CAUGHT
by G. Neri

The first time I ever broke into somebody’s house was by accident. My mom had called to ask me to open up one of her properties for a potential buyer. She was stuck in traffic somewhere on the other side of the county. I was right in the middle of beta testing Halo 3, which she totally did not care about. She said I ever wanted to move out of our neighborhood and into someplace more respectable, I better get on my bike and go open the property. She’s been sayin’ that for 3 years now. But I knew she hadn’t sold one in a few months, so I was like, “Whatever.”

I go over on my bike about 10 blocks to Riverview, where houses got a sidewalk in front of them and grass that’s even green. But the owner forgot to leave a key for me under the mat, like he was supposed to. I couldn’t call my mom ‘cause I don’t got a phone. So now, I figure, I gotta look for another way in.
            All the doors were locked, but people are so stupid sometimes. I was able to get in through the bathroom window on the side of the house. It was open a crack with a stick in the jam, but I could totally reach in far enough to pop out the stick and climb in. Only after I was in did I think about an alarm or a guard dog. But it was dead quiet, so I figure it was ok.

The thing about being in someone’s house when nobody’s there, is you notice how quiet an empty house is. You never notice that in your own house ‘cause you got the stereo going or the TV is blastin’ or your stupid sister is talking to her loser friends or your mom and dad are fighting or something. There’s always noise going on in your house ‘cause you’re in it.

But a house that you break into is quiet. Real quiet. You can hear your own footsteps padding on the carpet. You can hear a lawnmower down the block. You can hear the hamster upstairs in the kid’s room. It feels weird; you’re in somebody else’s house, and they’re not there. You keep expecting to bump into the owner and have to explain who you are before they kill you.

You ever notice how people smell different? Everybody’s got a special smell and you can smell the people that live in a house. It’s not like they stink or anything. They just smell different than you.

You can also see what they did that morning. Unfinished breakfast left on the counter. The newspaper opened to the comics section. A note jotted down from a phone message: Dr. Zeigler 3:30, bring—

When the doorbell rang, I jumped. I could feel my heart racing and my first instinct was—I gotta get outta here!

But then I remembered, I’m supposed to be here. Doh!

I opened the door and let a young couple in, first time buyers, I think. I watched them look around. You could tell they didn’t really know what to look for. When your mom is a real estate agent, you can see who’s a real buyer or not. These guys weren’t. They smiled everytime we made eye contact, as if they were embarrassed to be in my house. So I acted like it was my house. Sat on the couch watching TV and drinking a Sprite. Then my mom came in. Saw me lounging around, gave me a look. I gave her a look back.

“Where’s the key?” she asked.

Damn, I forgot all about that. “Uh, I put it back,” I lied.

She nodded as she checked out the looky-loos. “Alright, you can go.”

I’m up and outta there. I can see her beginning to do her thing with the buyers, smiling as if they were best friends, doing the sales pitch an’ all.

As I was riding home I kept looking at all the houses I passed. And I started noticing things. Like most people weren’t home during the day, like they had real jobs and such. The street was dead. I don’t know why, I was just thinking is all. But I started wondering about all those empty houses and what was in them. It was nicer here than where we lived. Got to wondering what people got hidden in their homes. I thought about the different ways someone could break in, like who hides a key outside or doesn’t lock the back door. Just thinking is all.

When I got to my neighborhood, I started seeing the fenced in houses, the caged windows. It really ain’t that bad. But it isn’t Riverview, where most of the kids who go to Jefferson live. Just a regular neighborhood where normal folks ride out their days is all. A lot of people who got laid off four years ago when the plant closed live here, and that’s why we’re here and not where people with money live.

Days passed and my mom didn’t ask me to open up another house again. Maybe she was onto me. I didn’t care. I was bored out of my skull. I called up my boys, Trey, Clyde and Wes, told them to get a game on.

Football is my game. I was born with hands of glue. I was the star, the first one picked ‘cause I was a guaranteed touchdown. Just throw the ball over the defenders and leave the rest to me. That’s why they call me Catch, ‘cause I can catch anything (‘cept fish).

