Cave People

“How come you seem so gloomy?” Rene inquired of Butch one night at a basement Christmas party, lipstick blurred on the lips of her soft, flushed face.

“I do?” Butch said.

“Yeah, I don’t know.  You just seem ... ” she said, scrunching up her nose, “blah, you know?”

“A minute ago, maybe, but no more.”

“Really?”  She peered at him through one eye.  “Not because of me, I hope.”

“Maybe you just do that to a person.”  Butch looked around the room, feeling that old familiar feeling.  “So where’s Chevyhead?”

“His name’s not Chevyhead.”

“Okay, then, where’s Assface?”

“I don’t think you’re funny.”

“It’s his name.  What can I say?”

“You know he could take you.”

“Take me?”  Butch pointed at himself.  “Where?”

“I think you know.”

Butch made a “pshaw” sound, then chuckled, trying to act natural.

“I’d like to see him try.”

“He’s here.”  Rene pointed toward a cave-like opening in the gray brick wall.  “In there, I think.”

Butch looked in that direction.

“He is?”

“Go for it.”

“How come you’re not with him?”

“Why do you think?  He’s doing his thing.  I hate that about him.”

“What thing?”

Rene rolled her eyes and pressed her lips together.

“Come on, already.”

Butch had ideas; he had been to enough parties, but Chevyhead?  Lover of trucks and sports, spotlights and applause, hanging out in a hole in the wall?

“I suppose I have an idea,” Butch said, shrugging.

“Don’t you, though.”

Rene smacked her red lips and tilted her head to a side, pushing a lock of blonde hair over an ear.  Her lipstick looked so good blurred on her face as it was, so utterly kissable, just the thing to extract the chill from Butch’s bones.

“Are you cold, by the way?” Butch said.  “Is it cold in here?”

Rene appeared to think about it.

“No.”

“Then how come I feel a chill?”

“I don’t know.  Too much partying?”

Butch thought about it.

“Why?  Does it seem like I party a lot?”

“Hey, look at that,” Rene said, rising on her toes to look over Butch’s shoulder.

Butch turned and saw a knot of undulating bodies in the dim light against a wall, a flurry of elbow jabs and head butts, a couple of punches, shoes scuffling on the basement tiles.  He heard cusses, insults.  Everybody stood around watching, except for a large, sweating young man who kept trying to dive into the center to break up the melee.  The mass of bodies surged backward as two unfamiliar young men rose from the center, locked in battle.

“Get out!  Get out!  Get out!” the host of the party howled, throwing open the basement door for the combatants, who twirled around, arms and legs intertwined, wheeling out of control, knocking over a lamp, smashing a glass dish, upending an end table, side-swiping the pool table, crunching this and that, until they were out the door and into the snow, their smoky breath swirling up into the night.

Rene shrugged, her blurred lips remaining slightly parted.

“I don’t know.  How would I know?”

“I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors.”

“Probably not like what’s-his-face over there,” she said, nodding at the dark opening in the brick.

“Assface, you mean?”

Rene sighed.

“Your word.”

“So that’s what’s going on in there?”

“Why do you keep asking that, like you don’t know?  Do you live in a cave or something?”  Rene sighed.  Her delicate chest rose and fell in her red cashmere.  “I really don’t care to talk about him, anyway,” she said.  “Let’s talk about you.  Tell me about you.  How’ve you been?  All right?  I worry about you.”

“Why?” Butch said.  “Don’t I seem all right?”

“I don’t know.  You seem a little distant these days.  Or uptight.  Or something.  You used to be more easygoing.”

A shrieking cuss rose above the music.  Butch and Rene looked toward the doorway, where the host and a few of his buddies examined a huge dent in the aluminum base of the door, the windows of which were fogged.

“Great!  This is just great!” the host shouted, flushed and sweating.  “A dented door!  It’s always something!  Ain’t it, though?”  He flashed his wild eyes toward the crowd of partyers, panting.  “The mysterious door kicker strikes again!”

His buddies giggled.

