Never Eighteen

by Megan Bostic

"Just be careful," she said.

  He just laughed and rode off down the street.

  "I'm serious!" she called after him. He waved over his shoulder and flipped us off.

  Ten minutes later he was hit by a car that never slowed down and never turned back.

  We pull up to the curb outside of Jake's house. Kaylee begins to open her door. I touch her shoulder gently. "Um, Kaylee," I say.

  "Yeah?"

  "This is something I'd like to do alone. Do you mind waiting in the car?"

  "Oh, no, sure, go ahead," she answers, though she sounds pissed.

  "I'm not sure how long I'll be."

  "Whatever." She puts her ear buds in place and turns on her iPod. She sticks her tongue out at me when I go to close the car door.

  I knock on the door of the little rundown blue house at the end of a dead-end street. Too early for visiting most people, but because of Susan Briggs's work schedule, this is the best time to catch her home.

  When Mrs. Briggs answers the door, she looks down to the ground and says, "Austin. What are you doing here?" I don't mind. I understand why she can't look at me.

  "Can I come in?" I ask.

  "Sure, for a bit. I have to get ready for work soon," she answers, gesturing me forward.

  The stench of stale cigarettes almost makes me gag. The shades are drawn, darkness cast across everything like a ghostly shadow. I scan the living room, barely recognizing the place that used to be my second home. Once a small, clean sanctuary, now it is strewn with overflowing ashtrays, and dishes cover the counters and fill the sink. Pizza and takeout boxes litter the floor. No, it's not the place I remember.

  "How have you been?" I trace my fingers along a picture of Jake and his mom, leaving a trail on the dust-caked frame.

  She scans the room herself, an implication that the state of things should answer my question. She answers out loud anyway. "Oh, about the same. You know, hanging in there. Do you want something to drink? Coffee? Water? That's pretty much all I've got around here."

  "No, thanks, I'm good ... So, how's work going?" I ask, stalling, still unsure what I'm going to say. She doesn't buy it.

  "What do you want, Austin?" she asks in a tired voice.

  I don't want to answer her question, not yet. If I do, she'll tell me to leave, to mind my own business, and that's something I don't want to do. I want to talk to her, to make her understand, and I don't want to fail.

  "Can I see Jake's room?"

  "Jake's room?"

  "Yes, can I?"

  Mrs. Briggs exhales and then gestures for me to follow. She leads me down the short hallway to the room at the end. Hanging on the door is a sign that Jake made out of his first skateboard after it finally fell apart from years of abuse. The sign is hand-painted with skulls and crossbones, and reads BEWARE THE JAKE.

  Mrs. Briggs places her hand on the knob and hesitates. Her pained expression makes me realize how difficult it must be for her to go in his room. I put a hand on her shoulder, and she twitches as if startled. Nodding, she turns the handle and opens the door, allowing me to enter Jake's room, while she remains in the doorway.

  A forgotten shrine to a dead boy, the room is just how I remember. Music and girlie posters cover the walls; soccer and skateboarding trophies sit on the shelves. I walk in slowly, as not to disturb the dust and cobwebs. Jake's bed is unmade, as if he slept there the night before.

  "May I?" I ask, motioning toward his CD collection. She again nods silently. I scan the discs, running my fingers across them as I read the names of Jake's favorite performers aloud: the Beatles, AC/DC, the Smiths, Incubus, Kanye—an eclectic assortment, for sure. Rage Against the Machine. I pull that one from the shelf. "This was his favorite," I say, showing his mom.

  "I hated it," she says. Tears well up in her eyes.

  I put the CD back in its place and move over to his dresser, its mirror plastered with pictures—memories of every important event in Jake's short life, and some of the not-so-important ones as well.

  "Did you take this?" I ask her, pointing to one of the pictures. She nods. "It was his first skateboarding competition, right?" Again, she just nods. "And here's our soccer team the year we went to state. And this one," I add, pointing to another. Mrs. Briggs finally enters the room to get a closer look. "This was the fifth grade talent show. Jake and I did that rap song. Do you remember?"

  "How could I forget? I had to hear that stupid song every day for two months. You guys were awful, by the way." She laughs.

