Drift by Victoria Patterson

Author:Victoria Patterson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Mariner Books

John Wayne Loves Grandma Dot

JOHN WAYNE WANDERED Newport Beach at night. An observer watching him drift through the streets might think his wanderings were random and thoughtless, but John Wayne had his own logic and pattern. He believed in things unseen. He walked slowly past certain homes, skateboard at his side, sensing possibilities, as though the homes were showing him: see, this is how it can be.

He saw the glow from inside a window, sensed the way the kids felt toward the parents, or how the parents loved each other, or even how the dog liked the way he got fed every night and rubbed on his belly. John Wayne lingered, careful not to be noticed. He didn’t want to scare anyone; he just wanted to feel.

Most homes reminded him of basements or art galleries: coldness hung around them, a hint of darkness, maybe even abuse. He set his skateboard down and flew past, noticing the flickering lights of a television. His gut reaction might be wrong, but he didn’t want to find out. He wanted no part. The gravelly sound of his wheels on the sidewalk calmed him.

His skateboard jumped curbs, flipped down cement steps. Darkness, shadows, moonlight, stars, the constant noise of the ocean, and no one to tell him what to do. He fell, but that was part of the adventure: scrapes and bruises, once a broken arm. A stranger drove him to the hospital. The nurse injected him and told him to count backwards from ten. He tried, but he couldn’t remember what came next—ten, nine—that was it. The nurse gave him a troubled look, and he wanted to explain, “Don’t worry. I had a drug overdose. I hurt my head,” but his mouth wouldn’t open. He went under the anesthesia, and he died for a little while. When he woke up, there was a cast on his arm and his head hurt. The dying wasn’t so bad. He knew that it was a different kind of sleep, another type of waking.

After the drug overdose, his mother continued to do his laundry and set the baskets by the back door of their house, along with bags of food, but otherwise his family fired him like a bad employee. His brother and sister avoided him. His mom looked at him and sobbed. They called it tough love, but it wasn’t about love: John Wayne was an embarrassment.

Although people pitied him (he could see pity in their faces), he didn’t think the way he lived was such a bad way to go. He smoked marijuana, even when he took showers, his head far enough from the spray to keep it lit, and an ashtray on the toilet seat for when he washed his hair. He no longer used cocaine and heroin, and although he somehow knew that this was connected to his brain damage, it was a relief. Money was a problem insofar as he had to do things to get it. The men took him in their cars, but it was over fast, not so bad when it was quick, and sometimes tender.

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