Highly Illogical Behavior

by John Corey Whaley

  “I guess I gave you more credit than you deserve,” he said. “Now I’m an asshole, too.”

  “Wow, thanks.”

  “You’re welcome,” he snapped.

  “I don’t know what happened,” she said. “I got so caught up. And then Janis said . . .”

  “You know she hates me. Why would you listen to her?”

  “I don’t know,” she blurted out, hiding her face in her hands.

  “And even if you were right, do you think I’d cheat on you? It’s like you forgot who I was or something.”

  “I thought we were figuring us out later?”

  “Maybe there’s no hope.”

  “For us?”

  “For anyone,” he said. “I’m betting Sol’s not any better off than he was a week ago, and I could tell just by his voice that he was barely hanging on.”

  “Shit,” she said quietly. “I am an asshole. I’m a total asshole.”

  “You’re not a total asshole.”

  “I accused you of cheating and I thought you were gay.”

  “Only one of those makes you an asshole,” he said. “I should’ve realized you felt left out. Honestly, I just didn’t think you cared that much.”

  “Why wouldn’t I care?”

  “Because, like I said before, all you think about is leaving.”

  “In a year.”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t want to spend the next year with someone who’s just going to leave and forget about me.”

  “I want you to come with me,” she said. “Have you even looked at any schools yet?”

  “No,” he said. “I like it here. I don’t even know if I want to go to college anywhere.”

  “Oh. Well, why all the water polo then?”

  “Because I like it,” he said, frustrated. “And I’m not worried about how every little thing I do is going to get me out of here. That’s your thing, not mine.”

  She just looked at him for a second, wishing he’d take it back and say he’d been secretly applying to colleges in Maryland or DC. But instead, he looked away from her as soon as their eyes met.

  “Did he tell you he loved you?” she asked.

  “Sure did.”

  “And?”

  “And it was weird, okay? It made me so sad. I bet this kind of shit happens all the time.”

  “Probably,” she said. “You’re so . . . I don’t know, happy around him. Like, not bored and complainy like you are around your other friends.”

  “Thanks,” he said. “Doesn’t make me gay.”

  “Of course it doesn’t.”

  “Look, I get it. It’s not crazy. It’s just frustrating. You know me. I didn’t suddenly start keeping secrets overnight. He’s my friend. He’s our friend. I was just being his friend back.”

  “I think you’re the only reason he ever went outside,” she said. “Like if he got better, then maybe you two could . . .”

  “How could you possibly know that?” he interrupted. “They were digging a damn hole in the backyard before we ever showed up. I didn’t do anything to help him.”

  “Yeah, well, that makes two of us.”

  A quiet fell over the room after she’d said it—that kind where you’re sure the other person is going to say something you don’t want to hear.

  “We can’t just show up over there, can we? And hope he doesn’t freak out?” Clark asked.

  “No,” she said. “At least I can’t.”

  “I’m not going without you.”

  “I’m so confused. Are we still together?”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “You’re the one who wants to be a shrink. You telling me all this doesn’t seem a little like self-sabotage?”

  “You’ve spent too much time around me.”

  “I listen. Even when you think I’m not.”

  “I love you, you know?”

  “Lisa,” he said, closing his eyes for a second and taking a deep breath. She’d never seen him so frustrated. “Two weeks ago you were so convinced I was gay that you told the only person in the world you shouldn’t have. I’m not sure this is a healthy relationship anymore.”

  “It was, though,” she defended.

  “You remember when we first met?”

  “Of course. In biology.”

  “Physics,” he corrected. “I know, because I switched my schedule to be in there with you.”

  “Huh?”

  “Only good thing Janis Plutko ever did.”

  “I had no idea.”

  “You guys were always together so I finally worked up the nerve to ask her for your number in homeroom. She gave me your schedule instead.”

  “Oh.”

  “I sort of fell in love with you during your speech freshman year.”

  “That was my third best speech to date,” she said.

  “You talked about social change and I thought that was so funny. You were running unopposed for a freshman senator spot on the student council,” he said. “And you took it so seriously.”

  “Maybe that should’ve been your warning.”

  “Maybe,” he said. “But it was good, yeah?”

  Lisa knew a lot of things about Clark that no one else knew. She knew he called his grandfather every Sunday, like clockwork. And that he’d never had a sip of alcohol, despite, or maybe because of having three older brothers. And she knew that as frustrated as he got with his mom, he never talked back to her or came home even a minute after curfew. Clark Robbins was honest and true, like some weird reincarnation of Abraham Lincoln. And without a little help, he’d let this breakup drag on forever just to spare her feelings.

  “It was great,” she said. “Look, I realize my track record as a friend hasn’t been so hot lately, but I think Solomon needs us. Both.”

  “Since when does he hit himself?”

  “Maybe always,” she said. “I’d know that if I actually tried to help him like I set out to do.”

  “That’s not your job.”

  “No, it’s not,” she agreed. “So . . . umm . . .”

  “I don’t want to decide right now,” he said. “About breaking up.”

