have been.  You hit Ralpho over the head.” 
“FRICK YOU ALL!”  Harvey pulled a cutting knife off of the side table.  He held it at Devon and his mom with a threatening gesture.  “The cops set me up – they already got to you, Devon, didn’t they, kid?”
“Put it down, Harvey,” Debbie remained calm.  “You’ve done enough damage for tonight.  Just put it down and walk out of the garage.” 
He took a wild swing and hit nothing but air.  The gentle whiz of the blade cutting the air prompted Devon to take a step back. 
“Harvey, I’m letting your wife go.” Debbie said, bending down to untie Josie.  “Then she, Devon, and I are going to leave the garage, and go call an ambulance.  The police are already on their way, and they’ll arrest you if you’re still here.  We’ve got to get your friend some help.” 
“The friggin' fuzz got to Ralpho,” Harvey brandished the knife.  “I’m not letting them get me.  I gotta respectable farm to run. ” 
“You son-of-a-bitch!”  Josie stood up and screamed at him.  “Look at what you did to Ralph.   Look at what you did to your friend!”   She pointed to Ralpho, who started going into spasms on the floor. 
“He’s hurt bad,” Debbie said.  “We have to get to a phone.” 
“The cops will have guns!”  Harvey burst towards them, holding the knife up.  “They’ll fire them too!  Josie, honey, where’s Max?”
“You’re not going anywhere near Max!”  She shoved him away. 
“Harv,” Devon tried grabbing his arm, but Harvey swatted his hand away, and lunged for the  garage door control panel, opening up the main entranceway. 
“The bastards got Ralpho,” Harvey panicked, “they’re not going to get me.  They’re not.  Hey!”  He started swinging his knife wildly.  “Get away.  Don’t touch me, you asshole Pig!.”     
Devon looked at his mother.  Her eyes met his.  She didn’t say anything, but he put his head down. 
“Get away, you pigs!”  Harvey yelled, and started scraping the knife against his arm.  “Get the hell off of me.” 
“Harvey, what the frig are you doing?!”  Josie screamed. 
“Stay away from him,” Debbie held her back.  “He’s hallucinating.  He doesn’t know what he’s doing.  If you go near him, there’s no telling what he’ll do.” 
“Argghhhh!”  He screamed, clawing away at thin air.  He ripped off his jean jacket, and started swatting at the grass, as though someone was trying to attack him.  The drugs had complete control of Harvey now.  All Devon could do was watch. 
“Let go of me, you son-of a-bitch!  I have rights!”  Harvey yelled, and started stabbing downward at his arms, chest, belly.    
“Harvey!”  Devon yelled, but his mother grabbed his arm.
“Stay away from him Devon!” 
“They’re all over me, get off of me you damn bastards,” Harvey screamed.  “I want a lawyer!”  He had stabbed himself in the belly, the abdomen.  His shirt, pants, and skin were torn open.  He collapsed on the ground, fighting the imaginary officers that were trying to arrest him.  “It’s self-defense, Goddamn it.  They attacked me first!” He squealed, feeling the pain of his self-inflicted stab wounds.    
Devon so badly wanted to tackle the man, and pull the knife away from him.  He held his hands over his head, in disbelief and terror.  Harvey was literally stabbing himself, over and over again. 
“Ow.  OW!  Oh God!”  Harvey screamed.  He had torn into the inside of his belly, and a portion of his gut spilled out. 
“Oh God, call an ambulance Devon,” Debbie said.   “And call the cops!”
“I thought you said the cops were already coming?!”  Devon asked. 
“I was bluffing, son.”  She answered him sharply.  “Go.  Call.  Right now!”  
“Harvey, you stupid son-of-a-bitch!”  Josie screamed.  “I hope you cut your Goddamn nards off!”
Devon could no longer look at Harvey, who lay flat down in the grass, holding the left side of his gut, which had spilled onto his lap.  All he kept muttering over and over again was  “It was self-defense.  They can’t charge me for self-defense.  I was just having a little get-together, that’s all.” 
Devon sprinted over to the house and dialed 911.  He wasn’t sure where his buzz had gone.   He suspected it was somewhere by the garage, on the lawn next to Crazy Harvey. 
 
