by M. Billiter
My mom held out her cell phone and smiled along with us. I put my arm around Dakota’s waist, and right before the flash went off on my mom’s cell, I whispered in her ear, “I’m the trick, and you’re my treat.”
The four of us approached the alley in downtown Casper as if we were actual policemen and firefighters. Aaron tried to show off his muscles by pushing into a large green dumpster tagged with white graffiti, but it barely moved an inch. We all laughed and he patted it with his hand. “Okay, well it’s fine where it’s at.”
“You’re an idiot,” I said.
Dakota pointed toward a steel spiral staircase that seemed to reach toward the sky. “Everyone takes their senior photos on it.”
I nodded. “Yeah, I could see that.”
In the distance, the lights in the alley were nonexistent and the businesses vacant.
“Nice neighborhood,” I said to Aaron.
He shrugged. “Justin said it was the cheapest place to rent at the last minute.”
“You guys are worrying about nothing,” Dakota said, taking the lead. “It’ll be fine.”
Chelsea lingered behind Aaron. I stepped up beside Dakota and tilted my aviators at Dakota. “I’ll protect you, ma’am.”
“Oh, what would I do without you, Officer?” She winked.
The warehouse we were looking for wasn’t easy to see, but it was easy to detect, the building vibrating from the bass of the music that blared from within. I strutted toward the back door and rapped my knuckles on the steel.
The door opened, and Justin appeared dressed as a hippie with round glasses, bell-bottoms, a tie-dyed shirt, and a headband wrapped around his stringy blond hair.
I shook hands with the known stoner and long-distance runner on my indoor track team. “Justin, thanks for the invite, man!”
Once he released my hand, he extended his arm toward the open warehouse that was alive with music and grinding high schoolers. “Happy Halloween! Let’s party!”
Dakota and I instantly went to the dance circle in the middle of the warehouse and started to grind. Her butt pressed against my pelvis, I grabbed her waist and started to move back and forth to the beat.
In the distance, I spotted Aaron and Chelsea engaged in what seemed like an argument. Already? I leaned forward to whisper to Dakota but had to yell to be heard above the music. “Trouble in paradise.” I nodded toward my brother and his firefighting date.
Dakota rolled her shoulders. “That’s one fire he can’t put out.”
I laughed. “Very true.”
I glanced around the warehouse. Justin had put on this party at the last minute and had done it right. Orange and black strobe lights circled the empty space and made it seem like a haunted house. A large black cauldron with what had to be dry ice blew smoke into the air. People dipped clear plastic cups into the cloudy vat and drew out a red liquid. I wasn’t sure what they were drinking, only that they seemed happier afterward.
I glanced at the speakers that were almost as tall as me and did a double take.
It can’t be. I squinted. Trevor?
He caught a glimpse of me and waved me over.
I turned to Dakota. “Hey, I’m going to go talk to my friend.”
She nodded and headed in the direction of Aaron and Chelsea, who seemed to have already made up, as I worked my way toward the men’s room where Trevor stood. He pushed the door open and I followed him inside. Even on Halloween, Trevor wore a gray T-shirt and baggy jeans.
“Glad you dressed up,” I teased at the urinal beside him.
“Got to look good for the ladies. I don’t need a costume for that,” he said with a grin.
“Then why were you dancing all alone?” I zipped up my fly and bumped him on the shoulder on my way to the sink.
“Hey, watch out!”
“Oh, sorry about that. I was joking around.”
“Speaking of joking around,” Trevor said, joining me at the sink, “I heard Ashley saying some shit about you.”
“Really?” Heat spread throughout my body like someone had lit a match against my skin. My face felt like it was on fire. “What the fuck did I do?”
“She keeps saying you’re trying to hit on her to prove you’re not gay.”
I punched the cinder block wall hard. It felt good to strike something. “Why is she doing this shit? I’ve never done anything to her.” My anger was rising quickly.
“I don’t know, man. It’s just what I heard. She says a lot of shit about you.”
I clenched my fist and slammed it down on the sink. It stung, but I hit it again. “What a bitch.”
