Short Stories 3rd Place: Pirate by Holly Brandon
As me and Mikey gather materials to set the alleyway on fire, a one-eyed calico passes judgement behind the pecan tree. We’d played knucklebones and pick-up sticks ‘bout a hundred times since school let out; by the second week of June, we was bored as hell. I reckon the devil got ahold of my heart, makin’ me snatch Daddy’s old gas can from the shed, but Mikey sure didn’t try to stop me. ‘Spose the devil got to him too.
The calico— I like how the word calico tiptoes on my tongue; makes me feel fancier than I have any right feelin’— narrows her good eye as I splatter gasoline on the stretch of gravel behind our house. I think she’s curious if we’re gonna go through with it. Not gonna lie, I’m curious myself. We don’t wanna hurt nothin’— just always been keen on watchin’ fires burn; it’s like havin’ my own little drop of the sun.
I’m diggin’ mama’s stove matches from my pocket— the devil had me take those too— when Miss Delores Cottonmouth from across the street hollers, “Maisy Ann, I knew you weren’t that smart, but good Lord child, I never thought you were stupid.”
I drop the matches and scram, trippin’ over cardboard sandals I rigged up from a Wheaties box and duct tape ‘cause we can’t afford the real ones in the Sears Catalog. Mikey huffs along behind me, whimpering.
We retreat into the crawl space under our house right as Miss Delores’s screen door slams shut. Seconds later, our kitchen phone rings above, and the foundation creaks with Mama’s hurried steps.
“Boy, are we gonna get it.” I cast my mangled footwear aside and wipe my sweaty brow on the back of my shirt. I don’t know if the swelterin’ heat is to blame or the thought of that whoopin’ we’re surely fixin’ to get.
I close my eyes and lean against a stacked cinder block pier, the like of which form the wall of our home’s foundation. It never has sat right with me that everything we own‘s held up by a bunch of buildin’ blocks.
Something furry crawls into my lap, and I glance down to find one orange eye starin’ back. The warm weight soothes my worryin’ just a hair.
“My teacher read us a book about Japan once,” I whisper. ”It said some fishermen bring calicos on their boats for good luck.”
“Better not feed it or Mama’ll come after it with scaldin’ water, like she did to the last one.”
The calico purrs as I scratch behind her ears. “I’ll call her Pirate.”
“Maisy Ann!” Daddy’s voice shakes dust from the wooden beams and digs a hole in my belly. “Mikey! Y’all get your tails in this house right this instant ‘fore I twist ‘em into a knot!”
Mikey’s snifflin’ as we climb the back steps, hoppin’ over the rotten spots. Daddy yanks his belt off and I silently ask God to soften my father’s heart, as well as his hittin’ hand. After he and my brother disappear behind the bathroom door, Mikey’s blubberin’ tells me my prayer was either unheard or not worth answerin’.
Whenever I’m gettin’ the belt, I visit one of them faraway places I learnt about in school. Today’s destination is a no-brainer. The swish of air as the belt comes down is nothin’ but wind pushin’ my sails; the salty wetness on my cheeks simply seaspray.
After dinner, Mama makes us apologize to Miss Delores Cottonmouth, though I ain’t sure why. She looks the same as she alway has— doughy arms crossed, face twisted in a scowl— as she watches us rinse gasoline off the alleyway with our garden hose. When she says somethin ‘bout makin’ sure her nephew won’t be allowed to play with the likes of us, my hand slips and I spray her right in the turkey neck. It was an accident, I pinky promise.
After dinner, we gather the dishes to wash and I sneak discarded chicken bones into my pocket. Mikey shakes his head and mouths “Put ‘em back,” but he and I both know I don’t do a damn thing he tells me to.
Pirate is curled on the back porch steps when I slip outside. Her whiskers twitch as she sniffs my pocket. Mama and Daddy are watchin’ Bonanza in the living room and the sky is every stage of a bruise.
The chicken bone I slide from my pocket is slick with grease. I offer it to Pirate, who takes a few hesitant licks before snatchin’ it outta my hand. I watch her gnaw at the leg bone, shiftin’ my weight to take pressure off the sorest bits.
Daddy shouts at Mikey to get up and change the station, and the calico nuzzles against my arm. A warm sense of peace thumps in my chest, cooling little by little as it snakes into my limbs and settles like cold sand in my veins.
“You can’t stay here,” I whisper.
Pirate purrs, crawling into my lap.
“Ain’t you hear what I said?” I stand and Pirate leaps down with a yowl, that one pitiful eye blinkin’ up at me.
“You stupid or somethin’?” I grab a rake leanin’ against the house and use it to shoo her. “Get outta here, ya dumb cat!”
I watch from my porch step shore as she scampers away, into waves of the unknown. I wipe seaspray from my eyes, thinkin’ of how she’ll find a fisherman happy to take her aboard; he’ll call her Lucky and give her all the fish bones she can stand. I know she’ll go somewhere far away from this place and forget the day she sat in my lap and ate chicken bones and purred.
She’ll sail to somewhere new, a land where belts stay in belt loops and prayers are both heard and answered, and one day—
Just maybe…
I’ll sail there too.
