Almost Perfect

by Brian Katcher

  Tammi stood. “She made me promise I wouldn’t tell you. If Sage wants to hear from you, she has your address.”

  “She has a lot more than that.” I lay facedown on the couch feeling utterly alone.

  Tammi might have said something. I ignored her, and she left. When Mom returned, I pretended to be asleep.

  I had absolutely failed Sage. I could have made her happy. She was so close. Close to being my best friend. Close to being my girlfriend. Close to being a girl.

  But close didn’t count.

  chapter thirty-seven

  THE SCHOOL YEAR SPUTTERED to a close like the dying gasps of a car with no gas. We’d all been so excited about graduation, we didn’t really stop to think what would happen next. For the first time in our lives, we wouldn’t have to listen to teachers. For those of us going to college or the military, we wouldn’t have to listen to our parents. The thought was terrifying.

  I used to have this cat that would spend all day pounding against the screen door, desperately trying to escape. And whenever he did get out, he’d freeze on the porch, too terrified to move, until I came and got him. That was how I felt as the big day approached.

  Sage was really and truly gone. Tammi never talked to me anymore. Sage had done it. Moved away. Forgotten about me.

  I tried to be angry and cynical, tried to push her out of my mind forever. It was her life, her body, her mistakes to make. I had my own problems. But I had become disgustingly sentimental. Every time the phone rang, I dove for it. Every time I came home from school or mowing lawns, I half expected to find her sitting on the porch waiting for me. When the mail came, I always hoped for a letter from her. Just a little note, saying goodbye. We never had a goodbye. There were things I wanted to tell Sage. Things I wanted to hear her say.

  I started a couple of letters to her, hoping that Tammi would forward them. I tore them up. What would have been the point?

  In two weeks, I’d graduate. High school would be a memory. And what would I remember? Ten years from now, what would I think about when I thought of the past four years? Not my friends. Not running track. Not my love for Brenda or my hatred for Brenda. I’d think of Sage. It would always be about Sage. I wanted to see her again.

  But Sage was either dying or dead, and a strange man would take her place forever.

  It was a gray spring day, and the forecasters were calling for rain. Still, a couple hundred spectators braved the elements to sit in the football bleachers and watch the spectacle. A stage had been set up on the fifty-yard line, decked out with bunting in blue and white, the school colors. Principal Bloch, bursting out of his moth-eaten graduation gown, lurked at the back, ready to shove diplomas at us. The graduates, all forty-eight of us, sat shivering on folding chairs.

  Gretchen Patrick, the valedictorian, was grinning at us from the podium, talking to us as if we were athletes at the Special Olympics.

  “In conclusion, Boyer graduates, remember that we have our whole lives ahead of us. Take a stand. Make a difference.” Spout a cliché.

  Mr. Bloch approached the podium and raised the microphone a foot or so. Even on a happy occasion like this, he looked like he was about to tell us we all had detention.

  “Ladies and …” Whatever remarks he was about to make were cut off by a blaring recording of “Pomp and Circumstance.” It was the best the music director could manage; half the marching band was graduating. The first row of students slouched toward the stage. I’d seen more excitement in the lunch line on pizza day.

  “Benjy Anderson,” announced Mrs. Day, the vice principal. Bloch thrust a diploma at him and shook his hand while a photographer snapped a picture.

  So this was the end. Thirteen years of complaining about public school, and now it was over. It somehow didn’t seem real. I felt like after the summer, I’d report for another year at BHS, along with Tim and Jack and my other friends. Maybe it would sink in later.

  “Brenda Martin.” She glided onto the stage, her cheap white nylon robe billowing behind her like a ball gown. It was kind of funny; the previous semester, this was the girl who’d made me want to bang my head against the wall in frustration and rage. Now she was just someone I knew. A pretty girl, no different from a hundred other pretty girls. Like some actress or model I’d once had a crush on.

  “Jack Seversen.” Jack came tearing across the stage like Batman in a rented blue robe and white socks. He snatched his diploma (actually, it was an empty folder; we’d get the real ones in the mail) and waved at his family in the audience. Mr. Bloch had to yank him back by the shoulder so he could get his picture taken.

