Living with Jackie Chan

by Jo Knowles

  When I get close to the apartment, I see Stella standing outside talking to Britt. He’s leaning against his freshly buffed BMW. It’s the sporty kind my dad calls a penis extender. Of course. Perfect boyfriend would have a perfect car. I comfort myself by thinking about my dad’s joke.

  I stop walking and sit on the nearest stoop to wait for them to leave before Britt sees me. I hear Stella say something, but I can’t make out the words. Britt leans toward her and yells in her face.

  She cowers and steps back.

  What the hell? I get up and start walking toward them. Even from here, I can see that Britt’s hands are in fists.

  “I wasn’t doing anything!” Stella says.

  “Then why didn’t you return my texts!”

  “I was busy! That’s all!”

  He grabs her arm.

  “Hey!” I yell, coming up to them. “Get off her.”

  He turns to me. “Do I know you?”

  Stella looks at me like she wants to kill me. What did I do?

  “Let go of her. Now.”

  Britt lets go, then steps closer to me.

  “You’re the guy from her karate practices, aren’t you?”

  “Yeah.”

  He studies my face. “And you’re the freak who was spying on us the other day.”

  Great.

  “What?” Stella says, looking at me.

  “I wasn’t spying,” I say. “I just —” I don’t know what to say. Whatever comes out of my mouth will sound completely lame.

  “Stay away from us,” Britt says, like I really am some kind of stalker.

  Stella is looking at me as if for the first time. And not in a curious way. More like a totally creeped-out kind of way.

  “Stella has a boyfriend. Got it?”

  “I know that. We’re just friends. Relax.”

  “No one is just friends. Unless you’re a fag.”

  “Are you kidding me?” This does not sound like the same Britt I’ve overheard laughing with his friends at school. This guy is the asshole I secretly hoped he’d be. But I never wanted him to hurt Stella. I just wanted her to dump him. I guess that makes me just as bad.

  I glance at Stella again, because I honestly can’t believe she’d let him get away with saying this crap. But instead, she crosses her arms at her chest and glares at me like this is all my fault.

  “Just stay away from her from now on,” Britt says.

  “I told you. We’re just friends.”

  “No. You’re not friends. You don’t talk to her.”

  “What the hell?” I ask Stella.

  “Go away, Josh,” she says.

  “Wait. You’re really going to let him tell you who you can hang out with?”

  She doesn’t answer.

  Britt keeps glaring at me. His jaw clenches and unclenches.

  “So this is who you were with when I tried to call,” Britt says. “The stalker. Unbelievable.”

  “I was helping our karate instructor,” she says.

  “Right.”

  “We were helping him pick out an engagement ring for his girlfriend.”

  “What did you need him for?” he asks, jerking his elbow toward me.

  “He’s Larry’s nephew,” she says.

  I hate how her voice sounds. All pleading in some “Please forgive me” way. And like I am just some throwaway loser who happened to be there, too.

  “Just go home,” Stella says to me. “Please.”

  Britt grabs her arm again. “C’mon. We’re leaving.” He starts to pull her toward the car. For a brief moment, Stella looks down at his hand, like she isn’t sure what to make of it holding her that way. She pulls away, but Britt grabs her back.

  “Britt, cut it out,” she says.

  “We’re getting out of here. Now.” He pulls harder, and she almost falls.

  I feel rage build in my chest. Every cell in my body is saying to beat the crap out of this guy. When Stella tries to break free again and he seems to squeeze harder, I go for it.

  All the karate moves I’ve learned and practiced for the past seven months go out the window, and I’m just grabbing the guy, pulling him away from Stella. He gets free, and before I know it’s coming, he punches me in the face. For a few seconds, I can’t see, the pain is so blinding. Then I punch back. I manage to block a few of his punches and then nail him in the stomach. He bends over and coughs, then straightens again. He looks like a bull about to charge. Stella is screaming at both of us. Then Larry appears out of nowhere, pulling Britt backward.

