Amy & Roger's Epic Detour

by Morgan Matson

  “Yes,” I said. “I’m Charlie Curry’s sister? I was looking for him?”

  “You’re Amy?” the other girl asked. She had hair that was probably platinum blond most of the time, but now had a good three inches of black roots growing in. Even from a distance, I could see what looked like burns on her lips.

  I looked at her in surprise. “I am,” I said. “But how did you—”

  “We have Group,” she said. “We all share things.”

  “Oh.” I realized that Charlie had been talking about me. About our family. I immediately wanted to know what he’d been saying. And then I felt a flash of anger, so intense it scared me. Charlie could talk to strangers, but he couldn’t talk to me? “Well, do you know where I could find him?” I asked. They both just looked at me in silence. “Please?” I added.

  “I don’t know,” the curly-haired girl said. “Are you here to make him feel bad? He feels guilty enough already, you know.”

  “What?” I asked, confused. Charlie had never felt guilty about anything in his life. “No. I just want to talk to him.”

  The two girls looked at each other and seemed to be having some kind of silent conversation. Finally the blond girl nodded. “He’s three doors down,” she said, indicating that I should head to the left. “Him and Muz.”

  “Muz?” I asked, just as a chime played loudly. I looked around and saw that both girls had looked over to the wall, where an intercom was mounted.

  “Good afternoon,” a soothing voice said in soft tones. “I hope that your morning reflection been pleasant and fulfilling. Reflection time will be ending in twenty minutes. In twenty minutes, please make your way to your designated prelunch activity. Thank you.” Then the chime sounded again, and the intercom clicked off.

  I stared up at it for a moment. This was how Charlie had been spending the last month—in luxury accommodations, talking though his feelings and reflecting? Meanwhile, I’d been getting pizza delivered and rattling around in the house alone, trying to fall asleep to the Weather Channel. “Thanks,” I said to the girls as I headed for the door.

  “Sure,” the curly-haired girl said.

  The blonde just looked at me for a moment. “You should call your mother,” she said. “Really.”

  I wanted to ask her what she meant, but I didn’t have time to. But what just happened? I stepped out into the hallway, which was decorated in an Asian theme. Julia would have approved. There was a potted bamboo in front of every room and a quietly trickling fountain at the end of the hallway, which was softly lit. I looked around to make sure that the coast was clear, and then hurried past three rooms, catching glances from people as I passed open doors—and all the doors seemed to be open.

  I stopped in front of a door that was ajar, but not as much as the others. CHARLIE AND ZACH was written on a laminated sign attached to the door in a little slot that was clearly designed so the sign could be changed frequently. I took a breath, pushed the door open, and stepped inside.

  The first thing I saw was a guy in his underwear doing a head-stand against the wall. A guy who was, thankfully, not my brother. His upside-down eyes widened, and he gave a little yelp before tumbling over. “Um, what?” he asked, scrambling to his feet. He was a little chunky, with thick brown curly hair.

  “That’s why I’ve told you, Muz, put some damn clothes on if you’re going to do yoga.” I looked across the room and saw my brother sitting in an armchair, as though he had been expecting me. “After all, you never know when my sister might decide to drop by.”

  I turned and faced Charlie, both because I wanted to get a better look at him, and because I wanted to give Muz some privacy while he—hopefully—put some pants on. Charlie looked much better than he had the last time I’d seen him, though it probably would have been hard for him to look worse. But he looked healthier, and tan, and more in focus. It was like seeing the slides at the optometrist, when you didn’t even realize how blurry something was until you got to see the clearer version, and you could see what had been obscured before.

  “Hey,” I said, coming a little farther into the room.

  “This is a surprise,” Charlie said. He sounded casual, but I knew him well enough to see that I had rattled him. “Were you just in the neighborhood?”

  “Kind of,” I said. I glanced up at the intercom. “Um, I heard the announcement. You have to leave in twenty minutes?”

  “More like fifteen,” Muz said from behind me, and I turned a little cautiously. But thankfully, he had put on shorts and a T-shirt, and was extending his hand to me. “Zach Tyler,” he said.

