Accidents Never Happen Read online

  Joey put a finger to Albert’s lips. “Shhhhhh.”

  “I don’t know what I’m doing,” Albert said. “This is freakin’ me out, kid.”

  “Do you want to go home?” asked Joey.

  Albert shook his head. “No,” he said. “I don’t.”

  Joey lay down on the small bed. He gestured to Albert to do the same. “We don’t have to do anything,” Joey decided aloud. He pressed his back against the wall to give Albert enough room to curl up on the edge of the twin mattress.

  Albert hesitated for a moment, and lay down next to Joey. He looked up at the ceiling and exhaled deeply. “I’m sorry. I can’t, Joey. Not yet.”

  Joey rolled over on his side to face Albert, to look at the boxer’s profile, his black eye. “That’s not important to me.”

  Albert flashed an anxious smile. “No?”

  “I’m just happy you’re here,” Joey said. He waited a second before putting an arm around Albert. His hand rested on Albert’s stomach. The thin cotton of Albert’s tank top separated Joey’s fingertips from Albert’s skin.

  “That feels nice,” Albert said.

  *

  The dream was intense. It was always the same.

  But it had been a few years since it had returned to torture Albert at night.

  In the dream, he wasn’t fifteen. He was younger, maybe seven.

  He was standing on the wooden walkway at Diversey Harbor next to the thirty-five-foot power boat docked in slip D-55. Albert knew that’s where he would find him.

  The night air was cold—even though it was August—and it smelled like rusted iron. The harbor was dark, except for the occasional random patch of moonlight. The dock felt deserted, soulless.

  Albert glanced down and noticed his feet were bare. He saw the blood in the water. It was as thick as syrup, splashing against the pale sides of the boat. How could the blood already be there? I haven’t killed anyone yet.

  The bottle was already in his hand when the dream began. In real life, he’d picked the bottle up from the corner of the boat where it had rolled onto a faded patch of cobalt blue marine carpet. It was an empty Corona bottle with a rim of foam still oozing from the glass lip. It made the perfect weapon. In the dream, the bottle felt much heavier.

  Albert floated onto the boat with ease as if an imaginary hand was lifting him up from the dock and carrying him through the air. Once he was on board, the crime he had come to commit was already done. There was blood bubbling and squishing between his toes. The man lying face down on the boat was bleeding so much it scared Albert. He started to cry. His tears felt hot against his face. He wiped them away with the back of his hand.

  It was then he realized he was still holding the bottle. But the bottle shifted shape. It metamorphosed in Albert’s grip and became a giant bouquet of white carnations, nearly a hundred of them. The flowers felt so heavy Albert had to use both hands to hold them. But soon, they began to drop down to the blood-soaked fiberglass floor of the boat.

  There was a voice. It was calling to Albert, saying his name. He turned toward the sound. Some of the stems flew out of his hands, propelling the flowers into the water. They floated and bobbed on the surface of the lake before spawning out and away from the boat like discarded remnants from a water parade.

  “Albert…” the voice started to wail. “What have you done?”

  Albert turned away from the voice and looked behind him to the Chicago skyline. The sight of it squeezed the breath in his throat. The lights and the buildings looked majestic. They promised love and opportunity. They made him feel alive. He swallowed his tears and tossed the remaining flowers overboard.

  He turned back to the desperate voice that kept calling his name.

  “Daddy,” Albert said. But there was no response.

  The boat began to rock as it was momentarily whipped by the temper tantrum of a summer wind that had found itself trapped in the harbor. Albert steadied himself, afraid he might fall.

  “Albert?” the voice said. Albert felt a warm hand on his face. He opened his eyes, but it was dark. “You okay?” It was a soft voice. A boy’s voice. It wasn’t Bonnie’s.

  “What?” Albert asked.

  “I think you were having a nightmare.”

  Albert craned his neck, turned his face toward the window offering the only source of illumination. Light from the city, the moon, and the video store across the street. The dorm room, he remembered.

  “Joey?” he said. There was a frantic edge in his voice he hoped Joey hadn’t heard.

  “It’s all right,” the boy said. “I’m here.”

