Vernon God Little

I get quite comfortable, standing in line with my musings. Then the man's paper flops open to a picture of me. 'Guilty?' asks the headline. The room turns icy. My eyes bounce, and I swear I see a flash of Jesus' casket being wheeled in to catch the San Antonio bus. I shut my eyes, and when I open them there's no casket. But I expect it, back in my soul. That, or some fucken shit. You know Fate.

Inch by inch, I shuffle behind the Mexican ladies toward check-in. My bravery has ebbed away. I decide to try my New York accent on the man at the ticket counter, just ask him some question; that way, if anybody comes looking for me later, he'll say, 'Nah, I only saw some kid from The Apple.' The ladies finish and move away. The clerk stops tapping at his keyboard, and looks up. My mouth opens, but he doesn't look at me, his eyes shoot over my shoulder.

'Howdy Palmyra,' he says.

Pam's shadow falls over me. 'Hell, Vernie, what're you doing down here?'

'Uh – looking for work.'

'Lord, a boy can't work on an empty belly – c'mon now, I'm on my way past the Barn to your place…'

Fuck. Everybody in the place looks up to watch Pam drag me out by the hand, like a goddam kid. The man with the newspaper nudges somebody next to him, and points. I feel the noose of this fucken town tighten around my throat.

nine

'The dogs will also uncover firearms, and other devices,' says the sheriff on TV. 'So if a weapon is found, it'll just be a matter of matching the fingerprints.'

'And if you get a match – case closed?' asks the reporter.

'You bet.'

Mom switches off the TV on her scurry back to the kitchen. 'Lord, Vernon, please don't go to the Tragedy Sale in those shoes, you heard what everybody thinks. Please. I can't believe there isn't a pair of Tumbledowns in your size around town.'

'Timberlands, Ma.'

'Whatever. Look, here's the pastor now. I know it's not much of a job, but, as Lally says, it's important to show the community you're making good.'

'But I didn't do anything – damn!'

'Vernon Gregory!' says Lally. 'Don't argue with your mother.'

He wears this fancy suit today, with a tie and all. Suddenly this fancy fucken suit appeared.

I just want to fucken die, go back to jail, to the warmth of Barry and his crew of madcap funsters. Last night was a long night at home, real fucken long. To cap it off, Kurt started barking again. I swear the barking circuit that orbits town every night starts and ends with fucken Kurt. For such a nerdy dog, I don't see how he got to be president of the barking circuit. It ain't like he's a fucken rat-wheeler or anything.

Lally sucks down a ginseng, and nuzzles Mom. 'Hey,' he grunts, 'remember what we talked about? If I get the series, we'll fill this house with Special Edition fridges.'

Her lips tighten. 'Well I don't know what happened to that order, now it looks like Nancie got one. Anyway, if you saw her old refrigerator you'd know why. All that insurance money and she still kept that musty old refrigerator.'

'Shhh,' whispers Lally. 'We got a new speakerphone, didn't we? Now you don't even have to hold the receiver!'

I get waves about it all. My ole lady was never Honey Bear like this with my daddy. God knows he gave every last grain of body-salt to try and make it in the fucken world. It just wasn't enough, in the end, I guess. The day he got his first thousand dollars, the neighbors must've got ten. Aim for a million bucks, you suddenly need a billion. I upgraded my computer, but it wasn't enough. No matter what, it ain't fucken enough in life, that's what I learned.

The preacher steps over the porch and maneuvers his flab past the kitchen screen. 'This glorious Saturday smells of joy cakes,' he booms. I swear the Lord giveth and just keeps fucken givething to Pastor Gibbons.

'They're hot and perky, Pastor,' Mom whisks the napkin off a tray of pessimistic-looking bakes, offering it up like it was a feel of her tits twenty years ago. Gibbons' new Timberlands chirp a trail across the linoleum.

He grabs a cake, then turns to smile at me. 'And you're my deputy for the day?'

'That's your boy,' says Lally, 'he'll give a hundred and fifty percent.'

'Awesome, I'll put him on the bake stall – we're hoping to raise ten grand today, for the new media center.'

Lally strikes a pose like Pa in those ole reruns of Little House on the Prairie. 'This town sure is teaching a thing or two about community spirit, Pastor.'

'God knows the Tragedy Committee has worked miracles to bring some good out of the devastation,' says Gibbons. 'Word is, one of the networks might even put us national today.' He pulls focus from infinity to Lally's face. 'Wouldn't be – your people, would it, Mr Ledesma?'

Lally smiles the smile of a doting God. 'I'll certainly be giving you some camera time, Pastor, don't you worry. The world will be yours.'

'Oh my,' Gibbons does the coy padre off that ole army hospital show. 'All right, Vernon,' he says, nudging me toward the door. 'The Lord helps those who help themselves…'