Prep

by Jake Coburn

  “So what happened?” Kris asked, skimming her fingers along my belt.

  “Isn’t it the same for everyone? I mean, more or less.” I kept trying to hold on to my composure. I’d spent so many hours wondering what her breasts actually looked like and then they were wonderful.

  “I hope it wasn’t less,” Kris whispered. “How come you never told me that story before?” she said, smiling.

  “You’ve gotta be kidding me.” I leaned over and flicked off the lamp.

  Kris lay across me on the bed. Her arm was wrapped securely around my waist, and her head was tucked in the hollow of my neck, like she was checking to see if I was still breathing. I couldn’t believe it—I’d done it. I felt like going around and thanking all the furniture in the bedroom. I didn’t understand how things had come together so perfectly, but I was ready to fall to my knees and praise anything that had played a part.

  Kris slid two fingers down the middle of my rib cage and scratched at my belly button. I let my hand slope down her back and pressed my thumb into her soft skin. I felt like I was holding her with just my fingertips.

  “How you doing?” I whispered.

  “Good,” Kris sighed.

  I kissed her collarbone. “Me too.”

  “I just wish I wasn’t so worried about my brother.”

  I didn’t know what to say. I’d forgotten about everything else that was going on outside our guest bedroom, but I guess I couldn’t blame her for worrying.

  “He gets so cocky and sarcastic,” she said. “But he’s not tough, you know.”

  “I know. He’s book tough,” I said, searching for a smile.

  “He’s really fragile,” she mumbled.

  “We’re doing everything we can.”

  Kris and I lay there in silence and listened to the ceiling fan drift. The house was sleeping, but I could hear the trees wrestling outside our window. I looked over at my hoodie and studied the tiny red specks on the arms. I couldn’t tell if it was blood or paint.

  “What are you thinking about?” Kris asked.

  “Greg . . . and Kodak,” I said, reaching for my pack of Luck ies on the nightstand. I ran a match down the wall behind us, and it threw light onto the faded wallpaper. Kris closed her eyes, and the burning sulfur drew the shadows from her eyelashes down her cheeks.

  “What about them?”

  “I just tried to bury it all. I mean, everything around me said to forget about them and the art. And poof, I was Nick again.”

  “They’re called adolescent phases. Everybody has them.”

  “But I didn’t quit.” I placed the cigarette between my lips. “I mean, it’s not like I suddenly got sick of the phase.”

  “Of course not,” Kris said, reaching for a drag. “One of your best friends was nearly killed.”

  “It was more than that.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “It’s hard to explain.”

  “Try me.” Kris rubbed her chin against my chest.

  I wanted to tell Kris but I wasn’t sure that I could. I’d spent so many hours talking to myself about that night—I couldn’t make sense of it anymore. Kris always had a way of clarifying things and, lying there next to her, I trusted her with her everything I had. I opened my mouth but no words came out. Take two. “Kris?”

  “Yeah.”

  “If I tell you something, can you promise me you’ll never repeat it?”

  “Sure, Cowboy. You always know that.”

  “No, this is different,” I said, trying to steady my voice. “This is something I’ve never told anyone. I mean, I don’t even think I’ve ever spoken the words or whatever.”

  “What is it?” Kris said, looking up at me.

  Greg rolled onto his back and tried to push himself up off the pavement. Kids were yelling at him to stand up. A hood lifted Kodak by the belt and launched him into a car door. I couldn’t move. Why couldn’t I move? I would’ve given anything for one of the hoods to punch me or knock me down, to drag me into the fight, but nobody even noticed I was there.

  Six hoods circled Kodak and each one of them took turns attacking him, like wolves. I saw the flash of a butterfly knife swinging open, and then Kodak wilted onto the pavement. I thought I was going to throw up. I needed to scream but my whole body was shaking. Greg scrambled to his feet and threw an empty punch into one of the hoods; the guy laughed. And then, without saying a word, the hoods jumped the park wall and faded into Central Park.

