Dad stretches his hands above his head and yawns. “It is bigger than the house back home. Grandma and Grandpa did good with touring this one for us since we couldn’t.”
Correction...wouldn’t. They completely could have if they weren’t so hell bent on my mental state.
Mom walks up to the front door. “Come on you two.”
Changing the subject, I ask, “Where do Grandma and Grandpa live?”
Mom turns to me as she wriggles the key in the door knob. “About 2 miles from here. They are stopping by tomorrow. Give us a day to settle.”
“We live in the same neighborhood as you did?”
Mom pushes the door open. “Yeah.”
Dad brings two bags in from the truck. “They plan on bringing dinner tomorrow night.”
He looks at me oddly as I stand there next to the front door. “You coming in?”
“Yeah, let me just grab my suitcase,” I answer.
Dad disappears into the house behind Mom and I head back to the car to grab my stuff from the trunk. I look down the sidewalk and see that boy a few feet down the sidewalk, talking to himself again. He looks up, eyes raised to an invisible receiver and recites with intensity.
“I am but mad north-north-west: when the wind is southerly I know a hawk from a handsaw.”[2]
Yeah, mad...definitely. I can’t say I recognize the quote. He lowers his hand then turns around on the sidewalk and begins to walk back toward our driveway. Hurriedly, I act like I am rummaging through the baggage in the back as I keep an eye on him. His stride is stiff and his shoulders are slouched. He swings his hips in the opposite direction to his arms as he moves with his book perched in one hand and his other orchestrating the words he is speaking. Suddenly, and completely out of character, I put my backpack on my shoulders and walk over to him. Stop! What are you doing? Pretend you are picking something up on the driveway, quick! I keep on walking toward him though.
I catch a few more of his words as he looks up from his book and into the world around him.
“Seems, madam! nay it is; I know not ‘seems’.
‘Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother. . .”[3]
Still inattentive to my being directly behind him, I stop a few steps away and whisper. “Hey.”
He continues on with his speech, completely oblivious to my presence just as he was with my father. He passes in front of me then stops, still looking into some unknown distance.
“Hey! What are you reciting?” I ask again, louder this time.
He stops walking; but he doesn’t even look at me. He just stands still as a statue in the middle of our driveway, again.
I approach him slowly just in case he reacts, oddly. What am I saying? Of course he is going to act oddly. Maybe there is something wrong with him, mentally I mean. Maybe he has challenges. Wait, what if he is lost? I look up and down the open neighborhood street to see if there is anyone outside looking for him, but see no one. When I look back at the boy, he is looking right at me. Startled, my breathe catches, making a funny noise in my throat before I cover it up.
“I’m Evan.”
He doesn’t respond. He just looks at me, like I am some kind of curiosity. The very look I have been giving him for the last few minutes. His dark, probing eyes, looking me up and down are intimidating and make me uncomfortable.
“What were you um reciting just now?”
I can’t believe I am trying to make conversation with this strange kid.
He looks down at his book, then holds it up so I can read the front cover. I say the title aloud, “Hamlet. Cool.”
I haven’t read it yet. I know we are supposed to read it our senior year back home. What grade was this kid in? He definitely isn’t a senior. He doesn’t even look like he could be a sophomore. That is beside the point. The point is, no one walks around a neighborhood in the middle of the day, randomly stopping in people’s driveways, oblivious to onlookers and honking cars, reciting Hamlet - period.
“Gavin!” A strong bellowing voice pulls me away from my thoughts and towards a tall guy wearing a pair of faded jeans, grey t-shirt and bare feet who is quickly walking toward us. I try not to stare too much at how good looking he is. Definitely older. Maybe college?
His entire focus is on Gavin as he calls to him again and stops in front of the boy, “What are you doing over here man? Mom and I have been looking for you!”
It’s his brother. I look back at the boy and simply say, “Hi Gavin.”
