Sibs

By Nathan Leslie

The thematically intertwined stories in Nathan Leslie’s Sibs, the author’s seventh collection, center around brothers and sisters. Often gritty and vivid, we see siblings bond, scrap, and everything in between. Many of these intense stories revolve around childhood and the stresses that siblings must overcome; others are concerned with brothers and sisters doing their best to make do with often tenuous, dysfunctional situations. Playing chess in a local park, two brothers are confronted by a strange young girl. Two sisters struggle with shopaholic behavior. A brother and sister defy spousal abuse. In 1970s America, two sisters move to a hippie commune and experience the unexpected. Sibs is set in remote corners of California, run-down Western Maryland towns, and in post-Industrial wastelands: this is America barely clinging to its sense of family and purpose. Stories from Sibs were originally published in North American Review, Gargoyle, Prick of the Spindle, StorySouth, JMWW, and Scribble.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Aqueous Books
• Release date: Jul 16, 2014

Nathan Leslie

Born in Minneapolis, Minnesota, and raised in Ellicott City, Maryland, Nathan Leslie has previously published two collections of short fiction, most recently A Cold Glass of Milk (Uccelli Press, 2003).His first collection of stories was Rants and Raves. Aside from being nominated for the 2002 Pushcart Prize, his stories, essays, and poems have been published in over one hundred literary magazines including North American Review, Chattahoochee Review, South Carolina Review, Sou'wester, and Cimarron Review. Leslie has also written book reviews and articles for numerous newspapers such as The Washington Post, The Orange County Weekly, The Kansas City Star, The Orlando Sentinel, Rain Taxi, and many others. He received his MFA from The University of Maryland in 2000 and he currently teaches at Northern Virginia Community College in Sterling, Virginia. He is currently the fiction editor for The Pedestal Magazine.

Book preview

Sibs

Nathan Leslie

Copyright © 2014 by Nathan Leslie

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher.

All rights reserved.

Published by Aqueous Books

P.O. Box 170607

Birmingham, AL 35217

www.aqueousbooks.com

Published in the United States of America

ISBN: 978-0-9892387-5-5

First edition, Aqueous Books printing, April 2014

Proofing: Zach Fishel; Editing: Cynthia Reeser

Book design and layout: Cynthia Reeser

Cover photo by Ryan W. Bradley

Table of Contents

Pool Night

Burlap

The Bed

Shaletown

The Mellow

A Day in the Park

Let Me Go

Attending

The Good Man

Just Cheese

Backsliding

The Worm

Preservation

Green Tea

Joy Pasture

Lists

Olives

Southward Bound

White

The Beauty Mark

The Shady Side of the Street

~

Pool Night

When my brothers Harry and Barry come over in the summer, something strange always seems to happen. I don’t know why, but it’s true. Like the Fourth of July a few years back when the bison bolted right down our neighborhood street. Turns out it escaped from a rancher’s truck out on the bypass ramp. Another time my entire backyard flooded, even though it hadn’t rained in weeks. Harry and Barry came over. Thankfully the flood didn’t take my house with it. My sump pumps held up.

So, last June when Harry suggested that he and Barry come down to drink a few beers and shoot some pool, I was worried. I looked at the calendar and told Harry that we’d have to do it on the 19th instead of the 26th.

I don’t care one way or another, he said. So the 19th it was. Helped me sleep at night knowing it wasn’t the summer proper.

See the thing is, I’m the only one of us who holds a job, who has a steady life. Harry worked for the county junkyard for fifteen years, checking permits and that sort of thing. For the past few years he just skimmed by doing the bare minimum. Job satisfaction was in the single digits. But then he started sleeping in. He wasn’t drinking or anything. Harry just couldn’t wake up before eleven. Mr. McGrady understood for about a week, but after that he just had to let Harry go. He was apologetic, but Harry told me he didn’t mind. Harry said he almost felt sorry for the guy. He had ten grand in the bank, and wanted a break anyways. Said he wanted to retire. A job’s just a job, he said.

