No Parking at the End Times

by Bryan Bliss

  I stop and stare at one of the trees—skinnier than the others, but unbelievably intricate. Thousands of lines connecting a map of bark.

  “These are crazy,” I say.

  “Italian maples.” She points to the cropped branches. “They cut the tops that way because they attract sutra beetles.”

  I stare at Jess, amazed. “How do you know that?”

  She shrugs, turning away from me as if it’s something anybody would know.

  “I study botany in my spare time. No biggie.”

  This time, when she looks at me, a smile cracks her face. “Okay, I’m full of shit. I have no idea what these trees are called. But you believed it. These could totally be named Italian maples, right?”

  I laugh, because if she hadn’t smiled I would’ve gone back to the van and told Aaron the same thing. Like some kind of tree specialist. Jess and I walk through the trees, planted in straight lines that point to City Hall. I can’t keep my hands off them. Each one feels different, new.

  “Have you brought Aaron here?”

  “No way. Boys are gross.” And then almost immediately: “And especially now that I know he’s got the hidden Idiot Gene. But at least he’s good-looking, so that helps me overlook his moments of stupidity.”

  I can feel my face getting hot. Jess laughs.

  “Oh God, I’m sorry. You probably don’t want to hear about your brother’s hotness. But hey, I promise I’ll never tell you about the kissing. See what kind of friend I am?”

  The first thing I think is: Are we friends? But then, almost immediately, I ask myself: Why not? It would be nice to have a friend. It would be nice to have somebody I could talk to who isn’t connected by blood.

  But I definitely don’t want to hear about the kissing.

  “Aaron isn’t . . . hot,” I say. “Is he?”

  “Oh yeah. He definitely is,” Jess says, smiling “But we’re not talking about that because it’s weird, right?”

  “Yeah, pretty weird.”

  Jess leans against one of the trees and says, “Subject change. Did Aaron tell you how we met?”

  “Oh yeah, right,” I say. “He doesn’t tell me anything.”

  “Idiot Gene. Again. We’ll have to work on that. Anyway, have you ever seen the guy who plays the trumpet in the park? He’s really awful, so you’d remember him. I call him Stravinsky.”

  I don’t mention that Stravinsky is violins, not trumpets. “Yeah, I know him.”

  “Okay, well I’d seen your brother in the park a few times, but mostly he just watched us from the trees—you know, we just thought he was another perv. That happens. You need to watch out for those freaks. Anyway, one day he comes running toward us like he was being chased by a bear or something.”

  Jess picks up an empty fast food bag and looks through it. “I guess Stravinsky was laying somewhere in the trees and your brother stepped on him and the psycho went nuts. Started chasing him, screaming the way he does. You’ve never heard anything like that. It was hilarious. We were all dying.”

  I try to imagine Aaron running away from the trumpet man and it brings a smile to my face. I wish I had been there to see it.

  “Anyway, I’d found some money and went and got a Big Sip—have you seen those things? They’re huge. I was drinking it when your brother came tearing up the hill and falls down, just ate it really hard in front of all of us. Normally, I’d laugh like crazy. But Stravinsky looked pissed and he was swinging that horn, so I stood up and threw my Big Sip right at him. I missed, but he got the message.”

  “Wow,” I say.

  “And that’s how your brother became my personal slave,” Jess says. “He’s still earning off the seventy-nine cents I had invested in that soda.”

  She is lost in the memory and I don’t want to ruin it, but this is the first conversation I’ve had in weeks that isn’t about God, going home, or where the public showers can be found. We could be in the cafeteria at school, at the bus stop.

  “When we were in middle school, I accidentally wrecked my mom’s car.”

  Jess holds her hands out, shocked. “Hold up—what?”

  “I broke my mp3 player and Aaron wouldn’t let me borrow his,” I say. “So I burned a CD and went out to the car.”

  “I was sitting on the driveway with the door open. Dancing.” This part still embarrasses me, but Jess doesn’t laugh. She looks completely enthralled. “And I wanted to listen to the song again, so I got in and tried to change it—but yeah, still dancing. I accidentally put the car in reverse. It rolled into the street and hit a tree. Ripped the driver’s side door right off.”