  "Yeah, I know. The audience actually booed us off the stage, but we had a blast."

  "How did that song go again?" she asks. She appears to be digging deep for the memory.

  I think it over a moment. It had been a while. "Jake's part was first," I say, finally able to pull the memory from my own cranial depths. "My name is Jake / don't wear it out / girls and skateboarding's what I'm about. Then it was my turn. My name is Austin, and if you think / that I'm a loser, well then you stink." I laugh at how stupid it was.

  "It's worse than I remember. Dreadful. Inane, really," Mrs. Briggs says as if reading my mind.

  "Jake was such a good friend, so fun to be around, so cool. I miss him."

  "I miss him too," she says. She examines the pictures as if seeing them for the first time. She inhales deeply, I'm not sure why. Maybe she's trying to draw in just a hint of anything Jake might have left behind.

  "You know he'd want you to be happy, right?"

  "Yes. I know."

  "You should think about it." Mrs. Briggs is like a second mother to me, and I wouldn't want my own mother to give up on life the way she has.

  She nods and begins to cry hard, which makes me think she hasn't done it in a while, but I know I'm probably wrong. Not really knowing what to do, I put my arms around her, not saying anything, just allowing her to let it out. I hold her until she calms, relaxes. She steps back, straightens out her shirt, stares at the tearstains she's left behind, and says, "Sorry, Austin."

  "It's okay, Mrs. Briggs."

  "I really need to finish getting ready for work now."

  "Okay."

  She looks at me thoughtfully, then grabs the picture of the talent show and the Rage Against the Machine CD. She hands them to me and says, "He would want you to have these."

  I smile and say, "This means a lot to me." It must be hard for her, entering this room, disrupting it, giving part of it away.

  She walks me to the door, shows me out. I thank her, and leave her to her life, hoping that she will indeed have one.

  Chapter Five

  "So, what did you do in there?" Kaylee asks as soon as I shut the car door.

  "Just talked," I answer.

  "Talked? About what?"

  "It's personal," I say. She looks at me as if I've just punched her in the gut. I know I've hurt her feelings—we're best friends and tell each other everything—but I think if I talk about it I might break down. I held it together for Mrs. Briggs, but I don't think I could for another second. It's been two years, but it's still hard, especially now.

  "Well, how did it go?" she asks.

  "Good, I think." I slide the talent show picture inside Kaylee's car's sun visor.

  "Oh my God, I remember that day," she says. "You guys were so horrible; I pretended I didn't know you. That was truly embarrassing." She turns the key in the ignition, sparking Candy back to life.

  "Thanks a lot," I reply, slipping the CD into the player. I go straight to track number two, "Bulls on Parade," Jake's favorite.

  Kaylee laughs when the music starts. "Oh my God!" she squeals. "I haven't heard this song in forever. I always hated it. It sounds so angry."

  She's silent for a moment, listens intently to the rough, metallic chords as if hearing the song through new ears. She sighs and says, "I guess it's not that bad. Where next?"

  "I want to see Juliana."

  "What if Ben's there?"

  "He's not. I checked. I'm not stupid."

  "Are you sure about that?"


  "That I'm not stupid? Yeah, I'm sure."

  Kaylee stares at me and shakes her head in disbelief.

  "Oh," I say. I feel like an idiot. "You mean am I sure Ben isn't there." She grins and nods. "Yeah, I told you, I checked. He's with Kyle today, doing some football player stuff. Whatever that is."

  "Let's go then," she says as she pulls out of the dead-end street and heads east down Forty-Eighth.

  Juliana is my ex-girlfriend. Yes, I've always loved Kaylee, but when the person you love doesn't love you back, you make do. I made do with Juliana. We dated most of our freshman year. She's the first girl I really made out with, copped a feel, even got naked once or twice, but that's as far as it went—no actual sex. She's a nice girl, pretty, nice body, but totally lacking in self-confidence, which was a big turnoff. It's part of the reason I broke up with her. She drove me nuts with the clinginess, constantly trying to please me, and apologizing for every little thing. It wasn't worth the headache. Her boyfriend now, Ben, is a total dick. He treats her like shit and hits her. I know because he brags about it in the locker room after PE. And we all just sit around and listen. We don't say anything or do anything, thinking it's none of our business. I'm going to try to do something now, to make it my business. She doesn't deserve to be treated that way.