  “Okay.”

  “You want to see what I’ve been working on instead?”

  “Sure. Just don’t make me go back home yet.”

  She followed Clark out to the apartment parking lot and couldn’t believe it when they rounded a corner to see his old green van sitting right there as ugly as ever.

  “You got your van back.”

  “I only saw his mom and dad when I went to get it, though. They said he wasn’t feeling well. Then he called me later that night and hung up before I could even apologize.”

  “He’s probably just embarrassed,” Lisa said.

  “Of course he is. I broke his fucking heart.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say fuck before.”

  “I curse when I’m sad.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you sad, either.”

  “It’s all I can think about,” he said, leaning against the van. “Solomon stuck in that house forever with no one to talk to. We did that to him. We proved him right. And now we need to figure out how to fix it or I’ll never sleep again.”

  “Clark, what Sol has is a very complicated disorder that is unpredictable by its very nature.”

  “You’re not a doctor yet, Lisa. And we’ve all got Wikipedia.”

  “Fair enough,” she said. “But nothing we can do is going to cure him. That’s what I’m saying. He needs years of therapy. Maybe decades. Staying inside is one thing, beating the shit out of yourself is another.”

  “Would you still have done it? If you knew how bad he was?”

  “Probably,” she said. “But clearly my decision-making skills are questionable.”
/>   “At least you’re honest,” he said. “You ready to see?”

  Clark walked around to the back of the van and opened the heavy double doors. The entire cab had been painted solid black—the floor, the ceiling, and both walls. As she looked inside, Clark just stood there with a proud expression on his face.

  “I can’t believe this,” she said.

  “We totally gutted it. Took both rows of seats out. All the foam inside them was rotting, which is maybe why it smelled like death in there.”

  “God, I’m just glad it wasn’t an animal or something.”

  “You and me both. Then we took up that gross carpet and ripped out the ceiling fabric.”

  “I sure will miss that dick drawing your brother left with the Sharpie,” Lisa said.

  “Yeah . . . Sol’s dad thought that was pretty funny. He asked me if I wanted to keep it. Anyway, we also replaced the battery and all the belts. It’s running a little better than before, but I think it still needs a lot of work.”

  “So, what’s with the black paint?”

  “I did that yesterday,” he said, showing her his spray-paint-stained hands. “I could’ve died from the fumes, but I had an idea and just decided to go for it. I need your help on the last part, though.”

  About an hour later, Lisa was staring into the back of the van, shaking her head. And Clark did the same thing, standing right beside her. She thought, just for a second, that maybe he’d reach over and squeeze her hand like he used to—this little thing that would silently take them back to what they were.

  “I’m not sure this’ll ever work,” she said, still staring.

  “Maybe it doesn’t have to,” he said. “Gestures, you know.”

  Lisa stayed for a while after that, eating takeout with Clark and watching some home renovation show that his sister put on. It was like old times, really, except for the wary looks she kept getting from Drew. Lisa knew she was pretty protective of her older brother, but this seemed more personal, like maybe Drew was upset that Lisa hadn’t been coming around as often as she used to. So, when Clark left the room to take a phone call, Lisa didn’t wait too long before quietly getting up to follow him.

  “You there, buddy?” Clark said into the phone when she walked into his bedroom.

  “What happened?” she whispered.

  “I heard his dad’s voice and then he hung up.”

  Clark took the phone away from his ear, looked at the screen, and then looked up at Lisa.

  “Do you think everything’s okay?” she asked.

  Then the phone rang and they both saw Solomon’s name on the screen. But as soon as he put it to his ear, Clark had to hold it away because Solomon was speaking so loudly on the other end.

  “I need you to come over. Can you come over? I need you to come over right now,” Solomon said frantically.

  “Lisa’s with me, okay?”

  “Whatever. Just come over, please!” he said before hanging up.

  “We’ll take the van,” Clark said, rushing out and down the hallway.

  “It barely runs.”

  “It runs,” he said, turning back to face her.

  When they got there, all the lights were on and they could see Solomon standing in the front window. Once out of the car, Lisa hurried to the door and without even thinking about it, swung it right open to face him. He was ghost white, but she couldn’t have ignored the red hand marks on the right side of his face if she tried. Not knowing what else to do, she stood there waiting for him to say something, to explain what was going on. But he wouldn’t talk, not even when Clark walked up behind her and asked if he was okay. Instead, he took a couple of steps forward and collapsed into Lisa’s arms, burying his face in her shoulder.

  TWENTY-NINE

  SOLOMON REED

  “Sol?” Lisa said to him.

  He let her go and stood up, trying to calm down and gather his thoughts so he’d actually make sense. Clark took charge and put his arm around Solomon’s shoulders, leading him over to the couch to sit down.

  “My grandma,” he said finally, his voice cracking.

  “Oh my God,” Lisa said. “Is she okay?”

  “I don’t know,” he managed, closing his eyes tightly. “My dad ran in, said she was in a car wreck, and then ran back out. Then my mom called and said she was at Mountain View Medical.”

