Burro Hills

by Julia Lynn Rubin

  We sat there in the stillness, watching the ripples across the water’s surface. The Xanax was kicking in. Connor had given me several from his own huge prescription bottle, one I’d never seen before. I didn’t ask about it, and he didn’t elaborate. It didn’t matter. Already it was easier to breathe, like time was slowing to a crawl.

  I put my hand on his and squeezed his fingers. I didn’t know if it was the drug or the deeply-rooted fatigue that made me feel so alive and frazzled and somber all at once. The smell of chlorine, the crickets, the peacefulness of it all…it was all starting to come together in a strangely lucid way.

  I stood up and stripped down to my boxers, then plunged into the pool. It was warm from the sun, but cool enough to feel good on my skin. I surfaced and looked up at Connor. He grinned, then stripped down himself and dove in. We surfaced and floated on our backs, watching the sun melt across an orange Creamsicle sky.

  “Everything in our human world is fake,” I said.

  “Yes,” he said. “We do what we learn. We’re all like robots, products of our environment. We think we’re choosing things but we really aren’t, you know? We’re doing what we were inevitably programmed to do.”

  I looked up at the sky, into the beauty of the sunset. “How are things so beautiful and yet so ugly? People die every second, like, grisly, terrible deaths. People here live on the street in their own shit, starving, needle marks all across their arms, and yet the fucking sky looks like that.” I thought of Max then, what he would say. He’d bring up some fucked-up video he saw online, grainy footage of a man’s leg severed off by a train, someone’s broken body on the streets of a war zone. Things you never saw in the news. But they were real, with no added segments, no jaunty music or cut-ins. That was life.

  The soft splashing of the pool and the drug made me feel like my muscles had evaporated, like I was floating through empty space.

  A flock of birds flew over us in perfect formation, the sound of their wings beating silence into submission.

  A dull, dreamy sleepiness was taking over me. Connor and I were drying off in the last touch of daylight, sharing a plastic recliner by the pool. “I’m sorry,” I said to him, putting my lips to his collarbone. “I shouldn’t have shut you out or pushed you away.”

  “It’s okay,” he said. He ran his fingers through my scalp the way I liked as birds tweeted their dusk-time songs. Cars rushed by across the way, close enough so we could hear their honking but far enough from the prying eyes of their drivers. It was peaceful here, with no one to judge us or try to make us feel like we had to be anything other than what we were.

  “I’ve been thinking about it, and I think I want to tell people about us,” I said. “Maybe. I go back and forth. But I never want you to feel like I’m ashamed of you, because I’m not.”

  “I know you’re not,” he said.

  “Because honestly…I love you. I love you so much, and I would never do anything to hurt you. I’d never let anyone hurt you either. I would kill for you.”

  I must’ve been higher than I thought because things were spilling out of my mouth like liquid. I didn’t care if it sounded cheesy or emotional, or even if he didn’t love me back. The freedom of being able to say those words and feel those things was like being able to fly.

  “There’s really nothing to be afraid of, Jack,” Connor said.

  That’s when my phone chimed. I immediately checked, hoping that it was Jess, but it wasn’t. It was a flurry of texts, all from Toby.

  SOS.

  Big problem.

  Come to the garage.

  Please.

  And then, a few seconds later: I need you.

  50.

  I thought about ignoring Toby’s texts. I thought about calling him and telling him to fuck off, to never speak to me again. But the more I thought, the antsier I got. I had to confront him eventually. It might as well be now. And yet, I wondered about the SOS. Connor didn’t even try to stop me. It was like he wanted to go. He walked fast, with purpose, holding my hand and pulling me along even though only I knew the way to get there.

  We took the bus from the community pool a few stops to the garage, the old, abandoned auto repair shop that Toby’s parents had once owned. The one that had killed them slowly over the course of long, hard-worked years. The one that had been meant for Toby someday, when he was old enough to work there and maybe own it himself.

  Now it sat vacant, paint peeling off its dull concrete walls, the big MILLER AUTO REPAIR sign above the entrance vandalized and hanging all crooked.

