Falling Out of Place

by M. G. Higgins

“It’s not that bad. And there are perks.” She walks down the aisle, looking for spots that need stuff.

  “Perks? You mean like health insurance and vacation days?”

  “Yeah, but … not exactly.”

  She looks up and down the aisle, like she doesn’t want anyone to hear. Then she steps up next to me and says softly, “You’re cool. I can trust you, right? Or poke your eye out with a stick.”

  I nod.

  “Booze,” she whispers.

  “Booze?”

  She gives me a sly smile. Her earrings glisten in the store’s bright lights.

  I wait for an explanation, but it doesn’t come. She goes back to work. I think about it. What, are they stealing alcohol or something?

  Evan and Jo are pretty quiet at lunch. Evan takes out his flask and takes a long swig. “Hair of the dog,” he says after he swallows. He holds the bottle out for me. It’s not even noon, but I shrug and take it. I drink enough so I’ll get a good buzz. It takes the edge off work. I guess it takes the edge off everything.

  I glance at Jo. “So you’re lifting alcohol from the warehouse?”

  Evan coughs as he takes a bite of his sandwich. He glares at Jo.

  She shrugs. “It’s just Gabby. She won’t tell.”

  “But her mom works here,” Evan says.

  “That hasn’t stopped you from making passes at her.”

  He snorts. “Whatever.” Then he says, “Yeah. We’re pinching liquor.”

  “Okay,” I say. “That’s cool. I really won’t tell anyone.”

  Late that afternoon I’m cutting boxes. The vodka I’ve been drinking all afternoon is getting to me. My cuts go kind of wobbly. I have to keep reminding myself to get my fingers out of the way of the blade.

  “Gabby?”

  I look up. Jake is holding his lunch bag. He’s frowning. I sit back on my heels. He pushes his cap up. “Look. I don’t know you all that well. But you seem like a good kid.”

  He pauses. “Just watch yourself around Evan, okay? He’s … older. I think he’s been around. If you know what I mean.”

  I can’t believe my boss is lecturing me about Evan. “Um … okay.”

  He pulls him cap brim down. “So … that’s it. See you next week.”

  “Yeah. See you.”

  He leaves.

  I go back to cutting boxes. Five minutes later, Jo is heading out too. I look at the clock. It’s not five yet. She shoves the brick in the doorway. From the loading dock, I hear the electronic door whir as it opens. It stops partway. Curious, I walk to the end of the paper goods aisle. Jo is pulling her old red Miata up next to the loading dock. The trunk pops open. Evan quickly carries out a couple of boxes and drops them into her car. He closes the trunk. As the electronic door closes, I see Jo parking her Miata back in its regular spot.

  It can’t be that simple … can it? I watch around a shelf as Evan walks to Jake’s office. Unlocks the door and sits at the computer. Maybe he’s changing the inventory list. So it’s not all that simple.

  When he’s finished, he walks toward me. Holding a bottle. “You didn’t just see that.”

  I smile. “See what?”

  He hands the bottle to me. “It’s polite to bring something to parties. You are coming to Jo’s tonight, right?”

  I take the bottle. It’s vodka. I think it’s the expensive kind. The label looks expensive, anyway. “I … I can’t. There’s no way—”

  He grabs me by the waist and pulls me against him. He presses his lips against mine, hard this time. A real kiss. A hungry kiss. I kiss him back, just as hard. I know Evan is older than me. I know he’s been around. And now I know something bad about Evan that Jake isn’t even aware of. I don’t even care.

  CHAPTER

  16

  After Mom and Dad go to bed, I shove some clothes under the covers. It may not fool them when they do their prison check. But what are they going to do, ground me? Take my phone? I think about bringing the bottle Evan gave me. But leave it behind. I don’t like the idea of getting stopped by the cops carrying it.

  I walk into Jo’s apartment without knocking. It’s the same as before: loud music, people sprawled everywhere, a bong getting passed around. A girl near the door says, “Hey.” I recognize her from the other party. She’s Maria or Marlena or something. I look around for Jo and Evan. Don’t see them.

  “Where’s Jo?” I ask.

  “In the back.” She holds one side of her nose and inhales. Gives me a knowing smile.

