Hand-Biter

By Tyler McAndrew

Milo Foster was crying. He sat behind a tree on the far side of the playground where no one was able to see him.

At the beginning of recess, while Milo was on the swing-set, Jesse Winchester came up from behind and told Milo that he had fucked Milo’s mother. Jesse was only twelve years old. Milo was only eleven. Milo’s mother was thirty-five. Milo didn’t think that his mother would have let Jesse Winchester fuck her, but the idea of it still hurt. It made his face hot and his head throb.

Milo screamed at Jesse Winchester to shut up.

She liked it, Jesse Winchester said. She loved it.

Milo screamed again for him to shut up. Jesse Winchester pushed Milo from behind and he fell off the swing. His knees hit the ground hard.

I’m going to tell the teacher, Milo said from the ground.

I don’t care, Jesse Winchester said. My dad will kick the teacher’s ass. My dad will beat up the teacher and the principle and if you tell your parents he’ll beat them up too. My dad can kick your dad’s ass.

Milo didn’t say anything because he didn’t have a father. His parents divorced when he was an infant and he had not seen or spoken to his father since. Once a year, Milo received a birthday card from him containing a five-dollar bill. Last year’s card had a picture of a guy on a motorcycle jumping off an enormous dirt mound. The guy wore a red helmet and printed on the inside of the card it said: Have an extreme birthday! in a thick, jagged font. The exclamation point was a lightning bolt. The year before that, the card had a picture of a guy wearing an old fashioned hockey mask, cutting a birthday cake in half with a chainsaw. The inside of the card read: Have a killer birthday! Every card was signed on the inside: Love, Dad. Milo kept these cards in an old shoebox on the shelf in his closet and he took them out to look at them sometimes when he was in a certain mood.

Milo stayed on ground where he had landed. Jesse Winchester was much taller than Milo and was much taller than most of the other kids in their class. He was almost as tall as their teacher, Mrs. Dempney. Jesse Winchester is an overgrown puberty-freak, Milo thought. He practically has a moustache. I bet he’s already got pubes.

I fucked your mom last night and your grandmother the night before, Jesse Winchester said.

Again, Milo screamed shut up. His voice cracked, his eyeballs became dams fighting against the flow of a horrible river. Water began to pool at the seams between the slick walls of his eyeballs and the soft flesh surrounding them. Soon, his whole face would be made of tears.

Milo stood up and Jesse Winchester pushed him with both hands. Milo fell backwards and landed hard on his elbows. He felt the dams break and he didn’t want to cry in front of Jesse Winchester so he ran and hid behind the tree on the far side of the playground.

* * *

The next day was Saturday. The sun coming through Milo’s window woke him about half an hour before his mom would have. Every Saturday morning, Milo’s mother woke him at nine o’clock to get him ready for his soccer game. She would have breakfast cooking and they would eat together in the kitchen before she drove him to the park. Milo’s mother signed him up for the youth soccer league because she said that it would be good for him. He was on the blue team and so every Saturday he had to wear his blue shirt.

Milo pulled the blankets over his head and stayed in bed for about ten minutes until the sun felt too hot and he had to move. He shuffled down the hall to the bathroom at the top of the stairs. The elastic of Milo’s underwear itched against his stomach and he pulled at it, stretching it out and letting it snap back against his skin. His genitals clung to the inside of his thighs, slowly loosening as Milo worked the elastic. He was rubbing his eyes when he heard murmurs from the bottom of the stairs. Milo stopped. It was his mother's voice.

Okay, it was nice seeing you, Milo’s mother said.

Milo crouched at the top of the stairs and listened. His mother stood at the front door with a man Milo didn’t recognize. She wore only a t-shirt and underwear.

Yeah, said the man. I‘d like to see you again. Soon.

This happened sometimes: before his mother came into his room he was awakened by the sounds of her shuffling about with someone downstairs. He would creep to the top of the staircase just in time to watch her usher some strange man out the door. It was almost never the same man twice. Car doors slammed and they were never seen again.

The floor boards creaked under Milo’s weight and he was afraid that the man would look up and see him. I shouldn’t be afraid, Milo thought. This is my house. He’s the one who should be afraid. He’s the one in a stranger’s house. Milo still did not want the man to see him though.

