by Stacie Ramey
Matt takes a small sip. “You’re going to have to do a hell of a lot more than that to impress Coach Gibson.”
“No doubt. But it’s Friday night. I don’t have to impress anyone tomorrow, do I?”
Someone bangs on the door. A bunch of someones by the sound of it. Matt opens it, and the juniors and seniors on the lacrosse team spill into the room.
“What’s up?” Brandon smacks hands with Pete. “How’ve you been, Coach?”
“Not your coach anymore,” Pete answers.
“You should be.” Will’s arm goes around Pete’s shoulders. The two of them walk to the table. Will plunks a six-pack of Miller Lite on the table. “You were always the best.”
“You like that I let you drink here.” Pete points to the fridge. “Let’s keep some of this cold, huh?”
Brandon adds the six-pack he’s carrying to the fridge, and soon, everyone’s drinking.
A dartboard on the side of the room gets tons of play. Matt aims carefully, hits bull’s-eye, and his arms go up in the air.
Pete shakes his head. “My modest little brother.”
Pete sticks his hand out, and I happily put the bottle of Jack in it. The whiskey is doing its job. My head is fuzzy and loose, and not one thing is wrong in this world. I look around the room and see a bunch of guys who I get to hang with. Not because I’m their supplier but just because we’re teammates. I forgot how good that could feel. That everything is exactly as it’s supposed to be.
Brandon and Will and Parker shove each other out of the way for the chance to take Matt on in the next game. Someone blasts Spotify, and Avenged Sevenfold fills the room.
Pete leans on the table, his head lowered and his hands on the top of the bottle. “Momentary loss of muscular coordination…” He quotes The Shining. We both crack up, but I know underneath the laughter is how he actually feels, and I wonder for probably the hundredth time since the accident how it felt from Pete’s perspective when he hit Ryan. The fear. The crushing realization of what he’d done.
“I keep thinking…” I know I’m slurring my words, and when I look at the bottle, I’m surprised it’s more than half gone. Between the two of us. “If only…you know, but I guess what’s done can’t be undone. It is what it is. ” I’m a metaphysical genius. Obviously.
Matt’s head jerks in our direction. He bounds across the room and slams his hand down on the table in front of us. He points at me, a dart still in his hand. “We are not doing this.”
Brandon puts his big mitts on Matt’s shoulders. “What’s the matter with you?”
“Sick of this shit,” Matt says.
Brandon turns Matt toward the dartboard. “You’re up, man.”
“Yeah. I got that.” Matt moves back to the other side of the room, straightens, focuses, and throws another bull’s-eye, making the guys yell.
Pete doesn’t look affected by the alcohol, which says something for the tolerance he’s built. His gaze goes to Matt and then back to the bottle.
“I’ve replayed that moment a million times,” Pete says. “I wish…”
“Stop. You can’t.”
Pete takes another drink. “I hope Ryan is doing better. I really do. Nothing would make me happier.”
“You need to be getting better too, man. You need to figure out what you want to do now.”
Pete’s about to answer when there’s another knock on the door. Only it’s quieter and is followed by girl voices. “Open up. Let us in!”
“Finally, some life to this party,” Matt says.
Pete says, “I never said you could have a party here…”
“You never said I couldn’t.” Matt opens the door, and five girls pile in, each one bouncier than the previous.
I search for Emily, but I know she won’t be here. She’s not like these girls. She wouldn’t show up to some asshole’s apartment, knowing everyone’d be drunk. But I am not surprised to see Dominique, who smiles at me across the room. She glides over like she’s working the runway, acts like someone bumped into her, and falls into my lap. Convenient.
It’s not that I don’t want what she’s offering. It’s just that, these days, the happy ending in question is nothing I can’t give myself. Grinning at my inside joke, I bounce Dominique off my lap, salute my boys, and bump fists with Pete. “Gotta go.”
Dominique’s face rearranges itself from surprise to fury. That convinces me I’m doing the right thing.
