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i
The violence was neat. The way the musclemen and demon knights ran around the pale landscape and fired their cannon-guns at each other in their seemingly insatiable desire for mutual assured destruction was neat.
Lawrence was playing one of his console games in the family room when Mr. Roseman, the next-door neighbor, paid a visit one cloudy and cool Saturday afternoon. He’d been out in his garden watering his little flowerbeds when Lawrence’s dad got home from the grocery store and started talking to him about something Lawrence didn’t understand. He wasn’t really paying attention when they came into the house. After getting drinks, the two came into the family room, their voices drowning out the explosions and gunfire from Lawrence’s game.
"Larry, turn off the game and talk to Mr. Roseman."
Lawrence’s mom came down, dressed in a turquoise dress. She and his dad would be leaving soon.
Lawrence stared at his console, the little cartridge protruding from the top of it. He paid attention to nothing any of them said for the first few minutes of the conversation. That was when his dad addressed him.
"Larry, tell Mr. Roseman about your science project."
Lawrence moved his eyes to Mr. Roseman without turning his head. Mr. Roseman was flashing a wide, ivory smile. "What did you do for your science project, Lare?" The smile didn’t go away. Mr. Roseman was able to speak without hurting his smile.
"He got third place out of all the fifth graders," his mom said.
"Really!"
He couldn’t help but look at the smile.
"Well, what was it, Lare?"
"Tell him about it, sweety."
"It was the planets. All of the planets in our solar system."
"He made a model of the solar system."
"Excellent!"
"A pretty impressive one too. I’ll show it to you sometime, Nat."
Mr. Roseman’s hand stroked the gray-fuzzed tip of his chin. The smile never faded. "I’d like to see it now."
"It’s still at school, right, guy?"
"Yeah."
"Let me know when you bring it home so I can show it to Mr. Roseman, okay?"
"Okay, Dad."
His mom, dad, and Mr. Roseman continued their conversation without Lawrence. While he said things to his mom and dad, Mr. Roseman never looked away and never stopped smiling, as if his face had become stone.
Lawrence noticed his mom recrossing her legs every five minutes. She scratched the side of her thigh, moving the hem up a little. She was wearing clear panty hose.
"We really should get going, Hank."
They all got up and said a few more things. Mr. Roseman left just before his parents left for the opera, but he also stayed sitting in the family room, his smile fixed on Lawrence. His hand played with the gray stubble a little more, then went down to his neck, where a few gray chest hairs played peekaboo.
"Can I see one of your video games?"
ii
"You’re being such a good boy, Larry. You’re always a good boy."
He closed his eyes and pictured the musclemen and demon knights chasing each other around the pale landscape with their cannon-guns.
iii
"Why don’t you sit down, sweety?"
His mom had changed into her T-shirt and sweats and was watching a funny show on TV. His dad was upstairs in his study with the door shut. Walking by, he’d heard a lot of clicking which meant his dad was on the Internet.
"Why?"
"Don’t you want to watch TV?"
"I am."
"Well, don’t you want to sit down?"
The audience’s laughter erupted from the TV. He looked at the screen and saw Mr. Roseman smiling at him. The gray stubble had grown significantly. The whites of his eyes had a pink tint to them.
He lay on his stomach, resting his head on his mom’s thigh. "Can’t I just lie on your lap, Mommy?" He didn’t want to tell her his bottom hurt too much to sit on. She could probably tell he was trying to hide something.
"Of course you can," she laughed, stroking his hair. "But I know in five minutes you’ll fall asleep."
The TV laughed.
He looked away. He wanted to play his pale landscape game, but he was too tired. After looking down at his mom’s knee for a few minutes while her cool fingers stroked his scalp, his eyes became heavy.
The laughter grew louder.
He opened his eyes. The smile was there, and the beard was bigger. While his mom’s hand continued massaging, he could feel the pair of thick, rough hands continue their explorations as well.
"Stop it!"
"I knew you’d fall asleep."
iv
In his bedroom he kept the door cracked open. The hallway fed his room a bar of light which divided it in half. Lying in bed on his stomach, he looked across the room at his chest where his action figures and their vehicles overflowed. Then he looked at his desk, on top of which his monitor stared back at him with an empty screen.
Wind blew through his window. The bar of light thinned. He closed his eyes. The high-pitched howls and the tapping of the branches against the siding calmed him. He could hear his mom yelling at his dad in his dad’s study down the hall. Walking by a few minutes before, he had still been able to hear clicking. His mom had obviously heard enough of it. He tried not to hear her right now and instead tried to focus on the howls and the tapping. It helped him fall asleep.