  Okay. I make my way to the kitchen. I’m about to open the fridge for a beer, but change my mind. Grab the vodka off the counter. Fill a plastic cup to the brim. I look down the hallway toward the back of the apartment. A couple is making out against the wall, really into it. I take a long drink from my glass. Scoot by, trying not to disturb them. A bedroom door is open.

  The sight is a lot to take in. That guy, Kevin, Mr. Happy Hands, is standing in front of a dresser. He’s leaning over, snorting a line of white powder through a short straw. Another guy stands next to him, like he’s waiting his turn. Then there’s Jo and Evan. They’re on the bed. Kissing. Groping. I tell myself to look away. This isn’t any of my business. Except … it is. I thought Evan was into me. I thought Jo knew Evan was into me. Are they a couple? What’s going on?

  Kevin turns away from the dresser and sees me. Grins. “Hey, I was hoping you’d show.”

  Jo looks up. Smiles. “Gabby!”

  Then Evan sees me. “Hi, Talks-a-lot.”

  Neither of them looks ashamed. Like they’re doing something they shouldn’t.

  Evan pats the bed between him and Jo. He gives me a leering smile. “Come here.”

  He wants me to join them? Is he friggin’ kidding me?

  By now Kevin has wrapped his arm around my waist. “Want some blow?” He gestures with his chin to the dresser.

  I shake my head. Finish off my vodka in a single gulp. Duck underneath Kevin’s arm. Retrace my way down the hallway. Past the hot-and-heavy couple. Set the empty cup on the kitchen counter. Jog home.

  I crawl through my window. Quickly get under the covers. I lost my virginity two years ago. I’m not a prude. But that was just … weird. At least I think it was weird. I consider asking Uncle Mike. Maybe he has a clue. My head swims. From the vodka and from everything else.

  I wake up. The home phone is ringing. Why doesn’t someone answer it? I close my eyes.

  Ring.

  Ring.

  I prop myself onto an elbow. Yell, “Will someone please get the phone?”

  My head pounds. I didn’t think I had all that much to drink. I guess I did. Like … all day. I flop back onto my bed. The ringing finally stops. Thank you.

  “Hello?” Mom’s voice filters in from her bedroom. She switches to Spanish. Must be a relative.

  The sun is blaring through my curtains. It’s late. Close to Mass. There’s no way I can skip out on church this morning. Not two Sundays in a row. I throw the covers off and slowly get up. My stomach churns. I feel like crap.

  Throwing on my robe, I head for the bathroom. Mom is ahead of me, trotting into the kitchen. She never trots.

  “Raul!” she cries. “Raul!” She’s hysterical.

  My heart speeds up.

  I clutch my bathrobe around my chest. Follow her. She’s gone out the sliding door into the backyard. Dad is watering the shrubs. Mom takes hold of his arm. She’s crying, her cheeks glistening wet. She says something. Dad drops the hose. He presses his hand over his mouth and squeezes his eyes shut.

  A few minutes later I find out Uncle Mike is dead. He hanged himself in Abuelita’s garage.

  The rest of the week is like out of a zombie movie. I walk around doing stuff, but my brain is numb. Several times a day I think about calling Uncle Mike. Because I’m sad. Because he’ll know the right thing to say. Then I remember he’s dead. I’ll never see him again. I’ll never talk to him again. Ever.

  The day of the funeral, distant relatives talk in hushed, gossipy voice
s. They don’t understand why he committed suicide. I hear my dad tell one of his cousins that Mike was failing his nursing program. He couldn’t handle the stress. But no one talks about the real reason Uncle Mike was stressed. Because his family rejected him for being gay. That he couldn’t just be who he was.

  Dad is devastated. His eyes have been red and teary since he found out. I know he feels guilty. Good. He should.

  I feel guilty too. But for a different reason. I knew what Uncle Mike was going through and didn’t do anything. I can’t believe I told him it was a good idea to come out to the family. I should have found a way to see him Friday night. Or even Saturday. I could tell he was in a weird mood after that phone call. If I’d gone to see him, maybe I would have figured out what he was planning. I could have talked him out of it. I should have at least called him back.

  I don’t cry at the funeral service. I don’t cry at the burial. As I watch the casket being lowered into the ground, it’s like I’m outside of my body. Like I’m not here at all.

