by Jenn Cooksey
18
“On My Own”
—Cole—
Somewhere in the distance I hear a flock of geese squawking.
Or, is it a dog barking?
Jesus, my head feels fuzzy.
Must be a dog. I don’t think I’ve seen geese at this place. A dog could also explain my crazy dream. I was hanging out in the Mystery Machine with the Scooby Doo gang. Except for Scrappy because that’s when the show took a dump and I have too much respect for myself to let that little punk-ass puppy into my dreams. And Erica was there. I tried to tell her to not eat the brownies, but she wouldn’t listen to me and she ended up getting stoopid stoned. It was kind of funny until she told me she loves me. She went from practically chugging a whole box of Scooby Snacks to out of the blue saying she loves me while sparkling, pale yellow snowflakes fell from the sky, or roof I guess, and they swirled around us like bubbles before they magically evaporated into thin air. And suddenly, we weren’t in the Mystery Machine anymore. We were in the kitchen of her grandparents’ house. I was sitting at the table, her hair was in lopsided, piggy-tail braids with mismatched ribbons in them, and she was wearing a flowery apron and making mud pies. She pulled one out of the oven and after cutting a slice and putting it on a piece of her grandma’s good china, she served it to me with a kiss on the cheek.
You’re such a moron…that wasn’t a dream. It was a memory, you tool. Actually, it was three memories slammed together. The Halloween that Holden, Erica, Trent, Kamber, and you dressed up as the cast of Scooby Doo and Erica ate pot brownies in Trent’s van by mistake. She got mad munchies and then got sick. You ended up holding her hair back for her while she puked because Holden was passed out, as usual. Next up was from when you were dancing with her in the street the night of this past Fourth of July and the local band playing decided to use a bubble machine for when they did a surprisingly great cover of “Champagne Supernova.” You almost kissed her right then and there in front of all the townsfolk, but a huge bubble landed on her nose and popped, leaving half her face soapy and ruining the moment, but making you both laugh. Still a little disappointed that you didn't do it anyway because the shock and awe from those who knew you as her brother would've probably been more entertaining than the small-town pyrotechnics. The other one was when you were like eight and you actually ate mud for the girl because…well, I still don’t know why the fuck you ate mud. Doesn’t matter. Are you still drunk?
Holy shit. I remember that now. Why did I eat mud?
Maybe because you were in love with her way back then too.
Yeah, I can admit it now. I was. After last night, I think I have to admit a lot of things; one of them being that I’ve probably been in love with Erica my whole life.
Oh my God… Last night.
Automatically, my hand goes in search of her laying in bed next to me. It comes back with nothing but a pillow. My stomach turns and a foreboding chill creeps over me. I’m afraid to look because in its search, my hand registered how cold the sheet is where, if she’d been here recently, it would still be at least a little warm. Swallowing back the taste of bile, I crack open one eye. The chill is immediately replaced by a sickened sweat breaking out all over my body. There’s a folded, yellow piece of paper with my name written in her handwriting on it staring back at me.
A groan escapes my throat while my hand gives the bed one last, entirely futile effort.
“She packed her bags and took off, bro.”
Wyatt’s voice and intel. have me rolling onto my back and scouring my face with my hands. I’m not hung-over, but I sure as fuck wish I were. This is so much worse. I get my elbows under me and push myself up into a sitting position, and full-on meeting his eyes, I find myself shaking my head and crossing my arms, but then covering my mouth with one hand—not like I’m trying to keep myself from throwing up everywhere, but because I’m just so…shit, I don’t even know what I am. Although, I do know I don’t trust anything that might come out of my mouth. And that fucking letter I’m trying to ignore and can’t help but see out of the corner of my eyes is far too chipper a color for the words that I’m sure are scrawled inside it.
