by Megan Bostic
"You shouldn't have done that. You probably just made it worse."
"I don't know. Maybe Kyle can talk some sense into him."
"Or beat it into him," she says simply. I think that's not such a bad idea. "You really should mind your own business," she says, then grabs a friend and turns to go.
I should leave it at that, but I can't help myself. I shout at her, "Should I? Really? Should I mind my own business? I'm just trying to help, to show you that you're worth something. You deserve better than to be treated like a punching bag. Life is too short to waste time with people like Ben, Juliana." My diatribe falls on deaf ears. She never stops, never turns back around. She just leaves me standing there. Epic fail.
I walk back to my chair full of self-loathing, but my mood immediately adjusts when I hear someone yell, "Austin!" My friends have arrived: Justin, his girlfriend, Stephanie, and Trevor and Suz.
"Austin, what's up?" Justin greets me with a fist bump. Justin, Jake, and I all played soccer together since like seventh grade. Jake was the keeper, Justin a midfielder, and I played forward. I haven't been able to play the last two years, though. When all three of us were on the field, there was no stopping us. I had speed and skills, Justin had a sick passing foot, and you couldn't get a shot past Jake. We had an undefeated season a couple years ago. It came down to a penalty kick. Jake leapt into the air and batted it down—it was sweet. I'll never forget it.
I've known both Justin and Steph since middle school. Steph was always hanging out at our soccer practices and games, like a soccer groupie. I still don't know if she actually likes soccer or just soccer players. Maybe it's a little of both. She dated Jake first, for about six months in the seventh grade, until she realized that Jake's skateboard was more important to him than anything else, including her. She and Justin have been together for three years now, on and off. They're together, they fight, they break up, they make up—it's a cycle. Right now they're in the makeup stage.
"Just kickin' back, having some brews. Man, what's up with the soccer team this year?"
Justin gets a pained look on his face. "I know, we suck. It's not the same without you on the pitch. No way Dylan can take your place."
"I wish I could still play. That totally blows," I say.
"Well, what doesn't kill you only makes you stronger, right?" Justin says, laughing.
"Nah, sometimes it just kills you," I say. Suz gasps, and everyone else gets quiet. I laugh. "Just a joke, people."
"Real fucking profound, Austin," Justin says.
"That wasn't funny," Steph adds.
"It's not supposed to be funny, Steph," I say harshly, though I think it's more the alcohol talking than me. I stand up and knock my beer over. "It's just true. Sometimes we don't get stronger. We just die, slowly, until we're nothing but a pile of bones waiting to be ground to ash and blown away in the wind. And then we won't even be a memory; we'll just be a blip of something that once was." I feel out of control as the words spill out of me as my beer has spilled out over the concrete patio.
"Not if you make your mark, man," Justin says.
"Make my mark? How the fuck am I supposed to make my mark, Justin? I'm already dying. We're all dying; we just don't know how and when it will happen. Well, at least, the lucky ones don't." Philosophical yes, but also drunk off my ass.
"Austin, maybe you should stop drinking," Stephanie says. She's worried. A sweet girl, but at the moment her concern is pissing me off.
"That's what Kaylee would say," I answer.
"Well, maybe you should think about it, then. Kaylee really cares about you," Steph says.
"Kaylee doesn't know everything," Suz adds.
"Yeah, what Suz said," I say.
"Is that right?" Kaylee has snuck up behind me, beer in hand.
"I'm just saying," Suz backpedals, "you're not like the beer police or an alcohol expert or anything. I think if Austin wants to have a beer, he should be able to."
"Well, this," Kaylee says as she holds my cup up and jiggles it around, sloshing beer to the ground, "is his second."
I hold up three fingers and say, "Third." I grab the cup from Kaylee's hand. She glares at me and turns her attention back to Suz.
"Just how many do you think he should be able to have?"
