Pick Up the Pieces

Chapter 2

I’d killed a man.

Were the cops looking for me? Did every cop car that went past have a picture of me on the dashboard?

I had to get away, get out of Florida.

I was afraid to turn any tricks in case I was recognized, and the twenty-eight dollars didn’t last very long. By the time I reached the truck stop off I-95 in Jacksonville later that week, I was down to a couple of bucks.

I ordered a small bowl of soup, which was all I could afford, and as many packets of crackers as my puppy dog eyes and the sad story I’d spun about a sick grandma could persuade the waitress to give me. I was lucky there were thick pieces of ham in the soup.

As I ate my soup, I kept my ears open and my mouth shut and listened while the truckers talked and joked. None of them were going in the right direction; they were either heading south or west across the Florida panhandle.

A trucker walked in, and I paused in my eating and watched him. His walk was limber. He was good-looking, younger than Franky, and a little taller than average height. A baseball cap sat back on his dark hair, and work boots were on his feet.

“Hey there, Shane.” The waitress grinned at him and sashayed to the table he’d taken, just across from me. “How you doing, sugar?”

“Doing good, Belle.”

“Glad to hear it.” She fluttered her lashes at him, but it was as if this was routine for them, nothing serious.

“Where you headed this time, Shane?” one of the truckers asked, and I could have kissed him. It was what I wanted to know.

“Up to DC.”

“Another one of your mystery runs?”

He grinned but didn’t answer.

“What can I get for you, sugar? Some pea soup like this young man is having, or some pot roast like Abe, or…”

“I’ve only got time for a cup of joe and a slice of your fabulous key lime pie, angel eyes. I need my thermos filled up too.” He handed it to her.

“You got it, handsome.”

“Belle, if you’re thinking Shane is handsome, you better get yourself some glasses, honey,” one of the other truckers called out. Everyone laughed, and again it was as if this was routine for them, as if they’d done it so often they could do it by rote.

Shane snorted and started to say something to him. His gaze fell on me, and he saw me looking at him. He raised a questioning eyebrow.

“I haven’t seen you here before.”

“No, sir.” I gave him a little smile, then dropped my gaze and went back to spooning the thick pea soup into my mouth. When I thought enough time had passed, I peeked at him from under my lashes.

“You looking for a ride, boy?”

“Yes, sir.” One thing I’d gotten good at was being able to tell if my advances would be accepted. That and being able to spot a cop at twenty paces.

“Where’s your family?”

“At home.”

“Where’s home?”

“Oh.” I waved my hand vaguely. “South.”

“South, hmm? And what’re you doing here, all by yourself?”

“I’m on my way north to see my granny.”

“I suppose your granny is doing poorly, and that’s why you have to get to her.”

“How did you know?” I gave him the big eyes that usually got me an extra ten bucks, especially if my lips were around some john’s d**k when I gazed up at him. “She lives up in Philly.”

I’d never been much good at geography, the extent of my knowledge being that New York City was north and Los Angeles was west and Las Vegas somewhere in between, but I’d heard one of the truckers talk about coming from Philadelphia on the run he was just finishing.

“How do you expect to get there?”

“I was supposed to take the bus, but I lost my money,” I lied easily. I’d gotten good at lying since I’d lived with Franky. “Poppa finally thought I was mature enough to go by myself, and if he finds out I was that careless, he won’t let me go again.”

“Yeah?” He stared pointedly at the side of my face which still bore a fading bruise, and then at the jacket sleeves that didn’t cover my wrists, which had been all I’d been able to scrounge in the used clothing bin. He lowered his voice. “I know a runaway when I see one. Your father do this to you?”

“Oh, no! I swear Poppa never…. My father didn’t hit me.”

“I’m not….” He fell silent when Belle brought him his pie and a big mug of coffee, then continued once she left. “I’m not supposed to pick up hitchhikers, you know. Especially not when I’m hauling…. Well, I’m not.”

“No, sir.” It was the rainy season now, and if I didn’t cadge a ride from him, I could look forward to getting drenched.

“I’m going to DC.”

I nodded. “I could really use the ride.”

“How do I know you wouldn’t stick a knife in my ribs?”

I felt myself turn cold. It took me a moment to force an innocent smile to my lips. “You could search me if you like.”