  “Amy Curry,” I said, and we shook quickly. At this point, it might have surprised me if we hadn’t shaken hands.

  “Oh, I know,” he said. “Believe me.”

  I turned to look at Charlie, who just smiled and said, “Amy, meet Zach, more commonly known as Muz.”

  “Messed-Up Zach,” Muz translated. “But, you know, for brevity’s sake, we usually went with the acronym.”

  “Muz is from Richmond, Virginia, and until recently, his hobbies included freebasing.”

  “Hi,” I said to Muz, then looked back at my brother. “So you have to go in fifteen minutes?”

  Charlie glanced over at the clock between the two beds. “Yeah,” he said.

  “Do you have to?” I asked. “I mean, can you get out of it?”

  “No, I can’t get out of it,” Charlie said sharply. “This is rehab, Amy, not homeroom.”

  Muz cleared his throat and murmured, “I think maybe I’ll just go wait in the hallway now, okay?”

  “Thanks,” said Charlie. Muz shuffled out and pulled the door a little farther shut—though he still didn’t close it—behind him.

  “This is a nice setup here,” I said, looking around the room. I could tell Charlie’s side because there were stacks of books around his bed, and a tennis racket with a can of tennis balls next to it. I wondered if he’d started playing again while he’d been here. In his leisure time. I could feel myself beginning to get angry again.

  “Amy, what are you doing here?” Charlie asked, staring at me.

  “I went to Graceland yesterday,” I said, looking right back at him.

  Charlie’s face seemed to close off a little. “Oh,” he said.

  “Yeah,” I said, and I could hear that my voice was shaking. “You know, the trip you didn’t want to go on? The trip that you told Dad was stupid?” Charlie looked down at the ground. He picked up a tennis ball and gripped it hard. “I thought that one of us should go on it.”

  “Why did you come?” Charlie asked, looking up at me, his face drawn. “Seriously. Was it just to make me feel bad?”

  “No,” I said. I hadn’t intended that, but seeing him here was just feeding an anger that I’d been holding back for a long time. A little of it had slipped out in my conversation with my mother, but clearly there was more where that had come from. “But I’m sure that if I do, you can discuss it in your group.”

  Charlie looked at me sharply. “How do you know about that?”

  “Oh, I just climbed in the window of two girls who seemed to know all about me. That’s all.”

  “We talk about things here,” Charlie said defensively. “It’s part of their whole philosophy.”

  “Then why—,” I started, and could hear my voice crack. “Why couldn’t we have done that? Why did we just …” I searched for the word, but it wasn’t coming. I wanted to know why we had retreated to different parts of the house, and then to different parts of the country, scattering when we should have been coming together. I sat down on the edge of Muz’s bed and looked at my brother. “Maybe I needed you,” I said. “But you were always high, and—”

  “Oh, is that what this is about?” Charlie asked, some anger coming back into his voice. There was an expression on his face I recognized, one I’d never liked, one I’d always backed down from. “You’re here to tell me what a fuckup I am?”

  “No,” I said, standing my ground this time. “But
I have been completely alone, until this week. You’ve been here. You’ve had people to talk to.”

  “You could have talked to me,” he said.

  “It wouldn’t have done any good!” I yelled, surprising myself. Charlie glanced toward the open door, and I lowered my volume a little. “You were never there. You haven’t been there for almost a year.” I stared at him hard. “I should have told Mom and Dad. You were right when you said I wouldn’t. But if I had, then maybe …” I couldn’t finish the sentence. It was just one more way in which I’d brought this about, one more reason it was my fault. One more thing I couldn’t undo.

  Charlie turned the tennis ball in his hands and gave a short, bitter laugh. “You think I don’t ask myself that every fucking day?” he asked. “You think I don’t wish that I could do things differently?”