Gavin doesn’t respond, he closes his book, closes his eyes, and begins to shift his body weight from side to side rhythmically. He mutters something under his breath and I lean in to try and catch it, but I can’t make any of the words out. The way he is swaying, its concerning. Is he scared of something or someone? Is he afraid of his brother? His mother? Is that why he is out here? I feel terrible for him as he stands there rocking back and forth. He seems confused and all I can think to do is put my arm around him to try and comfort him. He leaps as soon as my arm grazes his shoulder, throwing my arm off him, making my backpack fall to the ground. Frightened, I back away and his brother leaps between Gavin and me. He looks at me accusingly, like I have committed a crime.
“Don’t touch him! He doesn’t like to be touched!”
“I didn’t mean to. . .” I can’t form any other words I am so nervous, scared, and overwhelmed by what just happened.
Ignoring me, the brother turns back to Gavin and whispers firmly, “Hey, it’s me. Brody. It’s all right Gavin. No one is going to touch you, all right? It is just me. I’m here.”
This guy, his brother, Brody, is careful to not touch him, but still treats him with a tenderness that is just as strong as any comforting touch.
I finally form a coherent sentence. “I just was trying to help him. I didn’t mean to scare him.”
Brody’s tenderness shifts to aggression as he turns on me with apparent disgust. “You didn’t scare him. He just doesn’t like to be touched, especially by people he doesn’t know.” Turning back to Gavin, he murmurs. “Idiot.”
My head swims and my chest burns from the obvious verbal slap. Why am I the idiot? Before I can gather enough sense to formulate a response, Gavin starts walking away from both of us. Brody shadows him quickly, forgetting about the idiot on the sidewalk.
“Unbelievable,” I mutter, shaken by the entire encounter, especially Brody. He didn’t even give me a chance to explain. He didn’t even listen to me. The slap of the word idiot rings in my head as I flash back to Darren Crawford, the jock I interviewed for the school newspaper almost three months ago. I cringe at the thought of this Brody person potentially being as much of an asshole as Darren was the day I mentally broke into a million pieces.
Numbly, I reach down, pick up my backpack, and sling it over my shoulder. When I look back up, they are both stopped in front of the driveway next door. Brody’s overpowering build is hunched over Gavin’s much smaller frame as he talks to him. The jerk that just called me an idiot has completely disappeared and the tender protector is back.
The sound of screeching tires and the bump, bump, bump of too much bass distracts me from them just as a Ford F-150 roars down the road. The truck driver taps the brake just as it gets even with the Brody and Gavin, then lays on the horn. Gavin lurches backward, plainly frightened by the sound, then runs up the driveway to the house.
“Hey Gavin, you wanna come and play?” a baritone voice calls from the truck.
Brody stands there, his head hanging and his shoulders taut. A very feminine giggle and loud laughter pour from the truck; obviously taking joy in startling Gavin. Suddenly, Brody raises his eyes to meet the driver in the truck and salutes him with his middle finger. Brody’s hand is frozen in salutation as the truck peels out and roars down the street. Watching him stand there, defending his brother’s honor, gives me more appreciation for the guy. As he turns to follow after Gavin, he notices me watching him. Slowly, I walk back up my driveway and get the suitcase out of the back of the tru
ck.
When I hear the familiar bump, bump, bump of radio bass coming down the road again, I’m nervous they are going to do something else asshole-ish. But, it isn’t the F-150. It’s a black four door Jeep, with windows just as black as the metallic paint. It pulls up to the house across the street and the passenger door opens. A girl with long blond hair and about my age gets out. I can’t lie, the way she is dressed, edgy yet trendy, she looks gorgeous.
Not a categorical beauty queen, but she could totally be, the voice in my head says curtly.
I could never pull the edgy, trendy look off. She is wearing black skinny jeans, a grey halter top that is way too big and hangs off her shoulder, revealing the hot pink straps of her bra, and black short biker boots to finish off the urban model look she is going for. The way she smiles coyly and moves away from the car one would think her boyfriend is definitely on the driver’s side of the Jeep.