“If I’m not myself, I think you can guess why,” Butch said.  Rene continued to watch the spectacle at the door.  “I miss you.  I miss us, if you’ll pardon the understatement.”

Rene’s shoulders sunk.  She sighed and shook her head.

“We’ve been through this, haven’t we?  We’ve got our own lives to live.”

“Yeah?  Who says?”

“See?  There you go, being all uptight.”

“What, because I ask for a bit of clarification, maybe with an example or two wedged in for support?”

“You sound like a teacher.”

“Those who can’t, do.”

“Please, can’t we just be friends?  Can’t I be your friend?”

“As in what?”

“As in, I don’t know.  What do you think?  Friends.”

“You mean, like, buddies?  Where I don’t get to touch you ever?”

“See?  It’s all physical with you.”

Butch paused, held a breath, raised a finger, ready to object, then exhaled.

“A big part, I’ll admit.”

“See?”

“So sue me.  I like how you feel.  I like how you smell.  I like ... ”

“An object, an ideal.”

“What, and that’s bad?”

“Oh, Sam.”  Rene placed a soft white hand briefly on Butch’s shoulder, causing his heart to leap once as in the days of old.  “Let go.  We had our fun.”

“I most certainly shall not.”

“Excuse me?”

“You know we had a thing, you and me.”  Butch squashed a fist into a palm.  “An honest-to-goodness thing.  And you know it.”

“Okay, maybe we did, but people change.  People grow up, move on.  Life takes turns.”

Butch held his breath and again raised a finger, his face quivering.

“Then I object,” he blurted.

Rene laughed.

“You always were a funny guy.  I’ll give you that.”  She sipped the last of her beer.  “Would you mind getting me a refill?” she said, her red lips spotted with suds.  “You look like you could use one, too.”

Still huffing and puffing from the objection, disoriented by a sense of unstoppable doom, Butch took her cup and backed into the crowd, trying to be natural, backed all the way to the kegger against the wall, tripping over strange ankles and feet, making momentary enemies.  At the kegger, a large young man sweating profusely around the lips thrust out his hands for Butch’s empty cups.  His fingertips were thick and wet with kegger frost.

“Hey, big guy,” he roared frightfully, though with a jolly face.  Butch did not recognize him from school.  If he was not an underclassman, he was an out-of-towner.  Or he was someone’s brother or cousin.  But one thing was guaranteed, Butch concluded, this guy played football.  He filled the cups and thrust them at Butch.  His meaty fingers accidentally pinned Butch’s against the cups.  Beer sloshed and swayed at the rims, dribbling onto Butch’s knuckles.  “Like you mean it, big guy.”

Butch hustled back to Rene, unsure what the guy had meant.

“Excellent,” she said, taking her beer and a big gulp.  “So, what were we talking about?  Or don’t I want to know?”

“You were telling me about how things changed with us.”

“I was?  I don’t know why I keep doing that.”

“Because I asked.  I’m asking now.”

Rene huffed.

“You don’t quit, do you?”

“I go until the whistle.”

“Well, lighten up, already.  Geesh.”

She rolled her eyes and took another gulp.

“What’re you talking about?  I’m as light as ever.  My guts are on the floor, for cryin out loud.  My heart, intestines.”  Butch’s eyes grew.  “Liver, pancreas.  The works.  What do you want?”

“I don’t want anything.  What do you want?  Geesh.  You sure like to poop the party, don’t you?  Can’t we just have a good time, here?”

“I just figured, after all the time we were together and everything, the way we got along, the amount we had invested, you might explain why you felt the need to, you know, cash out.”

“Now you sound like a banker.”

“Careful what you wish for.”

“I thought I told you.  No, I know I told you, but since I think you’re a really nice guy, I’ll say it one last time: We’re just ... different,” she said, scrunching up her nose.  “We have different tastes, different interests, different goals.  That’s all.”

“Gosh, that’s a lot.”

“I just didn’t feel it would be good to let it drag on and get to the point where we were doing more harm than good.  There, are you happy?”

“What do you mean, ‘drag on’?” Butch said.  “It sounds bad.”