  Well, it was mostly vacant anyway. I hadn’t been in there since before the death of Toby’s parents. But I knew what his uncle and cousins used it for now. It was one of their meeting spots.

  We were at the back entrance, near the office where his mom used to sit at the desktop and crunch numbers all day. The little metal door was covered in cobwebs now. Somewhere in the near distance a dog snarled, a big, mean one. A siren blared as a cop car raced up the street, lights flashing.

  It occurred to me that we shouldn’t be here. This was dangerous.

  I knocked three times.

  I heard shouting from inside, deep male voices arguing. “Who the fuck is that?” More shouting. Then the door swung open with a creak and there was Toby.

  He looked terrible. His broken nose was covered in a huge bandage, but there were other bruises on his face, and deep purple marks along his wrists and arms that Connor couldn’t possibly have caused. Like someone had been grabbing him roughly, violently.

  As soon as he saw me, he smiled a little, this sad, relieved smile, like he was genuinely happy to see me. But then he noticed Connor, and his smile disappeared.

  “Seriously? You brought him?”

  “Nice to see you too, Toby,” Connor said.

  Toby just stood there, swaying back in forth in the doorway, as if unsure of what to do. He had this look in his eyes. Wild animal prey paralyzed. It was scaring the shit out of me.

  “Can he leave?” Toby asked. He looked to me pleadingly. Like we were still friends. Like nothing had happened between us these past few weeks. Like he hadn’t harassed me for days and called me a faggot. Like he hadn’t tried to rape my best friend. “Jack. Please?”

  I wanted to hit him as much as I wanted to help him. I shrugged and stared at my sneakers.

  “No,” Connor said. “I’m not leaving him alone here. Are you gonna tell us what’s going on or what? Why you sent us all these messages?”

  “Us?” Toby spat a wad into the wilting grass. “I sent them to Jack, not you. Jack, please. Make him leave.” He lowered his voice. “We got a tip that the cops are on the way to our house. They’re gonna raid it. The whole thing. Please, Jack. I just need you to talk to these guys and tell them that I didn’t—”

  “Toby, who the fuck IS that?” boomed a familiar voice. The angry male voices were arguing again. I backed away instinctively as D’Angelo’s big, muscular frame appeared in the doorway.

  “Oh,” he said. “I remember you two punks. Why are they here, Toby? Why the fuck are they here? What were you thinking?” He slapped him upside the head, hard, and Toby just shrank back like a dog who’d been kicked. Shit. I’d never seen D’Angelo raise a hand to him before. Another police siren blared not so far off. D’Angelo cursed. “Get inside, both of you, before someone sees.”

  I wanted to run. My feet told me to run. Get the hell out of there, now. But strangely, Connor walked forward confidently, calmly, as if there was nothing to fear. I couldn’t leave him. I followed him inside and the door slammed shut.

  D’Angelo locked the door.

  It was so dark in here. It smelled like sawdust and fumes and something burning. As my eyes adjusted, I spotted five or so guys I kind of recognized—big guys, including Toby’s uncle, who was smoking a fat cigar, and Gabriel. They were seated in the center of the garage at a long, metal folding table. And they were all staring at us.

  “Who the fuck is this? That you, Jack?”
Toby’s uncle asked sharply. He knew me. He saw me all the time at Bazingo. But the way he was looking at me now, it was like I was a cockroach he’d just stepped on. He pointed at Connor. “Who is this?”

  “I didn’t invite him!” Toby said quickly. “I just invited Jack. He knows us, the family. He knows the whole situation. He can explain everything.”

  I can? What did he want to me to say?

  “Well you better start explaining now,” D’Angelo growled. “First you bring a girl to the house. You never bring a girl to the house. Are you dumb or are you stupid? Then she goes to the pigs, says something about you sexually assaulting her? Tells them shit about what she saw in our house? When they’re already suspicious? And now they have probable cause to enter. What is wrong with you, Toby? Do you want your entire family to go to prison?”