All of a sudden, the driver’s door opens and a guy emerges. The way he is angled, I can’t get a good look of his face. From his profile though, he is just as good looking as she is. He is wearing a black t-shirt stretched tight across his chest and arms with faded jeans and black biker boots. He reaches into the car for something; a baseball cap, and he puts it on backwards as the girl walks around the front of the truck, along the curb, and falls right into his open arms. Wrapping his arms around her tightly, he pulls her into him and kisses her. The kiss is a little more than a peck, full on making out, so I divert my eyes, pretending yet again to rummage through the trunk. Yes, I am fascinated with the idea of making out with a really good looking guy, but watching someone else make out with one is just plain weird and Peeping Tom-ish.
“Hey you!” A girl’s voice echoes from across the road. It’s coming from the direction of the two magazine model couple making out.
“Girl behind the Honda Pilot. Hey!” the girl calls again.
Honda Pilot. Shit, she is talking to me. I slowly turn to look in her direction, just as the Jeep pulls away. The girl crosses the street, coming straight toward me.
“I’m Nikki. Are ya’ll the new people?” she asks.
Ya’ll? They really do say ya’ll here.
“Yeah, we are. Evan, I mean my name is Evan.”
God, could I be any more awkward?
She doesn’t seem to notice as she responds. “Cool. Have you met anyone else yet?”
“I met two people, Brody and Gavin?” I say questioning her knowing them, which is weird because of course she would know them; they are her neighbors too.
She smirks a little. “Was Gavin wandering the streets again?” she asks.
She must know the two brothers well enough to talk about Gavin’s wanderings so flippantly.
I nod and say, “He was reciting lines from Hamlet.”
“Yep, he has been obsessed with it this summer. It has been a tossup between Shakespeare and those Tolkien books...um, what are they called?” she questions herself as she snaps her fingers together.
“Lord of the Rings?”
Her smile broadens and her green eyes widen before curling around the corners as she says, “Yeah, Lord of the Rings. I haven’t read them, but I hear the movies are awesome. Have you read them? They are on the senior summer reading list.”
Senior. Just like me.
I nod, “Yeah, I have.”
But she is so not like me, I can already tell.
I watched the movies too. Hands down the books were tons better; they always are.
She changes the subject suddenly, “Did you meet Brody?”
I just nod.
She rocks on her heels and nods too, “Cool.”
For a moment, I wonder how she knows Brody; as a friend or old boyfriend. I mean, she is beautiful and he is gorgeous.
I can’t believe I’m wondering this!
I respond to her ‘cool’ with a, “Yeah, cool.”
You sound like an idiot Evan Phillips!
Silence settles between us. The kind that happens when two people have just met and don’t really know how to continue making conversation.
“Well, I gotta help with the unpacking. Nice to meet you,” I add, quickly.
“Yeah, I’ll see you around Evan.” She turns and I watch her trot back across the street to her house. For a second, I think about what it would be like to become friends with her then the thought disappears.
WHEN I WALK THROUGH THE door, I put the bag and backpack at the bottom of the staircase and look around. It is much bigger than our house in San Francisco. I like the high ceilings, and there are tons of windows too. Mom and Dad’s voices get louder and closer as they both walk toward me down the hall.
“Here let me give you the tour Evan,” Mom says, taking hold of my hand and pulling me along.
As we walk she pulls me close to her and asks, “Who was that girl out there talking to you? She looked...um.”
I cut any opinionated remarks she might add short, “She is nice Mom. She isn’t um.”
Mom pulls me along, nudging me. “I’m sure she is. This is the formal living, the dining room. I don’t know why they put them in houses any more. We won’t use the dining room except on Christmas and Thanksgiving.”
She pulls me through the kitchen and into the ‘informal living room’, with Dad trailing behind us up the stairs.
