Blueberry Pancakes: A Novel

by Richards, Anton Lee

  “I would be too if I chased after things I didn’t want,” Marlene replied, pointing to her upright piano.

  Silas grew still. “I’m stuck, and I can’t get out. I never will,” Silas said. “I have stuck.”

  “Yes, you can,” Marlene said. “Stop thinking like that. It’s not your marriage and fatherhood you want out of. It’s the state of mind.”

  I shifted in my seat. “You scare me when you say you don’t want to be a father. What about that kid?”

  “I haven’t left yet. I’m the good, responsible dad I’m supposed to be, so you can all fuck off.” He turned his head as tears fell.

  Robin’s groove took a quick nosedive before regaining its rhythm, and then he changed the subject, “All the stuck people out there can help each other find their own happiness.” He looked at me with a pained smile and shrugged his shoulders.

  “That’s the lyric,” I said. “Let’s keep going with these lyrics.”

  “Strawberry fields forever?” Robin asked.

  “That’s taken,” I said.

  “That’s the point. Its total nonsense. We’re too philosophical with this. It ruins the vibe.” Robin continued to play, and I realized he could have a full conversation while keeping a solid tempo on his guitar. “It’s like trying to find the ideal relationship.”

  “You’re the one who wants a commitment,” Marlene barked back.

  Robin gulped. “That’s not what I...”

  I waved the bong in the air. “Confined in responsibility, bonded by blame.”

  “That’s why you’re the songwriter,” Silas said.

  “Captured by shame,” Marlene added.

  “I’m not supposed to be a help desk administrator. I don’t want to spend all day working for some guy on the organizational chart I’ve never met.”

  “Amen to that,” I said. Then I remembered that Help Desk Administrator was a damn good job at most places, something anybody would be lucky to have.

  “What is stuck?” Marlene asked.

  “It’s something you and Robin don’t have,” I said, coughing. Silas nodded me in understanding. We both knew.

  * * *

  Marlene and I tried to entice Silas out of his funk with a bottle of wine after a night of pancakes and gossip. The light was on when we got home, and Silas wasn’t on our couch where he usually slumped over playing video games. I called out for him. The bathroom door was open, and the light was on. Marlene and I glanced at each other. I tip-toed to the bathroom and held my breath when I saw him sitting on the edge of the bathtub in only his underwear. His wet back faced us.

  “What’s wrong?” Marlene asked, peering into the bathroom.

  “Stuck,” Silas said.

  “I know, but what else?” I asked. “I’m stuck too. Why are you sitting in the bathtub?”

  “Stuck.”

  “Thinking about that won’t help,” I said. As much as he worried me, it annoyed me I had to listen to it again. Was I selfish?

  “We’ve got a bottle of wine,” Marlene said. “Let’s get you thinking about something else.”

  “It keeps happening over and over again. My mind won’t stop. My failure. I fail in my mind and then I fail again.” He waved his right hand, with a little blood on it, in the air. “It’s a failure. A failure again.” He paused. “Like a stuck failure. Again and again.”

  “But you’re not failing,” I said. “Look at all the success we’ve had. A movie, The Big Apple Tarts, and Marlene’s getting attention internationally. None of that would’ve happened without you.”

  “I’m just a goddamned, help desk, cubicle, gray.” I couldn’t make out every word he was saying, and of what I could, wasn’t making sense. “Duncan, you’re a good songwriter. Marlene’s a good singer. I only add the drum beat. Stupid.”

  “No way, Silas. We’d be nowhere without you,” I said. Didn’t he realize that he took our homemade demos and turned them into something magical? I took one step forward, but he recoiled, so I stepped back.

  “I’d be nowhere without you, Silas,” Marlene said.

  “Even if we succeed? Then what? Then I’m still stuck. I’d still have stuck. Marlene will be rich and famous, but I’ll still be stuck.”

  “Dammit,” said Marlene. “I’ll become rich and famous, and I’ll need somebody to produce my next album. I only want to work with you.”