Barry’s even worse. As long as I’ve known him he’s never found a full-time gig. In a way he tries harder than Harry, but Barry just gets nervous. He goes in for interviews and doesn’t know what to say. He stammers and stutters and clams up. The one time he interviewed for an assistant manager slot down at the bakery, Barry asked me to come along. I sat out at one of the ratty tables eating a box of peach tarts, drinking coffee. When Barry came out half an hour later he wouldn’t look at me. He stared straight ahead like some kind of automaton.

Hey man, what happened?

I don’t know, he said.

What do you mean you don’t know?

I got to talking and the next thing I knew I was saying how I can’t do anything right, and that I can’t cook for squat, and that I am probably depressed. He shook his head and said he would give me a call if they wanted me. It was a disaster.

I’ve asked HR if they couldn’t find something for either one of them, but George Bunter said unless they have at least an associate’s degree, they’re shit out of luck. Our janitorial staff has always been stocked. No turn-over either. I feel bad since I’m the youngest, but all I can do is ask around and look in the classifieds. I try to help but sometimes I forget and feel guilty. Or I flail. They’ve never asked me for money though, and I never offered. Barry has been living off unemployment for years.

It shouldn’t be a surprise that Harry and Barry live together. Harry was married once for about a year to a woman he met at work, but she turned lesbian and ran off to Alaska with her physical therapist. I doubt if Barry has ever kissed a woman. My wife Cynthia thinks they are both strange and they make her feel grubby. When I tell her my brothers are coming over she usually makes plans with her friends. This time wasn’t any different. Just don’t let them ruin the Orientals, she said. Cynthia can be patronizing at times, but I do love her for other reasons.

So Harry and Barry pulled into my drive about eight thirty. The sky was still stretched out in a beautiful ochre when they rang my doorbell, Harry holding a case of Busch. I opened the door and gawked at the sunset, but they looked oblivious, made a beeline for the pool table.

I can’t wait to get a few games of Cutthroat behind me. Wish we had room to get one of these things in the apartment, Harry said, stepping into a bank shot on the seven.

Harry, the floor would never hold a pool table, I said.

Sure it would. Why not?

Well, there’s beams, but that’s about it. Nothing to hold a ton of slate. You know how they build apartment buildings. It’s just wood and plaster in between.

Then we could get a small wooden one maybe, he said. A light one. One of them kid’s sets. That way we could really kick your ass when we come down to this shit-hole.

I rolled my eyes.

That’s still a pool table, Harry said. Ain’t it?

Yeah, I said, lining up on the eleven. It’s something.

But we have too much furniture, he said. Don’t need it one bit. We should dump some of that stuff.

I could absolutely imagine Harry and Barry taking a band saw to one of their old clammy couches, chucking the tattered segments out the window.

Harry kicked our asses at three games of Cutthroat, four games of Eight Ball, six games of Nine-Ball. Then we decided to give ourselves a break. Fine. I was just relieved that nobody broke an arm or had a seizure. After all, Harry had already swilled half the beer.

We lugged the rest of the case out onto our patio. Cynthia and I had just bought the house a year before. We loved that house more than anything. It wasn’t huge, but it had character and charm, and she kept it clean. Best of all, it was ours. And more than anything else we loved sitting out on the patio on summer nights listening to the crickets in the park behind our yard and watching the stars stab through the light pollution. So I thought Harry and Barry might like it too.

Barry was telling a stupid joke about three bald dwarves when I noticed a bright light in the sky at about eleven o’clock.

Hold on, Barry, I said. Take a look at that.

You aren’t going to let me finish my joke?

Just hold it for a second. What is that?

I don’t know, but it ain’t a star, Harry said, sucking down another beer and tossing the crumpled can onto my lawn. Harry said it looked like a plane.

So who cares? Barry said. Who really gives a shit?

It looks like it’s falling, I said. And it did. The light seemed to be coming closer and closer. Whatever the light was, it was coming toward us fast. At first I thought the light was heading south of us, but the more we watched it the more the light looked as if it was headed right at the roof of my house.

We all popped open a beer.

That thing is coming right for us, I said.

Now, what are the chances of that? Harry said.

Then we watched it in silence for five minutes, and the light was twice as big as it was before.

