I kicked my feet up on the couch, and looked out the window into the bruised dusk, then worked at unscrewing the mason jar’s seal. After a brief struggle, grunting alone in the living room, I managed to open the lid, and instantly recoiled at what smelled like a combination of black licorice and turpentine and my father. The first sip nearly ruined me, and I winced to keep from retching onto Moonface’s carpet. As I cleared the water from my eyes, I noticed a small picture frame sitting on top of the radio set across the room. I set the drink on one of the crate tables, then went over to examine the photograph.
It was almost too dark to see by that point, but by angling the frame toward the remaining trace of sunlight, I realized it was a picture of a large family posing for the camera. An attractive couple stood behind their two sons and three daughters, all wearing what I assumed were their best clothes, at least what looked to be much better than the thin, itchy threads I wore for class portraits. The three daughters had the same crooked grin of their father while the sons’ eyes pinched at the corners as they smiled, like their mother. None of the children could have been older than me.
I choked down a couple more gulps, and tried to figure out which was Moonface, but nightfall soon made it impossible to examine the photo any longer. I took another swig, sputtered, then closed the jar to place it in my jacket pocket. My brain began to congeal, and I leaned back into the couch, staring out the window at the faint candlelight across the road from the other families’ homes.
The sound of tires crushing dirt and stone jolted me awake, and I saw a pair of headlights coming down the way. I jumped up and nearly fell to one side, then remembered the concoction in my pocket. I staggered toward the radio and placed the photograph back in its place as I heard Moonface’s truck creakily decelerate toward his home. When his high beams crept into the room, I fell to my hands and knees and slithered toward the back window, quickly leaping out the way I came, and eased the sill near shut like I found it.
The front door opened and slammed, and I found myself unable to leave just yet. Despite my lightweight drunkenness, I wobbled up enough to peer through the window once more. Moonface turned on the overhead light, and I saw his right eye was swollen closed. Small flecks of blood dotted his clothing. He ripped off his dress shirt while making his way to the kitchen, and I bent a little lower. I looked toward the ground and noticed the candelabra laying in the dirt — I must have knocked it out during the escape. I heard footsteps again, and knew it was too late to try to put it back.
Moonface sat on his couch with a small sandwich bag of ice held to his brow and a full mason jar in his other hand. It wasn’t long before I heard another vehicle approach from the road. It parked, and its driver hurried up the steps and threw open the front door.
“What the hell were you thinking?” Nicole said.
“I was try to help,” Moonface explained, taking a sip from his glass.
“That wasn’t help. What do you suppose is going to happen now?” she said. She wore her cheerleading outfit.
“It was good game, though. You perform well. And we won,” he said, smiling.
I staggered slightly as the drink worked its way through me, and I bumped against the wall. Moonface and Nicole looked toward the window, and I turned my back toward them, sliding down and pressing as close against the house as I could while staring into the woods ahead of me. For some reason beyond me now, I thought if I couldn’t see them, maybe they wouldn’t be able to see me. I’ve lived most the rest of my life that way.
Even so, I waited for the window to open, for Moonface to grab me by my hair and pull me into his home as it transformed into some dark, Shylockian lair lined with weights and scales and knives for pounds of flesh, but nothing happened. I turned around and peeked in once more, and saw Nicole straddling Moonface on the sofa, kissing him as he let his drink fall to the ground.
“Moonface is fucking Nicole,” I told John between heaving breaths, cold sweat dripping from my arms and neck.
He looked behind him into his house, saw that his stepfather was passed out on the couch, and closed the door as he stepped outside to meet me.
“Bullshit,” he whispered.
I tried to say, It’s true, but only got the first word out before vomiting near his front steps.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” John nearly shouted, leaping aside from my spew.
I finished as quietly as I could, then withdrew the mason jar from my inner coat pocket and wiped my hand on my sleeve. John snatched the glass from my hand, opened the lid, and winced in gleeful disgust.
“So you found some of your old man’s brew stashed away in a closet. That explains it,” he said.
I reached into my pockets once more, taking out the small menorah and handing it to John. His eyes opened wider, then he took a sip of the liquor and struggled to maintain a straight face.
“So, Moonface makes moonshine,” he rasped. “I guess we know how Nicole pays him for the stuff.”
I led John back toward the village as we passed the mason jar back and forth, drinking the bare minimum to appear like men. It was a clear night, the kind that feels like the stars are spotlights trained on you and everything you do. Now I realize it’s always like that, even when you can’t see them, but back then I thought I could lose their sights, so I made John follow me into the trees until we reached Moonface’s home.
A few minutes later John said, “I guess you didn’t hear what happened at the game tonight, now that I think about it.”
“No,” I replied too quickly, somewhat sore at my ignorance.
“Well, I tried to invite you to come, but I guess you were out on your little Peeping Tom mission already. Moonface got in a fight near the end of the match.”
“What?” I said, remembering his black eye.
“Yep. He was sitting on the front-row bleacher nearest Nicole, not being shy at all about why he was there. But she wasn’t being too shy about it neither.”
“What’s new?” I said.
“Yeah yeah. But then her dad caught on to what was happening, and he wasn’t having it.”
“Huh.”
“He must of been on something like this stuff you got here, because as soon as the time ran out on the clock and everyone stood up to cheer, he hopped down from his bench a few rows up and clocked Moonface upside the head.”
“Shit,” I said.
“It was a pretty good hit. For a sucker punch, I mean. It took everyone a minute to realize what was going on, but then everyone stepped aside and it was just Moonface and Richmond going at it in front of Nicole and the whole lot of them.”
“What happened then?” I asked, seeing the village lights through the pines.
“Well, people were trying to pull them apart, and Richmond called him a kite or something. Moonface just let go of his collar, then took off for his truck and left before anyone could stop him.”
By this point we neared the edge of the trees, and quietly made our way over to Moonface’s shack. We took spots behind the back window, and leaned in as close we comfortably could.
Oh my God, John mouthed.
Nicole stood naked by the radio holding the picture frame, illuminated only by two recently lit white candles nearby. The flickering glow washed over her so that no one part was ever fully revealed, like an apparition.
“Which one is you?” she asked Moonface, still examining the photograph. He lay on the sofa, naked as well. His scars patterned his whole body.