***
 
The night seemed to go on forever.  Devon sat on the grass, watching while Debbie tried tending to Harvey.  All she could do was put a blanket over him.
“Damn Fuzz,” Harvey continued to natter, though his words came in shorter, more shallow breaths, as the blood from his guts seeped through the sheets.  It turned out he cut into his bowel.  When the paramedics finally arrived, they said they had never seen anything like that before.  Harvey seemed oblivious to it all – his eyes were waxy and his voice monotone.  The paramedics couldn’t tell if he was in shock or still high.
“Yeah, it’s a methamphetamine overdose.”  Devon overheard one of the attendants radio into the hospital.  Devon had heard of crystal meth before.  He had no idea that was what Harvey’s “crank” was. 
It was Ralpho who was in even worse shape.  The attendants spotted Harvey first, but Debbie quickly called them into the garage.  She had been trying to administer first aid, but Ralpho kept convulsing.  He had a massive head injury, and a second ambulance had to be called. 
Everything was a blur to Devon.  At some point he remembered the cops showing up, and he had to give a witness statement.  His mother did most of the talking.  Something was said about his testimony staying on record.  
Devon rode home in his mother’s car sometime that morning.  He leaned against the side window of her vehicle.  His breathing was shallow, his skin clammy. 
“I don’t want you telling the police any more than you have to,” Debbie said to him.  “Harvey was the one who hit that Ralph in the head.  Harvey was the only one who was fighting with him.  You were just there, doing drugs, you had nothing to do with hitting or stabbing anyone.  Am I clear?” 
Devon felt a pain in his chest.  Sweat was coming up his brow.  He felt light-headed.  He started grinding his teeth again.  His breaths came quicker. 
“Devon, are you listening to me,”  Debbie asked, agitated.  “Am I clear?” 
“Mom,” Devon wheezed. 
Debbie instantly pulled over to the side of the road.  “Devon, what is it, Sweetie?  What’s the matter?”
“Take me back to Harvey’s please.”  He pleaded.  “I need another hit.” 
     
 
ONE WEEK LATER
 
            “The cops got to you MAN!”  Crazy Harvey’s voice kept propping into his mind.  He was always yelling, always stoned.  It made Devon want another fix, and badly. 
            He woke from yet another uneasy sleep.  He drifted in and out of consciousness, always hallucinating, always waking up dizzy and in a cold sweat.  All he wanted was another taste, even a lick, of Harvey’s crank. 
            “You will have withdrawal systems,” the doctor had told him.  “Methamphetamines are highly addictive drugs.  Thankfully you haven’t had prolonged exposure to it yet, but you will have difficulty fighting off the cravings.  The physical withdrawal will be the worst.”
            The worst?!  Devon thought.  Doc, you have no idea. 
            He squirmed in his bed.  They had him strapped in his bed the first two nights, as his symptoms made him go AWOL, like Harvey at the front of his garage.  Any little thing the nurses did – nag him, hold him down, force him to take his medicine – drove him to aggression.  He didn’t know how long it had been since his mother dropped him off here – she pretty much did it the second he had told her he needed another hit on the way home from Harvey’s house.  He could only imagine her triumph, knowing she was right to keep him away from Harvey.  The thought grated him just as much as the cravings did.
            “Knock, knock,” the annoying nurse with the gravelly voice came into the room.   “Are you awake, Devon?  You have a visitor.” 
            Devon turned away.  He didn’t want to talk to or see anybody. 
            “Devon?”  It was his mother’s voice.  “Devon, sweetie, it’s me?”
            “What the hell do you want?!”  He glared at her. 
            “That’s no way to talk to your mother, sunshine.”  The nurse said.  “It’s your mother.  She’s here because she cares about you.  She saved your life.” 
            “She didn’t save my life,” Devon spat, refusing to look at either of them.  “She’s the reason I’m in this place.  She’s the only friggin’ reason.” 
            “I’m sorry you feel that way, Devon.”  Debroah said.  He could tell his words had gotten to her. “I thought you might want to know that-”
            “Shut up!”  He told her.  “I don’t want to know anything from you.”   He rolled over in his bed, away from her. 
            “I’ll go,” she informed the nurse.  There was pain in her voice.  Devon took solace in that. 
            The room was quiet for a couple of moments.  Devon felt good lashing out at her. 
            “She’s your mother, you know.”  The nurse spoke curtly.   “As far as I can see, she’s the only one on your side.” 
            “She’s never been on my side,” he snapped back, keeping his back towards her.  The dizziness crept over him again.  “Just leave me alone, I want to sleep.” 
            “The room’s all yours, sunshine,”  the nurse replied, shutting the door behind her, leaving Devon to the dark abyss he had become so accustomed to. 
           