  “What do we need to do?” Clark asked.

  “I promised her,” Solomon said frantically. “I promised her I’d leave the house before she died.”

  “Sol, you don’t . . .” Lisa began.

  “I have to go,” he said, standing up. “I have to go, right? What if she’s dying? What if this is my only chance?”

  He paced around the room, looking at both of them, his panic still too strong to let him deal with the other feelings that seeing them had brought on. But they were there. He knew that much, and they didn’t have to be.

  “I can’t do it,” Solomon said. “I promised her and I can’t do it. There’s no way. I haven’t even been in the backyard since you guys left.”

  “Holy shit,” Clark said suddenly, looking toward Lisa. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  “Probably not.”

  “The van,” he said, his eyes growing bigger.

  “The van?” Solomon asked.

  “Oh my God, the van,” Lisa said.

  “WHAT ABOUT THE VAN?” Solomon shouted, flinging his arms into the air.

  “WE PUT A HOLODECK IN IT!” Lisa yelled back, scaring the shit out of both of them.

  “You did?” Solomon asked.

  “Yeah,” Clark said. “Like, today. I was going to surprise you.”

  “Will it work?” Solomon asked, turning toward Lisa.

  “I don’t know,” she said.

  “Aren’t you going to be a shrink or something?” Solomon asked. “Say it’ll work.”

  “It’ll work.”

  Solomon and Lisa waited in the laundry room while Clark backed the van into the garage. A few seconds later, the clunky metal back doors opened and, from where they were standing, it was suddenly hard to tell where the interior of the van ended and the garage began. They’d painted it solid black and used yellow tape to block it off into big squares. There was even a black curtain or something separating the front of the van from the back so when Solomon looked in, all he could see was the same pattern that was surrounding him in the garage.

  “I think it looks pretty good,” Clark said.

  “You did all this for me?”

  “Or maybe I just wanted one of my own,” Clark said with grin.

  “You helped him?” he asked Lisa.

  “Yeah. How’s it look?”

  “Perfect,” he said.

  He climbed inside, ducking his head down until he was in the center and then taking a seat. He looked all around and then over to where they stood, watching him from just outside.

  “How’re you feeling?” Clark asked him.

  “My heart’s racing,” he said. “And it smells like paint back here.”

  “Sorry.”

  “We need to hurry up,” Solomon said. “I can do this, right?”

  “Want me to ride with you?” Lisa asked.

  He nodded his head and patted the cold, black floor beside him. He could forget who she was today. He could forget what she’d done just long enough to get through this. It was something he had to do. He needed her. He was better the second she showed up at his front door and if there was anyone who could help him do this, it was her.

  So she climbed in and they sat side by side, facing the back doors. When Clark closed them, all they could see were yellow boxes filled with solid black nothingness. Lisa let one hand rest in between them and as soon as Clark turned the ignition, Solomon’s hand fell down onto hers.

  “It’s okay
,” she said calmly. “We’re going to just breathe and pretend we’re back home.”

  “And what about when we get there?”

  “You guys ready?” Clark shouted from the front seat.

  “One second,” Lisa answered. “Look, maybe adrenaline will just kick in and you’ll be fine. You’ve heard those stories, right? About the women who lift cars off their kids and stuff? Maybe it’ll be like that.”

  “It won’t be,” he said.

  “Well, let’s just get there and see,” she said. “We’re ready!”

  At first, when he felt the van kick into gear, Solomon closed his eyes. It’d been so long since he’d been in a vehicle, feeling it move under and around him. The driveway was slanted, so he could tell when Clark had pulled out and onto the street. That’s when he opened his eyes and gripped Lisa’s hand a little tighter, staring ahead at the familiar pattern, but knowing full well where he was—out in the world like the rest of them.

  “Oh no,” he said over the sound of his own heavy breathing. “What am I doing? What am I doing?”

  “Let’s count to ten, Sol,” Lisa said.

  “No!” he shouted. “Sorry, I mean . . . I can’t . . . maybe we should turn around.”

  “Clark, slow down.” Lisa scooted over in front of Solomon to look him straight in the face, her nose inches from his, the whites of her eyes nearly glowing in the darkness. “Listen to me,” she whispered. “You can do this. You already are doing this. Take my other hand.”

  He took her hand and now they were sitting there, on the hard floor of the loud, clunky van, holding hands like they were about to have a séance or something and with every bump, Solomon felt his body tense up. This was no séance. It was torture. And it was getting harder for him to breathe, like he’d been leashed to his house and the collar was choking him the farther away he got.

  “Sol,” Lisa said calmly. “We’re here. I’m here. You’re here. We’re here and we’re moving. Nothing bad will happen. Clark’s a good driver. Aren’t you, Clark?”

  “A great driver!” he shouted back.

  “And we’re going to get you to your grandma, okay? But you have to do me a favor.”

  “What?” he said between loud breaths.

  “You have to count with me. Let’s go. One . . .”