Drone Command

EIGHTEEN

She howled like a wounded moose.

Troy heard the pounding against the thin trailer wall all the way out here. Whoever his dad had dragged home last night was either having a stroke or a really good time. At least no one else could hear it. They lived too far outside of town at the end of a dirt track.

He checked his watch. Less than an hour until school started. No way he’d make it there on time this morning, but it couldn’t be helped. He was facing expulsion. Too many tardies and too many unexcused absences. They didn’t understand.

Troy still had to change the oil and plugs on the big Husqvarna chainsaw after he finished sharpening it. It was running like crap. His fingers were still numb from the early morning cold. He left his gloves in the trailer like an idiot, but he couldn’t go back and get them now that his dad and his new lady friend were back at it, and knowing his dad, that could take a while.

Troy was careful to count eight drags of the chainsaw file for each tooth and even more careful to keep the file at the same angle as the tooth, just like his dad taught him. Failure to do either meant the saw wouldn’t cut straight. It was tedious but important work. Work his dad wasn’t getting done lately, like a lot of other things. If he and his dad didn’t clear the stand of dead trees by the end of the week, they’d lose their Forest Service contract, and work was hard enough to come by these days. All the damn environmentalist lawsuits had practically shut down the lumber work on federal lands, and the Gulf War recession had crushed timber prices and demand. The job they were doing was chickenshit, but it was the only work they’d had this year and maybe likely to get for the rest. But between his drinking and his whoring, Troy’s dad was proving to be an unreliable supervisor in their failing two-man operation.

The women he didn’t care about so much. The death of Troy’s mother had hit them both hard. It was the drinking that was going to kill his old man. In a way, it had killed his mother and sister. Why his mother had decided to leave Troy with his drunken father he’d never know. He’d probably be dead if she hadn’t, but this wasn’t exactly living, either.

Troy finished up the chainsaw and stored it in the back of the rusted out pickup with PEARCE LUMBER crudely stenciled on the side. He thought about driving it to school, but then his dad wouldn’t be able to work today, and work was more important. A vice counselor threatened to expel him if he had one more tardy, but it just couldn’t be helped.

Twenty minutes after the woman’s howling stopped, Troy headed back in to wash up. He made his way past the unfamiliar bright orange hardtop Jeep Wrangler and pushed through the door of the single-wide trailer. A coffeepot wheezed on the yellowing Formica kitchen countertop. The aroma was strong and sweet, masking the stale cigarette stink that permeated everything. He heard the shower running.

He washed the grease off of his hands with Ajax and hot water in the kitchen sink and toweled off just as his dad’s bedroom door swung gently open. The woman’s dirty blonde hair was still wet. She gasped.

“Oh, honey. You scared me,” she whispered, shutting the door quietly behind her. “Your daddy went back to sleep. Let’s not wake him up.”

“Nah, don’t want that.” Troy grabbed a chipped coffee mug out of the cabinet. “Coffee?”

“Please. I thought I’d make some before I run off. Hope you don’t mind.”

The woman was closer to his age than his dad’s. Plain face. A nice smile, though. She seemed familiar. Wide hips, big chest. Just his dad’s type. She wore a brightly patterned polyester dress down to her thighs with black tights. Must’ve been the one she wore last night, too, but the polyester didn’t hold wrinkles so you couldn’t tell.

“You don’t recognize me, do you?” she asked.

He shook his head, embarrassed for her. Prayed she wouldn’t ask his name. He sure wouldn’t ask hers. What would be the point?

An awkward smile. “Doesn’t matter.” She squeezed past him in the narrow galley kitchen on the way to the living room to fetch her coat and boots. “Excuse me, honey.”