FOURTEEN YEARS LATER – SEPTEMBER, 2011
 
            “Dev,” Gabrielle called out to her husband.  “Tell your son to come down for supper, please.  He won’t listen to me.”
            “Oh God,” Devon muttered, as he finished scraping the last board on the side of his deck.  He tossed the scraper into his open toolbox then walked through the back patio doors.  “Benji, get your arse up here, now!  Your mother’s got feed for ya.” 
            “Thanks,” Gaby’s sarcasm was cutting, “real motivational.” 
            “That’s cuz I’m trying to speak his language,” Devon replied, taking off his work gloves and setting them on the shoebox.  “You just nag him all the time.” 
            “You got another email from that Max guy again,” Gabrielle’s tone dropped abruptly.  She finished setting the table.  “It’s about your mother again.  I think you better check it.” 
            “What?  Is she bad again?”  Devon bit his lip.  He wasn’t expecting that. 
            “Just go check it.”  Gaby said.
            Devon went down to the family computer in the den.  He went straight to his email, not wanting to open it. 
            The message was from Max Cross.  Devon felt the air thicken as he clicked on the message. 
            Hey Dev,
Aunt Debbie’s taken a turn for the worse.  The doctors aren’t optimistic.  She’s been asking about you.   Nothing specific, just if we knew where you were, how you were doing.  My mom and I thought you’d want to know. 
            Max 
             Benji came up from the basement.  His steps were loud, angry.  For thirteen years old, the kid could make quite a racket when he was annoyed. 
            “Thank-you for coming after the 20th time you were asked,” Gaby replied.  Their daughter Correy was already sitting at the table.  “Your eight-year old sister’s been here for 15 minutes already, and I only had to ask her once.”
            “Well, give her a friggin’ medal,” Benji snapped at his mother.  “I told you I’m not hungry.”
            “We’re having spaghetti and meat balls tonight,” Gaby ignored him.  “I rolled them myself.  It’s a nice supper - you should give it a try.” 
            “Oooohhh, tomato sauce out of a can.”  Benji sneered as he went to the fridge and grabbed an energy drink.  “ Real gourmet.”
            “You’re not eating that with supper?”  Gaby asked, even though it wasn’t really a question. 
            “Like you’re gonna stop me,” Benji cracked open the can.
            Devon read the email once more.  Max had been emailing and phoning him for the past three months, updating him on his mother’s condition.  She had an aggressive type of bone cancer.  Devon had no clue how to handle it.  He brought Gabrielle and the kids in a couple times to see her - once at home, once at the hospital.  Both times had been incredibly awkward. 
            “Look, we buy you those to drink on special occasions, not during school, not in the morning, and definitely not before supper.” 
            “I’ve drank a whole frickin’ case this past week,” Benji laughed in her face.  “I’ll drink them whenever I want.” 
            Devon calmly shut down the computer and walked up the stairs.  Supper was waiting for him.  A big pot of steaming red spaghetti sauce with meatballs just the way he liked them, carefully rolled with lean ground beef, parmesan cheese, and onion.   He sat down at the head of the table where he always sat, across from his wife and between his two children. 
            “You will not do whatever you want.”  Gaby challenged him.  “When you bring home the piss-poor report cards that you do, and get suspended every second week for mouthing off, you don’t get to do anything you want, buster.”  She took the drink can away from him. 
            Benji shot up and grabbed it back.  “Give it here, you stupid cow.”  The can tipped slightly, and a splash of green drink spilled on the table, and some on the floor. 
            “Now look what you did.  You made me spill it,” he said.  “You can clean it up, I’m not friggin’ touchin’ it-”
            Like a bullwhip Devon snapped out of his chair, and in a blink of an eye, grabbed his son by the collar, lifted him out of his seat, and rammed his back against the side of the refrigerator.
            “Devon!”  Gaby blurted out.
            “Hey,” Benji bumbled, wide eyed – half startled, half frightened.  “What the hell  are you do-”
            “You will NOT speak to your mother that way!”  Devon spoke with cold fury.  His face was mere inches from Benji’s. 
            “You will treat her with respect.  From here on in, no more drinks!  No more trouble at school and NO MORE LIP!  GOT IT?!” 
            “Yeah, dad,” Benji muttered.  Devon could feel his son’s voice waver.  He was frightened.  “Whatever.  What the hell?” 
            “DO-YOU-GOT-IT?!”  Devon yelled
            “Yeah!”  Benji eyes well up.  “Yeah, I got it!  Holy Christ.”
            “Good.”  Devon replied, setting his son down.  Benji slid down the side of the refrigerator onto his rear end.  The energy drink had spilled onto the floor.  Devon calmly walked back to the table.  “Go to your room for ten minutes and cool down.  When you’re ready you can come back to the kitchen and eat your damn supper.  Your mother worked hard on it.”
            “And when you’re finished,” Devon sat down and grabbed a fork, his voice wavering slightly, “you can grab a rag and clean that drink off the floor.”  
                    
