American Phalanx

It was about nine-thirty when the last of the summer twilight had retreated over the horizon, chased away by the quiet night which now hung over Greenville. The black, cloudless sky was dotted with a thousand pin-pricks of light like a dusty window. Only the creamy band of the Milky Way dashed across the patchwork quilt of stars; the moon had not yet begun its cycle of rebirth. All the people in our little town had stopped working and gone to bed, giving their tired muscles a rest.

Our cattle and chickens were slumped on the ground in their sheds, legs tucked underneath their warm bodies as their mute brains dreamed of grass and corn. Rocket was coiled up and dozing in his little doghouse next to our own, ever ready to protect the farm. Ginger and Delilah were the only ones stirring about, probably prowling the fields for mice and shrews.

Every now and then a cool breeze would sway the golden-green wheat, causing the immature stalks to stiffly bristle against the sky. A rippling wave would traverse our fields before the wind broke in through my open window, flapping my curtains in a hypnotic rhythm.

The fresh air cooled my sweaty figure as I drifted into sleep. I lay on my side, bundling my blanket and pressing it tight to my chest. Rachel's scent was deep inside my nostrils, and every now and then the breeze would sweep over my legs, tricking my skin into thinking it was being tickled by her long hair.

The sensation of being enveloped by her warm mouth and being drained like a jug of milk still lingered between my legs, but I was too exhausted to fully replay my memories from just two hours ago. The chirping of crickets banished all thought from my mind save the occasional fragment of a happy thought, which would trickle from my brain to my arms. I squeezed my lump of blanket into the shape of a woman.

I let go of my thoughts, turning my breathing over to auto-pilot.

After that, I took the final step off the banks of consciousness, surrendering myself to pitch black stream below.

Splish.

SPLISH.

Splash!

"Harder! Ugh!"

Splash! Splash! Splash!

Water is sloshing around two pairs of legs. Two figures struggle to maintain their footing as they bump and grind into each other while inside a filled bathtub. The smaller one, corn-silk and ripe wheat flowing from her head, leans forward and rests her hands on the tub's edge, while the taller, bigger figure behind her is grabbing onto her waist and thrusting himself in between her hips.

Their calves tense and relax as the two shift around in the tub, which is now the size of the entire universe. The man seems like he can't get deep enough inside the person in front of him, who is noisily shouting words of encouragement between shouts of ecstasy.

"Yes! YES! Harder!"

She doesn't look back at her partner. Her only direct interaction with him is to thrust backwards into him, filling the air with slapping noises that reverberate throughout the entire world.

All the visual details are distorted. The only palpably real sensations are the ones in the lower half of the man's body. They're jarring; even though he's having sex with the woman in front of her, it feels like his penis is inside her mouth.

Oh hey! I'm having a dream! I must have woken up in the middle of it. And this is my bathtub, in the middle of our garden. Yep, there's fresh air... and Mom's flowers....a couple of birds and bees. It's great to be here again! That subconscious, you know. He can be a real pal, sometimes.

Huh, what am I doing? Why am I thrusting my ass back and forth?

Woah!

This is a sex dream! Haven't had those in forever. And they've never been this vivid!

Why does it feel like I'm inside someone's mouth?

Oh, it must be because we haven't had sex yet. My body only remembers the blowjob, so it's working with that memory...I guess my mind can make up new experiences, but I can't feel anything if I haven't felt it before.

But who is this woman? Why won't she turn around?

"Harder! Fuck me!"

Rachel?

Nice! Here, you like that? How about THIS-

"Ow! Be gentle! I told you not to go so hard, you asshole!"

What?

"You always do this! I wanna stop!"

What are you talking about, woman? Why are you crying? Why am I not stopping?

Oh. OH. OHHHH-

I'm getting drained...

'glurblurburgurglurp'

Is that the water? When did I unplug the bathtub?

The boy's narrative consciousness shifts to the third-person perspective.

The dreamscape changes scenery. The two are still standing inside the bathtub. The boy is ejaculating inside the girl. Water is draining from the tub onto the barnhouse floor of Miss Fitzsimmons class.

"How many times have I told you, no sex during class!" roars a prim, thirty-five year old woman with glasses and a textbook.

"Sorry, Miss Fitz," apologizes the naked blonde girl. "He really wanted to do it here in front of everyone, and I was too weak to stop him."

