Coyote
by Adam Alokby
Reed’s my twin, but I never felt like we were that connected or anything. Not in that special way people ask us about. To be honest, I think it’s all a big joke, feeling your twin’s pain and all that. It doesn’t make sense.
Honestly, the kid couldn’t be more different than me. He’s all books and stuff like that, and I’m more camouflage and airplanes and stuff like that. Alvin said we’d both be good as pilots, but I think he just wanted to spare Reed’s feelings. He’s the runt.
Might be rude, but it’s true. Up until we were like, seven, he couldn’t even pronounce his R’s. The kid couldn’t pronounce his own name. “I’m Weed,” he’d go. What a joke.
Thing is, he wouldn’t be a good pilot. I love the guy and all, but he doesn’t have the drive for it. He isn’t brave. Me, if I were in a high-stress airplane-related situation, I’d have the bravery to deal with it. It helps that I’ve been training since I was nine. Two years of training, taking my vitamins, and watching wilderness survival shows.
My favourite wilderness survival show is Man vs. Wild, and my favourite part of it is when Bear Grylls eats stuff that’s still alive. Reed doesn’t have the stomach for stuff like that, but I can watch it just fine. One day, when I’m ready, I’ll eat a frog while it’s trying to hop out of my mouth.
And now we’re watching Alvin clean up Myrtle’s remains off the driveway. Reed can’t stomach stuff like this. He loved that cat. Mom’s cat. I liked the little guy, but he wasn’t always friendly with me.
I shout from the window, “You need any help, Alvin?”
“Mason, I told you to stop calling me that. No, I don’t need help.”
“That’s your name, Alvin. And Mom’s gonna be home soon.”
The man just looks at me. “Grab me a bucket and fill it with water.”
In the garage there’s a bunch of shelves and the buckets are all high up, of course. The ladder’s really heavy but I’m up to twenty push-ups a day, so it isn’t a problem.
Behind the ladder is Alvin’s old BB gun. A Daisy Red Ryder. A beautiful piece of machinery. This is the kind of weapon cowboys used, only this is kind of like the kid version.
The bucket handle digs into my skin a little as I carry it out, but I don’t even mention it.
“Mason, you have to start calling me ‘dad.’ It’s a bit impolite.”
“Okay, Dad. Won’t happen again.”
Alvin looks at Myrtle and sighs. “Put the ladder back.”
“Okay, Dad.”
I’m sitting on Reed’s bed, polishing the Daisy.
“What are you doing?” Reed asks from the doorway. “Get off my bed.”
“I’m polishing the Daisy,” I say.
“I don’t think you’re supposed to use olive oil.”
“Well, we don’t have gun oil.”
Reed thinks about it. “It’s going to smell like food.”
“Reed, what’s the problem? Can’t you let me work?”
“You’re on my bed.”
“Then sit on my bed.”
He sighs. “Okay.”
The Daisy Red Ryder shoots BBs at over three hundred feet per second. I asked a man in the gun section of a Walmart if it could kill a man, and he said, “Sure, it’s a blunt object,” and I nodded in agreement. When I asked Alvin what blunt meant, he just looked at me. The people in this family all have staring problems, I swear.
Reed goes, “Why are you polishing the Daisy?”
I set it down on his pillow and look at it, shining. “Can you keep a secret?” I ask.
“Sure.”
“Okay. That thing that killed Myrtle. I’m going to hunt it.”
“What?”
“I’m going to kill it,” I say.
His eyes get real big. “Why?” He looks at me like I’m crazy or something.
“Well, I don’t know. Mom’s going to come home and when she finds out she’s going to be all sad. Might make her happy if she knows the thing that killed Myrtle’s dead.”
“Woah,” Reed says. “You think you can really do it?”
I put the oily rag in my jacket pocket. “I think it’s going to be cake.”
I stand and grab the Daisy; it slips through my hands. “Woah,” I say. “Slippery.”
I tell Reed he can tag along if he doesn’t get in my way, and at noon we meet at Home Base, about ten minutes into the forest, and it’s this big blue tarp Reed and I hung from branches as a sort of roof. He didn’t tie his side up right so the tarp fell and now it’s more of a big blue wall. I have my backpack and the Daisy.
I packed a bottle of gummy vitamins, a jar of peanut butter, a loaf of bread, and six Capri Suns.
Reed shows up fifteen minutes late and without any supplies, wearing a big puffy coat.
“You’re late,” I go.
He shrugs. “Don’t have a watch.”
“Let’s get moving,” I say.
*
When Reed and I turned eight, Alvin got us a telescope. Sort of a lousy gift on account of he kept it in his closet and we’re not allowed to go in there, but it was a giant telescope so it was kind of cool of him. That month we went camping, and it was really a great trip, and Alvin brought that telescope. It was something. Reed and Alvin and I made a hike up this big hill where we set it up for the first time and Alvin said, “We’re lucky it’s a clear night.”
He spent half an hour setting it up, then called Reed over to look into it.
“Do you see?” he said. “What do you think?”
“Oh,” Reed went, and he just kept looking.
“Come look, Mason,” Alvin said. And I did. That moon looked so clear, like it was a painting right in front of me. I wanted to memorize it perfectly, how it looked. It was so big. Reed and I tried to make sense of it after that, but we couldn’t really describe it. It really was something.
