Exit Here.

by Jason Myers

  A few times I hung with these dudes from New York who I’d met in the lobby of the hotel I was staying at, and we took some sightseeing tours around the island and drank some beers in their room one night, listening to some great music, and they were totally cool, and one of them showed me all these photos in his cell phone of him and Steven Adler after an Adler’s Appetite show, and they even hooked me up with a number to score some coke from.

  I spent one afternoon shopping for things that my sister or my mom or my dad might like, but I couldn’t really decide on anything for them. I did find some things for Laura, and ended up buying her this amazing seashell necklace, this grass hula skirt, this framed painting of a young boy and girl holding hands on the beach during sunset, and a postcard of the ocean, which I used for this note:

  Laura, it was so great to be with you again even if it was only for a few days. I miss you and can’t wait for you to come visit me in Arizona. It will be amazing to be able to make love to you again. Hope you’re doing well and I’ll talk to you as soon as I get back to Arizona.

  Love, Travis

  I packed this, along with everything else, into a box, and even wrote her address on it, then set it next to my suitcase in the hotel room with plans to send it to her the morning of my flight to Arizona, which is something that never happened.

  Not even fucking close.

  Travis Wayne

  15.

  MY MOTHER CALLS ME FROM her cell the next afternoon, right after I’ve just done some laps. She asks if I want to meet her and my sister for lunch in an hour. Apparently the two of them have been out shopping since this morning, hitting boutique after boutique after boutique.

  Where do you want to meet?

  “Bailey’s.”

  In an hour?

  “Yes.”

  Pause.

  Mom.

  “What is it, Travis?”

  Pause.

  My grip on the phone tightens.

  “Travis?”

  It’s nothing.

  • • •

  Arriving at the upscale bar and grill fifteen minutes late, I already feel like I should’ve declined my mother’s offer.

  This place has always bothered me.

  It was decorated to look like some vintage, common man’s dive with its purposely beat-up wood paneling and its dirty neon glow, but in reality, it’s hardly that.

  Not with twenty-dollar burger plates, fifty-dollar steak dishes, and eight-dollar draws of Bud.

  Seated at the bar, sipping drinks, are my mother and sister.

  “Well look who decides to show up,” I hear my sister groan as I’m approaching them.

  My mother, who’s smoking a clove cigarette, turns her head in my direction, then pulls down her Gucci shades. “There he is.”

  I take a seat next to her.

  Sorry I’m late.

  “It’s okay,” she says between sips of her white wine. “Would you like something to drink?”

  “Oh, get one of these,” my sister blurts out, holding up a half-full glass of bright blue liquid.

  What is that?

  I pull out my cigarettes.

  “Liquid cocaine,” she smiles.

  “It’s surprisingly good,” my mother nods, ashing out the rest of her cigarette.

  I know. I’ve had one before, only it was in a shot glass.

  “So?” my mother asks.

  I light a cigarette.

  I’ll just have water when we order.

  A few minutes later we get seated.

  Looking through the menu, nothing really jumps out at me. Not the thirty-dollar seafood meals or the forty-dollar pasta plates.

  I end up settling on the twenty-dollar quesadilla platter, and I set the menu down and take a sip of water.

  Are you guys done for the day? I ask.

  “Not quite,” my mother tells me.

  “Yeah, we still have to go down to Kennedy Street, and for sure to the new Diesel store they just opened on top of Blaine Tower,” says my sister, who’s wearing a pair of white jeans and a black lace top.

  “Don’t forget about the doctor’s, too,” my mother smiles after finishing another glass of wine.

  What are you going to the doctor’s for?

  “Your sister needs a refill on her birth control, and I need a few different refills myself.”

  Huh.

  My sister jabs her tongue at me, then tells my mother and me that she’s going to use the bathroom and that we should order the chicken salad with Caesar dressing for her.

  My mother removes the sunglasses from the top of her head. “How have you been, Travis?” she asks.

  All right. Why?

