“Hey, counter lady.”

“Hey, you.”

“How much is this hat?”

“You want that hat?”

“I don’t know. Yeah.”

“That is a ridiculous hat.”

“It’s cool.”

“Take that off, it’s making me laugh.”

“I make you laugh?”

“Yes, you’re laughable.”

“Well, I like to make you laugh.”

“I know you.”

“Yeah. I know you, too.”

“You’re in Mrs. Haddad’s fourth period En glish.”

“I was. Fatass Haddad.”

“You used to make us all laugh in there.”

“Not Fatass.”

“No. You’re Ray.”

“ Yeah.”

“You know my name?”

“ Yeah, I know your name.”

“You’re a liar. You don’t remember me.”

“I remember you. You’re Carole Quirk’s friend.”

“But you don’t know my name.”

“Carole’s friend.”

“I knew it. You don’t know. Hey, what happened to you?”

“Ah, nothing. I got kicked out.”

“I know that, everyone knows that. What for?”

“Ah, I boosted some stuff.”

“ Yeah?”

“ Yeah, it was stupid. I don’t know.”

“Claudia Shaeffer said your dad…”

“ Yeah.”

“Is that true? Is he in jail?”

“ Yeah, he’s an asshole.”

“Why is he in jail?”

“For being an asshole.”

“They don’t put you in jail for that. Half the world would be in jail if they did that.”

“You don’t say that.”

“What?”

“Asshole.”

“So?”

“I don’t know. I just knew that about you. You don’t say…”

“Swears.”

“No.”

“Well, it doesn’t make me a bad person.”

“No.”

“I wasn’t raised like that.”

“You’re from, like, the South, right?”

“ Kentucky.”

“Yeah. Isn’t your dad like a cop or something?”

“A state trooper.”

“Oh, man.”

“You don’t like policemen.”

“No, I don’t know. My old man sure hates them. One thing.”

“I guess he would.’

“One thing, they always call you by your whole name. Raymond.”

“Yeah, that’s my dad.”

“Raymond, is this any way to get ahead in life? And shit like that.”

“Well, it’s not.”

“But you’re laughing.”

“I can’t help it, you make me laugh.”

“Good, I like to make you laugh.”

“You going to pay for that candy bar?”

“No, I’m going to put it back.”

“You already ate like half of it.”

“Well, then it should be half price.”

“Oh, you think you’re super bad, huh?”

“I would be if I had this hat.”

“You’d be super retarded. Anyway, Mr. Rufe just put in a camera over in the corner, so he can see when you juveniles steal from him.” “You think I care?”

“You should. He’ll call my dad and my dad’ll put you in jail.”

“Like I’m scared.”

“You should be.”

“Maybe you should be scared of me.”

“Why?”

“I was in jail.”

“ Yeah, but I’m not scared.”

“Not even when I’m close up like this? In the middle of the night and you’re all alone at the counter?”

“Not even then. Anyway it’s like seven thirty at night. It’s not even dark.”

“What about now?”

“No.”

“I think you should come for a ride with me.”

“My shift is almost over.”

“That’s good, then come for a ride.”

“I have to go home.”

“Just for one ride?”

“You don’t even know my name.”

“I know it.”

“You don’t. Say it.”

“Marletta.”

“Say it again.”

“Marletta.”

“So you know my name.”

“I know about you.”

“What do you know?”

“I know you do gymnastics. I know you’re smart. I know you like Carole Quirk but not her other friend, Amy.”

“Everyone knows that.”

“No, I know. I see you. I know your mom is black and your dad is white and that’s why you moved up here.”

“Who told you that? You think that’s funny?”

“No.”

“You better watch what you say.”

“No, I know that’s why you’re so good- looking.”

“I’m not.”

“No, you are. I thought so the first time I ever saw you.”

“No. No one says that”

“They’re all dipshits.”

“You think I am? Good- looking?”

“You are.”

“Why did you do that?”

“Kiss you? I wanted to.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“I can’t help it. I’m a juvenile.”

“You’ll help it when my dad sees you.”

“He protects you, huh?”

“Something like that. He gets pissed. And then he calls me by my whole name.”

“What does he call you when he’s not pissed?”

“You’ll laugh.”

“I won’t. I swear.”

“Like the swear of a juvenile is worth anything.”

“What does he call you?” “Mars.” ‘Uh-huh.”

“You said you wouldn’t laugh.” “I’m not.”

“ Yeah, you kind ofare.”

“You’re laughing, too. Look at my arm and your arm.” “You’re so pale.”

“And you’re like, I don’t know. Honey or something.” “ Watch the hands, mister.” “ Your skin is soft, that’s all.”

“You shouldn’t be back here. Mr. Rufe would be super pissed.” “I’m just keeping you company.” “Are you coming to junior prom?” “No, probably not. When are you done?” “Soon. I have to go home.” “Nah, you don’t.” “You shouldn’t do that.” “Kiss you?” “No, you shouldn’t.” “I can’t help it.” “No?”

“No. I have to.” “You have to?”

“I see you and I just… have to.”

“Well, if you have to.”

“I do. Do you like it?”

“Yes. Say my name.”

“Marletta.”

“You like me?”

“I like you.”

“I like you, too. Ray.”

On Tuesday he drove south through Philly, down 95 past the airport and the Burn Center. At Providence Avenue he got off and made his way to SCI Chester, the front looking like a factory or a school or something, if you didn’t notice the coils of razor wire.

He filled out the forms using his own name, figuring if they didn’t want him there they could kick him out. He wasn’t sure he wanted to be there either, but the big bull with the gray flattop behind the Plexiglas just took his name and buzzed him through. He emptied his pockets and stood for a wand, and in about fifteen minutes he was sitting in the visiting room that stank of disinfectant and cigarettes, watching men in yellow jumpsuits trying to act casual with their wives and kids. He sat and watched the kids get tokens out of the change machines for sodas and candy, the same thing he had done the one time he had visited his father upstate all those years before.

He thought about riding the chain the first time, the way he did every time he saw coils of wire. When they sent him out to Camp Hill, his arms were busted, and he sat stiffly in the bus with his arms in the rigid casts while a guy with a lazy eye looked his way and moved his tongue over his lips in a pantomime of hunger.

He could remember little bits of the trial, but it was like he’d seen it on TV. The prosecutor looking pissed all the time and telling the judge how he had stolen a car from his drug buddy Perry March and racked it up with Marletta next to him, but the trial went by in a rush, like ten minutes of bullshit before they locked him up. None of what the guy said was right, but Marletta was dead and he didn’t care what came next.

It was like his life had run backward, the parts before Marletta died real and true and clear, and everything after just a long twilight, a half- life where none of his vague wishes or worst fears materialized and it was hard to come fully awake, to open his eyes and see things as they were. Harder still to sleep, with no one he trusted there to stand watch.

HE PICKED THROUGH different pictures in his head. His father, short but wide through the shoulders; jet black hair in short spikes, holding a can of beer at a ball game. His mother sitting at the kitchen table, her cigarette in the ashtray stained with her lipstick, looking as if it had been dipped in blood. Her blank, defeated look, her eyes fixed somewhere else. His father in handcuffs in the kitchen in the middle of the night, the cops looking embarrassed on his mother’s behalf, their eyes down.

Now his father shuffled into the visiting room in a bathrobe, and Ray wasn’t ready for the sight of him. His hair was sparse, gray and patchy, and his lips were sucked into his mouth like he was tasting something bitter. He leaned heavily on the long table as he sat, and Ray saw his hands shaking. His father smelled like cigarettes and sour sweat, the wave of it taking Ray back to his own time upstate.