Revival! the poster pinned to the bulletin board shouted in bright rainbow-colored letters against a black background. Underneath, in smaller white letters: Thursday, July 30 - Sunday, August 2nd, 1987. 8 p.m. to midnight at the old Baumgartner farm. Special guest Rev. Grover Pearl, all the way from Alabama! Come and help us praise Jesus! In the middle of the poster stood a grinning man with greasy looking black hair slicked straight back from his forehead, wearing a white suit. His arms were upraised in what an onlooker could only assume to be victory.

Drew was first to see it that morning. He had, as usual, excitedly run ahead of his father and into the church foyer. At ten years old he had an abundance of energy that made the older folks jealous. If only we could bottle that up and sell it, he'd heard them say on numerous occasions, we'd be rich.

'Dad! Come look!'� Drew yelled as he bounced up and down in front of the poster. 'Can we go, please?'� He knew his father hated it when he needled him like that, but sometimes when he was excited he just couldn't help it. His life in the summer mostly consisted of keeping himself busy. The idea of a revival, of anything different, really, was too much for him to ignore.

'Come on,'� Dad said as he walked out of the bright summer heat, past Drew, and into the cool lobby. If Drew had been talking to anyone else he might have assumed that the other hadn't heard, but he knew his father; to ask again would only be asking for trouble. He straightened up, stifled his energy as best he could, and followed the tall lanky man into their regular pew in the back row.

They took their seats as Brother Patrick began his sermon. Drew usually liked them; not really for anything that was said (to tell the truth he rarely paid attention) but mostly for the way he said it. Brother Patrick would always start off in the quiet, unassuming voice he used outside of church but by the time he reached the end he was red-faced and screaming at the congregation to 'Repeeeeiint yo seeeiiins! Be saaaayuved!'� in his southern drawl. Today, though, Drew paid less attention than usual. He was thinking about the revival.

He and his dad lived in the country and the only two neighbors they had within walking distance both lived alone and were over fifty years old. His dad, who worked in the oven room at the plastics factory in town, couldn't afford to pay a babysitter, but he couldn't afford to stay home with him either, so Mrs. Landis from down the road would look in on him every once in a while. Drew mostly didn't mind, more often than not he and his father got along, but he was bored with being stuck at home all the time. Weekdays, he did the list of chores his dad left for him every morning, cooked his meals on the hotplate his dad had bought for the purpose (he was never to touch the stove), waited for his dad to come home, and went to bed when he did. They only had three channels on the TV; they were too far out for cable and couldn't afford a big satellite dish like some of the kids at school had, so he mostly had to rely on his imagination during the long hours the old man was gone. On the weekends, his dad never wanted to go anywhere, he always said he was too tired, that they couldn't afford to waste money on things they didn't need. They hadn't been out of the house for anything but groceries for months.

But the revival ' that would be something different, something exciting. Drew tried to piece together in his mind what such an event would be like; what he came up with was more like a circus than a religious gathering. He had a very clear image of a huge colorful tent erected in a field, with folding chairs lined up and a Christian band playing (maybe they'd even have electric guitars, he thought excitedly), and everyone dancing and singing. There would probably be good food brought by members of the congregation, and he might see a few of his school friends there! Admittedly, most of them would have to be drug kicking and screaming to something like that, but it was a possibility!

All through the sermon Drew thought about it very carefully. He couldn't really see how his father would be able to say no; he'd always said that church was important, and the revival wouldn't cost them anything but whatever they put into the collection plate. Gas money, one of his father's favorite excuses for staying home, wouldn't even be a factor because the old Baumgartner farm wasn't more than five miles down the road from their house.

On the other hand, even though he said it was important, his dad rarely talked to anyone in church. They were usually the first out the door after the service, never staying and visiting with the other folks or volunteering for a benefit supper like Brother Patrick said was every member of the congregation's Christian duty. He wasn't allowed to go down to the basement for Sunday school with the other ten or twelve kids under fifteen, either; church, his dad said, was serious and shouldn't be play time. Their routine was always the same: show up a few minutes before the service started, go directly to their accustomed pew, leave right after the service ended. They never went to a Wednesday or Sunday night service, so why would his dad want to go to a revival? But Drew really wanted to go, and he felt like he deserved to. His stomach roiled in apprehension as he thought of how to frame his question.