  I ran over to Kodak and fell to my knees. Lifting his head in my hands, I felt his staggered breathing. “Oh, fucking shit,” I cried. “Somebody call an ambulance.”

  Kodak’s hands were gripping his side and his feet shuffled slowly back and forth against the pavement. His eyes were pressed closed but I could see his tears blending into the sweat on his cheeks. There was blood, so much blood.

  “I’m so sorry, Charlie. I’m so fucking sorry.”

  Greg used a fender to lift himself up. The crowd of kids scattered into a million pieces; only the cab driver remained. How could they leave us like this?

  “Get a fucking ambulance,” Greg shouted, clutching his jaw.

  Kodak’s left eye slid open and he stared up at me. “Did they get you, Nick?”

  Sirens ricocheted down the avenue. Greg was hunched over, vomiting.

  “I’m okay,” I whispered. I was such a fucking coward. “The ambulance is nearly here, Charlie. Nearly here, okay?”

  Kodak nodded and squeezed his side. His other hand reached for my arm and left bloody fingerprints across my hoodie. “I can’t believe they fucking stabbed me.”

  I grabbed Kodak’s hand and hugged it against my chest. “Stay quiet, man. Okay?”

  “I’m fucking freaked-out, Nick.”

  “I know,” I said. “Me, too.”

  Kris lifted her cheek from my chest. “You can trust me.”

  “The night Kodak was stabbed . . . I mean the fight . . . I just stood there.”

  Kris looked at me with a troubled expression on her face, and I shut my eyes. Darkness. Suddenly, I wanted to yell at her for listening, but I couldn’t do anything until my breathing started again.

  “Nick? Are you okay?”

  Cold air splashed down my throat. “I just stood there,” I said, surprised by the sound of my own voice. “I watched. It must’ve been like two minutes.”

  “I don’t understand,” Kris whispered. “What—”

  “I could’ve helped him, and I didn’t do a fucking thing, didn’t move.”

  “I get it.” She nodded.

  “I’ve never told anyone, you know,” I said. “Not Greg or Tim or anybody. I just stood there and watched my best friend die.”

  Kris massaged my shoulders. “But he didn’t die, Nick.”

  “Part of him did.”

  Kodak never snapped back. He was out of the hospital in ten weeks, and his body fully recovered, but he wasn’t the same guy; he wasn’t even close. The doctors said the bleeding had flooded his lungs and they weren’t able to determine how long he’d gone without air. Instead of being his talkative, nervous self, Kodak became this really sweet, gullible kid. Almost childlike. Part of him just evaporated that night, and I hadn’t done a damn thing to try and stop it.

  After Kodak got home from the hospital, his parents decided to move the family to Dallas. Between Kodak’s sister and Kodak, they’d had enough of New York. I understood why but I hated them for taking him away. His parents found some special boarding school in Fort Worth, for kids with disabilities or whatever, and Kodak actually seemed excited to go.

  “Do you ever write him or call?” Kris asked. “I mean, since you think about him so much.”

  I rubbed at my throat. “I sent him two letters. Nothing back.”

  I’d visited Kodak at home a couple of times before he left. It was hell. The way his father would stare at me when he answered their front door, blaming me. The way his mother would check in on us every fifteen minutes. I tried to talk to Kodak about
piecing and Greg, but all he ever wanted to discuss was classical music. I couldn’t tell if he didn’t remember or didn’t want to remember or was ignoring me altogether. I just wanted my friend back.

  “You could call,” Kris said.

  “I guess. He was in the city last weekend, and he didn’t call me.”

  “He doesn’t blame you.”

  “He should,” I muttered.

  “I’m so sorry, Nick.”

  “I am, too.” I pulled the quilt over us and watched the shadows of branches and leaves paint circles on the far wall. I missed not having a movie playing in the background, drowning out my senses.

  “Why didn’t you jump in or . . . ?” Kris’s voice faded.

  “I don’t know,” I began. “I mean, I’ve never been a fighter. Like I’ve horsed around and shit, but never for real.”

  Kris kissed my forehead. “There’s nothing wrong with that, Nick.”

