The Hunt Part 1

Momma ain't been round for years; so long in fact that I don't remember nothin about her.

Her name was Aleia Calmon.

She was pretty; beautiful even. That's what Cesper Jamerson told me way back one time when I was out helpin Old Coot in the Square.

"Yer a spittin image of her, ya know," she said. "Got her blonde hair, brown eyes; the whole package."

I told her that my hair wasn't blonde, it was brown, and my eyes were blue.

"I think I should know how ya look, Tommy. It's not like I'm blind or anythin'."

I decided not to inform her of her missin right eye.

People round town remember her, but Momma's looks were the only thing anybody would even speak of. Pa was the only person who would actually speak anythin else bout the subject. But I could tell it pained him to say anythin. Cause my Ma had run away after I was born, and left my Pa to handle raisin me. She had gone into the wood one day while no one was lookin, and she simply hadn't returned. That's when Mr. Fenway apparently had started tellin his tales bout the monsters in the woods. My Pa told me all that. And Calmon men don't lie.

I toss the small silver ring, the only remainin thing of Momma's, back onto my bed. I aint quite gotta clue what Calmon men do anymore.

It's the next mornin', and I ain't slept all night. The curtains are still drawn in my room, so Riley's still able to snore his bald head away on the few floorboards that haven't mostly rotted away. The conversation finally ended last night, with all three men decidin to go out and look for the Star thingy durin today's Hunt. Pa musta thought I had been busy helpin out Old Coot with his booth so when I came waltzin in with Riley at the late hours of the night he simply nodded and slowly closed the door to his room. I consider myself a pretty good actor, so Pa will never know bout me and Riley's eavesdroppin last night.

There's a heavy knock on my door. Riley squirms in his spot, liftin his head up and lookin at the door with uninterested eyes. I pull it open to the towerin figure of Pa. His full head of brown hair is a mess this mornin, which I really shouldn't be surprised bout. Momma musta took Pa's comb with her when she left. His blue eyes, usually lookin all alive and aware, have heavy black bags sittin under them. His whole entire face looks sunken in, like he's lost a few pounds overnight or somethin. I even notice somethin that's never, ever been there before; a mornin shadow runnin across the lower half of his face.

"Mornin, Wes." His eyes stay fixed on an invisible dot on my right shoulder

"Mornin, Pa."

"I'll see ya in a few hours."

"The Hunt?"

"Yea." He turns round, headin through the livin room to the front door.

"You gonna catch plenty of food today, aren't ya Pa?"

He turns back, holding his rifle over one shoulder. "We'll try our best," he says with the slightest of smiles formin on his face. "You boys stay outta trouble, ya hear?"

"Yes, sir."

And with that Pa heads out to go Huntin.

"So what's yer plan for today?"

The curtains are open, and mornin sunlight drops heavily onto the kitchen table. On one side sits me; sleepy eyed, hollow faced, runny nose and all. Basically I ain't lookin all too good after thirty- point- zero- six seconds of restless sleep. And I ain't even gonna try and describe Riley to ya, cause his look really don't change that much. Only difference is that now ya can't see that shiny bald head once again and a slight odor comes from the guy not so slightly.

So far, Riley ain't mentioned nothin bout last night. Which kinda rubs me in some way; I don't really know exactly how yet. He don't know my feelins bout the subject yet, either. Cause I ain't mentioned to him what my plans are for today. Naw, not yet.

"I'm goin on the Hunt."

Nevermind. He's my best frenemy, he should know.

"Aw, cool…" he says calmly, reachin for his black peice of toast on the wooden table. "…what?"

And I aint never seen a hand come down so quickly and so hard on a piece of toast. "What do you mean yer goin on the Hunt? For what?"

"Ya know why, Riley." Honestly, I don't even know why.

"You wanna see that Star, dontcha?" he sits back, takin off his hat and runnin his hand along the smooth surface. "I shoulda known you'd wanna do a fool thing like that. Yer one for those crazy adventures."

"This ain't just some crazy adventure, Riley. I'm just…just…"

"Yer just too freakin curious for yer own good, that's what you are. You know we ain't allowed to go on the Hunt till we eighteen, anyway."

"Maybe I am just too freakin curious. Maybe one of these days ima end up hurtin myself tryna figure out everythin. But I'm inclined to think that with somethin like this, I have a good reason to want to know."

"No you don't. There ain't never a good reason to go and get yerself killed-"

"Who says I'm gonna get myself killed?"

"They ain't playin with the Hunt, you idiot. Those men out there, my Pops included, is carryin round guns and arrows and actual bear traps. This ain't one of yer silly games with Mr. Squirrel. You messin with stuff you shouldn't be stickin yer scrawny butt in."

"Well it's better than just pretendin like we ain't hear squat when we was out there last night. I'm a Calmon man, and we don't fake ourselves out like that."

"And I'm a McAdam man, and we know when shutup, and let those who know what they doin actually handle the job."

"Calmon men know what they doin."

"Don't give me all that mess bout what Calmon men do, Wes. 'Calmon men do this', 'Calmon men do that'. You wanna know what Calmon men actually do? What yer Pa actually did?"

I don't answer. Cause I know he aint gonna go there. I just know Riley got more sense then to say what I think he gon say.

"They lie, Wes. Yer Pa's a lier. And yer lyin to yerself if you don't realize that."

Now he done did it. Now he done gone and said it.

He don't even have time to blink before I'm launchin' across the table at him, tacklin him back in his chair. We slam into the ground in a tussle next to the table's leg. And I'm pullin at his ears and punchin at his nose and lookin for any sign that I'm actually hurtin him. And he's swipin at my hands and kickin and my chest and tryin to roll over so he can get up. But I ain't gonna get off that easily. I land a good hit on his cheek before he kicks me off, rolls over, and hurtles over the chair onto me.

And at that moment he's not my best friend.

He's not my best frenemy.

He's only my worst enemy.

My blood feels hot, like its gonna seep right on through my skin. My eyes are wild, flyin every which way, but ultimatly landin on the next spot where I can inflict some kinda damage on him. I rake my finger nails across his outstretched forearm. Pa's not suppose to lie. Pa's supposed to always tell me the truth. Cause he's my Pa. And I'm his son. And we are Calmon men. We are family. Family don't lie to each other. They just don't. I rake my fingernails across his forearm. I'm not doin this cause I'm sure he's wrong. I'm doin this cause I'm scared he's right.

"ShuddupshuddupshuddupSHUDDUP! Ya don't know nothin!" I'm screamin at him, at Pa, at everyone. And then he's grabbin my wrists, and he's pushin them against the ground. And no matter what I do, Riley's still bigger than me. One moment I'm screamin at him, wailin on him. The next I'm pinned to the floor, and he's lookin down at me with the deep, dark eyes of his. I turn my head away from him. I can't look at the guy; I can't look at nobody.

"Yer a fool, Wes. Yer a downright fool," he says through gritted teeth. "Go on, get yerself killed out there. I don't care. You understand me, Wes? I. Just. Don't. Care." He gets off of me, picks back up the chair, and walks out the door.