by Jeff Zentner
Travis tried to sound as brave as he could. He tried to speak with a clarion voice. The way Raynar Northbrook would speak to his men before a battle. But the pain was too searing. His heart pounded too ferociously. His voice hitched and caught as he spoke—gasping, faltering, and stuttering.
“I’m n-not…afraid of you…anymore. You’ll n-never…make me…hate myself…like you hate me.”
He helped his mother to her feet while his father watched, fists clenched, still ready to fight, breathing loudly through his nose as his jaw muscles tensed and relaxed.
Travis threw the belt into a corner, looked his father dead in the eye, and pointed, his hand shaking like his voice. “You lay a hand on me again, I’ll break it off your arm. You lay a hand on my mom again, I will fucking kill you.”
His father pointed at him with his own trembling hand. “Get the fuck out of my house,” he said softly.
Travis kissed his sobbing mom, got his staff, and left.
Dill was in heaven. Lydia had left all of her music on her computer when she gave it to him. It was a sort of secret intimacy with her. Every night he’d lie on his bed, the laptop resting on his chest, earbuds in his ears, exploring and discovering, swimming in the Sea of Lydia.
Tap tap tap.
Dill paused the music and listened for a moment. Nothing. He hit “play.”
Tap tap tap.
He paused the music again and got up.
Tap tap tap.
Dill looked out his window to see Travis’s face. He jumped.
“Man, you about made me piss my pants,” Dill whispered as he jimmied open the window, letting in a blast of freezing air. Travis appeared to have been crying. “You all right?”
“I’m not doing so great. Can you sneak out and go for a ride?”
“Yeah. Hang on.” Dill put on his boots and jacket. He started to climb out the window.
“Wait. Do you have any aspirin or anything?” Travis’s face said that he would explain later.
“One sec.” Dill tiptoed into the kitchen and retrieved their rapidly dwindling bottle of ibuprofen. He returned to his room and handed Travis three pills. Travis popped them in his mouth and swallowed.
Dill climbed out the window and shut it behind him, leaving himself enough space to get his fingers under it and open it again when he returned. He and Travis sneaked through the shadows to Travis’s pickup, parked around the corner. They got in. It was still warm. Travis moved painfully. When his back hit his seat, he sucked in his breath. He took a second to gather himself before starting the engine. Dill decided he wouldn’t ask any questions. He’d just let Travis talk.
“Let’s go watch some trains,” Travis said.
They drove to Bertram Park without speaking. When they arrived, Travis parked as close to the train tracks as he could, leaving his truck running and the heater on.
Travis pushed back his cap and rubbed his forehead. “So I told my dad tonight that I’d kill him. Maybe.”
Dill looked wide-eyed at Travis. “You did what?”
“I got home. My dad was drunk. Talking about work. Saying I cost him a job. He tried to rip up my book that G. M. Pennington signed. I mostly kept him from doing it but we got into it pretty good.”
“Damn.”
“Yeah. He took his belt to me when I wouldn’t let him at my book. My mom intervened and he threw her down. I got the belt from him and told him I’d hurt him if he ever hit me again. Told him I’d kill him if he hurt my mom again.”
“You mean it?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I sure did.” Travis sounded grim. “Things ain’t been great with me and my dad for a long time. You probably figured that out from when we were working on your car.”
“You okay?”
“I hurt pretty bad, if that’s what you mean.”
“I mean in every way.”
“My dad kicked me out. Told me to get out of his house. But I stood up to him. I looked him dead in the eye. Told him I was done being scared.”
“What’ll you do?”
“Haven’t thought that far ahead yet. I guess I’ll sleep in my truck and go into school early to shower.”
They heard a train whistle in the distance.
“You gonna call the cops?” Dill asked.
Travis gave a quick, bitter laugh, then drew in his breath. “No. The lumberyard would shut down. I’d lose my job. My family would lose its income. My mom couldn’t get by on the little sewing jobs she does.”