"What a jerk!" yells a brunette with narrowed eyes. "You're too good for him, girl!"

All the girls roar in a chorus of boos.

"He was being so brutish and selfish. It was obvious she wasn't enjoying it at all," observes another girl. The others nod in agreement.

"Yeah, ya blockhead!" Yells a tan boy with slicked back hair from the other side of the barn. He is seated between a curly-haired, dorky-looking fat guy, a tall, beefy-looking blonde guy, and a skinny, athletic-looking black guy. "Ya gotta treat her like a lady, even I know that!"

The blonde girl turns back to face her partner, tears streaming down her eyes. "He's right. I'm not a tomboy, anymore. I don't think you respect me."

The girl hops out of the tub and runs out. The man stands alone, anger and scorn from all sides glaring at his naked, exposed body. He feels his penis start to deflate, and to his horror, discovers it is shrinking rapidly.

Anger turns to hostile mocking as the girls laugh at the sight of his manhood disappearing into nothingness.

The balls shrink to the size of raisins until they disappear entirely and the entire front of his body is smooth like a doll's. The barn is filled with the cacophony of laughter.

--D:--

I wake up in sheer terror, finding my sheets soaked with sweat.

"Son? What's going on?"

"Nothing, mom! Just having a bad dream!"

"Do you want me to pour you a glass of milk?"

"No, don't worry about it! I'll be fine!"

"Some of us have jobs to go to in the morning."

"Sorry, dad!"

"Jesus, this is like, the second time, you woke me up, man."

"Shut up, Jeffrey."

I sat on the edge of my mattress, clutching my temples. How could such a pleasant dream turn into such a horrifying nightmare? I probed the recesses of my mind for anything fucked-up that might have wormed its way in.

Was it fear of losing her that triggered it all? I never had a girlfriend before. Technically, Rachel wasn't my girlfriend yet. Not officially. The other guys might still be gunning for her. If she didn't like me, then...

I guess I had been too rough on her. She's never been with a guy before, so she probably doesn't know what it feels like to be treated right, but that's no excuse for me going all hog-wild because she's the first thing to touch my dick after my hand.

I slumped back, not even bothered by the damp sweat soaking my sheets. I hadn't even kissed her yet, or taken her on a date, or even held her hand. We did the whole damn thing out of order, and not once did I stop to ask her how she felt.

'I'll have to make it up to her tomorrow,' I resolved in my head. Tomorrow.

Sleep came again, but only after a bout of tossing and turning.

...

The rays of the sun illuminated my window before the sun itself. The sky was a pale, dark blue except for a patch of red along the bottom. A few dark clouds hung in the air.

I spring to my feet, feeling mostly refreshed from my sleep, but groggier than usual. I instinctively throw on my farming overalls and head downstairs. My mother is heating up milk and oats in a pot. She is the only other person awake inside the house.

I try to avoid eye contact as I head to the door for my chores.

"Good morning, mister!"

"Good morning, mum."

"Well, I'm glad you haven't forgotten how to say it! What was all the ruckus last night?"

An exasperated sigh escapes my lips. I hate how shitty I'm acting toward my mother, but this is exactly the conversation I wanted to avoid.

"I had a bad dream."

Straight and to the point. Why waste time telling her all the details? To give her a heart attack?

I yank an apple from the fruit basket and take a crispy bite.

"Did it have something to do with what you and Rachel were up to in your room?"

I bite down too quickly and the side of my tongue gets pinched between my molars.

"Ow! We were not UP to anything, ma!"

"Is that why your mattress was making so much noise? Take it from me, I can tell the difference between playing and 'playing'."

I don't know which part of her statement to be more disgusted at, but my hand dramatically drops the apple I'm holding. It thunks loudly on the floor, causing Delilah to leap from the ground. Poor cat. I didn't even notice she was rubbing up against my leg.

"We were NOT having sex, mom! GARD!"

"Darn right you weren't! Where would either of you know to find condoms! Only Mr. Feynman sells them at his pharmacy, and he would not sell any to either of you without telling us!"

I look at my mother, the stern, spatula-wielding matriarch of the house. Her tough, sinewy arms showed off four decades of tireless work, but her thick waist gave away the fact she had to raise three hell-raising sons. As annoyed as I am at her prying, a part of me knows that the only thing that could knock the wind from her sails is if something happened to one of her boys.