When he opened his eyes, the bar of light was shining directly on him. Lifting his head, he felt the imprint of the carpet on his cheek. His parents were louder. He stood up and stumbled half asleep to the window. The wind soothed his bare body. As he listened to the howling, he thought he could hear someone behind it, someone talking to him. He strained his ears but couldn’t make sense of it.
But the wind was very comforting. He closed his eyes again.
v
"Sweety, why are you sleeping on the floor?"
"What’s he doing?"
"He slept on the floor."
"Whatchya doin’ down there, guy?"
"Sweety?"
He opened his eyes. Armed with their cannon-guns, two of his musclemen figures were grinning at him with their square-jawed, perfectly white plastic grins. One had an eye patch and a flattop and a tatoo of a swan on his bare mountainous chest. The other was very round, bald with a long brown beard, an inverted dunce cap, his cannon-gun bigger and more advanced looking. They were pointing their cannon-guns at him. "I’m on your side!"
"What is it, sweety?"
"Come on, Lare, get off the floor."
He pushed himself off the floor and turned around to sit. His bottom didn’t hurt as much as the night before. Mr. Roseman was sitting cross-legged on his bed, wearing only a pair of jeans. He had a tatoo of a swan buried under the gray forest. His beard was full, his hair a flattop, and he was shouldering a cannon-gun of his own. Only this one wasn’t metal. It was just flesh and cartilage. He was still smiling, the smile never wavering when he spoke.
"I’m on your side, Larry."
"You want to go to the gardens with Daddy and me?"
"When?"
"As soon as you’re up and ready, guy."
"Come on, sweety. You should get dressed, okay?"
As he stood up, Mr. Roseman got off the bed and approached him, the flesh-gun dangling on his shoulder. "Can I go to the gardens, too?"
"No."
"No what, sweety?"
"Get dressed, guy. We’ll leave in a half-hour."
"What do you want for breakfast?"
"Nothing."
"You’ve got to have something."
He looked back at Flattop and Round. They’d moved since he last saw them. They were now facing the window, and it was as if they’d moved toward it a little.
vi
His parents talked most of the time at the gardens. He didn’t listen to anything they said. Every few minutes he’d look behind him to make sure Flattop and Round were still there, keeping a lookout for any of their enemy demon knights who would most likely be waiting to ambush.
He was the first to spot one, sitting high up in one of the trees. The demon knight had a gray head and chest and was about to launch his flesh-spear. "Fire!" he shouted, pointing up. Flattop and Round fired, but the demon knight got away.
"You want a hot dog?"
vii
He could lie on his back now without any serious discomfort.
"Sweet dreams."
She left the door cracked again. He traced the bar of light with his eyes until he was forced to turn over to finish its path in the opposite corner of the room near the chest. He could make out the figures pointing their cannon-guns at each other.
There was movement by the computer.
He looked over at Mr. Roseman sitting at his desk. His arms were much longer, but in the dark it was difficult to see why.
"Hi, Larry."
He got out of bed and walked over to the opposite corner near the chest. Putting his hands against the wall on the bar of light, he tried to move the light around the room so it would fall on Mr. Roseman. It took a lot of effort. His face grew hot with the strain, but he eventually managed to pull the bar over to the desk, working carefully to make it fall directly across Mr. Roseman’s nose. He wanted to get it just right.
Mr. Roseman wasn’t there anymore.
"I don’t like the light, Larry. Come over to the dark." The voice was behind him. Even though it was filled with anxiety, he could tell Mr. Roseman was still smiling.
"I don’t like the dark. That’s why I like to leave the door open. I need to get the light on you."
"But I don’t like the light. Why do you want the light on me?"
"Maybe you’ll go away."
There was movement on the bed. "I don’t want to go away."
He sat down at his computer and turned it on. The bar of light was dividing him now. The hard drive humming to life drowned out Mr. Roseman’s pleas. "I can’t hear you! I can’t hear you! I can’t hear you!" The screen lit up. He wanted to play solitaire.
The hard drive quieted after booting up.
"Get away from that computer."
"Leave if you don’t like it."
"Where’s your solar system?"
"Leave."
"No."
He clicked a few times to open the game.
"Play a game with me. Try to get the light on me and I’ll leave. Think you can do it?"
