Then Lola went to college, while Ray got a job wearing a blue vest. She called him a few times and they had awkward conversations about her exciting new life. Gradually, the calls stopped as they drifted apart, or rather, recognized how little they actually had in common. He hadn’t thought of her in years until hearing she’d brought a guy home with her on Christmas break, some pansy ass named Bob. The happy couple had been spotted holding hands at the mall. Ray counted the years and realized she would be graduating soon. She would start a career, get married, buy a house and have kids, while he’d be stuck in Cashtown for the rest of his life, one of the losers he’d always ridiculed and sworn he’d never become.
Stewie and Brian entered the tavern, laughing and slapping snow from each other’s shoulders, and joined Ray at the bar. Ray scowled at them.
“You’ll never guess who’s right behind us,” Stewie said.
“Merry Christmas, Ray,” Brian snickered.
The door opened with a jingle and a young couple stepped blinking into the warm neon gloom. Ray squinted and recognized Lola. His heart fluttered unexpectedly in his chest; she had flowered into a beautiful woman over the past several years. Bob struck him as your typical mild-mannered jock with his clean white oxford shirt and powder blue sweater, his blond hair neatly combed to the side. More Clark Kent than Superman, though; Ray believed he could push this college boy around pretty easily if he wanted. Lola called out to Pete to bring a pitcher. Bob pointed to a booth, and they took their seats and shucked their coats. Lola laughed and socked Bob playfully in the shoulder while he grinned, apparently teasing her.
She used to do that to me, Ray thought, feeling sorry for himself. He realized he’d let something great slip through his fingers due to sheer laziness.
Stewie and Brian snickered while Ray glared at the couple. Eventually, Bob noticed and bristled. Lola saw Ray and whispered into Bob’s ear.
Listen to your girl, Bobby, Ray thought, giving him an evil smile. You’d better stay put or you’re going to get hurt tonight.
Bob gently shrugged off her hands and stood. Ray downed his shot and made a show of cracking his knuckles as Bob approached.
“You’re Ray Young,” Bob said uncertainly, glancing at Stewie and Brian and sizing them up before leveling his gaze at Ray.
“You found me,” Ray said.
“All right,” Bob said. “Well, here it is.” He took a deep breath. “I heard you’ve been talking shit about me and Lola. Saying how you’re going to kill us or something.”
Before Ray could answer, Bob stepped forward and stared into his eyes from inches away. “Is that true, Ray?”
Ray’s height and size and scowl intimidated most people, but not this kid. His fantasy of how this was supposed to roll dissolved in an instant. His alcoholic bravery abandoned him, leaving him feeling naked. He smiled, fighting to keep his cool.
“I don’t know who told you that,” he said.
He realized the bar was growing quiet. Everyone was watching.
“People told me,” Bob said. “Worse, they told Lola.”
“Well, they’re liars. I never said anything like that. No, sir.”
It might have worked if Jeff Vogler, standing at the other end of the bar, didn’t laugh.
Bob’s eyes narrowed. Ray couldn’t believe this guy’s self control. He felt what little courage he had left drain away.
“Let me put it this way,” Bob breathed into his face. “Do we have a problem?”
Ray smiled again. “You’ve got a lot of heart coming in here, Bob. I’m willing to let it go.” He raised his half-finished mug. “In fact, let me buy you a beer. You and Lola, for old times’ sake. Peace offering.”
The room relaxed a little. Ray had chosen an honorable withdrawal. Now it was up to the college kid to do the right thing, which everyone knew he would. Back at Bob’s booth, Lola’s eyes were wide and glassy. Pete started to fill a pitcher, which he would offer on the house.
Bob shrugged. “All right—”
Ray swung the mug into his face, spraying beer and blood and sending a chipped tooth skidding across the countertop. Then Ray was on top of him, straddling his chest, punching him with both fists.
When they pulled him off, he couldn’t stop laughing because he had never felt such joy.
♦
Twelve years later, the Screaming changed everything. This is where his fever takes him next. That day, Ray woke up moaning in his basement apartment, his head pounding like a drum. He snoozed for another hour and decided it was time to get up. Rubbing his belly, he plodded into the bathroom and noisily emptied his bladder while he inspected his bleary eyes, bristling stubble and wild handlebar mustache in the mirror. What a night. By now, Ray accepted he was a loser, but took an odd pride in the fact he was somehow good at it.
He paused while brushing his teeth as he realized he had not heard his mother’s characteristic plodding around upstairs. The floor was always creaking.
Pulling on a clean T-shirt, frayed jeans and his trademark STEELERS ballcap, Ray lit a cigarette, coughed up a ball of phlegm, and thought about hitting the old lady up for some breakfast.
He stepped outside and climbed the stairs to the main house. The air was filled with distant sirens. A haze of smoke hung in the sky. That figured. He’d joined the volunteer fire department to try to experience a little excitement that didn’t come from a bottle or between a woman’s legs. There was finally a big fire, and he’d missed it.
Ray opened the side door and walked into the house on bare feet. Too late, he remembered his mother’s injunction against smoking and rushed to drop it into the kitchen sink.
“Mom?”
No answer.
“Ma, it’s me, Ray.”
He checked the couch and her bedroom, wondering if she was taking a nap, but there was no sign of her. He speculated that she’d gone out for a walk. Miracles do happen, he thought. For years, his mother had been a shut-in for the most part. He made a strong cup of coffee and sipped it, feeling a little better. Any minute now, she would squeeze herself through the front door and make him some bacon and eggs, all the while muttering some vague assurance that he was a good man, destined to do something special.
Ray noticed the bathroom door was closed. It was never closed unless his mother was actually using the toilet.
“Mom? You in there?” He knocked. “Can I come in, Mom?”
He opened the door and gasped. His mother lay sprawled in the bathtub, her massive belly rising above the gray water like the back of a whale, giant breasts swaying in the murk.
“Ma!” he roared, falling to his knees and trying to pull her slippery bulk out of the tub. He settled on raising her head. Water spilled from her mouth, open and stretched wide in a horrific, soundless scream.
Soaked with soapy water, he reached under her back and pulled the plug, letting the water drain out. He kissed her cold face, sobbing.
“No, no, no,” he told her. “Don’t die.”
As a volunteer firefighter, he was trained in CPR. First, he had to get help on the way. Running to the kitchen, he grabbed the cordless phone and dialed 911 on the way back to the bathroom. The phone beeped in his ear, telling him all circuits were busy. Roaring a string of obscenities, he clasped his hands and pushed his mother’s sternum, cracking it. The bathroom filled with the smell of shit. He breathed into her mouth, counting. Her body was freezing.