Anything Could Happen

by Will Walton

  “So we went looking for the outlet. I saw a few squirrel along the way, but I didn’t shoot them since I knew Dennis didn’t like to watch that. We walked for a while, following this big long trench all the way across our land. Dennis was right—it had filled up from the rain, and there was water rushing through it. And I hoped so badly we would get to some kind of deposit somewhere so Dennis could see a real waterfall. We walked and walked. We crawled under some barbed wire, realized we weren’t even on Daddy’s land anymore, and kept walking. Finally, Dennis turned to me and said, ‘You hear that, Rich?’ I listened, and sure enough, I heard it. Sound of water splashing. Then Dennis took off! The ground started to slope all suddenly, and I reckon Dennis must have tripped. He was running full steam ahead through all kinds of prickly brush, and when I caught up to him, he was cut up on his hands and his face.

  “But he had found it. There it was. Right in front of us, a real live waterfall. Not an especially big thing, of course, but it was there. And we stood looking at that thing, feeling water splash up from the bottom of the trench. It couldn’t have meant more to two people in the world than it meant to me and Dennis right then, not even two men thirstin’ in the desert, I swear.”

  Granddad folds his hands. Grandma reaches over and curls her own hand around his. I remember Uncle Dennis’s journal, still stowed away in my overnight bag upstairs. I have to return it, I think.

  That night, we wreck the gingerbread houses and munch on them until we can’t munch anymore. Joe has some frosting on his top lip, and I don’t tell him about it. But I laugh every time I look at him.

  He doesn’t notice until later, when we’re brushing our teeth.

  “Tretch, you doofus, why didn’t you tell me?” He nudges my shoulder with his elbow, squirting Colgate Total Whitening onto his toothbrush.

  Then the phone rings.

  I look at Joe. “What time is it?”

  Joe shrugs. “Maybe ten? I don’t know.”

  “Kind of late,” I say. I spit toothpaste into the sink and rinse it from my mouth.

  “Tretch!” Mom calls up the stairs. “Phone’s for you!”

  Joe raises his eyebrows at me. My cheeks burn, and my heart starts to pound. I don’t want to, really shouldn’t, get my hopes up.

  But who else could it be?

  I jump down the stairs, looking probably a little too happy. Mom’s at the foot. “It’s Matt. He’s calling from New York and wants to wish you a merry Christmas.” She smiles. “You’ll have to talk in the kitchen. I couldn’t find the cordless.”

  My chest tightens, and I wonder if I might just snap from all this excitement and all this trying-to-remain-cool simultaneously.

  It’s only a friend calling, I remind myself.

  He’s only a friend.

  Doing a thing friends do.

  I bound into the kitchen. The phone rests on the floor at the end of its long, curly cord. I pick it up and speak, a little loudly at first.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Tretch!”

  The sound of his voice is enough to erase any calm I may have collected. I can’t hold back. Everything bursts out of me.

  “Matt! What’s up? I miss you! Merry Christmas!”

  Matt chuckles, and I think I can hear traffic in the background. Big-city traffic. New York traffic.

  “Not too much, Tretch. We, uh, just went to look at the tree in Rockefeller Center.”

  There’s a shuffle then, a kind of fuzzy movement sound.

  “Matt?” I say. “Can you hear me?”

  “I—” he says. And then there’s a fade.

  “Ugh!” I wrap the phone cord around my fingers. I wait. More shuffles, then finally—

  “Okay! Can you hear me now?”

  “Yes!” I shout. “Yes! I can hear you!”

  “Okay, good, we’re in the cab now.”

  “Oh, okay, cool.” A cab. “How’s the tree? Is it as big as it looks on TV?”

  “Oh, Tretch, it’s awesome. You would totally flip out over it.”

  “Seriously?” I realize I’m nodding my head furiously, then stop. But maybe Matt’s nodding, too.

  “Oh yeah, it’s superb!”

  “Awesome.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well …” I realize the phone cord is cutting off circulation to my fingers. “How’s the city life?”

  “Uh-mazing.”