  Jess fights the laughter at first, but soon she can’t help it. “I’m sorry,” she says. “That’s horrible. Hilarious. But horrible.”

  I smile, too. “Well, Aaron came outside and was freaking out. Neither of us knew how to drive, but we decided it would be less of a shock if the car was back in the driveway. So Aaron got in and tried to put it back in the driveway. But he ended up driving right through the garage door.”

  “Stop it,” Jess says. “Oh my God.”

  “And then of course my dad got home from work right then,” I say. “Like, as Aaron was getting out of the car. It was smoking. There was wood and glass everywhere. Dad looked at Aaron, the car, and said, ‘Well, you’ve had a good life, son.’”

  Jess’s laughing so hard she can’t breathe. She holds her hands up for me to stop, but I’m on a roll.

  “He tried to tell Dad it was my fault—that I crashed into a tree. And Dad wouldn’t believe him. Because I’m the good one.”

  Jess is dying and I can’t keep myself from laughing, either. We’re holding each other up, cackling like idiots. The truth was, I felt bad about it for weeks. But every time I’d mention it, Aaron would get mad—wouldn’t talk to me for hours, days. I don’t know when it stopped stinging, or even the last time we laughed about it as a family.

  But right now, it makes me feel closer to home—to him—than I have in a long time.

  We take the train back to the same stop and walk slowly toward the park, still telling stories. How Jess once put deodorant on over her shirt because she didn’t know any better. The time I wrecked my bike and Aaron passed out when he saw the gravel wedged under my knee. By the time we see Silas and E talking with Aaron, my stomach hurts from laughing. As soon as we come into view, Aaron strides toward us, E and Silas right behind him.

  “What the hell, Abs? Where have you been?”

  It doesn’t seem like I left that long ago, but then I do the math.

  “Are Mom and Dad mad?” I ask.

  “How should I know? They went to the food bank two hours ago.”

  First I’m relieved, but then the shock hits. “Wait. They went without us?”

  Aaron stares at me and says, “You act like you’re disappointed.”

  I’m not sorry to miss standing in another line, waiting for another bag of random food. But I can’t believe they left when I was still out running around the city, with Aaron sitting in the van alone. It’s not like we’re kids, but it still feels weird to be left behind.

  “Were they mad before they went?”

  At this, Aaron smiles. His entire body seems to relax. “Actually, yeah. Well, I guess they were more disappointed. As if that even matters now.”

  But it does matter to me. Even though there are times I’d kill to be more like Aaron, to not care what they think, it isn’t as easy as simply cutting a string.

  “Anyway, they told me to come find you. I’m sure we’ll pray about it or something when they get back,” he says. “But whatever. What were you guys doing?”

  Jess pretends to lock her lips closed, tossing the imaginary key to me.

  “Seriously?” Aaron asks. “You’re not going to tell me where you went. Abs?”

  I lock my lips, too. Aaron groans.

  “We were doing girl stuff,” Jess says. “Not anything an idiot boy who doesn’t listen would enjoy.”

  “So, what? Having
a pillow fight?” Silas says. “I saw that on cable once. Kinda hot.”

  “We were discussing botany,” Jess says.

  “The sutra beetle,” I add.

  When we start laughing, Silas looks confused.

  Aaron drops his hands to his side and says, “Okay, fine. Whatever. We have to get back before Mom and Dad get sucked into the abyss without us.”

  “Yeah,” E says. “Aaron was just telling us how your parents are primed and ready to disappear.”

  “Any day now,” Aaron deadpans and I give him a look, because I don’t want to talk about that with E or anybody else. I won’t make fun of them, not like that. “What? Brother John promised. It’s going to happen real soon.”

  “Oh shit. Brother John?” Silas says. “He actually calls himself Brother John?”

  “It’s like pastor,” I say, but nobody’s listening to me.

  “Or as I like to call him,” Aaron says, “the Body of Christ’s Asshole.”

  E laughs until he sees me, stone-faced and staring at Aaron. To his credit, he seems to be partially embarrassed.

  “My bad,” E says. “I didn’t realize you liked him.”

  “What? No, Aaron’s right. He is an . . . a-hole.”