I think the light is headed our way, Harry said.

Jesus Christ, I said. I think you’re right. I could feel that weird tingly feeling in my stomach, the feeling that told me something bad was about to happen.

So in this situation, the rules go out the window. We couldn’t exactly dial 911 or alert our local congressman or the homeowner’s association. Instead Harry and Barry jumped in Harry’s old pickup, and I got behind the wheel of my Honda, and we took off for a hill about three miles down the road, beeping and waving and yelling at anyone we saw to get out of the area. As we drove, I tried Cynthia on her cell phone, with no luck.

When we got to the hill, the light was at about ten o’clock and screaming down toward the horizon. Then suddenly it seemed to pick up speed, and the skyline burst with fire and light, followed with a thunderous BOOM.

Oh shit! I said. Oh my God!

For at least ten minutes we just stood there watching the fire in the distance. We watched the smoke bulge and cascade above the tree line. It was something. Harry and Barry just stood there shaking their heads like two existential bobble-heads. I tried to phone Cynthia again to no avail, and then the fire department, cussing and hollering. Oh shit! Oh shit! I kept telling myself I hope it didn’t hit my house. I hope it didn’t hit my house. I hope it didn’t hit my house. Everything else was secondary.

Then we drove back. My hands were sweaty, trembling, and I could barely operate the vehicle. I had Harry lead the way. I was cursing myself for allowing Harry and Barry for bringing hell and damnation upon me once more—was it their fault the thing fell from the sky? Well, maybe it was, I thought.

When we drove into my neighborhood I could see the fire truck lights blaring. I could hear the sirens. Smoke fumed into the night: flames leapt from the trees. We drove down Maple toward my house, but the police barricade stopped us. But I was a man possessed. I just wasn’t thinking about my brothers then. Parking behind the barricade I cut back through my neighbors’ yards on foot, climbing fences, running. My heart was on a tear.

When I got to the corner where our house was I could see the fire a hundred yards or so away from my house in the woods, and dozens of fire trucks blasting the flames with hoses. Whatever it was had missed my house. I sat down on the curb. I could clearly see that the windows in my house were shattered. Surely, I thought, there must be some structural and plumbing damage. But who cared? The house was intact, the fire contained.

As I was sitting there I could see a metallic hull through the trees, melting and blackening in the flames. Rods poked up in five different directions. I couldn’t believe it. It was a damn satellite in the woods behind my yard. For half an hour I just sat there watching the thing melt into the woods, watching the flames simmer to smoke.

That night when the firemen and police cleared out, Harry and Barry pulled back into my driveway. Harry just wanted to play more pool. I started wondering if I should ever have them over again. For a while we sat in the living room and my brothers finished off the rest of the case of beer. Then we walked around inspecting the damage. I didn’t see any cracks in the walls or ceilings. The faucets and toilets all seemed to work, but almost all of the windows were shattered. Half-drunk Harry and Barry helped me sweep up the glass. I would have to call the insurance company in the morning and assess. Barry kept saying that I dodged a bullet. I did. And I still blamed them.

When we were done cleaning up, Harry and Barry just left with no big hurrah. They walked down the sidewalk leading up to my house like nothing had happened. My brothers.

I fell asleep. It was still early, only eleven thirty or so. I remember my wife stripping in the dark, and sliding under the covers with me. I could feel her warmth against my chest, and she didn’t say a word about the satellite, or the smoke, or the shattered windows. She fell fast asleep. I thought about how much I needed Cynthia around. Cynthia was never there whenever disaster struck. I wondered if that was a coincidence. I felt the cool pillow under my head, and could smell the acrid smoke lapping through the shattered windows.

~

Burlap

During the day the moon is in the sky. It is a sideways smile through the sunny branches. She looks at me that way.

She takes my hand and we step down the hill. Just us two. It rained this morning. The wet grass licks my feet. Little rough cat tongues. She says she has to show me something. It’s important, she says. It’s almost as important as… Almost as… I look at the moon and then at the sun. I look at the branches between them.

