Orange Crush

By Ashal C. Calder

 

Liam and I saw Ronald Reagan driving a golden Cadillac on the 57 freeway. I just looked over, and there he was. Of course, Rocky didn't believe that it was Ronnie, but that's okay. Lots of things happened that night that people don't believe. Liam claims that he saw the yeti on the Orange Crush. Do I believe him? Sure, why not? Truth is subjective. As Micheal Jackson once said, "Showin' how funky and strong is your fight. It doesn't matter who's wrong or right. Just beat it." - Knox

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ashal C. Calder
• Release date: May 15, 2021
• ISBN: 9798502253185

Ashal C. Calder

Ashal Chad Calder was born in 1976 and graduated from Brea High School in 1994. He spent his High School years skateboarding and attending punk, and ska shows when he should have been studying. He married Caitlin Calder in 2001, and together, they have two children. He has lived in Houston for the past thirteen years.  Follow him on: Instagram @ashalcalder  Twitter @ashalcalder

Book preview

VIKING SUIT

6:45 p.m., JULY 21, 1994

The red taillights of the cars in front of him disappeared as Liam became consumed by light, so bright and opaque that he lost sight of his surroundings. His muscles tightened, fully expecting a hard impact, but nothing happened. He reached out into the light, feeling for the steering wheel, but there was nothing. All sound and vision ceased. In that singular moment between braking and impact, time seemed to double; then double again, multiplying and stretching until time turned from seconds into minutes, then into hours, then days, until all time came to a complete stop. The light began to dim, revealing the world around him, and he found himself standing in the middle of the Orange Crush.

Did we crash? 

The freeway was full of cars, all parked and vacant. The Blazer was parked in the lane next to him with Phoebe’s car parked in front of it.

I knew I stopped in time, he muttered.

How bad is it? asked a faint voice from the side of the freeway.

Confused, Liam turned and examined the cars again. 

His stomach dropped. It can’t be? It’s impossible. He felt weak, and he shifted, trying to support his weight. Is the car still moving? 

Well, your car is—yes. Phoebe stopped her car in time.

Wait, said Liam. He shook his head as he looked back and forth between the two cars; his mind rejected the reality his eyes were displaying. If my car is still moving, and her car has stopped, has the crash not happened yet? Am I still going to crash? 

Well, you see; that’s what I thought I missed. But as it turns out, I didn’t. And I’m just so delighted by that.

EARLIER THAT DAY

Hey, come here, little boy. I’m a friend of your mother’s. I’ll give you a candy bar if you put on your Viking suit and meet me at The Vandals show tonight. 

Liam’s finger had left a black sticky smudge on the button of the answering machine. Since graduating from high school, he had spent the last month working on an asphalt sealcoat crew. He used a giant squeegee to apply the sealcoat in the morning and gasoline to get it off his skin in the afternoon. Looking at the button, he wondered whether it was better to take the machine outside to clean it or if he could sneak some gas into his bedroom without his mom knowing. 

The voice on the answering machine belonged to Clare, who was doing an impression of the beginning lines of Viking Suit by The Vandals. She broke character. 

"Hey Liam, this is Clare. Seriously though, it was so nice running into you at that Birdhouse Four show; I didn’t realize how much I’ve missed being around you. 

That caught his attention. It’s not often someone says that.

Anyway, she continued. That punk band, The Vandals, is playing tonight at the Ice House in Fullerton. My brother can get us in for free. If I don’t hear back from you, then I’ll just be waiting at the side door at nine o’clock sharp. Hopefully, you can make it."

Behind him on the couch, Knox was just beginning to wake up. Liam looked at his watch. 3:59 p.m. That dude keeps vampire hours, he said to himself.

Liam had only known Knox for about a month, and during that time, he had been sleeping on the couch in his bedroom. Knox was from Cypress, a few cities over, and had also just graduated from high school there. Why Knox had been sleeping in his bedroom was still a mystery to Liam. He had a home with family members—Liam had been there once—so it wasn’t like he was homeless, though the visit to his house was strange. 

Knox had needed some things from his house a week or two ago, so Liam had given him a ride there. Instead of going to the front door, Knox pushed through a hedge and climbed through a window. Liam was about to go in after him, but then Knox’s mom had called to him from the door and let him in there. By the time he had reached Knox’s bedroom, Knox had retrieved what he had needed and was already back out his window. Unsure whether he was supposed to go through the window after him, Liam turned back toward the front door, where Knox’s mom was standing, holding a plate of cookies. She handed him one, saying, It was so nice to meet one of Knox’s friends. Back in Liam’s truck, he had asked Knox about the window, but Knox only said that he had lost door privileges a long time ago.

