by Bryan Bliss
BEFORE
IT WAS AARON’S IDEA TO GO TO THE PARTY. A GIRL I DIDN’T know—Amber Henson—had invited him. I’d never been to the Deerfield parties, even though they seemed to happen every weekend. I always wanted to know where their parents went, a question that made Aaron roll his eyes. But still. How did they get the beer? Did their parents know? How could they not? The way it got told on the Mondays after, these parties were huge.
Anyway, it was Aaron’s idea and we were standing on the steps with at least fifty other people who were yelling and smoking. Everybody had a red cup in their hand.
“Well, this is really fun,” I said, but Aaron couldn’t hear me because people started screaming even louder. Or he was ignoring me. That was possible, too.
“Did you see that? I think that girl just hit that guy,” he said. He was pointing in the door, but I couldn’t see anything except the ocean of heads that multiplied in front of me infinitely.
And then he disappeared into the crowd, as if he’d jumped into a pool of deep water. He was there, and then he wasn’t.
I tried to push my way through, but by the time I made it into the living room I couldn’t see him anywhere. Whatever had happened in the living room was over, but people were still laughing and pointing out another door. A huge window opened to the back, where a pool lit the yard an electric blue. I assumed Aaron had somehow made his way out there, because it seemed like our entire school was circling that pool. I worked my way through the crowd until somebody grabbed me by my elbow and said, “Is your brother here?”
Aaron was the outgoing one, the one who had friends I’d never even spoken to. People who represented nearly every category in the school, a trick I always wished I could master. But this girl, holding one of those same red cups, was someone I knew.
Chelsea Taylor had liked Aaron since we were in sixth grade, but I think she scared him more than he would admit. She was pretty and knew it. The sort of girl who had a new boyfriend every month.
“He’s here somewhere,” I said.
Before I could finish talking, she let out this little squeal and raised her cup high above her head, sloshing clear liquid over the side. It fell into her hair, but she didn’t seem to care. “I love your brother. He’s so funny. Do you remember that thing he said one time at the assembly?”
I gaped at her, clueless. Not that it mattered. She sighed and said, “He’s so great. But you know that because you’re his sister.”
And then she laughed, crazily.
“I’ll tell him you said hi,” I said, but she seemed unaware that I had spoken. She looked to the ceiling, as if she was trying to remember the answer to a question, and let out a long, emphatic “Wooo!”
I threaded my way through the rest of the crowd and finally found Aaron sitting next to the pool with a group of his friends. They were laughing, but stopped as soon as I walked up. Aaron said, “What’s up, Abs?”
“Besides you ditching me? Nothing,” I say. “Oh, and Chelsea Taylor says hello.”
He went red and his friends started saying things like “Uh-oh, A-Team! and “Somebody’s about to get lucky!,” which turned me red, too. I still was able to force out, “And I want to leave.”
“Leave?” It came from a collection of voices and, almost immediately, Aaron’s friend Mike pulled a chair into their circle and said, “A-Team, part deux! Sit down and drink a beer.”
Aaron tried to hide his cup, his face. But I made it a point to stare at both.
“Especially now that the world is ending,” Mike said, laughing.
“C’mon, man,” Aaron said. “Lay off.”
“What? I’m just having fun. Chill the hell out.”
“Don’t tell me to chill out. You’re the one acting like an asshole.”
Mike’s eyes went big with surprise and he said, “Oh, I’m the asshole? Good to know.” He took a drink from his beer and then said, “But at least my dad isn’t some crazy fundamentalist. The sky is falling! The sky is falling!”
Aaron hit him hard, right on the nose. Mike fell back in his chair, blood streaming down his face, onto his shirt. Shane, one of Aaron’s other friends, grabbed him before he could punch Mike again.
“What the hell, Aaron?”
But Aaron was gone, back into the guts of the house. When I finally found him, he was sitting next to the mailbox by the road. People passed, but nobody looked at either of us as I sat down next to him and said, “Are you okay?”