  Albert moved closer to Joey, until their bodies touched. “I did something bad,” he whispered.

  “Who hasn’t?” Joey asked. Albert was certain there was a smile on his face.

  “I was fifteen when it happened.” Albert closed his eyes as they felt too heavy to keep open. Sleep was coming back and fast. “It wasn’t my fault.”

  “Sleep now,” Joey said. “You can tell me in the morning.”

  *

  When Albert woke again, he knew where he was. The dorm room was becoming familiar to him. It was a new haven.

  His arm was draped over Joey, who was asleep beside him and breathing deep. They were curled up together like a rope. Both of them were facing the wall next to the bed. Joey’s back was pressed against Albert’s chest. Albert held on to him tightly, worried Joey would fly away. Albert inhaled the faint coconut scent in Joey’s hair.

  Albert’s eyes widened and his heart thumped. He heard movement behind him, near the door of the dorm room. Someone else was in the room with them. The roommate.

  Albert froze for a few seconds, unsure what to do. He pretended to be asleep and hid his face beneath a pillow. He was worried the roommate might recognize him. Yeah, he was just some college kid, but what if the guy worked out at the gym? What if Albert had delivered flowers to him before? What if…

  “Hey…Joey.” The voice was next to their bed, talking in a loud whisper. It woke Joey, who didn’t pull away from Albert. He didn’t panic. The roommate’s voice was mellow and subdued. Maybe he was high. “Sorry to wake you, dude, but can I borrow your meal card? Mine doesn’t have any cash left on it and I’m starving.”

  Joey moved. He sat up. “Um…yeah…it’s in the pocket of my cargo shorts.”

  The voice moved away from the bed. “Thanks, man. I’ll pay you back.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  The roommate’s tone dropped to a lower whisper. “Hey…I didn’t know you had company. Sorry about that.”

  Joey put a hand on Albert’s shoulder, his tattoo, and Albert wondered if Joey was claiming him. “We didn’t have anywhere else to go,” he said.

  “Don’t worry about it, dude. No big deal.” The roommate moved across the room, to the door. “I’ll catch you later.”

  Seconds later the dorm door clicked closed and the roommate was gone.

  Joey lay back down. He lifted the pillow away from Albert’s face, and they were eye to eye. Neither spoke—they just stared until Joey reached out and touched Albert’s face, his fingertip trailing across Albert’s lips.

  Albert half grinned, and shuddered.

  Joey’s hand moved up to Albert’s black eye, touching it with tenderness.

  Albert sat up then. He looked to the window, to the city coming alive for the day. “I have to go get my van,” he said. “I’m sure Francine needs me. This week is going to be busy. This Saturday is Sweetest Day.”

  Joey also sat up. He tried to hide the layer of disappointment in his voice, but it was heavy. “Yeah, sure. You probably have lots to do.”

  Albert turned to him. “I want you to go with me.”

  Joey climbed off of the bed and sat in a chair that faced the window. He picked up some of the glue sticks on the sill and moved them into a zigzag formation. “To work?”

  “Yeah,” Albert said. “We can talk and stuff while I make deliveries.”

  Joey nodded. “I could help you. But…what is Sweetest Day?”

  “It’s sort of like Valentine’s Day…you’re supposed to give someone flowers and candy and shit like that…it’s a big fucking deal in Chicago.”

  “Flowers and candy,” Joey repeated.

  Albert leaned toward Joey. He reached out and covered Joey’s hand with his. Joey looked down at the fading bruises on Albert’s knuckles. “I want to know you,” Albert said, and knew it sounded more like a command than a sentiment.

  Joey smiled. “That sounds kind of deep.”

  Albert pulled his hand away. “You makin’ fun of me, kid?”

  Joey’s face paled. Fear flashed in his eyes. “Oh shit,” he said. Albert followed Joey’s gaze down to the street below. A police car had arrived and parked in front of the main entrance of the dorm. Joey turned to Albert, panic spreading across his face. “Do you think they’re here for me?”

  “I don’t know what you did, Joey,” Albert said. “But I don’t want you to get caught.”

  Joey stood up with a new sense of charged energy. He paced for a few seconds and then said, “We need a plan.” He reached underneath the bed, pulling out a navy green duffel bag.