  “What the hell is going on here?” Larry yells, holding Britt’s arms behind him. With his arms held away, exposing his chest and stomach, I have the supreme desire to kick him in the gut and put us all out of his misery. But Stella walks over to me and slaps me across my already bruised face. It hurts like hell.

  “You asshole!” she says. She’s crying.

  “Me?” I say, trying to ignore the searing pain.

  “Yes. You!” She strides over to Britt and Larry. “Let him go,” she says to Larry. He does.

  Britt shakes out his arms as if he just broke free. Right.

  Stella walks around to the passenger side of his car and gets in.

  “You better hope I never see you around her again,” Britt says to me. “Freak.”

  I have nothing to say to that.

  Larry runs over to Stella’s side of the car. “Maybe you should stay here, honey,” he says. “Please.” But she just faces straight ahead, her arms crossed at her chest. Britt gets in the car and peels out of the parking space, down the street.

  “Jesus, Sammy,” Larry says to me. “You’re bleeding.”

  I feel my face. It’s sticky.

  “Come on. Arielle’s on her way over. We decided to eat in. Let’s get you cleaned up before she has a heart attack seeing you like that.”

  “What about Stella?” I ask.

  “We did what we could for now.”

  “That’s it?”

  “What do you want me to do? We’ll talk when she gets back.”

  “But he was hurting her,” I say.

  He looks at me doubtfully.

  “What?”

  He puts his hand on my arm, and I realize I’m shaking all over. “She’ll be OK,” he says. “She’s smart. She knows how to take care of herself.”

  Before we go inside, I look down the street one more time, hoping they’ll come back and Stella will get out of the car and slam the door and come running over to me and . . . Right. Never gonna happen.

  “C’mon,” Larry says, and drags me inside to patch me up at the kitchen table.

  “You might want to avoid mirrors for a while,” he says as he presses an alcohol-soaked cotton ball against my open cuts.

  I wince every time. “Do I really look that bad?”

  “I may change your name to Rocky.”

  I roll my eyes, but even that hurts.

  “Go lie down. I’ll make dinner.”

  I go to my room and lean back on my bed with an ice pack pressed to my cheek. I look over at Jackie Chan’s torn face and wish I could have done that to the Shit.

  But instead, I feel like I just beat the shit out of myself.

  Stella doesn’t show up at our next practice. We start ten minutes late, waiting. Some of the little kids who fell in love with her during camp start to whine about Stella not being here. I tell them she’ll come. But the more time goes by, the more it feels like a lie. All I can think is that she chose Britt over karate. Over me.

  Jacob, the old guy, gives me a disapproving gaze. Some of the other students around my age keep stealing glances at me. I’m sure they’re all dying to know if I was in a fight and if I won.

  “What happened to your face?” this little kid, Clara, finally asks me. “Did you get in a fight?”

  I look to Larry for help on how to answer, but he ignores me and claps his hands to get everyone’s attention. He tells us it’s time to spar and to get our gear on. Clara motions with her pointer fi
nger for me to bend my head closer to hers. She smells like peanut butter. She reaches up and touches my bruised face with her pointer finger. “That hurts,” she tells me.

  “Kind of,” I say.

  She shrugs and walks off to get her sparring gear on.

  OK.

  Halfway through class, Stella walks in. She goes over to Larry, and they talk in the corner so no one can hear. When she finally takes her place next to me, she doesn’t say a word. A few of the little kids run over to hug her before Larry yells at everyone to line up again. He makes his way through the group, asking each of us to demonstrate the latest moves we’ve learned.

  “Remember,” he says. “One of the precepts in karate is to know yourself before you try to know others.” He looks over at me as if to make sure I know that little gem of advice was for me. Whatever.

  The whole time, Stella avoids looking at me. As soon as class is over, she bolts for the door instead of waiting for Larry and me to walk home together like always.

  When Larry and I step outside, I search down the street for her, but she’s gone.