  “Still stuck. My mind won’t stop. Failure. To Caleb, Rachel, The Factory.”

  “Calm down,” I said. “You’re all over the place. Did you take something? Did you drink something?” I searched around for an empty pill bottle or flask, but there wasn’t anything.

  “This is my mind in its most natural state. Stuck and never stopping. I wish I could blame drugs, but it’s me. Poor Caleb. He will grow up as screwed up as I am.”

  “Caleb will be fine,” Marlene said. “And you’ll be there for him.”

  This was a different Silas. Before, he would only complain about his wife and kids. Now he was persecuting himself.

  “Don’t want to go back to the Help Desk and show my fake smiles.” With that, he sobbed and bent over. His shoulders trembled violently. Marlene looked like she was scared shitless. There was nothing we could say.

  “Try not to think about it that way,” I said. “When you–”

  “Why not?” he whimpered. “All of our lives are lies. You’d all be crying if you faced up to the stuck you have.”

  “That’s why it’s so important for us to stick with each other. Duncan and I are here for you. So is Robin. And Rachel will be too.” I put my arm around Marlene’s shoulder.

  “No, I’m just going to bring you all down,” he said. “Even if you reach all your musical dreams, you’ll never get high enough. No matter how many hit songs.”

  “Can’t you enjoy the medium?” I asked. I wished I had something better to say.

  “What’s the medium?” he asked, sniffling.

  “The not-being-high. Or the not-being-low. Just cool, calm, and content. The bohemian gold. Not being the best or having the most or needing to achieve more. Being content to create and be artistic. I’ve seen you at your most content when I bring you a new song, and you moved tracks around. You were happy adding in a drum loop, picking out a bass patch, and recording Marlene’s vocals.”

  It was true; the most enjoyable part was the process. We all had our Zen in that environment–the actual creation, not the results from it. Success is just the icing on the cake.

  “My dad never loved me,” Silas said out of nowhere. He wasn’t listening to what we were saying.

  “What makes you think that?” Immediately, I wished I could retract the question.

  “I was never a real son to him. I didn’t play sports or chase girls.” His speech slowed down and slurred, but then picked up again. “He hated that I picked up the guitar after ten years of piano lessons. He hated that I took piano lessons, to begin with.” Tiny spots of blood hit the bathtub wall as he flung his arm to one side.

  “I never played sports either,” I hesitated and walked towards him, looking over his shoulder to see what he was doing. “And I’m gay, so my dad was disappointed in me too, but look at where we are and what we have–”

  “We have nothing. You two think you have something, but you don’t realize how empty you are.”

  He cried again and fiddled with something in his hand. He scratched on his forearms and knees which, I couldn’t tell, but may have been bleeding. I took a deep breath and prayed I wouldn’t say the wrong thing. Marlene stared at me as if I should have done something.

  “I’m not alone,” I said. “I have you, Silas. And Marlene and Robin. We are each other’s family, and we don’t have to worry about disappointing each other by not playing sports or playing the wrong instruments. We’re creating the music we want to create, and it’s damn cool.”

  “No, it’s not. It’s empty.”

  “When I feel empty, I write a song,” I said. “Afterward, I don’t feel empty anym
ore. I think about all the people in my life I love.”

  “If you knew the real me, the demon in me, you’d be scared. I’m truly evil.” He talked in a monotone voice and wouldn’t look at me.

  I stood frozen in place. There was nothing left I could say. Marlene looked like she was going to say something a couple of times but stopped before the words came out. I assumed she was also out of ideas. Silas moved his right hand back and forth over his left forearm in a swift motion. It wasn’t until I noticed the light reflecting off the razor blade that I realized what he was doing.

  “Don’t!” shouted Marlene, stepping forward but then stopping in place. “You’ll be just as stuck after you cut yourself.”

  He cut his left forearm, and I got closer. At first, it was a tiny horizontal slice, but he continued to slash his arm deeper. It looked like some of them were there before we arrived. He made several more medium-sized cuts before he dragged out one massive vertical slash from his wrist to his elbow. My jaws and fists tightened. My stomach was nauseous.

