Marvelous

by Travis Thrasher

  I tell Marvel I want to go see Phoenix, but of course she says she wants to see the Cure, that eighties band that Harry loves and I still don’t fully get. I’m just wanting more fun moments with Marvel, and I can’t see having any during a set list of songs I don’t recognize.

  “Come on, it’ll be great,” she says.

  And as the sun sets and the band comes on, it really is great. The crowd isn’t so packed, and there are a lot of older people singing every song as if they just memorized the lyrics. We move and dance a little and try to sing along.

  An hour into the act, they’re playing an upbeat song when something happens. Something that makes me think someone slipped something in my Coke earlier. It’s nighttime, and the only lights are from the thousands of bulbs penetrating the darkness and shining on the band. Suddenly everything gets bright.

  Like really, really bright.

  The world around us seems to stop. Not because everybody stops dancing, but because they all just . . .

  They all disappear.

  Everybody. Every single person.

  The bright light is all around, and we’re still standing in this field. The music is still playing and the singer is still singing about heaven. I blink and do this thing again with my eyes.

  Because this is becoming a little routine, right Brandon?

  I blink and open my eyes and see bright light. Then close and open them again and see bright lights.

  The sun is brilliant and the sky is blue and Marvel is standing next to me. She reaches out and holds my hand, and then she sways my arm back and forth as if she has no idea this is happening. And it’s probably not. I’ve already seen enough people drinking and smelled enough pot to know there are a lot of people getting high and lit up right this very second. Maybe somehow it’s happening to me, too.

  But it’s not and you know it.

  I look out and see the dark blue of Lake Michigan. Then I see Marvel’s dark brown eyes and her smile. I smile back and let her know I’m okay. This is a bit crazy but it’s okay. She’s holding my hand, and I still have no idea if she really likes me. But I know she likes me enough to be here with me and be my friend and tell me her deepest, darkest secrets.

  The song ends and the applause mounts and then suddenly the lights go out again. It’s dark and I’m back in the crowd just like earlier.

  They keep playing, and I don’t say a word. I’m too freaked out to say anything. Freaked out in a good and a bad way.

  We’re walking across the field back to the streets and the train when I say to Marvel, barely loud enough for her to hear it, “Did you see that?”

  “Did I see what?”

  “During the song. The heaven song. Everything just got—everything turned bright.”

  Marvel stops. “What?”

  I stop too. For a second I’m in disbelief. I can’t believe she actually knows what I’m talking about.

  “Did you see it too?”

  “Brandon, don’t—please don’t . . .”

  “Don’t what?”

  “Don’t tease.”

  “How can I—what am I teasing about? The whole thing—it suddenly became daylight. Everybody was gone. Everybody but you. But the music was still playing and I could hear the singer and—”

  Marvel almost tackles me with a hug, squealing a bit like some young girl seeing her favorite boy band live in person.

  “Brandon!” she shouts.

  “What?”

  She sighs and releases me. Then she looks up to the night sky.

  “Thank you, God. Thank you.”

  I wait for an answer to why she’s thanking God and why she’s so happy, but none comes. I assume it has something to do with the vision/dream/light show I saw, but she doesn’t say. She just takes my hand and holds it as we walk back to the train.

  Whatever has just happened, I’m not going to mess around with it. At this rate I might even get a good-night kiss.

  It’s after midnight when I get back home. No lights are on inside, and no one is waiting up for me. I slip up the stairs and into my room. I’m not even going to bother brushing my teeth. I’m just going to hit the bed and pass out.

  I’ve been in darkness for about five minutes when the door opens and the light goes on. Mom stands at the doorway, looking tired and angry.

  “You disobeyed us,” she says.

  I don’t say anything.

  “You’re lucky your father is asleep.”

  I want to tell her, You’re lucky he’s not in prison. But then again, Mom is not lucky. She’s made the mistake of being with him.