  “She’ll come around,” Larry says. “She just needs some space.”

  “Who?” I ask.

  He shakes his head, like I’m pathetic. “Come on, let’s go home.”

  As we start walking, Larry puts his arm across my back and squeezes my shoulder.

  “I don’t get why she’d go out with a guy like that,” I say. “She could be with anyone.”

  “Judging from his car, I’d say that dude has everything Stella doesn’t have.”

  “Stella’s not that shallow.”

  “I didn’t say she was shallow.”

  “You said she’s into that guy because of his car.”

  “I just meant, maybe his financial situation is a bit more stable than hers, that’s all. Maybe the idea of not having to worry about money for the first time in her life is appealing.”

  “That can’t be it,” I say. I think of how much Stella resents her mom going out with all those guys she thinks will make her life so much better. I know Stella’s not like that. She’s too smart for that. So what is the Britt appeal? It’s not just Stella who seems crazy about him. Everyone at school seems to love him, too. Maybe they just haven’t seen the side of him I have. But Stella has. So . . . I don’t get it.

  Larry turns and looks at me in this sad way. Like, why would girls go out with any of us losers?

  That’s when I have an image of myself that day last year. At the party that changed everything. I see myself taking Ellie’s hand. Pulling her toward me. Opening the door to my dad’s van . . .

  I start walking again. Fast.

  “Hey!” Larry yells, trying to keep up. “What did I say?”

  I wave my hand at him so he’ll leave me alone and keep walking. But he runs up to me and puts his hand on my shoulder to stop me. “What is it?” he asks.

  “Forget it,” I say, pushing his hand away.

  But he won’t leave it. “You can tell me, Josh.”

  “There’s nothing to tell.” I turn and start walking away again.

  “We both know that’s not true,” he calls after me.

  I’m the loser. I’m no better than Britt. I’m probably fifty times worse.

  I keep walking, trying to break away from Larry. But he’s a way better speed walker than me, and he’s by my side, taking my arm again, forcing me to slow down.

  “Look. We haven’t talked all year about why you’re really here. That’s my fault. I didn’t want to push you. But I think it’s time, Josh.”

  Me:

  He sighs impatiently. “I know Stella’s situation is upsetting you,” he says. “But there’s more going on here, and we both know it. Maybe, you know, we should start talking about the elephant in the room.”

  “What elephant?”

  “You have to say it, not me.”

  “I don’t have to say anything.”

  We reach our building and go inside. I go to my room, hoping to escape the whole situation. But Larry follows me.

  I sit on my bed and start to check my phone while Larry stands in my doorway.

  “Josh,” he says. “Talk to me.”

  I toss my phone on the bed. “What do you want me to say?” I sound like an ungrateful jerk and hate myself for it.

  “Whatever you want. But I think it’s time you tell me what happened last year.”

  “Obviously you know already. Haven’t we been through this?”

  He frowns and walks over to sit at the foot of the bed. “I know you don’t want to talk about it. I get that. But . . .”

  “You’re right. I don’t.”

  “Why not?”

  I glance up at Jackie Chan’s ripped face. “Why do you think?”

  “Jesus, Josh. Would you cut the bullshit?”

  I think that’s the first time I’ve heard Larry swear.

  “Jesus, Larry, what do you want me to say?”

  “The truth! Just say it!”

  “How is that supposed to help? You already know the truth!”

  Larry moves closer to me. If he tries to touch me right now, I will punch him in the face. I don’t care if he tries to block me. I will punch him.

  “I care about you, Josh! I love you! And I don’t want to see you hurting so bad. You’re carrying this huge weight on your back, and I can see how much it’s hurting you. But you won’t let anyone help you. You can’t bear it forever. You have to talk about it!”

  “Why?”

  “To get it out of you, that’s why. You have this . . . this thing festering inside you. I think if you talked about it, if you just got it out —”

  “Don’t you get it, Larry? This isn’t something to get out of my system. What I did? What happened? It is never going to go away.”

