Lying in the dark, staring at the wall above my bureau, I watch the headlights of passing cars cast shadows of tree limbs from the oak tree outside; it’s beautiful. I get out of bed, grab my camera and slide back in, like moving too quickly will ruin the moment. Removing the lens cap and placing the lens on the camera, I continue to watch the grey tree limbs stretch repetitively on my wall. I bring the view finder to my eye and pinch the other one closed as I adjust the shutter speed to catch the moment. I press the shutter release, hear the click of capture, then pull the camera back from my eye, thumbing the film advance lever. Caught it; a moment in time that may never be repeated or may be repeated every night in this room for the next fifty years. The point is this one moment is captured right here in this camera for me to see anytime I want and remember how it made me feel the first time I saw it. I am indulging in the moment when I hear voices coming from the window closest to my bed.
I walk over to the window and see Gavin’s lanky frame standing in the middle of his backyard, the back porch light illuminating his army cap as he speaks to someone.
“I’m not tired,” Gavin says, chuckling a little as he kicks at the grass beneath him.
Who is he talking to? I try and angle myself against the window to see who is with him, but I can’t see anything. What if he is alone out there like earlier? I should check on him. I mean, what if he got out of the house with no one else knowing.
I look down at myself. I’m dressed in baggy boxer shorts and one of Dad’s old hand me down Beatles t-shirts. I’m decent enough. I grab a pair of flip flops and open my bedroom door a crack. I listen for Mom and Dad’s voices, nothing. They must have already gone to bed. Suddenly, I hear Dad’s snoring muffled by their closed door. Good, already asleep. Closing my door behind me, I tiptoe to the staircase. I hope this isn’t one of those creaking staircases. As I take the first step, I cringe. It doesn’t creak though and I step down another, then another; no creaks. I walk through the kitchen toward the back door. I shouldn’t be doing this! But I need to check on Gavin.
The debate doesn’t linger as I unlock the double locks and turn the knob. Stealthily, I pass over the threshold and into the warm and muggy night air. I haven’t been back here before, so it is a surprise to see how many trees there are in our yard. At a quick glance I count at least six, but that isn’t including the trees behind our house. There are no houses behind us and it looks like it is just green space with more trees. I glance to my right through the shrubs lining the chain link fence between the yards. Gavin is walking in wide circles, murmuring a chain of incoherent words with his eyes closed.
“Hey,” I hiss at him, but he doesn’t respond. Maybe he doesn’t hear me.
I step off our small porch and into the yard toward the fence to get closer to him. “Hey, Gavin.”
“He can’t hear you,” a deep voice calls from Gavin’s porch, startling me.
I peek between two shrubs and see Brody dressed in jeans and a white t-shirt, leaning back in a chair, his black boots kicked up on the edge of the small table, and his hands casually cradling the back of his head. He looks me up and down as he says, “He has headphones on.”
After feeling his eyes invade me, making me blush, I realize I have invaded their privacy. “Oh, sorry. I was worried he was out here by himself,” I say timidly.
I turn to head back into the house, but Brody calls to me. “What are you doing up so late?”
Did he ask me or Gavin? “Me?” I ask, looking at him again.
“Yeah you, who else?” A smirk plays on his lips.
His curt response reminds me of my last encounter with him; asshole.
I respond with equal curtness. “Well, I was trying to, but I heard Gavin and I was worried.”
“Yeah, you already said that.” He shakes his head then looks out into the yard at Gavin.
I didn’t need to stand here and listen to him snap at me. As I turn to go back into the house, he asks, “Where are you going?”
Is he serious? I turn back and notice he has risen from his seat and is walking across the grass toward me.
“Inside,” I say simply.
He stops just shy of the fence and tucks his hands in his pockets. “Why? You can’t sleep, right?” he asks, furrowing his brows around his deep set hazel eyes.
Feeling the pressure of him looking at me and being closer than he was before, I respond nervously. “No, but I shouldn’t be out here. I don’t want to bother you all or scare Gavin like I did earlier.”
