by Bryan Bliss
Whether it was Luke’s unchecked momentum, or Ricky’s diminutive stature, Luke lost leverage almost immediately. Before he knew what was happening, Ricky improvised a hip throw and Luke landed on top of the flimsy coffee table, splintering the wood and glass. The sudden shock took his breath, and he lay there for a half a second, envisioning what he was going to do to Ricky.
Every movement. Every punch.
As Luke got to his feet, somebody knocked on the door. Doreen’s face tightened immediately. Maybe she thought it was Ms. Hildebran, or one of the other nosy neighbors, because she stomped to the door and threw it open, her mouth ready to cuss out whoever was standing there.
Annie’s eyes darted around the room, as if she’d heard the entire fight from downstairs. And maybe she had. She looked at the broken table and then to Luke, still standing in the pile of wood and glass.
“Hey, I was just . . .”
Annie’s voice trailed off as Luke started walking.
Doreen’s voice jumped as she spoke. “Luke . . .”
He didn’t look at his mom or Ricky. He didn’t ask for their permission. No more talking. When he got to Annie, her eyes were wide.
He gently took her hand and led her to the door like this was homecoming, prom, and the only problem was his mom bothering them for one more picture. And when they stepped outside, the cool night on him like a moment of grace, Annie’s hand firmly in his, he wanted to keep walking with her forever.
12
TOBY couldn’t feel his face, not after the second or third pitcher. By the time they’d dropped the fourth on the table, he was just as loud—just as ecstatic—as any regular. Jimmy was loving it too. Slapping him on the shoulder and yelling out, “That’s my boy!” and “Like his old man!” As if they’d crossed an invisible line. Into a new place where they could respect each other.
Toby lifted his glass high, burped loudly, and downed the beer like he had the last two. The more he drank, the easier it went down. All he wanted to do was laugh and dance and spend the rest of his life feeling exactly this way.
Until his stomach reached up and grabbed his throat.
“That ain’t good,” Bo said, laughing.
“Don’t you let him puke out here,” Val yelled. “Get him to a bathroom.”
“You heard the lady,” Jimmy said, pushing him in the direction of the bathrooms.
As he walked, Toby was either floating or sinking. He couldn’t tell. Couldn’t give a damn, honestly. The entire bar was a beautiful blur of lights and music and laughter. He almost fell, and a faceless person caught him by the arm. Toby thanked him sloppily and pushed the rest of the way through the crowd.
The first thing he thought when he found the bathroom: this is surprisingly clean.
Two steps later, his stomach pushed everything up.
He threw up in the toilet, on the floor—painted the entire stall. In a brief moment of calm, he slipped and fell to the floor, the smell making him retch again. This time he didn’t even try for the bowl.
He either passed out or fell asleep, because he woke to a shrieking “What the hell!” Followed by the thud of a body hitting the floor. The next thing Toby noticed were shoes squared up and pointed at him.
He wanted to stand, to open the door, but it was like four different people were trying to operate his body at the same time. The stall door opened and Toby saw her—Lily. He laughed. Hard enough that he threw up again. When he looked back up at Lily, he couldn’t keep his face from going goofy.
“God, you’re drunk off your ass.”
“I’m fine. Great, even. Great!”
“Yeah,” Lily said, reaching down to pull him up. “That’s why you’re passed out in the women’s bathroom, covered in your own puke.”
He reached for her hand and nearly slipped back down to the floor before getting upright. He wavered for a second, holding himself against the stall. She let him stand like that for a few seconds before she said, “How old are you?”
“A dick hair away from eighteen,” Toby said, laughing.
Lily blinked. “Charming. How about we get your dad to take you home?”
She started pulling Toby toward the door, the entire world still spinning. Once they were back in the belly of the bar, it wasn’t much better. The band was rolling. Toby did a little dance as they walked, cracking himself up again. Lily jerked him toward the booth. Toby was still laughing when Lily deposited him in front of Jimmy and Bo.
