It Ain't Just a Smile (a short story)

I took a more stripped down approach on this one. Slightly different to the usual. Enjoy.

I

He managed to turn a simple smile into the scariest thing I ever saw. To this day, I think about it hourly.  

“I’m so relieved it’s over,” that’s what I told ‘em, and he hit me with that smile.

It wasn’t just a smile though. That’s the thing.

Knowing. Canines on full display, eyes half watering, like he felt sorry for me. Oh you poor kid. You poor, green-bellied little boy. “You think this is over?”

He didn’t bother to say any of this though. The smile did all the work.

***

It starts out with a favour. It ends up here.

Every time.

No matter how many occasions you tell ‘em that, it changes nothing. Didn’t change nothing for me. All of us go ahead with it anyway. All of us get in that car anyway. All of us accept that manilla envelope, let them throw a gold chain around our neck, thinkin’ “for me, it’ll end up different.”

It never ends up different.

You still gotta try your best to get through to ‘em though don’t ya?

“It starts with a favour. It ends up here.”

***

No one wants to kneecap a guy.

Sure you’ve got your psychos out there. Sure you’ve got your barky terrier types, who avoid sleeves whenever they can, who flex on you before you’ve even finished introducing yourself. But even they seize up a bit when the mallet comes out.

A guy only goes to that place after he took the loan. After they helped him avoid the foreclosure. After they kept the looters away from his shop window.

That’s what makes you squeeze your fist around the mallet. Feeling that sweat varnished wood against your skin.

***

Tit for tat is what you tell yourself.

What did I expect? I knew I wasn’t in dealings with the pastor here.

Ricky Malone ain’t exactly known for his patient personality. What? There was something about the way his nose was squished sideways across his face that confused you?

So you ruin some kid’s athletic dreams. You pop a nice message in his daddy’s council cubby hole.

Next time play ball. ’Sa shame your son never will.

You release a long exhale. “I’m so relieved it’s over.”

That’s when you find out tit for tat ain’t the way it works. You can’t pay away the debt just like that.

It always ends up here.

***

So we’re back to the smile. Back to the, “what have I bitten off?” terror.

And the truth is. I still don’t know.

I’m still waiting.

But it’s coming. That’s for sure.

This week, next month, maybe a few years down the line.

It’s coming.

Of course they’ll never warn me ahead of time. Shit they probably don’t know exactly when, themselves.

But I know. That smile said more than words ever could.

II

“Stay for the weekend. C’mon.”

There are some eyes you can say no to. Some lips you can see fall without it ruining your week. Not hers.

I was about to write that she’s never needed a lick of makeup in her life, but idunno. What authority am I on that? Maybe she wears a shitload of the stuff every day, just hides it well. What would I know? Whatever she’s doing, it works.

Needless to say, I stayed the weekend.

Her step-uncle had this section up near the equator line. Not much more than a shack, but gorgeous weather, warm water and a fully stocked liquor cabinet.

Didn’t even cross my mind how it might all look to the boys with the hammer. Last minute plane ticket. Exotic destination. A late sick call into work.

Flight risk?

***

After we watched the beach town bus groan away from the only stop in town and the last to leave for another hour—me and the girl were treated to a damp walk home.

Salt and chafing, plus three rums too many on my part, made for a silent second half to that hill climb. She marched nine strides ahead of me while I fantasized about a warm shower and dry clothes.

She always insisted she’d never put a line of anything up her nose, yet somehow I smelt the burning before her.

She crested the hill and almost took us both tumbling back down it as she fell back into my arms.

At first I thought she’d been shot, the way she fell. Wailing, clutching her hair as I guided her body flat against the bank.

The smell of smoke already had me primed, so I wasn’t as shook as I mighta been when some guy appeared at the top of the hill and stood over us.

He said nothing, but the polaroid he dropped said a lot.

It floated down to her body so delicately, rested on her chest so maddeningly gently. I felt like it was conspiring with this goon to mock the two of us.

***

A photo of a younger me waited on that paper as wood crackled beyond the hill. As my girl’s family shack dissolved into ash.
This guy—a local I’d say, based on his open toed slides—thrust a partially curled finger at the polaroid, trading gazes between me and the girl like he felt it was grossly important to distribute his attention to us equally.

“See this man?”

I nodded.

She glanced at me as if expecting I’d have any more idea what was going on than she did.

“His dream was to own a home. To pay off that home and live a happy life in the city of Ferguson.”

Her eyes definitely had seen some makeup. They were streaming black now. Her cheeks and neck were also blotchy as hell.

“Do you see this man?” he repeated.

“Is this a joke?” asked the girl. “That’s Derek.” She took a grip of my arm and shook it with cartoonish demonstration. “This Derek.”

The guy shook his head. “Na cutey-pie, this Derek’s got bigger ideas than the joker in the photo. Ideas he’s got no business entertainin’.”

He took a step down the hill and stood over her so one leg was either side of her head and picked up the polaroid with a not-so-subtle brush of her chest in the process. “This Derek knew his place once upon a time. Was grateful for everythin’ he’d ‘chieved in life.”

The photo disappeared into his cargo-shorts and he thumbed over his shoulder towards what I’d already guessed was the smoldering bonfire that had once been a generous Uncle’s shack. “Ferguson’s waiting for you Derek.”

***

That was the day I found out about the cost. The day I found out what the smile was really about.

Can’t say I coulda predicted it. I guess he knew that.

No more mallets, no dirty deeds waiting to be cashed in. Just a ceiling. Just four walls.

We’ll get you out of trouble. Give you more than you could have hoped for. But nothing more. Not a crumb more.

And don’t you try to take anything more.”

***

III

He flashed a set of too white teeth and shook Bernie’s hand.

“Proud of you boy.” He wore a pinstriped suit, you practically see the connections on his sleeve, the decades of good-will clung to his every movement like pilot fish. It was one hell of a smile, but it wasn’t just a smile.   

 “I’m just relieved it’s over,” said Bernie, pulling off the graduation cap as his jeering mentor disappeared into the crowd to shake more hands and issue more smiles.  

“You think it’s over?” I asked with a scoff.

He threw me a look. The look. The one they all give me whenever we encounter this topic. Here in Ferguson, I’ve got money, I’ve got status, I’ve even got respect.

But only a certain type of respect.

Shit even there on my baby brother’s graduation day when I was all dolled up in a penguin suit and bow-tie like the rest of them, the truth still found a way to seep through.

For all the ladders I’ve climbed, for all the distance I’ve put between my beginnings and my present, to this day, if we ever get on the topic of civilian life, respectable life. My participation comes with an Asterix. It comes with the look.

“Sure, it’s over,” said Bernie with optimism only a mid-twenties can display in earnest. “My spot at Grindlemire-Mare has been sinched up for months. Monday’s just another day, it was the study that kept me pinned down.”

I held in my laughter. “It starts with a favour, it always ends up here Bernie.” I rested my hand on his shoulder. “Every time.”

He threw the look again and checked none of his peers were listening in too closely. “Derek, I love you. But as soon as I’ve got a few real dollars under this belt—” he pulled back the lapel of his tux to show off an RM Williams buckle. “—I’m gonna be on a island sipping Mezcals till the sky’s on fire!”

A lump formed. I touched my bow-tie and prepared to say something that I knew would take a long time to sink in.

I cleared my throat. Knowing the words might never sink in. But I said them all the same.

Bernie.

“I know that smile must make you feel good. I know it must feel good to have strings pulled and favours called in on your behalf.…”

I looked at the hope in his eyes and decided not to say the rest. I gave him a rough pat on the back instead.

But…

It ends up here.

Every time.