  “No reason,” she yawns. “I just haven’t seen you around much. What have you been doing?”

  Hanging out . . . the usual stuff.

  She seems to force the grin on her face before lighting another clove. “Well, you’re looking a little better. You have some color now. You were actually walking with your back straight when you came in.”

  Was I?

  “Yes.” My mother coughs. “But your father is still very frustrated with you, Travis. He wants to know what your plans are.”

  My plans for what?

  “For next year. He really thinks you should give USC a try and I’m starting to think that maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea.”

  No. I do not want to go there.

  My mother sighs. “What’s going on with you?” she asks. “Did something happen to you in Arizona?”

  Inhale. Exhale.

  No.

  “Then how did you go from a 3.0 to flunking completely out?”

  Pause.

  She leans forward and whispers, “Did you get addicted to meth? Your father heard it’s the big thing these days.”

  I almost laugh, but don’t. Instead I take a drink of water, and tell her that I’m trying to figure things out.

  I’m trying to do what’s right.

  My mother leans back. “That sounds good, Travis. It really does. But actions speak a lot louder than words, especially to someone like your father. And you need to understand how unhappy he is with you.”

  Pause.

  “I mean, I can only keep making excuses for you for so long” she tells me.

  Fine.

  “You know, your father really—”

  But she gets interrupted by our waiter, Mark, who asks if we’re ready to order.

  We are.

  And by the time we’re finished, and he’s brought my mother another glass of wine, my sister has rejoined us and looks completely out of it.

  “Your chicken salad is on the way,” my mother tells her.

  “My what?” my sister asks back.

  Your food. We ordered it for you, I say, lighting another cigarette.

  “What did I get?” she asks, lighting her own cigarette.

  My mother tilts her head to the side and leans closer to my sister. “Chicken salad with Caesar dressing,” she says. “What’s wrong with you?”

  Pause.

  “What’s that white stuff on the top of your lip?”

  My sister freezes for a moment, then quickly regains her composure. “Oh, it’s this herbal stuff that Katie’s been using as an energy supplement.” She wipes the residue, which I’m sure is OxyContin, off and says, “When you break it down, sometimes it gets a little chalky.”

  I take another drag.

  My mother scoots back. Takes a sip of wine. “Huh. I’ve been looking for a new energy supplement.”

  My sister and I are staring at each other.

  “Maybe I’ll ask the doctor about it today” she finishes.

  And hardly another word is spoken the rest of the time we’re there.

  • • •

  After I leave the restaurant, I drive downtown to Defiant Records and pick up this new Lightning Bolt CD and this DMBQ DVD of their last United States tour, and when I’m leaving the store, I run into Kyle and Emily on the sidewalk. They’re holding
hands and look all super fucking happy, standing in front of me, completely smiley faced.

  “What are you doing tonight?” Kyle asks me.

  I don’t know, man.

  “You should come out with us,” Emily says. “We’re celebrating. I just got this killer design job at the Johannson fashion studio.”

  Awesome. Congratulations.

  “Thanks,” she smiles. “It’s gonna be so fucking rad. I’ve been working to get a break like this for the last three years. This is like the best fucking day. It’s finally happening!” she shrieks.

  Her and Kyle kiss.

  Where are you guys going?

  “We’re starting at Bottoms Up around five for happy hour,” Kyle says. “Claire’s gonna be there.”

  Maybe I will.

  “You really should,” Emily says. “It’ll be amazing.”

  But when I get back to the house, Laura calls me and tells me that the Victorian Theater is showing Buffalo ’66 at ten. “And I was thinking that if you still wanted to . . . well, this could be like our date, Travis.”

  Pause.

  “I mean, if you were serious about what you said the other day at breakfast.”

  Pause.

  “Were you?” she asks. “’Cause if you weren’t, I’m gonna feel like a fucking asshole.”

  My heart pounds hard against my chest. I’m blushing.

  “So were you?” she asks again.

  I totally was, Laura.