  Jess. Jess had called the cops on Toby. I felt for my phone in my pocket but didn’t dare take it out. Not yet. Not with all these guys’ hard, mean eyes on me. I had to get out of here and find her, help her. Do whatever I could. I tugged at Connor’s sleeve. We had to go. Whatever trouble Toby was in now, there was nothing we could do. But Connor pulled away from me, stepped forward, and got right in Toby’s face.

  “So you admit it, then?” he said. “You did assault her. Wow. You’re a bigger pussy than I thought.”

  “Connor,” I tried. “Let’s go. Please. This doesn’t involve us.”

  Toby’s hands clenched at his sides. “Oh, but I think it does, Jack,” he said. He jabbed his finger into Connor’s chest, but Connor didn’t even flinch. “You’re the reason all this started. If it wasn’t for you, none of this would have ever happened!”

  “We don’t have time for this high school drama,” Gabriel said. “Get them out of here, Ang.”

  But D’Angelo put a hand up, like he wanted to see what would happen next. His eyes were fixed on Toby and Connor. And they were hungry eyes.

  “No, Toby, you’re the reason your friend now thinks you’re a worthless asshole.”

  “That kid is my brother!” he screamed, pointing at me. “The only worthless asshole here is you!”

  “You treat all your brothers like that, Toby? At least when I fuck Jack, he likes it.”

  Toby shoved him. Connor shoved him back harder. Toby stepped back a few paces and put his hands up defensively. He was frightened, and not just of Connor I realized, whose own fists were balled, who was somewhere else entirely. D’Angelo was looming behind them, licking his lips, eyes wide and ravenous.

  Shit, shit. I gingerly slipped my phone out of my pocket and dimmed the lights, sending my location to Connor’s uncle along with a Call 911 text while everyone else was watching the brewing fight. Drug gang, I added, just to be safe.

  “It was him,” Toby said to D’Angelo. He pointed at Connor. “He was the one who fucked over this family! He probably told that slut to call the cops. And I know for sure he ratted us out.”

  “Shut up, Toby!” I said. “You know that’s bullshit.”

  D’Angelo’s expression shifted. “That true, Toby?”

  Toby nodded vigorously. He wiped the sweat pooling off his face.

  D’Angelo moved towards Connor, but again, he didn’t flinch. “You fuck over my family?”

  Connor looked him in the eye. “Fuck your family.”

  It all happened so fast.

  D’Angelo’s punch knocked Connor to the ground. All of the breath left my body. Then he was on him, kicking him with his steel-toed boots. I tried to get in there, but a sharp pain shot through my shoulder as one of the big guys grabbed me and pulled my arms behind by back. They were surrounding him now, all the rest of them, some watching, some joining in, some yelling at D’Angelo to pull back, cut it out.

  “Leave him alone! Hit me instead!” I shouted, uselessly, hopelessly, but of course no one was listening. D’Angelo was kicking and punching Connor like a rag doll as I struggled to get loose of the arms that held me back.

  The police sirens were back, louder this time. There was banging on the door. “POLICE! OPEN UP!”

  SMASH. SMASH. They were trying to bust the door open. Hurry, hurry, I thought.

  I don’t remember what happened with the other guys, with D’Angelo and Gabriel and the uncle, but a few of them must have tried to make a run for it through another exit. Toby was still going out at it, punching and kicking Connor like he was in a fever dream, screaming bloody murder, until I ran up and pushed him off him, feeling warm blood in my hands. I saw Connor’s closed eyes and limp body and realized that I was screaming too.

  Then the police were inside, shouting, guns at the ready, barking at all of us to get on our knees and put our hands behind our heads. Toby was shoved to the ground and handcuffed, and there was more pain as my knees hit the concrete. This wasn’t real. This wasn’t happening.

  An ambulance was called. Arrests were made of those they could find. The cops took me outside, practically dragging me, and there was Alvaro, his face a tight mask of pain and rage. He said something to the cops that made them unhand me. Something about me being a minor and a bystander.

  As they took away Toby, our eyes met for just a moment. I looked away. I said nothing. I felt nothing.

  I was nothing.

