by David Beem
“No-no,” I hurry to say. “I can. I’ve got the money. I mean, I think I got a promotion at work. The point is, I’m tired of waiting. Aren’t you tired of waiting? Let’s just do it.”
“Edger…”
“What do you think ever happened to Dad?” I ask, mostly trying to get out of one boiling pot—though my mouth plan didn’t include leaping buck naked into another.
Gran’s forehead wrinkles tighten. “Are you missing him?”
A lump rises in my throat. Gran takes a seat across the kitchen table, grabs my hand, and pats it.
“I don’t know about that,” she says. “He was private about some things. He was a lot like you.”
My chest tightens.
“You know, something about your father. It never made sense, him leaving. He wasn’t that way. Your father always did right by people. He wasn’t a saint. I don’t mean to say he was, but he always found a way to do right by people. I think that was why it was so hard for me to let him go. For a while, things would happen. Unexpected things. And I thought—it just seemed like he might be out there still, looking out for us. It was nice to think that.”
“You mean like when your friend in Jacksonville was sending me Calvin and Hobbes strips?”
“Pearl? Oh, heavens no. She didn’t send you those.”
“You told me it was her!”
“I was lying my skinny ass off. I didn’t want to get your hopes up. I have no idea who was sending you those comics.”
“Gran—” I take my hand back and sit straighter. The teapot boils. Gran rises and takes it off the burner. She pours and steeps the tea. When she’s got two cups made, she sighs and peers out the window over the sink.
“Edger, your father is gone, and he’s never coming back. I’m sorry, but that’s the way it is. I’ve done my best. And I know it isn’t the same.”
“Stop it. Are you kidding? What is with the Lifetime drama, huh? Look at us. Here we are, in the kitchen, drinking tea. Wait-wait. Shh—listen. Do you hear that? I think I can hear the menopause. It’s amazing.”
Gran rolls her eyes.
“Hey,” I say. “I wasn’t asking about him because I thought you could’ve been a better parent. He’s been on my mind recently. You know, with everything going on with, uh—” I clear my throat. “This girl I’ve been seeing.”
Gran turns her head from the window. Still not meeting my eyes, she brings the two cups of tea to the table. “You wish he could’ve known her. That’s natural.”
I swallow and nod. Gran sits.
“Well, he would’ve liked her. I’m sure of that. I bet she’s like your mother.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because I know your type.” Gran sighs. “That was hard too. How they never found her body. How the car was mangled on the rocks. How we all just assumed she’d washed out to sea.” She shakes her head, takes a sip of her tea, and sets it down with a soft thunk. “We’ve had our share of shit shows.”
Our eyes meet. “They never found the body? You never told me that!”
“Well, of course.”
“Not ‘of course.’ Why wouldn’t you tell me something like that?”
“Because sometimes endings are messy.”
“And what is that supposed to mean?”
“You were so little. You needed to think they were dead.”
“You say that like they’re not.”
“Oh, give me a break.” She sips her tea. “Edger, if I had told you they never found your mom’s body, you’d have gotten some crazy idea in your head she’s an Alderaanian princess who went back to battle the Borg, and you know it!”
I expel a weak chuckle through my nose. “I mean…Borg is Star Trek. Alderaan is—ah, forget it.”
“And then there’s all this business with my happy ever after.”
My head snaps up. Her smile is too knowing.
“I heard you telling Fabio once.” She laughs. “You want me and Shep to live happily ever after, traveling the world, or sitting on the beach at Pine’s Place drinking Old Fashioneds and watching the waves come in.”
“Is that bad?”
“Nope!” calls Shep from the living room.
“Hell no,” says Gran. “But where are you in that picture? What will Edger be doing while I’m doing Shep in Venice?”
“Who cares?” cries Shep.
“Me,” replies Gran. “Well? What will you be doing, Edger?”
“Well…” I stammer, the elasticity of my brain failing over her mention of sex with Shep in Venice. “I mean…I’ll be with…Mary,” I say, hoping she’ll leave it there and not press me on my sex life. I’m already too far into the asteroid field with this make-believe girlfriend idea. It’d be just my luck Mary walks up and rings the doorbell right now.
