Wow. She was hot!
“Bram . . . ,” I warn.
Well, she was.
In the picture she’s wearing
leather pants and a studded vest.
Her black hair is spiked and
tipped blue, and her skin
is smooth. No sign of wrinkles.
Like, duh. She was young.
Next I open a Rolling Stone
magazine. “This was last year.”
It’s a short article about
a song Mom wrote finding
a ton of fans on YouTube.
Etienne Ballad Resonates
The photo is a close-up
of Mom singing into a mic.
Her hair is softer, longer,
with sparks of silver.
Little lines like spiderwebs
decorate the corners
of her mouth and eyes,
which seem to stare
at some faraway place.
She’s still pretty.
No. She’s beautiful.
I Put the Magazines Away
Stash the flashlight
beside my pillow again,
lie back beneath
a blanket of night.
Bram goes quiet,
and soon the way
his breathing sounds
tells me he’s asleep.
I try, but my brain
is stuck thinking
about Mom.
Four months without
seeing her, and she’s only
called a couple of times.
Once on Will’s birthday.
Once on mine.
Does she ever think about us?
Does she keep the pictures
we send to her?
Does she ever look at them
and wish she was with us?
Where is she tonight?
I’m Slipping Toward Sleep
When suddenly
doors slam
feet pound
voices yell.
I sit up so fast, I go
dizzy and have to wait
before I jump up
and crack the door.
Where have you been?
At a friend’s house.
What friend is that?
No one you know.
What were you doing?
Just hanging out.
Curfew is midnight.
Not if you’re driving.
Yeah, well, you’re grounded.
Whatever, Dad. Not like
you can stop me from leaving.
I Slip Out
Into the hall, watch Will stomp
toward the front door.
Dad steps between.
He draws himself up tall,
thrusts his chest forward.
You do not have my permission
to go anywhere. Do you understand?
Will should shrink away
from Dad. Instead, he gets
right up in his red, puffing face.
How are you going to stop me?
Knock me down and tie me up?
If that’s what it takes.
Even from here I can see both
of their fists knotting, unknotting.
Will tries to go around Dad.
Dad pushes him. Not hard,
but enough to move him back.
Still, if Will happened to fall . . .
“Stop!” I yell. “What are you doing?
Somebody’s gonna get hurt!”
Both of them freeze,
like they never even
considered the possibility.
Dad softens first.
Trace is right, son. I don’t want
to hurt you. Please listen.
I’m worried about you.
Will glares at him. Since when?
Anyway, don’t bother worrying
about me. I’m doing just fine.
I could argue with that.
And I probably should.
But maybe tonight will make
him think. Turn him around.
I hope that’s true, Will.
I don’t tell you this enough,
but I love you lots. If you’re
going through something—
Will laughs.
Really loud.
Out of control.
Sounds crazy.
Seriously, Dad? I’ve been going
through something for a while now,
remember? Look. Everything’s jake.
Everything Is Not Jake
“Jake” means okay, and Will
is so not. He turns, clomps
up the hall past me, goes
into his room, slams the door.
Dad . . . what’s the word?
Deflates, yeah, that’s it.
Like a bike tire with a leak.
He looks at me with sad eyes.
Thanks for stepping up, Trace.
Go on back to bed now.
“Okay, Dad. See you
in the morning.”
Unlike Will,
I close the door quietly
behind me, in case
Bram managed to sleep
through all of that.
He didn’t.
Your brother’s messed up.
If I talked to my dad like
that, phew! Big trouble.
Not much to say but “Uh-huh.”
Bram’s quiet for a couple
of seconds, then he asks,
Maybe you should call
your mom and tell her
what’s going on. Maybe
she’d have some good ideas.
“Yeah. I will. But she doesn’t
ever answer, and doesn’t call
back very often.”
Leave a message anyway.
If she doesn’t know
something’s wrong, how
can she help make it better?
I don’t reach out to her
very often. It hurts to be
ignored, and I figure if I bug
her too much, she won’t want
to be my mom at all.
Bram goes back to sleep,
but I have a hard time,
mostly because a bright
yellow moon is beaming
through the window.
It’s shining on Mom somewhere, too.
I get up to close the blinds
and happen to catch a glimpse
of Will’s car, disappearing
down the block. He escaped.
Despite Tossing and Turning
So much last night
that I actually rolled
clear across the floor,
I wake up early, mostly
because Bram is snoring
into his pillow.
I find my phone quietly.
Just ’cause I’m awake
doesn’t mean my friend
has to be, too. I check
the time. Six thirty-five.
I go to the window, crack
the blinds. Phew. Looks like
Will came home at some point.
His car’s out front.
Bram’s words from last
night drift into my brain.
. . . how can she help make it better?
Mom’s probably asleep
wherever she is, but I go
ahead and text her, hoping
it doesn’t bother her too much.
Hey, Mom
. Miss you. Hope
you’re good. Will’s acting
weird. I’m worried. Call me?
I’m Not Sure
If Dad knows Will left again
last night. He doesn’t say
anything at breakfast.
I don’t mention it, either.
What Dad does say is Your
next game is Saturday, right?
Lily said she’d like to come,
and it happens to be my day off.
He can only make a few
of our games, and I’m happy
this is one. Even if Lily tags along.
“Yeah. It starts at five.”
Will wanders in. What does?
“Our Little League game.”
When he’s tired, like from
staying out way too late,
the tic in his cheek
goes into hyperdrive.
I wonder if it’s painful.
Dad doesn’t seem to notice.
You should come to the game,
he tells Will. There’s someone
I want you to meet.
That Sounds
Like a disaster waiting
to happen. At my game.
In front of my coaches,
teammates, and friends.
“That’s all right,” I say.
“Will doesn’t care much
about baseball, Dad.”