From his expression I could see we were imagining the same thing: him running his hands from my armpits down my sides, hips, legs, maybe gently cupping my crotch. At least I hoped it would be gently.

“Well, unless you’ve got a knife up your ass, I’d say you weren’t carrying anything,” he’d say. His hand would still be on me, rubbing lightly….

Color rose in his cheeks. He looked down at the pie, almost as if he was wondering how it had gotten there, then shook his head and began digging into it.

“I’m not gay, boy,” he said, his voice very low. He meant it.

“No, sir.” But I didn’t believe I’d been off in my reading of him.

“Why did your family throw you out?”

“They didn’t. I told you, I’m going up to Philadelphia to see my granny—”

“Boy…”

I bit my lip, then decided to take a chance. “I’m gay. But I’m still going to see my granny.”

Shane’s mouth tightened and I was afraid he was going to get up and hit me. The bruise he had seen hadn’t been from Franky, for a change, but from a john who hated the fact he used male prostitutes. Shane glanced down at his hands and sighed.

I sighed too and pushed away from my table.

“Where are you going?”

“It’s a long walk. I’d better get started.”

“Hold on a minute. I didn’t say I wouldn’t take you.”

“But—”

“I’ll take you as far as I go.”

Would that be far enough? I wasn’t going to question my good fortune. “Thank you.”

Belle came over to us. “Anything else I can get for you?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Just my thermos, Belle. It’s gonna be a long haul to DC. There’s a tropical depression out in the Atlantic, and they’ve predicted rain the whole way.”

“Well, it’s only fair someone else gets some of what we’ve been having.” She put my check down on my table and handed another to Shane. “When’re you gonna take me away from all this, sugar?”

“Ah, honey, these good old boys’d have my hide if I tried to carry you off. You’re the best darned waitress this side of the Georgia border.”

Again there was laughter. Belle went to the kitchen to get his thermos.

“My rig is the black-and-red one out by the diesel pumps,” he said softly. “I’ll meet you there in five minutes.”

I stuffed the last two packets of crackers into my jacket pocket, got to my feet, and walked to the cash register. A bored cashier sat listening to the transistor radio on the counter behind her, next to bags of potato chips, pretzels, and Cheez Doodles.

I handed her my last two dollars just as Belle came out of the kitchen with Shane’s thermos.

She paused and asked, “How was your soup, sugar?”

“It was very good, thank you.”

“I’m real sorry to hear about your grandma, and I hope she gets better soon.”

“Thank you.”

“Well, you come and see us again on your way back home and let us know how she’s doing.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I’d never be back this way again. “Thank you for being so kind to me.” I smiled and gave her the change as a tip.

“Oh, baby….”

Shane came up to pay his own check, and Belle forgot about me. I saw her nostrils twitch. He did smell good. She gave him the thermos.

“Thanks, Belle.”

I walked out, sure no one was paying much attention to me.

I hovered in the shadows by the eighteen-wheeler, turning my collar up against the rain, but before I could start worrying that maybe Shane was calling the cops, he sauntered out of the restaurant holding his thermos and a bag of chips. He opened the cab’s passenger door.

“In you go.”

It was a big step up, and I made more out of it than it really was. As I’d hoped, he gave me a boost with one broad palm on my butt.

He went around the front of the cab and climbed in, nodding in approval when he saw I’d already buckled my seat belt.

“Two rules, boy.” He grimaced. “I can’t keep calling you ‘boy.’ It makes you sound like Tarzan’s kid.”

“Frank.” I blurted out the first name I could think of. “My name’s Frank.”

“Good enough, Frank.” He turned on the ignition, switched on the windshield wipers, and put the truck in gear. “Now, as I was saying. Two rules. You don’t ask me what I’m hauling, and you don’t play with the radio. I like country music. If you don’t—”

“Country’s fine, sir.”

“Call me Shane.”

“I really appreciate the lift, Shane. Thank you.”

A woman singer came on, begging some girl named Jolene not to take her man.

“That Dolly Parton sure does have a nice set of…pipes, doesn’t she?”

“Shane, I’ll do anything you like. I won’t ask what you’re hauling, I won’t complain about the music you listen to, I’ll even give you a blow job.” I gave him a little smile so he could think I was kidding if he wanted. “Just please don’t make me talk about Dolly Parton’s…pipes.”