“Mary? That’s her name? Mary!”
I nod. Gran smiles.
“Well, so long as you’re doing what you want to be doing. So long as you’re not chained to your dear old Gran, saving money and missing out on strong women like this Mary, and maybe a career for yourself in there; maybe not taking the blame for that Caleb Montana stealing things at Notre Dame, or—”
I jerk upright. “Wait—you know about that?”
“Oh Lord.” She rolls her eyes. “Edger, Fabio can’t keep secrets for shit. Look. Just promise me this. Promise me you’ll live for yourself a little bit. Whatever happens. Would you do that for me?”
“What do you mean whatever happens?”
“Just promise me.”
I lean back in my chair, sip my tea, and nod. “I promise.”
Chapter Forty-Three
I open the door to my room. Fabio’s at my computer playing Minecraft.
“Dude?” I ask, my hands rising into the universal what-the-hell sign language position.
“Check out this moron,” he says, not looking up. “Thinks he’s Entity 303. I’m gonna totally red stone trap his ass into the Nether—boom baby!” He thrusts his arms into the air like he’s just slam dunked on LeBron James. He taps out a few quick keystrokes, logging off, then swivels the chair around. “So. You’re not dead. That’s good. Hey, man. You had me worried.”
“Clearly.” I plop down on my bed and pull off my left shoe.
“And you told him no, right?” asks Fabio. “You told Mikey no?”
I pull off my right shoe. “About that…”
Fabio slaps his hands to his mouth, then drags them through his hair. “Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit! You did it? You’re a”—he lowers his voice—“you’re a freaking superhero now?”
I try to smile, but my cheeks aren’t having it.
“Wait-wait-wait. Do you have to wear the underwear on the outside now? You know, the inner-outer-underwear. Like they do in the comics.”
“Dude.”
His hands slap his mouth again like he’s witnessed the most spectacular car crash in history—which, upon reflection, this may be. “But why?” he asks. “I mean, I thought you weren’t gonna do it?”
“Well… I mean, you know. A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta—”
“He guilt-tripped you,” says Fabio. “Didn’t he.”
I nod. “Yep. Guilt-tripped me.”
“I knew it. Oh my God. You realize you’re gonna die because you’re a total wuss?”
I flop back onto my bed. “Yep. In fact, I’ve been thinking to have you inscribe that on my tombstone. ‘Here lies Edger. Dead because—total wuss.’”
“Hey—at least we’ve got your superhero name. Wuss Man! With the power to cave at the slightest guilt-trip! And his arch nemesis—Catholic Mother! Dun-dun-du-un!”
“Coming soon to a theater near you.”
“Okay, so,” says Fabio, his eyebrows lowering as he sits forward on the chair. “Seeing as you’re here and not out fighting crime and/or leaping tall buildings and/or lurking atop gargoyles, I can only assume you found the AI?”
I lace my fingers behind my head, stretch out, and cross my feet. The sinking pi
t in my stomach hardens. I close my eyes and listen to the prolonged silence and wait for Fabio to process the implications of me not answering.
“Crap dude. So you’re…dying?”
“Yeah.”
“Crap! Oh, crap! Get up! Get up!”
Slapping hands beat my shoulders and biceps. My eyes spring open. I roll to the opposite side of the bed and peer across at Fabio, who’s gaping back at me with his mouth wide enough to swallow an apple whole.
“What in all that is strong and good in the Light Side of the Force are you even still doing here?” he exclaims. “You should be out there! Right now! Finding Tron-Tron! Live, man! Live!”
I shrug. “Well, I’m tired, dude.”
“Sleep when you’re dead! No, wait. I mean…don’t die. Don’t die.”
“Fab, I’ve had a long day. A lot has happened.”
And so I tell him about the terrorists and the power grid. I tell him about the booster and Mikey lying to me. I tell him Mary’s story, but when it comes to sharing the news about Dad, for some reason, I hold that back. Maybe it’s because I don’t want to jinx it. Or maybe it’s because Fabio is family too, and I don’t want to get his hopes up if the whole thing falls apart.
