Send

by Patty Blount

  I nodded. “I’ve been trying to help him. But I think today, I made things ten times worse.”

  Spare them the woe-is-you crap and get to the point. Kenny smacked me in the head.

  “I’ve had this feeling Brandon’s been plotting revenge. Today, he tried to get it.”

  “No.” Mr. Dellerman shook his head, stood up. “No. Absolutely not. Brandon would never do anything to hurt anybody, especially Jeff. They’ve been friends since kindergarten. Thank you for coming, but I think we can take care of our son without your help.”

  “Really? You didn’t know he was being bullied, so why are you so sure he wouldn’t fight back?” Julie asked, her tone belligerent.

  “Get out. Get out now.” Brandon’s dad looked like he was about to go nuclear.

  I had to make his parents understand. I shoved past them and ran up the stairs to Brandon’s room, ignoring Mr. Dellerman’s furious shout for his wife to call the police. I headed for the computer. It was on. I opened a browser and typed in the URL for the social network Brandon had up when I was over the day before. Luckily, he’d stored his passwords, so I didn’t have to log in.

  “What the hell are you doing?” His father roared behind me and grabbed my arm. I twisted free. “Making you see the truth. Look. Look at this.” I pointed to Brandon’s screen, where post after post illustrated the kind of teasing and cruelty he’d been dealing with. “Do you see how people treat him? What they say about him?”

  Mrs. Dellerman cried while she read the screen. A muscle twitched in Mr. Dellerman’s neck. “How long has this been going on?” he whispered.

  I shrugged. “A long time. Are you ready to hear the rest of it now?”

  Brandon’s father stared at me for a long moment and finally nodded. Slowly, Mr. and Mrs. Dellerman sat on Brandon’s bed. Julie stood near the door.

  “On the first day of school, I caught Jeff about to beat the hell out of Brandon and broke it up. I figured he’d been having some problems for a while just by the way he acted, but he wouldn’t admit it. Then I found him pacing in front of the student parking lot where Jeff parks his car. There was something about the way he kept looking over his shoulder and holding onto his backpack. I realized he was baiting Jeff and that he had something in that backpack.”

  “Something like what?”

  “A weapon.”

  “No! No, no, no, I refuse to believe it,” Mrs. Dellerman said.

  I clicked Brandon’s mouse and displayed his Internet history. “Here. Does this convince you? Look at the websites Brandon’s been visiting.” I scrolled through the list.

  Mr. Dellerman cursed and pressed a hand to his mouth when he saw the one about Columbine.

  “I’ve been afraid to let him out of my sight.”

  “No. No, you’re wrong. I know my kid. He’d never hurt somebody.”

  I held up my hand. “Mr. Dellerman, I’m not even sure he wanted to hurt Jeff.”

  Brandon’s parents stared at me for a moment and then his mother’s eyes popped. “What? You think he’d hurt himself? Oh my God, you’re crazy.” Mrs. Dellerman’s voice shook. “Brandon wouldn’t hurt himself. No. No, I won’t listen to any more.”

  Now would be a good time to show them what’s in your pocket.

  Right. “Do you keep a weapon in the house?”

  Brandon’s father’s face paled, but he nodded. “Yes, I have a handgun, but it’s locked up in a box.”

  “When was the last time you checked it?”

  “Linda, go get the gun box.”

  Mrs. Dellerman walked stiffly out of the bedroom. Mr. Dellerman and I stared at each other while she was gone. Julie moved to stand beside me. In a few minutes, Mrs. Dellerman walked slowly back in, clutching a box in her hands. Her face was white.

  “No. No!” Mr. Dellerman leaped up, snatched the box from her hands, shook it though he knew it was empty. “Oh God. Oh my God.”

  “Mr. Dellerman.” I stood up, lifted my hands over my head. “Check my left jacket pocket.”

  He swallowed but reached inside my pocket. When his fingers curled around his gun, a harsh sob caught in his throat. He pulled it out, stared at it like it was gonna tell him what happened. I took out the clip and the round I’d ejected from the chamber and put both on Brandon’s desk.

