by Kieran Scott
I was a complete and total love failure. This was the worst night ever. It just did not get any worse than this.
We stepped out of the woods, and I recognized Fred’s backyard with its creaky old swing set and huge barbecue pit. We cut around the side of his house and came out on my street a few houses up from my own. I wanted to say something to Robbie to break the awkward silence. Anything to make this awful burning sensation of shame go away. But when I looked at him, his face was flashing red and his eyes were wide with shock.
“Oh my God,” he said.
My blood froze in my veins. I turned around, almost knowing what I was going to see before I saw it. The ambulance. The shattered glass. The flashing lights. The crooked telephone pole. And my father’s car. My father’s car. My father’s car.
Totaled.
END ACT THREE
ACT FOUR, SCENE ONE
In which:
HE’S “OKAY”
I RAN. I RAN PAST THE AMBULANCE. I RAN PAST THE CAR, THE FRONT seat of which was completely collapsed.
No one could survive that. No one. . . .
I ran past the phone pole with its jagged wood shards sticking out in every direction. I ran past the cop, who yelled at me to come back. Past the spot in the driveway where I’d just been kissed. Past my mom’s car. The tree my dad taught me to climb. The azalea bush he covered with fake cobwebs every Halloween. The broken step he never fixed. I ran past it all and inside my house, wanting to see him. Wishing to see him. Sitting at the kitchen table cursing the damn telephone company for their ridiculous placement of their poles.
But he wasn’t there. My mother was. A policeman was. My brother was. And Fred. Totally incongruently, sitting with my brother at the bottom of the living room stairs wearing a Superman T-shirt. But then, he lived right up the street. He must have seen . . . must have heard. . . .
“Sorry, KJ,” he said, standing and hiking up his pants. “I just came over to see if everyone was all right, but if you want me to go—”
I could not for the life of me focus on what he was saying.
“Mom?” I choked.
“KJ, it’s okay.”
I’d never seen her so pale. Her eyes were crazy alert. Like pinpoints of nuclear energy. How could anything be okay when she looked like that?
“Mom? What—”
“He’s okay,” she said, putting her hands on my shoulders. “He’s unconscious right now, but the EMTs don’t think there are any major injuries.”
Robbie reached out and squeezed my hand. It was the first moment I realized he was there. This didn’t make sense. None of this made sense.
“But I don’t . . . he’s unconscious? How can there be no major injuries if he’s unconscious?”
My mother stared at me with this look like, You know this, KJ. The cop cleared his throat and looked away. Understanding hit me like a hundred bottles of beer falling off the wall and crashing into my head.
He was unconscious because he was drunk. Because he had passed out at the wheel and not even the impact of his car slamming into a telephone pole had woken him.
I snorted a laugh. Anger soured my fear. “My father, ladies and gentlemen!” I announced, throwing my hands up, tearing my fingers from Robbie’s. “What a winner!”
“KJ!” my mother gasped.
“What?” I said, tears stinging my eyes. My fingers clenched into fists. I was so angry, I could have pummeled something. How could he do this to us? Here we all were, scared out of our minds, and for what? Why? Because he just had to get trashed. Because he couldn’t freaking control himself. And Robbie was here. And Fred. This was so humiliating. He was so humiliating. I hated him. I wished he had died. “What!?” I snapped again. “What, Mom?”
I didn’t know what I was saying. I just needed to yell. My mother took a deep breath and set her jaw.
“I am going to the hospital with your father,” she said, grabbing up her purse all indignant like. As if I had done something wrong. “I would appreciate it if you would stay here and watch your brother.”
“Fine,” I said through my teeth.
“I’ll stay with you,” Robbie said quietly.
“Thank you, Robbie. That would be a great help,” my mother said. Like they were friends all of a sudden. Compadres. The calm ones who were rising above it all while crazy KJ lost her shit.
“Me, too. If no one minds,” Fred said, glancing at me uncertainly. “Maybe Chris can show me his new PlayStation games.”
“Okay. Thanks, Fred.” My mother turned to me. “I’ll call you as soon as I know anything,” she said firmly—slowly. Like she was talking to an imbecile.
She walked by, the cop trailing her out, his hip radio crackling and blurting words like dispatch and call in. I stood there for a second, trying to get control of myself, but it wasn’t going to happen. I couldn’t just let her walk out of here like some kind of martyr trailing after her fallen husband. This was his fault. All his. This hadn’t happened to him. He’d made it happen. I couldn’t take it anymore, all the hypocrisy and silence and complacency. I turned around and walked outside, slamming the door behind me. My mother stopped, said a few words to the officer and waited for me to catch up.