  “Timothy Tokugowa.” Tim lumbered onto the stage, to the cheers of his family and Dawn. If I wasn’t mistaken, he’d lost some weight recently. There’d even been rumors that he and Dawn had been spotted in Rock Bridge State Park in Columbia, hiking.

  “Logan Witherspoon.” I took to the stage, and Bloch handed me one of the last diplomas. From the stands, Mom, Laura, my grandpa, and my uncle cheered. Tonight, before the Boyer graduation party, they’d take me out to dinner. I’d get a few hundred bucks in gifts. This summer would be the last time I would really live in the trailer. I’d come back to Boyer to visit and for vacations, but it wouldn’t be my home. I really didn’t have a home anymore.

  The last student filed past the principal. Mrs. Day shuffled her notes.

  “One Boyer student could not be with us today. Sage Hendricks.”

  A loud cheer in a tiny voice floated above the polite applause. I turned to see Tammi, sitting in the highest bleacher, cheering for the sister she no longer had. Her parents were not with her.

  Sage. So she’d graduated. She’d only managed to spend four and a half months at Boyer. Less than half a year. But Christ, the mark she made.

  I was aware that people were cheering, that I was being struck by falling graduation caps. As the grads got up to meet their families, I just sort of sat there, remembering. Her husky laugh. The way she’d shove me all the time. Her crazy clothes. Her soft hands and warm tongue. How, for one wonderful night, she’d been mine. No matter what she did with her life, no matter where she ended up, I was the first (and possibly only) guy who’d kissed her. She’d always remember that.

  I just wish we could have shared some more memories. I just wish we could have said goodbye.

  “Logan?” Mom was standing next to me. “Are you ready to go?”

  I glanced back at the bleachers, but Tammi was gone. I stood.

  “Let’s do it,” I said. “I’m starved.”

  Seniors in Columbia take an end-of-the-year trip to Chicago. Seniors in Moberly get a weekend in St. Louis. Seniors in Boyer are rewarded with a night locked in the gymnasium at Boyer Baptist Church, a deli tray from IGA, and the church’s stereo system belching out preapproved music. Party on.

  I stood in a corner drinking an overly syrupy fountain soda and watching my classmates mill around. Some were playing the carnival games set up by the PTA. Others stood clustered in groups talking to their friends. No one was dancing. Thirteen years of school with these people, and this was our last night together.

  The booster club had taped our yearbook photos to a large sheet of construction paper. We’d all written where we were headed the next year. There were few surprises. State and community colleges, the marines, the police academy, one adventurous fellow headed for California. Just four graduates planned to stay in Boyer. Only Sage’s picture had no caption.

  This was truly the end of the life I knew. Everyone but my mom was leaving town. Laura and I would only come back here to visit her.

  “Hey, you.”

  I smiled and turned to the familiar voice. “Hi, Brenda.”

  My ex stood there looking regal and shy as always. She wasn’t wearing her glasses. She must have finally gotten the contacts she always talked about.

  Brenda glanced over at the poster. “Still going to Mizzou? I think you’ll have fun there. It’s a great school.”

  I shrugged. “And
you?”

  “Washington U.”

  I nodded. We stood there looking at the hardwood floor for a moment. She eventually broke the silence.

  “Hey, let me give you my e-mail address.” She scribbled something on a piece of paper. “You can tell me what you’re up to.”

  My Boyer School District address had already been canceled. By the time I got around to getting a new one, I’d have already lost Brenda’s. But it was a nice gesture.

  “I’ll do that.” We both shifted from foot to foot. This was probably the last time we’d speak. Did we really have nothing left to say? “Guess I’ll see you around.”

  “Yeah. Bye, Logan.”

  We didn’t walk away, and within two seconds we were hugging.

  “You take care of yourself, Brenda.” I meant it, too.

  “I’ll miss you, Logan.”

