I'M NOT DEAD: The Journals of Charles Dudley Vol.1 by Artie Cabrera Read Free Book Online Page A

together.”
    I put my hand on his chin and shook his head up and down until he cracked a smile. The boy wasn’t much for words, but he was alright.
    I sat beside Dusty on the bed, took a quick look around Kate’s room, and let out a deep sigh. I remember when Kate would run into our bedroom at night and hide underneath our covers because she believed Boogiemen lurked underneath her bed or in her closet.
    My father would tell us to shut up and go to sleep if we even made a peep from our bedroom. I can hear him now: “Shaddap the both of yous or I’ll come in there and really give yous guys sumtin’ ta cry about! Do ya want the belt?”
    So, I would put on my Super dad cape, hoist Kate over my shoulders, and go charging back into her bedroom to kick the Boogieman’s butt. “Here we come, Boogieman, you ugly stinker!” she’d cry, riding my back into the fray like a brave little warrior. Kate would throw her little fists up, and we’d go in swinging until she believed he was gone. I’d stay with her, praying, until she fell back asleep.
    I’d pray. I’d pray over her every night: “God, please don’t let my angel grow up to be a lying, cheating whore, and let no man treat her like one. If I can’t show her the way, please give her the strength to do so herself.”
    Boys have to be tough, right? You can’t pamper them and tell them everything’s going to be okay; otherwise, they’ll grow up with no penis. You see, that would be something my old man would say, but I know better now. I pulled Dusty close to me and nuzzled him underneath my arm.
    “Listen here, champ,” I said. “It ain’t easy, but we have to be strong just for a little while longer, okay, pal? We’ll get out of here, we’ll go somewhere far away, and safe, where there aren’t any monsters and jack offs. You can make new friends, grow up to do something cool like play ball for the Yanks and marry a pretty girl like your buddy Charles. Do you like baseball? What do you like?”
    Dusty’s shoulders slumped and he looked away.
    “Oh, come on. Hey, don’t do that. I know what I’ll do, I’ll show you how to throw a ball, how ya’ like that, huh? Fast ones, too. My father and I never threw the ball around. Would you like to know why? He was an asshole and a drunk, but that’s beside the point.I wasn’t so bad a ballplayer when I was younger, you know. I was maybe about your age, a little bigger though. I was out there every day practicing—practicing, practicing, practicing. Morning, noon, night, rain, cold, hot, sick, broken foot, and whatever. Three consecutive championships for the team isn’t something to take lightly either. Yeah, the Bayside Fireflies, that was my team. Center field, MVP, I was one of the best. Your friend Charles was going places. That’s right. The big league, bright lights, and where the big boys play: Yankee Stadium. I was unstoppable, but what can you do, right? Shit happens. You—you’re going to be okay. I won’t let anyone hurt you, do you hear me?”
    I made Dusty pinky swear, and then he threw his arms around me and buried his head into my chest.
    We’re going to be okay.
     
     

CLEAN UP IN AISLE STYX
    Tuesday, January 7 th , 2014
     
    The onslaught of foul bacteria at the market could have driven anyone to puke half a dozen times. Any remnants of meat, dairy, and produce had flesh flies and larvae crawling in and out of it. The produce gave us all diarrhea weeks before, and Dusty didn’t stop shitting his pants for three days after ingesting my salmonella ridden chicken marsala.
    Harold’s Super Foods looked like an earthquake and demolition derby hit it all at once. All cash registers were absent from checkout, flickering neon-light fixtures dangled from frayed cables; showcases, displays, and carts were shoved around or pushed over onto their sides. The aisles were in complete disarray and littered with overturned racks, broken glass jars, and condiment slop.
    The hoarders even took off