He folds his arms across his chest, making it look even broader. “You didn’t scare him,” he says, impassively.
“Yeah, well it seemed like he was pretty freaked out by me,” I say.
Brody glances over his shoulder at Gavin then back at me. “No, he just gets stuck sometimes. Then you went and touched him.”
I look over at Gavin as he continues to circle the same spot in the yard, head bowed; his gait shifting from side to side like it did earlier.
“Come over?”
Brody’s question is a surprise.
“What?”
“Come over through the gate. You aren’t going back to sleep, I can tell.” The way he says, I can tell, is kind of sexy. It makes it hard for me to think... until I remember his asshole behavior earlier.
“You called me an idiot and you think I want to come over and hang out?” The sarcastic query flows from my mouth before I can really think. It was a good dig though for sure.
He gets a look on his face, like I have slapped him or something. “What? I didn’t call you an idiot,” he challenges.
What is wrong with this guy? Does he suffer from short term memory loss or something? My voice rises a little louder than I expect. “Yes you did!”
I look back at my house cautiously, hoping no lights turn on or back doors open from my raised tone.
When I look back at Brody, I lower my voice. “Earlier... after you told me Gavin doesn’t like to be touched, you called me an idiot.”
Brody’s furrowed brow relaxes and he smiles coyly as he shakes his head. “I wasn’t calling you an idiot. Look, just come over through the gate, I will explain, all right? Please.”
Frustrated, but also curious, I exit our side gate and enter theirs, latching it behind me. I have to admit, Brody’s looks were making it really hard to stay angry with him. I step into the light of their porch. Brody is sitting back in the chair he occupied earlier. He meets my gaze and says, “Pull up a chair.”
He takes hold of the top of the chair next to him and pulls it evenly next to his. Unhurried, I step up onto the porch and sit down next to him. He flexes his arms back and pins his hands behind his head as he looks out at Gavin, who is still circling the yard. I try to glance sideways at Brody without appearing like I’m staring. His white t-shirt isn’t so white. He has a couple of grease stains on it, like from a car or something. With his face lit by the porch light, his unshaven jaw line is prominent now. The unshaven thing looks really good on him. Where did he get the grease stains from? Was he working on his car or something?
He gives off this kind of bad boy persona that makes me more curious about him, something I only experienced with Josh briefly. The difference is Brody doesn’t look like that kind of bad boy. He doesn’t look like a boy, period. He looks older than me for sure.
“I’m Evan. Evan Phillips,” I say without pause.
He keeps his eyes focused on Gavin as he asks, “Evan? That’s your name?”
“Yeah, it’s short for Evangeline,” I quickly say. I always get that same question.
“Evan... that’s nice,” he says, more mildly now. Yeah, he made it sound hot too, which I should totally not be thinking about now.
“Ferguson,” he says, suddenly.
Lost in the fog of Brody saying my name, I stare at him blankly.
“Our last name is Ferguson. Brody and Gavin Ferguson,” he says.
“Oh,” is my brilliant response; apparent lack of oxygen to the brain. Feeling stupi
d now, I defer to looking at the house behind me; age has settled on it. The paint is peeling around the door frame and the porch roof above us tilts slightly, like it has shifted.
The brief silence between us is filled with the sound of cicadas and crickets. Gavin’s low humming actually calms my nervousness a little.
“I didn’t call you an idiot. I was calling myself an idiot for not watching him closer,” he says.
I look out at Gavin. How old his he? And, why would someone his age need to be watched closely?
“Okay,” is all I say as I’m still running questions about Gavin through my head. I want to ask Brody all of them, but sitting next to him, this close, I’m kind of intimidated by how much bigger he is than me in a jock kind of way. I mean, what if I ask him and it pisses him off like the thing that happened with Darren back home?
“Why can’t you sleep?” he asks as he removes his boots from the table.
Yeah, I am not about to tell Brody Ferguson THAT story. I look down at my tightly interwoven hands and wing it. “Um, I guess it is because I’m in a new place; first night here and all.”