  We squeezed each other tight, then walked off in opposite directions. I was glad we could end things like that. Although, I kind of wish we’d said goodbye at the end of the evening; now we had to avoid each other for the rest of the night.

  I found Tim and Jack at the free-throw booth shooting hoops for cheap prizes.

  When Jack saw me, he shouted, “Seniors! We’re out of here!”

  He was as loud as always, but there was something forced in his yelling. For four years, we’d bitched about high school. Now it was over. Forever.

  The three of us walked away from the booth and leaned against a blank wall. No one spoke for a while.

  “So when do you guys go off to Columbia?” asked Tim eventually.

  “Late August. When do you leave?”

  “Same.” By a happy coincidence, both Tim and Dawn were going to Truman State up in Kirksville. Jack and I joked about how much money we’d spend on gas visiting each other. But the more I thought about this, the more I had my doubts. The three of us would have new friends, new jobs, new lives. We’d probably only get to see Tim once or twice a month.

  And what about after college? None of us had the desire to return to Boyer. Laura had already given up on the town, and I was probably next. We’d all come back here for holidays until our parents moved or we got married and they came to visit us. My friendships with Tim and Jack would turn into Christmas cards and an occasional summer camping trip. A sad ending for guys who’d spent the past decade plus together.

  Luckily, Dawn interrupted our melancholy thoughts by coming up and kissing Tim. As a non-Boyer student, she was absolutely not supposed to be at this party, but no one stopped her.

  “Logan,” said Dawn, “I just heard what happened to Sage.”

  My armpits grew cold. “To Sage?”

  “That car wreck. Tim told me she injured her back. I’m surprised it wasn’t in the papers.”

  I bit my lip, acting sad over news that was much less depressing than the truth. “It happened when she was visiting friends in Joplin.”

  “Poor girl! I wish I’d known about this sooner.” She paused to glare at Tim, who hadn’t kept her in the loop. “She must be bored. When would be a good time for me to visit? I could bring her some DVDs, or read to her.”

  “She’s, uh, not taking visitors right now. But thanks for offering. I’ll tell her you said hello.”

  “But she must be lonely,” insisted Dawn. “Couldn’t I just stop by her house and drop off—”

  “Dawn,” Tim interrupted, “let’s go play bingo.”

  I watched them go, hand in hand. I really liked Dawn. She was sweet and was a good influence on Tim. For once, he was at a party and wasn’t making love to the buffet table.

  “Hey, Logan,” said Jack, looking unusually serious. “You never did tell us what was going on with you and Sage.”

  “It’s complicated.”

  Jack made a clucking sound with his tongue. “You know, Logan …” He didn’t finish his thought; he just kind of randomly waved his hand. I’d known him long enough to translate the words guys never actually say to each other sober:

  You know, Logan, I’m your friend, and if you ever need to talk, I’m here for you. I want to help.

  “Thanks, man.” We smacked fists and he left me alone.

  I watched my few dozen former classmates eating popcorn, playing games, and acting like nothing had changed. But this was really it.

  It was sad, but not depressing. It was time for us to move on. I’d be ready, if not for one enormous regret.

  My regret was six feet tall, beautiful, and out of my life forever. And until I could say goodbye to her, until I could go to bed knowing that she was safe and happy, then I couldn’t get on with my life.

  How did I end up loving a person I’d driven away and would never see again?

  chapter thirty-eight

  GRAHAM HALL WAS BUILT just after the Second World War. The tiny dorm room I’d be sharing with Jack consisted of a bunk bed, two desks, two closets, and one electrical outlet. According to Laura, some sociology students had proven that the average convict in a Missouri prison had more floor space than the average Mizzou student.

  Mom hadn’t been able to drive me to campus; as usual, she was working. I was happy to learn, however, that she’d requested fewer hours. With only herself living in the trailer now, expenses were down. She’d even talked about applying for a management job at the Moberly Wal-Mart, but I doubted she really would. She liked her routine too much.

  I was folding clothes and hanging up posters. Jack sat on the top bunk kicking his feet. His bags still lay in a sloppy pile in the middle of the floor.

