Dee was the first person to make me feel like a traitor. “What, we’re not good enough for you anymore?” She shot a disapproving look over her shoulder at my old friends.
“We went to Aurora elementary together,” I said. “Where’d you go?”
As if I thumped her brain into an alternate sphere, her head crooked to the side. Then she said, “I went to Central Avenue with Candy.”
Candy gave a weak grin.
“I went to Hillview,” Gwen offered without asking. “Isn’t it funny how we come together for high school after spending all those years with other people?” She pointed to a couple of kids down the table from us. “See those boys over there? They went to Hillview too. It’s weird how you can recall little things like Gary Cooper cried all day and Regina Brooks picked her nose.”
“E-yew-w...”
I’d been struggling on where my loyalties should lie, and I had plenty of growing up to do, but now I’d depend on my sensible side to weigh my options.
On Friday, the day before the championship game at War Memorial Stadium, the school was throbbing with exuberance and anticipation. But for me, it had been an uneventful week, and I’d been diligent in recouping grades that had taken a crashing nosedive. Personally invigorated by my intact sensibilities, I breathed easier.
Candy had missed most of the week, recuperating at home. And either Michael kept a low profile, or he’d been avoiding me altogether. Dee had finagled her parent’s car, and I benefited from her wheedling her parents, as she’d mentioned. The Ford station wagon with wooden decal sidewalls wasn’t a fancy hotrod, but it’d do in a pinch.
The unforgiving weather had finally broken-up, giving way to a sunny day as we detoured to Como Park. When the intro to “Gimme Good Lovin” came over the radio, Dee turned up the volume.
“There’s no one here.” She deviated off the main drag to survey a few hidden shelters we’d frequented in the past.
“Just take me home,” I said, thinking about the cookies Mom had baked the night before.
Dee brooded, compressing her mouth. Her objective had been to impress our friends with her driver’s license—not happening.
“You’re going to the stadium with us tomorrow, aren’t you?” I asked.
“Greg asked me to go with him.” Her nose scrunched as if she’d smelled skunk. “I’d have a better time with my friends.” She looked to me for suggestions. “What do you think?”
Dee is seeking my advice? I somehow felt elevated in social protocol, however, my intrinsic dreams told me otherwise. “Do what you feel comfortable with. I plan on watching Lancaster kick butt.”
She said, “You’re no help.” Haughty Dee was back.
She negotiated the car through the park’s exit. “Have you heard from Michael?” Before I had a change to answer her question, she inquired, “Do you even like Michael? You don’t act like it.” She stared at me from the edge of her eyes. “During senior skip day, you snubbed him until he forced you dance with him. Candy told me he dragged you to the bike while I was…um…detained in the woods with Greg, and that you weren’t too happy.”
I thought my yearning for Michael was splashed all over my face. Yes, I’d gone out of my way not to operate like one of his starry-eyed fans. I’d seen girl’s melt and attempt to cuddle up to him. But me, he’d rebuked—more than once. His words had hurt, and how could I forget the degrading way he’d said to come to him when I was ready to lose my virginity. My affection for him wasn’t rational.
“Do you still like Michael?” I asked.
“If he asked me out,” she quickly replied, “I wouldn’t think twice.”
I remembered her commentary after the Homecoming Dance concerning Michael being real good. I had to ask. “After Homecoming, I thought for sure you and Michael…” I avoided saying the words so I jiggled my hand, assuming she’d get my unspoken message.
“I was ready to go all the way, but Michael put on the brakes.” After turning into my driveway, she hinted, “Maybe he still has the hots for that Phoenix chick.”
“Oh, God. I hope not.”
While unlocking the door, I heard the phone ringing off the hook, and rushed in to get it before they hung up—hoping it might be Michael. “Hello.”
“Mary. He’s dead!” A desolate Gwen wept. “Jesse’s dead! His parent’s found him in the basement this morning. A…a drug overdose.”
“No.” I didn’t want to believe her.