  “Awesome. Why don’t you pick me up at the Waterfront around nine when my shift is over,” she says.

  • • •

  I pull up to the Waterfront restaurant a little bit after nine wearing a light blue V-neck T, a pair of Levi’s, and a pair of ankle high black boots.

  Laura is standing out front, smoking a cigarette, talking to this dude who looks like he’s trying to look like one of those guys from the band AFI.

  Think long black hair purposely styled to look messy. Big, black earplugs. A rushed sleeve of ink on his right arm. A black Cinderella T-shirt. Tight black denims. And a hint of black eye shadow underneath both his eyes.

  When Laura sees my car pulling up, she dumps her smoke on the ground, then hugs the guy before jumping into my car.

  “Hey” she smiles, kissing my cheek.

  Hey.

  “I’m so excited,” she says. “I’ve always wanted to see this movie in a theater. Remember how we used to watch it all the time, like almost every night we spent together.”

  Yeah.

  “Plus”—she smirks—“I made a ton in tips tonight, so it’s my treat.”

  I turn down the Year Future CD that I put in on my way over and ask her who that guy was.

  “Who?”

  The guy you just hugged.

  “Oh . . . Jared. He’s a bartender at the restaurant.”

  Pause.

  “Why?”

  No reason.

  Laura leans over and kisses my cheek again and again and again. “This already feels nice,” she says. “Just like I thought it would.”

  • • •

  After the movie is over, Laura and I stop and get some ice cream, and when we’re walking out, we run into April and Chris.

  April has some dark bruising underneath her left eye and I ask her what happened.

  Chris puts an arm around her.

  “I . . . I ran into a wall when I was drunk,” she stutters.

  I look at Chris and Chris looks at me, and then I look at Laura, who looks at April, and goes, “Funny how that happens.”

  “I saw Cliff earlier today,” Chris says. “He was talking about you, Laura.”

  Laura covers her mouth and tenses up. And Chris goes, “We have to get going,” then pulls April past Laura and me without saying bye.

  That was weird, I say.

  “Chris is such a prick,” Laura snaps.

  How so?

  “Come on, Travis,” she says as we cross an almost empty parking lot, battered orange from the glow of the street lamps. “She didn’t run into a wall.”

  So what are you saying?

  “I’m saying that Chris is a prick.”

  Pause.

  “You can figure out the rest.”

  I don’t say anything.

  I just unlock my car and take her to my parents’ house.

  In the kitchen, while I’m making the two of us margaritas, I ask Laura what the whole deal with her and Bryan is.

  “We’re done,” she tells me.

  Really? Are you two really done, Laura?

  “Yes,” she presses. “He fucking hates me now.”

  Oh, that’s too bad.

  “Don’t start shit, Travis.”

  I slide her drink across the counter.

  “He was good to me,” she says. “We had a lot of fun. For my birthday, he got us tickets to three straight nights of Björk shows at some really small club in Chicago. He even got us backstage. He took awesome care of me,” she finishes.

  I can respect that, I guess. But if he was so good, why are you with me now?

  Laura sighs. “Because, Travis. In the end . . .” She stops and takes a drink. “In the end he’s not you, baby.”

  I smile and take a drink, and I say, So I was thinking that maybe we could drive up to the lake and stay at my parents’ cabin for the fourth.

  “You would really want to do that?” Laura asks.

  Yeah. I think it would be good to get out of the city, just the two of us.

  “I would love to,” she says.

  I’ll run it by my mom. I’m sure it won’t be a problem.

  My sister walks in from the garage. She’s completely wasted. Stumbling. “Laura!” she screams, sliding her way down the hall, against a chair. She jumps onto Laura’s lap, almost knocking the two of them off of the stool Laura’s sitting on.

  Cut it out, I tell her.

  “Fuck you,” my sister hisses, then gropes Laura’s neck. “You look awesome, Laura.”

  “Thanks,” Laura says back.

  Get off her lap, I say.