  Mr. Dellerman sank down to Brandon’s bed, covered his face with his hands. I figured they were ready to hear it all now.

  “There was all this talk at school today. So I started looking for Brandon. I found him in the locker room. He was hiding there with this in his backpack. He emailed Jeff and told him to meet him. To end it. I saw him. He told Jeff to get down on his knees, and he aimed this right at Jeff’s chest. I disarmed him, and he ran off. I chased him for as long as I dared. Then I came here to tell you.”

  I sat back down at Brandon’s desk because my knees were knocking together. Julie’s hand squeezed my shoulder. I was grateful.

  “I don’t know what he planned to do, Mr. Dellerman. But he chambered a round, so I’m pretty sure he intended to use that gun. A whole bunch of people could have been hurt today.”

  “You son of a bitch.”

  Everyone’s heads whipped to the doorway where Brandon stood, his face flushed, his hands clenched.

  “Brandon! Oh God, Brandon.” Mrs. Dellerman ran to him, but he swatted her away.

  “I thought you were my friend,” he seethed. “But you’re just like the rest of them. You think I’m just a joke. Nothing but a waste of oxygen, right?” His entire body trembled with the power of his rage. “Why did you stop me? I had this all planned for so long, and you ruined it. Why? What did I ever do to you? To any of you?”

  “I am your friend, Brandon. That’s why I stopped you.”

  “Bullshit!” he shouted, his face twisting with the hate. “You’re just like them. You don’t know what it’s like—”

  “I know exactly what it’s like, Brandon.” I crossed the room in two strides to shout right in his face.

  Dude. Shut up. Now.

  There’s no other way, Kenny.

  I knew what I was risking, but Brandon needed to hear the whole story. My story.

  I pulled up my shirt, showed him the scars, ignored the gasps. “You think I did this to myself? I know exactly what it’s like to be threatened, Brandon. To feel so helpless you’re sure you’ll die. To do something so bad you can’t make it right no matter how sorry you are, and you can’t undo it or forget it no matter how hard you pray, no matter how much you drink. I know, Brandon.”

  I stood there, chest heaving, waiting for someone to say something.

  “What did you do?”

  The question was whispered, hardly even audible. I didn’t even know who’d asked it. I couldn’t look at any of them, so I stared at my hands, willing a plausible explanation to reveal itself. But there was no such thing. There was only the truth. Despite my best efforts to keep it hidden, the truth needed to be told here. Now. I walked back across the room, sat at Brandon’s computer, hunched over my knees, and spoke to the floor.

  “I—” I choked. Took a deep breath, tried again. “I clicked Send.” I jerked my thumb at the computer monitor. “I posted some mean, vicious stuff about a kid in my class when I was in eighth grade. I uploaded a picture of him changing after gym class. He was wearing cartoon underwear. I thought it was funny. So did all the people who posted comments about what a loser he was. And always would be. Dozens of kids. Then it was hundreds. It wasn’t so funny when I found out the next day that he—” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “He killed himself.” Tears rolled down my face now; I couldn’t stop them. “They said I was guilty of distributing kiddie porn, sent me away for almost a year.”

  Mrs. Dellerman gasped. “A year?”

  I didn’t acknowledge her. I was lost too deep in the
past. I rocked on Brandon’s desk chair, staring at my fingers. “You can’t imagine how bad it is until it happens to you. You try to apologize, tell them you didn’t know, you didn’t mean it, that you’re not a bad kid, but they don’t listen and lock you up anyway. They put you in with the real bad kids, rapists, gangbangers, murderers. And you think this isn’t real. This can’t be happening—it’s a dream, just a bad dream, only you don’t wake up. You’re just a kid, just a stupid kid who clicked Send, but it is real, and it’s your life now. You’re afraid. You’re so friggin’ scared, but there’s nobody to go to, nobody but the kids you’re afraid of. They come for you. They come for you at night, and they hurt you.”

  I trailed a finger down the first of the scars that crossed my torso like a fault line, the one that started at my chest and ended at my hip.