Both of them look at me,
wondering why I’d try
to convince Will to stay away.
What’s the matter? asks Will.
Afraid you’d be embarrassed?
Well, yeah, but not for
the reason he thinks.
“I can hold my own. I’m one
of the best on our team.”
We’ve got new competition,
though, says Bram. A girl,
and she’s really good, too.
Is that a fact? That right there
might be a good reason to watch.
I doubt he’ll come. That’s cool.
And he never even asked Dad
who he wanted him to meet.
Late Morning
Bram’s mom picks him up.
Dad leaves for work.
Will waits for both,
then he takes off, too.
Which leaves
me,
myself,
and I.
The three of us
could watch TV
or play Xbox, but
Mom is on our mind, so we
decide to practice keyboard.
Mom mostly sticks to guitar,
but she can play piano.
Drums, too. She taught
Will the guitar, but since
he was five years older,
he was that far ahead.
Catching up would be hard.
I asked for a keyboard instead.
She gave one to me
for my sixth birthday,
showed me the basics.
I picked up more on my own.
Mom says I have a gift.
It’s like my fingers know
what to do to make music
that sounds pretty good.
Right now they start playing
a keyboard-heavy song by
one of Mom’s favorite bands:
Queen. Obsidian used to cover
this song sometimes. Mom
said she could never measure
up to Freddie Mercury’s vocals,
but I thought she sounded awesome.
The song is called “Too Much Love
Will Kill You.” It’s about someone
who has a new love while still
loving whoever got left behind.
I know Mom still loves us.
That’s in the mothers’ rulebook,
right? But is there anything
in there about falling in love
with someone else after walking
away from your family?
Is that what happened to Mom?
Is that why she doesn’t call?
Is that why she won’t visit?
Is too much love her problem?
Or is it not enough?
I’m Halfway
Through the song when
my phone tells me someone’s
calling. When I see who it is,
a piece of me scolds
the rest for not believing.
“Hi, Mom.”
Hey, Trace. What’s going on?
“Not much. It’s spring break,
so no school or anything.
Mostly just baseball. Oh, and
when you called, I was playing—”
Right, right. But what I meant
was, what’s going on with Will?
Oh. Yeah.
“Well, I think he’s running with
a bad crowd. Staying out late.
Taking off without permission.”
Oh, so it’s not about his health?
“No. I mean, kind of.
He might get hurt, right?
Or he could get into trouble.”
She should be concerned
about him, too. She’s not.
I wouldn’t worry too much.
Most teenagers go through
that stage. I know I did.
You probably will, too.
Nope. No way. “You don’t
know me very well.”
It hits me that I’m not sure
she knows me at all.
But it doesn’t seem to bother
her, because she laughs.
We’ll see. We’ll see.
In the meantime, keep
on being you. You’re the best.
She Wants to Go
Sounds like she’s signing off.
I want to keep her longer.
“Will still gets depressed,
too. Like, when he’s home,
he mopes in his room
and hardly even talks
to Dad or me.”
Is he taking his meds?
“I guess so.”
He’ll be fine, then.
“Okay. If you say so.”
I do. Anyway, you’re too
young to worry about stuff
you can’t do anything about.
“Hey, Mom. Any chance you can
come visit sometime soon?
Maybe that would help Will.”
I’ll do my best. Right now
I’m stuck in Colorado.
Doing a gig in Telluride.
“Still snow on the ground?”
I’m getting a little skiing in,
if that’s what you’re asking.
Snow’s slushy and my legs
are getting a bit old for spring
runs. But I’m not giving up yet.
Mom’s legs aren’t that old.
She’s just trying to make me
feel better about not being
there on the mountain with her.
“Hey, Mom? Could Will and I
maybe come visit Maureen
and Paul in Denver this summer?
I mean, if you’ll be there, too.”
I think that could be arranged.
How long has it been since
you’ve seen them? Two years?
It was the summer before Will’s
incident. “Yeah. Give or take.”
We’ll have to make plans.
Do some hiking or something.<
br />
“Sounds good. But, Mom?
Would you please call Will?
Maybe it would cheer him up.”
Think so? Okay. Love you.
Don’t Forget
That’s what I tell her
before I hang up.
Please don’t forget
about Will.
And please don’t let
him know it was my idea.
I go back to my keyboard,
but not to Queen.
Instead, I pound out a song
of my own, one with a hard,
driving beat. I call it “Guilt Trip.”
I hope
I made Mom feel guilty
about not calling more often.
I hope
she follows through,
and the next thing she does
is dial Will’s number.
I hope
she tells him he’s on her mind,
he’s important to her, and
most of all, that she loves him.
I hope.
I hope.
I hope.
Saturday Rolls Around
Hot and still, and I feel
lazy for most of the day.
I stay inside, reading
and playing video games.
With Will.
For whatever reason,
he’s been okay the past
couple of days. Not reliably
here. Not always nice
when he was, but more like
the brother I used to rely on.
Maybe Mom did call him.
Maybe that’s why.
But if I ask, he’ll know
it was my idea, and that
would ruin everything,
so I stay quiet.
Right now I’m sitting
at the kitchen table
while Will fixes a late lunch.
He comes over, sets a huge
sandwich down in front of me.
Better ingest a few extra pregame
calories, especially if you want
to play better than a girl.
My cheeks go all hot.
He laughs. Just teasing.
Don’t freak out.
“I’m not.” That might be a lie.
At least he remembered.
I was sure he’d forget.
“Are you coming to the game?”
I was thinking about it.
You have any idea who
Dad wants me to meet?
Probably better to tell him
up front than to let it be
a surprise. I nod. “Lily.”
Lily? Who’s that?
“Apparently, his girlfriend.
Pretty sure he’s at
What About Will Page 6