  “It’s all right, Travis,” Laura smiles.

  “Ha!” My sister snorts. “Don’t be so uptight all the time, dude.” Flopping toward the edge of the counter, bracing herself against it with her left arm, my sister goes, “You always think you’re the boss of everyone.” Waving a finger at me, she says, “But you’re not the boss of me.”

  Laura starts laughing.

  And my sister goes, “That was a close call today at lunch, huh, bro?”

  What did Mom say at the doctor’s?

  “Nothing, duh,” my sister blabs. “Did you see how many glasses of fucking wine she drank? She didn’t remember a thing. She was hammered and flirting with all the guys in the shops downtown.”

  Don’t say that.

  “She waaaaassssss,” my sister slurs. “Man, you don’t even know. While you were gone, pissing your life away, all’s Mom did was watch Sex and the City DVDs.”

  I slam the rest of my drink and my sister tilts back against Laura’s body. “Laura,” she says. “You shouldn’t waste your time with my brother. He’s not worth it. You’re way too good for him. He used to treat you like shit.”

  Just shut up already.

  “Hey, dude, I’m just helping another girl out,” my sister giggles. She scoots right up to Laura’s face. Says, “He’s probably screwed like ten other girls since you two started talking again.”

  This time I lunge across the countertop and snag my sister’s arm, and when she tries to yank herself loose, she slips off Laura’s lap, thumping hard against the floor.

  “Travis, what are you doing?” Laura barks.

  I walk around the edge of the counter.

  She’s fine, Laura.

  My sister props herself up with her arms. “You’re an asshole!” she yells before her hands slide out from underneath her.

  Laura jumps off the stool. “Help me,” she says.

  The two of us get my sister to her feet.

  W
here were you? I ask her.

  “With Katie. We got loaded on some booze and pills Cliff gave us—”

  But my sister doesn’t finish. Instead her mouth blows wide open, her head drops, and she starts spewing this yellow and brown shit onto the floor, and Laura and I almost drop her while we try to avoid getting splashed.

  We need to get her upstairs, Laura. I don’t want my parents to come down and see her like this.

  So Laura and I each hook one of my sister’s arms over our shoulders and carry her to her room and lay her down on her chest so she can’t choke on her vomit. Then we leave my sister’s room and go back down to the kitchen, and while I’m mopping up the large puddle of puke, Laura goes, “Did your sister mean Cliff as in Cliff Miles?”

  I’m sure she did.

  Laura holds her face in her hands. “Doesn’t that bother you?”

  What?

  “That Cliff got your sister wasted like that.”

  No, not really. He wouldn’t do anything bad to her. He wouldn’t fuck with me like that.

  Laura takes a deep breath. “How do you know?” she asks. “Have you been hanging out with him a lot?”

  Not a lot.

  “I don’t think you should be talking to him at all.”

  Why not?

  “Because you’re way better than him, Travis. Clifford Miles is a fucking asshole and he’s only gonna drag you down with him.”

  Don’t talk shit, Laura.

  “I’m being serious,” she says.

  So now you’re gonna tell me who I should and shouldn’t hang out with. Is that it?

  Laura sighs and grabs my hands. “I’m not telling you, Travis. All I’m saying is that I think you’d be better off not hanging around him.”

  I yank my hands away.

  But he’s my best friend, Laura. I can’t just quit talking to him. I did that to everyone when I left after Christmas and I ended up losing my fucking head. I won’t do it again.

  A long pause.

  “I understand,” she pouts.

  Do you?

  “Yeah,” she whispers. “I do.”

  • • •

  After I’ve washed up from cleaning, Laura and I go up to my room to hang out and it doesn’t take us long to start fucking around. She pulls me on top of her and we make out like two junior high kids under the bleachers—heavy breathing, tongues in each other’s ears, bottom lips being bitten—it feels super nice. I have a huge boner. But when I start pushing my hand down the front of Laura’s jeans, she stops me and tells me that she’s on her period.