“Crap, dude,” he says when I’m done. His eyes are wide and his mouth keeps opening and closing, trying to say something, but taking forever not to say it.
“Hey, man,” I say, sitting again at the edge of the bed. “I promise I won’t die without saying goodbye, okay?”
His jaw drops open. Tears well up in his eyes.
“Oh, come on,” I say. “Stop. I was just joking!”
He plops down next to me and throws his arms around me, squeezing tight.
“Get off me! Get off me!” I say, breaking free. “Dude! Bro foul!”
“You’re gonna live, dude,” he says, unnecessarily wiping his eyes, his bearded face dead serious. “You’re gonna live. Because this is a superhero story, and the superhero always saves the day. But seriously. Not to sound, you know, like the Cowardly Lion, but it’s me and Shep and Gran you’ve gotta worry about.”
“What?”
“Well, think about it, dude!” he exclaims. “The superhero always wins. But it’s the people he cares about who always end up dead.” Fabio grabs his bag and lifts the window open. He throws a leg out and hunches down, half-in, half-out of my room.
“You know you can use the front door once in a while.”
“Best-friend trope,” he replies, winking. “Best friends use human doggie doors.”
I smile, but his face becomes serious again.
“Just think about what I said, dude. You call me if you need me—and don’t die, okay? That’s the priority. But, you know, make sure you keep your secret identity good and secret. There’s a sales competition at the Über Dork next week, and I can’t win it if I’m dead because you took your superhero mask off in front of the bad guys for some stupid reason.”
I give him a tired, half-hearted smile, which Fabio returns before tucking himself through the window, shutting it from the outside, and then clambering down the tree. I flop down on my back, too exhausted for anything else.
Chapter Forty-Four
My dreams are restless. The world is glimmering in twilight autumn. Leaves are orbiting the Tree of Life. Soul-stars in the sky. How long before I join them?
Bruce Lee is practicing his martial arts forms near the white bench.
“I need your help,” I say.
The master finishes a kick, then comes to attention like he’s in the military. He clasps his hands in front. “You have it.”
“My father. I want to find him. I want those booster shots. And then I wanna find Tron-Tron and finish this.”
“What are we waiting for?” Bruce Lee takes one step back and assumes a crane stance. His hands begin tracing shapes in the air the way he did in Fists of Fury, mystic and evocative like an opening flower. The soul-lights appear inside the outline he’s traced. Their brightness expands to swallow us whole.
Earth rushes up at us. Treetops, city grids, highways and buildings, all zooming in like an impossibly high-speed refresh rate on a Google Earth map. I catch an aerial glimpse of the Q—Qualcomm Stadium—before we land at a nearby Motel 6. The parking lot is gritty. The hum of the highway is constant.
“I know this place!” I exclaim, my stomach knotting with excitement. I spin and scan the area, taking it all in. “This is just off the 8! There’s a Home Depot right over there, I think. Wait—Dad is here?”
“Yes.” Bruce Lee closes his eyes, and the world goes dark like I’ve closed my eyes.
“What’re you doing?”
The world comes back into focus, and Bruce Lee and I are stepping through a jet-black hotel mirror and into a room. I take in everything at once. The blinds are drawn; papers are strewn across the table; a suitcase is open on a rack; a man—fully dressed, including shoes—is sleeping in the bed.
My pulse ratchets up to the point of pain.
It’s so unlike the other dreams I have of Dad. There’s no pool for him to fall into. He’s here, safe and whole. I’m aching to touch him, to be in the real world and touch him.
Dad rolls over. My throat clenches up as I get my first look at him in over twenty years. He’s grayer. The crow’s feet are deeper. His stubble whiter. But every detail weighs on me, to lay eyes on him, to know this is no ordinary dream.
“I want to wake up,” I say, and the sudden impulse to leap into my car and get onto the highway takes hold. “Why can’t I wake up?”