“What’re you going to do?” I demanded, practically blind with rage.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“I mean, when he wakes up. If he wakes up, what’re you going to do?” I said. “You’re going to make him quit this time, right? You have to make him quit.”
“KJ—”
“You have to do something, Mom! We can’t live like this! It’s wrong. No one lives like this! Did you even see Christopher? Did you see his face!? How can you not do something? You’ve got to make him stop!”
I was gasping for breath, tears streaming down my cheeks. I knew I was shouting, but I didn’t care. Let the whole neighborhood hear me. They already knew. They’d already seen what he’d done.
“KJ, I can’t make your father do anything,” she said, exhausted. “You should know that by now.”
Then she gave me this look. This look that cut right through my heart. She gave me this look like she was disappointed in me. Like I was the one who had disappointed her tonight. And then she left me there, sobbing alone, to go off and be with my dad.
ACT FOUR, SCENE TWO
In which:
I MAKE A CALL
AFTER A FEW MINUTES I COMPOSED MYSELF. I DRIED MY FACE AND walked back into the house. Walked past Robbie. Past Fred. Christopher careened into me, clinging to my legs. I put one hand on his head as I picked up the phone and dialed without thinking about the numbers.
“Hello?” Stephanie’s voice obliterated the dam that was barely holding back my tears. Even if she did sound pissed. Just like that, I started to cry again. A choking, gasping, incoherent sob.
“KJ! What’s wrong?” she asked, instantly herself again.
“My father. My father had an accident. He’s going to the hospital. Can you come? Steph. I’m so sorry. Can you please come?” I had no idea what I was saying. “Please?”
“I’ll be there in five minutes.”
The phone line went dead. I crouched down and hugged my brother until we both stopped crying, and couldn’t have cared less that both Fred and Robbie were standing there awkwardly, witnessing it all.
ACT FOUR, SCENE THREE
In which:
I HAVE FRIENDS
I WOKE WITH MY HEART IN MY THROAT. FRED WAS CARRYING MY little brother up the living room stairs. He didn’t see me see him, and I watched him all the way up. I didn’t know why he was there.
“Hey. You okay?”
I looked up. Robbie was rubbing his eyes. My head was in his lap.
That was when it all came rushing back. The crash. Christopher’s face. My mother’s disappointment. My father . . .
I sat up. The cable box clock read 1:34.
“Sorry,” I said, pushing my hair behind my ears. “Sorry.”
“Sorry for what?” Robb
ie asked.
My brain was cloudy, and my eyes felt puffy and dry. When I tried to breathe, my nose was clogged.
“For . . .” I looked down at his lap. His jeans. My face was warm and itchy where my cheek had rested on his thigh. “I fell asleep.”
“Yeah. So did I,” he said. He reached back and rubbed his neck. Yawned. He’d let me fall asleep in his lap while he sat up straight on my couch. Who did that? What kind of incredible, kind, sweet boy did that?
There was a creak on the stairs and Fred appeared. At the same time, Stephanie stepped to the kitchen door, holding a glass of water. “Hey,” they both said.
“Hey,” Robbie and I replied.
We all looked at one another. What to say?
“He’s asleep.” Fred pointed with his thumb up the stairs. He’d stayed, too. He’d just carried my brother to bed. What had I done to deserve any of this? Nothing. Zero. Negative whatever.
“Thanks,” I said.
“Yeah, no problem. No problem.” Fred knocked one hand against the other. “I guess I’ll go now. My mom’s probably sitting up.”
I pushed myself up from the couch and walked over to him. My arms were clutched around myself, even though I wasn’t cold.
“Thank you so much, Fred. For everything,” I said. “It was so amazing of you to stay, I mean, especially after everything . . .”
Fred shrugged. “What’re friends for?”
Tears stung my eyes. It was so simple for him. So blissfully simple. In that moment I loved that about him. He was my friend. He always had been and it looked like he always would be. No matter what. I reached out and hugged him.
“I’m really sorry, Fred,” I mumbled into his shoulder.
He patted me on the back awkwardly. “It’s okay. It’s cool. We’re cool.”
Then I heard a jangle of keys and I sprang back. My mother walked in through the kitchen door and closed it quietly behind her. She let out a huge sigh, then froze when she saw all four of us standing there on the other side of the room.
“You’re still here,” she said.
My heart felt sick. I tried to read her. Tried to get any indication of what was going on without actually asking the question. I couldn’t ask the question. There was no way.
“Is he . . . is Mr. Miller okay?” Stephanie asked, looking sideways at me.
