by Stacie Ramey
A knock on my door makes me jump. Uncle Dave comes in, holding my new welding mask. “We gonna lay here all moony, or we gonna get to work, nephew?” Then he cocks his eyebrow at me like the sarcastic mofo he is. “Hmm?”
“Get to work, I guess.”
“Nothing else to do.”
“So what are you thinking?”
“Not sure.”
“The thing about building is you should do something you love, because you’re going to work on it for a long time.”
My eyes shoot to my closet. The K’NEX boxes. The LEGOs.
Uncle Dave’s eyes follow mine.
“You and Ryan used to build a lot together, huh?”
I nod.
“I remember. You can’t give up because he can’t do it anymore. That would be even worse. Double the trouble.”
And suddenly, I decide two things. One, I’m going to build an igloo for my project. Two, I need to go see Pete.
“Thanks, Uncle Dave. I gotta take care of something first.”
“OK, but remember, an igloo waits for no man.”
And once again, Uncle Dave gets me more than I get myself.
I grab my phone and text Pete. Hey can we meet up? Talk? Maybe watch The Shining?
Definitely. Not working tonight. Come over. I’ll get pizza.
That’s his standard joke. He always brings a pie home from work, so he’ll just heat up what he’s got.
Dad’s in the kitchen with Livy. Uncle Dave pulls out a deck of cards. “Who’s for gin rummy?”
“Me!” Livy laughs.
“You getting hungry?” Dad asks me. “We were going to run to the store and pick up steaks and potatoes.”
I point to the door. “I’ve got go see a friend.”
“Sure. Everything OK?” Dad’s brow furrows.
“Yeah, Dad. Everything’s good.”
He smiles at me, and it feels like there’s emotion behind it. I think about how he was trying to look out for me back then. How he took me in when he knew it would be hard to raise me. How he never really lost his cool with me. Ever. I smile back, kiss Livy on the cheek, and point to the game. “Keep an eye on this one…” I say to Uncle Dave. “She’s a card shark.”
He winks at me. “I’ll try not to lose my shirt.”
“Ew!” Livy says, and I let the music of her laughter act as my armor for this next part.
• • •
As I pull into Pete’s apartment complex, I try not to get too emotional about what I’m going to do. It’s been a long hard road for all of us. Ryan, Mom, me, and Pete. Pete had been the coolest kid in the neighborhood before the accident. Nice to everyone. Good head on his shoulders. Jock. Student. Pete was on track to go to Princeton. His mother told me that one of the times I went to see her.
I did that when I was old enough to drive and see Pete. I’d stop to see her first. She’d sort of lost a son too. But this time, this visit is just me and Pete. I wonder if he’ll want to listen to what I have to say.
He gives me a man hug, and then I walk inside. His apartment is cleaner than the last time I came over but not much. It smells like pizza, and I realize how hungry I really am. He goes to the fridge and grabs two Miller Lites, twists the caps off, and hands me one. He’s got a spliff smoking on the table, and he stops to take a hit off of it and holds it out to me. I wave it away, and his eyebrows raise. “What’s up? Got a drug test coming up?”
“No.” I say. “I’ve had one hell of a weird week, man.”
“Weed helps everything.”
“I used to think that.”
His eyes are red, but he’s not gone yet. I need to talk to him before he checks out. I point to the joint, motion to the ashtray. “Do you mind?” I ask. “Just for a few minutes.”
“Sure. You’re kinda scaring me though. Is everything OK?”
“Like I said, it’s been a hell of a week.”
He nods. Takes a sip of beer.
“Do you know that I used to pretend you were my brother?”
He takes a long, slow drink from his beer.
“You were always nice to me and to all of us little kids.”
“I liked you. You were really smart.”
My turn to drink. I was smart. Pete liked me. I remember I followed him around. We used to talk about rocks and stars and dinosaurs. He was always so patient with me. Never got mad like Ryan did. Before the accident, I was smart and so was Pete. I remember our talks.
“Didn’t you want to go to Princeton once?” I ask.
Pete gets up, goes to the cupboard, and grabs a glass. “That was a lifetime ago. What’s this all about, John?” He puts ice in his glass and pulls a bottle of vodka out of the freezer. “My mom said that Ryan’s going to be OK. Said it was a miracle or some shit.”
He pours the vodka over his ice, and I wait until he sits at the table before I start again. “Yeah, Ryan saves his miracle for this one.”
We both laugh at that. Just two friends getting stoned and drunk together. Only I can’t be that person right now. “My mom decided today of all days to talk to me about the accident.”
“Oh. Yeah, not my favorite topic, man.” He starts to get up, but I motion for him to sit. “You know the rules, John. We don’t talk about that.”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
He lifts his head long enough to take a drink. His eyes are pleading with me, and the thing is, I want to give in—I do—but I have to do this. He needs to hear this from me. He drinks some more vodka, shakes his head like a bull, then looks at me, fake smile plastered on his face. “How about we watch that movie?”
“I’m serious, man. Mom sat me down and told me she doesn’t blame me for any of it. She doesn’t blame you either.”