Yeah, that’d be nice, Milo’s mother said. The man left and she closed the door.

Some of the kids at school, like Jesse Winchester, said Milo’s mother was a slut. Milo hated this. It made his face hot and his head throb. He never asked his mother about the men he didn‘t recognize.

Milo stood up and went into the bathroom. He peed and brushed his teeth. When he walked downstairs, his mother was cracking eggs into a bowl in the kitchen.

Hey there, she said, her underwear barely peeking from under her t-shirt. You’re up a little early. Scrambled eggs okay?

Milo nodded.

Hey, Mom? Milo said.

Yeah?

Milo hesitated for a moment.

Who are we playing today?

It’s green, Milo's mother said. Isn’t it? She held a frying pan over the blue flames that hissed from the stove, a hunk of margarine sliding around across the smooth metal. She leaned over and glanced at the printed schedule that Milo’s soccer coach had given to him at the beginning of the season, hanging from the bottom of the monthly calendar by a piece of tape. Yeah, looks like it’s the green team, she said. Milo closed his eyes and his face felt hot.

Jesse Winchester played on the green team. Every three or four weeks, the blue team and the green team played each other and whenever this happened, Jesse Winchester’s mother dropped Jesse Winchester off at Milo’s house and Milo’s mother drove both of them to the game together. Milo’s mother and Jesse Winchester’s mother knew each other because Milo and Jesse Winchester had both been in Mrs. Avery’s class in second grade. Jesse Winchester’s mother was never able to go to the games. Milo didn’t know why, but guessed that it was because she had to work, the same as his own mother. Jesse Winchester would wait on the front step of Milo's house until Milo and his mother came out and the three of them got into the car. When Jesse rode with them, Milo’s mother would bring a box of cookies for the two boys to snack on in the car. Every three or four weeks, Milo sat in the front seat of his mother’s car for ten minutes and let cookies disintegrate in his mouth, his eyes closed and his fist clenched around the plastic handle on the door, listening to his mother talk to Jesse Winchester about how was school and how was his mom and what were his brothers up to these days.

Ready? Milo’s mother asked.            

Milo nodded and went into the other room to watch cartoons.

* * *

Where is Jesse? Milo’s mother said to herself. You guys are supposed to be at the field half an hour before the game, right?

Yeah, Milo said. He and his mother stood outside of their front door. The air was sweet and warm. Thin clouds moved with a visible speed across a water-color wash of blue sky. Milo’s mother squinted in the sunlight. A box of cookies was nestled under her arm.

His mom didn’t call or anything, she said. They must just be running late.

She looked down at Milo.

I guess we can wait for a couple of minutes.

She sighed and sat down on the concrete step in front of the house.

Let's just go, Milo said.

We can't do that, Milo. What if they're just running late and he shows up here after we've left?

Milo was silent.

Here, kiddo, Milo's mother said, handing Milo the box of cookies. Guard these.

Milo opened the box and took out a cookie and put it in his mouth. He leaned against the front door and chewed, wiped crumbs from his lips with the heel of one hand. He stared up at the sky and watched the clouds. They moved fast and with confidence, a herd migrating across a wild blue pasture.

The two of them sat in silence for a few minutes. Milo could tell his mother was anxious. She was looking at her watch, running her hands through her hair.

Well, I guess we’d better get going, she finally said. You’re already going to be a bit late. And I'm going to be late for work.

She stood up and straightened her clothes.

Sorry, kiddo, she said. Maybe Jesse is sick or something today.

Milo ran around to the passenger seat. He smiled and the two of them drove off.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Milo stood on the side of the road next to the soccer field and said good bye to his mother.

Good luck, kiddo, she called from inside the car. She smiled at him. Milo tugged at his socks, which were slipping down past the cheap shin pads that everyone in the youth soccer league had to wear. A layer of thin plastic encased in white foam that had cracked after Milo's first game. Each week, a maelstrom of violent kicks pummeled his shins and left Milo sitting in the grass, hurt and angry.

Thanks, Mom, Milo said, still fidgeting with his socks.

Score a goal for me.