**

As he walked back into the heat with his son, Edward tried hard not to be annoyed. The Alabama sun was oppressive this time of year; it always seemed to be about an inch from your face. The old-timers were right, though; it wasn't the heat that got ya, it was the humidity, and these damned church clothes made it seem hotter and wetter than it really was. Where'd it say in the Bible that a man had to be so fucking uncomfortable to worship? His long sleeves stuck to the insides of his elbows and forearms as he walked, it was all he could do not to rip the damned shirt off right there in the middle of the parking lot. He side-stepped the usual church well-wishers, ignoring offered hands and sweaty, smiling faces, and glanced behind him to make sure that Drew was following. The only reason he even came to this damned place was Drew. He might not be the best father in the world, but he did know that kids need church. Christ, everybody knew that. Besides, his parents had made him go when he was a kid, it seemed only fitting that his son have the same experience.

He always did enjoy the ride back home, however. His old Ford had her quirks, but Edward judged that she still had another fifty thousand miles on her before she'd need any major repairs, and he genuinely enjoyed driving it. The hours-old sweat that accumulated every Sunday from March to November was blown blessedly dry by the wide open windows, and the radio was always tuned to country oldies. Merle Haggard was just starting to explain how no one in Muskogee smoked marijuana when Drew interrupted.
'Dad?'� Drew asked in a trepidatious voice. Edward gritted his teeth. He knew what his son wanted, and it pissed him off. Moreover, he hated it when his son addressed him like this, like a dog wanting food but afraid to be whipped for looking hungry. It sounded weak, and was something he must have gotten from his mother.

'What?'�

'I saw on the bulletin board -'�

'No.'�

At this point his son's words sped up, like he thought he'd sneak something past him. Edward's knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. 'It's a revival on Sunday and'�

'I said no, Drew.'�

'But you didn't even ' '

'I SAID NO!'� he yelled, temporarily losing control. His face was turning red, he could feel it, and this pissed him off even more. He hadn't lost his temper much in the last couple of months. He rarely had to yell at Drew anymore, and had never laid a hand on him at all except for the occasional spanking. He hit his right blinker to signal his turn onto their gravel road and looked over. His son had shrunk as far back into the passenger side door as he could get, stuck his bottom lip out, and started to whimper.

'Son.'� This came softly, the flare up of anger already quenched. He got no reply except for the sound of his boy snuffling and the rumble of the motor.

'Son.'� A little louder this time, to let the boy know he wasn't fooling around.

'Whaaat?'� came the whine.

'Stop cryin' or I'll give you something to cry about.'� He hadn't actually spanked his son in more than two years, not since he'd thrown a rock at a passing car, but by God he'd do it now if his hand was forced. He knew he wasn't being fair, but life wasn't fair. The boy had to learn that sooner or later; he might as well learn it now from his own flesh and blood. Besides, he had his reasons. Drew stopped crying and stared angrily through the dusty windshield as they pulled into their semi-circular driveway and the old truck lurched to a stop.

'You comin'?'� Edward asked as he opened the door and slid out. He got no response from his son, who kept glaring straight ahead, grinding his teeth. It seemed that he wasn't the only one with a temper. 'Suit yourself,'� he said, slamming the door with a shaking hand.

**

When the phone rang Thursday night, Edward knew who was on the other end before he even picked it up. 'Yeah, Ray?'� he answered.

'Goddamn it, how'dya always know it's me that's callin? You one o'them psychics er somethin'?'�

They had started their phone conversations like this for years now, but it seemed his brother never got tired of it. Either that or he simply couldn't remember the last call and was honestly confused. Ray was rarely actually drunk when he called, but he was usually in the vicinity. Edward looked through the kitchen to see Drew sitting in front of the t.v. in the living room, absorbed in the idiocies of some sitcom set in New York City. Hot night air and the summer-eternal sound of crickets greeted him as he pulled the phone cord onto the back porch and closed the door on its coils. With a heavy sigh he sat down on the lawn chair he'd bought for this very reason, looked out into the woods beyond his back yard, and waited for his eyes to adjust to the night.