“He’s going to be just fine.”
My mother placed her things down on the table. I took a deep breath. I was surprised at how relieved I was. I wasn’t kidding when I said I wished he had died. A very, very big part of me salivated for a life without him. Without this. Without all the pain and embarrassment and fear. And still, I was relieved he wasn’t dead. And surprised that I was relieved. What was wrong with me? I was an awful daughter. An awful person.
“Good,” Robbie said. “That’s . . . good.”
My mother rubbed her temples. She came over and put her arm around me. I stiffened. “You kids should be getting home. Your parents will be worried.”
“Okay,” Fred said, ducking his head. “’Night, KJ. ’Night, Mrs. Miller.”
“Thanks again, Fred,” I said as he loped toward the door.
“I’ll drive you,” Stephanie offered to Robbie.
“Okay.” He turned to me, his hands in the back pockets of his jeans. “Well . . . uh . . . good night, I guess.”
There was this sort of anguished look in his eyes. Like there was something he really wanted to say, but couldn’t. Because my mom was there. Because the situation sucked. Whatever the reason. On any other night I would have immediately started obsessing about what it could be, but tonight, I didn’t have it in me.
“ ’Night,” I said. “Thanks.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he said. “Or today. Later. You know.”
I managed a smile. “I know.” I walked them to the door. “Steph?”
She looked at me. I didn’t even know where to begin.
“I know,” she said. Then she hugged me really, really hard. “I’ll talk to you later.”
My heart felt ridiculously full, then hollow again when I saw the jagged dent in the pole behind her. “Thanks,” I said quietly.
I closed the door. My mother kissed my head and squeezed me. “He’s going to be okay.”
I slid away from her, annoyed, clutching myself so tightly I could practically touch my fingertips to my fingertips behind my back.
“Did you talk to him?” I said flatly.
My mother took a breath, and shook her head as she gazed at the floor. “I’m exhausted, KJ. I need to sleep right now.”
“But Mom—”
“KJ. It’s time for bed,” she told me, leveling me with a glare.
My face reddened with anger as she walked past me toward her room. I’d take that as a no.
ACT FOUR, SCENE FOUR
In which:
LIES ARE TOLD
MY MOTHER MADE ME GO SEE MY FATHER IN THE HOSPITAL. HE looked completely normal, except for the bruises on his arm and the bandage on the side of his head. He smiled ingratiatingly at me when I walked in. I felt like my insides were gnawing on my heart from every direction. He knew. He knew how mad I was.
“Hey, kiddo.”
I sat down in the chair next to his bed, and it wheezed as all the air escaped from the vinyl. My phone vibrated in my pocket. I took it out to check the screen and my heart lurched. It was Cameron. Third time today. And the third time I was not going to pick up.
I was psyched he was calling me, of course. Of course I was. But I couldn’t even fathom trying to be the chipper, don’t-you-want-to-date-me girl. Meanwhile I had tried to call Tama four times to tell her what was going on, but kept getting her machine. She was my friend. I figured she’d want to know. Still, I’d yet to get a call back.
“You’re supposed to turn those off inside the hospital,” my father said.
The very fact that he was telling me what to do right then made me want to scream. I placed the phone back in my pocket without turning it off.
“KJ, I know you’re angry with me,” he said.
I scoffed and rolled my eyes. Here it comes. . . .
“And you have every right to be. I haven’t been a very good father lately.”
I stared at the mattress. The white waffle blanket bunched up near his feet. I’d heard this all before.
“And I know how scared you must have been.”
“I wasn’t scared,” I snapped. I wanted you to be dead. I wanted it.
“Well, I was,” he said. “I want you to know that things are going to change. This isn’t going to happen again.”
Yeah. Sure. That lie was so big I was surprised his pajama pants didn’t burst into flames.
“I promise you, KJ. This is my wake-up call,” he said, tears in his voice. “I’m going to go to those meetings. I’m going to get better.”
“Okay, Dad,” I said sarcastically.
“You don’t believe me.”
“I said okay,” I replied, looking at him for the first time.
We stared at each other. The pleading-yet-condescending look on his face made me want to cry. Like he was mocking me for thinking he wasn’t going to make good on his promise. Like my anger and disbelief were somehow amusing. Like he knew so much more than I did. But I knew I was right. I knew he’d be all squeaky clean for a few days, maybe a month, and then go right back to drinking and making everyone miserable. He’d never done anything to prove me wrong.
“Can I get a hug?” he asked.
I rolled my eyes again, but stood, knowing that this ritual meant the conversation was almost over. His arm was all purple and yellow and brown.