We'll Fly Away

by Bryan Bliss

  “He’s won three state championships!” Jack-Jack said, excited. Ricky didn’t even turn toward him, which was probably for the best. Had he gone at either of the twins, it would’ve been over. Instead, he laughed.

  “Hell, if you want to spend your time playing grab ass . . .” He grabbed Doreen’s thigh.

  “Stop!” she said, giggling.

  Luke got up and told the boys to take care of their plates, to brush their teeth and get ready for bed. As soon as he said it, his mom stood up and followed them into the kitchen.

  “What do you guys think about a slumber party in the living room?”

  Of course Petey and Jack-Jack lost their minds. Sprinted to the bedroom to pull their blanket and pillows out of the room. When they were gone, Luke made a point of only staring at the sink as he washed the plates.

  “Listen, I don’t need your permission to have somebody spend the night,” she said.

  “Do whatever you want.”

  “Ricky’s a good guy,” she said. “He’s really funny. He’s got a house near the lake. He said we could all . . .”

  Luke tuned her out. Fifteen minutes later, she led Ricky to the bedroom, carrying the box of wine and two red plastic cups. Luke turned off the lights and switched the television to a cartoon, and soon the boys fell into the sort of deep sleep he hadn’t experienced in years.

  In the dark, with only the television on, the apartment looked like an aquarium. A place he’d been before, the memory buried under years of anger toward his mom. They’d gone to Atlanta. Visited the Coke museum. And then the aquarium, the entire ocean spread before him like a moving painting.

  Doreen had met the man online, a car salesman who turned out to be nice but married. They stood in the back, with the shadows, reaching for each other. Giggling like little kids. The same laughter—and other assorted vague sounds—slipped through the apartment’s thin walls.

  Luke grabbed his shoes and the heavy-duty garbage bags he’d kept stashed behind the couch, and checked on the boys one last time before he quietly stepped outside onto the walkway of their apartment. The wind blew leaves across the nearly empty parking lot. In the corner, a person was smoking, the gold cherry pulsing like a lightning bug. Luke locked the door behind him and pulled the bag over his head as he went down the stairs, punching holes for his arms on either side.

  In the distance he could hear the country highway that, if he ran far enough, would take him all the way down to Charlotte. He and Toby had made half-hearted attempts at running away before, never making it more than a few miles down that road.

  He sat down on the curb and rubbed his legs, trying to work out the post-practice stiffness. People assumed he ran to keep in shape. They’d see him going demon down the road and honk their horns. Yell out encouragements. It did help him stay in shape, of course. But nights like tonight, after a brutal practice, he ran to empty himself. To push himself until the entire world looked different, until he couldn’t feel anything and his whole body turned heavy, like a water-soaked log. Until even the plane looked alien as he passed it. At enough speed, in the right kind of light, it became the plane of Luke’s childhood fantasies. The one that could still carry them away, just like that.

  His eyes were closed when a voice called out. At first he thought it was his mom, and he stood up quickly—too quickly. His legs screamed in protest and he groaned. Annie appeared out of the shadows, dropping a cigarette onto the concrete.

  “Please tell me you didn’t follow me here,” she said. “I swear to god, if your little friend pops out, I’m going to get my stepdad’s tire wrench.”

  Luke was suddenly awake. Every part of his body alive.

  “I live up there,” he said, motioning to his apartment. “And Toby’s not here. But he is most days. So . . . I don’t know. I’d buy some repellent or something.”

  Annie smiled, just barely. Luke couldn’t tell if she was amused or, maybe, had already entertained the idea of incapacitating his friend.

  “So what’s with the garbage bags?” she said. “Is it some kind of perverted sex thing?”

  “What? Oh my god, no.”

  Luke tried to smooth the garbage bag, which suddenly seemed impossibly wrinkled. And why did he care? He dropped his hands away from the bag immediately. This time Annie didn’t try to hide her smile, and her laughter rang across the parking lot.

  “I was kidding,” she said. “But, you know, I am interested in what’s . . . happening here.” She wagged her finger at the garbage bag.