"As many as he wants," Suz says. She turns to me and smiles in triumph. She's cute, that's for sure—a tiny little thing, with dark hair and big brown eyes—but she's no Kaylee. Although she's a bit high maintenance, her friendship is a necessity. She became part of our little group when Trevor did. They're twins, and very much inseparable. They look exactly alike but are different in every other way. Where Trevor is shy, Suz is outgoing, on the verge of obnoxious. Where Trevor is reserved, she's an open book. Where Trevor is highly intelligent, Suz is a bit of an airhead, although I wouldn't doubt if that was more for show than an actual lack of intelligence.
I smile at her.
I look over and see that Trevor is the only one in the bunch without a beer. "Aren't you going to have one?" I ask him.
"Nope. I'm driving."
"Good man," I say, offering a salute. Trevor and I didn't really start hanging out until we found ourselves waiting in the same line for Shins tickets. Before that, he'd always seemed like a snob. He's just incredibly shy. Looking at us, you would never guess that we're friends. I mean, I'm tall, athletic, strong—at least, I used to be. Trevor looks kind of emo, rail thin, dark hair, guyliner, wears black all the time. Our taste in music brought us together, but we've found some other stuff in common too.
Kaylee takes the seat next to me, crosses her arms over her chest, and gives me the silent treatment. I am beyond caring. I drink my beer, this time a bit quicker. I stumble in to get another. Kaylee follows. She pulls me by the coat, around the corner of the house. "What the hell are you doing, Austin?"
"I'm enjoying one of the very important teenage rituals, getting drunk." I've lost control of my tongue and the words come out slurred. I wonder if Kaylee even understands me.
"This is stupid." Yep. She understands me. "And the entire house and most of north side could hear your little rant. What the hell was that all about?"
"You don't get it! None of you. How can you?" I don't want to, but I cry; I can't help it.
"I know that you're going through some hard times right now, Austin," Kaylee says. "But it's going to get better."
"Don't say that. It's not going to get better."
"You don't know that," Kaylee says. She tries to reassure me, but she can't. It's too late.
"Yes, I do." I look at her and see that she's terrified, maybe even more than I am. I've done enough damage. "I'm going to get my beer. Go back to the party. I'll be right there."
"Are you sure, Austin?"
"Yeah, go. I'm right behind you."
I calm down and am about to turn the corner when I hear Steph's and Justin's voices. They're fighting, as usual.
"What about the homecoming dance?" I hear Steph say.
"You've got to be kidding me," Justin says. "I was sick, puking my guts out. What did you expect me to do?"
"I don't know. But by the time you called, everyone had already left. I couldn't get a ride. I had to stay home."
"Oh, yeah, well, what about the time I caught you making out with Bobby Meyers, huh?" Justin says.
"I didn't make out with him. He kissed me. I told you that. He cornered me against the wall. I couldn't get away. Jesus, I was happy to see you. I thought he was going to rape me."
"How did he get you cornered, huh?" Justin asks.
"I don't know, maybe because he caught me off-guard and he's about a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier than me," Steph says. "And who are you to talk? Right after that you kissed Keisha Washington."
"I was pissed at you for kissing Bobby Meyers, duh, Steph," Justin says.
I think about stepping in, but I really don't care. Their problems are nothing compared to mine. I walk around the corner past them, don't stop, don't talk, just keep walking. By the time
I'm back outside, they're making out. I sit back down next to Kaylee and drink my beer. She puts a hand on my knee and smiles. I melt. Then, I get right back into the conversation and chat about old times with my friends. I have to concentrate to keep my tongue from tripping over itself.
"Austin, remember that Death Cab concert you and I went to?" Suz asks. "You know, the one when Trev got sick and couldn't go with you? That was so fun!" she gushes.
Kaylee leans in, whispers, "You know she likes you, right? It's so obvious, the way she hangs on your every word and gazes at you endlessly. And seriously, I think she's trying to make me jealous."
"Nah, she doesn't like me. We're just friends," I respond, leaning in, almost falling in her lap. Then I ask, "Are you?"
"Am I what?"
"Jealoush." The beer is forcing me to add the sh sound to the beginning and end of many of my words. Amazing, the effect of alcohol on the tongue.
"Well, of course I'm not jealous. That's stupid." She's defensive, but maintains her whisper. "What do I have to be jealous of ? It's not like you and I are dating or something."
"Nah, I guesh not," I say.