  “A-hole?” Aaron laughs. “Seriously? How was the fifth grade last year, Abs? I hope your teacher wasn’t a real butt face.”

  “It’s not funny,” I say, but it kind of is. And of course Aaron runs with it like it’s an Olympic event.

  “Sorry if I’m being a real d-word.” He swipes his shaggy brown hair from his face—I don’t know when he last got a haircut—and says, “A real s-head.”

  “You are being a real . . .” I try. I really do.

  This gets all of them—Jess, Silas, and E, too. Silas says, “Mother-effer. You dang s-head!”

  And even though they’re laughing at me, I am miraculously not embarrassed. I laugh, too, the way I would at family dinners when Uncle Jake would give me a hard time about having a boyfriend. About any number of things. A happy discomfort.

  “You can’t do it!” Aaron says. “You can’t! Oh, Abs.”

  Aaron cups his hands around his mouth and yells, “Shiiitttt! Fu-uh-ck!”

  An older couple sitting on a bench and holding a guidebook looks up. Another lady, pushing a stroller only steps away from us, shakes her head. Somewhere deeper in the park, a few teenagers yell something back, the words muddled by space, the trees.

  When Aaron turns around he looks happy. Almost proud.

  “They’re just words, Abs. This isn’t the Ten Commandments.”

  “I know,” I say.

  “How about a small one. Piss? Shit. Oh! Ass. That one’s in the Bible. Remember, that one guy had a talking ass. It’s approved.”

  “That was a donkey,” I say.

  “An ass is an ass,” he says.

  I could say it, but it always seemed unnecessary, a small thing I could do to be good. To be the type of person I wanted to be. But maybe he’s right, maybe they are just words.

  “Ass.”

  I wait. For a lightning bolt. A giant hand to come down from the sky. But all I can see is Aaron, putting his hand to his ear. All I hear are Jess and E, cheering. Telling me to say it again. So I do, a little louder. Aaron smiles.

  “Praise the Lord! A true sister, let me hear you say amen!” He lifts his hands above his head, like he just won the game with a last-second shot. Running up and down the asphalt path, pretending to heal Jess and then E and Silas.

  He puts his hands on their foreheads one at a time—“Be healed, brothers! Be healed, Sister!”—before pushing them to the grass, where they twitch and laugh. When Aaron finally circles back to me, I’m certain everybody in the park is now watching us.

  “Sister, I need to hear a good word from you,” he yells. It’s uncanny how much he sounds like Brother John. “I said a good word, Sister! Amen! Praise that Lord! Uh-huh!”

  Fine. If it doesn’t matter. If nobody is watching or listening. Fine.

  “Oh, Brother Aaron! I just need some healin’!”

  My falsetto, the way I put my hand to my forehead, almost break Aaron out of character. He smiles, raises his hands to the sky—speaking to the bugs in the trees, to the trumpet man, who’s close now, curious.

  “Sister, do you feel the Lord?”

  I laugh and say, “Oh yeah. Totally.”

  Trumpet Man nods, too, and says, “Wide extended plains! I am bound!”

  “Okay, man. That’s cool,” Aaron says, gently pulling away as Trumpet Man reaches for him. The game seems to be over, and I’m surprised to be disappointed. Not to be able to fall and shriek and convulse the way Jess, E, and Silas still are. But the way Aaron looks at me, as if I’ve finally unlocked whatever’s tied him together over the past few weeks, is enough.

  “We should probably get out of here,” I say. “That guy makes me nervous.”

  Aaron shakes his head, his eyes focused right on mine.

  “I told you: I need a good word, Sister.” His voice is low, loud enough only for me. My mind reels through all the Bible verse I know. Those words. But Aaron sees right through me. He shakes his head again and says, “I said a good word.”

  He doesn’t have to push me this time. It slips off my tongue, so easy.

  “Shit,” I say.

  Aaron throws his hands in the air once again.

  “She’s been healed! You hear that, brothers and sisters! Healed!”

  And then he pushes me into the grass, right next to Jess and the boys. All of us laugh as Trumpet Man chases Aaron across the grass. Aaron stops, moves—not letting the man ever get too close. When he finally gives up, sitting down with the trumpet in his lap only a few feet away from us, Aaron is bent over gasping, smiling bigger than I thought was still possible.