  “We’ll talk about this in the morning, but you’re grounded from doing anything except working for the rest of the summer.”

  She turns off the light and shuts the door. It’s a good thing, too, since there’s a big, fat smile on my face.

  “Man, you’re in trouble,” Alex says to me as I’m getting some cereal.

  Mom and Dad are both gone, which is strange since Dad is usually somewhere around.

  “Dad flipped out. Mom had to calm him down. Said he was going to have a heart attack.”

  It’s nice that my brother is so concerned about me being in trouble.

  “Was it fun?” he asks.

  “Yeah.”

  “Hope it’s worth it, since you’ll be grounded the rest of your life.”

  Being in the house makes me nervous, especially since I don’t know where Dad is. I get out of there as soon as I can.

  I’ve been at the record store for an hour when Seth walks in. I nod at him, not sure if he’s coming in to check out some music or because I work here. I’m dragging today and don’t have the energy to try to be nice to someone who’s never been nice to me.

  He walks up to me. “Hey, man. I got something for you.” He hands me a flat paper bag and says, “Go ahead, open it up.”

  I pull out a comic book in a sealed plastic holder. It’s an X-Men comic that looks to be in good condition.

  “It’s from 1980, and it’s in excellent shape. That’s issue number 137, the one where Phoenix dies.”

  I nod, but I have no idea who Phoenix is.

  “Do you know X-Men at all?”

  “I’ve seen the movies,” I say.

  “That’s okay. It’s a valuable issue. I actually have a couple of them. I wanted to give it to you to thank you. For everything. I haven’t really—I didn’t want to admit I needed help, but thanks.”

  “Yeah, man, sure. It was no problem. You didn’t have to give me anything. But thanks.”

  “Sure.”

  Harry comes in and sees Seth. “How are you doing today?”

  Seth gives him a passive, almost blank look. “Fine.”

  “This a friend of yours?” Harry asks me.

  I nod. “Yeah. This is Seth.”

  Harry shakes his hand. Seth honestly doesn’t quite know what to say or do. He seems shocked that I called him my friend. After Harry wanders off, I ask Seth if he’s had any more encounters.

  “No. I’m lying low.”

  “Good to hear.”

  He studies the place but doesn’t seem too interested in it. For a moment I think about suggesting that we do something together, but I can’t. It just doesn’t seem like it would work. Devon and the rest of the guys would never go for it. Seth probably wouldn’t either.

  I slip the comic back into the paper bag. “Thanks a lot for this.”

  For a moment Seth seems to be waiting for something else. As if I need to give him something. But I’m not sure what to give him.

  “Do you, uh—want to look around?”

  Seth shakes his head and looks at me for another moment. “See you around.”

  “Yeah,” I tell him. “See you around.”

  There’s more I probably should say, but I don’t really know what. I watch him walk up the stairs in his odd way, then see him head outside.

  I’m avoiding going home. I think I seriously might just start living with Devon for the remainder of my tee
nage years. Frankie and Barton are over, and we’ve been playing video games. I think so far four thousand people have been shot or beheaded or blown up since we’ve been hanging out tonight.

  “So was Lollapalooza worth it?” Frankie asks.

  “Yes.”

  “How bad did you get in trouble?” Barton asks.

  “I’m still waiting to find out.”

  Barton just laughs and mocks me for a while.

  “So are you guys a thing now?” he eventually asks.

  “No. We’re just friends.”

  Devon is machine-gunning down a whole squad of zombies. “The thing I don’t get with girls is the whole friends thing. They know that we’re guys and they know when we’re into them, and yet they always just want to be ‘friends.’”

  “They’re waiting for the next great thing,” Barton says.

  “Marvel is different,” I say.

  “Yeah, right,” Barton shouts. “They’re all the same. Just wait till she gets to school. Just wait until the football team starts asking her out.”

  “You haven’t even seen her,” I say.

  “Yeah, I have. I’ve gone into the record store.”