'Ray, I've told you before. You're the only person that ever calls. If it weren't for Drew I think I'd have 'em switch off the phone altogether and have one less goddamned bill to pay, but as it is he's home alone a lot and I don't like the idea of him bein' out here without havin' some way to get a'hold of me.'�

'Hell, brother,'� came the tinny sound of Ray's slightly slurred speech, 'then ya wouldn't be able t'talk to me anymore wouldja?'�

Their mother had always told Edward that to laugh at Ray's drunken mirth only encouraged him, which was, to her mind, the worst thing he could possibly do. He knew that she was probably right, but Ray had always been the epitome of the happy drunk. The goofy antics of his older brother had brought a smile to Edward's face since Ray was in high school, when Edward had mostly looked up to him and his drinking had seemed like fun. Unable to help himself, he chuckled.

'Yeah, God knows we wouldn't want that to happen, now would we? Is there a reason you called, Ray?'�

'Ah, just the usual. Gettin' drunk and bein' bored, thought I'd call up the only fam'ly I got left! Come on now, you know you love it when I call. Admit it.'�

Edward's mood began to cool almost immediately as he saw where this was going. 'You miss your big brother.'� Ray started using the cooing tones of a person talking to an infant. 'Little Eddy misses his big bubba-wubba doesn't he? Doesn't he? Poor wittle defenseless Eddy all alone in the world without bubba there to watch out for him. Does he miss his big bubba? Does he?'�

The last bit of Edward's smile vanished as he lit a cigarette, the flame momentarily blinding him to the woods. Anger once again flooded his system, white hot and quick as lightning. His fingers tightened around the receiver. Edward knew that Ray was only having a little fun with him, pushing his buttons just because he knew where they were, but he'd always hated it when Ray had talked to him like that. It was the way their father had talked to him when he wanted to get Edward's goat. There was a time when Edward couldn't bring friends home without the old man belittling him like this, often for no good reason. No matter how pissed he'd gotten, Edward had always been powerless against his father. Ray was a different story, however. Ray had picked up his father's infuriating habit when Edward was still in junior high and Ray was in high school. He'd actually sucker-punched Ray once after a conversation like this but all that had gotten him was beaten to what he then thought was within an inch of his life (it actually just resulted in a black eye that Ray had felt dismally guilty about for weeks). No, he didn't like it then, and he damned sure didn't like it now that Ray was a forty year old drunken failure that couldn't even hold down a job and had somehow wrangled the government into giving him partial disability. Goddamned drunk.

Either the silence or something in the way Edward exhaled the smoke must have carried some of the anger over the telephone line and into Mississippi; because the next thing he heard was his brother's buzzed laughter. 'Shit, man, I can't believe that still gets to you after all these years. Cracks me straight the fuck up!'�

'Yeah.'�

'Ah, c'mon, man. Lighten up. You moved too far away to punch me again, and we're too old to play them games anymore anyhow. Remember how pissed mom was after I blacked your eye that time? Made dad tan my hide till I thought my ass would swell up bigger'n one o'them bean bag chairs they sell nowadays. You seen them things? Weird. Who the hell'd wanna sit in one o'them?'�

'Yeah.'� Edward sighed, his anger already gone. Only Raymond could make you envision a guy with a bright orange bean bag chair for an ass walking down the street.

'Well, if you're gonna keep that bug up your ass and answer all o'my questions with one word, I guess I can letcha go.'� Now Raymond sounded a little pissed.

'Naw, Ray, that's alright. You know how that shit gets to me.'�

'Yeah, I know, little brother. I just do it 'cause it's so easy. These days they call what you got 'anger management problems'. When we were growin' up they just would'a called you an asshole. But times, they are a changin', right? Here's to progress.'� From the liquid sounds coming from the phone Edward knew that Ray just took a long pull from whatever bottle he was working on. 'So, how's my nephew? He stayin' out o'trouble?'�

'Well, to tell you the truth, not too good Ray. We ain't exactly talkin' right now.'� He shut his eyes as an image of the Reverend Grover Pearl, hair slicked back and in an immaculate white suit; arms raised as he called the faithful to the altar, flashed behind his eyes. His jaw clenched and he felt sick to his stomach.