He burst out laughing. “Fair enough, Frank.”

* * * *

Shane was a decent guy. He shared his coffee and the chips, and woke me from a nightmare about blood and knives without asking me what it was about.

I offered him a blow job as we pulled into an all-night greasy spoon just south of the DC/Virginia border. “You’ve been really nice to me, Shane, and it’s the least I can do to repay you.”

“I’m not gay, Frank.”

“No, but a d**k doesn’t much care what it shoves itself into.”

“Damn, you’re so young.”

“I’m older than I look.”

“How old are you?”

“Eighteen. As soon as I get up to my granny’s, I’m going to get my driver’s license. Maybe then people will believe me.” I gave him the big eyes and the smile again.

He chewed on his lip, then nodded and followed me into the men’s room.

Afterward, it took a few minutes before his eyes seemed to regain their focus. “Wow! That’s one amazing way you have of paying a body back.”

“My pleasure, Shane.” I smiled at him.

He blinked again. “Come on. I’ll buy you dinner.”

“Thanks.” I wasn’t too proud to accept a last meal from him. I was flat broke, and I wasn’t sure when I’d be able to eat again. I went to the sink to wash my hands.

“Why don’t you tell me what really happened in Florida?”

“I told you—”

“I’d like the truth.

I guessed I wasn’t as good a liar as I’d thought.

“I…uh…I had a fight with my boyfriend.” That sounds a lot better than, “This guy I knew tried to sell me.”

I got it now. Franky had never been my boyfriend; he was my pimp. We hadn’t been making love—he’d been teaching me the tricks of the trade. He didn’t love me or need me or care about me. He only cared about money and drugs and s*x.

“Yeah? What about?”

“He ha—” Just in time I caught myself. The last thing I wanted was for Shane to realize he’d been traveling with a murderer. “—has a drug problem.” And a temper.

“Too bad.”

“Yeah. So I left.” I shivered. After I killed him.

“Sucks, kid.” He squeezed the back of my neck.

Tell me about it. But I just shrugged.

“And you’re really eighteen?”

“Would I lie?”

“Hmm.” Fortunately, he let it go. We entered the diner, and he ordered meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and broccoli for both of us. “And you’ll eat all your vegetables, young man.”

“Yes, sir.” I grinned at him. I’d missed having someone other than myself make sure I ate right. I’d grown tired of fast food, and for the past couple of months had used some of the cash Franky doled out to me to buy groceries and cook up whatever of Ma’s recipes I could remember.

Shane talked about other runs he had made, convoys he’d driven in, and before I realized it, my plate was clean.

“How are you boys doing?” our waitress asked.

“Could we have another basket of rolls, please?” Shane smiled at her. His smile was almost as good on women as mine was on men. “And two slices of apple pie?”

“You got it, honey.”

He waited until the waitress brought them and then went to another table before telling me, “Take the rolls, Frank. Put them in your pockets.”

My eyes started to burn. “Shane…”

“I wish I could take you with me, but—”

“You’ve done a lot for me, Shane. I can’t thank you enough.”

“Eat your pie.”

“Yes, sir.”

* * * *

After we finished eating, he settled the bill, and then I walked with him back to his rig. I hadn’t known him very long, but he would leave an impression on my life forever.

“Thank you again, Shane.” I held out my hand, and when he didn’t take it, I wondered if he was ashamed of what he’d let me do for him, if he no longer had any use for me. I couldn’t stop myself from flinching when he raised his hand, but it was just to stroke my hair.

“Get in.”

“But—”

“I can drive you a little further, Frank. Get in.”

I climbed into the cab and buckled up. Another woman singer came on the radio, singing about being a coal miner’s daughter.

We crossed the Potomac into DC.

“This is as far as I can take you, Frank.” He held out his hand.

I took it, frowning when I felt something pressed into my palm. It was a folded-up bill.

“Shane, you don’t have to pay me—”

“Frank, just take it, okay? I’m gonna be worrying about you as it is. That nightmare….”

What had I said? Had I revealed what I’d done? In the safety of the rig’s cab, I’d been able to forget I’d killed a man. I closed my fist on the bill.

But Shane didn’t look as if he knew he was sitting beside a murderer.

“Thank you,” I choked out. I unbuckled my seat belt and reached for the door handle.