  “I don’t believe you,” I said, hearing my voice shake. “What, you’ve been here for a month and suddenly you’ve grown a conscience?” Charlie looked at me like I’d just slapped him without warning—that surprised, that hurt. “I was always covering for you,” I said, the words spilling out of me in a torrent. “For years. And you never had to take any responsibility. And if you’d thought about someone else other than yourself just once in your fucking life, this wouldn’t have happened.” The sentence was out before I could weigh its consequences, or take it back.

  Charlie was gripping the tennis ball hard, looking down at it, his lip twisted, his chin trembling.

  “I shouldn’t have said that,” I said, feeling I’d gone too far.

  Charlie shrugged. “It’s the truth,” he said thickly, still looking down.

  “I just wish …,” I started. I took a breath and made myself keep going. “I just wish things could have been different.”

  Charlie looked up at me. “Me too,” he said. Without warning, he tossed me the tennis ball. I caught it, and this surprised me so much that I almost dropped it again.

  “Do you talk about him?” I asked, running my hand over the yellow felt. “About Daddy?”

  Charlie nodded. “I’m starting to,” he said, his voice a little hoarse. “Are you?”

  I shook my head. “Not yet.” I looked up at my brother—my twin—and saw that he looked like I currently felt. We’d both lost the same father. Why weren’t we talking about it? “I miss him,” I said, feeling my own chin start to tremble. The words were nothing compared to the feeling behind them. It was so much more than just missing. It was waiting, always, for the phone call that wouldn’t come. Waiting to hear a voice that I never would, ever again.

  Charlie looked at me, his lip trembling. “Me too.”

  “I keep waiting for him to show up again. It’s like I can’t believe that it’s real. That this is real life now.”

  “How do you think I feel?” Charlie asked. “I’m not entirely convinced you showing up here isn’t an acid flashback.”

  “I’m real,” I said. I tossed him the ball, and he caught it with one hand.

  “But what are you doing in North Carolina? I thought you were supposed have made it to Connecticut days ago.”

  “Well, that was the plan,” I said, feeling a small smile begin to form. “But Roger and I kind of took a detour.”

  “Roger?”

  “Roger Sullivan. You remember him. We used to play Spud with him in the cul-de-sac.”

  “I remember that,” said Charlie. “So you went rogue?” I nodded. “That’s why Mom is mad?”

  “Oh, more than mad,” I said.

  “Wow,” he said, leaning back in the chair and looking at me as though he’d never seen me before. “And you … you came to see me? You climbed in a window?”

  “I did,” I said. “I just … thought we should talk.”

  “I’m glad you did,” he said after a pause.

  “Hey, Chuck.” We both turned to see Muz lurking in the doorway. “We better get going, man, it’s five minutes to—”

  “Yeah,” Charlie said, though he didn’t move.

  I stood, and as I did so, I saw a familiar book on the bedside table: Food, Gas, and Lodging. “Are you reading this?” I asked, looking up at Charlie, a little stunned, and hoping it wasn’t Muz’s. He nodded. “Me too,” I said, staring down at it.

  “Yeah?” he asked, looking surprised. “I know it was one of Dad’s favorites, and I thought I should check it out.” I just nodded, looking down at the familiar cover, wishing we could have all done this a few months ago. When we both could have talked to him about it, when he would have still been around to have the conversation.

  “Chuck?” Muz asked again, and Charlie nodded and stood up, and we all headed for the door. It seemed like there was suddenly so much to say, it was impossible to say anything.

  “Hey,” said Muz, looking at both of us. “Are you going to be going by Richmond at all?”

  “I’m pretty sure he means you,” Charlie said.

  “Um, I don’t know,” I said. I had thought as far ahead as seeing Charlie, and the fact that there was no plan beyond that was a little disconcerting.

  “But you might? You might be going that way?” Muz asked, growing more excited.

  “Maybe,” I said. “I don’t know.”

  Muz nodded, bent down, and fished around in a backpack that was hanging on the knob of the closet door. “Well, if you do,” he said, standing and holding a crumpled envelope in his hand, “would you give this to Corey who hangs out at the Dairy Queen?”

  “Are you serious?” asked Charlie.