  “Are you through, already? We’ve been here for, like, twenty hours and haven’t met any girls.” He jumped down from the bed and began to pace. I wondered if agreeing to live with the human Super Ball had been such a bright idea.

  “Laura said she’d come by later.”

  I stopped to adjust the sputtering window AC. Through the upper pane, I had a narrow view of campus. I could easily see the University Hospital grounds. A dozen or so smokers in scrubs lingered not too far from my dorm. Orderlies and nurses, forced into exile by the hospital’s strict tobacco-free policy.

  It had been over five months since Tammi and I had driven Sage there to get her nose fixed and her ribs taped. That was the second-to-last time I’d seen her.

  Jack was leaning over my shoulder. “C’mon, quit daydreaming. Let’s go do something.”

  “You go ahead. I’ll wait for Laura.”

  Jack took off, not even closing the door behind him. I lay on my bed for about twenty minutes after he left. I’d lied about Laura; she didn’t get off from work for another couple of hours. Eventually, I stood, went to my desk, and pulled out an envelope.

  I’d found it in our mailbox about a week ago. The postman hadn’t delivered it; someone had placed it there. Even before I opened it and saw the familiar pink butterfly stationery, I knew it was from Sage.

  Sitting down on my new chair, I reread the letter.

  Dear Logan,

  I promised myself I would never write you, at least not this soon. My plan was to leave town and cut you out of my life forever. But I can’t do that.

  Logan, I wonder if you realize how much you changed my life. Before I knew you, I was so unsure of myself. I thought I was a fraud, a fake woman, a transvestite.

  But then you came along. And you gave me hope. You treated me like a girl. A real girl. You made me believe I could do this.

  Hope is cruel, Logan. When you start hoping, you think you can do anything. You made me think that maybe this could all be easy. That the one thing I thought I would never have—love with someone who fully accepted me—might be possible. Even after you dumped me, I wasn’t willing to give up. I had tasted what it felt like to be loved, and I wanted that feeling again. That was my mistake. Someone like me can’t let their guard down, even for a moment. That’s the cruel fact of it.

  I wish I could join you at Mizzou. I wish I could still be your friend. Even when I was in the hospital, I kept having these crazy fantasies about going off t
o college with you. Going away on spring break to some beach, watching the sunset, holding hands with you in the waves. Even after everything that happened.

  But it wouldn’t have worked for us, would it? I would have been found out again, or you would have worried that I would be. Maybe, if I was found out, you’d stand by me this time. I’d like to think you would. But it’s too much of a risk for both of us. I deserve someone who loves me the way I am. You deserve someone you can love without hesitation. We both came so close. But almost perfect isn’t the same as perfect, is it?

  Logan, over the past half year, I’ve gotten to know you, probably better than you know yourself. And I’m sure you’re beating yourself up, thinking this is all your fault. But sometimes bad things happen, and there’s no blame to be placed. You didn’t always do the right thing, but you always tried.

  I wouldn’t have lasted a month at that school if it hadn’t been for you. You were a friend when I didn’t have one. I don’t think you realized it, but sometimes the only reason I showed up in the morning was because I knew you’d be there. And even after things got rough, when no one would blame you for wanting to avoid me forever, you were determined to be my friend.

  Maybe it was stupid for us to try to be more. Or maybe luck was against us. But the day you asked me to the movies was the first time in my life I felt things were the way they were supposed to be. And nothing can ever take that away.

  I don’t know what I’m going to do now. I told everyone I was going back to being a boy, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I keep thinking that maybe, somehow, somewhere, I could be happy. I don’t know where, or how, or when. But I keep taking my hormones while I try to figure it out.

  I’d like to keep writing to you and hear what you’re doing, but I can’t. Please don’t try to find me. Whatever my next step is, I have to take it on my own. And don’t wait for me. I might never be back.

  When you think of me, don’t remember that last time we saw each other. Remember that night at Mizzou. Remember our friendship. Remember that you helped me when I needed you.