The next day while they were all out skating, Peter, a mutual friend, had told him, It’s not just the door but also the TV, VCR, and microwave too; at least, that’s all I know about.

Why? asked Liam. 

That’s just Knox being Knox.

It was Peter who had asked Liam if Knox could crash on the couch for a few nights. It didn’t bother Liam that Knox had been living on his couch for the past month, and apparently, it didn’t seem to bother Knox either. Why Knox wasn’t crashing at Peter’s house, Liam wasn’t sure: Knox was Peter’s friend originally, after all. 

Liam was still thinking about Clare’s offer when the machine beeped again, announcing the next message:

July 21st. 2:28 p.m. 

LIAM! Phoebe’s voice yelled from the small speaker. This is Phoebe—are you there? Pick up the phone if you’re there. Oh, and Bronte is here too, she added. Bronte, say hello to Liam.

The phone rustled. Hello Liam, my love.

Phoebe waited a moment but then continued. I guess you’re not home. Anyway, I was calling to let you know that we’re all going to the beach tonight—sort of the last get-together before we all go our separate ways to college. We’re meeting at Rocky’s house at 6:00 p.m. Hopefully you can make it.

Yes, please come, my dreamboat Liam, added Bronte. We need to see your beautiful face.

Liam watched the mini cassette stop as the call ended and then began to rewind. Hearing Phoebe’s voice teased out a chuckle and left him smiling. He considered calling Phoebe back to tell her that he would be there. He wanted to be there—to see Phoebe and everyone else who’d be leaving soon—but it felt too real. I should call her back and let her know that I have plans with Clare already. Disappointing Phoebe felt heavy too.

Are you just getting home from work? Knox’s voice was rough from sleep. 

Liam turned and found him sitting up now, his dirty blond hair a mess, the result from sleeping on the coarse fabric of Liam’s 1970’s era couch pillow. Yeah, I just got home, he said, returning his gaze to the answering machine. I need to take a shower and get this sealcoat off of me.

Knox found his glasses, put them on his face, and then picked up a lime green spiral notebook. Among Knox’s few possessions were several spiral notebooks—all different colors. Even though the notebooks were full of writing, Liam rarely saw Knox write anything in them. 

Knox and Liam lived on opposite ends of the clock, with their schedules intersecting between 4:00 p.m. and 10:00 p.m. He felt that their relationship was like that Matthew Broderick movie, LadyHawke: Where Liam was the Lady and Knox the Hawk. Or am I the hawk? It might have been the other way around; it’s been a while since I’ve seen that movie. Occasionally, Liam would have to use the bathroom in the middle of the night, and Knox would always be awake on the couch watching infomercials or that loud public access talk show host, Wally George.

Oh man, said Knox, thumbing through his notebook. You need to hear this. He found the page he was looking for, and Liam noticed it was full of writing. You said the craziest stuff in your sleep last night, he mumbled to himself as he reviewed his notes. This one is my favorite. He put his finger halfway down the paper, Everything was quiet, right. You were sleeping, and suddenly you blurted out, ‘I can’t keep pushing; I need to stop.’ He started laughing. It scared the crap out of me. Do you remember what you were dreaming about? 

This was a typical conversation. It wasn’t until Knox moved in that Liam had learned that he was a sleep-talker. He had shared a room with his younger brother in the past, but either his brother didn’t care that he talked in his sleep or the talking thing is new because his brother never mentioned it before. Knox always wanted to know the context of the things he had said in his sleep. While sometimes Liam could remember fragments of his dreams, he rarely remembered enough of them ten hours later when Knox would ask about them. Maybe it was sort of a Sisyphus thing, he said passively, as he grabbed a black shirt from his dresser and threw it over his shoulder. 

Could be, said Knox. Why did Sisyphus have to push the boulder?

It was the result of his Ego, I think.  

That makes sense, said Knox, as he closed his notebook. No wonder he has to push by himself; people like that have a difficult time keeping friends. Well, he sighed, changing the subject, I heard Phoebe’s message, but who was that before her?

Looking around for a clean pair of jeans, Liam answered, Her name is Clare, and I don’t think you’ve met her yet; Rocky has, I know that. She’s a girl I knew a few years ago—before I moved to Brea—we’re just sort of reconnecting. 

Rocky met her already?

Yeah, he was with me when I ran into her again. He picked up a pair of jeans from the hamper, smelled them, and then threw them over his shoulder with his shirt. It was at a BirdHouse Four show Rocky, and I went to a few weeks ago in Orange before you started sleeping here. Anyway, I gave her my number, and we spoke on the phone last Saturday; you were still sleeping, I think. 