Pretty soon there was some banging on the door. I open up to see Zach Hurley spinning the ball on his F-you finger.

“Yo, Catch, you ready to lose, loser?”

I laughed. Zach is a joke. Thinks he can guard me, but you can’t stop Catch.

“Unless you became Dion Sanders overnight, then no, I’m ready to kick your sorry ass.”

Zack smiled. Threw the ball into my chest, hard. I still caught it. He stopped smiling. “Just get your butt out here. We’re playing in front.”

It was four on four. Trey was our QB. He thought he was Joe Montana reincarnated, even though Joe’s not even dead yet. Didn’t matter; he always had a big plan. “Catch, I want you to go out 3, then cut back, and zig-zag to the side—”

I cut him off. “Zig-zag? Forget that. I’m going long. Just throw it as far as you can, I’ll catch it. Throw it high, so Zach can get a good look.”

Trey thought about it. “You know, when we get on the high school team, you’re not gonna be able to over rule the QB.”

I laughed. “We’ll see about that.”

I lined up against Zach. “You ready, Zach? I’m going long. I’ll give you a head start if you want.”

“You can go to China for all I care, bitch. You’re mine.”

On the snap, I took off down the street. Ran like I was going my fastest, Zach on my heels. The ball went flying. I could see it was gonna go way over our heads. So I turned on hyper drive and took off, leaving Zach in the dust.

The ball went over my head, so took 3 more steps and became The Catch. The Catch is one of my trademark moves, you know like a catch that not only makes the Top 10 Plays of the Day, but becomes immortal. Like that juggling grab Lynn Swann made in Superbowl X or the game-winner from Montana to Taylor in Superbowl 13. I got it all planned for that Wheaties box. Got a pose and everything. One arm stretched out, tongue hanging like Jordon’s, legs doing a scissor-kick for one last burst—and Boom! I one-hand the ball, bring it in for The Catch, smiling for the cameras, looking back at Zach, who just gave up and is looking at me like he seen a ghost or something—

I didn’t see the truck. I ran straight into the grill of that mother at full speed. Luckily, it was already parked or I’d a been roadkill for sure. Instead, it was like I just ran into the goalpost, but without the padding.

I musta blacked out or something. I woke up on the ground. I thought I was in bed, waking up for school, but then I noticed the sky was above me. Then an even weirder thing happened. Willow Briggs was standing over me looking all concerned.

“Are you alright?” she asked hazily.

I knew I must been dreaming if Willow Briggs was talking to me.

Willow was the kind of girl you wanted. The looks, the friends, the money. She was one year ahead of me, so she was going to be a sophomore at Jefferson. When we were at Claremont Middle, I used to watch her all the time. Used to pretend to talk to The Gimp, just so I could watch Willow and her friends. The Gimp was Willow’s brother, Alex, who I kinda knew when we were in Indian Scouts as kids. We called him the Gimp ‘cause that’s what he looked like—white and pasty and walked with a limp even though nothing was wrong with him He was alright I guess, but I only talked to him ‘cause a her. He was my ticket in, and once I make varsity football, that’s when I’m gonna make my move. Even though our neighborhood wasn’t like hers, I figured being star wide receiver and liking her gimpy brother, would win her over. We’d be crowned king and queen at Homecoming and all those rich, preps with their bling-bling cars could kiss my lightning butt.

But I wasn’t thinking about that now. I was just staring up into those sky-blue eyes of hers, wondering if she was for real. Maybe I already was the star wide receiver, and I just scored the winning touchdown and Willow was rushing out onto the field to hug her man--

I tried to speak, but only some drunken garblygook came tumbling out. Willow looked puzzled. Then I heard Zach shouting, “No way, dude! That was awesome! Are you still alive?”

Willow looked up and, like a deer seeing hunters approaching, quickly disappeared.

“Wiwooow!” I attempted to say. I could taste blood in my mouth. What was that truck doing on the field?

Zach, Trey and the rest ran up to me.