  “The first time, you scream and you fight them. The guard comes, and you think you’re safe, but he ignores the blood and yells at you to keep quiet. So the next time, they do worse. And you take it. Night after night after night. Until you finally grow some muscle and learn to fight back. And you get so good at fighting back, they run from you. And you wanna die because as bad as it is, as scared as you are, as much as you hate what you’re becoming, it’s nothing, nothing compared to the voice that lives in your head and reminds you over and over and over that you murdered somebody until you believe it. Until you believe you deserve to be locked up, cut up, shut up. And that’s not even the worst of it. Because the judge wanted to send a message, he puts your name on the sex offenders’ list with rapists and child molesters, and the whole world thinks you’re a pervert and it just. Doesn’t. End. Even when they let you out, it doesn’t end.”

  A sob made me jolt, and I came back to myself, swiping knuckles under my running nose. The sob was mine. God, I was bawling like little Emily. I stood up, nodded to Mr. and Mrs. Dellerman. Brandon’s mother sat on his bed, quietly crying. His father had taken off his glasses and sat with his head in his hand. I didn’t dare look at Julie. I had to leave. I had to get out of here. Retreat.

  Now.

  “I have to go. I’m…I’m sorry you think I let you down, Brandon, but you really have no idea.”

  ————

  I was in my car before I realized I’d moved. I jammed the key in the ignition, started the engine. The stereo blared OneRepublic’s “Secrets,” and I punched the dashboard. I hit the steering wheel. When I finally got the radio off, I beat my head against the wheel.

  Cut it out, man. That hurts. Kenny appeared in the passenger seat.

  Oh God, Kenny. I could have used your help up there.

  You didn’t need my help.

  I shot him a look. Yeah, like that’s ever stopped you before.

  Pull it together, dude. You need to get home in one piece and start packing.

  He was right. I’d said way too much. It would be all over school in the morning. I wasn’t worried about Brandon. I had more to fear from Julie. I managed a halfhearted grin. “Let’s hope your dream girl can keep her mouth shut.”

  I think she will. She wouldn’t have chased after you if she didn’t care.

  I whipped my head around. “Crap.”

  She was right beside my door. Murder me, Kenny, I begged silently.

  That would be suicide, man.

  I powered down the window. “Julie, I gotta get home. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  “Dan, wait.” Julie put her hand on the doorframe. “I…I’m so sorry.”

  My eyebrows shot into my hairline. “For what?”

  “For everything you went through. For the way I treated you.”

  I turned away, stared at the windshield at nothing in particular. “Julie, I—Trust me. You weren’t wrong.” Hadn’t she said she thought I was a bigger bully than Jeff?

  I was. I am.

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  I drew in a breath. “I have to go. I already said too much.” I shifted into gear. “I really have to go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “No! Not yet, Dan.”

  I shifted back into park, shut my eyes, and let my head fall back against the seat rest. “I’m talked out, Julie.”

  “Ellison, let her talk.”

  I whipped my head around. Jeff stood on the sidewalk near my passenger door. I shoved out of the car. “What the hell are you doing here? You have a death wish or something?”

  Jeff held up his hands, palms front. His face was tight and pale when he shook his head. “No, I—” he said and then crossed his arms over his chest. “I need this to stop. I came to talk to him. I didn’t know.”

  “You didn’t know?” I rolled my eyes. “You tormented him for years and you didn’t know?”

  “Okay. I get it!” he shouted, his hands up again. “It’s my fault. I get that. But you need to let her talk.” He swung his eyes to Julie. “You need to tell him now. Before somebody really does get killed.”

  Dude, what is he talking about?

  No idea, Kenny.

  I turned to Julie, expecting to see the same bewildered expression I wore. But it wasn’t there. Instead, she shook her head and stared at Jeff with pleading eyes.

  “Tell him, Julie, or I will.”

  Her eyes closed, her lips moved. “Please. Don’t.”

  “You’re gonna get him killed, Julie.” Jeff took a step toward her. “Is that what you want?”

  Her hands flew to her open mouth and covered a sob. “No.”

  “Julie,” I whispered. “What’s he talking about?”

  There was a long silence.

