COVENANT

St Jerome’s Father’s covenant was a half-
Built Gazebo, located in the back of his
Father’s garage. It looked like the needle-
Tip of a rocket ship. Inside was stowed
Guns and porn and other relics of burnt-
Out masculinity. Some nights Rome’s
Father would come home early from the
Tracks and sit inside the Covenant and
Cry in between solitary shots of Kentucky
Sangria, toasting to his shadow, thinking
About something lost and not recovered.

“If they’re empty, they’re just like
Toys.” St. Jerome said, cocking the dual
Barrel of his fathers Remington, making
Blam! sounds through his lips. We all
Knew that St. Jerome’s father wouldn’t
Be back home from the Tracks until ten
Or eleven and that we could sift through
His shed for at least a couple more hours.
“Blam! Die fucker.” Jerome said, pointing
The dual nozzle at Anthony Noel. Noel
Wore Headgear and bore both braces and
Spectacles. Every day he would arrive home
From seminary with a wedgie. Feeding his
Index finger into the central part of his face,
Pushing up his glasses, Noel began to drool.
In a tender lisp. “Phat happens if Papa Bear comes
Home? He’ll skin each of our thucking hides.”
“Blam!” St. Jerome fired imaginary
Bullets into the back of Noel’s head. “Old
Man won’t come home ‘til he wins. He’ll be
Drunk as fuck anyoldways. Even when he
Is here, all he ever do is drink and smoke.”

“Blam!” Jerome fired the gun again blowing
Over the gaped nozzle. “Here,” Seb said,
Rustling through a heap of magazines.
“Bet you never seen this before.” He told
Noel, opening to the center of the magazine.
“Bet you never licked one of them before.”
Jerome said, Brushing his tongue over the Top
Of his lip. “Please,” Noel said shielding
His arm over his thick glasses as if the sight
Of a half-siren with her legs saddled in mid-
Squat would condemn him to box seats in
Hell. “Shit,” Jerome said, looking at the
Centerfold “I know I be hitting that shit
Night and Day,” Seb laughed as Rome
Pretended to ride an imaginary colt,
Spanking it’s behind with his palm. “I be
Hitting that shit Night and Day.” “With
What?” Noel retorted to Jerome, making
Jerk-off motions with a clenched fist. “Yo’
Mama?” Rome’s face became Vesuvius. He
Quickly grappled the musket by the femur barrel
And took a hammering swing at Noel. It was
Well known both in the mold of the locker
Room and in the dimness of St. DuPree
That you just never talked casually about
Jerome’s Mother, Lady Piffany, who drove
Out to Casey’s General one night and
Was found washed up, naked, against the
Grainy shores of Hillsborough thirty miles
North, a month later, her thighs riddled with
Cigarette burns. “Thorry,” Said Noel, with a
Slight lisp.

“I tho-gauth, about what
Thappened to your Mom,” Jerome had Noel
Pinned inside the deep gravel of the Covenant,
His arm locked, uncled around Noel’s back,
There were several cracks. With his a free
Hand Rome grabbed the magazine and held
The page wide-open like a hymnal during
Chapel. “Look at it!” He demanded as
Noel cowered, his hands behind his neck,
His body lodged in embryonic posture.


Seb picked up the Gun, cocked it several
Times. “Open one fourth of your eyelids
And look at it!” The lids of Noel’s eyes
Slowly creviced open. Rome spread the
Centerfold ajar to the glossed sheen of the
Siren. “Now lick it,” He demanded, to a
Writhing Noel. “Stick your fucking tongue
To the page and lick it!” Noel was shaking,
Uttering the rosary to himself in Latin.
“Pussy,” said Rome, shoving Noel over to
The corner, tossing the glossed dog-earred
Magazine on top of him like Noel was a
Martyr.

The sun was positioning itself
Into a heavy squint over the nuclear
Woods. It was the third week of March.
In the north, near the Bluff, the slight
Pentecostal glower of smoke lit like an
Ember from the riots. Yedish stores were
Pillaged by Vice Lords. ATM’s were
Ploughed over with rigged Hummers.
Mayor Jude declared a State of Marshall
Law on Spring Equinox. News copters
Clipped by overhead and the cafeteria
Applauded today when Lunch lady Iola
Johnston was interviewed on CSPAN.
“Those little shits should not be in this
Country. They should not be in any country.
They should burn in hell." The whole
Cafeteria exploded in calloused palms while
Rome got detentions from Sister Teresita for
Claiming to have found a human ear in the
Stuffing. “Thighm no futhy!” Noel volleyed
Back, his lisp in full bloom. “Here then.”
Said Jerome reaching behind the half-
Finished bar his Father found down on
Moreland and Fourth and promised to fix
Up one day. Behind it were two handguns.
Noel’s shoulders once again jolted north.
“Don’t worry, they’re empty. They’re
Toys.” Rome tossed one handgun over to
Seb. With the weight of a petrified boomerang,
He dropped the six-shooter in Noels lap.
“Just a toy. Just like the shit you play with
In the crib, when you go home at night and
Yo Moma tucks your ass in and sings you a
Lullaby.” “Thighm no phuthy!” Exclaimed
Noel, pressing the index nozzle into his
Acne-riddled forehead. “Fire then.” Rome
Said. Seb looked at Rome like he was fucking
Nuts. No one fires a handgun at their temple,
Even if the barrel is empty. “Come on now, fire it.
It’s empty. It’s just like a toy.” Noel’s eyes
Welded shut. There was a moment of silence.
Rome called Noel a little shit. He elucidated
The Freudian connotations implicit in the
Term motherfucker. He continued to deride
Noel, asking him why he was so afraid.
With a deep breath, a concentrated gaze
Sketched to his face, Noel’s eyes
Buttoned shut, his cheeks bulged, his
Adam’s apple seem to swallow itself in a
Constipated gulp. “Go on fucker. Fire it.
Why don’t you put your balls where
Your Brain is? Fire the gun.”
Noel’s mouth opened in slow motion. His
Chapped lips seem to swallow the nozzle.
There was the snap, the sound of granite
Applause and a quaver of cobalt that
Sifted above his head as his body peeled
In opposite directions.

“Don’t Worry,” Rome said, later. “Well just
Bury him at the Old mill.” “What about the
Covenant?” Seb said, picking off a slab of
Noel’s brain as if it was lint.
“Well have to clean it off
Of course. But don’t worry.
Even when dad comes in
Here he’s usually so fucked up that he don’t
Notice anything, and even if he do notice somethin'
It’s nothing that he hasn’t seen before.
It’s really no big deal.”

-from Glass Continent