“Great. Awesome. That is juuust the best news.” He stands to take the pizza out of the oven. He’s a little drunk. Not so drunk I worry he’ll fall in the oven or anything but drunk enough to be worried that he won’t hear me. I get up and follow him to the kitchen counter.
“I was amazed at the things she said. And I feel better for the first time since it happened.”
Pete starts opening the drawers. “Where’s that stupid pizza cutter?”
He pulls each drawer open so hard that the silverware inside clangs and jumps. The next drawer lands on the floor with a huge sound. I know he wants me to stop talking, but I can’t.
“The thing is, when something like that happens, everything gets all screwed up. People get sad, and they can’t deal with that feeling, so they get mad at other people. Mom got mad at me. At you. It wasn’t fair, but it’s over now.”
Pete shakes his head. “You’re kidding me with this, right?”
“With what?”
“With all of this. I am glad you and your mom made up. Great. But it has nothing to do with me!”
“But…”
He points to himself. “I blame me. I do. So fuck you and your charity and your ‘everyone is all fine now’ bullshit, because I am not fine, and I will never be fine. Ryan and I will forever be fucked up. So just leave it the fuck alone or just leave.”
The blast of his anger hits me hard, but I know he needs to do this. I know he needs to hear what I’m saying.
“It was an accident. You have to let it go. You have to live your life. Move on.”
“Move on? Are you kidding me? Are you out of your fucking mind? Move on? I paralyzed a person.” He points to me. “Your brother. Why are you here anyway? Why give a shit about me when I ruined your life?”
“Because you didn’t ruin my life. I did. Or nobody did, because it’s not ruined. It’s just getting started. Like yours can.”
“We being honest here? That’s what we’re doing?”
I stand tall. “Yes.”
“Honestly, I still see the whole fucking thing. Years of
therapy bullshit and drugs to make me forget, and I still see him flying in front of my car, me trying to brake in time. I still hear all the sounds. The disgusting, crushing, horrible sound of my car hitting him.”
“You have to let it go.”
“Every time I think it’s getting better, every time the noose loosens, I sober up, and it’s bad again. So I drink more, and it goes away.” He walks to the table, gets the joint, and lights it back up again. He takes two hits. Three. I watch the muscles in his face go from tight to soft. He blows out smoke. “The way things are.”
I lower my voice, try to keep calm. “Five seconds of our life should not dictate the rest. You wanted to go to Princeton. You were going to be an astrophysicist. You were going to be something other than—”
“Great, now you’re my mom.”
“I’m not kidding, man. You’ve put your whole life on hold. You’re punishing yourself, and there’s no reason.”
Pete’s face screws up. He takes another hit. Holds it. Blows the smoke out. “Are you kidding me?”
“No. I mean it. When Mom talked to me, it’s like the whole world opened up and made sense for once. And I saw that she and I have been so fucking stupid about this whole thing. Each of us was trying to forgive the other one, when it turns out we should have just forgiven ourselves. I’ve lost ten years being angry and alone. And that’s so fucking mental.”
Pete’s eyes get moist. “I’m glad you two talked.”
“Me too. But the whole time, I kept thinking about you. About how crappy this whole thing has been for you. I know nothing will change what happened, but you should know it wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have stopped in time.”
“Look, I think you better go. I’ve got to work tomorrow.” He stands up. “Come by next week or something.”
I don’t get up. “I’m not leaving.”
Pete looks at the ceiling. Then back at the floor. Then back at me. “There’s not one thing you can say to me that will make me feel better about that day.”
“I think I’ve got one thing that will.”
“What?”
“It wasn’t your fault.”
He shakes his head. “You can’t say that.”
“Let me finish. It wasn’t your fault…because it was mine.”
“What?”
“You hit Ryan because he skated into the street, right?”
“Right.”
“Well, he didn’t exactly skate there.”
“You’re not making sense.”
“He didn’t skate there. Because I pushed him.”
Pete stares at me. I start to sweat. I’ve never said those words to anyone. I pushed him. And now Pete’s just staring at me, his face blank, and I’ve got no idea if he’s hating me or if he doesn’t even care. I don’t know if he wants to beat my face in. He stands up, goes over to the couch. Looks back. “You coming?”
“What?” I say.
“I’ve got The Shining all tracked up.”
“Aren’t we going to talk about what I said?”
Pete drains the rest of his drink. “Nope.” He pushes the remote button, and the TV comes to life.
“Why?”
“Because it doesn’t matter how Ryan got in the street. It just matters that’s where he was.”
“I don’t understand you, man. I’ve never admitted that to anyone. Not to one person. And you act like that’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing. But it’s not everything either.”
“Then what is it? What’s got you stuck in that two seconds of lost muscular control?”
Pete smiles. Then his face gets dark. “I was texting my girlfriend.”
“What?”
“I never told anyone that. I’d just sent her a text. She was pissed at me. So I didn’t want to wait to get home to text her. It was so fucking important. That one text. Right?”