There was a short silence on the other end. Edward guessed that it was because Ray wasn't used to having his rhetorical questions actually answered; it wasn't Edward's custom to talk about his private life. Normally their conversations consisted of fluff, with questions like the one Ray had just asked being answered with platitudes. They talked about cars or remembered funny stories about their childhood. Well, mostly Ray talked and Edward listened. They never talked about anything serious. They both knew that life was hard and Edward never saw the point in bitching about it over the phone. This revival thing was draining him, though, and Ray might be the only person who would understand.

Ray finally thought of something to say. 'Well, what the hell? You gonna tell me about it or ain'tcha?'�

'Drew's got it into his head that he wants to go to this big tent revival this weekend. He doesn't understand why I won't take him.'�

'Oh.'� This one word confirmed that Ray did in fact understand.

'He hasn't talked to me since Sunday after church.'�

Another short silence. 'Well, you know dad wouldn'tuv put up with that shit, not for one goddamned minute,'� Ray said. 'He woulda whipped us 'till our asses were red and we were screamin' like banshees.'�

'It ain't that easy, Ray. He's smarter than me and you were at that age. He ain't exactly doin' nothin' wrong. He'll answer my questions, but he won't say any more than is necessary. He's still doin' his chores. He just don't start conversations. What the hell am I supposed to whip him for?'� He left out the fact that he'd never liked spanking his son; Edward's frequent lashings as a kid had made him hate his father on more than one occasion.

'Well,'� Ray said, 'Have you ever considered just takin' the boy to this damned thing? To tell you the truth, I often think that he cain't have much fun down there in the hills with nobody to talk to but them old biddies up the road. I know you hate them darned revivals, and I don't blame ya for hatin' 'em. You know I don't. Nobody could. But would it kill ya to suffer through one? Lord knows we had to sit through enough of 'em back in the day.'�

Edward clenched his teeth. 'Life ain't always about fun, Ray.'� Ignorance of this fact was his brother's biggest failing. 'Besides, you ain't heard who's preachin' it. Grover Pearl.'�

The sharp intake of breath and heavy clunk as Ray dropped what sounded like a handle of whiskey was almost welcome in Edward's ear. He'd finally told somebody, someone sympathized with him. It might be a sign of weakness (his father would have certainly said it was), but Edward didn't feel so alone now.

'Shit! Hold on a minute. I gotta clean this shit up.'� Edward was silent. Thirty seconds later: 'Pearl? You're fucking shittin' me! That's impossible!'�

'I woulda thought so too,'� Edward said quietly.

'Jesus Christ! What are the odds that somethin' like that can happen? You sure it's the same guy?'�

'C'mon, Ray, how many assholes can there possibly be with a name like Grover Pearl? And I saw his picture on one of the flyers at work. It's him.'�

'Son of a bitch. You gotta be the unluckiest bastard that ever walked the face of the earth.'� Ray sounded more sober all of a sudden. 'Stay calm, now. Don't go out there.'�

'I got no plans to go out there. I just wish Drew wouldn't act the way he's been actin'.'�

'Jesus Christ, I can't get over it. Grover fucking Pearl.'� Edward heard him take another swig. If by some miracle his older brother wasn't going to get drunk before, he sure as hell was going to now.

'Yeah.'� Edward said.

'You ever think this might be a good time to explain things to Drew? You said it yourself, he's a smart kid. He'll understand,'� Ray said. 'Or hell, man, take him to a movie or somethin' instead of to that goddamned revival! Sounds like he just wants to get out of the house! Loosen them pockets of yours for once. I doubt that one night out with your kid is going to break your bank. Seriously, what kind of kid throws a fit because he wants to go to a revival? It ain't normal!'�

Although he'd never tell his brother this, Ray was the last person on earth that he'd want Drew to become. He had never asked for Ray's advice on how to raise Drew, and for good reason. Edward thought that if Ray told him to zig, zagging would probably be in the best interest of the boy. 'I ain't takin' him no place. Life in my house ain't a democracy; he can't just get what he wants by throwin' a fit. He's gotta learn that if I say no to somethin', that's the end of the story. He's gotta learn to be a man.'�

'You sound just like the old man,'� Ray said quietly. He sounded sad.