“Damn,” Bo said, shielding his nose with an arm. “I was thinking he could rally, but I don’t know.”
“He was passed out in the women’s bathroom,” Lily said to Jimmy, who took another drink of his beer and shrugged.
“Classic,” Bo said. Lily turned on Bo, cocking her head to the side. She didn’t say anything, but Bo’s stupid smile faded. She turned back to Jimmy.
“Well?”
Jimmy barely looked at Lily. “Well, what? I didn’t pour the beer down his throat.”
“He’s your kid, isn’t he? Underage kid, I might add.”
“Why don’t you give it a rest, Lily?” Val had been standing nearby, but now she was right in front of them. “As I remember it, you spent a lot of time in this bar when you were his age, and nobody said a word.”
“Yeah, that totally makes it better.”
Val looked as if she could take Lily’s head off, but Jimmy pushed a twenty-dollar bill across the table and asked for some shots of tequila. When Val disappeared to pour them, he turned back to Lily.
“Like she said, I remember a time when you spent a lot of time in this bar.”
“Time I’d like to forget,” Lily said.
“Maybe,” Jimmy said, smiling. “And shit, he’s basically an adult.”
“A dick hair away!” Toby yelled, getting a laugh from the people in the immediate area.
“So you’re not going to do anything?”
Jimmy slammed his hand on the table and stood up.
“Let him do what every other fucker in this place does when they have too much. Sleep it off in the car. Jesus, Lily. I never took you for a goddamn mother hen.”
Val put two shots down in front of him, and Jimmy slammed both. Toby had a vague notion he should respond. But then something deep inside him—something unaffected by the alcohol—told him to shut up. Lily grabbed him by the arm and pulled him toward the door. People hooted and hollered as they walked away, but Lily didn’t let go until they were in the parking lot.
Outside, two guys were arguing loudly, seconds away from punches being thrown. A couple was making out in the shadows of the building. Everything made Toby giggle. “Those guys are going to fight—get it! Get it!”
Lily blew air between her lips. “Please shut up,” she said, scanning the parking lot. “Which one is your car?”
Toby burped sourly. “That fine-ass El Camino over there. Did you know El Camino means ‘the road’? I like that. The road.”
“Fascinating. Give me your keys.”
She unlocked the driver’s-side door and helped Toby in. She pocketed the keys but didn’t close the door. She stood there looking at the parking lot and then down at Toby, who was still giggling. She cussed under her breath.
“Fuck you, Jimmy. Fuck. You.” She nudged Toby. “Get in the passenger seat. I can’t leave you here.”
Toby scrambled between the two seats and spent a solid two minutes trying to find and buckle the seat belt before Lily reached across him to help. For a second, Toby was stone-cold sober. It was the brush of her hair against his chin. Her smell . . . a sweeter version of the bar they’d just left. But she didn’t pay him a single bit of attention. She fired up the El Camino’s engine and let it idle in the cold for a few seconds.
“Where are we going?” Toby asked.
Lily stared at the bar for a long second before pulling out of the parking lot. “My house.”
Toby wasn’t sure how long they’d been sitting in front of the small white house when he woke up and scrambled out of t
he car to throw up. When he got back in, Lily was crushing a cigarette into the ashtray—the fourth.
“Feeling better?” she asked.
Toby’s head was throbbing, and his entire body might have been run over by a dump truck. “Jesus,” was all he could manage.
“In my experience, he can’t help you with this.”
“Seems limiting,” Toby said, cradling his head. “You know, for the Lord.”
Lily laughed and reached for her pack of cigarettes, which was empty. She tossed it back into her purse and stared into the night. Whatever humor Toby had pulled out of her disappeared. Outside, the darkness hummed around them.
Toby was sobering up quicker than he thought could happen. Or maybe he’d been asleep longer than he assumed. He’d never been drunk before. Barely had anything more than a Mountain Dew because—as Luke put it—he was stupid enough sober. No need to mix alcohol into the equation. And as sobriety creeped up on him, the sickening feeling of betrayal returned. His stomach grumbled again.
