Adel Baby
An excerpt from the first draft chapter of Adel Baby.
This will not be the final published copy.
Part I
Chapter 1
Adel Baby
My froggy legs dangled from an oversized brown leather office chair, my toes reaching for the swivel base below. I'd been hunched over the desk, doodling on my Papa’s work calendar when I noticed the girls were gone. Above my shoulder, a wall unit cranked to 'Max A/C' droned over the sparse sounds of business. The thing was old and loud, and blasted out crisp, stale air that stole your breath away whenever you stood in front of it. My sister and I’d taped streamers to the vents that fluttered in the chill.
Searching for interest, I realized the calendar hadn't been changed in three months. I took April and folded it into an oversized airplane. I held the crooked thing out at arm’s length to admire it. The chair squeaked as I rotated back and forth, watching the plane carousel past the room's brown panel walls.
Blocky white computers sitting atop the few desks in the room zoomed past. The office hadn't been remodeled since it was built sometime in the 70’s. I’d already searched the desk drawers and knew nothing else there was worth my time, only office supplies and expired sauce packets from fast-food chains that littered the stretch of highway along I-75. I cracked open a stale fortune cookie I’d discovered among the ephemera.
'The opposite of love is fear.'
Lucky numbers: 07, 13, 24, 37, and 42.
I shoved the strip of paper deep into the pocket of my cargo shorts. Later, I'd ceremoniously lift the bed's skirt in my room and dig out a shoebox of trinkets and other important things. I’d lay the fortune neatly atop the pile of secrets, briefly appreciating each treasure, before sliding them back into their hiding place. My fingers lingered on the fortune in my pocket as I peered out the front office window.
Printed backward on the glass were the words “Jones & Son Wholesale.” We weren’t Joneses, but my Papa was the son that the name implied. My great-grandmother Marjorie’s third husband never had any sons of his own, so Mr. Jones adopted Papa and put his name on the family business.
As my eyes adjusted to the sunlight outside, the room darkened. In the grass was a freshly flattened tire trail. The golf cart was missing.
Figures.
They’d ditched me.
Of course they did. I shifted my vision back into the room, blinking to clear the daylight from my eyes. At the other end of the room, Mama had been clacking away on a keyboard, paying me little mind and jotting things down frequently. She’d been helping Mimi in the front office part-time while finishing up nursing school. Daddy and Papa performed the manual labor in the back and with no one to watch me back at home, I’d been stuck at the warehouse for most of the summer.
Restlessness itched at my brain. I pressed my forehead to the laminate surface of the desk and inched my head sideways, my oily skin skidding as I dragged my skull. When I reached the edge, I tipped my head over the side and let it dangle there. My eyes were met by seven or eight oddly spaced refrigerator magnets depicting Elvis Presley. As blood pooled behind my eyes, I traced my finger over the edge of one of him holding a ukulele.
“Uncle Elvis,” I thought.
I lifted the corner of the magnet closest to me with my fingertip until it slipped off and smacked back onto the vertical surface with a metallic thump. Ma’ glanced up from her computer, investigating the sound before returning to typing. I got up from the chair I'd been sitting at and walked over. I stood in front of her silently swaying for a moment, holding the giant paper airplane.
"Mama, have you seen Jackie and Vickie?"
She looked up from the thick glass screen.
"No, buddy.” Then she went back to clacking.
With my feet planted, I scanned the room, sucking in air through my teeth.
Her eyes shifted back to me, “If you can sit still for a few more minutes, we'll run up to Dairy Queen for lunch."
I peered at the notepad on her desk.
It just looked like loops and jagged peaks. I’d watched her scribble the same thing on the back of these slips of paper at the bank before. With a piece of paper from her desk and her pen, I scribbled up and down, twirling the pen until it looked like Ma’s. I pointed to it on the page.
“What does this say?” I asked.
She didn’t even look over, “It doesn’t say anything.”
I held it up, turning my head trying to make sense of it.
“It has to say something,” I decided.
She assured me, “It doesn’t.”
I quickly balled up the sheet and grabbed another, scribbling a new line for her.
“What about this?” I asked again, determined to learn the secret.
“Cameron, go sit down.” She sighed.
I stood there for another moment, staring at her forehead, before awkwardly walking past her into the back. It wasn’t subtle; the door was incredibly noisy, and it groaned as I opened it. Ma’ let out a puff of air but said nothing. The door felt like it would fall apart as I jiggled it shut behind me.