“Yeah.”
“Has it been a good thing for your family to have your dad locked up?”
“No.”
“You can’t tell Lydia about any of this. She wouldn’t get it. She’d call the cops for sure.”
“I won’t.”
The train took its time getting there. Train whistles always carried farther on winter nights. It came and passed. They didn’t bother getting out of the truck.
They sat with the heater on, saying nothing.
“You know,” Travis said, staring forward, “Gary made me believe in myself more tonight than my dad has in my whole life.”
“Yeah. I know how that feels. Your dad not believing in you. That’s a bad feeling right there.”
“Things are going to change. I’ll make them change. I won’t live this way the rest of my life.”
Dill sat silent and listened. Travis had a steadfastness and purpose in his voice that Dill had never heard before.
“I think when we graduate,” Travis said, “we should get a house together and be roommates. Even if you can’t pay much rent. That’s all right. I’ll pay most of it and you can play me songs to pay for the rest of your part of it. Cheer me up if I’m feeling sad.”
“I like that idea. Even though my songs aren’t cheerful.”
“And we’ll both work hard at our jobs, but when we’re done, I’ll write and you’ll do your music. We can have a room with desks right next to each other. Maybe I’ll build us desks using scraps from the lumberyard.”
“Count me in.”
“And we’ll have a really fast Internet connection so you can put up your videos and I can post my stories. And we’ll still do Friday-night movie night. Maybe we can even have Lydia do it with us, on video chat or something. And maybe Amelia because by then I’ll have asked her to be my girlfriend. And no dads are allowed in.”
Dill smiled. A genuine smile.
Travis looked him in the eye, that steely resolve in his voice. “I mean it, Dill. I really mean it. We need to take care of each other from now on. We need to be each other’s family because ours are so messed up. We need to make better lives for ourselves. We gotta start doing stuff we’re afraid to do. I think you should tell Lydia how you feel.”
Travis meant it. Dill could see that. And despite feeling guilty for drawing hope for his own life from his friend’s desperate circumstances, he felt hopeful all the same. Maybe Travis is strong enough to keep me from falling when Lydia leaves.
“I’ll think about the Lydia thing. Until we get that house, though, you better park around the corner from my place and sleep in my room. My mom won’t notice. She sleeps heavy from being so tired.”
“You sure? I can sleep in my truck.”
“Yeah. You need a warm, safe place to sleep. We’ll get you a water bowl and a can to pee in.”
Travis giggled. “Dude, don’t make me laugh. It hurts to laugh.”
“You positive you’re okay? You need a doctor?”
“I’ve had worse. No broken bones. No teeth knocked out. Just welts and bruises. What would the doctor do?”
“You think you’ll be okay sleeping on the floor? We’ll make you a bed out of my clothes and blankets and stuff. I’d let you sleep in my bed and take the floor myself, but what if my mom peeks in?”
“I’ll be okay.”
They sat mute for several minutes.
“We’ll get through this, Travis.”
He choked up. “I wish he hadn’t wrecked my amazing night.”
; They drove back to Dill’s house.
“Hey, Dill, can I have a few minutes alone in here before we go in?”
“Yeah, take all the time you need.”
As Dill opened his window to climb into his bedroom, he caught a glimpse of Travis. He had his head down on the steering wheel, his body shaking, as he sat solitary in the frozen January midnight darkness.
Lydia opened the front door. “Travis. What’s up?” It was unusual for Travis to show up at her house unannounced.
Travis held a sheaf of notebook paper. He looked nervous. “Hey, Lydia. So. I wrote this story. And you know writing and stuff. I wonder if you could read it for me and tell me what to do better.”
“Already? Wasn’t it two weeks ago that G. M. Pennington told you to consider becoming a writer?”
“Three.”
“Ah, right. It’s almost as though that date sticks in your head more than it does mine.”
Travis smiled.
