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Back Black Ambrosia Save as PDF
Chapters (46)
  1. CoverImage
  2. Introduction by Grady Hendrix
  3. Acknowledgments
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. About the Author
  46. About the Cover

A flyer about the Friday night teen dances had been posted in the bus station, and I’d looked forward to the occasion for weeks. I swirled the hair trimmings down the drain with a gush of water.

I found my plaid coat in the hall closet and put it on, then modeled it for myself in the mirror on the door. It was stained. There was a great brown stain on the collar, it spread down the front left-­hand side. I took the coat off again, went into the bathroom, and looked at it in the light.

Dried blood.

The boy’s peaceful face flickered in and out of my memory; I was pleased to have given him such rest, even at the expense of the beautiful coat Lewis had given me. I rolled it up and put it in a paper bag. The trash was picked up on Mondays.

Back in the closet, I found a denim jacket with a sheepskin lining that was soft and warm and only a little too large. It would do just fine. From the linen closet I fetched an old, frayed, brown bath towel, then shrugged off the jacket and swirled the towel over my shoulders like a cape. I put the jacket back on. Now I was ready.

I stepped out into the brisk cold and shivered with anticipation.

I got a ride immediately. When I arrived at the VFW hall, I was early; there was no one about, so I scouted the neighboring area.

The hall was a large wooden building on the outskirts of town. The nearest house was hundreds of yards away. Dirt parking areas surrounded the building on three sides. In the back was a weeded lot with a few trees, and as I stomped through it, I kicked up empty beer bottles and paper trash as well as used condoms. I understood how far the chaperoning went at weekend teen dances: not be­yond the glare of the lights. I imagined this area would be as populated as inside the hall by closing time.

I stuffed my hands into the high jacket pockets and pulled in the sleeves to keep out the draft as well as I could, and walked around and around the build­ing, trying to keep my legs and feet warm.

Presently an older man arrived in a red pickup truck with a broken spotlight on the roof. He was heavyset, and walked with a hitch. He unlocked all the doors, propped them wide open, then turned on all the lights. I followed him inside for some warmth. It wasn’t much warmer inside.

The man heard my footstep on the doorsill and took three steps to turn around and fix me with a watery stare.

“I’m early, I guess,” I said.