by Bryan Bliss
Long after she left, I felt her hands on mine.
When I was brushing my teeth.
When they finally let me outside.
When the night came and I buried my face in my pillow and let years and years of pain come out, making the whole pillow wet. But man, I couldn’t sleep. Nobody can, I think, when there’s an execution scheduled. I spent all night lying on my bed, eyes wide open like some kind of zombie, trying to wipe my mind of everything.
Eventually I woke up and I wrote this letter.
I was lying there with my eyes open, hearing every damn cough, every step the guards took in that long shiny hallway, and I remembered something Sister said to me once.
“We are not living in a world that stands still.”
At the time I was like, “Shit, Sister. Even I passed sixth grade science.”
You remember when you told me the world was constantly spinning and I just couldn’t wrap my head around it? And you were like, “It’s moving so fast we can’t feel it.” And of course, that didn’t make sense to me either. Man, you spent all afternoon trying to explain that mess to me. And at the end you said, “It’s constant! It’s always happening! That’s why we don’t feel it!”
I took your word for it back then, T. But last night, as I was lying there, some missing piece floated into my head, and it all connected.
Man, you and I lived for so long in a spinning world. So long that we started to think that shit was normal. Every day, spin. Spin, spin, spin. We got used to it. Everything about our life was moving so fast we never get a chance to see any of it.
We are not living in a world that stands still, T.
So the next morning, I hammered on my bars—yelling for somebody to bring the Sister to me as soon as she got on the block. A few hours later, she came right to me. I heard the cowboy boots as soon as she came in the door.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
I didn’t have time for that, though.
“What do you mean when you say the world isn’t standing still?”
She looked confused at first, so I told her about staying up all night, how me and you never stood still once in our life. As I was talking, her face started relaxing. She smiled.
“Well, I think it means that none of us are ever finished.”
I stopped myself from saying anything right away, because that sounded like some bullshit to me.
“Luke, you have to understand that we are not defined solely by our choices. Even by our actions, to some extent. None of us are.”
Sister knew what she was doing, of course. Ever since I met her, I’ve told her that I wasn’t going to apologize for what I did. I wasn’t going to betray the only truth I’d ever known in my life. And she must’ve already seen my head getting pointed in that direction, because she reached through the bars and touched my arm.
“Every single person in the world—me, you, Eddie—is in the process of creating themselves. Every single person, every single day. But to do that, you have to be able to let yourself accept the fact that what you did or didn’t do is not all of who you are.”
She took her hands away and waited for me to say something, but what am I going to say to that, right? I stared at my lap for a long time. I swear I could feel the earth moving. My entire body felt like it was floating. God, I wanted to crack a joke. Get this planet spinning the right way once again.
But I couldn’t say anything. I could barely look at her, because for the first time in I don’t know how long, I wanted to believe that I could actually be a different person tomorrow. Not a lot. But little by little, I won’t be this person I’ve become. And I know it’s hard for you to understand what that means to me, especially now, but T . . . all I want is to wake up in the morning and not feel like the entire world is falling on top of me.
I don’t know if it’s possible, but I want to think it is, you know?
Luke
27
LUKE kept expecting spinning lights, unsure if the police would start searching for him immediately. If they’d show up at the apartment, or maybe pass his name to the news. Images of the boys at home, watching television too late, popped into his mind. All of a sudden his picture came up on the screen, followed by . . . what?
He pushed harder, trying to outrun his own imagination.
Around him, the North Carolina night looked just as quiet and peaceful as it always did. The scenery changed from bars, tire shops, and vague manufacturing buildings into smartly manicured lawns and houses. When he saw Coach O’s house, Luke’s panic spiked.
The first time he’d come here, the entire family had been invited over for dinner. Doreen was still working at the Waffle House and couldn’t find a person to pick up her shift, so Luke brought the boys, nothing but toddlers back then. He could still remember the way Coach’s wife, Mrs. O, had looked at the three of them standing on her porch. Like she wanted them there. Until that moment, he’d never understood the pity in other people’s eyes. The way they always viewed him and Doreen and the boys as in need. Since that first night, she and Coach had never turned him away.
The house was already dark and quiet. Even the simplest decisions seemed wrought with impossibly high stakes. Should he knock or ring the bell? Or maybe he could just sit on the porch, surprising whoever came out to pick up the paper that next morning. But then his brain started telling stories again, ones where the police drove their cars onto Coach’s lawn, sirens blaring.
He knocked quickly.
A few seconds later, he knocked again.
This time, lights popped on in the back of the house. One in the hallway. A second in the front room. Finally the porch light came on, making Luke squint.
Coach opened the door in shorts, a T-shirt, and Luke almost broke into tears right there on the steps. He sniffed until there was nothing left. Until he could look Coach in the eye.
“Damn, son. Are you okay?” Coach asked.
Luke opened his mouth to answer, but the tears came charging back. This time he couldn’t catch them fast enough. He wiped his eyes, ashamed. Coach put his hand on Luke’s shoulder.
“It ripped my heart out to see you come that close,” he said. “But we’ll get his ass at state. Don’t you worry about that.”