After we got a good look at it, and some other planets, we started back down to the campsite. I carried the case for the telescope, an important job, while Reed carried the snacks, and Alvin had the chairs. When I fell the case fell a little harder, and got to be a good ten or fifteen feet in front of us. As Reed looked at my arm, wincing at the scrape, Alvin checked on the telescope. It looked fine except for a crack down the middle of the glass part. Everything else looked like it worked, and I said that, but Alvin just kept looking at it, and he didn’t say anything, not for the whole night.
*
“What do you think killed it?” Reed asks.
“I’m not sure. It definitely wasn’t human, though.”
“Like a bear or something?”
“Could be,” I say. “That’d be something.”
“What do we do if the bear tries to kill us?”
“That depends on whether it’s a black bear or a brown bear.”
Reed nods along, eyes watching his footing.
“If it’s a black bear,” I say, “they’re pretty small, so I’ll just shoot at it. If it’s a brown bear we might die.”
Reed stops walking. “We might die?”
I just stare at him. “Reed, that’s always a possibility. I have a BB gun, a week’s worth of food and drinks, and two years of training. Now, it’s unlikely that it’s a brown bear, but either way, didn’t you love Myrtle? Don’t you love Mom?”
“I do,” Reed says.
“Then come on.”
An hour in we make camp. I hand Reed two gummy vitamins and the loaf of bread and peanut butter, and he makes us sandwiches.
“Mom always said it’s coyotes out here,” Reed says. “Maybe that’s what got Myrtle.”
“Maybe,” I say. “They mostly come out at night.”
“I’ve heard that.”
The creek is swift and shallow, maybe half a foot, no fish, and the log is slippery. I throw over the BB gun. The only reason Reed goes first is because he did gymnastics when he was eight, which makes him good at balance, but it’s kind of embarrassing for him. Once he’s over he looks all proud.
“Stick out the gun,” I say.
“Right.” He grabs the Daisy and holds it out over the log. I grab the butt part.
My next step hits a gooey spot on the log so I go down, and I take the Daisy with me.
I’m wet and cold and angry.
“Shit, Reed. How’d you let go so damn quick?”
Reed looks a little scared. “It was slippery,” he goes.
I’m fuming. This isn’t how it was supposed to go. Men don’t fall into creeks, or let their fellow men fall into creeks.
“You’re just a big joke, huh?” I say. “Can’t you do something right? For once?”
“Mason, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—it just slipped.” He takes a quick breath. “I told you to watch out for the spot.”
“Well I actually came prepared and brought shoes with traction on them, so I didn’t think it'd be a problem. And it wouldn’t have been if you could just do anything right.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You should be.”
“All right. I’ll go home.”
Reed stands up, looking sad and dumb.
“Wait,” I say. Reed turns halfway. “Leave the coat.”
*
I’m up on a hill thinking about it all. It’s sunny out now and that’s good, but I’m still cold. It’d be hell without the coat. Reed really doesn’t like it when I cuss. I don’t do it often, only when he really gets on my nerves, but I know he hates it.
I wonder if Reed’s cold, if he made it back.
I’m against this big rock with my backpack down by my feet and the Daisy on my lap. That’s something people don’t tell you about hunting. It’s a lot less action than you might think. I decide that while I’m doing nothing, I can at least walk a little, so I start walking around. The Daisy is loaded and the safety is off, but my finger is off the trigger. That’s how Alvin said to do it just to be safe, and safety is important.
It feels like nothing is ever going to happen. Like this is the most useless trip through the woods I ever took, like I’ll never see anything.
Myrtle was dead when Alvin found him, after Mom left, and he didn’t want me to see it but I couldn’t help it. I really can stomach stuff like that, but it was sort of hard. Myrtle didn’t look like he was sleeping at all. People say that when you die you look like you’re sleeping, but Myrtle just looked sad.
Out between some trees there’s a squirrel, but it isn’t big enough to have killed Myrtle. It’s honestly smaller than most squirrels I’ve seen. Alvin told me that when he was a kid, there was one time a squirrel chased him through the park. I always laughed at that story. What a joke. I sit against a tree to get comfortable, just watching it. It kind of looks at me, and looks away, breathing real fast. I hold the Daisy up and look down the sight, at that little squirrel off between the trees. And I shoot.
When you fire a Daisy Red Ryder it doesn’t sound like an explosion, or a boom. It just sounds like a loud click, and wind.
It’s really smaller than normal, the squirrel. I didn’t really mean it—didn’t think I’d get it. I’m kneeling over it, watching it squirm.
My arms start to tingle.
I throw the Daisy behind the ladder and go up to my room. Reed’s in there, reading. He doesn’t say anything to me. My arms won’t stop shaking, so I just get down on the floor. It’s hard to talk and breathe.
Reed comes down to me. He puts his hand on my back. “How’d it go?” he asks.
I just look at the stars he taped up to the ceiling.
“Mason?” he asks. “Mason what happened?”
I want to get into bed with Mom and Dad. I want to be someone else. Want to be Reed.
“I just left it there.” I say. “I just left it there.”
ABOUT THE CREATOR
Creator photo by Cedric Sommers
Adam Alokby is a Palestinian-American writer from Portland, Oregon. He studies Creative Writing at Portland State University, and spends most days hanging out with his dog, Cedi.