The Last Exit to Normal by Michael Harmon

to his work.
    I took a breath. “Is he gone?”
    He nodded, not looking at me.
    “He’s making you move them back to the first pile, isn’t he?”
    He stood up. “You dumb or something? Stay away from me.”
    “It’s not your fault, Billy. You know that, right?”
    He kept piling bricks in. “Don’t look like it matters much, do it? You ain’t from
here an’ you don’t know nothing.”
    My guts crawled even more. I watched a stray cat slink along the fence line, remembering it as the one
who’d rubbed itself between my calves the first day we’d arrived. Charcoal gray. I’d seen Billy
petting it the other day on his back porch, playing cat’s-paw with it. “I know I’m not from here,
but it wasn’t your fault and I’m sorry.”
    Billy straightened, a broken brick in his hand, his sweaty face contorted. I couldn’t tell if there
were tears in his eyes or if it was just sweat. “ ‘Sorry’ don’t cut it around here, faggot.
My dad’s right. You prob’ly just want to put it in me, like he says.”
    I’d dealt with stuff before, but never in my face like this. “Whoa. Not even, man. And
your dad is an asshole for even saying it.”
    Billy’s eyes swept to the cat slinking along the fence. He walked a few steps to the back door,
opened it, then reached inside. He brought out a rifle.
    My stomach fell to my feet, images of being blown away by an eleven-year-old boy flashing through my
head. “Hey, man, put that away.”
    He looked at me like I was the biggest dork in the world, levered a round into the rifle, took aim, and
shot the cat. It jumped, then crumpled to the ground. The shot echoed, but it wasn’t that loud. Not like I
expected it to be.
    I stared. “Dude, no way. Why’d you just do that?”
    He stared at the cat. “Ain’t your business.” With that, he walked over to the cat
and nudged it with the barrel.
    I’d seen my fair share of bad shit back in Spokane, but I’d never seen somebody kill
something for no reason, like this kid had just done. I looked at him. There was no feeling in his eyes. Complete
indifference that he’d killed a living thing. I pointed to the cat. “There was no reason to do that, man.
None.”
    He put the rifle back inside the door. “Ain’t your business.”
    I stared at the cat. Blood seeped from its mouth. This kid was whacked in the head, and I
couldn’t believe I’d just seen him do what he’d done. “That was wrong. Totally
wrong.”
    He shrugged. “Stray.”
    “You were playing with it the other day; I saw you.”
    He ignored me. I stood there staring at him for a moment, but his face was as blank as a sheet of paper. I
turned around and walked inside.
    Dad was sitting at the table, with paperwork spread out in front of him. I slouched into a chair.
“That kid over there is a nutcase.”
    He looked up. “How so?”
    “He just shot a cat. Didn’t you hear it?”
    “I thought it was a firecracker.”
    Miss Mae walked through the room, not bothering to stop. “Subsonic .22. Good for
pests.” Then she disappeared. Apparently everybody who lived more than five miles out of a city was a firearm
expert.
    I stared at Dad. “I’m clicking my heels three times, Dad.” I closed my eyes, then
opened them. Still here. “This place is not right.”
    Dad stood up. “Is he still out there?”
    “Yeah. His dad is making him move all those bricks back for no reason.” I gave him a
look. “You know, building a work ethic.”
    “I’ll be right back.”
    A few minutes later, Dad came back in and sat again, staring at the table.
    “What happened?”
    “Not much.”
    “What did he say?”
    “Well, after he told me to go away, he told me that there were strays all over the
place.”
    “So he should shoot them? God, Dad, we’re not talking pellet gun here, and I
don’t care if it’s a sub-whatever .22, it’s a rifle. Like a real one.”
    He shook his head. “I’m not concerned about the cat, Ben, I’m concerned