“Stay safe, okay, Frank? Or whatever your name really is? Stay safe.”

I nodded and hopped out of the big black-and-red rig. “Goodbye, Shane.”

“Take care of yourself, kid. So long.”

I slammed the door on whatever else he might have said and walked away. It wasn’t until later that I realized he’d given me not a five or a ten, but a couple of twenties. They wouldn’t last very long, but with them I wouldn’t have to seek out a shelter and maybe walk right into the arms of the cops.

* * * *

My meeting with Shane must have signaled a change in my luck, although I didn’t realize it at first.

I walked the streets of DC for hours, not knowing where to go, trying to think what to do, scared spitless and trying not to show it. I turned down what happened to be a blind alley and found myself on the fringe of something bad.

A kid about my age was facing off a gang of street trash. “We been watching you, p***y boy,” one of them yelled. “And we don’t want your kind in our neighborhood.”

“Grab the little queer.”

“Get his pants off.”

“We’re gonna f**k his faggot ass.”

They goaded each other, obviously trying to work themselves up to committing serious mayhem.

There was something about the dark-haired kid’s determination to stand strong against them, and I decided to try to help. “The cops are coming!” I shouted. “Somebody called the cops!”

They were stupid—even I could tell that no one in this part of town would lift a finger to help someone like this kid. But they believed me, and they broke and ran.

“Come on,” I called softly to the kid. “We gotta get outta here too.”

He grinned at me as we raced in the opposite direction. “No one called the cops, did they?”

“What do you think?” I threw him a hesitant grin back.

We rounded a corner and ran straight into another group of older boys. They didn’t look stupid. “Oh, my God, we are so f****d!” I felt sick. We were gonna be beaten, r***d, and left for dead.

“No, no! It’s okay!” The kid with me hurled himself at the leader, babbling in relief. “Oh, geez, Tim! You found me! That gang was mean to me! I was so scared!”

I stared at him in confusion. He hadn’t looked frightened to me.

“What gang? Pretty Boy, are you okay?” The oldest of the group checked him out to make sure he wasn’t hurt, tipping his head back to study his face, patting him down, running his hands over chest and back, and Pretty Boy—he really was a pretty boy—wriggled like a puppy being petted.

“Yeah. They woulda had my ass for sure if it wasn’t for this dude.”

“Tim” nodded toward me but growled at Pretty Boy, “And just what the f**k were you doing down here? You know this part of town isn’t safe.”

Pretty Boy frowned at him. “My john drove to a deserted area a few blocks over. He turned out to be an off-duty vice cop, Tim,” he complained. “He told me he was going to book my ass for soliciting unless I put out for him whenever he wanted. Professional courtesy, he called it. Shithead. Of course he didn’t tell me this until after I was in his car. The son of a b***h. I had to duck out and run for it.”

“Fuck.”

“Not if I could help it. And what are you guys doing down here?”

“Mustang recognized him. He’d been busted by him a couple of times and knew what a s**t the pig was, but it was too late to stop you. As soon as he realized you were going with him, he rounded us all up, and we came hotfooting after you.”

“But…how’d you know where he was taking me?”

“That son of a b***h takes all the boys down here,” the one called Mustang snarled. It was obvious he wasn’t the cop’s biggest fan.

“We couldn’t let anything happen to you.” Tim ran restless fingers through his hair. “We’ve got to get a better class of johns. He didn’t hurt you, did he, Pretty Boy?”

“Nah. But it was a good thing I prepped before I left. And it was a better thing you taught us not to trust them from the get-go.” Pretty Boy bent over, and when he straightened, he had a wad of bills in his hand. He waggled it complacently. “The bastard thought he could take his money back. He didn’t want me touching his d**k”—he shrugged at the anomaly—”so while he was busy putting on the condom I gave him, I tucked the money away in my sock, and he didn’t see what I was doing. Then he told me his dirty little plan, and I booked.”

“Way to go, kiddo.” Tim ruffled Pretty Boy’s midnight-dark hair. I couldn’t believe the relaxed attitude these rent boys had toward their occupation. Maybe it was because they had each other to depend on. Tim turned back to me. “Who’re you?” he asked.

“I’m…Sweetcheeks. Who’re you?”

“I’m Tim. Sweetcheeks, huh? That’s a hustler’s name.”

“You got a problem with that?”

