Free Solitary: A Novel by Travis Thrasher

that rock of hers.
    I see something white come out of nowhere and slip between her legs.
    A cat. Some big white ball of fur.
    "He was around not long ago."
    "Do you know what happened to him?"
    "The mouth of the beast swallowed him up," Aunt Alice says. "Just like Jonah. Just like Annie. Just like it will swallow you."
    Mom seems unfazed. "Did you talk to Bobby?"
    "Death surrounded him. Death hung in the air around him like a broken halo. Death chased after him."
    "What happened to him, Aunt Alice? Where'd he go?"
    Aunt Alice suddenly turns to me, then starts to laugh.
    I see missing teeth-either that or black ones. She starts to howl with laughter.
    "Hell," she says in that southern drawl. "Hell. He stopped by just before he reached hell. Just like the two of you. Just like you."

I don't know whether I should laugh or shiver.
    My mother plows down the long driveway from Aunt Alice's house. It's twenty minutes after the quote of the day involving us somehow going to hell. That was the climax of the morning as far as I'm concerned. The only thing that could have topped that would've been the mannequin standing up and asking me to play a game of checkers.
    I'm waiting for Mom to say something.
    When she does, it's a keeper.
    "Well, that brings the term dysfunctional family to a whole new level."
    We laugh. I mean really laugh.
    Sometimes when life is so amazingly awful, that's all you can do. That's one option, at least. It's either laugh or cry. We've done our share of both.
    "Was she always that friendly?" I joke.
    "She saw Robert. At least I got that out of her."
    "Maybe she buried him in the backyard."
    "Stop."
    "Did you smell it in there?"
    "Yes."
    "That wasn't a normal smell. That wasn't the sort of something's- gone-bad-in-the-garbage smell. That was the sort of Dahmer-next-door smell."
    "Stop it."
    "I'm serious," I say.
    "It's probably just some dead animal."
    "Oh, well, in that case, it's fine."
    My mom laughs at my sarcasm. "I didn't realize-I didn't know she was like that."
    "What do you mean?" I ask. "You didn't realize Aunt Alice was completely whacked?"
    "Stop."
    "This was fun. Can't wait to meet some more relatives."
    "Chris-"
    "I'm not even going to say it."
    "Then don't."
    But of course I do. "I don't get why we came back here."
    "I thought you weren't going to say it."
    "Did I say that? Sorry, my thought spoke out loud."
    "We've had this conversation a hundred times."
    "And a hundred times, I keep getting the wrong answers."
    "There's no right answer I can give you," Mom tells me.
    "Sure there is."
    "No. Because all you want to hear is that we're leaving this place. And that's not going to happen. We're staying."
    "Even if that means we're going to hell?"
    "Your Aunt Alice has some issues."
    "You think?"
    "Chris, be respectful."
    "This just keeps getting better."
    "What?"
    "Everything. This place. This life."
    "Stop it."
    "I can't wait to get home and find out that the authorities are coming to get me. Maybe I'll be placed under house arrest. Or better yet, confined to stay a month with Aunt Alice."
    Even though my mother doesn't want to, she laughs.
    That's all either of us can do.

I peel the orange at the small table by the kitchen as I wait for my mother to get off the phone. When she finally thanks Principal Harking, I hold my breath and wait.
    "It's all sorted out. The principal said that they ruled out that the gun belonged to you."
    "Whose was it?"
    "They can trace it back to a seller in Tennessee. Obviously there are no ties to you. The principal said that one of the deputies was going to stop by."
    "It's almost seven o'clock."
    "Maybe they'll stop by yet tonight."
    "Doubt it. So that means I have to go back tomorrow?"
    "You make it sound like a penitentiary."
    "You haven't walked the halls."
    "One more day and you have the weekend."
    "Fantastic."
    I can't help but think of the dance that I'm not going to.
    It's not that I want to go to a dance. I'd go milk cows with Jocelyn if I could. Or do whatever