“You gotta stop taking that shit. You’ve gotta stand up for yourself.” Trevor's voice was harsh and aggressive.
I glared at him, and he crossed his arms over his thick chest. Trevor was built. I wasn’t nearly as big as he was. “What can I do?” I asked.
“Send a message.”
“And how do you suppose I do that?” I was clearly irritated with Trevor, and he knew it.
“I saw her car parked up in the alley.”
“You want me to vandalize her car?” Now I sounded hysterical.
“No, no. I want us to vandalize it.”
I shook my head. “Nope, not a chance. Listen, I’m not 100 percent clear what happened at Dakota’s house, but what I do know is that I came to in someone else’s car on the side of the road alone with a cop. So no, I’m not vandalizing anything—with you or anyone.” That was hell. There’s nothing worse than coming out of a blackout, or fugue state as my lovely doctor called it, in front of a cop. No thank you.
Trevor leaned against the bathroom wall. “Okay, that’s fair. I guess she’ll just keep talking shit about you.”
I rolled my eyes and started to walk out of the bathroom. “See you, Trevor.”
“Oh, I plan on it, Branson.”
25
Branson
“Branson, I think we need to discuss these congressional interviews.” Her voice entered my bedroom before she did. I was sitting in my gaming chair, tucked into it like I always was when I was playing. “Why are the lights off?” I heard my mom palm the wall in my room for the light switch.
“Mom, don’t!” My tone was a bit harsher than I would have liked, but I was playing a post-apocalyptic game that challenged me to survive in the harsh wastelands of America, and I played it better in the dark.
She fumbled her way over to my unmade bed and sat on the edge. “Bran, if you’re still really serious about these interviews, then you need a suit.”
I nodded. I had a bomb strapped around my neck, and if I got around any radio frequency, I would die.
“I’m still not sure this is the best direction,” she said.
The more she kept prattling on at me, the more I kept walking into radio waves and splattering like a fly on the wall.
“Mom, I don’t need a suit. I’ll just borrow one of Aaron’s.”
I think she nodded; my peripheral vision saw her head do something. “Okay, that’ll save money. Will you try one on later?”
I knew if I agreed, it would get her out of my room and back to my game. “Sure. Yeah. I’ll do it.”
But she stayed on the edge of my bed. What now? I paused my game and turned around in my chair.
“I’ll try on Aaron’s suit.”
That time I saw her nod.
“What?” I said. “Are you okay?” I couldn’t tell, but it looked like maybe she was crying.
She shook her head and cleared her throat. “I’m….” She cleared her throat again. “These interviews.” She raised her shoulders. “Why is it important to you?”
“I just want to see how far I can go in the process.”
She didn’t say anything for what seemed like a really long time, and I just wanted to get back to my game, but I knew if I didn’t wait it out, she’d never leave.
Finally she reached over and gently brushed my hair off my face. “Then we’ll get you ready for the interviews.” She stood up and kis
sed the top of my head. “Love you.”
I nodded. “Love you too.”
She left and I returned to a deserted casino that looked like something out of a horror movie. The hallways were dark, the scene was macabre, and I knew danger lurked around every corner. I grabbed a .357 revolver and had to find the key to unlock the bomb that was fastened around my neck. It was the only way to escape this hellhole. I walked down a long corridor that looked like something out of The Shining and ended at a room. Opening the door, I aimed my revolver at a dusty movie projector and it suddenly started to roll tape.
The grainy image that projected on the movie screen in the casino was blank. This is some freaky shit. I hurried out of the projector room and turned another corner into an abandoned bar. Broken whiskey bottles littered the floor. I had to be careful not to step on the glass and alert the security holograms that still protected the casino. That’s all I need is to get shot while I’m strapped with a bomb around my neck.
The key had to be in the casino, and if it wasn’t in the bar or the projector room, it had to be on the dance floor where the vault was hidden.
I was heading toward the ballroom when Aaron came into my room.
“Mom says you need to try on one of my suits.”