“No. Do you hustle?”

“Not much else for me to do. My old man threw me out when he found out I was gay.” I wasn’t going to tell him I’d fallen into Franky’s hands like a ripe plum. And I certainly wasn’t going to tell him I’d killed Franky.

He looked me over. “You saved Pretty Boy, and we owe you. If you want, you can stay with us for a while.”

“Thanks,” I said gruffly. “I appreciate it.” It would give me a respite.

“Tim, now that the excitement’s over and Pretty Boy’s okay, Bud and I are gonna head out.” The two boys looked enough like each other to be twins.

“Okay, Mick,” Tim said. “Keep a low profile. If that pig knows Pretty Boy’s with us, he might go after you all too.”

“Will do, boss man.”

“All right.” He turned to me. “Come on. We’ll catch a bus and get out of here. This neighborhood sucks.”

I went with them to the apartment they all shared.

“I’ll give you a quick tour of the place, but then me and Mustang—” he nodded toward the big blond who hovered around him. Tall and muscled, he didn’t look like someone to screw with. I saw the way he looked at Tim, and I wondered if they were boyfriends—“have to get to work too.”

The front door opened directly into the living room. There was a small television on a wooden box. A game system was hooked up to it, and cartridges were on the floor. Comic books—Superman, Spiderman, The Fantastic Four—and magazines—People, US Weekly, and surprisingly, Time and Newsweek—were scattered around on a sofa and a couple of chairs.

Tim frowned. “The maid is runnin’ late today, Ah see.” The South was suddenly thick in his voice.

My mind boggled. “You’ve got a maid?”

“I was kidding, Sweets.”

“Oh. I knew that.” I offered him a smile.

“Sure you did.” He ruffled my hair, the same as he’d done for Pretty Boy. I liked the feel of it. I hadn’t been touched without an ulterior motive in a long while.

I took off my jacket and looked around for someplace to hang it. It was still damp from the rain.

“I’ll take it.” He hung it in a little closet that only had a couple of hangers in it. “Come on.”

The kitchen was a matchbox of a room with a breakfast bar that separated it from the living room, and had a small alcove for a stacked washer and dryer. There was a bathroom with a shower/tub combination, and three bedrooms. One had twin beds, one had a double, and one had a king-size bed.

“For when we have guests over.”

“You need a bed that large?”

Pretty Boy poked me. “Guests.” This time I heard the emphasis. I’d never heard that euphemism before.

“Wow.” I’d only been in a couple of run-down motels. Mostly I got f****d in the backseat of my john’s car, or I sucked him off in an alley.

“Sometimes they like to play with more than one of us.”

I thought of the time Franky had brought Jaybird home and then shrugged. I didn’t have a boyfriend anymore, hadn’t really ever had a boyfriend, and while I hadn’t had to do threesomes yet…I wondered if I ever might have to.

“Okay, time for us to get going. Not you, Paul.” I looked around for “Paul” and realized Tim was talking to Pretty Boy. “You’ve had enough excitement for one day. You and Sweetcheeks stay put. We’ll see you later.” And he and the big blond left.

“Are you hungry? I can order a pizza if you like,” Pretty Boy suggested.

“I never say no to pizza.”

“Cool. What do you want on top?”

“Whatever you’re gonna have is okay.” It was his house, he was buying, and Ma had taught me to be polite.

“Even if it’s anchovies?”

“Uh…”

“Okay, so no to anchovies. Pepperoni sound good?”

“Um…could we have it with artichoke hearts too?”

“Ick! You like artichokes?”

“Yeah. My mother…she makes great stuffed artichokes. I haven’t had them since…” I looked away.

“I was only kidding, Sweets.” He patted my shoulder. “Artichoke hearts and pepperoni it is.”

I waited until he got off the phone before asking, “Is Tim your pimp?”

“What? Hell no! You saw. He goes out to work, just like the rest of us.”

“I didn’t mean anything, Pretty Boy.”

“Paul.”

“Huh?”

“When we’re home, we go by our real names. I’m Paul.”

“Oh.”

“Mustang is Cris, Bud and Mick are Tom and Mike. They’re brothers, by the way.”

“I’d thought so. And Tim?”

He grinned. “He’s Tim. So, what’s your name?”

I looked away from him. “Sweetcheeks.”