  “I need to lose weight,” he said. “So I can wrestle.”

  “And you do this often?”

  “Well, the running. The garbage bag is new. I’ve never been heavy before. They say this will work.”

  He was rambling and he knew it. Annie yawned, rubbing both hands through her hair.

  “Who’s they?” Annie asked.

  “Oh, my coach. The internet.”

  That same unreadable smirk. It unnerved Luke.

  “Well, as great as this has been . . . I need to go to bed. Until next time?”

  “I’m Luke.”

  “Until next time, Luke.”

  When she turned to leave, without thinking, Luke said, “Hey—do you live here?”

  “Yep. And as shitty as you might think this place is, it’s the Hyatt compared to where we lived in Chicago.”

  And then she was gone.

  6

  TOBY had never listened to Elvis before, but he had that mess cranking not five minutes after he’d bought the tape at the truck stop off of I-40. Because of course the El Camino had a tape player. And of course the only tapes he could find were Elvis: The Hits and a collection called 1970s Truck Driving Classics. He bought both.

  He had to admit, the El Camino was a nice car. Aftermarket leather interior. Not a scratch on it, inside or out. The manual gearshift was a metal skull with eyes that lit up whenever Toby hit the gas. He didn’t know a damn thing about engines, but when he pushed the pedal down the car jerked forward with such muscle, such elegance, he had to use every bit of willpower not to open it up on the empty highway.

  There was a bigger question Toby was avoiding, of course. Where did Jimmy get the car? And when Jimmy stuffed a wad of twenties into his hand . . . where did the money come from? That wasn’t walking-around money, and this wasn’t the sort of car you got from a country lot. But Toby didn’t care. Not today. He flew out the door before Jimmy could take either back.

  Toby turned the radio up, letting Elvis pour through the open windows as the predawn light began to fill the horizon. After two or three songs, he almost switched to 1970s Truck Driving Classics because, honestly, he wasn’t feeling the King. But then “Burning Love” came on, and he didn’t stop rewinding the tape until it was time to pick Luke up for school.

  When he turned in to the apartment, Luke was sitting on the steps waiting for him. Toby threw the shifter into park and jumped out, singing the last words of the song loudly into the parking lot. Despite the performance, Luke’s eyes never left the car.

  “Please tell me you didn’t steal this.”

  “If I was going to steal a car, it wouldn’t be an El Camino,” Toby said, reaching in and turning down the radio.

  Of course Luke would want more. Or, more precisely, he’d keep asking questions, keep sighing and staring at the car like it was a hand grenade, until Toby finally told him the truth. When he looked at his friend again, Toby smiled big and easy.

  “Jimmy gave it to me.”

  “T . . .”

  Luke trailed off, looking at the car again. Toby understood. He could wake up tomorrow morning and the car might be gone. And it would somehow be Toby’s fault. Nothing came free, not from Jimmy, not once in his life. Toby knew this better than anyone, Luke included.

  All he wanted was to enjoy the car, if only for one day.

  “Just let me drive us to school,” Toby said.

  Luke still looked conflicted, as if Toby was asking him to choose between life
and death. And for a second, a lick of anger flared up inside Toby. Why couldn’t Luke just pretend, even for a few minutes, that they were normal? When he was younger, Toby had coveted the expensive basketball shoes everybody else wore. The houses they lived in, with pools and windows that weren’t clogged with ancient air conditioners. A life where his and Luke’s only worry was getting twenty dollars off their parents so they could waste it at Applebee’s after the football game. The injustice stuck in his throat, even now.

  And if the car disappeared tomorrow, fine. If Jimmy threw a beating his way, whatever. That was tomorrow. They had the car today, and Toby wasn’t going to waste it.

  “You can run your ass to school if you want,” Toby finally said, moving to the driver’s side door. “But I’m driving.”

  Luke grabbed his backpack off the ground, eyeing the car and then Toby.

  “Is it a car or a truck?” As soon as Luke said it, he smiled. Quick, nothing more than a flash. It was the most real thing Toby had seen from him in ages.

  “It’s both. That’s what makes it so damn amazing,” Toby said. “Not to mention the wolf mural on the tailgate. What else do you need?”