“Evan!” I look up at Gavin who is no longer spinning, but focused on me.
“What are you doing here?” he asks, his hands raised in wonder.
The way he asks me in the raspy mid-pitch voice he had earlier today, I’m not sure if I should have come over here after all. I start to rise and prepare to say good night, when Brody surprises me, gripping my wrist gently, just enough to get my attention. “It’s okay. Stay,” he says, firmly.
Gavin walks toward us in his odd stride, but in this instant it looks like he has a purpose. His eyes focus on me and his pace quickens. Brody rises just as Gavin steps up on the porch and stops in front of me. I can’t help but grip the sides of the chair, nervous by his demeanor. With furrowed brows, similar to his brother’s, Gavin looks between Brody and me. “Why are you here?” he asks
“I asked her to come over, Gavin,” says Brody as he slowly sits back down in the chair.
He looks at Brody curiously, like he has said something outlandish, then sits cross-legged on the porch in front of us.
Appearing to ignore me, he speaks to Brody. “It’s late. Why is she awake? Why is she out here?”
Why isn’t he speaking to me? Do I scare him?
Brody glances over at me and asks, with genuine concern in his tone, “Why are you awake and out here?”
I look at Gavin and speak to him. “I couldn’t sleep and I heard you talking out here from my window.”
He looks up at my house, then down at me. “I’m sorry,” he says in a milder tone, but I’m not sure what he is sorry for.
I look down at my nervous, fiddling fingers. “Sorry? For what? You didn’t do anything.”
“For today, when I met you.” Gavin says as he starts to sway side to side, just like he did earlier. Does he do that when he gets scared?
“I didn’t mean to scare you. I told myself today when I saw you again I would apologize and that is what I am doing. I’m sorry.” He pronounces this chain of words in tight, clipped vocals.
“No, you didn’t scare me. I’m the one who should be sorry though. I shouldn’t have touched you on the shoulder,” I tell him.
Gavin stops swaying and places both of his hands on either side of his body on the concrete floor.
“She was just concerned for you, Gav,” Brody says as he leans forward a little. “That was nice of her, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, it was,” Gavin says as he looks from me to Brody, then back to me again.
Without warning, Gavin jumps up from his seat, plugs his earbuds back into his ears, and walks off the porch and back into the yard.
He turns back to face me now and grins widely. It reminds me of what a child might do the first time he sees Santa; full of a combination of joy and excitement.
“Thank you, Evan!” he shouts, stirring both Brody and I into a united hush.
Brody snickers. “Dude, you have to be quiet. It’s late.”
Gavin hunches his shoulders forward awkwardly and chuckles before whispering, “Sorry.”
The biggest smile is still stretched across his face as he looks down at his feet and continues on his path of wide circles in the grass.
I look back at my house once again; worried about being discovered out here; no lights, no opening door.
“They didn’t hear him. They would have been out here by now if they had,” Brody says confidently.
I look back at Brody and notice him glance at my clothes. Feeling a little naked in my pajamas suddenly, I fold my arms across my chest. I look out at Gavin again. He has stopped walking circles and is staring into my yard. I follow the pathway of his frozen stare, but I don’t see anything but trees and yard. “What is he looking at?” I ask Brody, quietly.
“Nothing,” he says, flatly.
I look back at Brody, expecting him to give me more to go on than “Nothing.”
He sits back in his chair and sighs deeply. “He gets stuck sometimes.”
Gavin’s stance is stiff but his face is slack; not the joyful, smiling boy I saw moments ago.
“He gets stuck? What does that mean exactly?” I question, still not getting it.
“There is no ‘exactly’ when it comes to Gavin.” Brody sounds agitated. He leans back in his chair and places one leg on the chair across from him. “Moment of detachment. Don’t know where he goes.” Sadness and confusion settle into his handsome face.
I’m pulled to try and bring logic to the confusion I see in him. “Maybe he doesn’t go anywhere. Maybe he is just listening,” I say.
“To what?” Brody asks as his eyes find mine.