  TWELVE

  I SIT NEXT TO AARON ON THE HILL. JESS HAS HER HEAD IN HIS LAP, nearly asleep.

  “You feel better,” he says. “Admit it.”

  I look past him, toward the sky. The sun shines bright, burning little spots in my vision, but I don’t stop watching, waiting—I’m not sure if I’m happy or devastated that nothing happened when I said those words. Maybe we can all do whatever we want and nobody really cares either way.

  “A little,” I say. “Yes.”

  Aaron shakes his head. “Hell yes.”

  I smile, but it’s mannequin-like. We’ve learned how to fake our way through everything. And even when the happiness is real, it’s followed by an almost instant panic. As if my body knows it can’t last.

  “Oh, c’mon Abs. This is supposed to be fun.”

  “I’m fine,” I say.

  But if I’m being honest, I’m not. I don’t want to say this to Aaron because he still seems so happy, but everything I’ve ever known is disappearing and I can’t stop it.

  What did it feel like before Brother John? I try to go backward and replay everything that’s happened. And for the first time, I wonder if I’m the one who’s really changed.

  I hear Skeetch before I see him. He’s laughing loudly, coming from behind a tree with his arms around two girls. When Aaron sees him, he moves Jess’s head from his lap and tells me, “Stay with Jess.”

  Aaron walks straight up to Skeetch—he’s going to punch him. Something. I reach over to nudge Jess, but she’s already standing up and walking toward them. I follow her, surprised when Skeetch tries to slap Aaron’s hand. Like they’re old buddies.

  “What are you doing?” I ask Aaron.

  He doesn’t answer. Jess grabs him by the arm and says, “He’s being an idiot. That’s what he’s doing.”

  “Jess, c’mon,” Aaron says.

  “Don’t c’mon me. We talked about this.”

  Aaron tries to touch her shoulder and she steps back. Skeetch laughs and says, “This is why we never worked out, Jess. You’re up in everybody’s business. Oh, and you’re a total pain in the ass.”

  “Back off,” Aaron says.

  “Hey man, I’m with you.
Team Aaron.”

  Aaron ignores him and turns to Jess. “Why don’t we go talk somewhere?”

  “No,” she says.

  The rest of the group begins copying her—No! No! No!—followed by laughter. Aaron looks embarrassed, but Jess is fierce. When Aaron tries to touch her again, she grabs her backpack and walks over to me.

  “I hope you guys have a nice life, because I’m done with this shit.”

  And then she’s gone. Aaron doesn’t move, even though I can tell he wants to chase her down. Skeetch watches her, too. He slaps Aaron on the shoulder and says, “Young love. What a bitch.”

  Aaron ignores him, still watching Jess. When she’s just a smudge of a person walking toward the entrance of the park, Aaron turns to me and says, “I’m taking you back to the van.”

  “Whoa, hold up a second,” Skeetch says. “We’ve got business. Remember? You coming to me and being all I need to make some money, can you help me, Skeetchy?”

  “Later,” Aaron says.

  “Later?” Skeetch says. “I don’t know what you think this is, but your ass needs to go stand at the entrance of the park. Right now.”

  Aaron swallows down whatever he wants to say and turns back to me. “Go to the van. I’ll be back soon.”

  “What’s going on?” I ask.

  “I’m getting us out of here,” he says. “That’s all you need to know.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Look at you being all coy and shit,” Skeetch says. “Tell Little Sis what’s up. Tell her how Skeetch is hooking you up. Some viable employment skills happening here.”

  “Listen, asshole,” Aaron starts. But his words are drowned out by Skeetch’s laughter.

  “Asshole? You ask me for help and then call me an asshole? Okay. I get it. But, how should I put this? Oh yeah, fuck you. You don’t need my help, fine. I don’t give a damn. Any of these kids will sell shit. Any single one of them.”

  Neither Skeetch nor Aaron move until Skeetch puts a hand in Aaron’s face and says, “You know what? Find your own way back to Alabama or wherever your hick ass is from. I’m done with this bullshit.”

  When Skeetch walks away, Aaron drops his head and doesn’t move. Behind him, E pretends to look for something in his backpack as Silas studies his hands.