Out of My Mind

by A. J. Truman

“Oh, I got really nauseous at the reception. I needed some fresh air, and then I went home and took some Advil.”

  “Oh, my roommate moved out because he was on the waiting list for a dorm room, and a slot became available. It’s cheaper than rent. We were on a month-to-month agreement.”

  “Oh Hannah, I texted you that I was leaving the wedding. The reception in that area is terrible.”

  Spin spin spin.

  Gideon reached a breaking point when he got back from class a few days later. He turned his phone back on and rejoined the world. His phone buzzed with texts from Seth and his mom.

  He scrolled through his Instagram. All the smiling faces on his feed made him more depressed. Delia posted a picture from some frat party. Mac had his arm around this guy with a stupid sweater vest. Well, Mac’s moved on.

  If only Gideon could do the same.

  He shuffled to the kitchen. No stray cups on the counter. The dishwasher was full of clean dishes. Exactly how he wanted it.

  He made himself a cup of coffee and sat on his sofa. Behind him was Mac’s bedroom. The dividers remained in place. Gideon didn’t bother looking inside. It was going to be empty. No bed. No clothes on the floor.

  His phone rang in his pocket.

  “Hey, Mom.”

  “How are you feeling?” She asked with concern. Gideon had to remind himself about his stomach bug.

  “Better. Yeah, feeling better.”

  “Are you sure? You don’t sound great.”

  “I just woke up from a nap.” He shielded himself from the glare of the sun.

  “Have you gone to the infirmary yet?”

  “No. I’m feeling better.”

  “Well, you can never be too sure. That bug might be part of something bigger. I mean, for it to cause you to leave your brother’s wedding...”

  “Mom,” he said before restraining himself. He took a breath. “I’ll go to the doctor this afternoon, to be safe.”

  Another story beat.

  “How was the rest of the reception?”

  “It was…it was nice. Your brother seemed very happy. And Christina’s family is very nice, too.”

  Gideon shuffled his mug around the coffee table, watching it leave a ring of steam and condensation in its path.

  “Did Noah say anything about me leaving?” He couldn’t believe he was using his mom like this, but hell if he was going to extend an olive branch to Noah. Just because he was older didn’t mean he was wiser. It didn’t mean he knew anything.

  “No. I told him you texted me saying you weren’t feeling well, and he understood. He was too busy drinking and carousing with Christina’s family.” Gideon’s chest constricted with the same old stress. “It was his wedding. He was having a good time.”

  “I know.” He could hear her eye roll over the phone. “Gideon, I have to be honest. It seems strange that you felt so sick that you had to leave in such a hurry. Some of my friends asked me how it went, and I had to tell them that my son left his brother’s wedding early. It wasn’t like you, Gideon.” Suddenly the conversation turned away from familiar topics. It was no longer about the disaster that was Noah. It was about Gideon.

  “Is everything okay?” His mom asked, that familiar concern in her voice. Was she ever not concerned? “You’ve been acting strange, and remember, you can talk to me about things.”

  “What do you mean?” Gideon went over his behavior of late. Save for the wedding incident, it was in line with previous Gideon experiences. He did not break story continuity.

  “Well, the wedding, for one.”

  “I told you I was sick!”

  “Don’t raise your voice.” Even though he was twenty, her reprimanding tone still shut him up. “And we haven’t talked as frequently. I’m lucky if I can get a hold of you once a week now. And just now. You never raise your voice like that.”

  “I just have a lot going on.” No no no. This was the wrong kind of lie. It was vague. It threw up red flags.

  “Are you on drugs?” She asked, completely serious.

  “No!”

  “I worry. You hear these stories about good kids who go away to college and become drug addicts or die of alcohol poisoning or get hazed in their fraternity.”

  “I’m not in a fraternity, and I’m not on drugs. You don’t need to worry about me.”

  “I know I don’t, but I still do.”

  Gideon went to the window and drew the blinds. The glare off the snow made the sun unbearable. His apartment was now dark like a vampire’s lair.