Okay, mom. I’ll try. He gave each of his socks a final tug and looked up at his mother.

Bye, sweetie.

The engine purred and she drove off. Milo stood at the side of the road and watched her car disappear around the corner. She never stayed to watch his games because she always had to pick up extra hours at work. She didn’t make enough money otherwise.

Instead of playing soccer, Milo ran across the street to where there was a playground and a small pond with ducks. He sat at the bank of the pond and tossed rocks into the water. The rocks splashed and sent out concentric ripples like blips on a radar screen. He tried to aim away from the ducks, but sometimes his aim was off or he got lost in thought and wasn’t paying attention or the stone was too large and made an incredible splash and scared the ducks, sent them flying into the air like missiles. He felt bad upsetting the ducks, but he also loved watching them all take flight at once. Like angels, he thought, soaring through the sky. Milo threw rocks into the pond until the soccer game across the street was over. Then he stood and stretched, adjusted his socks and began the walk home.

* * *

Hey, man, Hot Rod called to Milo. He was riding an old mountain bike that was too small for him and his knees bobbed up and down above the handlebars when he pedaled. It was rusting and pink and Milo thought that it had probably been stolen from someone’s little sister.

Hey, Rod, Milo replied.

Hot Rod was fourteen. He still went to Milo’s school because he had failed the third grade and was on his second year as a sixth grader. He called himself Hot Rod. Nobody else did. The first year that Hot Rod spent in third grade, the name was secretly given to him by some of the girls in his class who had a crush on him at the time. Once you fail a grade though, you lose whatever dignity you might have had. He wasn’t hot anymore and so he was just Rod. Mrs. Dempney called him Rodney. Hot Rod didn’t even know that the girls called him Hot Rod until a couple of years later when the girls were fighting on the playground and one of them shouted: Oh yeah? Well you used to have a crush on that worm, Rod. You used to call him Hot Rod, you fucking bitch. Don’t even try to lie about it. The girls beat the shit out of each other and were suspended from school for a week. Hot Rod stood in puzzled wonder as they were dragged off with blood running from their noses. From then on, Hot Rod told everyone to call him Hot Rod.

How’s it hanging? Hot Rod asked. He jumped off his bike and walked it alongside Milo.

Okay, I guess. Milo scratched his head. When Hot Rod failed third grade, most of his friends stopped paying attention to him. Now, Hot Rod mostly hung out with Jesse Winchester and his friends. He was nice to Milo, but never in front of Jesse Winchester.

Go ahead, Hot Rod said. Ask me.

Huh? Milo kept scratching his head. There was no itch, but he needed something to do.

Ask me how’s it hanging.

Oh. Milo hesitated for a moment. Hot Rod only ever went out of his way to talk to Milo when Jesse Winchester was too busy to hang out with him. He talked to Milo to feel better about his own friends ignoring him after failing third grade.

Go ahead, ask me.

How’s it hanging, Rod?

Hot Rod stopped walking and grabbed at his crotch with both hands. The rusted bike hit the pavement and he shouted: like a motherfucking whale! He erupted into a sick burst of laughter. Milo didn’t really like Hot Rod all that much, but the illusion of friendship was better than nothing and so he smiled and laughed.

Hey, Hot Rod said. Speaking of motherfucking. Sorry about all the shit Jesse was giving you the other day. He is an okay guy, he can just be a jerk sometimes.

Yeah, Milo said.

Man, just yesterday, Hot Rod started. I was over at Jesse’s, in the back yard. We were throwing shit at the neighbors’ cat cause we were bored and cause his parents were fighting inside. We were trying to play video games but they wouldn’t shut up and we couldn’t even hear the TV so we went outside. Anyways, Jesse’s mom comes crashing out the back door screaming and shit with blood all over her face.

So what happened?

I dunno, man. We split.

Oh.

I think she’s still in the hospital or something cause Jesse hasn’t been around all day.

Milo kicked at a rock in the gutter.

Whenever my folks fight I just pretend to start crying until they buy me shit, Hot Rod said.

Yeah.

It works every time. Anyways, you got any smokes, man?

No, sorry.

Milo kicked at the rock and it flew to the other side of the road. He didn’t feel like going out of his way to keep kicking and so he let it stay there.