“Jesse’s been ignoring Tom’s phone calls.” She was struggling to breathe between sobs. “And when he didn’t come into school again today, we went over to his house.” There was slobbery blubbering into the receiver as she said, “His dad was crying. Mary, it’s awful. What should we do?”
The moment felt surreal, dreamlike. I whispered, “There’s…there’s nothing we can do…now.”
An anguished Stevie sat across from me at the dinner table. The doctor had removed the nose bandages, and his skin was still tarnished, but the puffiness was waning. We kept making eye contact and looking away. We weren’t willing to tell our parents about Jesse, at least not while it hurt to speak of him.
Later on, Mom was giving Lucy her bath, and I was at the table bent over my English textbook. The distraction of homework wasn’t working because the words on the page kept blurring together.
Stevie pulled back a chair and sat. “Mary, he really liked you.”
I snapped up my head. “Are you blaming me?”
“No, of course not.” His fingers agitatedly scraped the fabric of his shirt. “We all knew he was into big shit. It was only a matter of time. I think Jesse made my decision to leave much easier.”
“Leave? What’d you mean?”
“Remember, I told you. Phoenix and Raven are going to California. I got to get out of here for a while.”
“No, Stevie. Not now.” I wiped at leaking tears. “You’d leave me alone with Mom and Dad now?”
“It’ll probably be better with me gone. You never give them any trouble.” He slouched over the table and folded his arms. “Phoenix is coming on Tuesday. It’ll be after…” Stevie choked up. “After Jesse’s funeral.”
“I can’t believe he’s gone.”
“Yeah, I know.” He chased his hand under his nose and then rubbed the base of his neck. “The guys got together at Covington’s today. Michael’s the new guy around here, but I think Jesse and him had kind of bonded, and he’s not taking it well. He was trying to help Jesse.”
I nodded. It seemed like only yesterday when I had talked to Jesse on the bleachers.
“He doesn’t want to play in the game tomorrow,” Stevie confided. “He wants to go to California with us.”
My body clenched. “Will Michael go?” Dee’s remark about him still having the hots for Phoenix came to mind. Then my brain flipped. Don’t think about him at a time like this.
“I’m going over to his house now. You want to come?”
“Why are you going over there?” Was my brother persuading Michael to quit school and go globetrotting? I propped my elbows on the table and dropped my head into my hands. Through my fingers, I looked at him.
“We’re trying to convince him to play in the game…for Jesse.” Stevie was noiselessly crying, and a path of watery tears rolled to his chin. He swiped his face on the sleeve of his shirt. “Mary, you might fool everyone else, but you don’t fool me. I still think he’s too old for you, but he’s a decent guy.”
I was stunned. “What makes you say that?”
“Say what? That you like Covington or that he’s a decent guy?” Stevie’s mouth spread into a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
We were struggling to talk about anything besides Jesse.
“Both, I guess.” Now, it was my turn to wipe my tear-stained face with my sleeve.
“It took me a while to figure it out.” His fingers drummed the
table. “But I think Covington kind of has something for you. Jesse kept asking Michael for advice on how to get you to like him.”
“Who told you that?”
“Michael told me. And I have to admit, Jesse kept asking me too, but I told them you were too young.”
“Thanks, Steve,” I said, full of sarcasm.
“You called me Steve.”
“That’s your name.”
“So I’m going.” He pushed back the chair with his legs. “You want to tag along?”
“I’d better not. Just encourage Michael to play.”
Numb and tearless, I’d lain in bed staring at the dappled shadows on the ceiling produced by a streetlight falling into the window.
Jesse wasn’t dead.
I heard his voice. I felt the pressure of his fingers clinging to my wrist and tugging me into a knot of gyrating partiers. Jesse dancing with me at the park, shimming like a klutz. Jesse slapping a beer in my hands, saying, ‘Hey, babe.’ Glassy, puppy dog eyes and a mouth stretching into a toothy grin, that’s how I’d remember him.
CHAPTER 28
A charade in surrealism. That’s what Saturday night’s championship game felt like. Our gang went together in Stevie’s car—a somber, lamenting drive. Weeping, sniffling, and blowing of noses acerbated our heartbroken emotions of Jessie’s death.
