Free Fuckness by Andersen Prunty Page A

other pain go away. The anger was hot and electric, surging through my skin and veins, grabbing my bones and lifting them up.
    I screamed, “Leave me alone! You’re dead! Both of you! I killed you! You can’t do this!”
    I charged at him. Only it wasn’t just him I charged at. It was everything. The hopelessness I felt inside. All the punishments of the past. Everything.
    He sat blobbishly in his wheelchair, shooting an angry glance at me, wheeling the chair sideways so it blocked the door. I hit him in his giant head with my sharp, girlish elbow. The force of the blow sent the chair spinning. Racecar flew right out of it, sliding down the wall beside the door. He thrashed around on the floor, grunting and growling. I swear, at one point, I heard him growl, “Basement.” That single burst of energy took it out of me. I bounced off the wall, coincidentally collapsing into his wheelchair. Before I knew it, my hands were working the levers Racecar, more and more, refused to use. I had to move the little joystick quickly back and forth to get the chair straightened. I threw it in reverse and backed it into my room a little, so I could get through the door. As I did that, I accidentally rolled over one of Racecar’s stumps. Then, as I shot forward, I ran over one of his stumps again. That time it almost toppled the chair. He screamed like someone was murdering him. But he didn’t really scream at all. I only imagined him screaming. He was still in the living room, exactly as I had left him. Both of them were.
    And I was in the wheelchair, breathing hard, confused.
    I buzzed for the front door, leaving those screams behind. If someone could have seen the look on my face, they would have thought I was the happiest crippled alive.
    “ Nobody’s going to treat a Bobby DeHaven dancer like this. Nobody !”
    I don’t know why I said that or even, really, who I was talking to. Maybe I wanted their ghosts to know they were going to blobbishly rot away in this house and I was heading into a world filled with money and girls and fame. I struggled for a few minutes, banging the door open against the wheelchair. But I got it open and I was outside and sure I wasn’t ever stepping foot in that house again.

 
    Chapter Seven
    What Do You Want To Be When You Grow Up?
     
    Rolling out of the house, the morning was surprisingly bright and sunny for Milltown. Even on most clear days, a dingy brown cloud usually extended its dusky wings over the horizon. I had no idea what I was going to do. I certainly wasn’t in any sort of shape to go to school. I got out to the sidewalk, as though some direction I might choose would provide me with an idea. I rolled the chair down the sidewalk and over to the little alley beside our garage. I decided to just putter around the town for awhile, trying to avoid everyone.
    Going one way would lead me to the southwest part of the town. The Saints River made up the town’s southwestern border. That was one filthy river. Most days it was a grayish black and carried a scent of rotten decayed fish with it. These fish could be seen, white and bloated on the steep banks of the river. On its cleanest days, it was a sort of brownish green, swirls of oily color twisting on its surface.
    For as many people who lived in Milltown, the town itself was surprisingly small. It didn’t take up a lot of space. No matter where I decided to go, I wouldn’t be far from any other area. Therefore, it didn’t really matter where the hell I went.
    The Historic District was located about five miles east of the river. For all the pollution and dirtiness and other fuckness, the Historic District looked pretty nice. The few times my family had ever taken me out of town I remember liking this part of Milltown the best, when we were just driving through. If I ever had to stay there, in that shitty little town, I guess the Historic District was where I would have liked to end up. It was quiet and all the houses were brick.