Luke had barely thought about Herrera. And state felt galaxies away. He wiped his eyes, his nose. And then he pulled the hood down from his sweatshirt so Coach could see the cut on his head.
“I got into a fight.”
Coach stepped close to check the damage, his eyes slowly betraying the confidence he normally showed, no matter the situation. Luke had lived in some sort of crisis for most of his life, but when was the last time he had let it burrow deep into soft places? When was the last time it had hurt him?
“At the Deuce, and they called the police,” Luke blurted out. He didn’t want to say the next part. “I punched Toby.”
Luke avoided Coach’s eyes. He’d never be able to shake the dead sound of his fist on Toby’s face. Or how Toby flew back, as if he’d been thrown across the room. Coach put his hand onto Luke’s shoulder, and it felt like a boulder.
“Let’s go inside and get you cleaned up.”
“Am I in trouble?” Luke asked.
Coach hesitated. “The first thing we need to do is get your hands—and your head—taken care of. Then we’ll figure everything out. Okay?”
Coach looked tired, more tired than Luke had ever seen him before. When he was at school, Coach always seemed plugged in and ready to go. But the man in front of Luke looked small and, maybe, scared.
Luke followed him inside, sitting on the toilet as Coach brought out a small first-aid kit. He held Q-tips in his mouth as he worked small pieces of glass out of Luke’s forehead. When he was finished, he stepped back and crossed his arms over his chest.
“You never were going to win any beauty contests, so this should do.”
Luke nodded. All he could muster was a simple, “Probably so.”
Coach sat on the side of
the bathtub, nearly eye to eye with Luke.
“Can you tell me what happened?” he asked.
Luke’s chest went tight. He tried to bring out the practiced breathing he used to make himself calm down during matches—in and out through his nose—until he could speak.
“I don’t want to go to jail,” Luke said, feeling like a kid again.
Coach nodded, held out his hands. “Nobody’s going to jail. Okay? But I need to understand what happened.”
Luke didn’t know where to start. Was it just the last week? Or was it when he and Toby first met? When you had to survive every minute, you were always seconds away from making a decision that could ruin everything. And even Coach was blind to how that could build up
“We’ve just been arguing,” he said.
“About?”
“He met a woman at the Deuce.”
Coach relaxed a bit, rubbing his eyes.
“Shit, Luke. You know better than this. You’ve got so much riding on this year. You can’t go around getting into fights—at a bar—just because your friend is with a girl you don’t like.”
Luke’s mind went but, but, but . . .
“I think we need to drive down to the police station and talk to somebody,” Coach said. “Figure this thing out.”
“No,” Luke said, starting to stand up. Coach stopped him.
“Luke . . .” Coach looked to the ceiling. Behind him, the tiles were light blue with tiny seashells set in the middle. Luke focused on them, trying to steel himself for what he knew Coach was going to say next. “There are moments in your life when you have to make decisions. And they seem like regular decisions, but they’re bigger than that. Bigger than just right and wrong. They’re the type of decisions that determine what kind of man you are. Do you run away from your problems? Or do you stand up and take responsibility?”
Coach waited, but Luke couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. He couldn’t feel his head, his hands—anything.
“I know what kind of man you are,” Coach said. “And even though you might be scared, we should go down to the police station and talk to them. Make this right.”
Coach stood up, almost as if he was inviting Luke to choose: run or not. Choose what kind of person he would be in that moment, for the rest of his life. Instinct said run. Everything he wanted to believe about himself told him to stay.
Luke wanted to be a good man.
But as soon as Coach reached down to clean up the first-aid kit, he bolted out of the bathroom—past Coach’s wife, sitting on the couch with a mug of something—and out the door. He barely heard them calling his name.
28
JIMMY was alone in the far booth, and Toby marched right to him. Before he said a word, Jimmy reached out and turned Toby’s face side to side, inspecting the damage.
“You really did take that punch like a goddamn champ,” he said, holding up two fingers to Val. “I mean it. Especially from a monster like Luke.”
Toby didn’t say anything as Val brought the beers and put one in front of Jimmy and the other in front of him. He didn’t want to think about Luke. The savageness in his eyes when he threw the punch. The feeling of Luke’s knuckles against his skin. They’d fought before, playground arguments that faded as soon as they got up off the ground. But this had been different. Luke had given him everything he had, and his jaw still throbbed.
“I’m in,” Toby said, wanting to skip all the pretense. The proud father bullshit. “The cigarettes at the travel museum, right?”
A flash of annoyance crossed Jimmy’s face.
“I guess I’m not surprised you know. Although Lily should learn to keep her fucking mouth shut.”
Jimmy yelled the last few words as Lily walked back into the bar and sat down. She stared at her phone without even a glance toward them. When Bo came up and sat next to her, she moved a barstool away and said something that made him laugh.
“But okay, yeah. Bo’s out. That eye’s so fucked up, he isn’t driving anywhere. And then Darryl said something that got me thinking.” Jimmy grabbed Toby by the shoulders and shook him enthusiastically. “Why risk having a damn felon drive the truck? It’s brilliant, really. Because even if you get pulled over, they ain’t sending you to jail. Hell, you’d only get juvie—and maybe not even that!”