"Look, you have nothing to worry about! Rachel and I aren't like that with each other. I'm not even sure we're dating, really."

In my attempts to calm my mother down, I end up telling the truth. Both to her and myself.

"And since I was such a jackass last night, I don't know if we'll ever be."

A thoughtful and sympathetic look washes over my mother's harsh face. Between the three lines on her forehead and the pair of crows' feet were two sparkling, honest eyes that always told you how she really felt. She raises her hand to her chin and looks up at the ceiling.

"Funny, she looked quite happy when she was riding her bike home."

"Huh? Wait, you saw her leaving? Why didn't you say goodbye?"

"I thought you two could share a private moment."

"Oh."

"I mean, wouldn't it be awkward if your mom came running out to say goodbye right after the two of you were canoodling?"

"We were NOT-"

"Oh, stop it. You think your mother's too dumb to notice when your little friend leaves without her shirt?"

I slap myself mentally and stare out the window.

That's right! Rachel left her plaid shirt in my room. She rode home with just her black T-shirt on, and both of us were too....distracted, to notice.

"You should give it back to her today. A reason to talk again, at least."

"Yeah," I say back to her, consumed by my own thoughts. I head out the porch door to do my morning chores. I liked to finish before the sun completely rose.

I unlatch the door to the chicken coop and open it. The hens were already clucking at the sound of my approaching footsteps, and I can see them jostling in a 'queue' behind the wire, rearing to get out. And of course, there are plenty of peeping chicks hopping around their mother's feet. All female; we gave the males away to other farms that needed roosters.

We let the chickens out to roam for bugs and worms, but I also fed them last night's stale bread and vegetable peels to supplement their diet. The coop already contained buckets of regular chicken feed, and grit for their gizzards. Hens need calcium for eggs, so we had a bucket of coarsely ground lime, and we'd also give them back their old eggshells. If you're going to feed a hen shells, you have to clean them first so they don't acquire a taste for their own eggs.

Sometimes we'd even feed them mice that our cats would catch. Chickens are just like owls; they love rodents.

Leaving the chickens alone, next I walked over to the cowshed and led the steers, Rocky and Winkle, to pasture. Grandpa gave them their names. Apparently they were characters in a 'cartoon', which is like a moving comic book or something.

We fed them well; they were putting on a good amount of weight. We didn't have much use for them in the summer when there was no seeding, plowing or harvesting going on. But they were still a part of the family, and it will be a sad day when we have to slaughter them. But you can't waste anything when you live off the land.

After all the chores are done, I change into my least shit-smelling clothes and clean up for school. Rachel's plaid shirt was on my nightstand. I gave it a quick sniff, knowing no one can see me.

I stuff it into my knapsack with my lunch, my compass, some comic books, a thermos, and some bottle caps, which the elders instituted as currency, citing inspiration from some 'computer game.'

I headed on over to the main road, which had a sundial every half-mile, useful on most days when you could see the sun. Walking at my normal pace, I could be check the time every ten minutes. Most families had a few antique watches, but these were hard to replace since most of the watches in abandoned stores relied on batteries.

'At least you don't have to worry about daylight savings time,' Granddad told me once. Like most of the time, I didn't know what the hell he meant.

Being the closest to school of my friends, I was the last to join the group in the morning, and the first to leave it coming home. The gang usually swaggered by my 'stop' at around ten. We were supposed to get to class by ten-thirty, but classes didn't start until everyone showed up, or Miss Fitzsimmons gave up on waiting. We were usually the ones holding everyone else up, and she would give our ears such a pinch!

I lean on the fence post and start playing 'Greenville Gals' on my little jaw harp. Sure, it tastes terrible after being in my mouth so many times, but it still carries a tune.

I was on the second verse by the time I see the gang appear in the horizon. Normally I'd walk over towards them, but I'm feeling a bit cocky today. Even as I see them wave at me, I just lean further back on the post, until Vinnie has to run over.

"Goddamn are you a lazy asshole," Vinnie huffed.

"Can't a man enjoy a good sit on his favorite post? School ain't going nowhere."

"Nah, bitch," Smokey chimes in as the rest of the gang catches up, "We got something. A little surprise for you. You got matches?"

"Always, always. What's it, a ciggie?" I ask, pulling out some homemade matches my father showed me how to make using red phosphorus and twigs. Mine weren't as good so I have to pull out several of them in case a couple of them failed.

