136
Now that they were older they stopped for traffic lights but Charlie’s lane changes were still abrupt and without signals. Mitchell admired Charlie’s seasoned indifference as he worked the Jeep through traffic into the adjoining streets until they climbed an uphill ramp onto the interstate. Charlie dropped the weight of his foot on the accelerator and suddenly they were doing eighty, cruising the highway south through Boston. The inside of the Jeep was a wind tunnel, air roared through the door openings.
"Christ, it’s amazing how easy it is to get out of this city," Mitchell shouted.
"It is when you’re sober," Charlie laughed. "After all the times we got hammered in this town you’d think we’d have radar." He lit a cigarette and held it with his wrist hung over the steering wheel.
"What’s new?"
"My old man died," Charlie said. "That’s new."
Mitchell stared. "When?"
"What?"
"When?"
"Last week."
"Christ, Charlie. I’m sorry."
"We weren’t close," Charlie shrugged. "You know."
"How do you feel? Charlie, I can’t hear you."
Charlie dragged on his cigarette then threw it out. "I don’t know. It’s strange," he said and zipped up the plastic window. He reached across Mitchell and zipped the passenger’s window and it was quieter. "The son of a bitch left when I was just a kid, so I never thought much about him. I’ve lived my life. No complaints. But when they told me he was dead I felt empty. Like something inside me had been stolen. Some part I’ll never get back. But I never really had it. It’s goddamn strange."
"Do you remember him?"
Charlie lit another cigarette. "Of course I remember him. I remember him slapping my mother around while she cried and screamed. What do you remember about your old man?"
Mitchell gazed through the windshield at the road. "My father liked having me with him. I remember sitting on bar stools and drinking a glass of Coke." He could see it. "We’d get home late for supper and my mother would start yelling. The old man would explode. I couldn’t stop him and I couldn’t help her. Christ, it was savage."
"It was a fucking war zone."
"We got out."