The idea that Toby would “only get juvie” didn’t seem as positive as his dad was making it out to be. He pulled his attention away from Lily and Bo.
“Wait a second,” Toby said. “What do you want me to do?”
Jimmy gave him the proudest look Toby had ever seen from his old man. He rubbed his chin, like he was pondering an ancient proverb. After that, Jimmy finished his beer, taking his time with every swallow.
“Shit, son, you’re driving the truck!”
Toby looked at the dirty Deuce floor, trying not to feel the weight of Jimmy’s stare. His words. Toby wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but driving a truck wasn’t it.
“What kind of truck?” Toby asked.
“Nothing more than a moving van,” Jimmy said. “You know the old hosiery mill on Main? Ridgeview?”
Toby nodded.
“You drive the truck there. Fifteen minutes down the interstate, and you’re home free. Lily will go ahead and make sure everything at the mill is clear. You guys unload the cigarettes and . . .” Jimmy wiped his hands. “Well, that’s the good news. . . .”
Toby glanced back at Lily and Bo. They were flat-out arguing now. When Lily stomped away, Bo opened the beer he’d been holding against his eye and took a drink.
Jimmy snapped in Toby’s face. “Hey, there are fifty other guys in this place that would shit themselves to do this job. You got it?”
“Yeah, yeah. Ridgeview. Money. I got it.”
“Not just money,” Jimmy said. “More money than you’ve ever seen. The kind of money that could make a woman change her mind about anything.”
When Toby looked at Lily this time, she was staring right at him. She shook her head with barely a movement, enough that Toby did a double take to make sure he’d actually seen it. She mouthed one word: “No.” All Toby could see was another person trying to bend him into a shape he didn’t want.
Toby turned back to Jimmy and said, “When do we do this?”
Jimmy gave him one last look, like he was trying to catch Toby in a lie, before he set his beer down and fished the truck keys out of his pocket. He slid them across the table to Toby.
“You better be up for this,” Jimmy said. “This ain’t no minor-league shit.”
Toby grabbed the keys without hesitation, and Jimmy smiled.
“All right, let’s go get Lily’s ass settled down.”
Toby followed Jimmy over to the bar. Lily didn’t turn around, refusing to acknowledge their presence. Jimmy said her name and she pulled out her phone, staring at it pointedly. Jimmy reached over and took it out of her hands.
“I’m not doing it,” she said.
“Yes, you are,” Jimmy said. “You’ll drive him up to Statesville and then meet him back here in Newton. Just like it was Bo. Just like we planned.”
Lily shook her head again, and Toby could see the muscles in Jimmy’s face tense. Lily spun around, talking to Toby as much as she was Jimmy.
“You’re really going to send your son to drive that truck? Really?”
“Hell, this is the best thing I’ve ever done for him!” Jimmy said, elbowing Toby in the ribs. “And he’s nearly a grown-ass man. He can make his own decisions.”
Lily slid off the bar stool and stood in front of Toby. She was so close; he could touch her without moving his arm.
“Don’t do this for me. Please.”
Jimmy glared at the back of Lily’s head. Toby imagined him going for her, the way he’d gone after Toby countless times before. He wasn’t sure if it was panic or pride that brought the words to his mouth.
“I’m not,” Toby said.
Jimmy put a hand on Lily’s shoulder and whispered in her ear. “When it’s all ov
er, you’ll thank me. This money is your ticket out of here.”
Lily said something under her breath as she pushed past Toby, walking out the door and not stopping until she was in the passenger seat of the El Camino. When Toby got to the car, he expected her to yell—something. She didn’t say a word.
Toby’s hands were shaking so bad he could barely hold the steering wheel as he drove toward the interstate. The silence between them was aggressive. Lily watched the passing cars on the interstate. Toby gunned the engine, faster and faster down the interstate until he whipped around a subtle curve and Lily grabbed the armrest with a quick, barely audible yelp.
The faster he could get out of the El Camino, the better. He’d drive the truck, get his money, and figure out what would happen next.
The same dusty parking lot greeted them at the travel museum. As Toby pulled around to the back, everything seemed less sharp. As if somebody had rubbed away all the detail. Even the moon looked duller as he put the car in park. Toby stared at the spot where, just three nights ago, Lily had been lying on top of him. Tickling his ear with kisses and whispers, both of which felt like lies now.
“You aren’t proving anything by doing this,” Lily finally said.
Toby wouldn’t look at her.
“So you’re going to ignore me?”
“I’m not ignoring you,” he said. “All I want to do is get in the truck and drive it back.”
Lily sat back in her seat, putting her feet on the dashboard. Back to the silence. After a few minutes she let out a monumental sigh.
“I thought you were different,” Lily said. “But you’re just like every other guy in this town.”
Toby hit the steering wheel, vibrating the entire car. Lily jumped like the change in his cupholder, giving him a nasty look. Toby unloaded on her.
“You thought I was different? Me?” He was trying to breathe, trying to get the words out before he started hyperventilating. “Pardon me if I don’t acknowledge your moral fucking high ground.”