  I look out the kitchen window. All dark and quiet on the Farm Farm front. No traffic. No people. And what life there is moves at the pace of frozen molasses.

  “I bet,” I say.

  “Yeah.” Matt gives a quiet laugh. “Funny I still have your grandparents’ number from last summer.”

  That makes me smile. “Yeah, you called just about every night, I think. I’m surprised you don’t have it memorized by now.”

  I’m kidding, and he knows. He laughs for a few seconds, and all the while, my heart is fluttering in my chest. All my breaths come hard. It feels like it’s been so long, when really it’s been less than a week.

  Granted, I have filled a healthy portion of that time thinking about him.

  And I guess he’s been thinking about me, too. Maybe not as much. But at least a little.

  “Well, Tretch,” he says, “I’ve got some news.”

  “Oh yeah?” I say. “What’s up?”

  “Guess what my Christmas present was!”

  “I thought it was tickets to Hedwig and the Angry Inch?”

  “No, there’s more. Much more.”

  “What, Matt? What?”

  “We’re moving back!”

  All of a sudden, my knuckles feel prickly. I look down and notice the cord again, wrapped too tightly. Painfully.

  “What?”

  “To New York! Dad, Pop, and me! We’re moving back!”

  “W-wh—?” I can’t get it out. I don’t know what to say. “Wh-what, Matt? Say it again.”

  “Oh, sorry, Tretch, am I losing you again? The service is, like, super spotty.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” I say. “Could you just—?”

  I know I need to clear my throat, or close my eyes, or something. The tears are coming on fast. But what I feel like I need above all else, what I want anyway, is silence.

  “Tretch?”

  I can’t speak yet.

  “Tretch?”

  I swallow.

  “Tretch, did I lose you again?”

  No, Matt. I lost you.

  I clear my throat. “No, no. That’s, uh—that’s big news, Matt!” I clear my throat again. “That’s exciting, really. That’s really …” I trail off.

  There’s only silence on the other end.

  “Matt, are you there?”

  Silence.

  “Matt?” It comes up with a choke. Oh no. Please, no.

  “Tretch?”

  “Yeah! Hey!”

  “Sorry again for this service.”

  “No, it’s okay.” I breathe. “It’s okay, Matt—”

  “Oh, gosh. Tretch, I’m losing you again. This is so—”

  Again, there’s silence.

  I stand waiting for him to get through it, though. I stand holding the phone for a long time, long after I start to realize he’s hung up. Given up.

  “Lost him,” I say. “Lost him.”

  I let the raveled cord loosen. Then I release my hand, all red-knuckled and white-fingered. I try to place the phone back in its cradle, but it doesn’t stick and falls off again, hitting me in the shoulder and clanging against the hard kitchen floor.

  “Tretch?” Mom calls from the living room. “Everything all right?”

  “Everything’s all right,” I say. “Just gonna hit the sack, I think.”

  “Okay,” she says. “All good on Matt’s end?”

  “Yeah, he’s loving New York,” I tell her. “As usual.”

  That’s all I can admit to her, or anyone, right now.

  It’s late in the night. No longer Christmas. Joe’s asleep on the bed above me, but I can’
t sleep. Finally, I realize there’s no point in trying.

  I need air.

  I need space.

  I need a place where I can scream or cry without anyone hearing, without anyone asking questions.

  I sneak down the stairs, not wanting to wake anyone, and finally I push out the back door. Before I notice much of anything else, I’m traipsing through the woods with my fleece jacket pulled tight around my stomach. The zipper on it is broken, so I hold it closed. The wind scrapes against my face, as I dip under low branches and hop over icy patches along the dirt path, but I don’t mind it; it feels like something I deserve. I keep moving, even when my jeans get snagged on some briars. I keep walking until they pull free and I feel the stabs they’ve left. They don’t hurt, though, not that bad.

  Everything feels different in the dark.

  I can’t feel the woods anymore. They’re behind me. The night sky is opening up with brilliant stars and a brilliant moon, a few dusty clouds hanging between them. I hug the jacket tighter to me and walk quickly, stretching my legs out, the ground steepening slowly as I go. When at last it flattens out, I look out across the meadow.