"I mean, we're just friends, right?"
"Yep. Sure," I answer, wishing I were wrong.
I remember I have something to ask Trevor. "Hey, Trevor!" I shout, the beer making me speak louder than I should.
"What's up, Austin?"
"Are you gonna be home tomorrow?"
"Yeah, I'll be home."
"Good, I'm gonna come over. I've got shomething I want to talk to you about."
"Okay," he responds, sounding confused.
Kaylee shoots me a puzzled look. I shrug her off.
I'm warm, tired, and drunk, so drunk I'm starting to feel sick. It's time to go. "I'm ready," I inform Kaylee.
"It's about time," she says. She snatches her purse and gets ready to leave.
I begin to get up, but my legs give out from under me. Kaylee lunges to catch me, and together we fall down on the lounge chair, face-to-face, her on top of me. I hear giggling, but ignore it. Kaylee and I stare into each other's eyes for a moment. I've never been so close to those eyes. For the first time I notice flecks of green swimming among the blue, like little fish in a deep lake.
Her beauty astounds me. It's time. It's the right time. I open my mouth to speak. "Kaylee," I say, but she stops me, pressing her index and middle fingers gently to my lips.
"Shhh. You're drunk," she says.
"But, Kaylee, I—" I start again.
She presses her fingers harder, but gentle still, down on my lips. "Austin, you're drunk. Whatever you need to say can wait until tomorrow. Please, let's just go."
I nod and she removes her fingers from my mouth. Though totally wasted, I understand. Although I want to, I shouldn't tell her like this, drunk, nearly passed out. The beer would make it so much easier, but it wouldn't be right, the way it should be remembered. She would wonder if I'd really meant it or if the beer were talking.
She offers me a hand, pulls me from the lounge chair, and motions for Kyle to help. Kyle runs over, lifts me up, and throws me over his shoulder. I'm too drunk to be embarrassed.
"Hi, Kyle," I say.
"Hey, little dude. You okay?"
"I'm great." I smile as only an incredibly sloshed virgin drinker can.
He carries me through the house and out the front door, and hauls me down the two blocks to the car, Kaylee following. She unlocks and opens the passenger door and Kyle slides and buckles me in, shutting the door behind me. I can hear Kyle ask Kaylee if I'm going to be okay. Kaylee says nothing. I assume she has nodded or shrugged.
Kaylee comes around the driver's side, gets in, and starts up Candy. I look over at her; I can tell she's pissed. "Kaylee," I say.
She whips her head around like something from The Exorcist, glares at me, and interrupts, loudly, "Listen, Austin. I do not want you to say a goddamn thing, okay?"
"But Kaylee," I say.
"Not a thing, Austin. I mean it. You might say something you'll regret later. You're shitfaced, you're tired, and your brain has probably turned to mush. Final warning."
"Kaylee," I continue.
"No, Austin," she says.
"Kaylee, I'm sorry." And then I puke. All over the front of me, all over the dash, all over everything.
"Jesus," she mutters under her breath, rolling down her window to let the stench escape into the night air. Then she says, "Austin, I appreciate what you're trying to do here, really, I do, but I think you're in over your head." She's starting to sound like my mother. I stop listening, lay my head back, and let sleep take over.
I don't remember getting home, into my house, out of my puke-covered clothes, into my bed. All I remember is waking to the feeling of a vise strapped to my head, crushing it slowly until it fractures.
Day Two...
Chapter Eleven
I sleep in later than I want, but it's still early, and I have a lot more to do before the end of the weekend. It hurts to move, but I force myself out of bed. In the bathroom, I gaze into my reflection, wondering if this is how I'll look when I'm dead. I feel like I already am. I'm sure dead people don't have bloodshot eyes. I have bloodshot eyes, and they hurt, but not as bad as my head. I promise myself never to drink again.
I reach into the medicine cabinet, grab a couple of Tylenol, and take the stairs slowly, my head pounding with every step. I enter the kitchen and sit at the table, placing the pills carefully down beside me.
"You got in late," Mom says. She's cooking something that on a normal day probably smells good. This morning it stinks, making me want to barf.