**

The revival was going on right now. Right now. Drew clenched his teeth. It had started yesterday, Thursday, but that had been bearable because he knew that no matter what, they wouldn't be going on one of his father's work-nights. But tonight was Friday night; they had nothing to do tomorrow but sleep in. It had been a chilly week at home; they hadn't talked about the revival. In fact, they had barely talked at all. The revival had hung between them, a dangerous storm on the horizon that both knew could break directly over them at any moment, shattering the fragile peace that silence offered. That was the way of things in this house, he reflected. Just don't talk about the problem, and it'll go away. Well, it hadn't helped this time. Drew was ready to break the silence and brave the storm. He took a deep breath and gathered what courage he could.

'Dad? I want to talk to you again about this revival,'� Drew said. He was very proud that his voice only shook a little.

'Son, I already told you. You ain't goin'. That's that, and I won't hear no more about it.'� Since his conversation with Ray, Edward felt better about his flat refusal. He felt validated.

'It's just not fair!'� Drew yelled, knowing he was asking for it but apparently unable to stop. 'I'll bet if mom was here she'd take me!'� He didn't know if that was true or not, but it felt true. He'd never known his mother. As soon as he said it, though, he knew he had crossed the line. Drew used to ask about his mom, but his father's silence had warned that it was another in a long list of subjects that were dangerous conversational territory. The bigger man started across the room, looking very big and very quick and very dangerous to his son. Drew tried to turn and run, but his dad had him by the arm before he could take a step.

'You don't know a damned thing about your mother.'� The grip on his bicep felt like ice, like a cold steel blood-pressure pump. Drew struggled in vain. 'But you're right about the fact that she'd take you to see that fucker Pearl. She'd love it. She'd probably want you two to run off and join the revival circus, traveling around with those nuts and taking things from poor people that they don't need and the poor people can't live without. Well, your mother is dead. And good riddance! She's dead and no son of mine is going to any goddamned REVIVAL!'�

Drew was terrified. He'd never seen his father like this; usually his anger was swift and no more than a few words were exchanged before Drew was punished and the episode was over. He remembered the last time that he was spanked, and this was about a thousand times worse than that. But even the idea of corporal punishment couldn't tamp down the anger that had sprung up in his chest when he heard his father talk about his mother like that. He'd never known his mother, it was true, but she was still his mother. At that moment he didn't care if he was beaten to death; all the anger and rage that he'd harbored the last few days flew to the surface. His old man was a tyrant, but he wouldn't have his mother talked about like that. Anger took over and fear departed; he spoke calmly.

'Fuck you.'� He'd never expected to say those two words; they escaped before his brain had even formed them.

'WHAT DID YOU SAY TO ME?!'� Edward's (for Drew thought of his father by his first name for the first time that night) rage peaked; Drew didn't even know people could get that mad without having a heart attack or something. His father's face was beet red, seemingly ready to explode. He saw the heavily muscled arm that wasn't holding clamped around his elbow come up, then brightness exploded across his field of vision. The next thing he knew he was being dragged through the house toward his bedroom. Edward kicked open the door, lifted Drew to chest level, and physically tossed him onto his bed from the door jamb; like he was afraid of entering. Drew bounced once and turned over onto his stomach. His bottom jaw ached where he'd been hit, but he refused to cry. He lay there with his face in the pillow until he heard the bedroom door slam and his father's footsteps depart.

**

Edward lay in his bed, fingers laced behind his head, staring at the ceiling, trying to calm down. The open window let in a cool night breeze, and he could hear the crickets singing in the darkness. He was usually asleep by this time, almost ten years of getting up at four-thirty had trained him to be an early riser, but the fight with Drew was keeping him awake. Where the fuck had that come from? He knew that Drew felt he was being unfair; that he'd been unfair for a week, but that didn't give him the right to curse at his own father. He shouldn't feel so guilty for belting him. Hell, the little bastard was lucky that all he'd gotten was that one weak blow to the chin. Edward's own father probably would have put him in the hospital for something like that. He deserved it. He needed it. Edward was only trying to raise him right, after all.