Matt’s on the old recliner with Jessica. “Well, don’t think I’m driving you home now. I’m a little busy.”
Jessica laughs.
“No worries. I’ll walk. Gotta work on my times anyway. I’ll get my stuff from you tomorrow,” I call over the chatter and head out into the night. It’s just me and the stars, and at least, for once, I’m not hanging around to make another stupid mistake. I’m kinda proud of myself until I take out my phone to see that home is exactly five point two miles away. I shrug, then start to jog. I’m pissing people off left and right these days, which just proves I’m too enmeshed here. Time to leave all this behind and start California living for real.
As my feet pound on the dark streets, each step reminds me of who I am, what I’ve done, and why I need to escape the memories.
Chapter 7
It’s one of those mornings after that I used to have a lot at Dad’s house, so at first, I’m thinking I’m back there, but then a banging pushes through the fuzz, and I realize that Mom’s voice is coupled with the pounding. And that can’t be good. My hands press hard into my eye sockets, trying to push some sense into my foggy brain.
“John! Wake up!”
My mind searches for what I did last night. Pete’s house. Right. That means it’s Saturday. Mom has never made me get up early on a Saturday for no reason.
Bang! Bang! Bang! “John. We have to leave in half an hour.”
I blink as I reach for my cell. Have I slept till four in the afternoon or some shit? Leave for where? My cell says it’s eight thirty, so now I’m really confused. My head is not in any shape to try to figure out this real-world word problem.
“What’s up?” I croak as Mom heads down the steps.
“You have an appointment this morning.”
“Since when?”
She stops on the staircase and turns. “Since yesterday. And don’t give me that look. I left you a note.”
My head spins—and not from my hangover. I know better than to ask the questions running through my mind. With Mom, the who-what-where-and-whens are always a trap, and I don’t want to get caught.
“You have twenty-five minutes now. I’d hurry if I were you.”
I don’t waste any more time and jump in the shower, letting the cold water blast my face.
I turn it as hot as it can go. The combination of extremes gets my blood going. I’m out of the shower and back in my room in under ten minutes. That’s when I see the note Mom left me last night.
Made appointment with Steve for tomorrow at nine thirty. Sorry so early. He’ll give you a later time from now on. I’ll take you.
Great. It’s not that I mind seeing Stevie-boy. It’s a court order anyway.
But this early after a night of Jack Daniel’s? Not my favorite plan. Also, why the rush? Steve’s office is five minutes away even with Mom driving.
I throw on gym shorts and a new lacrosse T-shirt that somehow found its way into my drawer, my anger starting to stir. What gives Mom the right to go through my crap, even if it is to give me new clothes? I grab my stash from last night that is wedged under my pillow and a roll of duct tape from my desk. I lay on the floor, tape the bag to the underside of the desk drawer, and grab my cell.
I’m not even downstairs before I hear him. “Momomomom.” Ryan’s up.
I paste a smile on my face and enter the kitchen.
Livy waves at me from her seat, w
affle bits still on her plate. “Morning,” she says, her mouth full. My stomach growls. Loud.
“You’ve got five minutes.” Mom takes a washcloth to Ryan’s face, his wheelchair pushed up to the table. He closes his eyes and pushes one arm forward, the other arm swinging wildly. Mom ducks, then turns to Livy. “You staying here or coming with?”
“I’ll stay.”
I look at Ryan. Really look at him. I haven’t seen him much since I got home. But here he is in the flesh. His hair is longer, and it actually looks cute like this, you know, if he was someone else’s brother. My big brother Ryan, Old Ryan, went through a long hair phase too. He thought he was the shit, right before the accident. Pissed me off how he used to ruffle my hair and say, “Don’t worry, some day you’ll grow into it.” Such a smart-ass. I smile, thinking about it now, but back then, it drove me crazy.
I look at this New Ryan. This New Ryan is not cocky or arrogant. He’s not scheming about ways to disappear so I couldn’t hang with him and his friends. This New Ryan probably has no idea who I am.
