by Jolene Perry
“I have to go.” I’m numb. Completely. I feel helpless, angry, and frustrated. If she’d shared with me, maybe I could have helped. Maybe. Oh, wait. I remember. I’d make it worse, right? Now I get it. How can you make nice when you bring another guy into the mix? You can’t.
I head for his door. There’s stuff in my locker I need, and I’m trying to decide how much I care. How long has it been since I heard Sky’s voice? Will I even know what happens to her? Or will she just disappear? Glide out of my life the way she glided in?
“Jameson!” Mr. Carlson calls behind me. “You can come back anytime.”
I wave as I step out of his classroom and head to my locker.
Get married? And Gunnar wants the kid. The whole thing’s a mess. Shouldn’t her brother be stepping up or something? Wait. Brother. Problems. Didn’t stand up for her. And my conversation with Sky… Gunnar doesn’t deserve it, and wants to keep it.
Would she attempt to be with Gunnar after what he did? For her daughter? And her clan or tribe… Keep the baby as part of their shared heritage? It’s something I can’t imagine, but I also can’t imagine growing up the way she did. It’s like the puzzle pieces are starting to fall together, but the end result doesn’t make sense. Or maybe it’s a reality I’m just not ready to accept.
Sarah’s at the end of the hallway, her back against the wall, looking down. Eric is standing over her, his hand resting on the locker above her head. Perfect, I’ve interrupted a nice, quiet intimate moment. I want to put my fist through a locker. Stay in the village, raise the daughter, brother, Gunnar… The words spin around in my head making me dizzy.
Eric’s fist hits the locker above her, and she winces, crouching down. What the hell!
“Don’t.” her voice comes out in a whimper. Her arms move to wrap protectively over her head.
I drop my books, sprint down the hallway and tackle Eric to the floor. He’s bigger than me, not as tall, but much broader. I’m faster. I get a few hits in. Our arms are around one another. I know I’ll get hit a few times, but I don’t care. I welcome it. There’s yelling and screaming in the background. It all blurs together. I’m going to hurt as much of Eric as I can, while I can. Someone has my arms, and I’m not strong enough to get away. Two people are pulling me off of him.
Matt has one of my arms. Mr. Carlson has the other. But I’m not done. Our Principal and the wrestling coach have Eric.
Words are spoken, but I can’t pay attention. My ears are thundering, from the noise in my head, my heart. I have no idea. It takes a moment to catch my breath.
I finally relax enough to be let go. I pause for about two seconds, take one last swing, and connect with Eric’s nose in a satisfying crunch that sends another shot of pain up my arm.
We’re both tackled to the ground again. All I hear is the blood whooshing through my head and all I feel is the adrenaline pumping through my body. I taste blood. I don’t care.
Eric is being led further down the hall.
“What happened?” Carlson asks. His voice is gruff.
“He threatened Sarah.” I have no hands. I’m still being detained. I spit to clear my mouth, blood spurts everywhere.
“Is that true?” The principal looks up at Sarah.
I stare at her. Her eyes go from me to Eric and back to me. “That’s right.”
Principal Snides stares at me. Then points. “This does not get you off the hook, Jameson.”
“I don’t give a shit.” What’s gotten into me?
“Very well.” He looks down the hall. “You.” He points to Eric. “My office, now.”
He looks at me. “I’m calling your mom. You’re suspended for three days, and I’ll speak with the vice principal to see if we’ll allow you to walk for graduation.”
“Understood.” What I want to say is that right now, I don’t care. He can do whatever he wants. It won’t make a mark. I’m cut up beyond repair. After dealing with what I’ve been dealing with, nothing the school can do matters.
“I want you off school grounds now.” He looks over his shoulder as he turns the corner, following Eric to his office.
“Yessir.” I salute, walk down the hall in the opposite direction from Eric, pick up my books, and head for the door.
“Jameson.” Mr. Carlson calls.
“I’m done.” I don’t look back. My hand hurts, my face hurts, and I still didn’t fix anything.
“Jameson!” Matt jogs up to me. “What happened, man?”