  Before he could answer, the apartment door flew open and a man in his underwear was yelling down to Luke.

  Toby laughed and whispered to Luke, “Oh shit, is this Ricky?”

  The man stomped down the stairs in only his work boots. He was short but looked strong. Like a mechanic. Luke shouldered his backpack.

  “Those boys aren’t ready for school.”

  “Mom does Wednesdays. She’s off and I have practice.”

  “Well, your mom isn’t feeling well—”

  Luke laughed, and Ricky took a step closer, smiling as if he’d enjoy mixing it up with Luke. Toby ran over and stood between them.

  “We can get them ready,” he said to Luke. “I’ll drive them to school too. It’s fine.”

  Luke was staring hard at Ricky, who smiled and scratched himself. “Listen to your boyfriend.”

  Toby leaned his head back and groaned. “Really? That’s your move? I don’t know why I’m surprised, but I am.”

  Ricky looked confused for a moment.

  “You called us gay. That’s your go-to put-down. It’s basic, which whatever. But putting that aside, it loses some teeth when delivered by a guy who chased us down in the parking lot in his underwear. You know?”

  Luke said his name, but Toby was already rolling.

  “Like, seriously. This isn’t hard. Take Luke. His eyes are so far apart, they’re almost on the sides of his head. He looks like a fish you see on nature shows. A flounder or some shit.”

  Luke shook his head, but Toby didn’t care. The dumb look on Ricky’s face was enough to keep him going forever.

  “And what about me? I look like the kid in the movie who dies of cancer. Shit, I’m nearly eighteen years old and I shop in the kids section at Super Mart. But you trot out gay. Jesus, it’s just depressing.”

  Ricky adjusted himself. “I call it like I see it.”

  “Well, if that’s the standard, I’d hate to tell you what I see.”

  Ricky sprang forward, a finger pointed at Toby’s face. Before he got two steps, Luke had him against the hood of the El Camino. A small voice floated above them, loud and panicked. Petey, wide-eyed and wanting to know if everything was okay.

  “Everything’s good, buddy,” Luke said, still holding Ricky down. “Get Jack-Jack up. Toby and I are taking you guys to school.”

  The boy paused before padding back into the apartment. When Doreen appeared on the balcony, she was naked under a thin robe. Toby caught a flash of her breasts as she came running down the stairs, yelling Luke’s name.

  “What are you doing?” She pushed Luke hard until he released Ricky. “Jesus, baby, are you okay?”

  Ricky got off the hood and wiped his mouth.

  “No big deal. Luke was just showing me a few of those wrestling moves.” But his eyes were daggers on Luke, who only smiled.

  “Luke, apologize to Ricky.”

  “Apologize?” Toby said.

  “Luke Teague, I swear to god, if you don’t apologize, I’ll call that school and get you yanked off that wrestling team quicker than you can spit.”

  Luke’s eyes never left Doreen’s as he said, “Ricky, I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

  “Hurt me?” Ricky laughed. “Okay . . .”

  Luke just stared at his mother until Doreen and Ricky disappeared back into the apartment. When they were gone, Toby still didn’t know what to say to Luke. So he turned to the four or five people standing, watching. Waiting for the fireworks.

  “Show’s over. Go back to your lottery tickets.”

  A man gave him the finger; another woman laughed and triumphantly stuck her phone into her pajama pants. When he turned back, Luke was leaning against the bumper of the El Camino, staring at the asphalt parking lot. Toby walked over and stood next to him.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  Luke was silent, but then he glanced over at Toby. “Do you really think I look like a flounder?”

  Toby laughed. “It was a moment of inspiration. But now that I’ve said it . . . I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to unsee it.”

  The spark of amusement faded from Luke’s face and he sighed, pushing himself off the hood of the car. “I got to get the boys ready. We’re going to be late.”

  Toby reached out and stopped him. “Are you, you know, okay?”

  Luke stared right through him, suddenly unreadable.

  “Yeah, man. I just need to get them ready.”

