by Densie Webb
It was a prank. A practical joke. Through the haze of slightly illicit drugs inhaled in the bushes behind the house, Evan found the plan hilarious. In the harsh, flickering florescent lights of the 53rd precinct, he had lost his sense of the ridiculous.
“Roll your thumb on the paper. Now, your fingers.” The officer reeked of stale cigarettes. His protruding belly nudged Evan’s elbow, as he breathed his sour breath in Evan’s face. He handed Evan a towel to wipe the ink off his hands.
“Your father’s on his way. Wait here.” He pointed to a bench. Evan sat.
His dad would provide bail money. But it would come bundled with lecture #4533 with the volume set on high. Evan’s slacker ways were no secret. Bottom of his class. Headed for community college—if he was lucky. The real secret was, he was a good kid. Always had been. Just made stupid choices. Even his best friend, Steve, had told him, “Dude you just have to make smarter choices.” He knew he was running out of chances, that his well-worn excuses weren’t going to work this time. But that knowledge didn’t stop the imagined accusations from his dad, followed by Evan’s well-rehearsed denials.
“Dad, it wasn’t me.”
“Then what the hell is that red paint doing all over your clothes?”
“I swear, Dad!”
“I’m not stupid, Evan—the clothes, the fake blood, the gloves sewn into the sleeves of that jacket, the bike laying in the street!”
That Nervous Nelly who called the police needed new glasses. Anybody could see with a second glance that it was a dummy, a setup, a joke. They had waited in the shrubbery, snickering, vibrating with anticipation to watch the scene play out. Someone would stop, freak out and then realize what it was, be super pissed and speed way. Evan and his friends would double over in laughter. Evan had even convinced Steve to join in. One last crazy act before he left for college. For his life.
But things didn’t go according to plan. When pandemonium broke out, Steve panicked, headed in the opposite direction, and hid in a drainage pipe below the intersection, frantically calling Evan from his cell.
“Dude, the police! There’s an ambulance! And a fire truck! Shit! We’re so fucked.” Then his phone disconnected.
Steve was leaving for Wash U in the fall. Full scholarship. The rest of them, George, Randy, Kevin and Erin, were all in the same boat. Stuck in this shit town for the duration.
But Steve Collier was different. Maybe he hung out with a bunch of underachievers, but he was smart. Real smart. Didn’t even have to try. Information seemed to find its way into his brain cells and settle in for the duration. One of these days, when Steve was CEO of some monster multi-billion dollar corporation, Evan was going to crash a stockholders’ meeting and regale them with this story. It would be good for a yuck or two.
“Evan?” His father was standing in the doorway. All 6’4” of him. When he was pissed, he sounded like Darth Vader but…tonight, there wasn’t a trace of anger in his voice.
Evan looked up from the hard wooden bench, bracing himself for the inevitable lecture. But the lines on his father’s face were drawn in sadness.
“Dad, I’m so sorry. I…”
“Evan, it’s Steve.” He lowered his head, rubbing the creases in his forehead. “He was trying to get away. In all the commotion—the ambulance, the police cars, the fire truck. They didn’t see him. “Evan, it was an accident. A horrible accident.”
***
The night of graduation, Evan skipped the drunken celebrations and ducked into Resurrection Tattoos on 5th and 32nd. Despite his mother’s pleas, on his left arm it now says, “S.C. 2019.”
Steve would’ve joked, said it stood for “Smart Choices.”
But Evan knows better.
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