Free The Tattoo by Chris Mckinney Page B

goin’?”
    His eyes got big. “Fuck no! I taut we was goin’ fall right off da mountain.”
    We laughed so hard the tears rolled down our beet-red cheeks. As the laughter subsided, once more I said, “You fuckin’ crazy.”
    We decided to clean the pig at my house because it was closer. I picked it up, Koa grabbed the guns, and we began walking home. This is where the trouble started.
    When we got to my house, I hung up the pig while Koa went inside to wash up and grab a knife. I smelled the wild stench on me, crinkled my nose, and began taking my hunting clothes off. When Koa came back out, I finally noticed. His face was covered with lacerations made by the branches he’d run straight through. He read my shock and laughed. “You neva see?” he asked. “Shit, I neva even know too until I went in da house and looked in da mirror.”
    I laughed, laughed in the cold, my underwear and some pig blood my only coverings, but then I saw he was holding the unsheathed katana in his hand, the sword my father inherited after his father’s death, and another kind of shiver emerged. I saw the crimson threads above and below his clenched fingers. The blade shone even though it was dark, greedily grabbing at any light it could reach. Moon, stars, distant street lights. It shone with its cleanness, its flawlessness. He sensed my nervousness.“Shit, I was goin’ grab da small one,” he said, “but I figured would be more fun wit’ da big one.”
    He handed me the sword. It felt so much lighter than before, when my grandfather had first put it in my hand. But in a way, heavier, too. “Gut ‘um,” Koa whispered.
    I looked around. My father’s truck was gone. I looked at the boar, smelled it, hated it for making me shoot it, making me carry it all the way down that mountain. I pretended it was my father. I let out a loud “Yahhh!” and lifted the blade over my head and swung down with a quick slice. Before I could even step back, the intestines dropped out of the boar’s belly and splattered on my bare feet. Steam rose from the bloody mess. I heard Koa yell, “Holy shit! Lemme try.”
    I handed the katana to Koa, and without hesitation he swung at the neck of the pig. The whole pig fell from the force, and the head rolled a few feet away. I couldn’t believe it sliced cleanly through the thick spine. He began to laugh. “This fuckin’ sword is so cool.”
    That’s when we heard the truck pull up the driveway. We were the deer in the headlights, unmoved, maybe longing to hear a loud cry of warning, a “Hey, stop!”
    I heard the bloody blade drop from Koa’s hand.
    No explanation attempted, no questions asked. He walked straight up to me and said, “Koa, get your ass home.”
    I looked over and saw Koa take several steps back. Then before I could look back at my father, I already felt the fist hit the side of my jaw. My body spun, but I didn’t drop. Then I heard his voice. “You fuckin’ kid! You disrespect da sword, you make me hit you!” Bam, another fist to the head, this one on the temple. “And now you no drop! Who da fuck you tink you are!” Another one hit me on the jaw.
    After I spun from that one, I looked up at his face and saw the crinkle in his forehead, the devilish arch of his eyebrows, and the enlarged whites of his eyes. I smiled. Gave him my best sixteen-year-old smile, and spit out fragments of teeth at him. Another hit. “So you lifting weights now, tink you hot shit, “ he yelled. “C’mon give me one shot! I fuckin’ kill you, you fucka!” I stood there with my hands down and stared at him. Finally he said, “Get da fuck outta here before I fuckin’ kill you!”
    Actually, I don’t really remember any of this. It’s what Koa told me had happened the next day when I woke up in his room. I figured that was the way it went, though, considering I couldn’t talk for a week, and when I slid my tongue across my teeth, I cut it. I had to drink Slim Fasts all week long. I didn’t go