  “I need you to,” Muz said, extending the envelope toward me. “Please. You can just give it to one of the counter staff, they’ll get it to him. He needs to know why I never showed up when I said I was going to. I wasn’t holding out on him, I just got sent here. If he doesn’t find out, he’s going to kill my fish.”

  “Your fish?” I asked.

  “God, enough about the fish,” Charlie muttered. “Why don’t you just e-mail him?”

  “Oh yeah, that’s a great idea,” Muz said. “Should I just send it to Corey who hangs out at the Dairy Queen dot com?”

  “I’ll see if I can,” I said, taking the envelope from Muz and smoothing out some of the wrinkles. “I’ll try.”

  “Thanks,” he said, smiling at me. “I knew you would. Chuck’s always talking about how you’re always there for him, and—”

  “We have to go,” Charlie said, pulling the door farther open. “I’ll help you get back down.” We stepped out into the hallway and found it deserted, the only sound the gentle trickling of the water.

  “Are we late?” asked Muz.

  “Oh, yeah,” Charlie said, and we all hustled down to the room I’d entered from.

  “Thanks again,” Muz shout-whispered to me before heading down the corridor. He raised a hand in a wave, which I returned before following Charlie into the room. It was empty—presumably the two girls had headed out to their next activity.

  “That one?” asked Charlie, pointing to the open window. I nodded, and we headed over to it. “Well, I guess this is it, then,” he said, twisting his hands together.

  “Are you okay?” I asked, knowing that we were out of time, but not feeling ready to leave yet. “I mean, you look better. But this place … are you okay here?”

  Charlie looked down a the white carpet and rocked back and forth on his flip-flops. “I think I am,” he said. “I think so.”

  “Amy,” I heard whispered loudly from outside. I stuck my head out the window and saw Roger looking up. He looked incredibly relieved when he saw me, and I wondered how long he’d been calling for me.

  “I’m coming right down,” I called back, and he nodded. I pulled my head back into the room and looked at my brother. “How long are you here?” I asked. “I mean, when do you get to leave?” I hadn’t realized until I saw this old version of him, one I hadn’t seen in a very long time, how much I’d missed my brother. But it was hitting me now, when I was leaving him again.

  “Another month,” he said. He gave me a
small smile. “Not so long.”

  “Amy,” Roger called from out the window, a little louder this time, just as the chime sounded again. Charlie and I looked to the intercom.

  The soothing voice, sounding a little less calm this time, announced, “The prelunch session has now begun. Please conduct yourself as quickly as possible to your designated activity, if you have not already done so.”

  “Okay,” I said. Charlie nodded, and we looked at each other. My brother and I were not huggers. I couldn’t actually remember the last time we’d hugged. But I wasn’t about to shake hands with him. I started to wave when Charlie reached out and hugged me hard. I hugged him back, and it felt exactly right—and something we should have done a while ago.

  “Thanks for coming,” he mumbled into my shoulder. I nodded, and we separated. “You should talk to Mom,” he said. “I’ve been getting her e-mails, and she’s worried about you. I think she’s kind of lost without you.”

  I stared at him. “What are you talking about?” I asked. “She’s not lost without me. She left me for a month and barely—”

  “Amy,” Roger called again.

  “Talk to her,” Charlie said. “But good for you for doing all this. I’d have barely recognized you.”

  “In a good way?” I asked.

  “In a good way,” he said. He smiled, then looked at the window. “Need a hand?”

  “I think I might,” I said. Holding on to the sill, my arms stretching over it, I swung a leg outside it, and saw Roger waiting down below, reaching for me. I took a breath and swung my other leg over. I looked down, and suddenly Roger and the ground seemed very far away. “Um,” I said. “I’m not sure …”

  “You have to extend your arms,” Charlie said. “Give me your hand.” I looked up at him, and he nodded. “It’s okay.” I unhooked my arm from around the sill, and Charlie took my hand. He placed it on the edge of the sill, and then helped me do it with the other hand. I extended my arms, and was hanging there in space. I felt someone grab my foot, and I knew Roger was there.