  He composed himself and remained in character. “Mom, it’s been a tough quarter. With Beth and all the drama with Noah, and having a heavy load of classes— I mean, these professors are tough—it was a lot.”

  The beats may have changed, but the story kept on rolling.

  “Don’t worry, sweetie. We all go through rough patches. You’ll make it through. I have full faith in you.”

  “Thanks, Mom.” He appreciated her supportive words, even if he still heard worry in her voice.

  “And how is your roommate situation? Did you find a new one yet? Hopefully, this one is more dependable.”

  “I hope so, too,” he said. Because the story kept on rolling.

  Φ

  That night, Gideon and Seth shot some hoops at the gym. Seth had picked up his game in the past few weeks. Usually Gideon played with his friend to feel better about his skills, but he was getting schooled by a guy who didn’t eat half the foods in existence.

  “Damn, have you been practicing with Delia or something?” He asked after Seth blocked his shot.

  Gideon dribbled around him. Or he tried. Seth stole the ball.

  “You are like Jewish LeBron.”

  “What’s going on with you? You used to have game.” Seth weaved the ball through his legs.

  “Used to? I still do.” Though Gideon didn’t feel too sure about it. His charming, fun, social self seemed miles away. This fall had brought too much shit. “So what’s Delia up to tonight? Hanging out with Mac?”

  “Is that your attempt to find out what’s been going on with Mac?”

  Gideon stole the ball from Seth before his friend could question his blushing cheeks. “I just want to make sure the guy is doing okay in his new place. Where’s he living?”

  “Those crappy apartments on Pine Street. It’s small.”

  “Empty? I had to pull teeth to get Mac to invest in a used nightstand.”

  “He just got a dining table and chairs so people could come over.”

  “He did?”

  “Yeah. Rafe helped him pick it up.”

  Gideon completely airballed his shot. “What’s a Rafe?”

  “This guy Mac has been hanging out with.”

  “Like a boyfriend?” The guy in the stupid sweater vest. Gideon picked up the ball and almost flattened it in his hands.

  Seth shrugged. This was gossip overload for him. “I think they just started hanging out like a week ago, nothing official.”

  “This is a pretty big step, though, picking out furniture. I mean, Beth and I didn’t do that until ten months of dating.”

  Seth looked at Gideon as if he had crazy all over his face. “I think Rafe just went with him to the seller’s house?”

  He tried to picture what a Rafe would look like. That was not a name you heard in Westchester. Maybe that was what Mac liked. Gideon pivoted, on the court and on this conversation. “Good for him for getting some furniture. Maybe next he’ll get a Swiffer.”

  “I guess.” Seth picked up the rebound and positioned himself for a three-pointer, which bounced off the rim. It was closer than he’d come in their past games. “Why do you care so much?”

  Gideon couldn’t tell if there was a tone to his voice that belied something else, like maybe he and Delia had been having some conversations lately.

  “I don’t.” Gideon swished his shot, and that was that.

  Φ

  Except it wasn’t. Because after their game, instead of going back to
his apartment, Gideon’s feet brought him to the crappy apartments on Pine Street. The main door was unlocked, allowing Gideon to look for Mac’s name on the mailbox and access the stairway. It was Gideon’s hands that had a mind of their own and knocked on Mac’s door. And it was Gideon’s eyes that absorbed every inch of the Mac who stood in the doorway, the same, strong Mac that had screamed with orgasm and cuddled in bed.

  “What are you doing here?” Mac asked.

  It wasn’t the way Gideon wanted to start this conversation. Mac’s instant offense made Gideon feel super awkward. He poked his head in.

  “I wanted to check out your new place.” Mac did what he could with what looked like an apartment that hadn’t been kept up in years. It was one of those shady college apartments where the landlord didn’t fix anything because he knew there’d always be a college kid dumb enough to rent it as is.

  Exhibit A: Mac.

  A few items of basic furniture gave the place the shape of an apartment.

  “It’s nice,” Gideon said.

  Sitting in one of Mac’s new dining chairs was the Rafe. The guy’s rainbow socks peeked from under his jeans.