The air was much hotter back here. Large fans stirred up dust, and it smelled like old newspaper and glue. Daddy worked a tape gun, sealing boxes my Papa dove for in dumpsters behind the King Frog strip mall to save on cost. He stacked the orders neatly by the back door for the UPS guy. Each strip Daddy tore made a loud skritching sound that tickled deep in my ears. He looked up from what he was doing. His eyes landed on the giant paper plane in my hand.
“Uh-uh. Don’t go messin’ around back here; your Papa’s still pissed about all them shot glasses you broke,” he scolded.
It was an accident—I’d been climbing on top of one of the shelves in the back, looking for a place to put a birdhouse that I’d made from some of the cardboard boxes when the shelf collapsed. I was uninjured, but I’d broken over three hundred dollars of merchandise and almost killed my sister.
“I’m not. I’m looking for Jackie and Vick,” I said. “You seen them?”
"No,” he replied dryly. “Why don't you go outside and play or somethin’, dude?"
I sidestepped a push broom leaning against the wall and made my way down the aisle toward the side door where shipments were lined up and waiting. Porcelain toothpick holders and plastic snow globes, each topped with the slightest layer of fresh dust, flashed past my head. Daddy followed me with his eyes, catching sight of my bare feet at end of the aisle.
And there’s glass all back here—put on some damn shoes!” he shouted after me. He was mumbling profanities under his breath as I wrestled the corrugated tin door open.
“I am!” I lied as I stepped outside, grabbed the edge of the door, and pulled the oversized thing shut.
I took a few steps out into the drive; the dirt road ran right up to the warehouse’s back door. Its surface was scalding from the sun. I wriggled my toes to find the cooler grains of sand just below, partially burying my feet. Across from me was a grass field that ended at a steep bank at the edge of a pond. There was no sign of the girls.
"Vickie!" I shouted.
No answer.
"Jackie!!"
Still nothing.
Typical.
Sisters are always ditching their little brothers. Heck, Vickie isn’t even my sister, she’s my aunt. But she was only a few years older than Jax, so it all counted the same to me. She still helped Jackie hold the door shut while they locked me out of their bedrooms. Mimi and Mama would ask why I even wanted to play with the girls if they were being mean. I always figured that was stupid—they could just be nice in the first place.
The golf cart was nothing fancy—electric, with worn-out batteries. A Georgia Bulldogs sticker was slapped over the chipping red paint job even though nobody in my family ever went to the University of Georgia, or college for that matter. The more people Little Red had on it, the slower it went. I could run faster than it when they weighed it down, so I figured when I found them, I’d jump on the back and strap myself in with the belts meant for golf clubs so they couldn’t sling me off.
I racked my brain for places they might’ve been. We’d often flattened pennies on the railroad track across the street, but Jackie was too scared to. Last time, we showed Daddy, and he told us he’d derailed a train once doing that. I doubt she’d risk it. There were also plenty of fruit trees around here that my Papa’d planted, and the figs were getting ripe about this time of year.
With my hand on my hip, I surveyed the field outstretched before me for any sign of movement. The late-morning sun made me squint my eyes, so I held up the airplane to shield my face. There wasn’t even a breeze to keep the gnats away. I swatted my makeshift visor at them while watching sun glitter dance off the pond's surface.
A green pickup truck passed by on the road out front of the warehouse and gave a honk. I didn't know who, and I didn’t linger long on trying to guess. Everybody knew my Papa and Daddy. Most likely it was someone who lived in the trailer park adjacent to the family business, another one of Mr. Jones’ investments.
Mr. Jones also had this pond dug. When he did, he created a peculiar strip of land. Tucked out of sight in a dark back corner of the field, with a narrow trail running the length of it, there was an earthen dam connecting this side of my family’s property to the other. Along the dam, the pond narrowed into a murky swamp. I’d used the trail plenty of times, but never alone.
Sweat from my forehead had smeared a bit of the ink on my paper plane. I took my creation and un-flattened its doodled-upon wings, readying it for takeoff. I reared back my right arm and launched it into the sky. The plane shot upward and immediately made an awkward and dramatic upside-down loop that sent it nosediving into the sandy drive. I quickly mourned the loss, then lost interest.
I inhaled a frustrated breath, letting it out slowly.
Where were they?
Even the grass couldn’t whisper. The sun beat me red, and I felt a trickle of sweat roll from my armpit and down the back of my arm. I glanced over my shoulder. The warehouse suddenly felt frozen in time—like examining an old photograph. If I opened that side door right now, would Daddy still be standing there, sticking shipping labels onto boxes of knickknacks? If I waited outside long enough, would the UPS guy come haul them off to some rundown gas station in Florida?