  “Then you have to claim it, Josh. You have to take ownership of whatever happened and learn how to live with it. And you start by saying —”

  “I got a girl pregnant!” I scream in his face. “All right? Are you happy now? I hope so, because I don’t feel any better.”

  Larry nods. “I already know that. And I know how awful it must have been. But there’s something else, isn’t there?”

  “What do you mean, something else?”

  “I think there’s more.”

  “More what?”

  “More to the story. I’m right, aren’t I?”

  I swear I’m going to punch him. I’m going to smash that optimistic, I-never-cry-or-do-anything-bad-because-I’m-such-a-perfect-true-karate-man face in.

  “Aren’t I,” he says again. It’s not really a question.

  My hands are in fists. Jackie Chan’s ripped-up smile taunts me. I’m right, aren’t I? I hear him say in his accent. I swear I am going to rip that poster to shreds.

  “Josh —”

  “What do you want, a freaking medal? So what if you’re right?”

  He ignores my outburst. “Tell me what happened.”

  “You’re so smart — don’t you know?”

  “You got a girl pregnant,” he starts. “And what else?”

  My hands are in fists.

  “And she had the baby! You know that! She had the baby and she gave him up for adoption. Can we move on now?”

  “I already know that, too. Keep going.”

  “God, Larry. What do you want me to say? I’m a father. Do you know what that’s like? I don’t even know who my kid is. I don’t know where he is. I don’t know who his parents are. Somewhere out there, my kid is being raised by strangers. I’ll never meet him. I’ll never know what he looks like or who he’ll become. I don’t even know if he’s happy! His parents could be total assholes! But I don’t know. I will never know!”

  I press my fists to my temples and feel myself start to rock. When I touch my face, it’s wet. I know I’m crying like a baby, but I can’t help it.

  Larry moves closer to me. “Let it out,” he says. “Just let it all out.”

  “I can’t!” I yell. I
shake my head. I choke, I’m crying so hard. I stand up and start punching Jackie. I tear the poster down and rip it to pieces. Larry doesn’t move. I punch the wall again. Over and over until my knuckles are bleeding, and then I just fall on the floor and curl up in a ball.

  “Josh,” he says. “Josh, it’s OK.”

  But I don’t listen. It’s not OK. Nothing is OK. I can’t let it out, because “it” is a part of me. Something I can never forget. Never change. Never take back.

  When I finally stop shaking, Larry moves closer to me.

  “What else?” he asks.

  I shake my head.

  “You’ve never told me about the mom.”

  I keep shaking my head. “There’s nothing to say about her. It was a one-time thing.”

  He waits a while, then tries again. “Tell me about her anyway. Tell me what happened that makes you hate yourself so much.”

  I sit up and lean against the bed and close my eyes.

  And I see her.

  I see me. And I see her.

  I see me reaching for her hand.

  I see her telling me she’s not sure.

  I say, Come on, it’s nice outside.

  She follows me into the dark —

  I open my eyes. Larry is watching me intently. “I can’t do this,” I say.

  He’s quiet for a long time, as if he knows if he waits long enough, I’ll give in. Like he’s a goddamn shrink.

  “Tell me about her,” he finally says in this quiet, obnoxious voice. “Tell me what happened.”

  “I already told you!” I scream at him.

  But he keeps sitting there calmly. “You only told me about the baby. You didn’t tell me about ‘the one-time thing.’”

  I see me opening the door to the van.

  She smiles at me.

  I tell her how pretty she is.

  We kiss.

  I remember her mouth and how soft her lips were.

  How she pressed her body against me.

  How smooth her skin was as I slipped my hand under her shirt.

  I told her she was beautiful.

  She let me do whatever I wanted.

  She didn’t say a word.

  She didn’t move.

  It was just like my friends said it would be.

  She didn’t seem to care.

  No.

  Maybe she cared.