  December 25

  T—

  You can always tell when someone just got out of isolation. There’s a hollowness to them. Everything about this place is designed to break you down until you’re nothing but a number. Because you can erase a number, and what does it matter? There’s always another one to write down.

  My first day out, Sister came to see me—Eddie right behind her. Both of them wanting to know how I was doing.

  Neither of them sat, and I didn’t say a word, because what am I supposed to say? I felt like a rug had been pulled out from under me and I was still falling. When Sister reached over and touched me on the shoulder, I jerked. Every CO in the place went stiff.

  The first time I got solitary was a month or so after I’d gotten here, and at first I was like, “Is this all you’ve got?” Because it doesn’t seem like much until maybe the second or third day. That’s when everything starts crawling. Everything gets dark and dizzy. Like you’ve been hit in the head a hundred times. And it doesn’t matter if it’s a week, a month, or longer—it breaks you.

  We’re not supposed to be alone like that, T.

  Anyway, Eddie sat down next to me and starts saying, “You know they put me in solitary for a solid two months once?”

  But I didn’t give him nothing, man. Of course, he kept on talking in my ear like a gnat. Telling me how he about lost his mind. How I was probably feeling the same way right now.

  I wasn’t about to get real with everybody watching us, so I shrugged. Pulled out my pen and paper and started writing this letter—trying to tune them out. Eddie kept on with the “you’ll be okay” line, which was bullshit. In here you learn that a moment might be okay, but eventually everything falls apart. You are never okay, no matter how much you try to keep it together.

  Remember when we were trying to fix the plane and we propped it up on those sawhorses we lifted from the road crew down on Highway 321? You were underneath it, really thinking you would be able to find a way to patch all those holes. Solve that rust. And then it snapped. Split down the middle like a pair of secondhand pants.

  How you got out with just a scratch, I’ll never know. But that’s the best I can describe what it felt like sitting there, T. Like thousands of pounds of rusted-out metal were falling on top of me and I couldn’t get out of the way.

  Sister stopped my hand from moving. “We can talk about it, Luke. You’re not alone.
”

  And man, I just had enough. I was like, “How can you say that? All I am is alone. And there’s no use in talking about it, because soon enough, Eddie, me—all of us are going to be gone. It might not be today or tomorrow, but it’s going to happen. And there’s not a damn thing you can do about that.”

  I didn’t blink once, T. Let them have every one of those words like it was a fist. Sister looked like I’d really hit her too. Her eyes were wide and she kept opening her mouth like she wanted to tell me I was wrong. But she didn’t. Hell, she couldn’t.

  I stood up and walked away. Every ounce of energy I had was gone. I couldn’t have said another word to them if I tried. So I went back to my cell and fell asleep. I didn’t care if I ever woke up again.

  I avoided Eddie for a few days after that. But today, we had a special dinner and I couldn’t duck him. I was sitting alone—enjoying the silence—when Eddie walked up. He was already done eating too, so I knew why he was there. Before I could say a word, he was like, “Nope.”

  Then he stood there, wiping his hand up and down his face. Not saying a damn word. When he finally looked at me he was all, “You aren’t dead yet.”

  That stopped me, T. Like getting hit with a brick.

  I guess Eddie saw it as an opening, because he just kept talking about how nobody wants to be in here. How we all need to accept the things we can’t change.

  That’s when he lost me.

  I accepted this shit a long time ago. It’s everybody else who’s pretending it isn’t happening. Pretending that some court or lawyer or, hell, Jesus himself is going to swoop down and save me. Everybody plays their game until there’s no game to play anymore. Until the rest of the world takes notice and it’s like, “Shit, that one’s been alive for a little too long. Let’s put a stop to that.”

  A few weeks later, the machine starts moving. They set a date. And then you’re being wheeled into that room as your family tries to hear you through thick glass. Screaming or praying or crying out those last words.

  Every single guy in here is going out that way. Yeah, sure—there’s some hard exceptions. Dudes who use those final words to hurt somebody, to kill one last time. But that’s the exception, T. There’s no dignity lying on that table. Most of us will meet it crying, the most alone we’ve been in our entire life.