Besides, Drew wasn't the only one that wanted to go to the revival tonight. Edward wanted desperately to go to that revival too. He'd give anything to go. Edward wasn't an idiot, though. He knew that his temper got the better of him sometimes, and it definitely would get the better of him if he went out there. Therefore, they weren't going. That was the end of the story, and if Drew couldn't understand that, that was too bad.

He hated it, though, when they fought. Drew was his constant companion when he was home and Edward loved having him around most of the time. The fact that he could never tell him this simple fact, that he just didn't know how, pained him. He was taught that men didn't show their feelings. Men took mutual love as a given; it didn't have to be discussed to know it was there. Sometimes, like tonight, he wondered if he'd adequately taught this simple lesson to Drew.

He was hard on his son, he knew. Ray was right; the kid must get awful bored around here during the day. That couldn't be helped. With his meager salary and all of their extra money going into Drew's college fund the most he could do for Drew was to bring home a movie and maybe a pizza every once in a while. If he could just tell his son about the fund, maybe Drew would understand, but he doubted it. Drew would be constantly needling him for this or that; it would just lead to more fights. Besides, he wanted to surprise him with the fund on his eighteenth birthday. It wasn't easy, but it was important to Edward to make sure his son had better opportunities than he'd had. Until then Drew would just have to bear with him.
It would be easier if Melanie were here. Would they even still be married? Probably. He'd been hurt the night of the accident, and his famous temper had gotten the better of him, but he reckoned he'd loved her just about as much as a man can love a woman. The affair with Reverend Pearl was a one-time mistake, she'd said it herself. Edward knew that. He'd swindled her. Edward didn't need to be told that. She'd been depressed for some reason after Drew's birth and went to talk to her pastor, and he'd taken advantage. Edward had hated her, still hated her, for the weakness that had allowed this to happen. When he saw signs of that inborn weakness in Drew, it infuriated him. He'd screamed at her, called her every low-down degrading name in the book. With shame, he realized that that scene was an awful lot like the one tonight. At least he hadn't hit her.

**

As he lay in bed, hands crossed behind his head in unconscious imitation of his father, Drew stared up at the ceiling, lost in thought. He knew his friends from school would make fun of him if they knew he wanted to go to a revival, but summers were just so boring. He never got to go anywhere, do anything. The lack of money that his father possessed had become an oppressive weight on their lives. How could they be so broke? There was just the two of them, they lived in a little house that was paid for by his mom's insurance money. They only paid for bills, taxes and groceries. His dad worked all the time. The plastics factory might not pay all that well but there ought to be something left over for fun once in a while. The old man must be doing something with it, he thought. He's just selfish, he wants it for himself. I do everything he tells me to, all the time, and get nothing in return. A thought, unbidden, worked its way up from the depths of his psyche to the front of his mind. It's only nine o'clock, he thought, I still have three hours. It's right up the road. Dad's surely asleep by now, he never has to know. And if he does find out, fuck him. His heart skipped a beat at the absolute obscenity of such insubordination. He kind of liked it. What's he gonna do, hit me again? Lying there in the dark, he decided with a little thrill of rebellion that he was going to go to the
revival tonight after all.

**

Edward's eyes were finally starting to droop, lulled by the sounds of the crickets. He couldn't quite get to sleep though; it seemed his mind wouldn't turn off until he'd let this long-neglected train of thought run its course.