He hopped off the chair and grabbed the bar of light. It was easy now. It didn’t take long before he had it over by his bed. The faces of the musclemen on his sheets laughed at him because Mr. Roseman wasn’t there. He was back at the computer. One muscleman in particular, whose face was half-fire, laughed the loudest.
"You’re losing, Larry."
He dragged the bar of light back to the computer.
"You’re still losing."
The cards were dealt. He decided to stay there with the light.
"What’s the matter?"
"I don’t want to play anymore."
"Can I talk to these guys on your bed?"
viii
The throw-up chunks had an orange-red tint to them. The bubbly acid was a thick yellow. He watched the chunks spiral to the bottom, holding one hand to his sore stomach. He threw up two more times, and then he couldn’t see the water anymore.
He flushed.
Spit strings dangled from his lower lip. He tried looking down at them to see how far they stretched. It hurt his eyes too much. He stood up and stared at himself in the mirror. The strings broke and fell to his feet.
For some reason his bottom was sore again.
ix
"Sweety, are you okay?"
"What happened?"
"You fell asleep in the bathroom."
"I threw up."
"What happened?"
"He’s sick."
"Can I stay home?"
"I’ll call the school."
"You should get back into bed, sweety."
His musclemen figures were grouped in front of his chest, each armed with a cannon-gun and ready to charge.
His mom helped him get into bed. He didn’t want to lie on his stomach because it was still sore and felt like it could rebel again at any time. But the pain in his bottom continued to flare, so he tried lying on his side. It wasn’t the most comfortable position since one of his arms was being crushed, but it was easier this way to avoid lying on top of Fireface.
"Why don’t you lie on your back, sweety?"
"I like this better."
"Does your stomach still hurt?"
"Yes."
"You’ve probably got a bug or something. Just take it easy today and hopefully you’ll be better tomorrow. You want Mommy or Daddy to stay home with you?"
"That’s okay. I’ll just sleep a lot."
"All right. But if you need anything, call. Okay? Our work numbers are in the kitchen."
x
He was controlling Fireface during the game so Fireface wouldn’t get mad at him because of a poor performance. He had almost killed all of the demon knights for this particular level when there was a knock on the door.
"Hi, Larry."
Mr. Roseman looked like one of the demon knights: His entire body was covered with black armor. Centipedes and spiders and scorpions made their homes inside the suit, but occasionally one would scurry out of one crack and disappear into another. And now he could see why his arms were so long. Mr. Roseman’s arms had become a pair of flesh-spears. Covered with barbed armor, they would be even more powerful.
"I didn’t see you leave this morning. Are you okay?"
"You’re infested."
"What?"
"I’m sick."
"Oh I’m sorry to hear that, buddy. Are you getting any better?" He stepped in.
"Sort of." A worm slithered through the bars protecting Mr. Roseman’s eyes and fell to the ground.
"What’s wrong? You’re looking at me funny."
"My mom and dad aren’t here right now."
"I just wanted to see if you were okay. We’re friends, right? I worry about you." He shut the door. "What were you doing?"
"Killing your friends."
Mr. Roseman laughed. "My friends?"
"The demon knights. Your friends."
"Is that one of your games? Ohhhh. Does that mean you have to kill me too?" he chuckled.
xi
He could picture the musclemen in his room running across the carpet at full charge. Fireface was the most eager, leading them.
xii
"Oh my God! What happened! Jesus Christ! What happened! What happened! What happened!"
"What did he do?"
"I don’t know! I don’t know what happened!"
"Call the police!"
"Oh Jesus!"
"Call the police, God damn it!"
His stomach had calmed, and the soreness in his bottom had cooled.
xiii
"Would you like some ice cream?"
"Okay."
The nurse left. The white hurt his eyes. Everything was white, the padded walls, the bed, the clothes on the nurses and doctors, the TV, even the bars on the windows. By getting rid of the nurse, that would be one less white object to look at.
It didn’t have to be this bright, though. He could think about the musclemen doing battle with the demon knights. The wall opposite the bed could be the large screen. It was already pale, so he didn’t have to think too hard about the wintry landscape. He just had to imagine the men and their vehicles and cannon-guns, and how they would scour the terrain in relentless pursuit of the demon knights, who would fight back hard with their own cannon-guns and spears.
He was smiling now.
The violence was neat. The way the musclemen and demon knights ran around the pale landscape and fired their cannon-guns at each other in their seemingly insatiable desire of mutual assured destruction was neat.
