Brightrock

Three Amigos

"You wanna bring the scope slowly to your eye," Mack said. Then, when Remmy jerked the rifle toward his face suddenly, he whispered ecstatically, "Slowly!"

"I am being slowly," Remmy whispered. "Besides! This ain't the first time I ever used a rifle, you moron. I was born around guns. Remember my name?"

"Yeah, yeah," Mack said, then reached up to touch the curly, red bun on the top of his head. It'd become a habit. A real annoying, girly habit. It drove Remmy mad. 

There was a drawn-out sigh from the sideline. Both boys turned to look at the girl sitting on the far left seat in the deer blind, looking bored as she stared back at them. Vera always looked bored. Bored with them, bored with herself, pretty much bored with her life. The only thing that seemed to captivate her was being in the school gym. When she was in there, it was like she came alive. 

"Rem?" She said, wetting her thin lips.

"Mm?" He didn't really answer. He was too focused on analyzing this stupid scope. The whole thing was blurry! But, he guessed that was to be expected. It was only a $200 dollar piece of junk, something from the local pawn shop that his mom bought him for his sixteenth birthday a few days ago. They way she'd spoke when he'd opened it up made him expect some glorious, something that might better his chances hunting. And, sure, it was a kind gesture. But the truth was that it had better use as a magnifier for old folks. For a .223? He thought it might be best if he stayed with the scope he had. 

"It's not slowly," she said, resting her chin in her cupped hand.

He was confused. When he dug a glance at Mack, his friend appeared confused as well. "What?"

"Not slowly," she repeated, looking even more bored. "It's 'slow.' A minute ago you said, 'I am being slowly.' That's not correct English. It would've been, 'I am being slow.'"

"Oh, shut it, woman," Remmy said, looking through his scope again. "I don't need your stupid input every five sec--"

A hand flew out of nowhere and smacked the back of his head. The tattered baseball cap he'd been wearing flew out of the hunting blind. 

Mack clutched his sides and started choking on silent laughter. Remmy looked over at Vera, mouth agape. She smiled at him ruthlessly, then waggled a few ringed fingers in a playful diss.

"What's wrong with you?" He shouted. His voice echoed on the tin roof and throughout the woods. Being quiet was out of the question. He stood up out of his chair, the rifle falling onto its side against the table. "You hormonal or somethin'? You got your PMS or somethin'?"

Now Vera joined Mack in laughing, though she had a dark expression on her face, like she wanted to strike back. When they both calmed down, they were left to face the fuming Remmy.

"Oh, chill out," Mack said, rolling his eyes. "It was kind of funny." 

Mack rarely sided with either of them. Being the oldest of the group, at seventeen, he was sort of the adult-referee when Remmy or Vera, also older than him, ever got into it. But it was kind of odd. Vera never directly fought with him. She never shouted. Never cursed at him. She was calm, deathly calm. He found it was the most intriguing part about her. 

Mack stood up from the half-broken lawn chair and ducked out of the hunting blind. Vera grabbed her empty carton of chocolate milk from the table and ducked out as well. 

Remmy's shoulders slunk forward. He looked across the small clearing in the woods again, hopes soaring to spot any white tail stupid enough to approach their slaughter house with the racket they'd made. As should be expected, the woods were empty. Remmy cursed, grabbed the rifle and ducked out of the blind.

"Man," he muttered. "That scope ain't worth anything."

"Get some, lose some," Vera said, then smirked. 

"Hey, pretty boy," he said gruffly as he looked down the hill. "How about you fetch my hat out of 'em briars, since you thought that was so frickin' funny?"

"It was funny," Mack said, smiling. "You can't deny it."

Without a further word, the tall redhead shuffled down the leaf-covered hillside in pursuit of the cap stuck in a pile of brush a few yards down. Remmy's gaze slid to Vera. She stared back at him, a dangerous glint in her eye.

"What are you looking at?" He snapped. He ran a hand over his buzzed scalp and glared at his boots.

"You, Remmy," she said, eyes screwing up a little in the sunlight. It made the quarter Filipino part in her stand out even more. "Who else?"

That was Vera in a nutshell. Remmy shook his head, realizing his attempts to connect with the freak-girl were useless. They stared out across the lush hills as she crunched the milk carton flat and shoved it in the pocket of her baggy hunting coat. His gaze glided over to her again on accident, thinking she might say something to cut the tension, but of course she didn't. He looked away and scowled, shouldering the rifle.

"Come on, Chink," he said. Leading the way, they gently edged down the hillside and met up with Mack at the bottom.

His tall friend settled the cap over Remmy's buzzed hair and winked. "You look good, Cap'n."

"Whatever. As long as you don't try to make any move on me," Remmy said. "You're already obsessive about that girl hair of yours. All I need is for you to start painting your face up and trying to ask me out."

Mack threw back his head and laughed at the pale blue sky overhead. "Come on," he said, hooking an arm around Remmy's neck. "It's awesome hair. I've worked hard on it. It's a master piece."

"Master piece of crap," he muttered. As a group, they set out a well worn trail that would lead them to the gravel road by Remmy's house. Or, technically, trailer home. Either way you wanted to put it.

The Kentucky woods gently rolled from one hill to the next, treetops covered with leaves full of color. This time of year, the red and yellow hues were vibrant and seemed almost unreal. Like something out of a painting. 

Within ten minutes, the brush and trees began to thin out. Up ahead about a hundred years, Remmy could see a sliver of the gravel road through the crowded trees.   

 "You coming over for dinner?" Mack said, smoothing back a loose curl by his eye. 

"Nah," Remmy said, the tension in his jaw subsiding a bit.  "My mama's gonna be here tonight. Got to make sure Lex gets somethin' to eat."

Mack didn't need any explanation as to what that meant. They'd grown up just a stone's throw from one another. He knew. Or at least Mack probably thought he knew. In reality, though, no one ever knew. Not really. Unless you witnessed it firsthand, you always remained a spectator.

They stepped onto the edge of the road. Remmy stared at the rusty trailer house settled in the overgrown grass just twenty feet ahead of him. Home sweet home. The front door was propped open with a rusted folding chair. Even at this distance, he could smell the cigarette spoke, thick and heavy. 

Remmy sighed and looked over at his two friends. They both stared at him, as if wanting to comfort but unable to.

He pulled the front of his cap lower over his eyes and jutted his chin toward the red '95 Chevy pickup parked in the weeds on the edge of the ditch. "You coming along for the ride, man?" He asked.

Mack shoved his hands in the pockets of his Carhart. "No. I'm good." He lifted a hand, then smiled, warm and kind. "Drive safe. See you guys later."

"You walk like a girl!" Remmy called, cupping his hands around his mouth.

To their amusement, Mack lifted a hand in air, displaying his middle finger.

Remmy and Vera stood there and watched as Mack continued on down the gravel road alone. Once his back disappeared around the bend, Remmy moved across the lawn and pulled open the driver door. He scooted in and buckled himself as Vera got in on the passenger side.

"I'm driving you straight home, right?" Remmy asked as he fired up the truck. "You don't got to do anything else?"

When she didn't answer, he looked over at her. She was staring right back.

"No," she said quietly, looking out the frosty window. "There's nothing else."