  Matt, you have to see this.

  I can see cows off in the distance, crouched motionlessly in sleep. I can see the barn, half empty of hay by this time of year. Then, as I tip my face forward, following the ground’s downward slope, I see what I’ve come for. It’s winking its moonlight reflection at me. I brace against gravity, walking the steep slope that leads me to it. I stand on its frosty bank, looking over the completely iced surface.

  Safe, I think. Surely safe.

  I slide one foot out onto the slick surface. I am scared to leave the bank entirely. What was it Uncle Dennis said again? I try to remember exactly. Lie down on the ice and look up at the stars. Something like that. And then you’ll know everything will be okay.

  I want to know this.

  I want to know this for sure.

  I set my butt down on the ice and start to push off with my hands, the ice sticking to my palms so that I have to peel them away.

  Should’ve worn gloves, I think. Then suddenly I feel the first give. The ice shudders beneath me, and slush rises up around my fingers. I feel a shivery wetness on the butt of my jeans. I realize there is nothing I can do.

  The ice is giving way.

  I budge, just one slight push with my heels back toward the bank. It’s enough. The ice beneath me breaks in, tips me forward, and I slide feetfirst into the water as if this has all been planned. Dennis’s words. Matt’s words. My actions. I’m midbreath when water slams into my face. I swallow a portion, rancid-tasting and freezing in my throat. Deeper than I thought it would be.

  There’s a pounding in my chest. That’s your heart, I think, all broken up but beating anyways. It’s trying to save you. Feel it go, Tretch. Feel your heart, working harder than ever. It is working to save me, and everything else is working to save it. I can feel the blood leaving my hands and feet to rush toward it. All for protection. My body is going numb but I’m thinking, This is right, this is supposed to happen. Everything is working like it’s supposed to. But I’m still underneath. I’m still freezing. And I’m really going to die if I don’t push myself up.

  I give it a try, but no use. No strength. I’m all heavy.

  I gasp and my body fills with more water. I am fighting and I am losing. I look up, and there it is. Heaven lights up in the night sky. But in front of it, like an obstacle I have to face before I get there, is the statue of William Griggers, the Warmouth soldier, the one that usually stands in front of the courthouse. What’s it doing here? Only—wait a second—that’s not what I’m seeing at all. It’s the boy from Samsanuk, the one whose name I refused to read in the paper, the one who killed himself because it had all gotten too big for him, too heavy.

  Then the Samsanuk kid shape-shifts and becomes a grown man I recognize instantly. With droopy shoulders and a sad smile, scraggly hair growing from his chin, a big nose, dark hair.

  Uncle Dennis.

  I want to call out to him, HELP! But nothing comes.

  HELP, PLEASE! I’M DROWNING!

  Then the figure shifts again, and there’s a splash, and two arms wrap around me. I am pulled up and let out a breath that grates the insides of my throat like I’m spitting up cold rocks. I look up and see heaven as it closes up again. Just the night sky now. Brilliant stars, brilliant moon. Someone holds me. I realized I’m being carried. “Who?” I ask. But the figure won’t stop speaking. “Tretch,” it’s saying, “Tretch, Tretch, Tretch, Tretch …”

  “Who …” I try again.

  “Tretch, Tretch, Tretch …”

  “Who?”

  “Tretch, Tretch, Tretch …”

  Dad carries me into the dark house. He sets me down on the bathroom floor, where he helps me out of my wet clothes and wraps me in towels. Once I’m dried off and a little warmer, he turns on the bathwater and makes me get in the tub. His whole body is shaking.

  “Are you cold?” I ask.

  He looks at me, eyes tired. “No,” he says. “Tretch, why did you … What were you … Were you …” He shakes worse suddenly, one big shake rattling up his back and snapping between his shoulders. Even his neck quivers.

  “I—” I start. But what can I say? “I’ll show you.” I know I’ll have to tell him about Uncle Dennis’s journal, about stealing it and reading it. Once I hop out of the bath, body temperature back to normal, I tiptoe into my room and slide it out from inside my overnight bag. I don’t know how I find the exact entry, but I do. I find it instantly. I read it aloud to him.