He looked up into the night sky, the stars. Behind us, the party continued generating noise. I swear I could even hear Chelsea’s “Wooo!” calling out to us like a beacon from somewhere deep inside the house.
FIFTEEN
WE WALK BACK TOWARD THE STADIUM SLOWLY. THE BRAVADO OF the beach is gone, and Jess pauses at every voice that rises up above the bustle. We both stop when the park comes into view.
“It will take forever to go around,” Jess says. “We have to go through.”
Still, we don’t move. The light changes three times before I say, “Can you run?”
Jess nods, and when the light turns green, we jog across the road and down into the park. I expect to lead us through, to go slow so she can keep up. But as soon as we hit the grassy middle she takes off, quickly putting ten feet between us. And no matter how fast I push myself, I can’t make up the distance.
Jess stops next to the playground, bending over like she’s going to puke. We’re so close to the entrance, we can walk the rest. When my name rings out over the noise of the park, I’m initially confused. It’s familiar and at first I want to smile—to run toward it. But when I turn and see Mom standing there, looking scared and anxious, my stomach drops into my knees.
I go to run and Mom says, “Abigail, wait!”
She doesn’t move toward me, but every muscle in my body is tense, like the moments before a race—ready to move, to react. Mom holds out her hands, like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff.
“I just want to talk,” she says.
I can’t look at her. Not at her dirty jeans or her shirt, equally stained. She looks exactly like every other homeless person in this park. So do I. And if anybody were to walk up on her right now, they’d think, Oh great, another one.
“I don’t want to talk,” I say.
Her voice is quiet, barely audible as she says, “Okay. I understand that. But maybe five minutes? We can take a walk around the park.”
“Is Dad here?”
She blinks once, twice, before saying, “No, honey. He’s not.”
Jess comes up next to me and says, “Is everything okay?”
Mom looks at me for the answer.
“It’s fine,” I say. “I’ll be back in a second.”
Jess nods, not looking at Mom. I wait until she’s back in the trees before I turn to Mom and say, “Okay.”
The park feels the way our house would when I would stay home sick. Lit differently. As if somebody turned up the volume on everything whenever we went to school. And while that was exciting, this is torture. Mom barely looks at me as we walk the asphalt trails.
Trumpet Man is near the entrance, playing loudly.
I try to conjure the anger I had in Brother John’s office, because if both of us disappearing won’t wake them up, then nothing will. They’re stuck asking the same questions and looking for the same answers.
I don’t want to listen to her explain about how God is going to help us.
Finally Mom turns to me, her face so expectant. It’s the way Dad looks whenever Brother John stands up in front of us. As if I can unravel a problem so dried and twisted by simply opening my mouth. But words will only tie the knot of our problems tighter. So I don’t say anything. I don’t ask where Dad is, because I already know the answer. All that matters is he isn’t here.
It takes a long time for her to speak. When she does, her voice is soft.
“I don’t want to be here, either.”
I look at her and she smiles.
“Really. Why
would I want to leave everything behind? But there are some things you do because you know it’s true, and other things you do because you have faith.”
Here we go.
“And what if you don’t have faith anymore?” I ask, ready for a fight. She turns and stares at a group of kids playing soccer.
“Then you have faith in the things you know will never let you down,” she says. “Your dad’s trying his best.”
It makes my skin crawl, and whatever is left of my old inhibition disappears.
“His best? Dad hasn’t done anything since we came to this city,” I say. Before she can tell me that we’re being watched over, that God will provide and is in control, no matter what—before she can tell me any of it for the thousandth time—I say, “I’m leaving, Mom. Aaron, too. I can’t do this anymore.”
Her face shrinks. She opens her mouth. But I’m too fast again.
“It’s not okay,” I say, turning away from her. “Don’t say that.”
The cold of the afternoon crystallizes my breath. Everything in the park moves, except us.