“I didn’t know…”
“Well, now you do. I fucking texted my stupid-assed girlfriend who dumped me the second I got in trouble. You know what was so important? What I had to send so bad that I ended up hitting your brother?”
“What?”
“Three fucking letters. BRT. And if she’d been a little more patient or I’d been smart enough to figure she’ll know I’ll be there when I actually get there, maybe…” He’s crying now, and it’s horrible. “BRT. I can’t stand myself. You say I should live my life? Why? Why do I fucking get to live when your brother…”
I sit next to him on the couch. “Because my mother was right about one thing. No matter how guilty we all feel, if he can’t live the life he was supposed to, we shouldn’t waste ours. We owe him that. Don’t you think we owe him that?”
Pete nods, but I’m not sure he even knows what I’m saying—that’s how wasted he is. How miserable too. “Maybe. BRT. What the fuck?”
He sobs for the first ten minutes of the movie, then we both just stare at it, numb and stupid and raw and done. What the fuck is right.
• • •
I wake up in the middle of the night and have no idea where I am. The darkness is only cut by the television that’s now showing an infomercial on daily skin care for women. My neck is cricked, and I pull my cell out of my pocket. 2:03. Crap. As soon as I slide my phone on, it lights up with texts from Dad.
Are you OK? Sent at twelve. Then, Where are you? At one fifteen. A final plea, Please check in, at one thirty. Crap. I never had a curfew with Dad. He worked all the time, traveled all the time. Never really noticed before. But I feel guilty and pissed. And that’s what’s so fucked up about me. I’m always feeling two things at once or three or four, and all I want, all I need, is the distinct pleasure of feeling one absolute, true feeling. Separate and perfect, whatever that feeling is.
Should I text Dad now? Would it wake him? I’m, like, ten minutes from home. Would it be better to just drive there and save everyone the trouble? Doubt. Regret. Annoyance. A stupid package deal strapped to the back of my dragon, who looks as drugged as I feel. He slinks in the corner of my mind, hoping I’ll unchain him, let him loose on all this shit and on everyone who upsets me. But I don’t want to do that now. Now I want to unchain myself. Now I want to be free.
I text Dad. Sorry. At a friend’s. Fell asleep. Coming home now. Part of me thinks it’s none of his business where I am or what I’m doing, but only a small part. An ember. One that is extinguished by what he texts back.
OK son. As long as you’re safe. Drive carefully.
And it’s like this latest accident has done what nothing else over the years could do—shocked my entire family to our senses. Shown us what we needed to know. That we still care we’re alive.
Chapter 28
I don’t call Emily when I get home. Because even though I know I can finally start living my life, I’m still angry that I’ve wasted all this time. The headache comes on strong, and I think about reaching for my weed or my bottle of Jack, but ultimately, I text Emily. Very hard day. Going to sleep. Will talk later.
She writes back. OK. Im here.
To which I don’t answer. I just stare at the words. Is it OK that she’s here? Is it OK for me to go on with my life? After Ryan? After Leah? Why do I keep getting more chances?
I text Allie.
Hey.
She doesn’t answer right away, and at first, I’m a little relieved, because I’m sort of scared to have this conversation.
I lie in my bed and consider my choices. I could smoke some weed. God knows I deserve it. I could numb my head and calm my soul. All this getting real shit is hard. I could use a little break. But just as I’m about to get the bag out from under my desk, my phone vibrates. Allie.
Hey yourself. How are you?
I stare at the ceiling. I’m OK. Everything is fine here but I have something I want to tell you.
OK…
I’m dating someone.
That’s good!
It feels kind of serious.
Oh.
My insides turn liquid, and I feel horrible for disappointing Allie. For cheating on her big sister. But then she texts back.
I have to vet her. That’s my right. As your pseudo little sister.
OK.
She better be good enough for you.
She is.
Up to me to decide. Set up a meeting.
How come all the women in my life are unrelenting?
Then: I have a lacrosse game this week.
OK. I did a spit-take. U r a jock now?
Sort of. That OK?
It depends what you do on the field. No pressure.
And for the first time in a long time, I feel the pressure is releasing itself. Bit by bit. I don’t tell Allie that. I just say that I’m going to rest up so I can be all beast. She says good night, and it feels kind of OK to have these people in my life—not as rocks but as anchors.
• • •
Now it’s Monday morning all fast and furious. I not only have to go to school, but I kind of want to. As I make my way downstairs, part of me is scared that all that stuff that’s happened lately was just a dream and nothing will have changed. When I get downstairs, I see that can’t be farther from the truth.
Dad is leaning against the counter as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. I almost do a double take. In the six years I lived alone with Dad, I almost never saw him in the morning before school.
“Morning,” he says, holding the coffee mug he’d gotten to replace the one I broke after that day.
“Morning.”
“You feel OK?” he asks as if I’m getting over a cold.
I expect him to hand me money but am surprised to find Mom’s morning prescription ready for me as if they’d discussed it beforehand. There’s my bagged lunch, a to-go cup with coffee, and my protein shake.