  “I know,” I sighed. “But there’s something wrong with abandoning your friends. I mean, when they need you.”

  “Even though you would’ve ended up next to him in the hospital?”

  “You don’t know that,” I said, trying to settle my stomach. “Trust me. If I knew what would’ve happened, I wouldn’t . . .”

  “What?”

  “I’ll just never know.”

  Kris leaned toward me. “It’s okay to be afraid.”

  Why did she have to use that word? Is that what she thought? Is that what I thought? “It doesn’t feel okay,” I said. “Besides, I don’t even know if I was afraid. Sometimes, I think I was just too high or too drunk or too confused.” I stared up at the moldings in the ceiling. “My father was never afraid.”

  Kris gently squeezed my hand. “I can’t believe that,” she said after a pause. “I mean, about your father.”

  “It feels that way.”

  “You know he wasn’t as perfect as you remember him. I mean, he just couldn’t have been.”

  If it had been anyone else saying that, I think I would’ve been furious. “You never even knew him,” I said calmly.

  “But I know you, Nick.”

  “And?”

  “And I think you make everything harder on yourself. I’ve never heard you say something negative about your dad.”

  I knew she was right, but it didn’t change the way I felt, the way I imagined him.

  “He was a drunk,” I whispered. I couldn’t believe I’d said it—I couldn’t believe it didn’t feel bad to say. If I was laying my cards on the table, so was he. “And a cheat. But I still love him more than anybody else in the world.” I didn’t want Kris to see me cry. I’d promised myself a long time ago that I’d only cry on my own.

  “Wow,” Kris said, kissing my chest. “That wasn’t easy to say.”

  I was exhausted. “I don’t know why, but I feel like you deserve to know. I don’t think he’d mind that I told you.”

  “Is that why your mother never talks about him?”

  “Yeah.” I nodded. “She threw away everything of his when we moved. She even wanted me to chuck Elvis, so I stuffed him in my wallet.” Kris could never remember the name Ella-Asbeha, so she just called him The King or Elvis for short.

  “It’s incredible how you’re never angry with him. I mean, you don’t blame him for anything.”

  “Because I know he loved me more than anybody else ever will.” I held my breath and waited for the hurt to pass. It spread across my chest and dissolved into my arms and fingers. I’d repeated those words to myself so many times before, but never out loud. “You know what I mean?”

  Kris nodded slowly. “That’s amazing.”

  “I guess.” I let my cheek rest on hers. “It’s just the truth.”

  “I know it is.” She rubbed my stomach. “Do you ever dream about him?”

  “I used to a lot. But now it’s only like once a month. I still love hanging out with him in my head, though.”

  “That’s nice,” Kris said, tucking her body against mine.

  Sunday

  A car alarm woke me. I opened my eyes and rolled over. Kris was sitting in a chair with her bare feet resting on the edge of the windowsill. She’d put on yesterday’s sweater and jeans, and she was using her thigh to balance her notebook.

  “ ’Morning,” I said, squinting at the sunlight. It was amazing, waking up and looking at Kris.

  “ ’Morning.”

  I fixed my pillow. “How long have you been up?”

  “A bit.”

  “What time is it?”

  Kris shrugged.

  “Do you feel like coming back to bed?” I asked, stretching.

  “I’m good,” she said, staring down at her notebook. Kris’s voice was different. It was flat, almost hollow. “Thanks, though.” There was no question about it.

  “You sure?”

  “Yup.”

  “Is anything up?”

  “Nope.” Kris looked over at me to see if she’d answered my question. “Just writing a little.”

  I sat up and scanned the room for my pants. My breath was horrible and my toothbrush was in another borough. “I’m gonna walk to a bodega and get some coffee. You want to take a walk?”

  “No, I’m fine. I got some earlier,” Kris said, pointing to a paper cup on the windowsill.

  “You were up?” I suddenly felt like climbing underneath the quilt and sleeping the rest of the day away. What could’ve changed in a handful of hours?

  “Yeah. I had a lot of trouble sleeping.”

  “You could’ve woken me.”