  Instead of taking action, I stood, paralyzed. Marlene jabbed me. “Do something,” she said with a dry throat. By the time he finished the extended vertical cut, his arm had dripped with blood. I remembered when Kenny pinned me down. Helpless. I didn’t want to be that submissive person again.

  My muscles tensed, and I jumped at him with a desire for vengeance. I didn’t attack Silas, but rather the demon inside him he was talking about. Passivity would not rule over me again. I threw him in the bathtub with all my might where we wrestled for a couple minutes. He dropped the razor blade, and we both struggled to find it. Neither of us could. The fight with Kenny gave me the confidence I could handle Silas. I pinned him down while Marlene reached in and picked up the razor blade.

  Silas collected himself and stood up. He looked dazed as the blood streamed down his arm and leg. I placed my fist next to my ear, mouthed 9-1-1, and nodded at Marlene, who turned on her heels and walked into the living room. A moment later, she spoke into the phone with urgency.

  “You’ll be OK,” I said. “We both will.” I wrapped a bath towel around his forearm and felt fortunate that he didn’t resist anymore. He sat back down on the edge of the bathtub and slumped over. When the EMTs arrived ten long minutes later, they steered him down the stairs to the ambulance. He was safe for the moment. What the fuck just happened?

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  WHAT MORE CAN I ASK FOR?

  Two weeks later, the hospital released Silas with a prescription and a contact number for a follow-up therapist. He had gotten out in time to see Marlene play a gig he had worked for months to get, one where he had sold over a hundred tickets. He even moved back home with Rachel to give their marriage another try.

  “How many people do you think will show up just to see me?” Marlene asked as we walked up the stairs to the elevated platform of the train station. She was to open for a power-pop band. This gave us all some optimism that she wasn’t the only pop act playing in Chicago. Silas would meet us at the club with his van and equipment, such as the laptop with the backing track and the microphones.

  A group of young clubbers hung outside a popular bar at the ground level. “Let’s keep warm.” Marlene followed me to one of the train platform heat lamps. There was an hour-old text from Silas that I’d missed.

  Never give up ur dream Never settle for a career u don’t luv We r alike, but u can b better than me

  “Do you think he’ll ever go back to her?” she asked me.

  “No, I don’t,” I said. “Maybe that’s a good thing.” Several kids walked by yelling profanities. A car below had a massive stereo thumping bass we could feel all the way up in the platform.

  “I guess so. I hope it doesn’t hurt The Factory.”

  “The Factory’s all he’s got, and he’s going downhill.” I moved over to make room under the heat lamp for a woman holding several grocery bags. A young boy clutched her legs.

  “The gigs are finally coming in for us,” she said. “Our dreams–his dreams–are coming true. That should bring him a new lease on life.”

  “This is a medical problem. Winning the lottery doesn’t cure clinical depression,” I said. “If that’s what it is.” The platform became crowded.

  Marlene pondered that thought for a moment. “But his depression hasn’t hindered his work, has it? He’d been booking all these gigs before the bathtub incident. Do you think it’s hard on him now that we’re going to gigs rather than recording new music?”

  “Maybe it is, but as you said, our dreams are coming true. What more can Silas ask for? What more can I ask for, for that matter?”

  “He’s gotten his freedom from Rachel and Caleb, I suppose.” She checked the bottom of her pink pumps. “Do you have any gum? Preferably some that is not at the bottom of my shoe.”

  A text from an unknown number came in. This is Rachel. Silas’s wife. I need to talk with you and Marlene.

  I held up the phone to Marlene so she could read it. “She must want to see if Silas can live with us again,” Marlene said, laughing and shaking her head no.

  I rolled my eyes. “Their condo is at least three times the size of our apartment. There’s plenty of space there for them to ignore each other.”

  I texted back anyway. I can call you in 20 min when we get to the club.

  No. In person. Come over now. Both of you.