I think of myself and how I feel when I spiral - the voice in my head within the rage of the spiral.
“Evan.” Brody’s voice pulls me back from my thoughts. His questioning bronze-toned eyes await my response.
My thoughts carefully cascade into words. “Well, maybe he hears voices or something. Maybe his voice inside of his head. I’ve heard of that happening to people.”
Brody stares at me and I fully expect him to laugh, mock me even, but instead he nods and looks back at Gavin. “Yeah, maybe.”
I hadn’t thought about it until now, but I wonder why they are out here so late. “Hey, do your parents know you two are out here?”
Brody looks at me sideways and smirks. “Yes, my mommy knows I’m out here.”
I roll my eyes and brush a pesky fly out of my face. I knew the smart ass jock-bad boy would come out again sooner than later. “Ha Ha,” I utter under my breath.
“Just messing with you,” he says slyly, then clears his throat. “Mom is sleeping because she gets up for work at six. Dad? Well, dad isn’t here.”
I want to ask where his dad is, but I hesitate, worried I might be crossing some kind of line with him.
Silence falls between us and I look back out at Gavin, walking circles again, bouncing his head in time to the music coming from his earbuds.
“So, Evan, where did you move from?” Brody asks.
“San Francisco, California. My dad got a new job.”
“What year are you?” His question is odd.
“Year?” I ask.
“Sophomore, Junior?” he probes.
I scoff, feeling the minor insult of looking any younger than a senior. “Do I look that young?”
He doesn’t respond, only smiles and waits for my answer.
“Senior,” I say and take my turn at finding out what year he is in college. He has to be in college. “You?”
“Senior.”
No way he’s a senior in college! “In high school?” I clarify.
He nods.
The way he carries himself, the way his body looks, the way he talks with confidence and maturity, I was sure he was in college. But, now that I know he isn’t and he is my age... I nod and look away to hide the giddy smile pulling at my lips. Brody Ferguson isn’t completely out of reach on the age scale, even if
he is out of reach on the good looks scale. Quickly, I think of something else to ask. “What about Gavin? What year is he?”
“Sophomore,” Brody says.
“Cool.” I say evenly, then think back to Gavin reciting Hamlet earlier today. “Is he like in advanced classes or something?” I ask and Brody looks at me oddly.
“What do you mean?”
“Well he was reciting Hamlet this morning. Then the girl across the street...”
“Nikki,” he adds.
“Yeah. So she told me...”
He cuts me off. “She talked to you?”
His question seems displaced, but I respond anyway. “Yeah. She said he always recited Shakespeare or The Lord of the Rings books.”
Seeming to think about Gavin reciting, Brody grins and says, “Yeah, those are his favorites. He is just...”
Brody’s grin falters a little as he seems to focus on what he is going to say next. “He is just different, Evan.”
Yeah, Gavin is different. He fascinates me, not in an ogling a caged-animal kind of way, but the kind of fascination that makes me want to know more about him. It is what I felt when I watched Gavin earlier and it is what I feel now as he stands out in the darkened yard, walking wide circles in the grass, listening to...
“What is he listening to?” I ask
Brody eyes me then Gavin. “Hendrix. He likes Jimmy and the Beatles.”
Two of my favorites. “Cool.”
Surprisingly, Gavin rushes to the porch, pulls the earbuds from his ears, and asks, “Do you like Shakespeare?”
I am a little taken aback by the forcefulness of his question, like it is something of great importance and he must know now!
“Uh, yeah. I haven’t read Hamlet though,” I say.
He stares at me blankly.
Feeling the need to fill the emptiness between us I add, “I have read the Lord of the Rings.”
His eyes instantly light up and he lets out a cackling laugh. “She’s a smart one, Brody!”
Brody smiles. “Yep, Gav, she is smart.”
All of a sudden, Gavin yawns and walks toward the porch door. He doesn’t say anything. He just goes inside, shuts off the porch light, and leaves Brody and I sitting there in the dark. As my eyes adjust, Brody’s silhouette comes into view.
Dismantling Evan Page 6