He swings his head toward me. “Jaaaahhhh.”
OK, maybe I’m wrong about that. Maybe he does know me. My heart does a little jump, like it’s trying to get in tune with my brother. I wave. “Hey, Ryan.”
He smiles.
Ryan’s upper body is normal sized, but his legs are skinny, and his head is a little oversized still. If I pushed back his hair, we’d see scars from the operations he’d had to release the pressure in his skull.
Ryan used to be a super jock. My big brother, kind of super at everything. Mom’s perfect child. Everything she dreamed of in a son. Until I wrecked it for everyone. Can’t you follow simple rules? Simple fucking rules?
Ryan’s head lolls on his neck, and his eyes go to the ceiling like he’s looking for a sniper or something. But then he looks back at me, smiles, and bangs on the table with one hand. He’s got braces on his legs that keep his legs from locking, but he spends most of his time in his wheelchair.
I smile back and bang on the table, which he finds hysterical based on his goofy, smiley reaction. Which makes Mom laugh, which makes me feel like maybe I’m winning this round a little.
Rosie pops her head around the corner, offering me a plate of waffles and a cup of coffee, and all of a sudden, today feels like my birthday.
I reach for the plate, my stomach groaning.
“Hurry,” she says, nodding at Mom, who’s wheeling Ryan to the car.
“Three minutes, John.” Mom’s in full take-charge mode. Along with Mom’s other triggers, she cannot stand being late.
I cram two huge bites of waffle in my mouth and swear I hear myself moan. I’m so not used to home-cooked food.
“John! Now!” Mom calls from the garage.
I kiss Rosie on the cheek. She pretends to be flustered. “Go.”
I shovel the rest of the waffle in my mouth, swipe my face with my napkin, and head for the van. When I get there, Mom’s already got Ryan’s wheelchair in the back and him in his seat, where she is trying to fasten the clips that hold him in place.
Mom looks up from Ryan’s seat, her face set at pissed. “Can you help?”
“You get in. I’ll take care of Ryan.”
Ryan turns at the sound of his name and smiles at me. It’s kind of sweet, and it chokes me up a little. “Hey, buddy. What’s up?”
“Stupid seat! Shit!” He yells. “Shit! Shit! Shit!” He slams his seat with stiff hands.
“Nice mouth.” I reach forward for the buckle. “Settle down.”
That must piss him off, because he starts swiping at me. I duck, but judging from how mad he is, if his punch connected with me, it would hurt. I put my finger in his face. “Don’t.” I buckle his seat belt and slide his door shut. I open the passenger door and jump in. I don’t say anything, because at this point, my head pounding, my brother going nuclear, and my mom not dealing, I am over it.
“He hates his car seat. Doesn’t mind the car, just the seat.”
“No seat,” Ryan chants. “No seat. No seat. No seat.”
Mom flips the mirror so she can see him. “Settle down, Ryan. You’re fine.”
She flips the mirror back and pulls out of the driveway.
“So I’ll drop you off and…”
“Momomomomom!”
The sound is unreal. So loud. Mom’s face gets tight. I know that look. I hate that look.
Usually, I’m the one firing her up to blow. I want to do anything to keep that from happening. “So Ryan’s therapy is…”
“Momomomom.” Ryan screams some more. Then bangs his head against the side of the car, which Mom padded so he won’t get hurt.
Mom rotates in her seat fast. “Stop that! Don’t you dare do that!”
That just makes him bang his head more.
She tightens her grip on the steering wheel, shakes her head. My stomach goes from hangover sick to sickened. I unhook my seat belt.
“What are you doing?”
I climb into the captain’s chair next to Ryan. “Just keeping my brother company. Hey, buddy, what’s up? You’ve got to stop that. We all have to sit in our seats. All of us.”