 

Milo’s mother wasn’t going to be home from work until late and Milo didn’t feel like sitting at home alone, so he wandered around and let Hot Rod follow him. Hot Rod rode the pink mountain bike slowly behind Milo or did lazy circles around him while Milo walked down the middle of the road.

Hey, want to see something awesome? Hot Rod asked.

Yeah, sure.

Check this shit out.

Hot Rod rode up to the corner of the street and threw the bike on the lawn of a tall gray house.    Over here, Hot Rod said. Milo followed him into the narrow space between the gray house and the blue one that stood next to it. They walked down the paved strip to where the back yards were surrounded by chain link fences. Everything was silent and it felt like nobody was home on the entire block.

Check this shit out, Hot Rod repeated. It’s Jesse’s house.

Oh. I don’t really think I want to be here. Milo tried to act normal.

It’s cool, man. I don’t think anybody is home.

Milo had never met Jesse’s mother but he imagined her stumbling into the back yard covered in blood and screaming.

Hot Rod grabbed at the fence around Jesse’s backyard and shook it gently. He whistled a few times, putting two fingers to his mouth like he was whistling through his teeth, but he did it with pursed lips like he was whistling a melody. Hot Rod shook the fence again. There was the sound of a chain shifting and an old dog stirred at the far side of the yard.

Come here, boy, Hot Rod called softly. Come on.

Is that Jesse’s dog?

Yeah. Check this out. Jesse’s brother showed us this once when their parents weren’t around.

The old dog shambled across the yard, a rusty chain dragging behind it.

That’a boy. Come here.

The dog made it to the fence where the boys stood. Hot Rod squeezed a few fingers between the links and pet the dog’s face.

That’a boy, he said quietly. Hot Rod pulled his fingers back and stood up and unzipped his pants. The dog shuffled back and forth along the other side of the fence. It whimpered like something hurt. Hot Rod carefully slipped his cock through the fence and the dog shambled over and put its face there. Milo turned his head because he didn’t want to see Hot Rod’s cock. He could hear the dog and Hot Rod both whimper. He kicked at the side of Jesse Winchester’s house. The sun was going down and the sky bled different shades of red and blue and purple. 

I think I gotta go, Milo said.

Hot Rod giggled to himself through a heavy exhalation.

I said I think I’ve gotta get out of here. My mom said to be home before it gets dark.

Hot Rod breathed.

Milo walked back through the narrow space between the houses. The rusted pink bicycle still lay in Jesse Winchester’s lawn like debris from a plane wreck.

* * *

Mom, Milo said. His mother ladled tomato soup with noodles into a bowl on the table in front of him. He had already eaten half of the grilled cheese sandwiches that she made and was thinking about the man he didn't recognize from earlier that morning.

What’s up, kiddo?

Milo held a mouthful of grilled cheese on his tongue, let it disintegrate slowly in his saliva. He did not chew.

Milo swallowed and said: Nothing.

Milo’s mother stopped ladling the soup for a moment and looked at him.

Sure? she asked.

Yeah.

She finished dishing out the soup and set the pot back on the stove. She sat down at the table across from Milo and took a bite of her grilled cheese. Her mouth was full and she asked: How was your game today?

We won, Milo said. He blew on his soup and stirred the noodles around with his spoon, picking them up and letting them drop back into the bowl.

Score any goals?

Yeah.

Noodles plopped from Milo's spoon back into the warm thick soup. Milo imagined them as tiny single-celled organisms swimming through hot primordial ooze at the beginning of time. His mother swallowed her grilled cheese and smiled.

How many?

Just one.

That’s great. You’re on a streak, huh?

Yeah, I guess so.

I'm proud of you. Keep it up, okay? Her smile was huge and beautiful.

Yeah, I’ll try.

* * *

After dinner, Milo ran upstairs to his room and closed the door. He lay on the floor and closed his eyes. The sound of his mother cleaning in the kitchen drifted up through the cold floor boards. After a few minutes, Milo stood up, walked to his closet and took down the shoe box full of birthday cards from his father.