“You know what I mean.  We’re different.  Plus, I think you’re a really nice guy.”

“So you said.”

“And I think there’s a lot of girls out there for you, a lot of great girls that might have similar interests.”

“What’re my interests?”

Rene thought for a moment.

“Now that you ask.  I guess I wasn’t really sure.”

“See?”

“Well.”

“I thought you knew me.”

“I thought I did, too.”

“Well?”

“Well, I thought maybe you were more ambitious, okay?”

“I’m not ambitious?”

“Not really.  I mean, not in the sense of the future.”

“How do you mean?”

“Oh, Sam, please?  You know how I hate this twenty-question stuff.”

“The future?  I thought we were the future.”

“Let’s just forget it, okay?”

“No, tell me about the future.  I want to know about the future.  And when did we ever play twenty questions?”

“See what I mean?  And you think we’re compatible?  I was just trying to say, I don’t think we have the same goals in mind, as far as the future goes.”

Butch prepared himself, cringing within.

“So tell me, then.”

“This is a party, Sam.  We’re supposed to be having a good time, not getting into these deep discussions.”

“I’m having a good time,” Butch said.  “Aren’t you having a good time?”

“Okay, all right then.  If it’ll make you happy.  To me, it just seems that you don’t know what you want out of life, like you’re just into cruising and loud music and don’t have any plans for your future, like maybe you’re just going to take things as they come.”

“And that’s bad?”

“I’m not saying it’s bad, Sam.  Whatever works for you.  But I’d just rather spend my time with somebody that has similar goals, somebody that has some goals.”

“What’re yours, then?  I can have the same, I can.”

“Please, I can’t believe we’re going through this again.  You know what I want.”

“If I did ... I mean, if I really did, maybe I could work out some course of action.”

Rene groaned loudly, then bugged her eyes at Butch.

“I want to be rich, okay?  There, you made me say it.  Again.”

“I’ve got nothing against rich,” Butch said.

“I mean doctor or lawyer rich.  That’s what I mean.”

“Well, I don’t know if I could be one of those.”

“See?  And I wouldn’t want you to be.  I want you to be what you want.”

“I want to be yours; that’s all.  What if I said that?”  Rene ughed, rolling her eyes.  Butch glanced toward the dark opening in the brick.  “How about him?”

“Who?”

“Him.”  Butch motioned with his head.  “Chevyhead.  What’s he going to be?”

“His name’s not Chevyhead.  And he wants to own his own business.”

“Oh yeah?  What kind of business?”

“Consulting, maybe.  He didn’t really say, but that’s what he wants to go to school for,” Rene said, glancing toward the dark opening.  “At least he’s got an idea.”

“And if he changes his mind?”

“I doubt it.”

“Is business rich enough?”

“Depends on if it’s successful or not.  I think so.  Why are you asking all these questions?”

“So it’s a guess, then.  No?”

“Well, what are you going to school for?  You never say.”

“I’m going to school, I know that.  I was thinking about business,” Butch said.  “The consulting angle sort of intrigues me, too.”

Rene groaned.

“Listen, I don’t care.  I didn’t even want to get into this.  We’ve been all through it, Sam.  I just wanted to party tonight, have fun with my friends, if that’s okay.”

“Where are your friends?  And how come you’re not having fun with Chevyhead?”

“I’m having fun,” Rene said, turning her face toward the dark opening.  “And his name’s not Chevyhead.”

“How long’s he been in there?”

“What’s he doing, is what I want to know.”

“I thought you knew.”

“I do, but it’s been a while.  I’m getting a little ticked off, here.”

“Doesn’t seem like much of a boyfriend, if you ask me.”

“I didn’t.”

“Want me to go and check on him?”

“Yeah, right.  I doubt you want to do that.”

“Why not?”

“You just don’t.”

“Come on,” Butch said, holding out an arm for Rene to take, “we’ll both go, just like old times.”

“Please.”

“Okay, you stay here.  I’ll go see.”

“Why’re you doing this?”

“Because you never even scratched the surface of what I feel for you.”