I turned my head back to the darkened corner of the field, toward the dam’s gaping mouth. Everything was quiet except the droning, louder now, coming from the backside of the wall unit in the front office. It was the single remaining thread tying me back to where I’d been. The hum lulled me into a trance as I glared at the tunnel of trees. It replaced my thoughts as the field folded in on itself. The dam opened its throat wider, pulsating.
I was halfway across the sea of grass from where I’d been standing, racing toward the line of trees. As I approached the dam’s wide-open jaws, the trees bowed down around me, folding in closer before swallowing me whole. I sprinted into their shade, then froze in my tracks.
My head became cloudy where it had been empty and clear seconds before. An uneasiness gripped my scalp. I craned my neck upward and sensed the trees’ imposing weight, like perhaps you were being watched. Growing up in a small town is like these woods—full of stories and watchers.
Everybody in town says that Adel was built so close to Hell you can see Sparks. The adage is an old joke among locals because of the neighboring town’s name. Adel’s city limit ends going north across a bridge on Highway 41. If you were to blink while driving across it, you’d miss most of the stretch in between before you rolled down into Sparks, Georgia. That blink of land between the two towns is where I called home for most of my life.
My Papa and Daddy say the goat-killer lives in these woods—a beast with the torso of a man and the head and hooves of a goat. They say he spawned from a portal to Hell somewhere deep in this swamp and was said to rise only from the murky waters at night to feast on bad little boys who strayed into his domain. Even though it was almost noon, I was still wary of his presence and of what other things lurked in the shadows.
A voice told me to turn back.
My own prevailed as I lunged forward again, sprinting.
The glass of the pond rippled between tall, slender cypresses lining the water's edge. Across the pond, I could see cars on the bridge blinking past me. The compacted sandy soil was cool to the soles of my feet as they pounded the ground with each stride. Warm air rushed past my face, and beads of sweat became entrained, falling and salting the earth in my wake. My heart beat rapidly, and all the hairs on my skin stood at the end as the Goat-Killer crept up from behind and lapped at my heels.
I ran faster.
My feet skidded across scattered pine needles that had accumulated on the path. I sped up as I approached a small hill halfway across. I balled my fists tight and sprinted faster, yelling their names.
"Vickie! Jackie!!" my voice cracked.
Why did they always leave me behind?
I blinked away the droplets forming at the corners of my eyes and sniffed back the fuzzy feeling in my nose. I stumbled on uneven terrain but caught myself. Underbrush blurred past on my left; deep in the tapestry of green and brown, I sensed figures watching from the shadows. I didn’t dare look long enough to know if they were real.
Don’t slow down.
My feet pounded harder.
My toes dug into the incline as I bound up the hill. With a surge of energy, I leaped into the air, weightless for just a moment, time stretched out before me. A rush of freedom washed over. Driven by this new feeling mixed with fear, I dug deeper. I could see where the trail opened up a bit ahead among rows of white muscadines. Just a little further, I thought.
One foot touched down, then the other. But the ground came quicker than I’d thought. My legs were scrambling to catch the rest of me. Then my right toe slammed into a protruding stone. A jolt of pain shot up my shin. I closed my eyes tightly and braced, my hands instinctively flying out toward the rapidly approaching ground.
My knee crashed onto a shard of rock; it bit straight to the bone, sending flashes of red behind my eyelids. The force threw me, my limbs flailing as I tumbled down the hill. My chin struck sand and grass, skidding like a matchstick failing to ignite. I finally came to a stop against a small mound of packed dirt, the breath knocked out of me.
I heaved as I tried to suck air back into my lungs and pushed myself up. I turned my head to spit. Grit coated my tongue and crunched between my teeth. I wiped my mouth with my forearm, leaving a streak of reddish mud. Tears surfaced immediately at the sight, streaming before I could even register the rest of the pain.
Blood threaded through my tiny leg hairs, tickling as it ran. I pressed my shirt to the wound; the cotton darkened quickly. Panicking, I put my mouth to it. When I pulled away, blood kept surfacing like a spring. The warm metallic taste made me retch. I leaned to the side, dry-heaving and spitting again. The muddy streak on my arm had already begun to dry and itch, so I wiped it on my khaki shorts and leaned back on my hands. My wrists throbbed from the impact.
Before, I could only hear the rush of air swirling past my face. Now, sitting in the aftermath, I heard only the swamp. A chorus of summer cicadas droned in the pines. The low thrum of bullfrogs echoed along the steep embankment. Love bugs drifted past floating like balloons tied together by the strings. Somewhere, a sole mourning dove sang out.