  “This must be Rafe.” Gideon plastered on his best smile.

  “And you must be Gideon.” He didn’t know why, something about the smile this guy gave him instantly made Gideon dislike him.

  “I’m Mac’s old roommate.”

  Rafe nodded. Still with that smile. It made Gideon itch.

  “There’s not much to look at.” Mac remained at the open door. “It’s a studio.”

  “I’m glad you found a place.”

  Mac didn’t respond, which prompted Gideon to act like more of a jackass. He pointed at the two guys.

  “So are you like a thing?”

  “Gideon, can you leave?” Mac pointed to the door. Gideon got the hint. Didn’t mean he was going to take it.

  That was a yes or no question, and you didn’t give me a yes or no answer.

  He swung on his heel and checked out the pathetic lineup of appliances that was passed off as a kitchen. “Oh, no dishwasher. Probably no in-unit washer and dryer, either.”

  But there was a full dish rack next to the sink. For some reason, Gideon took pride in it, like it was his influence.

  “This studio isn’t so bad. It’s a healthy step up from a dorm room. Actually, though, a bachelor unit is a step up from a dorm room. With those, you just get a hot plate.”

  “Thank you for the insight.” Mac nodded his head out the door. He didn’t find a lick of this entertaining.

  Not like Rafe, whose smile was holding back laughter.

  “What’s so funny?” Gideon asked him.

  Rafe looked him square in the eye, shrinking him to petri dish size. “You.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Rafe got up and in his face. “It means Mac wants you to leave. So leave.”

  This guy wasn’t worth making a scene over. Gideon strolled to the door. As he stared into Mac’s unblinking eyes for a sign of their old relationship, he realized how much he missed their talks most of all. He would’ve loved to stay up unloading the wedding drama with Mac over some mac ‘n cheese. He didn’t want his fuckbuddy back. He wanted his friend. He wanted his lover. But neither was a sufficient enough word for what they had.

  Mac’s eyes were a pair of big, brown vaults, and Gideon didn’t have the combination anymore.

  “I’m really glad everything worked out,” Gideon said right before his throat choked up with emotion. He barreled down the steps before his stupid emotions got the best of him.

  CHAPTER twenty-one

  Mac

  People never knew when their lives could change on the dime. It could be any day. And so when Mac woke up the next morning after that incredibly awkward meeting with Gideon to his phone ringing, he expected it was Delia or Rafe. Or hell, even Gideon with an apology.

  It was Helen.

  “Mackie…” The dreary, adult tone of her voice already told Mac bad news was next. Helen sobbed. “Well, your aunt…she passed away yesterday.”

  He was all logic, the only thing keeping him together. He had to know the cold, hard facts.

  “The doctors said she was supposed to make a full recovery. She was fine when I spoke to her.”

  “And she was. She was feeling better and getting back to her old self at home. But I came over, and she was on the floor. They said a blood clot had developed after surgery and it got into her bloodstream and caused an embolism in her brain. I don’t even know what all that means!” Helen let out a few sobs. “But she’s gone, Mackie. She’s gone.”

  “But she survived a brain tumor!” Mac yelled. “They said it went okay.”

  Mac’s jaw tightened and rusted shut. He didn’t let one tear fall. This wasn’t fair. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

  “I know, sweetie. It hurts.”

  “Do my parents know?” He asked with businesslike efficiency.

  “The coroner’s office called them since your dad is next of kin.”

  His parents got to hear the news before him. Equally unfair. Mac pinched himself, hoping this was some nightmare. He missed his stupid, petty college bullshit drama so much right now. He didn’t miss Aunt Rita yet. He still couldn’t believe she was gone. Aunt Rita in the past tense did not compute.

  Mac’s stomach clenched with a new level of worry. “Helen, where are they burying her?”

  “Pittsburgh,” she answered.

  He breathed a sigh of relief. He only had to deal with his parents, and maybe a few other relatives. He didn’t have to go back to West Virginia. Helen gave him the information for the funeral service. Mac was already online booking his bus ticket before she hung up. He gripped his four-leaf clover keychain until his fingers turned white.

