Page 74 - Leather Blues

62 Jack Fritscher

He started down the stairs with his roll. “Yeah,” he said.
“the house is on fire.” As she rushed up the stairs, he escaped
any goodbyes. He was on his cycle and in the street before
she was at his window knowing he had lied and knowing
more: that he was gone for good.
“Storm’s blowing up,” Den said. He held his head back to
catch the wind of the darkening evening sky. Clouds shred-
ded across the horizon. “Storm’s coming,” Den repeated,
“and a hard moon rising.” The moon held straight above
him, like a plate hung full over the road ahead. Gripping his
handlebars and feeling the engine warm between his legs,
he knew his long waiting was over. His bike was his lib-
eration. He could breathe. He cruised at top speed past the
town’s outlying cemetery. It was full of stones for people who
were dead and for people who were alive. His family and the
Hanrattys already had their markers up, filled in with birth
dates and RIP’s and only the death date to be chiseled. His
brother Rick, or what was left of him, was buried under that
stone. “That’s all those fuckers are sure of,” Den said. “That’s
all they plan on is dying.” He wanted none of it. He had his
bedroll on his bike, his bike under him, and he was chasing
the moon flatout down the deserted highway. He was no
longer waiting for life. He had it. Free.
The rain broke fierce. Den hunched forward against its
force and took to a backroads shortcut. He arrived soaked at
his M’s apartment. He rang the bell. The M opened up. “It’s
a real gully washer,” Den said. The man brought him two
huge towels. “No big thing,” Den said. “Jeans and T-shirt.”
The M offered to throw his clothes in his dryer. Den liked
the idea. He stripped off his leather jacket. Slow. He teased.
He pulled the soggy T-shirt from his shoulders. Rainwater
beaded up on his perfect flesh. “Pull off my boots,” he said.
The man fell to his knees at Den’s feet. His hands blackened
with wet grease as he pulled the boy’s heavy boots from his
sockless feet. Den unbuttoned his fly and dropped his jeans

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