“He was threatening Sarah.” I keep walking.
“Yeah, but… I’ve never seen you like that before.”
“Me either.” I stop at my car. “See ya, Matt.”
“Yeah. See ya.” Matt waves, looking sort of stunned, and watches as I climb in and drive for home.
My phone rings but I’m too busy wiping the blood off my face to answer. My shirt’s soaked in it, and Mom’s going to have a fit. I check the phone. Oh, perfect. It’s Mom. I drop the it in the passenger’s seat without answering. I’ll deal with that in a minute.
As soon as the phone stops ringing, it starts again. Mom again. The principal must have dialed fast.
I pick up the phone. “I know I’m in trouble. I know I’m stupid. I promise it won’t happen again.”
“Jay.” Mom’s crying, I hear the sobs. “Your dad’s in the hospital.”
TWENTY-SIX
I learn a few things while talking to Mom on my frantic drive to the hospital. Heart attack is a really scary word for something the doctors like to call an episode. I still call it a heart attack, really, since the heart is what stops. Maybe it should be called a temporary heart death that will one day be not-so temporary. It all sucks. It’s all too final, and it’s all too real.
When I pull up to the hospital, I check my reflection. My face and shirt are covered in blood. I rummage around in my bag and find my gym shirt. Not the cleanest, but smelly is better than bloody. I wipe my face off again, and slide it on. I catch my reflection in the rearview mirror. My eye is already starting to swell, and there are still bits of dried blood on my face. Oh well. I grab my phone and keys and run into the building.
Hospital smell overpowers my shirt, easy. I jog to the receptionist. “Luke Clares, please.”
I take his room number and start running. More than one person gives me a onceover. When I come to Dad’s room, I stop. Am I allowed to just walk in? Is he okay? I can’t imagine my dad in a hospital bed. Can’t imagine it. I don’t want to imagine it, and now I’ll have to see it?
“Jameson.” Mom puts her arm around me from behind, and her hand on the door. “Ready to go in?”
“Uh…”
She opens the door and we step inside. Dad’s sitting up watching TV. Okay, not so bad. There’s one small window into the room but the shades are drawn against the bright sun. Dad’s hooked up to all sorts of monitors, which throws me. But he looks, I don’t know, like he’s okay.
“Hey, son.” He smiles.
“Hey.” Am I still mad at him? Or am I too shocked to care that I’m mad?
“What happened to your face?” He sets down his cup of water and stares at me. Mom leans forward and gasps.
“You’re in a hospital gown and we’re worried about my face?” I try to laugh.
Mom looks up and me and lets out a sigh. “Jameson.” Her voice is thick with disapproval.
“Eric was standing over Sarah, he hit his hand on the locker above her, and she looked scared.” Dad will understand. I keep eye contact with him.
“So, you…” Mom prompts.
“I jumped on him.” I shrug.
Mom slumps. Dad smiles. I smile back until I remember that I’m mad at him. Wait. Mom and Dad are in the same room and it’s just us. The three of us. No one’s yelling. It feels really good.
“I’ll be out of here in a day or two.” Dad’s voice is gruff and he sounds like he doesn’t understand why he can’t just walk out now.
“So, you’re going to be okay?” I can’t believe I’m a
sking these words. And they mean something. Not okay as in feelings. Okay, as in alive.
“I’ll be okay.” He nods.
I’m not ready to stand near him, or hug him or anything, but I am relieved.
“So, what about this fight?” Mom sits, crosses her legs and purses her lips.
“I’m suspended for three days and they’re going to tell me tomorrow or the next day if I can walk at graduation or not.” And once again, I’m saying things out loud that make me feel worse, not better.
“Oh, Jameson,” Mom says. Her voice is an odd mix of sadness and frustration. “What’s going on?”
“Too much to think about.” And I don’t even want to go over it again. I flop into a chair. It’s harder than I expect, but my body already hurts, so I don’t care.
“How’s Sky?” Dad asks.