  “Where was my damn good luck?” He asked it. Then he threw his keys across the room.

  Φ

  Helen waved to him when he got off the bus, but it wasn’t her usual enthusiastic greeting. Just a wave to let him know where she and her Corvette were. Mac didn’t sleep on the bus. His body was exhausted but his mind was wide awake. He got in the car and shut the door.

  Helen pulled him into a hug. His side dug into her center console.

  “Oh, Mackie,” she said to him, to herself, to the world. He rubbed her arm. He didn’t know what to say back. This fucking sucks didn’t seem appropriate. “Let’s go home.”

  She meant to her house, where Mac was staying. Not his real home. It was understood that Mac didn’t want to sleep alone in the house where Aunt Rita died.

  “Are my parents in town yet?”

  “I assume so,” Helen said. “I got a call from your mother about the time and location of the funeral. They’re working with the funeral home.”

  Mac whipped his head to face her, his jaw rusting in place again. “My mom called you?”

  Helen nodded. She glanced at Mac, surprised. “She and your dad are putting together the service and arranging the burial. They’ve been notifying friends and family.”

  Not all family, apparently. Mac checked his phone. No missed calls. No texts. No emails.

  “Do they have your phone number?”

  “Yeah,” though Mac wasn’t completely sure.

  “I’m sure they assumed that I would call you,” Helen said, desperately trying to sound positive.

  “But what if you hadn’t? What if you didn’t have my number?”

  Mac’s vision went blurry with anger. He sure as hell wouldn’t shed a tear over what his parents did.

  “I know this is a tough time, but maybe it’s these experiences that help people reconnect. Grieving is a communal activity.”

  And I’m not part of their community. Mac’s distance from his parents had been tough over these years, despite all the good times with Aunt Rita and his friends in Pittsburgh and Browerton. He had people, but just not the two people he wanted most. Yet he thought, in the back of his mind, that whatever happened between them could b
e repaired. That no matter how bad things had gotten, no matter how much time had passed, that they were his parents and he was their son, and that fact would triumph.

  Looks like I was fucking wrong.

  “It’s going to be okay, Mackie.”

  Mac looked out the window, never feeling more alone.

  Φ

  Mac watched TV in Helen’s living room, which smelled of lavender and cigarette smoke. The TV was merely background noise to him, so the house didn’t feel so quiet. Helen had to run some errands to prepare for the funeral, like getting her dress dry-cleaned and picking up some food for Mac to eat while he stayed with her.

  He stared at his phone on the glass coffee table. His parents would do the right thing. He knew that he could call them, but he was scared of being right. At least now, he lived with a sliver of hope that they were trying to get a hold of him.

  He didn’t know how much time had passed, but the sun was still out, and the house was still empty. It was that time of December when the sun looked to be perpetually setting, tinting everything with a constant magic hour glow. Mac checked online, and friends had sent and posted their condolences. At least the Internet cares. He searched the comments on his profile for one in particular, for an avatar with wild blond hair and dazzling green eyes.

  Nada.

  Mac sat upright on the couch. He couldn’t recline, couldn’t relax. He had to get out. He had to get fresh air.

  In the garage, he found an old bike belonging to one of Helen’s sons. It creaked when Mac got on and creaked even louder when he pedaled, but there was air in the tires and he was moving. He biked through Helen’s neighborhood, past the cookie cutter homes with their identical snowed-over lawns.

  Aunt Rita didn’t live far from Helen. On warm days, they would walk over to her house for a barbeque. These familiar streets were more of a home to Mac than any part of Kingwood, West Virginia.

  He turned right onto Ryder Avenue. A fresh lump appeared in his throat. Their house was just around the curve in the road, past their neighbor with the duck-shaped mailbox.

  On this familiar street, there was a familiar car in Aunt Rita’s driveway. A red pick-up truck. Mac had a new lump in his throat, this one far more powerful and indestructible.