  “When I wasn’t there?”

  “Yeah. I know what you look like.”

  We all laugh.

  “I’m telling you, this girl is different.”

  “What if she starts dating Greg Packard?”

  I shake my head and deliberately kill a bunch of zombies. “Nope. Not going to happen.”

  “Girls love football players,” Barton says.

  I could try to tell them otherwise, but I’d just make things worse for myself. I know these guys too well.

  “I can’t believe school is almost here,” Barton says.

  “I can’t believe football season is almost here,” I say, getting an evil look from Frankie.

  Devon is the only one still alive at the end of the game. “I can’t believe these games are so easy.”

  I don’t want to get off this couch. I want to take these three guys back home with me. But I know I can’t. I know I have to step out of the world of zombies and back into the world of reality, where hits cause pain and blood tastes very, very real.

  Dad is waiting in the driveway with the car running. I curse and stop on the sidewalk, wondering whether to run back inside. But I know if I run away tonight he’ll just be there tomorrow. All I can do is keep walking and hope I get a tongue-lashing and nothing more.

  The window of the Chevy Malibu is rolled down, and Dad is slumped back. For a second I wonder if he’s asleep. Then I see him take a drag from his cigarette.

  He’s smoking. Not a good sign.

  “Get in,” he says.

  My body tightens and I wonder if this is the moment. When I tell him no more. When I look into that ugly face that somehow kinda resembles me and tell him where he can go and what he can do with himself.

  “Get in.”

  And that’s what I do. I don’t stand up to him. I move around the car and get inside. I smell the strange mixture of smells on Dad’s breath, all bad. I think if hell is real it’s going to smell like that awful breath. It’s the smell of anger and hate and regret and punishment. I bet it’s worse than the smell of death.

  He backs the car up and tries to put it into drive, but he’s having a hard time. He’s completely plastered. I need to get out of the car right now.

  “You’re gonna learn that when I say somethin’ it means somethin’, you got that?”

  He’s slurring like crazy and jerking the gear shaft. I’m tempted to help, but I know he’d just try to break my hand.

  When he finally manages to get the car moving, we slowly make it down our street, then turn. His eyelids droop as if he might be going to sleep any minute. I notice he’s got a bottle propped between his legs. I study it for a moment and suddenly feel more sick than I’ve ever felt in my entire life.

  That’s not a bottle, that’s the butt of a gun.

  He drives down another street, then takes a turn. This is the way we get to the quarry.

  The quarry that’s abandoned and in the middle of nowhere and has a steep hill near it. If I don’t get shot we might end up toppling the car over.

  Dad speeds up and then looks at me and laughs. It seems like he just got a shot of adrenaline or hysteria. Or maybe the demon inside of him woke up.

  “You look scared, son,” he says. “Scared. Scared.”

  He keeps repeating the word and gets louder and louder. He’s facing me and he looks like the devil and I seriously think about taking the wheel and jerking it to make us crash. But the lights of a vehicle coming out of nowhere behind us do that for me.

  There’s a loud crash, and the car suddenly veers left toward a tree, and everything turns black.

  “Not yet.”

  My eyes open to see Marvel sitting next to me on the side of a creek. The grass is thick and the sky above us an unending sheet of blue. She puts her hand in mine.

  “It’s not your time, I know that.”

  I look at Marvel and see those dark brown eyes. These two worlds of hope staring at me. I try to answer her but can’t.

  “You’re going to be okay. It’s all going to be okay. He’s in jail for drunk driving. It’s amazing you two aren’t in worse shape.”

  I hear her words clearly, but they don’t quite match this scene. I look around and see a pack of dogs running together.

  Okay, what? Seriously? A pack of dogs?

  “I know you can hear me, Brandon. I know somewhere in there you can hear me. So I need to tell you this. I’m not leaving you. Not now and not anytime soon. Do you hear me?”

