My Friend Louie Read online

  My Friend Louie

  J.J. Johnson

  http://www.jjjohnsonwrites.com

  Copyright © 2014 by J.J. Johnson

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business, events, or locales is purely coincidental. Reproduction of this publication without the express written consent is strictly prohibited. The author greatly appreciates you taking the time to read his work. Please consider leaving a review wherever you bought the book or telling your friends about it, to help spread the word.

  Cover designed by Magpie Designs, ltd

  Photo credits: Pixabay

  Textures by Sascha Duensing

  Table of Contents

  Copyright Page

  My Friend Louie

  JJ JOHNSON’S NEWSLETTER | What to hang out with a bunch of GEEKS!!!! | JOIN J.J.’s Private Facebook Group | THE DARK SIDED GEEKS

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

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  THE DARK SIDED GEEKS

  ONE

  I was fifteen when my dad killed my best friend, Louie. He burned him alive in a big brush fire. My father had no clue what he had done. Then again, he was always clueless when it came to me. He never heard the screams spitting out with the flames, but I did. And thirty years later, I still hear them.

  The funny thing about Louie was that no one ever seemed to notice him but me. I guess that's what made us so tight over that year- we understood each other's pain. Although I now realize, my pain was far greater, more alive and vulnerable. Looking back, I see how Louie exploited that pain. I didn't know it then, but he was using me for some dark and evil purpose.

  It was August, a full year before my father burned him alive. My parents had just finalized their divorce, which sounds bad but was a good thing. It meant no more nights with them screaming at each other about secret love affairs and maxed out credit cards. In fact, I kind of fancied the divorced life. They both worked endlessly to convince me it was the other one's fault. It didn't matter to me. As long as they were bent on hating each other, it meant I could get away with whatever I pleased.

  That August was hot. Sweat poured down my back soaking my hand me down shirt. Endless cracks in the hard ground snaked in dozens of directions. It hadn't rained in eight weeks, and there was no hope anytime soon. Everything felt dead.

  I'd made my way to the edge of the tree line behind our house. I wasn't permitted to venture too deep into the woods. Dad was always worried about wild hogs getting hold of me. But as worried as he pretended, he never paid attention long enough to notice where I went.

  My fourteenth birthday had just come and passed. As usual, my party consisted of a few cousins who were there out of obligation and me. I didn't have many friends. In fact, I didn't have any friends. I guess that's why I lived in books. Books were peaceful, and I could trust the characters more than I could trust the folks in my life. Characters didn't change, and I knew they wouldn't let me down. So I never felt I needed friends. My friends lived in the depths of pages.

  But that morning, I found a friend who would be there for me at all times. Louie.

  ~*~

  I didn't notice Louie at first. I walked right by him. Looking back all these years now, I can see why he was always angry and bitter. Having to go through life day-by-day without ever having someone stop to say hi or carry on a conversation. Louie was like me. Alone with no friends.

  I had ventured further into the woods that day than I should have. Had dad known, he would have skinned my hide for sure, but I suspected he was enjoying his time with Mr. Miller. That was his drink of choice, and once he popped a few tabs on those cans, he had little time for me.

  The path through the woods that I followed that day led to a small clearing, not large but open enough to allow some light to penetrate the dark overhang of the tree branches. I had only been there one other time when dad and I had gone looking for a stray calf. We found her all beat up and dead. Even then I was told never to come back this way.

  "Michael, those hogs don't care how big or small you are," Dad always said. "They'll get a hold of you and never let go."

  I didn't know a lot, being only fourteen years old, but I did know one thing- being killed by a wild hog was not the way I wanted to go.

  I was on my way out of the clearing, about to climb one of the steep cliffs that bolted out of the ground. I'd never tried before, always afraid that cougars or panthers were lurking nearby. Those scared me more than hogs did. At least a hog I could probably hide from by scurrying up a tree. But a cougar or panther, they could climb and even jump. Probably grab hold of my back side and jerk me down. Even thinking about it made my back scream from the claws that could dig deep into my flesh.

  I was just about to step out of the sunlit patch when I heard his voice. Faint at first.

  "Hey, you."

  I turned and looked, but there was no one there. All around me were underbrush and broken limbs, some still attached to the trees themselves. But still, I swore I heard a voice. Then it came again.

  "Hey, you. Yeah, I'm talking to you, dummy." When I turned around, I saw him, leaning against the tree. I shook my head. That couldn't be right. Because leaning against that tree was a worn down Louisville slugger. As I said earlier, I wasn't the sharpest blade on the lawn mower, but I'd lived long enough to know- baseball bats don't talk.

  TWO

  "Did you say something?" I cringed, feeling like an idiot. I was talking to a baseball bat.

  "No," the bat said. "It was the other guy." If it had eyes, it would've rolled them right about then. "Of course it was me."

  "But bats can't talk."

  "Sure we can," the bat said. "Anything can talk."