“What the hell?” I was one key away from escape and battling the boss that put the bomb collar around my neck when Aaron started snapping at me. I waved away his annoying hand.
“Come on, Branson. Put the game down for two minutes and try on the suit.”
A bunch of security holograms were protecting the stage. I wish I had the same security protecting me and my bedroom.
“Dude, come on,” he said and playfully nudged my shoulder.
I grunted and paused my game. “Turn on the light.” Now I meant for my tone to be harsh.
The overhead light was blinding, and I had to blink a few times before I slipped off my elastic-waist athletic shorts and grabbed the slacks from Aaron. When I put my legs into the pants, it was a snug fit across my thighs. Jesus, what the hell? Am I getting fatter? I twisted around in them while pulling them up, but I was unable to get the pants past my hips. I couldn’t get them to zip, let alone button.
For a moment, I stared down at my body in complete disbelief. My six-pack abs had been replaced by the beginning of a baby gut. My thighs and ass must have grown too, because everything was tight.
I looked up at Aaron. “I can’t get them up all the way.” Tears stung my eyes.
Aaron stepped toward me. “It’s all right, bro.” His voice was reassuring when his face looked as shocked as mine. “We’ll just get you new pants.”
“It’s that goddamn medication. I’m gaining weight. I’ve never gained weight before.” Heat coursed through my veins. I tore the pants off and kicked them away from me before picking up my gym shorts and putting them back on.
“Branson, it’s no big deal. It’s just a pair of pants, and these are from like freshman year.”
I nodded. I knew my brother meant well and that he was worried, but the medication was causing me to gain weight. And that messed with my head more than anything.
I wiped my eyes and shook it off. “I’m okay. I just want to go back to my game.”
“Dude, it’s okay. Don’t do anything stupid.”
“I won’t. I just want to chill.”
“All right.” Aaron picked up the pants and turned off the light on his way out of my room.
Grabbing my controller, I went back to killing the monsters. I was about to Google where the key was hidden when my mom stood in the doorway to my room.
“So how’d the suit go?” Her voice was singsongy and light like a bird that I wanted to smash against the window.
“Shut the fuck up, Mom! Get out! Go away!”
She stumbled out of the doorway, startled, scared, and afraid.
“I’m sorry,” I called out after her. “Mom.”
She stood in the basement living room that separated my room and Aaron’s. Her green eyes were wide, and her pale skin looked even paler. She stared at me like I was someone she had never seen before.
“I didn’t mean it,” I said, leaning over in my chair.
She barely nodded, like one of the zombies in my game that move but don’t really seem to know what they’re doing. Her actions, along with her voice, seemed dead. “It’s okay.”
No it’s not. But instead, I looked away from her and stared at the empty vault on my television screen. The key wasn’t inside the ballroom vault. It seemed like I would always be searching for the key to unlock the bomb that was tied around my neck. I couldn’t find the damn key.
I’ll be tied to this ticking bomb forever.
26
Tara
Six weeks had passed and I was back in Dr. Cordova’s office. I knew why I was there. The letter was on the couch beside me, but I wasn’t ready to deal with it. And he didn’t seem to be in any hurry.
“When Branson was little, I used to sing to him at bedtime. It was our routine.” I looked from my hands in my lap up to Dr. Cordova. His nod prodded me to continue. “I sang to both of the boys. I sang the Barney song to Aaron.”
I chuckled, but it sounded as fake as it felt.
“With Branson, our song was different.” Suddenly, it hurt to breathe. Every cell in my body ached for that moment again, to reclaim my son and protect him from whatever went wrong. Tears fell down my cheeks and onto my lap. I didn’t bother to wipe them away. Why? There’d only be more.
“With Branson, our song was ‘You Are My Sunshine.” I closed my eyes and saw my little blond-haired, hazel-eyed boy staring up at me. My shoulders shook and I pinched my nose before wiping snot on my jeans. I didn’t care what Cordova or anyone thought of me. I didn’t care who saw what a mess I was or how they judged me. I only wanted my sunshine back. I wanted that sweet little boy’s face to look up at me with wonder and excitement, not fear and distrust.