Slowly, Milo opened the box, took out the cards, arranged them carefully on the floor around him. The last card he opened and traced his finger along the curving blue-pen signature. The front of the card had a cartoon picture of a weight lifter with bulging muscles and a walrus mustache. Inside, it read: You're a real man now that you're __ years old. The number 3 was scribbled in the blank.

Milo stared at the picture of the weight lifter and then ripped the card in half. He ripped the halves in half and the quarters into eighths. He stood up and kicked the cards on the floor, sent them scattering into the corners and under his bed. Some he picked up and crumpled into twisted knots. When he was done, Milo laid down on his bed and closed his eyes until he fell asleep.

* * *

Okay, Milo’s mother was saying from downstairs. Milo crept out of his bed and walked to the top of the staircase to listen. Are you sure? she asked. The response was too quiet for Milo to hear. I’m so sorry, she said. Milo thought it sounded like she was in the kitchen. Well, she said. I’m giving you a ride, okay?

There was the soft sound of bare feet on the kitchen tiles. Milo’s mother appeared at the bottom of the staircase. She looked up and saw Milo and stopped.

Hey, kiddo, she said, almost whispering. She walked up the stairs past Milo and into her room. She was wearing a pink robe tied tight around the waist. When she walked, her bare legs moved in and out from behind the fabric.

Mom? Milo asked.

I've got to go out for a bit. I’ll be right back though, okay, kiddo? She walked into her room and pulled a pair of jeans out from the laundry hamper. Milo could see her underwear as she pulled them on underneath the robe. She took off the robe and was wearing a t-shirt underneath.

Mom? Milo asked again.

Yeah?

Milo stood up. Who’s downstairs?

She paused for a moment and looked at Milo.

I had to help someone out last night.

She walked past Milo and down the staircase. Standing at the front door and looking into the kitchen she said Okay, and slipped her feet into a pair of sandals that sat near the front door.

Milo's mother watched him as Milo came slow down the stairs. He came to the bottom and looked at his mother who looked back and was quiet. She looked into the kitchen and Milo followed her gaze. Jesse Winchester stood at the kitchen table, eating a cookie. He saw Milo, took another bite from the cookie, and looked at the floor.

Milo’s mother coughed and took Milo by the arm and led him back up the stairs. She walked down the hall into Milo's room and sat down on Milo’s bed.

Listen, Milo.

Why is Jesse here? Milo's throat was tight. His face felt hot.

After you went to bed I found him sitting on our front step. He was crying.

Why?

It was very late. I was in bed too but I heard him outside.

Milo waited. He did not look at this mother.

I think he might have a broken wrist, Milo. I'm not sure. He wouldn’t say anything.

Milo’s mother pulled at his arm to get him to sit down on the bed but Milo did not move.

Milo. I let him spend the night here, okay? I didn’t want to wake you up. He just wants to go back home. I’m going to give him a ride.

Milo's mother looked down. She ran her fingers through her hair.

I don’t know what happened but after I take him home I’m going to run downtown. I think I need to make a police report. I need to do something, at least. I’ll be back soon, okay?

She stood up.

Come on, she said.

Milo followed his mother downstairs. He looked at the floor while Jesse Winchester walked from the kitchen and stood next to him.

I’ll be right back, Milo's mother said, her keys jangling in one hand. Don’t go anywhere, okay, kiddo?

Milo nodded.

She walked outside and Milo heard the car door open and shut, the engine cough to life. Jesse Winchester was crouching, trying to tie his shoes with one hand. The other hand he held out next to him, red and swollen. Milo stood still and looked at the floor. From the corner of his eye he watched Jesse Winchester fumble with the laces, give up and just tuck them inside of his shoes. The sound of the engine outside was loud in the silence. Jesse Winchester stood up and walked towards the door.

Milo bit hard on the insides of his cheeks. Jesse Winchester turned and looked at Milo. His face was blank, expressionless. He stood for a moment, his eyes moving to the floor, and then turned away and walked out the door.

Milo stood and watched Jesse Winchester open the car door and sit down next to his mother. A bike that Milo didn’t recognize lay in the front lawn and Milo thought it must have been Jesse Winchester’s. The car pulled out of the drive-way and Milo watched as it drove down the road and disappeared around the corner.