“That’s sweet, but I gotta go, Sam.  Thanks for getting the beer.  I’m sorry if I made you mad.”

“But ... ”

“He’ll come out.  He said he’d only be a little while.  It’s okay.  I’d rather not upset him.  I’ll catch you later, Sam.”

Rene began to back away.

“But ... ”

“What?”

“My name’s not Sam.”

Shoulders and heads closed in around Rene, swallowing her up.

“Gosh I love you,” Butch whispered, unable to stop the words from dribbling forth.  “How come I love you so much?”  He scouted to the left and right, glanced once over each shoulder, then sidled toward the dark opening in the brick wall.  “Am I some kind of kook, perhaps?”

He kept his toes tight to the tile floor, his feet and ankles loose, rubbery, slinking like the ghost of some soft-shoe artist.

As he neared the dark opening, the density of bodies around him seemed to thicken.  Shoulders and waists and elbows jostled his torso and caused the dark opening to tilt slightly side to side, but his sweet feet managed to stay on their nimble course, advancing furtively across the floor—toe to heel, toe to heel.  A few feet from the dark opening, a breath of lukewarm wind scented like black licorice and attic dust blew into Butch’s face.  Detecting no shape or movement within the darkness, Butch stepped to the side of the opening, resting his back and the fingertips of one hand against the brick, the other hand holding his cup of beer aloft.  His eyes darted left and right.  He listened hard.  He listened through the music, separating it from life within the darkness.  Was that giggling?  The rustling of plastic?  A canvas sliding across the cement floor?  He listened harder, eyes still on guard, heart pounding against his ribs.  Partygoers continued to jostle one another, beers dribbling over the sides of their cups, little clouds of smoke floating above their heads, rolling from their lips.  Did the noise within the dark opening come from friendly or hostile forces?  For a long while, Butch heard nothing.  Then he heard the shuffling, perhaps, of a foot.  Perhaps someone’s breathing.  Perhaps the crinkling of paper, the scraping of stone against plywood, the creak of human weight shifting upon an old sofa.  Again, Butch heard nothing.  Then came the murmur of voices, possibly two, possibly three.  One voice, possibly male, reeled off a string of unintelligible mumbles, seeming to mean business.  Another voice followed up in a more whispery fashion.  Then came a choked-off “Oh,” followed by a snort and a grunt-like sound.  Butch cocked his head, listening harder, his heart beating more conspicuously.  “Hrr, hrr, hrr,” came a sound from deep within.  Butch’s eyes darted about like a criminal’s.  “Hrr, hrr, hrr.”  Was this sound aimed at him?  Even if they had spotted his approach, they could not be sure he was standing just to the side of the opening, could they?  Some other voice began to circle from within.  Dew had thickened upon the plastic of Butch’s cup, beginning to wrinkle his fingertips.  He inched closer to the dark opening, now so close that another lukewarm breath of black licorice attic dust grazed the side of his face.  The corner of one eye twitched.  His fingertips slid carefully along the wall until they gripped the edge of a cross-section of brick.  Grains of stone broke free and tumbled to the floor.  Butch listened.

“Care to join us?” came a voice from within.

Butch’s eyes widened.

“Huh?” he said.

“It can’t be,” came another voice.  “Butch Parker?  Is that you?”

Butch contemplated an escape route.

“Yeah?”

“Well, hot diggity,” came a third voice, this one sounding like the authentic Chevyhead.  “You pumpin up, buddy?”

Butch’s eyes darted left and right.

“Come join us, why not?” came the first voice.  “It’s nice in here.”

“That’s the cake, dude.  Butchie Parker,” Chevyhead said, exhaling magnificently.  “My, my.”

“Hey, hey,” came another voice.

“What’s the holdup?” Chevyhead said.  “We ain’t asking for IDs.”

“Nope,” came yet another voice, “no proof of insurance, no parental approval form.”

“Would you like a receipt?” Chevyhead said with a chuckle.  “We can do that.”

He kept chuckling.

“I was only wondering,” Butch mumbled.  “How long do you plan on being in there?”