Mom and dad’s room is on one end of the stair-well and mine is on the other with a third bedroom between them. There is also this space next to my room and across from the third bedroom.
“This is cool.” Dad points at the open space.
Mom stands in the center of the small niche and starts doing that thing she does with her hands when she is in her interior decorating mode. “This is a loft. It can be a small office for us to use. Evan, you can use it for studying. We can put a desk, computer, and chair by the window and the television and a small sofa can go over there. A couple of brightly colored chairs would really set the overall tone in this room.”
Mrs. “Better Homes and Garden” has arrived! Move out the way!
Dad and I look at each other knowing once Mom gets in this mode, there isn’t any stopping her. Dad tucks his hands in his pockets and clears his throat before smiling widely at her. “Lucy, let’s get our bedrooms set up first, all right?”
I hear the apprehension in his voice even as he tries to sway Mom’s creative juices.
Mom turns on Dad and puts her hands on her hips. “What? We have so many options for this room.”
Dad opens the door to the master and enters as he says, “You are right, it does have potential hun. Let’s just get the essentials settled first before we start on the loft. When does our furniture get here?”
Mom pulls out her cell phone and starts tapping and scrolling as she concentrates on the screen of her iPhone. “The driver’s last text says they should be here before 2:30. It is just after noon now. Maybe we should get some lunch.”
Dad comes back into the loft area. “There was a hamburger place across from the high school. I can go pick it up and bring it back.”
Mom looks at me. “Does a burger sound good, Evan?”
This was the setup they did every single time we talked about food lately. The medication has killed my appetite; side effect.
My go-to response is to smile and say, “Sure,” and walk away. I slip in my go-to response as I walk to my new room.
I feel them watching me. The pressure of their eyes on me, wondering if I gave them a real ‘sure’ or a fake one. I open the door and walk in. It has two windows; one large one that stretches almost the entire wall. As I walk over to the big window, I look out at the driveway through long tree branches. So many trees. There is a smaller window on another wall. I look out, but there isn’t a view. Just the wall and windows of the neighbor’s house. Gavin’s and Brody’s house. I stand in the middle of the room and mentally picture which wall my bed will go against.
“We are getting you a burger and fries, Evan,” Mom calls from the loft area.
; I call back to her, “Okay.”
Dad leans against the door frame. “Wow, this is big compared to your old one.”
He calls back to Mom, “Lucy, Evan’s room is huge!”
My room back home was just long and wide enough to fit a full size bed and a small night stand. I had to put my bureau in the closet, it was such a tight fit. With the size of this room, I will easily fit my bed, side table, and maybe desk and chair with plenty of room left for my bureau.
I sit down in the middle of the floor and cross my legs as I picture where my furniture will go. Mom stands next to Dad in the doorway, her eyes wide and excited for my acceptance of my room. “You like it?”
I nod as I look around me. “Yeah.”
Dad places his hand on Mom’s back. “I’m going to go pick up the food. You girls hold down the fort?”
“Thanks babe,” Mom says.
Dad kisses Mom’s forehead as she rests her hand on his chest. Even though my emotions have a tendency to be dulled by the meds, the emotion I witness between my mom and dad always makes me feel comforted, like they are the stability in my life.
Still, they are my parents, and their loving displays can get a little much, so I pull out my phone to distract myself from their PDA.
Angry Birds is my mindless distraction as Dad leaves and Mom comes into my room.
“So, that girl. . .” she probes.
Already irritated by her accusing voice, I talk while I play. “Her name is Nikki.”
“Nikki. She lives across the street, huh?”
What a stupid question. If she was watching out the window she would know this.
“Yep.”
“What about the boy?” she inquires.
“Which one?”
Mom scoffs. “Which one? What? Have you met more than one? The strange one standing. . .”
Her sarcasm and the way she is talking so flippantly about the ‘strange one’ pisses me off. “Yes, I have met more than one. And, the boy is just a little different that’s all.”
Dismantling Evan Page 2