I grimaced from the throbbing in my knee as I threw my head back and drew in a breath, puffing my cheeks to contain my inner turmoil. Pine needles flittered down as small birds hopped between branches in the breeze happening only far overhead. Sunlight pierced the pines in long wavering beams that shifted across the shadows. Time seemed to thaw.
I sat there several minutes before gathering myself. When I stood, my leg buckled once before holding. The bleeding had slowed, but the pain sat heavy and constant. A faint smell of honeysuckle drifted by, and the prickling sensation of being watched crept over me again. With shaky knees I scanned my surroundings. Carefully, I reached into the web of vines and pulled out a strand of white and yellow flowers and began my limp back down the dam.
Ma’s face went pale when I trudged back up to the front office of the warehouse bloodied and holding a short strand of honeysuckle in my fist. I was equally upset to see the golf cart parked back out front after all I’d just been through. Jackie was propped up in a swivel chair pivoting back and forth with her toes and examining a large fig in her palm.
She’d been at the fruit trees.
Mama gave me a look over; it was nothing a Band-Aid and some ibuprofen couldn't handle. If hadn’t already injured myself, I would've gotten my ass whooped for sure. She shook her head at me and threw her hands up.
"What if you got bit by a snake?" She was hysterical, "Or broke your ankle? They'd have called child services and took you and your sister away from me." She paused to let me ruminate on that, then went on, "Put you in some crack house. Is that what you want? Huh?” I lowered my head.
I didn't know what child services were, or crack. Right now, it didn’t seem like the time to ask. If she was upset about snakes, then mentioning the Goat-Killer was out of the question. Behind Mama’s back, Jackie bit her tongue and scrunched her nose at me to add insult.
Like lightning, "Jacquelyn stuck out her tongue!" I cracked.
Ma’ swung around, "Do it again." She thundered, daring Jackie with a slender finger.
My sister shrunk in her chair as a grin snuck onto my face. I managed to quickly tuck it away. Ma' swung back to me, placing her hands on her hips.
"You're going sit in that chair while I finish work," she gestured to the oversized leather chair at the back of the room. “And I don't want to hear a peep."
I glanced at my sister, who was focused on something outside the window.
"Jackie just did it again!" I shouted.
Jax didn't see it coming. Her face was contorted with incredulity and shifting toward anger before being replaced entirely by wide-eyed fear.
Ma' sprung at her. "I told you!" she stomped over in a fit.
"I did not!" Jax squirmed away in her chair but with nowhere to go.
Mama pulled her up by one arm and smacked her on the butt two good times, more to scare her than to hurt her. Jackie started screaming bloody murder.
"He's lying, I did not!" She shouted again through teary eyes.
I stuck my tongue out at her while Ma' wasn't looking. "Yes, she did!" I shouted back; then I started crying too.
Ma’ put her hands to her face, pulling all her skin down into a frown. She gave a frustrated groan and stood there between her two crying children with her eyes closed for several seconds as if she could astral project herself out of the room.
From the other side of the desk behind her, the office toilet flushed.
Vickie stepped out of the bathroom and into the chaos unfolding in the front office. She wiped her damp hands on her shorts as she skirted the corner of the desk, passed the backwards lettering on the glass, and gave Mama a quick glance before dropping her eyes to the matted carpet.
Without a word, she swung open the heavy office door too wide so that it scraped the cement slab outside and stuck. Vick tried to push it shut with her shoulder, but it wouldn’t budge. Jax and I looked up from our tears and watched with Mama. Vick gave it a small kick; the door moved a bit. Then another, and it came free.
The hydraulic stop hissed as the door eased to.
Vickie strolled over to the golf cart, reached into the cupholder for a flathead screwdriver, stuck it in Little Red’s ignition, flipped it to the right, and crawled away leaving a light-green trail in the grass. The cart bounced once, disappearing as it hit the dirt path named after her—Victoria Drive—in a puff of dust.
The door finally clattered shut as the stop fully gave out.
From the back, “You’re listening to 96.7: The Mix!” blurted over the muffled sound of a box sliding across the un-swept warehouse floor.
Jackie and I sat vacantly, averting each other’s puffy-eyed gaze.
Ma’ looked back at the computer screen. The cursor blinked on and off, waiting. She made a move toward the back, jiggled open the handle, and stuck her face in the crack.
“Wade!” she shouted, “I’m taking them home!”
She was ready for summer break to be over.