Rattlebones (bxbxb)

An Extremely Bad Idea

"Are you out of your mind?"

Those are the first words that come out of Iggy's mouth, and for once, I have to agree with him. Having Eugene's stepmom as a substitute was bad enough, but strolling into her evil lair like we owned the place was even worse.

"Oh, come on!" Eugene protests and he looks so crushed by our dismissal that I actually feel bad for him. "I've been crashing with you guys for like two weeks." He says, "Why can't we go to my place for once? We don't even have to go inside. I just want to see my house again."

"I'm sorry, but Iggy's right," I say, "This is an extremely bad idea. In fact, it's probably one of the worst ones that we've ever had, and that's saying a lot."

"So what? I don't get a choice anymore because I'm dead?" Eugene looks at us in contempt, his lip curling a little. "You kiss and make up and now you're both teaming up on me. This isn't even a fucking relationship, bro. This is The Darcy and Iggy Show, and I'm just tagging along for the ride."

"Oh, don't be so dramatic. You know I both adore and detest you and Iggy equally." I scold him, and then I put my hands on my hips like a disapproving parent. Though, as bad as the idea sounded, I knew that it meant a lot to Eugene. He had to have been homesick for the place that he had grown up in, and he probably missed his father.

"Maybe we can drive by his house for a minute," I find myself saying. "We can take my car and wear ski masks or something, that way they won't recognize it if they see us from the front window."

"Yeah," Eugene brightens a little. "I doubt anyone's going to even notice us."

"No," Iggy replies stubbornly, and then I walk past him, Eugene on my heels. "I'm not driving past a serial killer's house in a ski mask, Darcy!" He shouts. "Why can't we just go home and order pizza or something like a normal couple!?"

"Come on, Igor!" I call back to him. "We have things to do!"

I hear him let loose a scream of frustration and then he's storming after us.

I had never thought much about what home meant to somebody until we were actually on our way to Eugene's house and he was telling us things about the place that he had grown up in.

That his dad literally ran a junkyard and that sometimes when Eugene was a kid, he had let him play in some of the old cars that came in. Or how sometimes it smelled so bad out there that his mother had to light a bunch of fancy candles to keep away the smell.

His stories touch us so much, that even Iggy yields on the way there and he stops glaring and crossing his arms like he's a kid throwing a fit.

"It's not like a fancy house or anything," Eugene explains. "But it's home, you know?"

"Eugene, it doesn't matter if your house is a trailer or a cardboard box," I tell him, and I hand him a ski mask as we pull up to his house. "Home is where the people you love are."

"I know. And I miss it, Brown," Eugene says, and he fiddles with the ski mask in his hands. "I miss coming home and seeing my dad in his stupid recliner. And going to bed listening to the TV playing through the wall."

Iggy has been silent the whole time, but I think I hear him cry a little from the back seat.

We all put on our ski masks before it becomes a waterworks show, and then I hit the gas.

Eugene's house sits in the middle of a small landfill, so the ground is mostly gravel and sparse tufts of grass. Walls of crushed cars and twisted heaps of metal are scattered about the place, so driving up to the place is like traveling through a Grand Canyon of junk.

The trailer comes into view a few seconds later. Eugene's childhood home, where he had grown up and subsequently been poisoned much later.

It's a dilapidated place, metal wheels and strange metal fixtures attached to the wall. The porch is sagging, and an old dog is tied out in the front, sleeping its life away.

"Oh man," Iggy says from the backseat, and he laughs. "I can't believe Captain's still alive. Isn't he like a million years old or something?"

"Pretty much," Eugene replies, and I can almost hear the smile in his voice. "It looks like nobody's here. My dad usually parks his truck out front."

"Great, so can we go now?" Iggy questions. "I feel like we're about to rob a bank and this mask is itching the hell out of my face."

"Just a second," Eugene pops open his door and then he clamors out. "I need to get something out of my room before we go."

"Eugene! Wait a minute!" I hiss at him, but by then he's already gone and a panic instills within me that I can't describe. "Iggy, do something!" I shout at him.

"Darcy. This was your idea!" Iggy yells back.

I throw open my door and I practically fall out of the car in my rush to stop Eugene from going into his house. But he was fast, and by the time I charge up the porch, he's already pushing open the door to go inside.

I slam into his back to try to stop him and we go crashing into his living room.

"Bro!" Eugene pushes away from me once we hit the floor. "What the hell are you doing?"

I sit up and I glare at him through my ski mask. "Eugene, this isn't what we agreed on. We don't even know if your stepmom is here waiting to slit our throats."

"She's not," Eugene assures me. "Her car's not here either. We're fine, okay? Now can I do what I need to do before we go?"

Iggy steps in through the doorway and he pauses there, looking around somewhat in awe. "Wow..." He breathes, "It's been years since you invited me over."

"I know," Eugene says, and he helps me up from the floor. "Not since my real mom died."

I look around the living room. Eugene's trailer had this fake wood paneling all around it and a worn brown carpet under our feet. The living room was directly to our right, small and comfortable with a large TV up against the wall.

I had never in my life imagined Eugene having a family night with his dad, which was kind of biased if I was going to be honest. Just because he had been an ass in high school didn't mean the rest of his life was a disaster.

"Do you guys want to see my room?" Eugene asks us, sounding eager. "It's nothing special, but I have some CD's and shit that we can listen to."

I share a look with Iggy, who seemed as unsure as I was.

Was Eugene going through some kind of mid-death crisis? Or was he trying to make the best of his undead life by acting human?

"Sure," I find myself replying, and then I go and I take his hand. "But just for a few minutes. We still don't know when your parents are going to show up."

"This is such a bad idea." Iggy sighs.

And we go, together.