Cool. Cool, said Knox, not bothering to look up.

Huh, I guess he doesn’t care to know more. That’s fine, thought Liam. He didn’t feel like getting into it right then anyway.

Knox set down his notebook and picked up his shirt off the floor. Do you think I could do some laundry really quick? he asked, picking up another shirt and smelling it. Some of my clothes are getting a little ripe. 

Liam found the towel he was looking for. Sure, he said. Let me get this stuff off me first, and then we’ll head down. Give me a few minutes. 

A Vandals show sounds fun, added Knox quickly, as Liam was walking out the door. 

Yeah. Maybe. Except that I was invited as a date, not you. He paused in the doorway. I should probably deal with this right now, he said to himself but then changed his mind. For sure, after the shower. I’ll be right back. 

***

Liam pulled the shower curtain back, revealing the shower tub combo that looked like it was being used daily by four teenagers. There was a window head high on the wall in the shower. He always thought it must look weird for people outside to be watching someone’s head taking a shower; that is, if anyone was looking, which was doubtful since the window just looked out at their neighbor’s tree. The windowsill was full of cheap shampoo that his mom bought and expensive shampoo his sister bought; he wasn’t supposed to use the expensive stuff, but he did. Liam turned on the shower and then took off his shirt and pants. The leg of his pants, covered with sealcoat, bumped the bathroom cabinet leaving a tar-like smear on the door face. From under the sink, hidden in the back, Liam retrieved a glass jar of gasoline and a red shop rag and placed them on the counter. 

He examined a small pimple on his chest as steam from the shower filled the air. Clare likes being around me, he smiled. But Knox. He stopped and exhaled loudly, dropping his arms down listlessly at his side. What do I do about Knox, he mumbled under his breath. Can’t leave him here. His mom was already asking a lot of questions about Knox that Liam couldn’t or didn’t care to answer. I can send him with Phoebe, he realized, returning to his chest. They’re all heading down to the beach; he’d like that. How to get him there without going myself? The pimple didn’t have a head, but he tried to force it anyway. I’ll go to the beach and then take off early, leaving Knox there. That’s what I’ll do. He was sure someone would let Knox crash at their house if he and Knox weren’t able to meet back up in time.

With the Knox problem settled, Liam allowed his thoughts to return to Clare and the Girl Scout shirt she had on at the Birdhouse Four show. That shirt couldn’t have been her Girl Scout shirt, he thought, but maybe it was. If it was, she’s grown out of it. Clare had also worn her hair in two braids, and the whole look had just sent him spinning. He was still spinning as he inspected his own body in the mirror. He imagined a situation where he might have to take his shirt off in front of Clare. Yeah, I work out a little, he mused, playing out the scenario.

LIAM! What the freak are you doing in there? Liam’s sister, Kelly, shouted as she banged on the door. 

He jumped, falling out of his fantasy, as his arm knocked over the jar of gasoline. The gas spilled across the counter, covering his sister’s hairbrush, makeup items, curling iron, and a copy of Vogue magazine. 

Are you using gas again in the house again? Kelly demanded from the other side of the door. I know you are, Liam, I can smell it. I asked you to stop using gasoline in the bathroom; it makes the entire upstairs stink, and it gives me a headache. 

Not wanting to damage the towels, Liam frantically pulled at the toilet paper and started using it to soak up the mess. It rattled as he pulled and pulled, exhausting half the roll in the cleanup effort. What do you expect me to do? he shouted back. Only gas will take this stuff off. 

Outside, dummy, she yelled through the door. Do it outside. Light yourself on fire to get it off, for all I care; just do it outside. 

Liam was able to get most of the gasoline wiped up, but the toilet paper created a whole other problem in its wake. Not only did everything now smell like gasoline, but there were now little fragments of toilet paper everywhere, and his sister’s stuff was destroyed. He stared at the disaster that was now the bathroom—what a mess.

Kelly attacked the door again. Liam! What’s going on in there?

Still in his underwear, he grabbed the soap, shampoo, and the soiled toilet paper mound and threw open the door. Fine, I’ll go outside, he snapped as he passed his sister in the hall. Behind him, Kelly lost it, but he didn’t want to turn around. He didn’t care to discuss it. He just wanted to get down the stairs as fast as possible. He’d destroyed the bathroom, his sister was in complete meltdown, and he could care less. We all use it, we all make it dirty, he convinced himself. It’s not my circus and not my monkeys.