Her breasts brushed against his back. Troy wasn’t sure if that was on purpose or not. It wouldn’t have been the first time. Women had their fantasies, too. His dad said he was good-looking like his mother, sometimes proudly, sometimes mocking. Troy’s dark hair was straight and thick, and he wore it long, to his dad’s chagrin. But it was his blue eyes that grabbed most women. Since the summer, he stood just over six feet tall, but his size-fourteen feet suggested there was more to follow. He was still boyishly thin, with long, ropey muscles and a broad back, hardened by years of swinging an ax with his dad. His father was just five-eight, with dark curly hair and dark eyes that women like this one couldn’t resist — cold-blooded eyes that could steal away a lesser man’s courage. He was wide in the hips and shoulders like a fireplug, heavily muscled, and his powerful arms were slathered in tats drawn by the best ink artists in the Philippines.

Troy pulled down another mug and poured coffee into both.

The woman flopped on the couch and pulled on a boot. “Hope we didn’t make too much noise this morning. Hated to wake you up.” She blushed a little.

“I was outside doing some work. Didn’t hear anything.”

“Aren’t you going to be late for school?” She pulled on the other boot and grabbed her coat.

“They won’t start without me.”

She giggled. “You’re a funny kid.” She pulled on her coat and took the steaming cup of coffee Troy offered her. She sipped it. “Can I make you some breakfast or something, honey?”

With what? The fridge is empty, lady.

“No, I’m fine. Thanks.”

The woman saw the clock on the wall. “Shit. I’m gonna be late. Can I give you a ride to school?”

Troy saw the clock, too. If he left now with her, he’d only be late for gym, and the PE coaches didn’t give a shit. But this being nice stuff was getting on his nerves. These women always wanted to be nice to him. Like somehow being nice to him would get them closer to the old man. Stupid. And he didn’t want them around anyway.

“I’ve got it covered. But thanks.”

“Suit yourself.”

She set the cup down on the counter and started to tell him something but thought better of it. Troy figured it was along the lines of “Tell your dad to call me,” but maybe she was smart enough to realize that would never happen. She pushed through the trailer door and headed out to her Jeep.

Troy felt stupid. He should’ve taken her up on her offer for a ride, but he didn’t want anything from her. Or anybody else, for that matter. People only cause you problems.

The Jeep engine coughed into life and the transmission clunked into first gear as Troy grabbed a couple of pieces of stale bread from the cupboard. He smeared two big gobs of peanut butter on them and washed them down with coffee before heading to the bathroom to brush his teeth. He’d shower later at the school gym. Hotter water.

He pulled on a heavy flannel shirt out of the laundry basket and sniffed it. Not too bad. Found his backpack and slung it over his shoulder. His tiny room was crammed with dog-eared paperbacks and a 1959 Collier’s encyclopedia set he bought at a garage sale for twenty dollars when he was a freshman. His twin bed was perfectly made with a single wool blanket and sheets so tight you could bounce a quarter off them. His dad was a lot of things, but a slob wasn’t one of them. He insisted that his son make his bed “the army way” every morning to start his day. “Bed’s made tight, the day goes right,” his dad always said.

His dad said a lot of shit that didn’t make sense.

Troy made his bed this way now because he actually liked it. It also avoided an unnecessary fight with the old man. There were plenty of necessary fights to go around. Like trying to get his dad to take his meds. “Don’t need ’em” was what he’d say if he was in a good mood. “Shut the fuck up about the goddamn meds” was the more common response. They were probably expired by now anyway. Troy had done his own research into the subject of PTSD at the small public library and managed to convince his dad last year to go to the VA for an evaluation. But his dad never followed up and never took his meds, so he kept cycling down, as deep as the next whiskey bottle would take him.

Troy laid his hand on the doorknob to open his father’s door but stopped. If his old man needed to sleep, better to let him sleep. He’d be home right after school and the two of them together would get more done if his dad was rested up than he would working by himself all day without Troy, tired and hungover. And Troy didn’t like the idea of his dad running those saws by himself, especially if he was having Mr. Jack Daniels over for lunch.

Troy shut the front door behind him and began the long trek to school. With any luck, he’d hitch a ride once he got off the dirt track onto the main road. His feet were already sore, cramped inside the too-small boots he got from Goodwill last week. He was probably an idiot for turning down that lady’s offer for a ride. His dad would’ve laughed at him, but he had his own rules to live by.