Why I Fight by J. Adams Oaks

Author:J. Adams Oaks
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon and Schuster
Published: 2009-07-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

WHEN I TURNED FIFTEEN for real, Spade threw me a birthday party. It was the best one I ever had—and the first. It was the best, ’cause I felt like the people there kind of liked me and wanted to spend time with me and maybe life might turn out okay. I remember most of that night, but not all of it, ’cause it was also the first time I’d ever drunk alcohol.

This is how. I remember the Gentlemen’s Club where Lynnesha worked, with all the men in suits and all the ladies wearing a heck of a lot less. I remember Lynnesha carrying a tray covered in glasses of booze. And I remember Uncle Spade and me both wearing club-owned sport coats and sitting at a big table with a RESERVED sign. I remember fuzzy curtains and giganto naked-lady paintings covering the walls. And I remember Uncle Spade leaning over and clinking his bourbon against my something-sunrise, saying:

—Man, get ready, Wyatt. Here’s your big bad birthday surprise.

And that’s when Lynnesha’s friend, Jeanie, threw back one of the curtains, tossing dust into the lights, and stepped out in a teeny-weeny policeman uniform, making all the guys cheer. I tried to keep my mouth shut. She was the last thing I expected. I thought maybe a magician or a clown or something, not a lady too old for a Halloween costume twitching and bobbing like she was all by herself. I sipped my pretty drink and shuddered. A steely cough-syrup taste snuck through the roof of my mouth and up behind my eyes, warming my brain. Jeanie straddled a black chair and made a funny squeal like a nail stuck her.

—Pretty dang hot, huh? Spade said, setting his arm on my shoulders.

I jumped at his touch, nodding, not quite sure what to say. Instead I just kept sipping my sunrise thing, my body starting to feel soft. My uncle had relaxed too. I could see it in his eyes. Other ladies danced: a schoolteacher and a devil, and as each one finished her shift, they joined us, giving me birthday pecks on the cheek.

When Mittens Holiday finally got on stage, the room was pretty empty. I’d had maybe four drinks and was surrounded by beautiful ladies who couldn’t get over how cute and big I was. I kept wrapping my arms around them and squeezing, probably too tight. My eyes got blurry, me thinking ’cause it was way past bedtime. Mittens was this big lady with too much hair who swooped in with her microphone and a long, flowy dress.

—Happy birthday, big boy, she said, and people started laughing.

I stood up, knocking the table and spilling drinks.

—I have a cast on my arm, I said, my tongue fumbling.

—Oh my, you’re eager. Come let your auntie give you a big wet birthday smooch.

More laughs as I scooted around the table. Spade swiped at the back of my jacket, knocking over my chair. Mittens grabbed me under one arm and yanked me up on stage.

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