“Don’t move, Catch, maybe you broke your neck or something. Can you move your fingers?”

I couldn’t feel my hands, my head was throbbing too much, but I tried.

“They moved! shouted Trey. “What about your feet?”

I tried kicking them away. Trey sat back, relieved. “You’ll live.”

Then a big, burly-looking dude with hairy shoulders was looking down at me. “Kid, what’re doing running into my truck? You coulda killed yourself. Here, sit up.”

He gently helped me up. I felt dizzy and wobbly.

“Look at me, kid. You know what day this is?”

“No.”

Trey jumped in. “It’s summer, man. No one knows what day it is.”

I saw Willow again heading into the Rodriguez’s old house. She didn’t live here. What was she doing?

“Kid, who’s the President?”

“Of what?” asked Clyde. Clyde couldn’t guess who was buried in Grant’s Tomb.

“Willow,” I said.

“Willow? I think he’s delusional. Kid, don’t get up.”

Too late, I turned to get up. It was then I saw that my shirt had blood on it. I panicked.

Zach propped me up. “You smacked your head on the ground, dude. It looks worse than it is. Most of your major blood vessels are in your head, so just cause you’re bleeding buckets and shit, doesn’t mean you’re gonna die. I saw that in Zombie Killers 3.”

Trey took off his shirt and pressed it against the back of my head. “You owe me a new shirt, Catch. Come on. We’ll take you home.”

“Willow…” I whispered. I looked at the house she’d disappeared into. Had anyone else seen her?

*

The blood didn’t faze my mom. I been breaking things my whole life—arms, fingers, ankles, the TV--

“Skateboarding?” she asked.

I was watching TV with my head wrapped in a white towel. Least it used to be white before I started bleedin’ on it.

“Truck,” I said slowly.

“Excuse me?”

“I ran into a truck when we were playing ball. I didn’t break anything.”

Mom shook her head. “Just your skull. I don’t suppose you cleaned the wound?”

Yeah, like I’m a ER doctor.

“At least there’s nothing in there worth damaging,” she muttered as she unwrapped the towel. She grimaced. “You’re going to need stitches,” she said concerned, until she noticed what she was holding. “Is this my good towel?”

I shrugged again. “It was the only one thick enough to soak up all the blood. You want me to bleed to death?”

Mom thought about it for a moment. “Come on, we have to get you patched up.” She helped me up from the beanbag. “Really? You ran into a truck? How come you guys can’t play on a field like normal people?”

What does she know about football? “Toughens me up for The Big Show.”

She shook her head. She does that a lot. “Your dad’s gonna toughen you up when he finds you’re not going to be able to help him put up the new dish on the roof.”

Forgot about that one. Maybe there is a god after all. “Oh, well. I guess Metalhead’s gonna have to get off her butt and do something around here.”

Mom almost smacked me, but I played up the pain in my head. Actually, it did hurt when I walked.

“Why do you always have to call your sister that?”

“Cause she’s got a head full of metal?” Like wasn’t it obvious?

“You know how she feels about her braces. You don’t help when you say that.”

“I could call her Magneta, Magneto’s lame-ass sister.”

“Just don’t do it around her, okay?”

We got into mom’s Lincoln. I looked over at the movers hauling stuff into the Rodriguez’s old house.

“Do you know who’s moving in there?” I asked.

Mom got all defensive. “How would I know? It’s not like they asked me to broker their house for them.”  She had never liked the Rodriguez family. They were always having big parties and driving down the prices of this already down neighborhood. “But I do know that new family had to be desperate to move in there.”

“Really? What’s wrong with it?”

“Toxic mold. There’s no light inside. Small windows.”

I watched a strange woman standing on the steps overseeing the movers. She seemed full of orders they didn’t want to hear. Was that Willow’s mom?

“You don’t know if it’s a family called Briggs?” I asked.

“Don’t know. But whoever it is, they’re going to have their hands full.”

As we drove past the house, I noticed The Gimp staring back at us from the living room window. His face lit up when he recognized me and he started waving back like a spaz.

This is going to be an interesting summer.