No, he hadn't hit her, but he might as well have. She'd fled from him, crying hysterically, and had only gotten a couple miles down the road before wrapping her little car around the tree that had left Edward and Drew alone. Most teenage boys learn quickly that you can't drive sixty miles an hour on gravel. Melanie learned the hard way that you can't do it with tears in your eyes. After the funeral, Edward had taken his infant son and moved from Alabama to Mississippi, to try to start life over again. Of course, he never told Drew any of this. Before tonight, he'd said only that his mother had died in a car wreck when Drew was a baby. He didn't want to bad-mouth Melanie to Drew; what a kid of ten heard about their dead mother he was apt to believe, and Edward believed Drew was happier with whatever story he had concocted on his own.
Like Ray, he couldn't believe the bad luck that had brought Pearl from Mississippi to Alabama. He didn't even want to think about the odds of that devil preaching a revival so close to his home. Edward knew his temper; if he saw Pearl again, he'd probably kill him. It was better to stay home and keep Drew home, even if that meant Drew would be pissed off for months. He was sorry as hell that he'd hit the boy, but Drew would get over it. Edward always had.

His mind apparently satisfied, Edward finally started to drift off to sleep. His eyes shot back open as the sound of his truck's engine interrupted the crickets.

**

Drew couldn't believe he was actually doing this. He'd never driven on an actual road before but sometimes on their way back from town his dad would let him sit on his lap and steer, and five or six times he'd driven (slowly, it was true) out in the field behind the house when they were chopping wood for the winter. That ought to be enough practice, he figured. After all, he didn't have far to go. He pulled the bench seat as far forward as it would go, found the headlights, figured out how they worked, and turned the key. His heart was racing and he felt like he was going to puke, but he kept telling himself over and over that he deserved this.

As he pulled the gearshift down from P to D, his foot carefully on the brake, he heard the screen door slam shut. 'Drew!'� came the shout. Terrified, Drew threw his eyes up to the rearview mirror and saw his father running toward him in nothing but his underwear. His stomach rolled lazily over, and he unconsciously touched the bruise on his chin. He was caught. This was going to be the worst trouble that he had ever been in, he couldn't imagine how irate his father was or what the punishment was going to be. Panicked, he pushed the gas pedal to the floor.

**

Gravel sprayed Edward as he rushed over the rough terrain of the yard and driveway. A good-sized rock hit him on the side of the head, and dozens of smaller ones bounced off his naked chest and legs. He didn't feel any of them. What had started in his bedroom as anger toward his son had now turned to fear for him. Visions of the night his wife died swam just below the surface of reality.

Frantically, he put an arm out just as the truck was outpacing him, hoping to catch the tail-end of the bed, for all the good that would do. He missed it by inches and went sprawling in the gravel. He looked up in time to see the truck, traveling much too quickly, almost run into the ditch as it left the driveway. By some miracle Drew cut hard to the right, managed not to overcorrect, and stayed on the road. The brake lights never flashed. The truck sped out of sight around the corner that flanked their house, fish-tailing wildly. Edward managed to get to his feet and give chase; he was almost to the road when he heard the crash. Edward stood stunned at the entrance to the road, enveloped in absolute silence. Shortly afterward, the crickets resumed their singing, as if nothing had happened at all.

**

He found Drew, unconscious, in front of the truck with a huge golf ball sized lump on his head and his neck bent at an unnatural angle. He'd been thrown through the windshield and had missed the tree that had demolished his truck by inches. Although he was afraid to touch him for fear of doing even worse damage, he could see the very subtle rising and falling motion of Drew's chest. He couldn't bring himself to leave him (what if Drew were dead when he came back?), so he sat by his son's side, talking to him, willing him to live. Blood from a hundred cuts left by sharp gravel ran down his chest, soaking into his Hanes.

Some time later (Edward was never really sure how much time), twin yellow lights washed over them, causing him to squint and hold up a hand, confused. When his numbed brain finally acknowledged what this meant, he ran into the road, arms pin-wheeling madly, crying and pleading for help, his tightie-whities stained a deep crimson.
Almost naked, bleeding on the bottom of his feet from walking on gravel, Edward sat in the back of the ambulance holding his son's hand. In his desperation, Edward knew that Drew was going to die. And it was his fault, all of it. Melanie would still be alive today if it weren't for him; now he was going to lose his son, and it all could have been avoided. Why had he hit him? Why hadn't he just explained? In his grief there was an almost irresistible urge to blame Grover Pearl for all of this, but he thought defeatedly that it wasn't his fault at all. He had driven his son away, had killed him, with all his old-time macho bullshit. It's not too late, he thought wildly, Drew's still alive.