  I rubbed my hand over my eyes. I was dreaming. That was the only explanation. There was no way what I was seeing, or hearing was real. But here I was, standing in the clearing of the woods, listening to a baseball bat tell me he was talking to me.

  "I don't understand," I said. "I've never-"

  "Well, how do you think I feel? I've never had a human stop and chat with me, either. Trust me, kid, I'm in more shock than you."

  I picked the bat up. The word Louisville appeared written across the side.

  "What's your name?"

  The bat didn't say anything for a moment. I waited, wondering if maybe I'd gone plum crazy. Finally, it said, "I'm not sure. I've always just been the bat. I never thought of having a name. What's yours?"

  "Michael."

  "Nice to meet you, Michael. I'm the bat."

  I had to laugh.

  "What's so funny?"

  "The bat isn't a name at all. We'll need to get you a name."

  I rubbed my finger across the lettering etched into the grain. Louie. That was it.

  "I'll call you Louie."

  "Louie," he said. "I like that."

  I smiled. "So how did you get out here, Louie?"

  "I'm not sure. One day I was being swung and hitting a ball, and then the next day, I was leaning against the tree."

  "Don't you remember being carried through the woods, or who brought you here?"

  "No," Louie said. "I remember little about what happened."


  "Did you fall asleep or something? Wait! Do bats sleep?"

  "Of course we sleep."

  I shrugged. I didn't see any eyes, so I wasn't sure how Louie could sleep. Then again he didn't have a mouth to talk with either.

  "Where's your family?" I asked.

  "I haven't got a family."

  I felt a burning behind my eyes that meant I was about to start bawling like a baby. I knew how the bat felt, because I didn't have a family either, or at least not one that cared. I was big enough by then that I could make that burning feeling go away without embarrassing myself. But still, it burned.

  "How about your friends?" I asked.

  "I don't have any friends."

  "Me, either."

  "Then maybe we can be friends." I liked that idea. And that was how I met Louie.

  THREE

  I spent the last few weeks of that summer with Louie conquering the world. At least in our minds, that's what we did. Dad was letting me venture further into the woods alone. We had an understanding- when he called, I would come. At night when dad was drinking his sorrows away, Louie and I would lie under the stars in the open field. We would talk about life.

  "When I get older I want to get away from this place," I told him. "Just get in the car and go. Live free."

  "What do you want to be when you grow up?" Louie asked.

  "I think I want to be a doctor, but not the kind that helps sick people. But a doctor that listens, and gives advice. I'm not sure what they call that, but it's what I want to be."

  Louie was quiet, which was odd. Louie was seldom silent. Something was on his mind. I wanted to ask, but for some strange reason, I didn't. Not sure why.

  "What do you want to be when you get older?" I asked him.

  "That's the thing," he said. "I'm already old. And there is nothing I will ever be. I'll always be a bat."

  Clouds covered the stars in a blanket that felt as though the light was being snuffed out. Everything grew dark. Lately, everything in my life was becoming dark. Louie was the only light I felt I had. But what he said made sense. Louie would never be anything but a bat. I wondered if he could cry. Then I wondered how long bats had to live and if Louie was getting close to the end of his time. I didn't want that to happen. But I knew it would.

  We didn't speak much the rest of the night. And looking back now, I think that was the night things started to get worse for Louie and me. It felt like the end. And it was the end of stuff that always did it for me. My parents’ marriage, the end of summer, the end of beauty. No matter how good life got, there'd always be an end. Even to Louie and me. I knew he felt it too, though he didn't say anything. We felt it like the dry, itchy grass underneath. The soft patches were always drying up, paving the way for the prickling stuff to take over. We both knew it, and it changed everything.

  ~*~

  I never knew where Louie got his temper. Maybe it was knowing he would never be more than he already was. But hadn't he known that for a long time? Like, forever? No, I think Louie's anger came from years of neglect. I'd lived with enough neglect to understand that.

  Eighth grade was good. I enjoyed all my teachers, and most of the other kids were okay. But riding the bus home had become a problem. I always hated it, but since dad didn't get home most nights until after six, there was no choice.

  There was a kid named Tony who lived half a mile down the road from us. Tony was anything but kind. In fact, he was one of the meanest boys I'd ever met, picking on kids for entertainment. We'd been riding the bus together for years, and I'd been smart enough to steer clear of him, and he'd left me alone. But that year, for some reason, I was his new target.

  "Hey Michael," he said on the bus once. "How about you give me your cash before I take it." No one ever thought he was bad when he said these things, and I pretended not to mind. Everyone laughed, so I laughed, hoping that was all it was. A big laugh. But it wasn't the stuff Tony said that bothered me. I could laugh that stuff off.

  The first two weeks after school started it was all right. He'd say things, but he wouldn't touch me. We'd get off the bus- always, just the two of us. Ours were the only two houses even close to that stop- and we'd each go our separate ways. But then, even that started to change. And though I could still laugh off his stupid comments on the bus, it was what Tony did when no one was looking that troubled me.