"Did I?" I ask. Big mistake. My mom throws a glare my direction. Here it comes. I feel it.
"You know, Austin—?" Yes, I knew it. "I don't know exactly what you were out doing all day yesterday and last night, but I hope whatever it was was worth it and not too self-destructive."
"Did you put me to bed?" I ask, deciding to ignore her lecture.
She lets out a heavy sigh and answers, "No, I was in bed myself when you got home." Just what I feared: Kaylee stripped my drunk ass out of my puke-covered clothes and put me to bed. I hope I hadn't said or done anything stupid, or pissed her off. I can't remember much after throwing up all over her car.
"You want something to go with those?" my mom says. She gestures to the Tylenol sitting on the table.
"OJ," I answer.
She pours a tall glass and sets it down in front of me. "You hungry?"
"Definitely not," I answer, my stomach churning with nausea.
"You shouldn't go without breakfast."
"A dry piece of toast then," I concede.
I eat the toast and head back up to my room. As I'm leaving Mom asks, "So what's on the schedule for today?"
"Same as yesterday," I answer, not looking in her direction purposely. I'm not in the mood for the cynical expression I know she's giving me. She doesn't stop me, which to me is a sign of resignation. I start to feel guilty. I turn back around. "Love you, Mom."
"Love you too, kiddo," she says, not looking up from the dishes.
I continue up the stairs to my room and lie back on my bed, wondering what I would feel like if I hadn't thrown up. When the Tylenol kicks in, I shower and begin to dress. My mother calls up.
"Austin! I'm going to the store. You need anything?"
"No!" I shout back.
"Oh, and you have company!"
"Be right down!" I answer. Kaylee. I must not have done too much damage to our relationship. I finish dressing: flannel shirt, shorts, wool socks, hiking boots. I double-check myself in the mirror and head downstairs.
Instead of Kaylee, Allie is sitting on my living room couch.
"Allie?"
"Hi, Austin."
I sit down beside her. "What's up?"
She stands, paces, wrings her hands. Nervous. "Well, I was thinking." She takes a deep breath. "I appreciate you coming over yesterday, letting me vent and everything. I thought maybe you would w
ant me to return the favor." "It wasn't a favor, Allie. You don't need to pay me back. I just want to help. I want to know that you're okay."
"I know. I just thought I could do something for you in return," she says, approaching, kneeling, leaning on my thighs.
"What, Allie? What do you want to do for me?"
"What do I want to do for you?" she says, mostly to herself. "Well, it's more like something I want to give you."
"What's that?"
"Me."
"What are you talking about?"
"Well, you're a virgin, right?" she asks, now starting to caress my legs.
"Allie, no."
"I know you are. So, I just thought maybe you would like to, you know, know what you're doing, just in case you and Kaylee decide..." Her voice drops away.
"No."
"Yes," she says, getting quietly hysterical. "In case it happens for you and Kaylee, then it won't be weird, ya know? You'll know what to do, how to do it. We don't have to do it now. We can meet somewhere, or get a hotel room. Or you could come to my house. My parents are never home anyway."
I stand up, grab her hands, fix my eyes on her black-eyeliner-laden ones. She's tearing up, wounded, offended in some way. I need to be careful with her.
"Allie, listen. You're great, really. I don't want this from you, or for you. I came to see you because I missed you and hoped to help you, not as a favor. Helping you wasn't my only reason for visiting. I was being selfish. I'm searching for meaning, Allie, even if it's just a shred, before it's too late. Sex is the furthest thing from my mind right now, even with Kaylee."
"Really?" She looks at me achingly, but thoughtfully. "Meaning, huh? Maybe it's time I found some meaning too? Before it's too late?"
"I think that's a good idea," I say.
She heads to the front door; I follow. She stops, reaches up, touches my face, then smiles and says, "You know you're cute, right?"
I smile back. "Really?"
"Yes, really. I just thought you should know."
"Thank you." I grab her hand from my face, kiss her palm, and hold her hand as she heads out the door. I watch as she walks down the sidewalk. Suddenly I see something very different about her, something positive, something like confidence. I start to feel better about my visit with her. I think she'll be okay.