For whatever reason, my climbing back there stops his tantrum. I can see that he’s made a red mark on the side of his head from hitting it despite the padding that Mom’s attached to his seat. I can’t reach that spot, but I rub his head anyway, and he looks at me. His eyes do this thing where his pupils get pin tight then really big and black. And I wonder for, like, the hundred millionth time if only things had been different that day. If he had. If I had. If only… He looks out the window, and one of his legs bounces up and down a little.
“Get your seat belt on, John,” Mom says, her voice a little choked up.
Ryan turns toward me and reaches out. I take his hand. “She drive you crazy too?”
“Mom crazy.” Ryan twirls his finger next to his ear like we used to do when we were little. Back then, we both called Mom loco, and I feel like I’m losing it. I can almost see Old Ryan calling Mom crazy behind her back, me laughing. Does he remember that?
We drive like this for a few minutes, Ryan holding my hand, me not hating that, and also wondering a lot about my brother, both Old and New Ryan. Mom peeks in the rearview a bunch of times until she stops the car in front of Steve’s office. “You want me to walk you in?”
I laugh. “I’m not five.”
“I could leave Ryan in the car for a few minutes…”
Even if I wanted that, no way would I let her based on what I just witnessed. My brother is out of control. Mom’s on the edge. I can do this without them. I unbuckle my seat belt. “I’m fine.”
“When you’re done, text me. Ryan’s therapy is just down the street in the Richmond building. You remember where that is?”
“I’ll be fine.”
“He’ll be done right after you, so you could even wait here if you didn’t want to walk.”
“I’ll walk. Don’t worry.” I look Ryan straight in the eye. “Don’t you do that anymore.” I point to where he hit his head.
I know my plea is no different than anything Mom’s said to him a hundred times, but I do it anyway, because I don’t know what else to do. I’ve become the big brother now, telling him what to do. He needs to listen.
Mom closes the van door, and Ryan starts up again. It’s a wonder she can drive when he’s like that. And once again, the beast shows up. He’s always been like this. He always wins.
I try to close my mind to the dragon I know is just trying to protect me, but it’s not going to change anything, being all mad. So I wave to Mom and brace myself for what comes next.
• • •
The office building is the same as it’s always been. The memory of my first time here rushes to greet me as I walk down the hallway.
I go into the ele
vator, hold the door for a mom who is trying to hurry her son.
“Thanks.” She smiles at me. He’s on a video game and looks younger than Livy. “You want to push the button?” she asks.
He rolls his eyes. “I’m not five anymore.”
I laugh. He’s kind of a little asshole like I was. I appreciate that.
“Three, please,” she says.
I push the button, and my mind goes back.
I remember walking into the building holding Uncle Dave’s hand.
“We’re going to go see someone,” Uncle Dave explained. “His name is Steve.”
I ran ahead. I wanted to push the button for the elevator.
In the office, there were huge tanks filled with the coolest fish I’d ever seen. I was trying to count how many there were when a door opened. A man in jeans and a T-shirt walked out.
“Think you can guess my favorite?” he asked from across the room.
“Um, this one.” I pointed to a red fish with black spots on its tail.
He nodded. “She’s a beauty. But not her.”
I pointed to another one. He shook his head. I gave up after pointing to every fish in the tank. I didn’t get it.
He smiled. “I sort of tricked you. My favorite is in my office. It’s not a fish at all. It’s called a Chinese water dragon, and it lives in its own tank. Wanna see him? He’s amazing.”
A dragon? He had to be kidding. I ran into the office. A tank ran the entire length of the wall with branches and plants and a little pond. And inside it was the coolest lizard I’d ever seen.
I open the door to Suite 213. The receptionist is new, but everything else is the same. I give her my name, and she tells me to take a seat, that Steve will just be a few minutes.
Instead of sitting, I make my way to the fish tank. It’s filled with new fish, pretty gold ones, striped Nemo ones. A royal-blue one.
“That’s Dory.” Steve’s voice startles me to the present. “She’s my new favorite.”
I turn to face him. “No more Chinese water dragon?”
“Lost him last year. If your mom had given me the heads-up, I’d have had a replacement here in time for your return.”