I was there but I wasn’t there. I was there because I could see the water. I could see the sand where we went to watch. The rocks were there. The moon was in the water. Until. And the clouds were behind. I wasn’t there because I couldn’t feel anything. She couldn’t speak to me. It was like she had a mask on. It was her, but it wasn’t her.

The air was warm and the water was fast. When it was like this Mommy said we shouldn’t be anywhere near it. Ten yards back she said one time, but I didn’t know what a yard was. But she wasn’t listening, and Mommy wasn’t there anyways. Her face was on little Caroline. She said Caroline was a job. Caroline was giggling and laughing. Caroline held her long fingers and looked up at her. She looked at the water and laughed at that. This was new. Mommy didn’t laugh. Daddy didn’t. Nobody did except for this one.

I remember Mommy put her hand over Caroline’s mouth once. Caroline’s eyes turned like a fish. Mommy never wanted to hold Caroline to her. She never wanted to touch her. My sister always would. My mother said she had nothing to do in the summer anyway. Caroline was a job. I would help her.

For months Daddy was never at dinner. He would come home late at night. I would hear him in the hallway. I could smell smoke and other things. He would say that he has to blow off steam. I wondered what that meant. His voice sounded different then. He talked loudly and she would shush him like Mrs. Greenwalt does at assemblies. My brother John would ask me what’s happening, and I would tell him to go back to sleep. Then he was back at dinner and it was like nothing was wrong.

During the time he was away she stayed in her room. Mommy would make tea and cup her head over the mug of steam. She would wrap herself in blankets and talk on the phone. My sister would feed Caroline and change her. I would sit next to her downstairs and read the ABC books to Caroline. We would eat oranges and bread and hide in our rooms.

One day after school Mommy wasn’t there either. Her car wasn’t there and she didn’t get back until after daddy did. This was when I could hear screaming and she came to get me to help her with Caroline. Caroline was screaming too, like she was copying.

Later that week my sister and I came home, but a long white car was parked in the driveway. Next to my mother’s. When we came home Caroline was screaming in her crib. The door to my parents’ bedroom was closed. I could hear my mother laughing and breathing funny. And a man laughing. I have never heard so much laughing at home. I looked out the window at the car. Somehow I remembered it. I had seen the car before somewhere. I asked her if she had seen it before. She nodded and held the bottle to Caroline.

Then we heard a noise. The door creaked open. Mommy cussed. Then we heard whispering. Just do it, Mommy said. What’s the worst that can happen? Then they chuckled.

I heard feet on the steps. Fast hard feet. I could smell leather. A tall man walked down to where we sat. His hair was wet and I could see the comb marks through it. He was taller and bigger than my father, and he wore a white wrinkled shirt, and a black jacket even if it was hot. His pants looked tight on his legs. His belt buckle was round and shiny and I could see my face in it.

He walked up to us and winked. He seemed familiar. His eyes looked like other eyes. Cat eyes or bird eyes.

Can I see the little one? he asked.

My sister didn’t look at him. Without saying anything she pulled the blanket back. Caroline had her eyes closed. She licked on the bottle and sighed. The man kneeled down and touched her face with one finger. Down the cheek.

Hi there, sweetie, he said. I watched Caroline’s face where he touched her. It was like a white trail on her cheek. Then he stood up. I could smell Mommy then for a second. On his sleeve. That’s when I knew. He walked out, and started his car, and backed out silently.

That’s when she looked at me that way. She never said anything but I knew. She couldn’t hide it, even when she looked away. Even when she closed her eyes. It was just waiting then. It was just finding out how she would do it.

School was out then and the nights were short. I held Caroline close that day. My sister did too. If she were going down to the river it would have to be late.

I was there but I wasn’t there. I don’t remember my sister waking me up at two. I don’t remember her cradling Caroline so she didn’t cry. I don’t even remember the flashlight down through the woods to the path. But I can see the sack like the kind we used at school on Field Day. She dropped rocks in it. She pulled up any she could find until I couldn’t lift it. I wondered if the sack would break, but I didn’t ask. I could see the points of the rocks pressing against the sack.

I held Caroline and she giggled like she did. The moon in her eyes. The smell of her. Like powder. Like