I swear to God…leave it to Erica to pick the happiest color in the fucking rainbow to write a Dear John letter on. Oh, and I think it’s a piece of construction paper that kids use to make crafts with. Fuckin’ great. I’ll throttle her if she cut out paper dolls or a goddamned flower and glued it in there. Of course, that’s only if I ever see her again.
You sure you’re not gonna blow chunks?
“What time is it?” I mutter from behind my hand.
“Almost two.”
“Two in the afternoon?!” What in the actual fuck? I haven’t slept into the double digits since…
The morning after Holden’s funeral.
Oh would you just please back the fuck off already?!
“Yep. Dean’s on his second nap of the day already.”
“Shit. When’d she leave?”
“A few hours ago. Told Amanda and Kylie I guess last night that she was ready to head home. Said she’s gotta pack and get ready for college.”
Aw, shit, Erica… I told her sticking with her original plan of going to college where Holden fucking died is bad idea. She didn’t even apply anyplace else, though. She always did have tunnel vision when it came to him, and she doesn’t want to take a year off or do the community college thing either, but seriously. What the hell is gonna happen to her when she gets there and it’s nothing like what she’s built up in her head? I mean because the main attraction and the only reason she wanted to go to that school in the first place is in an urn on a mantel back in her home town! Fuck. I really don’t want to move to Oregon. I don’t even want to step one pinky toe in that state as a matter of fact. Or fuckin’ Arizona again for that matter.
“Here, how ‘bout a little hair of the dog…” Wyatt says and tosses a can of Clamato's bloody beer to me.
I catch it and rather than facing the nightstand and Little Miss Sunshine to set it down, I just toss it back to him. “Thanks, but I’m not hung-over. I should try to catch up to my sister and see if I can talk her out of the outrageously bad idea that going to school in Oregon is, so, I can’t start drinking, you know?”
“Uh-huh,” he says and nods his head in not quite disapproval, but something along those lines and it makes me nervous.
I blow out a breath, tired of pretty much this whole fucking day already, and I’m not even out of bed yet. “What?”
“Look, I can pretend I’m cool with an incestuous relationship if it makes you more comfortable but, I know she’s not your sister, dude.”
I would so love for you to see the look on your face right this instant…I mean deer in the headlights, caught with your hand in the cookie jar, slack jaw, mind racing and trying to figure out a plausible lie to explain yourself…really, you wear shock rather well.
I pull my hand down my face again, rub the stubble growing on my jaw from not shaving for more than four days, and then…I just give up. “Who else knows?”
He smirks at my non-admission admission. “To my knowledge, it’s just me and Brian for sure, but I think Dean might have the right idea too.”
“What gave it away?” Please don’t say the night at the cove. Please don’t say the night at the cove…
The night at the cove was inspired by the hand of God; it traversed time and space. For both of you. And anyone who happened to catch that minor miracle in the making would’ve been grateful for the chance to witness it. Now, what you should be praying for is that he didn’t see or hear any of last night, dipshit, because any and all looky-loos hanging out for THAT sure as shit deserve to be turned into a pillar of salt.
Wyatt turns and indicates my bed at the front of the camper that’s still made all neat and tidy with the shorts I was wearing last night hanging off it. They’re in the same place they had landed after I tossed them at him standing with his arms crossed while he made sure I went to bed where I was
supposed to. Then he turns back to face me again and points. “You mean beside the fact that she clearly slept in bed with you last night and you’re sporting nothin’ but the full Monty today?”
Fuck.
Of its own accord, my face squinches up. “Um…yeah, besides that.”
“You’re a good actor, my friend…even when you were ranting last night about all kinds of shit, you still called her your sister. That’s how I found out Brian had his doubts…you said something and called her your sister and he looked at me like, nu-uh, are you buying this, because I’m not anymore. Later he told me that the only reason it even crossed his mind was because you were too pissed off to be her brother. And by the way, we’re both relieved you’re not actually a sick mother fucker.”
“Huh. Glad I could help? How’d you figure it out, though?”