He stole looks at Lily. She was beyond him in all ways—age, looks, no matter what metric you used. She was early twenties and what he’d call North Carolina perfect. Nobody would confuse her for a model, but what did that matter? Toby liked the imperfections. He liked the way her eyes already crinkled in the corners. Her hair, growing out of a bad dye job. The way she smoked, even. As if she dared people to tell her it was unhealthy.
“Why were you even in there?” Lily asked. “The world has plenty of assholes. Like your dad. So maybe stay away from the Deuce?”
“You think I’m an asshole?”
“You puked all over the women’s restroom,” Lily said, giving him a look. “I don’t think that qualifies you as a saint.”
He didn’t want to be an asshole. He didn’t want to be like his dad.
“I guess you’re right.”
“Don’t worry—I have a lot of experience with assholes,” Lily said. “You were only at about a four tonight. I don’t tend to find assholes attractive until they reach a seven or eight, easy.”
Toby shrank a bit. Lily closed her eyes and leaned back, absently fishing for a cigarette again until she remembered the pack was empty. Toby watched her, hoping she wouldn’t suddenly open her eyes and catch him leering. But he couldn’t turn away.
“What.”
“Nothing.”
“I can feel you staring at me.”
“How is that even possible?”
Lily opened her eyes and sighed.
“If you take your clothes off, you can come inside.”
Toby stiffened.
“Calm down, cowboy. You’re covered in puke. There’re some clothes in the spare bedroom, left over from a missionary family my dad hosted. I’ll leave them by the front door. When you get dressed, come inside and I’ll make us something to eat.”
Toby waited an extra five minutes before he got out of the car and stripped off his clothes. Even his underwear smelled like puke, and once everything was off, he was embarrassed to have been in the car with Lily in that state. He grabbed the hose and gave himself an impromptu wash. When he went to the porch, covering himself the entire time, he found the clothes Lily had left for him.
“Oh hell no,” Toby said.
The shirt was ten, twenty years old, and covered in Pokémon characters. The pants weren’t much better: corduroys, worn at the knees with a patch on the ass. But he was naked and—dammit—the clothes pretty much fit him. The shirt was a little tight, the pants showed his ankles. He looked like a fifth grader on his way to a sleepover.
The house smelled like cigarettes and scented candles, a mixture that almost immediately made Toby want to puke again. He called out for Lily, who didn’t answer. Everything inside was meticulously arranged. There were angel statues delicate enough that Toby didn’t want to go too near. On the corner table was a candy dish filled with butterscotch hard candies. An afghan was folded across the headrest of a plastic-clad recliner. But most fascinating were the Jesus pictures. The Jesus books. The Jesus everything.
“Be careful or you’re liable to get saved,” Lily said, making Toby jump.
“It’s an impressive collection,” Toby said.
“My dad’s. This was his house.”
Lily had on new clothes and her hair was wet. It struck Toby that she probably had smelled as badly as he did. He was going to apologize when she said, “Are you hungry?”
Toby followed her into the small kitchen. It wasn’t much bigger than the one they had in the trailer, but once again it was very neat and very nice.
“More Jesus,” Toby noticed, pointing to a particularly somber picture of the Lord right above the sink.
“There’s a whole lot of Jesus here,” Lily said, pulling a carton of eggs from the refrigerator.
“So your dad is religious.”
“A pastor, actually. And he was religious. He died a few months ago. Hence . . .” She waved her hands in the air. “My reappearing act.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
She said it with a casual disregard most people didn’t have when it came to parents. Particularly dead parents. Toby caught it immediately.
“So where were you?”
“Seattle.” Lily looked over her shoulder as she talked. “You been?”
Toby laughed. “Is that near Charlotte?”
Lily smiled and turned back around. “Something like that.”