  I exit the car, turn back to Kaylee, and say, half joking, "Leave it running, just in case."

  I shut the door and it muffles Kaylee's cry of "Not funny, Austin!"

  I ring the bell and wait. A few moments later Juliana answers the door.

  "Hi, Juliana," I say.

  "Austin!" She grabs my sleeve and pulls me into the living room. "What the hell are you doing here? Ben finds you here, he'll kill us both."

  I shrug my sleeve from her grasp and say more harshly than I intend, "I just want to talk to you."

  She looks out the front window, up and down the street, as if searching for some invisible eye, some Big Brother. "Does Kaylee have to sit out front? Can she go take a drive or something?" she asks.

  "Ben's with Kyle, isn't he?"

  "Well, yeah, but sometimes he's unpredictable. You know him."

  "Fine." I pull out my cell, ring Kaylee, and tell her to take a few trips around the block, or maybe go to Starbucks. She lets out an exasperated sigh on the other end of the line but drives away anyway.

  Juliana lets out a breath and her shoulders lower. She's relaxed, if only a little. "What do you want, Austin?" she asks. She keeps her back to me, her eyes on the street beyond the window.

  I don't really know how to approach it. Can you just blurt out "I know your boyfriend beats you up"? I don't think so. I start out slow: "How've you been?"

  "Good, I guess."

  "Really?"

  Now she turns toward me, eyes narrowed, brows furrowed, arms crossed over her chest. This won't be easy. She says, "Yes, Austin, really. Cut the shit. What's up?"

  "I'm worried about you."

  "Why?"

  "Because of Ben. I know how he treats you, Juliana. What he does to you."

  "Mind your own business, Austin."

  "I care about you. He brags about it, you know. He's proud of the way, as he calls it, he keeps you in line."

  "You lost your right to care when you broke up with me. What? You didn't want me, but you don't want anyone else to have me either?" She's getting angry, and her eyes well up with tears.

  "It's not like that. You deserve better than to be treated the way Ben treats you."

  "What? I don't deserve this?" She lifts her sleeve and shows a yellowing bruise right below her shoulder. "Or maybe you're referring to these." She lifts her shirt and turns her back, which is covered with more bruises, some old and yellowing like the one on her arm, some fresh and purple, as if from no longer than a couple hours ago.

  "Jesus. Why do you let him do that to you?"

  She doesn't have an answer. Stays silent.

  "I'd like to help you," I tell her.

  "I loved you, you know, Austin? You broke my heart."

  "I never meant to hurt you."

  "Well, you did. I never want to feel pain like that again. Ben loves me. He won't break my heart."

  "But he might break your arm, or your nose. You don't need the kind of love he's offering. It's no good. It's dangerous. He could really hurt you, Juliana."

  "I've heard enough. Get out."

  "Come on. Let me help."

  "Help? What can you possibly do?"

  I haven't thought it through. I have no idea what to do. I hesitate a little too long.

  "That's what I thought. I don't need your empty promises. He'd kill you anyway," she says. "And then he'd kill me. He already hates you because you're my ex. I don't need your help."

  "You need to break up with him."

  "Yeah, then what? Go into the Witness Protection Program?"

  "You tell your parents, the school counselor."

  "Fuck off, Austin."

  "Fine. I'll go, but my offer still stands. If you need anything call."

  "Buh-bye," she says as sarcastically as she can through the crying, the anger, the hurt. I leave, walk down to the corner, just in case, and call for Kaylee to pick me up.

  Chapter Six

  "What happened in there?" Kaylee asks, handing me a decaf white mocha. Her voice sounds weird. I can't place the tone. She sounds kind of mad, or—wait, could it be jealousy? She never did seem to like Juliana all that much.

  "I just tried to talk some sense into her, tried to help."

  "And did you? Help, I mean?"

  "I don't know. I don't think so."

  "I hope you didn't make things worse," Kaylee says.

  "How would I have made it worse? Shit, Kaylee! Ben won't even know I was there. What's wrong with people? They just don't get it."

  "Get what?"