“How familiar do I have to be with Bloodfall to understand it?” Lydia asked.
“You don’t need to know anything. It’s original.”
“Because I started reading Bloodfall after we met Gary. He was so awesome. I owe it to him. And you. But I’m not even close to done.”
Travis grinned. “Finally!”
She held out her hand. “Yeah, yeah, blah, blah, finally. Anyway, of course I’ll read your story. But fair warning, I’m pretty no bullshit when it comes to writing. If something sucks, I’ll tell you. And since this is your first try, there’ll probably be stuff that sucks.”
Travis handed her the papers. “I’m pretty used to criticism. I can take it.”
Lydia remembered what her dad had told her about Travis and she felt a stab of guilt. I can take it, he says. That and more. She leafed through the papers. “Wow, handwritten? Who does that? Look at you go, Shakespeare.”
“I haven’t had much access to my laptop the last few weeks.”
Another pang—this time of worry. “Is everything okay? Like at home?”
“Yeah, fine.” Travis sounded nonchalant. But not too nonchalant.
If he was lying, he was doing a better job of it than when he lied about Amelia. “Gotcha. What are you and Dill up to tonight?”
“Dill’s working; I’m out selling firewood,” Travis said.
“Are you serious? You’re handwriting stories and selling firewood? Could I maybe show you a flashlight and have you worship me as a god?”
“I finally inherited the firewood sales. Lamar, a guy I work with, did it for years. We get the scraps of lumber we can’t sell and bundle them and sell them as firewood. But I guess he got tired of doing it. It makes me extra money to save for a new laptop and writing classes.”
Lydia looked out the window and saw Travis’s truck laden with firewood.
“Dad!” she called. “Come buy some of Travis’s dumb firewood.”
Dr. Blankenship came padding to the door in slippers, holding his wallet. “Travis! Hello.”
“Hi, Dr. Blankenship.”
“I take it you’re still working at the lumberyard?”
“Yessir. Most likely’ll keep doing that after I graduate. In the last few years, business has kind of slowed down, so I’m one of the only employees left.”
“You enjoy it?”
“Yessir. I like the smell of cut wood and it gives me time to think.”
“Do something you love and you’ll never work a day in your life,” Dr. Blankenship said.
“I didn’t tell Lydia to tell you to come buy my wood, by the way,” Travis said.
“Oh, I know that. If you’d told her to tell me, she’d have said no.”
He bought half of Travis’s supply.
As Travis left, it occurred to Lydia that there was something different of late in his smile, with its two fake front teeth. Triumphant. Like he had forded a raging river and come to the other side. Or survived some great battle. He shone bright, as if burned clean by fire.
A couple hours after Travis left, Lydia’s phone buzzed.
Sitting here with fat envelope from NYU, Dahlia texted.
OMG open it.
A few minutes later, her phone buzzed again. A photo of an NYU acceptance letter.
CONGRATS!!!!!!!
I’m dying here. You have to tell me when you get yours.
“Hey, Mom?” Lydia called downstairs. “Did the mail come yet today?”
“The flag is down.”
Lydia jumped down the stairs, four at a time. She ran outside barefoot, her feet freezing on the ice-cold pavement. She yanked open the mailbox door. Letters. She jammed her hand in so hard to get them that she got a paper cut. She couldn’t breathe.
Junk mail. Junk mail. Something for her mom. Something for her mom. Something for her dad. Junk mail. Junk mail. NYU.
Literally the last item in the stack. She closed her eyes, held her breath, and tore. She almost couldn’t bring herself to read it. But she did.
Dear Lydia,
Hello and greetings from NYU Undergraduate Admissions.
First and foremost—congratulations on your acceptance to NYU. We are thrilled to congratulate you on this achievement!
She stopped reading and screamed. And jumped. And jumped and screamed. Her mom rushed out to see what was wrong. Lydia showed her the letter. They jumped and screamed together. Her dad rushed around from the backyard, where he was stacking his new firewood. They all jumped and screamed together.