“I haven’t given him anything in weeks.” Monty’s waterfall of tears hadn’t let up since he had gotten in the car. “Man, I knew he was fucked up. It wasn’t me. I didn’t do it.”
Far from feeling pity for Monty, I wanted to kick his ass for dealing. But who was I to blame him for upping our recreational pastime? Didn’t I belly-up for the occasional weed and the giggling high that came with it? I’d been aiming to restore my levelheadedness, would I stop? That night, neither drink nor reefer had passed our lips. We assembled in War Memorial Stadium uncommonly straight-edged.
The sun had dipped in the sky well over an hour ago, and the biting wind had subsided to a penetrating iciness. A dense fog had been colonizing in the bleachers as people smoked cigarettes and whatnot that coalesced with the pluming ether escaping our mouths.
Before kick-off, there was plenty of cheering, clapping, and whooping. The hullabaloo escalated when Michael broke onto the field. Pender threw the first pass of the night to Covington. In a spectacular feat, he ran the ball downfield, blocking and jumping over defensemen to make the fifty-yard touchdown. After that play, Victor High was on a downhill slide.
The Lancaster Redskin’s were certain to be victorious. Michael Covington had the best game of his life, making three touchdowns, rushing for over one hundred yards, and setting a school record.
We squished into Steve’s monstrosity and ventured forty-five minutes on the Highway back to Lancaster. The consensus was a tribute to Jesse at the Corner Bar. Personally, I’d hoped to see Michael crack the door within the hour.
“Here, Mary, drink up.” Monty thumped beers on the table. “We deserve to wash away the nightmare.”
My fingers ringed the frosty bottleneck and tipped it to my mouth and stopped. Inhaling the tang, I was revolted. I wasn’t like the rest of them. I couldn’t stomach another drink to dull my senses. The nightmare would continue in the morning. Jesse would still be dead.
“What’s wrong, Mary?” Steve motioned to the beer in front of me.
“Not going down.”
“Maybe this would be better.” Smirking as if he was doing me a favor, he rolled a pill over the table. I didn’t know what it was, and I didn’t ask as it hit the bottle with a tempting clink.
“No, thanks.” I stared at the weebling pill. “Steve, never again. Think of Jesse. You should quit too.”
Steve nodded, his mouth flattened against his teeth.
Two hours had gone by, and the gang had overindulged, but still no Michael. Retelling Jesse’s exploits—the good, the bad and the ugly—our grieving had spiraled with frothy beers and a fourth round of shots. Therefore, a bawling session ensued as the boys draped over each other’s shoulders. The bartender had known Jesse and even gave the boys shots on the house, but then he politely asked us to leave.
Since I was the only sober one in the bunch, I drove Steve’s car. We arrived safely home, and I shouldered in my skunked brother. We’d decided to tell our parents about Jesse’s demise.
A disgruntled Mom and Dad shook their heads, brokenhearted over a youthful death. They empathized and provided leniency to Steve in his spaced-out condition and forgave me for being in a bar. If they only knew.
For some lame reason, I was outraged. What did I want from my parents? I wanted more, much more. My eyes filled with hotheaded tears, not for Jesse, but for my brother. If Steve prolonged his drug-induced path, that same scenario might be in his future.
CHAPTER 29
I’d never been to a memorial before. Classmates, teachers, and friends milled around the funeral parlor, whispering in low-keyed voices. People parted, and I saw the coffin planted on a heavy-duty stand with a pleated swag.
From that day forward, I knew I’d never forget the smell of flowers mixed with grief—an unbearable remembrance. I scuttled and pressed myself against the wall while Steve threaded among people to converse with friends. I couldn’t take my eyes off the coffin. My dream. Only it wasn’t Michael.
I was meticulously observing people as they paid their respects. Most took turns dipping to a kneeler in front of the coffin, hands steepled in prayer. However, my legs were rooted in place. His mom and dad fluttered around like two disjointed fireflies. Jesse had been an exact replica of his father, excluding he’d inherited his mom’s benevolent eyes. Observing this aspect, the burn clawed the back of my throat and eyes, activating a silent flood.