“What did I do wrong? Was it something in my pregnancy?” My leg bounced nervously on the couch. “Did I hurt him? Was there something I should've done?” I couldn’t control the hurt that poured out of me. “Please tell me what I can do. How can I fix him? What do I need to do to make him whole again?”
Dr. Cordova’s voice was steady. “Nothing. There’s nothing you could've done, and there’s nothing you didn’t do. Schizoaffective disorder isn’t something that could have been prevented.”
I placed my hands over my ears. “No, he doesn’t have that. He doesn’t. No. Please don’t say that.” Even though I went to the pharmacy religiously and picked up medication to treat the disorder, I still hadn’t reconciled the illness with my son.
I felt his hand on my knee. “Tara, look at me.”
I shook my head. “No. I can’t. My son is okay. Branson is fine. He’s just…” Scared. Frightened. Lost. Angry. I opened my mouth, but the only sound that came out was the wounded cry of a mother for her child. I grabbed his hand and held it tightly. “Please. We have to fix him. There’s got to be something.”
“There is.” He didn’t let go of my hand. “We’ve started a treatment plan. Branson is responding well. He’s still taking his meds?”
I nodded. “I got one of those pill boxes like you suggested, the one with the days of the week so he won’t lose track.”
“That’s great.”
I shook my head. “No it’s not, but it’s all I can do. It’s all I know how to do.”
“When a parent finds out their child has a mental illness, there’s a period of mourning.”
“What?” My vision was blurry, but now my hearing seemed to be cloudy too. “Mourning? He’s not dead.”
“You mourn the child you lost, and the dreams you had for him.”
“No, no.” I pulled my hand away and held up a finger at him. “No. Branson’s not lost. He’s still there. And so are all his dreams.” I thought about the congressional interviews that were lined up. The interviews I knew I had to cancel, but hadn’t.
“He’ll be in the Navy,” I said in the face of overwhelming reason to the contrary. “He wants this. He’s ready for this. He’ll be fine. I’ll find a way to get him into the Navy.” I wiped my eyes and quickly regained my composure. “Hell, I literally wrote the book on getting kids into school. I’ve got this. Besides,” I continued, crossing my arms over my chest, “he still has his congressional interviews. We haven’t canceled them. He has just as good a chance as anyone else.”
Doctor Cordova sat back in his chair. “Branson won’t pass the medical exam.”
“You don’t know that.” I leveled him with a look. “You don’t know dick about academia.”
“Tara, even if you don’t tell the Navy what’s going on, they’ll draw blood and they will discover the medication he’s on and what it’s used to treat. And if by some grace of God he passes that, he won’t pass the psych eval.”
“You don’t know that. You think you do, but you don’t. By your own admission, my son has had these symptoms since the eighth grade. The eighth grade.” My tone bit with an anger so strong, it practically came out of my mouth and mauled the doctor. “Branson’s done a bang-up job fooling everyone into thinking he’s”—I held my fingers up in air quotes—“'normal.'” I lowered my hands into my lap. “So yeah, he’ll pass the psych eval just fine. Just fine. Don’t you worry. My son’s navy-bound. Anchors aweigh.”
Dr. Cordova said nothing, and it only fueled my rage.
“You don’t want to cure my son, you just want to pump him full of medication so you can go back to your life until you have to deal with him again in a month when his prescription runs out. You’re an ass.”
“I understand you’re upset.”
“Oh do you? Well bravo.” I slow-clapped. “Good diagnosis, Doctor.”
“I understand you want to blame someone.”
I tightened my hand into a fist and shook it at him. “Yes, I want someone to blame. I want someone to hurt as badly as I do. I want my son back!” I lowered my head. The pain felt like it was going to rip me in half. “I just want him back. I want Branson, not this zombie you’ve created with all these drugs.” Although that was far from the truth. I had noticed a change in Branson since he started his medication, but he wasn’t zombie-like. He was simply more mellow, less irritated. Unless I was interrupting his video games and asking him to try on a suit. Then all bets were off.