  CHAPTER

  17

  Days pass. Weeks pass. I go to school. Sit in my classes. Camp under the tree at lunch. I’ve stopped going into the cafeteria for food. The less chance of running into my ex-teammates the better. I don’t like being reminded of what I’m missing. The Crusaders are in the playoffs. I’m happy for them, but … I’m not.

  So, like today, I spend my lunch money at the vending machines. A bag of Fritos lands next to the Snickers bar I just bought. Lunch of champions. I grab my stash.

  “Hey.” Randi is standing behind me.

  “Hey,” I mutter back. I haven’t seen her in a while. She looks healthy. Fit. Like most starters do after a full season. I looked like that a year ago. I didn’t even glance in the mirror this morning.

  She eyes my junk food. “That your lunch?”

  “Yeah.”

  She nods. “So I just heard about your uncle. I wish I’d heard sooner. I’m … really sorry. I know you guys were close.”

  I shrug. I never know how to respond when people say, “I’m sorry.” It’s okay? Me too? Yeah whatever? So I’ve stopped saying anything.

  She fidgets. Looks at the floor. Then looks at my face like there’s a booger the size of a house on it and she doesn’t know how to tell me. “Are you … okay?” she finally asks.

  I stand there. The answer I’d tell my best friend: No, I’m not okay. I feel like crap every second of every single day. The answer I give to my former best friend: “Yeah. Getting by.”

  She nods again. “Okay. Just checking.” Then she says, “Does your dad still have your phone?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Oh. I was going to say you can call or text me if you want to.”

  “That’s not gonna happen.”

  “Well, you know ….” She shrugs. “When you get it back.” She holds up her hand in a wave. Starts walking away. Stops and turns. “It’s cool you were at the Solano game. Thanks for cheering. Tiana’s pretty good but we could really use you in the playoffs.” She leaves.

  A week or two ago what she just said would have made me feel something. Happy. Sad. Now it just passes through me like air.

  I head outside to the tree. Inez and Clarence are already there. I set my lunch and backpack on the ground. Rummage around for my water bottle. Open it and take a long swig of vodka. It’s two-thirds gone already. I was hoping it would last another day, but that’s not likely. I offer it to Clarence.

  “No thanks,” he says. “My brother scored yesterday.”

  “And he shared?” I ask in disbelief. I hand the bottle to Inez. From what Clarence has told us, his brother is stingy with his weed.

  He grins slyly. “Not shared, exactly.” He licks his finger and holds it in the air, checking for a breeze. He looks around for teachers. The conditions must be right, because he lights his joint.

  I’m pretty sure this is why Randi asked if I was okay—my new friends. If our roles were reversed, if it was Randi out here with All Saints druggies, I’d be worried about her. But Clarence and Inez aren’t so bad. They’re just misunderstood. Rejected. Coping. Like me. Exactly like me. I lean my back against the tree. Feel the buzz. Let it wash over me. Let it keep that room in my brain cozy and tight.

  I get to work on time that afternoon. Except for that one Saturday, I’m always on time. I can’t tell you why. I’m screwing up every other part of my life.

  “Hi, Gabby.” Jo is pushing a handcart.

  “Hi.” I ka-chunk my timecard.

  “Can you help Evan at the loading dock? Veggie delivery.”

  I head over to the loading dock. Step into the truck. Heft a box of lettuce and carry it into the warehouse.

  Evan passes me coming the other way. “Hi, Talks-a-lot.”

  I drop the box onto the pushcart. Evan’s right behind me when I turn around. His arms are crossed.

  “You okay?” he asks.

  “God, what is going on today? Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”

  “You didn’t say hi.”

  “Well, sorry. Hi.”

  “And you’re grumpy.”

  I roll my eyes.

  He reaches out. Brushes a strand of hair off my cheek. Gives me a lopsided grin.

  I smile. I can’t help it. That grin gets to me.

  “If you come to Jo’s tonight, I promise I’ll behave.”

