who I owed how much, and whether there was anything in my room I
could sell for ten or twenty dollars. I submitted my homework and
studied for my exams, but I did so out of terror—of losing my
scholarship should my GPA fall a single decimal—not from real
interest in my classes.
In December, after my last paycheck of the month, I had sixty dollars
in my account. Rent was $110, due January 7. I needed quick cash. I’d
heard there was a clinic near the mall that paid people for plasma. A
clinic sounded like a part of the Medical Establishment, but I reasoned
that as long as they were taking things out, not putting anything in, I’d
be okay. The nurse stabbed at my veins for twenty minutes, then said
they were too small.
I bought a tank of gas with my last thirty dollars and drove home for
Christmas. On Christmas morning, Dad gave me a rifle—I didn’t take it
out of the box, so I have no idea what kind. I asked Shawn if he wanted
to buy it off me, but Dad gathered it up and said he’d keep it safe.
That was it, then. There was nothing left to sell, no more childhood
friends or Christmas presents. It was time to quit school and get a job.
I accepted that. My brother Tony was living in Las Vegas, working as a
long-haul trucker, so on Christmas Day I called him. He said I could
live with him for a few months and work at the In-N-Out Burger across
the street.
I hung up and was walking down the hall, wishing I’d asked Tony if
he could lend me the money to get to Vegas, when a gruff voice called
to me. “Hey, Siddle Lister. Come here a minute.”
Shawn’s bedroom was filthy. Dirty clothes littered the floor, and I
could see the butt of a handgun poking out from under a pile of stained
T-shirts. The bookshelves strained under boxes of ammo and stacks of
Louis L’Amour paperbacks. Shawn was sitting on the bed, his
shoulders hunched, his legs bowed outward. He looked as if he’d been
holding that posture for some time, contemplating the squalor. He let
out a sigh, then stood and walked toward me, lifting his right arm. I
took an involuntary step back, but he had only reached into his pocket.
He pulled out his wallet, opened it and extracted a crisp hundred-
dollar bill.
“Merry Christmas,” he said. “You won’t waste this like I will.”—