  He would wait until the bus driver pulled away. I'd already be walking toward home, but sometimes, he'd come up behind me and start in on me. He'd call me names, but I didn't mind that. It was when he'd punch me in the arm, or twist my ear real hard.

  Then one day, Tony was mad about something and decided to take it all out on me.

  We got off the bus, just like every day. Once Mrs. Sycamore pulled away, Tony did something he had never done before. He punched me in the back of the head. I collapsed right there, next to our mailbox. My vision was all blurry, so the post on the mailbox looked like two poles, both fuzzy. Then he set his thick plump body on me, and all the breath left me, and I was sure I was going to suffocate right there. And then he started pounding me upside the head. I was sure Dad wasn't home, so even if I could've gotten enough air to scream, nobody would've come to help me.

  Tony finally stood up, kicked me twice in the ribs, and walked away. I rolled over onto my side, tears streaming down my face and gasping for breath. My vision started to clear, and I could see the house, see the safety of my bedroom. And there, in the bedroom window, was Louie.

  I couldn't hear him, but I knew he was angry. I had no idea how angry until I got inside that day.

  What Louie had to say change my life.

  FOUR

  I cried on my bed.

  "I can't," I said. "I can't do it."

  "Why can't you?" Louie asked.

  "Because he's too big. If I hit him, my fist will just bounce off; then he'll laugh at me. Probably hit me harder."

  Louie was quiet and then said. "You're a sissy."

  I stood up, my hands balled into a fist. "What!"

  "You heard what I said. Hey everyone," Louie yelled, though there was nobody in the house to hear, and anyways, nobody ever heard Louie but me. Still, it grated on my nerves. "Michael is a little sissy."

  "Stop it."

  "Sissy, sissy, sissy, sissy-"

  I kicked at the wall. "Stop it. You're supposed to be my friend."

  "I don't want to be friends with a little sissy."

  "I'm not a sissy." I was screaming, and I was getting mad. I hated Tony; I hated my mom and dad. I hated life in general. But most of all, I hated myself.

  Louie continued to laugh and mock me. "Sissy, sissy, sissy, sissy..."

  I curled up in the corner of my room, trying to block it out.

  You're a little wimp. That was my father's voice. Can't believe I have a wimp for a son.

  "Sissy, sissy, sissy."

  Just a little wimp. I thought I raised you to be tougher than that.

  "Stop it." I was bawling now. "Please stop it, Louie."

  "Stop it, Louie," he mocked me. "I'm Michael, and I'm a little sissy, a little wimp."

  I squeezed Louie tight, my knuckles turning white around his neck. I was losing it. I swung him. I swung hard and smashed the window. Then I smashed the wall, putting a huge hole in the middle of it. Then I slammed him against the door, busting the knob off.

  "I hate you," I said. "I hate you, and I'm not a sissy."

  Louie didn't say anything. I felt like he was looking at me. The only sound was my breathing. Heavy, labored. My face was burning. I was hot.

  "Do you hate Tony as much as you hate me?" Louie asked.

  "I hate him more," I said, my teeth gritted.

  "Look around, Michael."

  I did. I couldn't believe what I'd done. Broken glass scattered the floor. White, chalky pieces of sheetrock littered the carpet. The round, brass doorknob lay in a mangled heap against the edge of my bureau.

  A power I had never known before resonated through my vein
s.

  "You see all this?" Louie asked.

  "Yes," my voice was a whisper, but I was not afraid. I was in awe.

  "It feels good, doesn't it? Feels real good."

  "Yes."

  "Next time Tony tries something, take me, and let's do to him what we did to this room."

  And at that moment, I knew things would be different. But just how different- I had no idea.

  FIVE

  The next several weeks were difficult. Louie said I had no clue how to swing a bat, much less hit anyone with it. He was right, of course, I had never hit anyone before. So Louie said it was to boot camp I had to go.

  Boot camp was hard. Louie made me do push-ups and run sprints in the woods. I hated running sprints in the woods. There were so many trees and bushes to try and dodge, not to mention all the limbs lying around on the ground. When I complained about it, Louie said I need to be able to get away when I made Tony mad, and running over this junk would help me.

  "I thought we were going to knock him out?" I asked.

  Louie laughed. "With the way you swing a bat, not a chance. Until you toughen up a little, I'm going to just bounce right off of him. So until we're ready, you need to learn to run."

  And run I did. In the three weeks, I had been training; Tony had nearly gotten me twice. But both times, I managed to make it up to our drive without incident. Louie was right, the running helped, and he was more than happy to take the credit for it all.

  Tony was as dumb as a box of rocks. About the only thing he had going for him was the fact that he could pound on just about anyone. But Tony wasn't dumb enough to keep chasing me up the drive. He must have thought my father would come out and beat him senseless. But I knew it was only a matter of time before he realized that my dad didn't make it home from work for at least another hour after the bus dropped us off. When he realized it, I'd be a goner for sure.