  I take a deep breath. Evan and I still flirt at work. Kiss when we’re sure Jake won’t see us. But I haven’t been to another one of their parties. The image of him and Jo groping each other will be forever seared on the back of my eyelids. They keep telling me it was just one of those things. You know, drugs, booze, silly hormones. But it was also the night Uncle Mike died. Maybe if I’d been home. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

  I shake my head.

  He cups his hand under my chin, whispers, “Dude, you are killing me. I want you.”

  “I’ll try.” It’s the same thing I’ve been telling him every Friday and Saturday night. “Can you swipe me another bottle?” I ask. “The Stoli. With the blue label.”

  He sighs. “Yeah, sure.”

  I ride home with Mom. The bottle is in my backpack between my feet. We come to a corner. A guy steps into the crosswalk. Mom slows the car. The guy gets back on the curb. Waves us on. What would have happened if he hadn’t seen us? If Mom hadn’t seen him? Hadn’t slowed down? If she’d hit him? Would he have died? Or been injured? Like, paralyzed? If you wanted to do it right, you’d need to step in front of something bigger. A truck. A semi-truck.

  Then I’m thinking about Uncle Mike. I picture him tying the rope around a rafter in the garage. Making sure it was tight. Tying a noose. Kicking the upside-down bucket out from under him. How did he learn to do all that? On the Internet? Or did he figure it out himself? Did it hurt? I can’t imagine choking to death. I hope the pain didn’t last long.

  I take a deep breath. Dig my fingernails into my palms. Stop it, I tell myself.

  Stop it. Stop it.

  I keep thinking about this stuff. I glance over at Mom. She’s been quiet since Uncle Mike died. Like the rest of the family. No one talks about it. We’re all in our own little worlds. I wonder if they think about death as much as I do. If they get what I’m going through. I’d like to ask Mom. Ask her right now. But I’m sure she doesn’t. She’s never understood anything else about me. Only Uncle Mike understood. And he’s dead. He left me to deal with this all by myself. I hate him for leaving me. And hating him makes me hate myself more than I already do.

  CHAPTER

  18

  Isit on my bed that night, a textbook on my lap. I’m not reading it. I don’t know which book it is. It’s in case Mom or Dad come into my room. Midterm grades come out in a week. I wonder what they’ll do when they find out my grades have gone down instead of up. I don’t give a crap about my phone anymore. There’s no one to call and no one to call me. I do care about being grounded, though. It’s annoying. They still check my room, but it’s down to about once a night. I don
’t know if it’s because they’re starting to trust me or they just don’t care anymore.

  I’m stressed about having to repeat the semester. School feels like a hill I’m supposed to climb. But it keeps raining and raining and the trail gets slicker and slicker. Every time I take a step, I slide backward, farther down than I was before.

  I grip my water bottle. Take a sip. It still burns my throat a little, but I don’t think about it. I think about what would happen if I drank the whole thing. The whole bottle Evan gave me today. It would probably kill me. I looked it up on the Internet after dinner. Alcohol poisoning. Depends on how big you are. How fast you drink. If you’ve eaten anything beforehand.

  I bite my lip. Take a longer drink. I’m doing it again. Thinking about death. I force myself to look down at my book. My eyes have trouble focusing. The text swims. I can make out a painting of an old guy wearing a cape and a weird hat. He’s standing up in a boat full of other men. Well, that’s just stupid. He could tip the boat over. Everyone would drown.

  I throw the book across my room.

  Jump off my bed.

  Look for Rosie. She’s in the living room. Along with everyone else. Eyes glazed. Zombieland.

  “Rosie, did you borrow my red hoodie?” I try to not slur, to sound like my normal, snarky self.

  She drops her jaw. “No.”

  “Well, I can’t find it. I’m about to search your room.”

  “Don’t you dare!” She’s on her feet, running to her room.

  Once we’re both there, I close her door.

  She screams in my face, “I didn’t borrow your stupid hoodie!”

  “I know! I need you to do me a favor.”

  It’s cold tonight. I rub my arms and walk faster. Picture my jacket hanging in the hall closet. Before I left the house, I told Rosie to turn on her side, away from the door. So Mom and Dad wouldn’t see her face. It only took a couple of threats to get her to sleep in my bed. Marijuana. Boys. It wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment idea. I figured it out a couple weeks ago. But tonight I have to get out of the house. Get my brain on other things.