  “You make it sound like you have one.”

  Joey reached for his glue sticks and tossed them in the bag. “I always do.”

  “I can’t figure you out, kid.”

  “You’ll have plenty of time on the way.”

  “On the way?” Albert said. “Where are we going?”

  “To the gardens, Albert. To Vancouver.”

  “What?”

  “Help me pack. We can take the freight elevator and avoid the cops.”

  “I’ll do it,” Albert decided. He reached for his favorite of the wooden houses. It was small and cozy. If it had been real, it was just large enough for the two of them to live in. He handed the house to Joey. “I’ll go with you,” he said.

  Joey leaned down. “Let’s do it,” he whispered. “Let’s leave together.”

  Albert arched up and met Joey’s lips. Their mouths melted as the morning sun slid over Chicago. The snow on the sidewalks dissolved to slush.

  The lust and trepidation Albert felt in his heart turned to love.

  Albert

  Albert was fifteen the night Francine first tried to kiss him. He didn’t want to, but there she was, with cool moonlight in her long dark curls. Her eyes were blue, and when she looked at Albert, they seemed to shine with a wicked lust for all things daring and forbidden.

  The night air was humid and heavy. It wrapped around them, squeezing hot lust from their lungs. School had ended for the summer earlier that day. Liberation clung to the backs of their throats and coated their taste buds with an unquenchable hunger for reckless fun.

  The teenagers stared at each other with intrigue. Francine was movie-star beautiful and knew it. She was both envied and adored. Albert was considered one of the sexiest guys in the neighborhood. Rumor had it they were hot for each other and it was only a matter of time until these two supernovas would merge. Their collective power had the potential to become legendary in Humboldt Park.

  Francine was leaned up against her cherry red Mustang, a recent birthday gift from her wealthy tycoon father who owned half the condos in San Juan, Puerto Rico. She wore a denim skirt that was too short and a thin-sleeved white top that made her copper skin glow with the promise of a wild summer affair. Her heart-shaped face and delicate nose were doll-like. She blinked a few times, bit her bottom lip, and stared at Albert with intense longing. She shifted and moved toward the curb where Albert stood. Her hips fell forward, so her body pressed slightly against his.

  Albert felt a beer buzz deep in his veins. At Francine’s suggestion, they’d slipped out of the kegger they’d been at. They were in a residential neighborhood, a few blocks from the whir of Division Street where riots had raged long ago in June of 1966. That was the same year the first Puerto Rican Parade shook the city of Chicago. Their parents had told them the story so many times, Albert and Francine could have been there.

  “What’s on your mind?” Albert asked, frightened by the longing on Francine’s face, but numbed by the beer. He swayed a little, tipping forward toward the car, and regained his footing on the concrete edge of the curb.

  The hot girl slipped her fingers through two belt loops of Albert’s faded jeans and pulled him closer to her. Her eyes closed and a soft moan escaped her lips.

  Francine always smelled like gardenias. It was a scent that had drawn Albert to her months ago in the hallway at school. He had sniffed her out like a dog, and arrived at her locker in a daze. She was a year older than Albert and very experienced with men.

  Well, at least according to the many boys who boasted to have nailed her at least once.

  “I want you to want me,” she whispered, a play on the title of the song playing on the car radio. The music floated out to them from the half-rolled windows.

  Albert shook his head. “I can’t want you, Francine.”

  She put a hand on his chest, surprised by how firm his body was. He seemed weaker because he was shorter than most boys. “Why not?” she asked him with a pout. “We’re from the same neighborhood, Papi.”

  “Don’t matter.”

  “Of course it does.”

  “Nah, I can’t. I gotta help out my dad this summer at the harbor.”

  Francine grabbed a handful of his T-shirt and pulled him toward her. They fell back toward the hood of the car.

  Francine raised her hips up to meet his. She ground herself against him, and they both shuddered. “No one knows you like I do, Albert,” she whispered in his ear.

  He pulled away from her and returned to his post on the curb. Francine remained half-sprawled across the car, a jilted look on her face. “It won’t work,” he said. “I’m not giving in to you tonight.”