  “Here’s what it says, Dad. It says, ‘I’ve been thinking about how, since it’s cold now and the pond is iced over, I’d like to go down through the woods on a clear night, sit on top of that ice and look up at the stars. I think about how perfect that would be. That would make everything feel okay, I think. Even if it was just right in that second, everything would feel all right.’ ”

  He’s silent for a while, then he reaches for the notebook. I let him have it.

  “Son,” he says, running his finger down the metal spine, “I think you need to go to bed.”

  “Dad, I’m fine,” I tell him. “I promise.”

  “I think you need to rest.”

  Tears well in my eyes. “Dad, I’m okay.”

  “Tretch.” He puts his face in his hand. “Please just—” He swallows. “Go get some rest.”

  I want to go before I see him cry. I am scared to see him cry. He doesn’t understand that I really will be okay. Sure, I did something a little crazy, but it was mostly by accident.

  “I’m sorry, Dad. It was stupid.”

  “Tretch.”

  I am tired of hearing my name.

  “Dad, I wasn’t trying to—” I don’t know how to finish the sentence. I wasn’t trying to kill myself? But I wasn’t. He waves his arm to shush me.

  “Go,” he says, still looking down. He points toward the stairs.

  I look behind me, then back at him. I don’t want to leave him sitting there on the bathroom floor wondering, worried more than anything, now, about me. I turn and walk toward the stairs, feeling sore under my arms from where he lifted me. And sick to my stomach from what I’m feeling. Upstairs, I leave the door to Dad’s old room open, while I position myself on the pullout mattress in a way that will let me see the bathroom light go out. If it goes out, I will know Dad is going back to bed. If it goes out, I can be put at ease.

  But it stays on.

  As far as I know, it stays on for the rest of the night.

  When I get out of bed, after what feels like no sleep at all, I find Dad sitting on the living room couch. He’s next to Mom, sipping coffee, and I can tell right away that he hasn’t told her.

  I have to reckon that sometimes you just let things go.

  Dad isn’t going to tell Mom, and I’m not going to tell Joe. And what even happened, anyway? If love is a mild form of obsession, and obsession is just some form o
f crazy, then yes, maybe I acted a little crazy. But I never thought, never expected—I explained it to him, didn’t I? I just wanted to feel like it would all be okay.

  But does he understand?

  When I enter the room, Dad looks up. Even though he’s hiding it from Mom, I can tell he’s concerned.

  “Morning, Tretch,” he says.

  “Morning, Dad.”

  Mom is reading the paper. She flips a page and says good morning to me, too. Everything is normal. For now, everything is okay. Yes, Granddad is sick, Matt is leaving, I almost died, and Dad is probably wondering if I’m suicidal. But Mom is reading the paper, and Joe is still sleeping, and I imagine Grandma is in the kitchen about to pour herself some coffee. In a moment, Granddad comes in from his morning routine to announce that Mary the cow still hasn’t had her calf.

  “Don’t know when she’s gonna have that thing,” he tells us. “Sure thought it’d be by now—”

  I don’t want to leave. Because leaving will push my story forward. Leaving will put me one step closer to Matt’s last day in Warmouth. Leaving will put one more Farm Farm Christmas behind me. But what can you do to stop it?

  Around eleven o’clock, after Joe has woken and we’ve packed up the car, it’s time to say good-bye.

  “See you on New Year’s, my dear,” Grandma says, kissing me on the cheek.

  “See ya on New Year’s, Grandma,” I reply. Granddad stands off to the side, smiling. He reaches out his hand for a high five, and when I give it to him, he says, “There ya go!”

  I slide into the backseat next to Joe. Dad flashes a glance in the rearview. “Tretch, you need your CD player?” he asks. “I stuck it up here in the glove compartment.”

  “Oh,” I say. “No, sir. I’m fine.”

  “Katy, hand him his CD player.”

  Mom turns her head. “Tretch, do you want it?”