"No, we found a patch of 'grass' growing by the brook, left behind by a generous, or careless traveler," Magnus explained in his weird Minnesotan accent.

"We used my father's clay oven to dry the buds. We've been wrapping these up," Farley holds up a fistful of cigarettes "...all day yesterday."

Everyone else displays examples of their handiwork. Smokey's were the small and well-wrapped, while Magnus' were the size of cigars. They all seemed to be made out of cheap newspaper that had gone yellow.

"Thought we'd all start together, so we waited for you, you lazy turd."

"Oh. Actually I've had one before."

"What?" They all stagger back.

"My dad's the foreman, so he confiscates this kind of shit. He made me smoke one to teach me....not to smoke them, I guess. It didn't work."

Everyone stares at me dumbfounded, but I took the cigarette out of Farley's hand and strike all three of my matches on my shoe heel. They flare up quite impressively, but the flames lasts barely long enough to light the coiled end of Farley's cigarette. I toss the matches nonchalantly.

"Damn, Farley, even your cigarettes are shaped like dicks. Try not to put so much foreskin on them next time," I joke, trying to sound cool as I barely suppress my coughing.

"Well, I'll be a son of a gun," Smokey says as I passed the lit joint to him.

"Alright, let's vamoose."

"Damn, he thinks he's the leader all of a sudden."

We started walking to school, lighting, puffing and passing rolls of Oregon Tea to one another. The initial conversation was hard to hear over the incessant coughing, and when it came time to jump the ravine, Farley undercut it and got his shirt dirty. Vinnie started calling him Dirty Shirt and for some reason this was incomprehensibly funny. So funny we were leaning over the fence rail with tears in our eyes.

"Do you think regular apples came out of these?" Magnus asked at the Crab Apple Patch.

"They look the same. But these are only good for chucking," Vinnie took a bite out of one of the green bastards before spitting it out and hurling the rest of it at a freeway sign. The sour fruit bounced off the faded green metal with a twang.

"You just helped the tree reproduce. One day, that crab apple is going to grow up into a tree of its own, and some kids are gonna walk by it and toss THAT crab apple tree's crab apples at something else."

"Circle of life. One day that crab apple tree's crab apple is gonna be a crab apple tree, and so this crab apple tree's crab apple's tree's crab apple...tree is, uh...crabs. Fuck."

"Man, if you think about it, even trees gotta get laid, you know? This tree was some other tree's, like...sperm or something."

"This is getting too cerebral. I liked when we were talking about Batman vs Aquaman and shit."

Soon the conversation died down and all we could hear was the sound of our feet hitting gravel. We had about a joint and a half each floating around in our systems, and the trek to school was starting to feel really long.

"Cuz, you know. Aquaman would kick Batman's ASS."

More walking.

"Why didn't you guys tell me drawing dicks was weird? I only did it because I thought it was cool."

My shoelace came undone. I knelt down to fix it quickly before catching up.

"I kind of wish I had a couple of crab apples back there, because I'm getting pretty hungry."

"Dude! I'm famished!"

Grunts of affirmation were made and we all stopped to eat our lunches at the graffiti wall.

"Well, now I'm fucked for lunch," I mumbled as I stared at my sandwich. It was halfway gone. "What am I gonna do?"

"Don't make me think about it," Smokey groaned. "I wish my ma packed me more poached eggs and biscuits. Why you gotta be so cheap, ma?" Smokey yelled with his arms raised to the sky. "Two is not enough!" Everyone felt his pain.

We all stared at our empty paper sacks and wrapping paper. Not one of us was feeling full.

We continued on, passing the abandoned car pile. Dozens of discarded vehicles lay perfectly lined up in the street, as if their owners all left at the same time. Many were missing wheels, lights and windows. They were made worse by punk assholes who'd walk by and use them for target practice.

"You think any of these are still driveable?" Vinnie asked as he nailed a window with a rock.

"Probably not, but there might be a couple of good seats left in them," Magnus responded after throwing a heavier rock. It made a thwok and left a big dent in one of the roofs.

"Nah, we stole most of the seats to use in the town council," I recalled before I hit a windshield. My rock bounced off and hit another car in the side.

"Could have left a few for the school. I hate sitting Indian-style."

"Oh shit!" Farley yelled. We turned around to face him after he made this unexpected and uncharacteristic profanity. "SCHOOL!"