For a few seconds, she lets me stand there, ignoring her. Then she reaches out and fixes my hair, tucking it behind my ears and trying to tame it with her palms. When it looks good, or she’s given up, she says, “Is your brother okay?”
A million things fly through my head. Jess and Aaron and how they act when they’re together. How I’m not sure, even if some miracle did occur, Dad and Mom would welcome some street girl into our lives. The tiny voice saying Aaron has been right all along is louder than anything else and I want to lash out at her, to ask why she cares now. But her eyes are big and her face is creased with worry.
I let my head drop and I take a deep breath.
“Well, you just met his girlfriend,” I say. “Jess.”
If this surprises her, she doesn’t show it.
“She’s coming with us,” I say.
When I look at Mom, she’s still composed and it bothers me. Why isn’t she reacting? Why isn’t she trying to pull me back to the church? Does she not care at all? Something jumps inside me, and I don’t know what to feel. Whether I should be relieved or angry. Behind her, Jess appears from inside the trees. She doesn’t come closer, respectful of whatever she assumes is happening between me and Mom. But she points at her wrist and I nod.
I expect Mom to ask me to come with her—to remind me that God will help us, just like everything and anything else. That if we bend our knees and lift up our words, everything about our life will pop back into place. All of it tied together with a pretty bow.
But she doesn’t.
She says, “How are you getting home?”
It makes me stumble. I don’t know if I should tell her, if this is some kind of trap. But then she takes my hand and says, “I don’t know what to do anymore, Abigail. But I need to know that you and your brother are going to be okay. So tell me how you and Aaron are getting home, so at least I have that much.”
Hearing it—seeing her so broken—tears something deep inside me. The place where I always thought God lived—soul level. But maybe it’s not so clearly separated. Maybe our love and our faith are intertwined in one messy ball, unable to be distinguished from each other as easily as we’d like.
Mom smiles, still sad, and shakes her head. It’s only then that I realize she’s the one saying good-bye to me.
“We’re taking the bus,” I say.
“Okay,” she says. “You should call your Uncle Jake. He’ll let you stay with him. That way, you won’t be . . .”
She doesn’t finish, instead hugging me so hard I can barely breathe. “I love you and your brother more than anything,” she says. “Don’t forget that, okay?”
When she lets me go, we’re both wiping our eyes. In that moment, I’d go with her anywhere she asked. “About the money your brother took,” she says.
I drop my head, ready for the admonishment—but also to tell her that we’re not giving any of it back. She lifts my head up with her hand and smiles.
“Keep it,” she says. “How many billboards does one man need? I mean, seriously.”
There’s this moment, right before we get tangled up in laughter, when she reaches down and squeezes my hand.
When the laughter stops, while we’re still staring at each other, Mom says, “I need to get back to the church. Your father will be wondering what happened to me.”
“Come with us,” I say. I have no idea how much money’s in the envelope, if it would be enough for all of us to make it back to North Carolina. But it would be close. And I’m still willing to take that kind of chance.
Mom looks down. “Honey, I need to be here for your father. Regardless of how you feel right now, he’s a good person. He really is. And besides, you and Aaron have always had each other. Guardian angels, the both of you. This is all going to work out. I promise it will.”
When she steps back, I don’t cry. I stand there waiting for her to walk away—the strangest thing I’ve ever felt. She wipes the tears away from her cheek and says, “Tell your brother I love him. Okay? And when you get home, call me at the church.”
SIXTEEN
I’M STILL TRYING TO STEADY MYSELF WHEN JESS WALKS UP.
“Was that your mom?”
“Yeah,” I say.
“Oh, wow. Are you okay?”
That has always been the question, and my answer waffles with each step we take out of the park. Half of me wants to run to Aaron and tell him exactly what she said, every word, so he can have one good memory of her. But I also want to know why she isn’t fighting for us. Why she’s pushing us to the interstate when the other option—her staying with us, no matter what—is so much easier.