  I feel bad that I've raised my voice, but I struggle, every day. I struggle with the whys in life. Why her? Why him? Why me? And I know for some there's no good answer. I get frustrated with the things that are out of my control and I wonder why people don't deal with the things they can control. I take a breath, calm down. "Nothing, never mind," I say.

  After a moment of silence, Kaylee asks, quietly, almost in a whisper, "Where to now?"

  "Peggy's."

  Kaylee turns to face me, one eyebrow raised, and asks, "Why?"

  "Because I visit her every Saturday. I just want to pop by for a few."

  "Really? That's so sweet. How did I never know this about you?"

  "I'm a man of mystery. What can I say?"

  "Whatever," she says.

  I chuckle. "Just drive, Kaylee."

  "Your wish is my command." She rolls her eyes at me. She's so cute when she rolls her eyes. Again, I want to kiss her, but I'm scared, such a chickenshit. She puts the car in drive and we head across town.

  Peggy's house is one degree less than a mansion, its presence felt on either side by much smaller homes. This is as close to an estate as you will get in the city of Tacoma. Peggy's grandfather, the lumber king, built it with his own hands—oh, and the hands of fifty employees.

  "Should I stay out in the car again?" Kaylee asks.

  "Do you mind? I'll only be a minute."

  "Nope, I don't mind," Kaylee says as I once again step from the car.

  I take the front steps slowly, counting each one as I cross. I always wondered but never counted how many steps led to that deep red front door. What seemed like a million when I was younger now seems to be only maybe, I don't know, five hundred thousand.

  Three sets ... six, seven ... next set, fourteen, fifteen ... last set, thirty-five, thirty-six. When I reach the top, my lungs feel as though they'll burst. I can't imagine Peggy being able to walk these steps much longer. She doesn't take very good care of herself; she eats like crap, sits on her ass all day, and drinks way too much. But what does she care? She's got money. It bugs me when people don't take care of their bodies, because sometimes your body doesn't take care of you.

  I b
end over, hands on my knees, to catch my breath. Kaylee leans over in her car, peers out the passenger window, checks on me, making sure I don't collapse. I try to smile between gasps, reassure her. She doesn't buy it. She darts out of the car and sprints up the stairs, taking them two at a time, and is by my side within seconds. Showoff. She rubs my back. "Are you okay?"

  "Yeah, I'm fine," I say. I straighten up, take a breath.

  She puts an arm around me. "I'm coming in," she says. There was no point in arguing. I would only lose.

  A few more steps up the massive porch and we're in front of the giant red door I've stood in front of so many times before. Big red doors seem a bit ostentatious to me, but it suits Peggy's big, boisterous personality. I ring the bell; it chimes Beethoven's Fur Elise. I only know this because Peggy told me. I can't stand classical music. I tell Kaylee, "If I had a musical doorbell, it would play 'New Slang' by the Shins. That'd be cool."

  "Mine would play 'Lollipop.' "

  "What's that? Never heard of it."

  "Lil Wayne? 'Lollipop'?"

  "Nope."

  "You don't listen to the radio much, do you?"

  "Not really."

  Helen, Peggy's housecleaner, answers the door. She's actually more like a companion than a housecleaner, and not in a gay way, just in a friendship way, a best friend way. She's been around for as long as I can remember.

  "Good morning, Austin." She greets me with a peck on the cheek. "Come in." I'm no farther than the entryway when Peggy blasts in like a tornado through a mobile home.

  "Austin!" Peggy greets me with a bear hug. She's crushing me, and it hurts, but it also feels good to be hugged like that. I remember being afraid of her when I was younger. She's huge, the size of a car, or so it seemed when I was little. She's not a very pretty woman, her face always overly painted with makeup. And she's loud, so loud. I grew out of my fear, grew to love her. Of course, she bribed me with cookies, and I think children will do anything for cookies.

  "Nice to see you," she says upon releasing me. "Ah, you've brought Kaylee with you."

  "Hi," Kaylee says. Peggy ushers us out of the open foyer, through the fancy-schmancy living room and the pretentiously decorated dining room, and straight to the chrome kitchen. She's very proud of her décor, can talk for hours about it, and has on occasion. She's put me to sleep a few times over it.