“Little things…stuff most people wouldn’t notice, like looking at her one teeny-tiny second too long or making it a point to not look at her at all, but if someone was paying enough attention, they could pick up the breadcrumbs. Biggest hint though was when we were all watching Les Mis in Brian’s RV that night and your reaction to that one part.”
“What part?” Seriously, the whole story is depressing as fuck. How do you drop a big enough clue that you’re not someone’s brother while you’re watching a depressing book turned Broadway musical?
“The one right before you stopped watching the movie, pounded your beer, and then got up and left.”
Oooh yeah. That part. My shoulders shift uncomfortably remembering it. It’s the part where the one girl is pining after the guy in the love triangle and singing about how at night she can be with him, but it’s really only in her head, and in the morning when she wakes up, he’s gone. Huh. Well, that’s not something I really want to get into right now considering the circumstances, so…let’s see… “Oh, that part. We saw it when we were in New York. I was just on overload with the sappy music an—”
“Don’t bullshit me. I saw your face. You identified with the chick singing that song because it’s your song exactly. You know it and I know it.”
Wyatt then picks up the laptop from where he must’ve set it down when he came in because I left it on the shore last night. On purpose, hoping the tide would rise and render it useless or sink it like a two thousand dollar, worthless rock. Actually, I wanted to put a bullet in it, but they wouldn’t let me. And now, I can’t tear my eyes away from it.
“You should see your face right now. In zero to ten, you went from playin’ it cool to seething just looking at this thing. He fucked you over, man, he really did, but it seems like you gave him the power in the first place, and you’ll never be able to get past any of it if you keep making excuses and letting him define who you are.”
“I didn’t give him the power to do shit.”
He raises a dubious eyebrow at me and tosses the devil’s minion back onto the bench seat, putting it out of my line of sight. “No? You ever tell either of ‘em how you feel?”
My head falls, utterly downcast and defeated, and I sigh. “Nope.”
“My point.”
“What the fuck was I gonna do? I didn’t know! And even if I did, he was my best friend, man.”
“Yeah, well now he’s gone. And not to speak ill of the dead, bro, but he doesn’t sound like he was the greatest friend to you, now does it?”
“Maybe not the greatest at the end there, but… Doesn’t matter. I didn’t see it. And if I had realized before he kicked it, I still wouldn’t have gone behind his back to tell the girl he wanted to fucking marry that I’m in love with her. I couldn’t have done that. No way.”
“And what about now?”
“Now? You’re joking, right? I can’t tell her now!”
“You say it’s too late, and I swear to God I’ll fucking kick your ass from here to Christmas.”
“No, Wyatt, that’s not it at all. It’s not too late. I know it’s not but, it’s not the right time either.” My eyes shift sideways to the letter. God, I hope it’s not too late. I was just getting used to the idea that I might actually get a shot at being happy for once in my life.
“Yeah, well, in my line of work, you tend to learn really fast that there isn’t always a right time. You can take your time and do the job carefully, thinking you’re playing it safe, and it works…you might be a breath away from grasping that brass ring that you’ve been going through Hell for in the first place, and then suddenly, a bomb goes off and time’s up.”
“I get it. My best friend dropped dead on a football field when he was hardly twenty years old. So believe me, I get what you’re saying, and I appreciate it, really. No one knows when they’re gonna punch out for good, but, think about it the other way, you know, it’s hasn’t even been all of three months. She loved him. Honestly, truly loved him. She was planning on spending her entire life with him…going to school together, getting married and having kids…she wanted the whole shebang with him, white picket fence, a dog and a cat…the whole thing, and then he up and died out of nowhere.
“If I tell her now, Holden will always be there waving a giant question mark in the back of her mind about what her life might’ve been, and I can’t have it like that. I don’t wanna be a consolation prize. Not in the long run anyway. She needs time. She needs it, man. And I gotta be cool with giving it to her, because for what I want, I’m not gonna get it by running a fuckin’ sprint. This is a marathon for me and I gotta treat it like that, because I don’t wanna cross the finish line until she and I are both ready, and that won’t be until we’ve both said our goodbyes and really meant them.”