Really, a dagger or a knife would be less painful. “We, uh, got in a fight. She’s up with her family, her clan or whatever, and I don’t know when she’s coming back down.” I stare at the floor. Saying it out loud, again, definitely makes it worse.
“I thought it was for just a couple weeks.” Mom’s gaze is intent. We haven’t spoken about this.
“Well, I guess there are…complications.” That’s the nice way of saying what’s really going on.
“I’m sorry.”
“And today you broke a guy’s face to protect Sarah. Is that right?” Dad asks.
Why, oh why, does he feel the need to point out the obvious? “Anyone would have done that.”
“Life’s confusing, isn’t it?” I can feel Dad’s eyes on me, but I don’t look up.
“Yeah.”
He’s making a point.
“I’ve really screwed up, Jameson.” His voice is quiet.
My head snaps toward him.
“I’m sorry, son.”
I nod. I’m not ready to make up, not completely, not yet. Not while my head’s such a mess.
“Honey, your hand.” Mom’s staring at my lap.
My hand is swollen and turning purple.
Dad laughs. “Well, I’m glad I wasn’t on the receiving end of that one.”
“I’m pretty sure I broke his nose.” I hold in a smile. It felt really good. I know Dad will appreciate it, even if I get more disapproval from Mom.
Then I realize I want Dad to be proud of me. It’s sort of huge.
“I think we need to take you to the ER.” Mom stands up and starts to the door. She means to be followed.
I stand up and step toward Dad’s bed.
“I’m fine, son. I promise. Go get that hand looked at.” He reaches out and pats my arm.
I clench my jaw and suck in a breath. Dad and I are going to be okay.
“Hey,” he whispers.
Mom’s holding the door open.
“You and Sky.” He raises an eyebrow, still whispering.
He wants to know if we’ve had sex. I can tell by the look on his face. “It’s not about that, not with her.”
Dad’s face turns serious again. “Well, it’s nice to know you learned that lesson earlier than your dad.”
I’m not sure what to say.
“I’ve really missed you, Jay. I love you, son.”
Dad and I don’t talk like this. At least we didn’t used to. “Love you, too.” I look at the floor as I turn to leave the room. Yep, we’ll definitely be okay.
But him asking me about Sky brings her straight to the surface. The way I love her hits me as I step out the door, bringing a smile to my face. But as soon as the door closes, the way I miss her crushes me again. Is there an end to this? Maybe a new beginning? I have no idea. It’s hard to know when we’re not talking.
As I follow Mom to the ER, I reach in my pocket to get my phone. Maybe Sky has called. Maybe we’re okay. But my hand is too swollen to reach my phone and it’s just wishful thinking anyway.
Three hours, two x-rays and one flirtatious nurse later, I’m in a cast for a broken knuckle and metacarpal. I didn’t know I had a metacarpal. AP Biology and cat dissections weren’t high on my list for senior year. Oh, and a bottle of painkillers, which is probably the only way I’m going to be able to sleep tonight.
Part of me wants to stay here with Dad and part of me just wants my Vicodin and my bed. Mom takes my prescription bottle and hands me three pills.
“Really?” I laugh.
“You haven’t been yourself, Jameson. I’m worried about you.” Mom looks sad, and tired.
Guilt washes over me. I pull Mom into a hug with my good arm and we stand in the hallway of the hospital. I want to ask her about Dad, if they’re getting along, what I can do. Why everything feels like such a mess. Why the girl I love lied to me, and why my best friend isn’t even a friend anymore. But instead I breathe in her familiar perfume and kiss her cheek.
“Are you okay to drive yourself home?”
“I’m okay.” I pause, afraid to ask, but I do anyway. “You’re staying here then?”
Mom smiles, and it’s the most genuine smile I’ve seen from her aside from the afternoon she spent with Sarah and Sky. “I’m staying here. And you know you’re grounded indefinitely. No phone. No leaving the house without talking to me.”
I’m about to ask how I’m going to talk to her if I can’t use the phone, but it’s probably best to leave that one alone. “Okay.” I start for the door, my three Vicodin in one hand, the other hand in a small cast.