“Got a curfew, do yuh?”

Butch heard a deep rustling in the air, like wings beating.

“Only wondering,” he said.

More rustling came from the dark opening, followed by the sound of weight shifting on something rubber and pumped full of air.

“So what’s your problem?” Chevyhead said.

“Nothing.  It’s just, I don’t know, a little uncomfortable, talking to you like this.”

“You got a problem with it?”

“I can’t say it’s a problem, exactly.”

“Then shut up.”

A hot tingle shot through Butch’s limbs, and a giggle tried to bubble up from deep in his guts.

“Hey, you had your chance,” Chevyhead said.

“She’s waiting for you,” Butch said.

“Why’s that any concern of yours, my friend?  Big whoop, she’s waiting.  What’re you worried about?”

“I don’t know,” Butch said, placing two fingers on his lips.  “I don’t know whether I am.”

“How come you’re so wishy-washy, Parker?  That’s what I’d like to know.  How come you’re so spineless.  How come you don’t stand up for your rights, one time, huh?  Take what’s yours, buddy.”

From within the dark opening came the sound of something clinking distantly against hollow aluminum.  Then came a cushion creaking, followed by a jacket hem fluttering and then what Butch could have sworn was the sound of a mechanical cow mooing.

“You know me?” Butch said.  “How do you know me?”

The other voices giggled.

“Tweet!  Just got flagged for an infraction, Parker,” Chevyhead said.  “Five yards for delay of game.  Better get in that huddle and call the play, pal.  Make up your mind.  Crowd’s booing.  Or should I say ... mooing?  Har, har.”

“What if I say, you’ve got what’s mine?” Butch said, trying to suppress the quiver in his voice.

“Parker,” Chevyhead said.

There was a long pause, during which Butch heard only the mooing of the cow.

Chevyhead exhaled deeply, slowly.

“Parker, Parker, Parker,” he said with a sigh.  “What am I gonna do with you, huh?  I offer you a good time in here, me and my friends, and you turn the other cheek.  Can you figure it?”

“I’m just responding to what you said.”

“Yes, and I’m laughing, already, okay?  Do you hear me laughing?  Okay, very funny.  Now cut it out already.  You’re a real clown, Parker, a real clown.  My guts are splitting.  Har, and har.”

All the voices laughed.  Butch said nothing.

“Want me to clue you in on something, Parker?  You know, I don’t normally operate this way, long distance, but because you seem so ... desperate, I’ll offer you a little free advice, okay?  Okay?  Yoo-hoo.”

Butch said nothing.

“All right, then, here’s what you do with the next chick that’s desperate enough to fall for you: You tell her what she wants to hear, always.  That’s the first rule.  The second rule—and I know you can’t do much about this—is to always carry lots of cash on you.  And the third rule, well ... let’s just say the third rule is the wildcard.  Some got it, and some don’t.”

“And I’m supposed to believe this?” Butch finally said.

“You asked.  I’m just telling you.”

“And how much cash might we talking about?”

“Haven’t you asked for enough favors, already?  Okay, listen.  I’ll tell you what.  See?  I’ve got my arms spread, so I’m serious about this.  I’m meaning business, all right?  You come on in here, and I’ll fill you in on all you want to know.  Deal?”

“Yeah, we’ve got these,” said one voice, followed by a sound like two balloons rubbing together, “and these.”

A soaked raincoat slowly unraveled.

“And don’t forget ... ” said another voice, pausing for some sinister sound like fingernails scratching whiskers, “these.”

His heart thudding as though something primal were about to burst up out of him, Butch began to tip toe away from the dark opening in the brick wall.

“Good!  Great!” Chevyhead shouted.  “That’s just great!”

Butch stopped in mid-stride, eyes darting.  The dew on his cup of beer had evaporated.  He listened hard for a few more seconds, thought he heard the sound of metal chairs folding and clanging against one another.  He took another step, then another, and soon the sounds of people talking in the light took over, and Butch Parker faded into the congregation of partyers, never to resurface again that night.