***
                       
            Devon arrived at the hospital the next morning.  He had taken the day off – personal time – to make the visit, a two hour drive from his home.  He arranged for Benji and Correy to take the day off school, but he sent them to the mall with their mother.  Gave each of them $50 to spend – Benji didn’t deserve it, but Devon needed to speak to his mother, alone.
            “Hey Ma,” Devon entered her room.  It was dark.  There was a small night light on the side table next to her bed.  On it was a small bouquet of daffodils, her favorites – no doubt from Josie and Max. 
            “Devon,” his mother smiled.  She lay on the bed, her head resting comfortably on her pillow.  She looked like she hadn’t moved in awhile.  Her breakfast plate lay on the rolling table that hovered over her hips, most of the food was uneaten. 
            “Hey,” he said.  He sat down next to her, and looked into her tired eyes.  Her hair was clean, but gray and thinning, from the chemotherapy.   “Gabrielle and the kids will be coming by this afternoon.  I thought I’d come and visit you myself first.” 
            “All right,” she nodded.  He touched her hands.  They looked small now, weathered from years of work, but they were well-lotioned, and felt soft and smooth - the skin no longer dry and split like he remembered growing up. 
            “Mamma,” Devon teared up.  He knew it wouldn’t take long.  One thought from his childhood would opened up the emotion he had been carrying inside him since he first learned about her diagnosis six months ago.  Until then, he hadn’t had to think much about the past.  He went through detox, moved out to live with Pudge, found a job, had his Benji out of wedlock, got married, went back to detox, saved his marriage, had Correy, and then tried to hold down the current job – the current life - he was enjoying.  His mother had never factored into any of those plans.  She was at the wedding, at Benji’s birth, and visited him after Gabrielle sent him to detox the second time, but that was it.  And it was always so awkward. 
            “Devon, don’t,”  His mother said.  She tried to sit up but couldn’t.  She lifted her hand to touch his face.
            “No, Ma, I have to,” he said, fighting for the words.  He wouldn’t allow himself to choke up.   “Ever since that night at Crazy Harvey’s, when you stopped Harvey from whatever the hell he was going to do to Josie…I…I…knew you were right - about my life and about the path I was headed on.  But in my stupid, selfish, teenage pride I just…I couldn’t…let you know that you were right.” 
            “Devon, you don’t have to bring up the past,” Debbie responded.  “Today, tomorrow, that’s all that matters now.” 
            “I know that, Ma,” he swallowed, God he was so ashamed, “but I just hate myself for only bringing this up to you now.  When you’re like this.  You were so heroic that day, you know.  You stood up to Harvey, you took care of Josie, Ralpho…me.  I never told you that before, but I knew it all along.  I was just too pigheaded - too embarrassed - to tell you that.”    
            He looked up at his mother, lying so frail on her hospital bed.  The whole Harvey episode had weighed on her for years afterward, though Devon was too self-centered to have realized it at the time.  Josie immediately moved out and took Max with her.  Debbie set her up at a women’s shelter, then helped her find a place in a local trailer park.  They had become good friends, and Max became a nephew to her.  Ralpho came out the worst – he had suffered a serious brain injury from Harvey’s crowbar, and had been confined to a wheelchair for six months.  He had made what the doctors called a 95% recovery, but to all those who knew him, Ralpho was no longer the same person.  He carried an excessive amount of weight, and walked around town with a nervous tic and a smelly, old, hunting jacket that he never washed.  He had no friends - people in the community simply referred to him as “Ravin’ Ralphie.”   
But it was Harvey whose fate had confirmed that his mother had been right all along, and that he himself had been a dope-smoking idiot.  Harvey had faced several charges following the events of that day.  He needed three surgeries to repair his bowel from the stab wounds he had inflicted upon himself, and was forced to undergo rehab, all of which served to delay his trial.  Debbie had been subpoenaed to testify against him – somehow she had managed to prevent Devon from taking the stand, which meant she became the prosecution’s number one witness to take Harvey down.  And she did.  Harvey was convicted on all counts and was sentenced to ten years in prison.  He was let out four years early.   His farm went into receivership and the buildings were abandoned.  Harvey eventually leased a small section of it, repaired the Quonset and sheds, but soon started harassing Debbie and Josie with threatening phone calls and emails.  He was arrested again, and upon his second release, disappeared among the acreages around his farm.  His naked body was found in an irrigation ditch a couple of weeks later; he died of a meth overdose.  A local farmer had reported spotting Harvey the night of his disappearance, stating that a half-clothed Harvey had approached him in his field, warning him that the police were coming to “stab everybody.” 
“I just want to say thank-you, Momma,” Devon’s voice wavered, but he made sure his words were clear.  “Thank-you for helping me, for saving me.  And I’m so sorry I was…such an ass to you.  I had no right to treat you the way I did, and I’m so sorry.” 
            For once, his mother was at a loss for words.  She started to cry.  And for the first real time in his life, Devon felt good about that.