  “No need. I wanted to do some writing anyway. There are a lot of places two blocks that way,” she said, gesturing behind her.

  I picked my pants up off the floor. I wanted to start the morning all over again, but a cup of coffee would have to do. “I’ll check’m out,” I said, reaching for my hoodie. “Is Danny still asleep?”

  Kris nodded and kept writing.

  My toes smacked against something hard in my Timberland.

  Pain shot up my leg. I yanked my boot off and shoved my hand inside. I could feel dull metal edges and I pulled out two brass knuckles. Greg must’ve dropped them in there during the night. I hated the idea that he’d seen us lying in bed together. Before Kris noticed what was going on, I slipped the knuckles into my jeans. It couldn’t hurt to hold on to them, even if the asshole was just trying to freak me out.

  Opening the door halfway, I looked back at Kris. “I’ll be back in ten.” I blew her a kiss, but she didn’t look up.

  Downstairs, I could smell someone cooking breakfast. I slid the kitchen door open a crack and peered in. The room was pitch-black. All the overheads were off, the shades were drawn, and the only light was coming from a burner on the stove. Two hoods stood over a frying pan wearing night-vision goggles. They were debating where they should sprinkle the weed in their cheddar omelets. I didn’t feel like weighing in on the issue, so I let the kitchen door slip closed.

  Outside, there was a trail of beer cans and butts leading up to the Prescotts’ front door. A pair of Rollerblades was dangling from the neck of a basketball hoop and someone had left a couple of street hockey sticks lying out. I pushed my sleeves up to my elbows and started walking.

  A few blocks from the house, I noticed a kid sitting against the side of the road reading a torn-up comic book. His wife-beater T was ripped and his charcoal pants looked like they were connected to a suit jacket he’d lost somewhere during the night. I remembered meeting him with some kids in a club near Hudson, but that was all. He started to stand up as I walked by, and I could see dark circles surrounding his eyes.

  “Yo, excuse me,” he began. “Can I bum a cig?”

  “No problem,” I said, sliding one out. He pulled out a thin lighter with a black leather body. “You gonna be okay?”

  “Yeah,” he muttered, and sat back down. “Shit’s mad fierce, but it’s gotta wear off sometime.” He laughed a little and took a long drag. “Don’t fuck with horse tranquilizers.”


  “I’ll remember that.” I couldn’t wait to get upstairs and crawl back into bed with Kris. We needed a second take. Maybe she just wanted some time to herself.

  “Hey,” he said, “which way is Fieldston Road at?”

  “Two blocks that way.” I extended my hand for a shake. “I’m Nick. I think we’ve met before.”

  “Jeremy,” he mumbled.

  “Jeremy Prescott?”

  “Oh,” he said, smiling. “You must be one of my guests.”

  When I opened the door to our room, Kris was sitting on the bed writing. I placed my cup of coffee on the bedside table, fell onto the mattress beside her, and kicked off my shoes. Putting my arms around her waist, I lay down next to her. I loved being able to touch her.

  Kris lifted my hand. “I need to take a shower,” she said, standing up quickly.

  “Fine.” I didn’t care what she did. I just wanted her to stop acting the way she was acting. What had I done wrong?

  I found a loose strand in the quilt and started picking at it. “What were you writing?”

  “Just stuff.” She flicked on the lights in the bathroom and then leaned up against the door frame.

  “Huh,” I muttered. “I’m writing a story for school.” I wanted to keep her talking. “Mr. Michaels told us we could write a short story instead of a paper.”

  “What’s it about?” She wrapped her long, black hair around the back of her neck and then let it fall onto her pale shoulders. She looked so beautiful, but her face was tense, like she was waiting for somebody else to show up.

  “It’s about this guy and girl,” I began.

  “Who go to a house party,” Kris continued, smiling.

  “They find the body of a deer in the woods.” For a second, I could’ve sworn she was back, but then her smile faded.

  “Who killed the deer?”

  “Their cousin.”

  “And what happens?” Kris said.

  “That’s where I run into trouble. I want them to bury the deer, but I can’t explain why they would.”