“Yeah, put it like that and I can see your point. Just do yourself a favor though and don’t wait too long. I know I don’t need to tell you, but, shit happens when you least expect it to,” Wyatt sighs and nods, “What about the rest of it? You gonna tell her about that?”
“Fuck. No. No way in Hell.”
“Seriously? Wow…you’re a bigger man than I am then.”
“No, I’m not. I’m just smarter.”
“How so?”
“Ever hear the phrase shoot the messenger? Well, I ain’t about to get myself shot.”
“You think her aim is that good?”
I shrug and shake my head. “I don’t wanna find out. If the cat’s let out of the bag by someone else, that’s one thing, but it can’t come from me. No one can do shit about it now, so what’s the point? It would only hurt her and she’d always link me as the one who made her feel even worse than she does now, and resentment really isn’t conducive to me winning any race, no matter how long it is. And plus, he already kinda threw me under the goddamned bus as it is. I’m not about to lay down behind it so he can back the fucker up and do it again.”
“It’s the same argument the other way around, you know. What if she finds out and asks if you knew?”
“I’ll lie.”
“Lie.”
“Yeah. I will look her dead-straight in her eyes and lie through my fucking pearly-white teeth. I promise you, I have no problem doing that.” Especially not after what I went through last night to get to some of these conclusions and attain a small thread of hope for myself. “I don’t want to though, so I gotta just hope every last, rotting bone of his skeleton stays good and buried for the rest of eternity and beyond, which means, I gotta catch up with her and talk some sense into her before she goes away for four years of higher learning.”
Dourly, Wyatt shakes his head. “I really like you, you know that? You’re the kind of guy any one of us would be honored and lucky to have covering our backs, and I mean that, but, I do not envy you and right now, I don’t know that I agree with you. I think you might be making a mistake, and it’ll cost you.”
“My mistake to make, though, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, yes it is. But, you know this, lying to someone you love almost always comes at a exorbitant price, so just don’t be shocked if and when you get the bill. Because I’m telling you, whether you have it in yo
u or not, you’ll have to pay in full.”
19
“Yellow”
—Cole—
Cole,
I’m not happy with you.
You won’t wake up. No one should be able to sleep through some of the things I did to try to wake you up. I picked your nose, Cole. It was an enormous booger and every time you went to snore, it flapped half-way out your nose and I couldn’t take the whistling sound anymore.
Just kidding. I didn’t and there was no booger, and you don’t snore either (thank you for that), but I totally would do that for you if you didn’t have fingers to pick your own nose, because I know you’d do it for me. That’s the kind of friend you are.
And that’s what makes this so hard. What do I say to someone I know would brave every perilous undertaking for me? Thank you doesn’t cover it. Neither does a radiator, but I still bought it, and it’s sitting in front of the camper so you can move on whenever you’re ready.
Like I am.
I’m ready to get on with my life. I don’t want it to sound like I don’t know what you’ve been going through for me and that I don’t appreciate all of it, or that I don’t need you or want to be with you anymore, because that’s not it. And I’m not going away because I’m mad or upset either, it’s just time for me to go (<—Insert gratuitous Mötley Crüe reference here.). And I know I can say this to you and not worry that you’ll chase after me, but I’m scared to leave, which is why I have to.
You might not realize it or it might not bother you, but I lean on you too much. I can’t do that anymore. I think we’ve both been well aware that at some point, I was going to have to learn to stand on my own again without you there to catch me all the time, because if I don’t, I’ll be handicapping myself. And I know you don’t want that for me just as much as I don’t want to live like that. It’s going to be hard and scary, but I also know that if I ever need anything or just want to hear your voice, I can count on you to pick up the phone, so be prepared for that, like, maybe up your minutes to unlimited or something because I plan on calling a lot.