He sighed and patted my shoulder again. “Okay, Sweets. Why’d you think Tim was our pimp?”

“Well, he just looks like he’s running things.”

“I guess he is. But he’d not a pimp. If he ever heard you call him that—”

“He’d hit me?”

“No! He might yell, but he’d never…. Geez, Sweets!”

“I…I ran away from my pimp.” It wasn’t the first time I’d thought of Franky that way, but it was the first time I’d said it aloud.

“Did he hit you?” He brought his fingertips to my cheek. The bruise was fainter, but it was still visible.

I couldn’t meet Paul’s eyes.

“Wanna talk about it? I’m a good listener. Even Tim says so.”

“Like I told Tim, my father threw me out. And there was Fr—this guy, waiting for me. I was so stupid.”

He put an arm around my shoulder. “No, you—”

“I was. I didn’t get it. I thought he…he fell in love with me at first sight. I thought he was my boyfriend. Even when he brought another boy home and wanted the three of us to…to f**k, I didn’t get it. And after Fr—after he hit me…. he started crying. He said it was just because we were so broke.”

“Let me guess. And then he said if you loved him, you’d do one little favor for him.”

“Yeah. How did you…oh. See? Stupid.”

“Not stupid, Sweets. He just got you when you were vulnerable. Pimps can be bad news. I know, I had one too. Tim got me away from mine. And you were smart enough to get away from yours. What made you run?”

“He sold me to another pimp, a really bad one whose boys didn’t live very long.” I shuddered, but what I was picturing was all the blood on the floor. “Please, I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

“Sure.” For a few minutes there was an awkward silence and then Paul said, “Want to read a comic?”

“Okay.” At least there would be a reason for us not to talk. I picked up The Fantastic Four and began to leaf through it.

About twenty minutes later, the doorbell rang, and he went to answer it. “Dinner! Come on in the living room. We can pig out on pizza and watch TV.”

“Okay.”

He put the box on the floor. “Turn on the TV, okay? I’ll get us some soda.”

I found the channel MTV was on in Washington, then sat on the floor and opened the box. Pretty Boy…Paul…returned with two cans of Coke. He sat beside me, and we set to work demolishing the pizza. We watched Madonna and Culture Club and Bon Jovi, and drooled over Rick Springfield.

“I’d do him in a minute,” I said around a mouthful of pizza. “And for free.”

“Yeah. Me too. I used to watch General Hospital just to see him. Hey, it’s time for Entertainment Tonight.” He changed the channel to CBS, and we listened to Mary Hart and John Tesh banter back and forth for a bit. He’d been her co-host for the past four years, since 1986.

The last few days caught up with me, and my eyelids began to droop.

“Sweetcheeks. Sweets.” A light hand shook me.

“I wasn’t asleep.”

“I noticed. Come on. You can sleep in my bed.”

“Uh…”

“Just sleep.”

“Okay, thanks.”

“This is the room I use.” Paul led me to the small room with the double bed. “Reno used to stay with me, but Tim found out he was using coke, and that for an extra ten bucks, he’d let the johns f**k him without wearing a condom, so Tim made him leave. Boy, was he cheesed off at Reno. Health is an important thing for him. He makes us see the Doc every month.”

Paul didn’t notice I’d grown quiet. I hadn’t seen a doctor since my physical just before I’d started high school. My johns had been willing to use a condom, because how would they explain to their wives bringing home an STD? But Franky always…forgot…to use them.

“Sweets!”

“Huh?”

“I said, do you want pajamas?”

“When I was at home, I used to sleep in sweats.”

“We’re about the same size.” He was about five foot four, and I wasn’t much taller. He went to the dresser and took out a pair of navy-blue sweatpants and a sweatshirt.

“You know where the bathroom is. You can get changed in there. Take a shower if you like. There are towels on the bathroom shelf.”

I closed the bathroom door, stripped, and studied my body in the mirror, but couldn’t find any sores or marks beyond the scars Franky had put on me when he’d cut me and the velvety brown birthmark the size of a half dollar on my left shoulder. I turned on the water and stepped into the tub.

By the time I was done, I felt a little more human. I put on the sweats and went back to Paul’s bedroom. He wasn’t there, but he’d folded down the covers on the right side. I lay down and was asleep before I had a chance to pull the covers over me.