  “Dan, please.” She grabbed my hands. “I love you.”

  “Then tell me what he’s talking about.”

  Silence. My eyes darted from one to the other, both of them anxious, but Julie…Julie looked guilty.

  “Your name is Ken Mele. She told me…on the first day of school.”

  My heart skidded to a stop. My name—my real name—bounced around in my head for a moment while I tried to convince myself I didn’t hear Jeff right.

  You did, Kenny said.

  I felt sick. “You…you knew?” The truth, hideous and sour, spit in my face, and I wrestled my hands out of Julie’s, my heart cracking like a piece of glass.

  Run. Run now.

  But I couldn’t. I was frozen in place by the thought that Julie had lied. Right on its heels was another, much more frightening thought, and I clutched my head, willing it to stay quiet. How?

  But I already knew that answer. There was really only one way she could know. My eyes slipped shut, and my head dropped.

  Liam Murphy was Julie’s brother. Liam. Julie. Related. Liam, Liam, Julie, Liam. Suddenly, it all made perfect fucking sense. Liam, short and skinny, glasses sliding down his nose, unruly tangle of dirty blond hair, standing in his cartoon underwear while my pals and I skewered him with taunts. Liam, the son of Julie’s dad and his second wife. Julie’s half-brother.

  I’d killed him. I’d killed Julie’s brother. I’d killed him as surely as if I’d held Brandon’s dad’s gun to his head and pulled the trigger. Jesus, it was me. I made her sister run away. I made her father turn his back on her. I etched those deep lines of pain into her forehead. Every frown, every stab of pain, every tear—all because of me. The truth churned and swelled and darkened all other thoughts, all other questions in my mind. I didn’t care if neighbors took up torches and pitchforks and burned us out of town. I was broken. Done.

  A touch registered on my arm. I dragged my head up, opened my eyes, saw the gold light of Julie’s hair. An angel, I thought, choking up again. Julie, Kenny said at the same time.

  I straightened up, pushed past her, and fled.

  Can’t Forget, Can’t Forgive

  The granite block gleamed under the late afternoon sun. I stared at the
waves and seagulls etched in the stone, wondering how I got to the beach, to the airplane crash memorial, and how long I’d been there. I shivered, but I wasn’t cold. I ached, though I hadn’t fought. Somewhere, a radio played a classic rock station and the Police reminded me I’d always be the king of pain. I sat on a bench facing the huge sculpture and wished—just for a minute—that I’d been on the flight that crashed. An end. Why was there never an end?

  Beside me, Kenny sat, knees hugged to his chest, quietly crying.

  I don’t understand. We’re not Hitler. We didn’t kill thousands of people in skyscrapers with airplanes. I’m sorry! There. Are you happy? I said it. How many times do we have to apologize? How much torture do we have to take? Just make it stop. Make it go away. Please.

  I wish I could, I thought at him and pressed my hands to my face, squeezing my eyes shut, impatiently swiping at the tears that pushed from them anyway. The signs were all there, but I’d ignored them.

  God, I am an ass.

  So consumed by my retrospective, I hardly noticed the presence of anyone else until two hands grabbed my face.

  “Dan.”

  I jerked at the sound of that voice, her voice, and saw her standing in front of me, her presence felt like a slash to my gut. “No.” I shook my head and squeezed my eyes tightly shut. “Please go. I can’t do this, Julie. I can’t.”

  “Dan.” She took my face in her hands. “Look at me. Look at me, Ken!”

  My real name from her lips forced me to obey. How could I not look at her? She took my breath away every time I did.

  “Please don’t hate me. Please. Tell me you don’t hate me.”

  We don’t hate you! Kenny shouted through the tears.

  Oh God, I wanted to. Tears dripped down her face, plopped onto my arm, and I couldn’t stand it. Even over the dozens of questions in my mind, I couldn’t handle it and twisted free.

  “Is it true?” I didn’t know why I’d asked. I already knew that it was.

  “Please. You have to listen to me. I never wanted you to know. I’m so sorry you found out like this.” Again, she took my face in her hands, forced me to look at her, at the years-old pain in those blue eyes.