  “Then why’d you come out here with me?”

  He grinned. “I like the way you smell.”

  “Oh yeah?” She stood up and joined him on the sidewalk. She slid two arms around his neck. “I’ll let you smell me all over, Albert.”

  He swallowed. “All right.”

  “And I won’t say a word to anyone,” said Francine. “Everyone thinks you’re a saint. I know you like it that way.”

  Francine was turning him on. Albert felt a heat for her he’d never experienced before. It was throbbing and intense. “Okay,” he said.

  She reached for his hands and placed them on her hips. “But I don’t care if they find out what we do,” she said. “No one really likes me.” She looked up at him with her blue eyes. “Except for you.”

  Albert held her stare. “I don’t wanna do nothin’, Francine, unless things are serious between me and you.”

  His words had sunk deep inside her. The look on her face shifted. A sense of sorrow filled her eyes, dimming the wild lust. “How can you be serious with a girl like me?” she asked. “I don’t deserve you, Albert.” For a moment, he thought she might cry. He was relieved when she didn’t. That would have been too much for him to handle.

  “What do ya want from me?” he said.

  She blinked away the tears that had swum into her eyes. “I just want some company,” she said, with a weak attempt at a smile. Her emotions had clearly taken hold of her. The tears sprung up again and threatened to spill down her cheeks. She looked Albert in the eyes and placed her palms against his chest as if drawing strength from him to steady herself. “This place scares me sometimes.”

  Albert placed a hand over both of hers. “You don’t seem like the kinda girl who scares easy.”

  A single tear broke free and she wiped it away quickly. “You’d be surprised,” she told him.

  “Hey,” he said, “I get scared, too.”

  She smiled then. “I don’t believe you.”

  He put his hands on the sides of her face gently. “What, you think guys can’t get scared?”

  Her fingers wrapped around his wrists. “I wouldn’t tell anybody about this if I were you.”

  “I know my secrets are safe with you,” he said. He leaned forward and kissed her forehead softly.

  Francine closed her eyes and tightened her grip on Albert, like she never wanted the moment to end.

  *

  Francine drove Albert around the city that night. They cruised by the edge of the lake, which held the reflection of the half-moon on its glassy surface. They sped past the harbors and yacht clubs and the rocking boats. They shot by Navy Pier and the monstrous Ferris wheel that was moving too slow to suit their exhilarated mood. They zoomed around corners and turns and held on tight to the fantasies that race-tracked around their hearts. They were silent, muted by a permanent shared grin on their faces. It was a manic high that had reached inside of them and injected a liquid-like charge, leaving them longing for an escape in their imagined getaway car.

  The city had never looked so beautiful to Albert. The sight of it—and the hot rush of the August air blowing in his face as they leapt onto the Dan Ryan Expressway—made him feel invincible. He licked his lips and nodded his head in rhythm with the Latin freestyle classic booming from the car speakers. He tried to get a handle on the million ideas that were flooding his brain at once. Each one slid into a next. He wanted to get better grades. He wanted to go to college. He wanted to get a good job, make a lot of money. He wanted to make his parents proud, especially his father. He wanted to be a champion boxer. All of this seemed possible, because it was pulsing in the lights of the cars, the city, and the billboards. It seemed like the world knew Albert was destined for greatness and was revealing his future to him, for the first time. For Albert, it was overwhelming. He was filled with the sense that the best was yet to come.

  Francine drove them to a row of warehouses on a dark street. She parked the car next to a brick wall splattered with sloppy graffiti. Immediately, she pulled her skirt up a little higher toward her waist. She reached across the car for Albert’s hand. She guided it toward her lap. His fingertips trembled with anticipation as she slid two of them inside of her. She moaned low and loud as her hips and body began to buck against his hand. He thrust deeper into her as a rhythm was established between them. The inside of her thighs began to shake. She gripped the steering wheel and tilted her head back. Her breath quickened and she begged Albert not to stop. He complied and moved his fingers in and out of her faster with an urgency that seemed to only make her moan more. Moments later, she collapsed into a limp heap of bare skin and heavy panting. She said something but her words were tough to hear. Albert pulled his hand away from her and settled back in the passenger seat.