I spin around and face Bruce Lee. His eyes tighten as he studies my features.
“I have to release you,” he says.
“Then release me! Release me!”
“There’s more,” he says, gesturing to the table.
My cheek twitches; I shake my head, turn and search for what he’s wanting to show me. There—a letter. Addressed to me. My father’s handwriting.
I hurry to the table, tear it open. I can’t read it fast enough.
Edger,
Don’t come looking for me. People tracking your movements. You’ll find your booster at the game tomorrow. Section UV45, row 25, beneath seat 14. Take this one and no more. If I’m able, I’ll be there. If I think I’ve been compromised, I won’t. Sorry about that.
Remember: STAY AWAY. Trust no one.
Dad
The letter falls from my hands, tears fall from my face, and I fall from the dream.
Chapter Forty-Five
We drift for a time among the soul-stars, Bruce Lee and me. It’s peaceful up here, and I’m glad to have found a friend in him. I glance over at him. His eyes are closed, and his hands are clasped behind his head like he’s lying down with his feet stretched out. Above and beneath us are billions of soul-stars.
“How come you have a body?” I ask.
Bruce Lee’s eyes open. His hands come down, and he seems to sit up. We float nearer a cluster of soul-stars, and they grow incredibly intense before scattering outward faster than I can blink.
“Your body is back at home in bed,” says Bruce Lee, eyeing me with a funny look. “This form is how you see yourself.”
“So all these stars, to them, they’ve got bodies too? I mean, are they picturing themselves as stars, or as they were in life?”
Bruce Lee looks around, taking in the various constellations before answering. “I suppose it depends on what they’re up to, or their personalities, or maybe a dozen other factors.”
“Then why can’t we see them? I mean, why do they look like stars?” I reach out to touch the nearest one.
“Stop!” Bruce Lee snatches my hand and shoves it aside. I’m shaking, I realize; my heart rate is suddenly going crazy. I’m sweating. I can barely breathe.
“What’s the matter with me?”
Bruce Lee shakes his head. He closes his eyes. The lights begin to dim. “We’ve lingered here for too long.”
Darkness swallows us.
Chapter Forty-Six<
br />
"Wake up.”
I open my eyes. Sunlight is creeping in. The Star Wars poster on my ceiling is blurry. I stretch and groan.
Dreams. Dreams. Something about Dad at a Motel 6.
“Morning, sleepyhead.”
I roll onto my side. A bar of honey-golden sunlight is bisecting a bare and definitely female leg in my bed.
Something like a popped clutch hitches in my chest.
I snatch the blankets and try to yank them up to my neck. They won’t come, because Mary—beautiful Mary Thomas—is sitting on the edge of my bed. The blankets are trapped beneath her beautiful butt, which happens to be wearing my favorite boxers. And the rest of her is in my Notre Dame jersey.
“What’re you—how’re you—what’re you—are you wearing my clothes?”
“I got to thinking,” she says, standing and sashaying over to my desk, where she picks up the picture of me and Dad. Her blonde hair is gleaming in the morning sunlight. Her legs are long, toned, and tan. And she comes fully equipped with hips. Beautiful, beautiful hips. That whole hourglass-figure thingy. I bite the side of my tongue, and my gaze snaps to eye level just in time; she sets down the picture and faces me.
“I’m going to help you.”
“That’s nice.” I yank my sheets up to my neck and count to ten as a sinking suspicion forms in my knotting stomach. I’ve missed something. Maybe more than one critical something. Probably an entire chapter of critical somethings torn from the story of my life while I was sleeping.
I release the sheets and sit up. “How did you get in here?”
“Through the window.”
An inopportune thought strikes me. I peek beneath the sheets, and a wave of relief crashes over me upon discovering I’m not wearing the Yoda underpants.
“Wait,” I say. “How did you get in here?”
She rolls her eyes. “Through the window. Do I need to draw you a diagram?”
“But that’s the Fabio door,” I mutter. Mary sets down the picture and nods to the ceiling poster.
“Star Wars. You like Star Wars?”