She didn’t say anything else. The only sound was the eggs being cracked and then, slowly, the hiss of the pan. She kept her back to Toby the entire time she cooked. Once the eggs were finished, she put a plate and a large glass of ice water in front of him. Toby eyed the eggs. The smell already had his stomach churning. When he brought the fork to his lips, he gagged and pushed the plate away.
“Not the reaction I was expecting,” Lily said.
Toby clamped his mouth shut. If he opened it, he would throw up again. But the walls had been breached. The smell of the eggs, the milk. The butter in the pan. This wasn’t going to be pretty. He stood up and ran back to the front door, getting outside just before he puked.
Lily brought the glass of water to him. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking. Eggs were probably a bad idea.”
Toby sipped the water and leaned his head against the wooden railing of the porch. Lily sat next to him.
“So I’m assuming you didn’t do that to your face in the bathroom?”
Toby took a long drink. Lily stared into the dark yard as she spoke.
“I’m sorry. About that.”
Toby finished the water without a word. Then he sat there silently holding the empty glass. When he finally opened his mouth, the truth spilled out.
“You said it best,” he said. “Jimmy is a huge asshole.”
“I know you’re joking, but . . .” Lily bit her lip. “You know this is fucked up, right? Like, he shouldn’t do that.”
Toby looked at her, trying to figure out if she was joking. “Of course I know that. Who wouldn’t know that?”
“I wasn’t trying to—shit, I don’t know. I’m sorry.”
“The problem is, it is normal. At least for a little longer. And then . . .” Toby shot his hand to the sky like a plane taking off, framing it against the moon. “I’m gone.”
There was a time when this conversation would’ve excited him. To tell somebody besides Luke the truth about Jimmy. About leaving this town behind until the memory was as disposable as a piece of gum. Something you spit out the window.
Of course leaving meant making up with Luke. Forgiving him or forcing him to apologize. Either way, he’d have to swallow down everything—no matter how bitter it tasted—so they could get back to the dream that had sustained them for years. Him and Luke in the back of a Greyhound bus—hell, in the El Camino now—following whatever highway would take them out of Hickory, North Carolina, fastest.
He wasn’t ready to do it yet, though.
“Listen, you can sleep on the cou
ch. It’s comfortable and much better than sleeping in your car. Okay?”
Toby shot up too quickly. He probably would’ve fallen over into the grass if Lily hadn’t caught him.
“Whoa there,” she said, close to his ear. When he was steady, she chuckled and said, “You going to make it, or am I going to have to make your bed up out here on the porch?”
Toby nodded and Lily led him inside. She pulled a pillow and blanket out of a corner bench and handed them both to Toby. The couch was softer than the one he slept on in the trailer, which was more springs than cushion at this point. Toby woke up most mornings feeling like a stuck pig. And on the rare nights when he could arrange his body around the springs, he still woke up sore and twisted. When he laid down, something occurred to him.
“Why not just take all the Jesus stuff down?”
Lily sat next to him on the couch and stared at the wall.
“Let’s just say I never planned on staying long enough for it to matter. And besides . . . me and Jesus have been ignoring each other in peace for a long time now.”
“How did your dad feel about that?” Toby asked, his eyes already feeling heavy.
She patted his leg gently and said, “I don’t want to talk about it, okay?”
That was the last thing he remembered before he fell asleep.
January 17
T—
I went outside today, ready to bring it to Eddie. You should have seen me. As soon as I got on the court, I had the ball in my hand and started working. The whole time thinking, Eddie doesn’t even know about this. I was throwing up shots—hitting a few too—and running around like I was on scholarship.
Here’s the thing about being inside: you’re not supposed to let anything affect you, T.
So when Eddie didn’t show up after five minutes, ten . . . fifteen . . . I just kept playing. Working my ass off too. But the whole time I was checking the yard, trying to see if Eddie was hanging by the weight bench or around the fence. Punking me in front of everybody, you know?