- - -
Being at home isn’t as comforting as I hoped. I’m confused as hell over Sky, frustrated I can’t shake Sarah, and my face and fist are both throbbing.
I think about calling Sky, but don’t feel like I can. I’m not ready to apologize, and I’m definitely not ready to forgive. I just want someone to talk to. Even I know that’s using. I start to finger Sarah’s number and then it hits me Sky was right. There are unresolved Sarah issues floating around that I need to take care of. But I don’t know how to do that, aside from what I’ve already done – especially after today.
Ha. Today. The day when Mr. Carlson made the horrible point that Sky might be staying in her village to marry some a-hole, or might not be able to leave because she won’t want her daughter there without her. And today when I got suspended for fighting. Perfect. I’m grounded indefinitely, and I actually don’t care. There’s not a thing I feel the need to do right now. Sitting in my room, closed off from the world sounds about perfect. And even though I know I’m torturing myself, I turn on my computer to check email.
Nada.
Great. I don’t realize how much I hoped for something until there was nothing. My body slumps in one of my two chairs at the desk. I stare at the empty chair for a few minutes. Okay. I stand up. That’s too pathetic for words.
I’m so drained, I’m not sure if I’ll be able to sleep. Oh, Vicodin. I wash one down with three or four-day old water from next to my bed.
I need a shower. Crap. I have a cast. I stumble into the kitchen and wrap it in saran wrap. I shuffle into my bathroom and let the hot water pelt down on me. When I rest my head against the wall, it makes me think of Sky and how I teased her about helping her in here. How she was in here. Naked. In my shower. I hit the faucet, and shut off the shower. Right now she feels like a big traitor. At least I’m clean.
My face looks terrible. One eye is already purple and swollen. My lip is cut and huge. I’m even gladder I won’t be in school for a few days. Even if my face is still in shades of purple and yellow when I go back, it won’t still be swollen.
I get dressed in pajama pants and hear someone knock on my door. My first thought is Sky, but then I remember she’s gone. For who knows how long.
I pull the shade back. It’s Sarah. Of course. Because why wouldn’t it be Sarah? Now that everything else is a mixed up mess?
I pull open the door.
“I heard about your dad.” Her large blue eyes look up at me.
“He’ll be okay,” I answer.
“That’s what my mom said.” She rubs her hands on her short
s a few times. “Your mom called.”
“Uh, I’m grounded.”
She laughs. “I guessed.”
We stand on either side of the door.
“Why don’t you put on a shirt, and I’ll come sit with you.” Her eyes dart everywhere, but on me. It’s so unlike her.
I laugh and step back. “Whatever. We swim together, Sarah. You see me in less than pajama pants almost every day.”
She doesn’t look at me, just sits on the floor in front of my bed, leaning against the frame and pulling her knees to her chest. Her chin rests there, and she stares out my window into the backyard.
I slide on a T-shirt and sit next to her.
“How’s your hand?” She looks at my cast.
“Broken.” Now it’s kind of funny. “Did you know you have metacarpals?”
“Yes.” She laughs. “They’re bones, Jamesy.” Her voice is the same little-girl sweet voice she’s always had.
“Yep. In your hand.” I nod. The medicine is making me feel funny. “So, what brings you to my house at this late hour?” I’m trying to keep my best light, friend voice. I have no idea how well I do. Even my lips are starting to feel numb. I rub them together. Funny.
“I wanted to thank you, for today.” She’s picking at her fingernails and not looking at me.
“Is that normal? His temper?” I hate the idea of her dating someone like that, even for a short time. Are all guys assholes? Am I?
She shakes her head. “I broke up with him. He was mad.”
We’re sitting shoulder to shoulder on my floor, our backs against the foot of my bed. My heart aches from not talking to Sky. It aches for my dad, my mom, and for the girl sitting next to me. My head leans back to rest against the mattress.
“I thought you and Eric were happy,” I say.
“I don’t know. I guess we were.” She lets her legs relax in front of her.
“Then why did you break up with him?” And why do I suddenly feel like it has something to do with me?