“Everything look okay, Mr. McGowan? I unloaded that pallet of pasta and got it on the shelves and I mopped produce.”
Mr. McGowan ran down his clipboard with his pen, mumbling to himself. “Looks good to me, Dill. You got done early, but I’ll clock you out normal. Great work.”
“Thanks. See you tomorrow night.”
“Hey, real quick, Dill. You still available full time come the end of school?”
“Yessir. As many hours as I can get.”
“Great. I’ll tell the big boss. He’ll be glad to hear it.”
Dill took off his green work apron, put on his coat, and walked outside. Not a bad night to walk home. It was one of those February nights with the smallest breath of warmth beneath the cold.
“Want a ride home, mister?” Lydia sat on the bumper of her Prius. Her voice startled him. Not only because he wasn’t expecting to hear it, but because (and he could have been completely wrong about this) it had a flirtatious quality that had appeared with greater frequency after the talent competition. Dill attributed this to her being impressed with his bravery. Anything more would have been too much to hope for.
“What are you doing here? I thought you had blog stuff.”
“Not tonight. That’s actually why I’m here. Can we talk?” She must have noted the look of anxiety that passed over Dill’s face. “It’s good news. Kinda.”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Cool. Hop in. We’re heading to Good News Coffee. I thought the name was appropriate. I’m buying.”
They were mostly quiet on the drive.
“Can you give me a hint?” Dill asked.
“Let me have my big announcement.”
“You got into college somewhere. NYU?”
“Please let me have my announcement.”
They got to Good News, ordered their Christian-themed beverages, and sat.
“Okay,” Dill said. “Let’s have it.”
“I got my acceptance letter from NYU today.”
A sharp pain in his chest. A quick electric shock to his heart. The jolt spread lower and lower, into his stomach, like droplets of blood diffusing into water.
It’s like when his name was called at the talent competition, the way his mind freezes and goes somewhere else. He’s at some college campus. Maybe NYU. He can’t say because he doesn’t know what NYU looks like. And Lydia is sitting on a bench with some guy. He’s handsome and well dressed (probably by her), with an insouciant, shaggy casualness that bespeaks money. They’re talking and laughing. Autumn le
aves fall around them.
And Lydia is sitting at a coffee shop with the guy. There are books stacked high around them—the way opportunity and possibility are stacked around them.
And then the guy is sitting in a car with Dr. Blankenship, and they’re talking and laughing. And he’s sitting at the Blankenships’ table beside Lydia, across from Dr. and Mrs. Blankenship.
And Dill is wearing his green Floyd’s apron. He’s outside in the cold, watching them through the window. He can see his reflection in the glass, and he looks exhausted and used up. And it makes perfect but agonizing sense why the guy is sitting with Lydia and he’s not.
Dill did his best to smile. “Congratulations,” he said softly. “I—I knew you would get in. I never doubted it.” If only I could have doubted it. If only I could have pretended even for a second.
“Thanks. For believing in me and being my friend.”
“So. Are you going?”
“Yeah. I am.” She said it gently. She must have heard the hopeful lilt in his voice.
She got up, walked around the table, and gave him a lingering hug, running her fingers through the back of his hair. She’d been finding more excuses to hug him lately.
“What was that for?” Dill asked.
“Because you looked like your heart stepped on a Lego.”
Dill stared at his Hosanna Hot Chocolate. “I’m happy for you. You wouldn’t be happy here and I wouldn’t want you to be unhappy.”
“I know.”
“Please don’t forget about me.”
“I never will. You’re my best friend.”
“Have you told Travis?”
“Not yet. He’s out selling firewood tonight. Did you know he was doing that?”
“Yeah, I did.” And that’s not the only thing we’ve kept from you.
They sat and nursed their drinks. They heard the wail of sirens. They turned and looked outside to see an ambulance speed past, followed by two police cars.