My friends were across the room. They looked scared, catatonic, and frozen in time. Candy had dredged up a handful of tissues to cover her nose. Tom had been Jesse’s best friend until he’d recently hooked-up with Gwen, leaving Jesse to flounder on his own. Gwen rested her cheek on his shoulder, holding his hand. When Steve had paced over to them, Candy dove into his arms. He rubbed her back soothingly. I adverted my eyes because I didn’t want to talk to them, or anyone for that matter.
I slumped my head, allowing my hair veil my insecurities. Hedging deeper into the corner, I wanted to disappear because in my heart Jesse wasn’t really dead. Fingers parted my tendrils and brushed them over my shoulders. Peering upward, I was drawn to his glossy eyes.
Michael’s face was clean-shaven, baring the prominent scar etching his jawline. He raised a curled knuckle and caught a teardrop from my cheek. Then, knitting his fingers with mine, we moved—our gait unstable.
Similar to my dream, my vision blurred. Michael knelt, and I followed his lead—our hands still interlaced. We were fortifying each other. Scrutinizing the boy lying in a satiny material box, it was implausible to think of him as deceased.
Jesse was peacefully sleeping.
He looked like a boy in a man’s charcoal linen suit with his hands crossed over his chest and a black beaded rosary twined his fingers. He’d lived in raunchy T-shirts and ripped jeans, and now he’d live eternity in a suit.
Tufts of chocolate hair circled his head, too neat for him. My fingers itched to mess up the coiffed locks. Gazing at his motionless chest, I half expected him to take a deep breath. I belched a hiccupping sob and had to leave before I made a wretched scene.
Michael took my arm and helped me up. We turned and met Jesse’s parents.
“You must be, Mary,” Mrs. Coogan said. Her lips thinned in a stilted smile. “Jesse told us about you. And, of course, we know Michael. Thank you so much for coming. Jesse would be so…so hap-py.”
His tone gravelly, Michael spoke in a robotic voice. “So sorry for your loss.”
Mr. Coogan entered our space and shook Michael’s hand. “I heard you played an excellent game last nigh
t in honor of our son.” He talked in spurts, like the words were sticking in his throat. “Thank you for trying to help Jesse these last few weeks.” Mr. Coogan’s face sagged, and his eyes kept darting to the coffin.
With our hands fused together, Michael accompanied me into the foyer. “There isn’t any reason to stick around.”
“You think I should go?” Feeling overwrought and unwelcomed, I buttoned my coat with shaky fingers.
He shouldered into his leather jacket. “We need to talk. I’ll drive you home.”
I could only fathom what he wanted to discuss. He hadn’t called, and I hadn’t seen him since our bike ride. “I’ll have to let Steve know.”
“I’ll tell him.”
As the truck’s motor roared to life so did the music. Michael turned off the radio and powered up the heater.
“Can you handle this? I mean are you all right?” He spoke as if he had a five-ton elephant on his chest.
“No. If you want the truth.” I tunneled into the seam between the seat and the passenger side door, far from him. “I feel so…so…”
“So hurt, sorrowful, guilty? Because that’s normal.”
“Yes. There was something I could have or should have done,” I said while fretfully gnawing on a hangnail. “I feel as if I was the source of his depression.”
“You tried to help,” he said. “You talked to him, remember?” In the dusk of evening, the traffic light shone a glowing apple red. He slowed the truck and stopped at the intersection. “Jesse told me what you said. Telling him to quit drugs was commendable, but…” Michael shook his head as if he’d been defeated. “I know Jesse’s been in your face for weeks. He wasn’t looking for friendship. Treating him like a brother wasn’t precisely what he had in mind.”
“Was I supposed to lead him on?” I retorted and swept at a wandering tear. Does he blame me for Jesse’s overdose? “He wanted to go out with me, and if I’d said yes, it would’ve made matters worse because I would have been faking it the whole time.” I rolled in my lips, repressing a sob.
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