  Marlene and I looked at each other, baffled, as we had a gig in an hour. We headed out of the train station, hoping that Silas would give us a ride to the club when we got to his place. We walked the half a mile in silence. Marlene took off her high heels and walked barefoot down the sidewalks. I sweated bullets though it was a chilly night. When we turned the corner, we saw an ambulance in front of Silas’s building just leaving.

  “He must have cut himself again,” Marlene said. “What do we say to her?”

  Rachel was waiting by the front door, but wouldn’t look us in the eye. She waved us into the living room without saying hello. Marlene and I took off our shoes like we always did when we went over there to record music. There were a few police officers in the kitchen, but I couldn’t make out the conversation.

  “Is Silas okay?” My voice choked as I said his name.

  Rachael heaved as she tried to speak. “Gone.” She caught her breath. “He’s gone.”

  I tried to speak but couldn’t. I looked over to Marlene twice hoping that she would rescue me.

  Marlene’s eyes widened as she looked back and forth between my face and Rachel’s. “How did he do it?”

  Rachel started sobbing. I hugged her because that was the only thing I could think of. “How?”

  “Single bullet to the temple,” Rachel said.

  Marlene cowered as though someone kicked her in the gut. She knelt to the floor, barely holding herself up with one hand against the wall.

  “Would it be better for Caleb to grow up without a father or with a father that resented him?” Rachel asked in a whimpering voice.

  Marlene couldn’t get herself up off the floor. When went to help pull her up, I had my own difficulty as the room was spinning. I never thought I’d be the lucid one.

  Goddamnit, Silas, you had so fucking much. Asshole. I guess you got your freedom from stuck.

  Marlene yelled. “You were supposed to be watching him.” She pounded me in the chest and pushed me with a livid face. I had never seen her angry at me before in my life. “Didn’t you know he would do this? Why didn’t you stop him?”

  A police officer interrupted us. “Sir,” he paused, placing his arm between Marlene and I. “Sir, did you know the victim?”

  I stuttered, “Y-yes.” I paused. “He was like my older brother, my musical mentor.”

  “Victim?” Marlene shouted. “What about us? We’re the victims.”

  The police officer interviewed us separately, asking if we knew his history or why he would have done it. “Stuck” was the only answer I could give him.

  Poor Rachel. Poor me.
My mind moved away from worrying about his family and onto how I could continue writing songs without Silas.

  “I have to go somewhere,” Marlene said, fiddling with her jacket zipper without successfully zipping it. “I need to be alone.” Marlene turned her back on me and walked away.

  “I won’t leave you alone here,” I said to Rachel.

  The police officer handed her a business card and walked out with one more “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “Please, let me be alone with Caleb for a while. Then I have calls to make,” she replied, still not looking me in the face.

  I took the bus up to Andersonville. Instead of going home, I paced down Clark Street and back, several times, never going within one block of The Blade, a habit I had gained after going home with Kenny.

  On the sidewalk, I pulled out my phone and opened it up to Jesse’s contact information. I put it back in my pocket and took it out several times before calling.

  I breathed into the phone without speaking.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “Silas…” I sobbed while people on the sidewalk glanced at me.

  “He’s gone, isn’t he?” Jesse asked.

  “How did you know?” I asked in sniffles.

  “Silas had a hard time with life. He was at risk. I prayed for him,” Jesse said. This was the soothing, comforting side of Jesse that I had known since we first started dating. It didn’t cross my mind that we had broken up at The Noise after he got jealous of Christopher. Calling him for support was an engrained reflex.

  “You knew this would happen, and all you did was fucking pray for him?” The fucking nerve.

  “I did not know this would happen. I only knew he had a hard time dealing with his life,” Jesse said.

  “Fuck praying,” I said. A woman walking past me made the Sign of the Cross and whispered the words God bless you.

  “Sometimes prayer is all that we have.”

  “No, Jesse. Praying isn’t enough. I cannot handle this. It was so gruesome.” I did not see his body, but the image ran through my mind of him sitting on my bathtub wall.