THE BLAZER

On the side of the house, Liam was just getting the last bit of sealcoat off his arms when his brother, Herm, and his friend Nick, came walking through the side gate from the front yard. Herm was fifteen years old, and his real name was Stewart. Liam had given him the nickname ‘Herm’ when he was only eleven, claiming that he looked more like a ‘her’ than a ‘him.’ Everyone else thought it was funny, and the nickname stuck. Nick was wearing a do-rag, and both were carrying BB guns. 

Why are you wearing that do-rag, Nick? asked Liam. You’re a white dude. 

Nick adjusted the do-rag as his eyebrows furrowed It’s not a do-rag; it’s a dude-rag, he said, with darting eyes. It’s a do-rag for white guys. 

Liam used the hose to get his hair wet and then picked up the shampoo. That’s stupid, he said, lathering up his hair. 

Do you know what I think is stupid? asked Nick, huffing. Standing outside in your underwear, washing your hair with the hose.

Whatever you say, Dude-rag. Liam picked up the soap and watched as Herm and Nick walked towards the backyard. Herm, he called. What are you wenises doing with those shooters?

We’re going to go have a BB gun war with some friends, said Herm, turning back. 

You don’t want to wear some kind of protection? 

Herm examined the gun in his hands, flipping over once or twice. He cocked and fired a single BB at a nearby tree. Nick ran up and rubbed at the bark. 

These guns aren’t that powerful, said Nick. 

Yeah, agreed Herm. They’re just Red Riders. It’s not like they can break the skin or anything. 

They can break your eye, dummy, said Liam, rinsing off. 

Herm waved his hand dismissively. It’ll be fine. None of us are that good of a shot.

*** 

When Liam got back upstairs, his sister was gone. The bathroom was just the way he had left it, but there was now a note on the counter that read, 

Liam, Clean this all up. 

- Mom

Oh geez, he sighed, leaning his head back. Couldn’t Kelly have cleaned this really quick? Instead of narcing on me. It’s not like I don’t have things I have to do already.

Back in his bedroom, Knox was in the final stages of gathering up his clothes. What was all that yelling about earlier?

It’s nothing. Liam grabbed his hamper. Do you mind if I throw some of my clothes in the washing machine with yours? I’m currently wearing dirty pants. He looked down, double-checking for stains. At least they’re dark.

It’s your washing machine, replied Knox, standing up and collecting the basket. Unless you have some sort of weird rash that you’re not telling me about.

***

The washer and dryer were located downstairs in the garage. The garage was more of a storage facility than a place to park cars, which drove Doug, Liam’s Dad, crazy. His mom, Shirley, was an elementary school teacher who just couldn’t pass up keeping an extra bit of fabric or some old pie tins. You never know, she would say as she giddily held up her latest acquisition, This might make a fun school project someday. 

It’s not that holding onto things is a bad idea, figured Liam because it’s not. As he saw it, the problem was that once his mother saved an item, it was more or less forgotten about, resulting in an ever-expanding stockpile of unknowns.

About once a year, Doug would wait until Shirley left for work and then have a dumpster delivered. Like bailing water from a ship, Doug would run back and forth between the garage and dumpster, like a mad man, filling it with as much stuff as he could before Shirley got back. He’d even promise the driver an extra hundred bucks if he came back, exactly one hour later, ensuring that the dumpster would be gone in time. Liam made it a point not to be home for the aftermath. 

Doug was under a half-finished project car in the garage, his legs sticking out like the Wicked Witch of the East. The hood of the car was up, revealing an empty engine bay with his dad’s face half-hidden by the transmission. Hey, dad. How’s it going? Liam asked in passing. 

Hey, Liam. Just working on the car, grunted Doug as he pulled at his ratchet. What are you two up to tonight? 

We’re still working on it, replied Liam, setting down the laundry basket next to the washing machine. But it looks like we’re heading down to the beach with some friends. 

Liam lifted the lid of the washing machine and looked inside. It was full of wet clothes belonging to someone else. I’m not really supposed to do this, he muttered to Knox as he grabbed his laundry basket and dumped out their dirty clothes onto the garage floor. He set the basket next to the machine and then emptied someone else’s wet clothes into the basket. Go ahead, he said, reaching for the laundry soap. Put our stuff in and start it up.

Doug grunted again and shifted a little on his mechanic’s creeper. The beach sounds fun. Oh, by the way, he added, I need to use your truck to pick up some parts from a guy in Pomona; I probably won’t be back until later this evening.

That’s going to be a problem. 

Liam’s truck was a Mazda B2200 that he