Will we go without her? Yes. There is no doubt.
We’ll get on that bus and follow a slow and crooked map across the country, drawing closer to home every single day. We’ll smell the pine trees and Uncle Jake will meet us at the bus stop downtown, instantly trumping all of our problems. We won’t have to wait for anything, except maybe the bathroom—Uncle Jake’s house isn’t that big—but what does that matter? After months of endings, I’m ready for a beginning. And if it has to be without Mom and Dad, so be it. We will start over. We will live.
As Jess and I walk through the park, people move in a hundred different directions. One catches a Frisbee as another bends over with belly laughter. A woman sits alone on a bench, a newspaper folded like a fan in front of her face. Behind the trees, a siren blares as it tears down the street. Soon, another follows. Then a third. Birds come from the trees in a flourish, blacking out the sky for a second before dissolving into hundreds of similar shapes that dart in every direction. In the center of everything Trumpet Man is lying beside a huge tree, softly playing his horn.
“Take one more look,” I say to Jess, glancing around the park. “Because North Carolina is not this exciting.”
Jess puts a hand on my shoulder and says, “I’m so ready for boring. Trust me.”
I start to laugh, but Jess jumps back so quickly she trips on my foot and falls to the ground, hard. Before I know what’s happening, she’s up—staring at Skeetch standing on the path with his arms stretched out. Like he wants a hug. The two guys I saw with E flank either side of him, one short with a Mohawk. The other, seemingly too young to sport the giant skull tattoo that dominates his forearm.
I step in front of Jess and say, “If you come any closer, I’ll scream.”
Skeetch doesn’t react, only looks over my shoulder at Jess and smiles. “Yeah? They’ll probably send the army and the navy to help.”
The two boys titter behind him, their faces worked into amused smirks. I step toward them, even though I can’t stop my legs from shaking. My hands are fists and when Skeetch sees them, he and his friends nearly collapse in laughter.
“Damn, look at you being all feisty. I like it.”
The guy with the tattoo says, “Oh yeah, hurt me. Please.”
“You do need to be careful with Little S
ister here,” Skeetch says, grabbing his crotch. “She really doesn’t play nice.”
“Just leave us alone,” Jess says from behind me, her voice barely audible over the noise from the park. As she says it, the Mohawk parrots it back to her—“Leave us alone! Leave us alone!” The three of them laugh even harder.
I look around for a police officer, for Aaron or even E—anybody paying attention. But despite all the people, I’ve never felt so alone.
When Skeetch takes a step forward, I hate that I flinch. He smiles and says, “Why all the drama? Nobody’s trying to start something. If you want to go, then go.”
He steps to the edge of the path with a flourish, sweeping his arms to the side as if he were ushering us into a dance. “Go on. Nobody’s stopping you.”
Without a second thought, I grab Jess’s arm and pull her between them, ignoring their eyes, their smell. Everything about them. At the last second, Skeetch grabs the back of my shirt and pulls me against his body, pinning my arms to my hips. His mouth is close to my ear.
“When you see your brother, tell him I said hello, okay?”
And then he lets me go and the three of them cackle with laughter as they disappear into the park.
“Are you okay?” I ask Jess. She nods, and that’s all I need to start moving.
The football field is a half-mile away, but I swear it only takes seconds for us to get there. I walk fast, trying not to look over my shoulder. Trying not to worry about Skeetch and his friends.
All I want to do is get to the stadium, find Aaron, and leave.
Above us, the clouds are still rolling in off the mountains, turning the whole world gray. As we come through the arched entrance, I do a quick scan of the stadium. The track is empty, as is the grassy field. In the far corner of the bleachers, I think I see somebody lying down, but as we get closer it turns out to be a forgotten towel.
“He’s probably in the tunnel,” I say, pointing to the far side. But it’s locked, chained so securely that I second-guess whether we actually stood there just a few hours ago.