He started from the beginning, telling Drew everything there was to tell, having to yell over the siren. He left nothing out. He began with his own upbringing, trying to explain that he was a hard father sometimes because that was the only way he knew how to do it, continued with an explanation of the college fund (you're so smart, Drew) and finished by telling him the whole story of his mother's death and the circumstances surrounding it. It was a hard and sometimes shameful telling, but the really necessary ones always were, he figured. He stopped just as the ambulance completed its forty-five minute trek to the hospital. As the paramedics rushed him into the Emergency Room, Edward prayed for the first time since his wife had died.

**

Edward stood up nervously two days later. It pained him that he was his son's only visitor, the only one who even knew he'd been in the accident. He'd called Ray's house a number of times but had gotten no answer, he either got evicted again or was on another bender. The doctor that approached him was young and bald, his face unreadable. He had told Edward his name countless times but Edward couldn't seem to remember it.

'The operation was a success, Mr. Hicks,'� doctor what's-his-name said. 'Your son's neck wasn't broken after all. He did dislodge a couple of vertebrae when he hit the ground, not to mention the broken ribs. We were able to repair the punctured lung and drain the fluid.'� Edward scanned the doctor's face for some sign of emotion. 'Unfortunately, his head trauma is another matter. You have to understand that his skull was cracked wide open. We did the best we could to patch him up, but we just don't know yet if there was any brain damage or the extent of it if there was.'�

'Will he be okay? Will he make it?'�

'Unfortunately that's a question that we're unable to answer at this time. His vital signs are stable, but we just don't know if he'll ever regain consciousness. He could remain in a vegetative state for the rest of his life.'� Edward gritted his teeth, anger rising to the surface. This guy's bedside manner sucked. His boy was dying, and this jackass couldn't care less. Sounded like a goddamned robot. He clenched his fist and remembered the last time that he had lost his temper.

'Can I see him?'�

'Of course.'� The doctor turned and left.
Edward entered what might prove to be his son's last room. Drew lay on his back, hands hanging limply at his sides, a great white turban of bandage wrapped around his head. Edward's vision blurred as the first of the tears came, but he stubbornly brushed them away with the heel of his palm. Stop cryin' or I'll give you something to cry about, he remembered. Ashamed, he went to the side of the bed, sat down, and put his forehead to his son's lifeless hand.

**

Two months later, while a nurse was changing his IV, she noticed one of Drew's fingers move. It couldn't have, she told herself. She grabbed the hand and stood stock still. The finger moved again! Frantically, she rushed out of the room to find a doctor.

**

Edward, covered in dirt from the second job he'd taken, entered the hospital an hour later. He rushed to his son's side and saw that it was true; Drew's eyes were wide open and alert. They had told him not to expect much; the boy's muscles had atrophied a little and he probably wouldn't be able to talk for a couple of days at least. Nevertheless, as soon as he sat down Drew grabbed his arm in a vice-like grip. This display of strength shocked Edward, who immediately thought that Drew was having some sort of seizure or something.

'Drew!'� He tried to get up, to push the call button and summon the doctor, but his son held onto his hand and gave his head a weak shake. Drew mumbled some things that were almost words and looked at his father.

'What, son? I can't understand you. Hold on, let me get the doctor.'� Again he got that weak head shake, very slowly, from right to left. No. Again he mumbled something incoherent.

Seeing that Drew wasn't going to be happy until he said whatever it was he wanted to say, he put his ear down close to his boy's mouth, wanting to cry and laugh and shout and jump all at the same time. He saw a tear fall onto Drew's narrow chest, and for the first time in his life didn't care that he was crying in public. 'Alright, son,'� he said through his tears, 'we'll try this one more time. If it don't work this time, though, we're getting the doctor. Go ahead.'�

This time he heard it clearly. 'I heard everything you said. In the ambulance. Every word.'�

Want to comment on this Short Stories? Sign up to Edit Red and you will be able to comment on Short Stories and get access to: Upload your own stories and poems, get readers and their feedback, promote your work...