  I want to tell her yes and put my arms around her and hold her and not let her go, but I can’t. All I can do is hear her and see her in this strange, beautiful place.

  “I’ve been looking for someone real all my life. I’ve been running and I’ve been hurting. And finally, after letting go of all of it, I’m given this gift. A friend I never thought I’d have. I’m given a mirror of sorts, and that mirror is you, Brandon. This guy who smiles and jokes and makes me feel at ease, but carries all this hurt and sorrow around with him. It’s hidden away like a field of flowers in a dark cave. It’s just waiting to see the sunlight again.”

  I glance at Marvel and see the flower in her hair.

  A flower in her hair? I’m making all this up as the words are being uttered, right?

  “You are not alone in that sorrow, Brandon. You are not alone. I’m going to be there for you. And I hope and I pray that one day you’ll find your way out of the cave. I pray that you’ll finally see God’s light waiting for you. I always knew it was there, then it swallowed me whole and saved me.”

  A bluebird passes by me as I start to leave this magical place.

  “There’s a safe place you can find down here. I know that. ’Cause I found it, Brandon. And it’s an amazing place to be.”

  The creek and the field behind us and the pack of dogs and the bluebird all fade away. I open my eyes and see Marvel at the edge of my hospital bed. Everything is different except the eyes looking at me.

  They are still the same. Still beautiful and still so full of hope.

  “Hi,” I tell her.

  “I’ve been here for a while,” she says.

  “I know. I know now.”

  A day after my father took us joyriding while he had a .32 blood alcohol rate, I leave the hospital. Mom walks me out, and I get in the minivan with her. I have lots of cuts on my face, not to mention a swollen black eye to match the other one my father gave me. Maybe I should be feeling shame or hurt or bewilderment, but honestly, I’m just tired.

  “Are you okay?” Mom asks.

  “I think I’m going to hurl.”

  “Really? We can go back in—are you sure? Just hold on—”

  “Mom, I’m kidding.”

  I blacked out when I slammed into the windshield. They monitored my concussion, but I’m lucky. Dad, I think, escaped with barel
y a scratch. Of course, he escaped straight to jail, where he still happens to be.

  “You sure—”

  “Mom, I’m fine.”

  I’ve seen Mom break down about four times today already, so maybe I shouldn’t be mean to her, but I’m trying to act normal. She grilled me about what happened and why Dad drove off and what in the world he was doing with a gun. I downplayed everything. I just said he wanted to take a drive.

  The car that hit us is nowhere to be found. That’s a weird thing, something that has everybody from Mom to the cops freaked out. I don’t know. I would’ve believed Marvel was driving it, but she only showed up later.

  Turns out Devon heard the crash from his house and was the first one at the scene, and he was the one who called Marvel. The conversation I had with her was early this morning as I was coming out of a weird coma thing.

  “You need rest,” Mom tells me, speaking above the noise of the whining minivan.

  The funny thing is I feel better than I have for a long time. Because I know this: Dad is in jail. He’s not home waiting for me to arrive. He’s not going to punch me in the ribs or bash a bottle over my head. He’s not going to do a thing. So I don’t need rest. I think I need to party. Of course, I don’t tell Mom this.

  Nobody is exactly sure what happened with the other car. But the reality is—and this is what I told the police—somebody came out of nowhere and hit us. Was it Dad’s fault (probably) or someone else’s? Doesn’t matter, because Dad got the blame. And I was able to walk away.

  I don’t know what’s going to happen next. To Dad and to Mom and to our family and to me. My head hurts too much to even think about it. All I want to do is see Marvel again.

  Later that day, as I’m watching TV in the basement and feeling like I just got run over by a car (hey, wait a minute, I did), Devon texts me.

  You’re not going to believe this.

  At this point I’m thinking I’ll believe anything.

  What? I text.

  A girl in St. Charles was just found dead. She was sixteen years old.

  What happened?

  For a moment I wait as the screen shows Devon furiously typing back.