  The cops questioned me. I remember that. It was like they questioned me for hours, as I stood there shaking in the front yard outside of the Miller Auto Repair shop as the sun began to set. I kept repeating myself, repeating all that I could say: “I don’t know. I just showed up. I’m seventeen. My friend said he needed help so I came. My other friend came with me. From school. I’m in high school. I don’t know what happened here. I don’t know these guys. I don’t know.”

  They must have figured out I wasn’t enough of a threat, or at least they had bigger fish to fry, because this one woman cop with nice eyes and a gentle voice and her partner offered to give me a ride to the hospital. I sat in the back of their squad car, the police scanner crackling with voices that I couldn’t make any sense of, watching the dark blur of the trees giving way to street lamps and eventually the freeway. It was dark now. It had never been more serene, more beautiful, the houses and all of the lights and cars melting into one calm, steady stream.

  The waiting room was a cold, florescent plastic. I sat in a plastic chair, listened to the beeps and buzzes and crying and loud complaining of all the plastic people. I had to move away from them. I sat by the window, watching the ambulances pull into the giant garages, one by one by one.

  Someone brought me some water. The woman cop. I sipped it once, then set it aside. It tasted like chemicals. She sat next to me and asked me more questions, about my parents, where I lived, what I was studying in school. I don’t know what I said. I didn’t know how to form sentences, words. After a while, she left.

  A nurse approached me at one point and asked me if I was sure I didn’t want to see a doctor.

  “I want to talk to Connor,” I said, my voice breaking. The sound of it startled me. It was raw, throaty and barely there.

  “Your friend? He’s in the ICU,” said the nurse. “His uncle is with him. You’ll have to wait a while. I’m sorry, honey.”

  They were playing Wheel of Fortune on the waiting room TV screens. I wondered if Mom was watching it now. I closed my imagined that she was here with me, holding my hand.

  After a while I felt someone else sit next to me, and then felt small, gentle hands holding my tightly closed fists. They loosened and welcomed the fingers. I turned and there was Jess. Her face was puffy from crying. She kissed my cheek and leaned her head on my shoulder.

  “How did you know to come here?” I asked.

  “It’s…all over the news, Jack. I thought you’d be here.”

  The warmth of her body felt nice. I briefly wondered if maybe I was hallucinating her, but the thoughts faded back into nothingness.

  “Oh, Jack,” Jess said. She started to cry, leaving streaks of mascara across her face like tire marks on hot pavement. I wanted to tell her it
would be alright, but I didn’t know what was up or down, what it might mean or not mean. I rested my head on her shoulder and found it hard to open my eyes.

  The smell of freshly mowed grass, the sound of birds, a silent, dead morning. His coffin being laid to rest into the earth, years of secrets and hidden pain buried with it, everyone stone-faced and stoic except for me. I was screaming silently inside, a hollow shell of myself. A lone flower was dropped into the grave, a white rose.

  Someone touched me and I gasped like I was coming up for air. I was back in the hospital, the chemical atmosphere flooding my senses. Alvaro was kneeling down to my level.

  “He’s okay, Jack, just banged up.” He cleared his throat. His voice was heavy, like he was trying to lift bricks with his tongue. “He got knocked out, and it took a while for him to wake up. They’ve got him on fluids and painkillers now. Might be some fractures.” He cleared his throat again, forcefully, his tone turning solid and stoic, like steel. “I do want to know what the hell you two were doing with those drug lords in possibly the worst part of town. I want to know everything, but for now, you don’t look so good. Do you want to see a doctor?”

  I shook my head.

  “I called your dad. It took him a while to answer, but he answered. He’s on his way over.”

  “He is?”

  He nodded. “He’s worried about you. He’s going to take you home.”

  I moved to stand up. “I want to see Connor.”

  “He’s resting, Jack.” He patted my shoulder and I sat back down. “Just relax. It’s going to be okay.”

  When my dad arrived, he didn’t look drunk or slovenly, just confused, like an actor who’d walked onto the set of the wrong movie. He’d managed to shave and put on a decent shirt. A nice one. A button-down.