Exit Here.

by Jason Myers

  She’s fucking ragging.

  Of all the nights.

  Kissing her lips again, I roll off of her, onto my back, eyes pointing to the ceiling, and I say, We could use the bathtub. It would be cleaner. At least you wouldn’t bleed all over my room.

  Laura shoots straight up. “No, Travis. That is not an option. It’s been six months since we had sex, and I am not going to start back up with you like that.”

  But I’ve got a mega boner, Laura.

  She leans over and kisses me and goes, “Deal with it. Jack off.”

  You could help me out, I suggest after sitting up.

  “I could, but I won’t. I want everything we do for the first time again to be special . . . all right, Travis?”

  Yeah. That’s fine.

  Laura stands up and looks at her cell phone. “I have to go. Will you call me a cab?”

  Just stay the night.

  “I can’t. I have to go home and let my dog out. My parents are out of town tonight.”

  I groan, Are you ever going to move out of their house, Laura?

  “Someday,” she answers.

  When?

  “When I’ve finished breaking my father’s fucking heart,” she says.

  Ya know, you could just tell your mom about his affair, Laura.

  “No I can’t,” she says. “I can’t tell my mom anything. And besides, even if I did, it wouldn’t make one bit of difference. My mom is a weak person. She wouldn’t even think about getting a divorce so the only thing it would lead to is a bunch of fighting and tension all the time.”

  Maybe you should tell your father that you know about it.

  “No, Travis,” Laura snaps. “Telling either of them anything is stupid. You don’t confront people about things that are out of your control. You bury it inside and you move the fuck on. That’s how you deal with shit. It makes you stronger. That’s why I’m not weak like my mother.”

  Laura.

  “What?”

  We’re all fucking weak.

  And she goes, “Just call me a cab. Please.”

  16.

  KYLE SAYS, “HERE, DUDE, PUT this in,” and hands me the new Dead Meadow CD, so I slide the disc into the CD player of his revamped Camry and kick up the volume.

  The two of us are headed to the cop shop on Paradise Street to pick up Michael, who spent the night in one of their holding cells after he was arrested outside of the Lost Soul bar.

  Apparently Jordan Knight, one of the guys who used to be in that group New Kids on the Block, was doing a solo show at the Lost Soul, and Michael and Dave bought tickets so they could heckle him while he was performing, but things got a little out of control.

  Think bottles getting smashed onstage.

  A backup singer receiving an atomic wedgie.

  Think a poster of Jordan’s brother, Jonathan, going up in flames.

  Coming to a stop at a red light, Kyle turns to me and says, “I’m moving in with Emily next week. I can’t live with Chris anymore. Not after he punched April in the face. Fuck that, man.”

  So that’s what happened to her.

  “You saw her too?” Kyle says.

  The other night, when Laura and I were out.

  Kyle shakes his head. “I don’t respect that motherfucker. I can’t live with anyone who would do that to a girl.”

  Have you told him you’re moving?

  “I haven’t seen him to tell him yet. I only know about it ’cause I saw April when we were celebrating Emily’s new gig.”

  Why’d he hit her?

  “He heard that she banged some kid from State and she didn’t deny it.”

  Oh. Damn.

  Kyle squints, craning his neck away from me, and I look out the fingerprint covered window, and my eyes land on the car stopped next to us.

  Crammed inside of it are five younger-looking, fifteen-, sixteen-year-old boys, and one girl who looks exactly like my sister’s friend Amy, but I just can’t tell if it’s her or not. Whoever it is, though, she looks at me looking at her, then sticks what appears to be a crank pipe against her lips and takes a hit, and then I slide my eyes over to the driver, who’s wearing a cowboy hat and an Avenged Sevenfold T-shirt, and this kid makes a growling face at me, then flips me off.

  The light turns green and I think I hear Kyle mutter something, but when I ask him what he said, he bunches his nose and goes, “Not a fucking thing,” and then guns his ride around two slower cars and takes the avenue’s exit all the way to the police station.

  Michael’s standing outside the front entrance smoking a ciggie when we pull into the parking lot. Jumping right in, he goes, “Kyle, you got anything on you?”

  Kyle starts laughing as he pulls onto the street, and Michael says, “I’m fuckin’ serious, man. I need drugs like bad.”

  I look at Michael and ask him where Dave is.

  “Dave didn’t get arrested. He scrammed when the pigs showed up. He’s smart like that.”

  “What’d they charge you with?” Kyle asks, jumping back onto the freeway to cut to the other side of the city.

  “Public intoxication and lewd conduct. Nothing serious. Just some fines. I would’ve been out last night but I couldn’t get ahold of my parents to post the thousand-dollar bail they stuck me with.”

  Where are they?

  “I don’t know. Either LA or Boston,” Michael snorts, jamming another smoke between his lips.

  Did you at least come close to punching Jordan Knight?

  “Nope.”

  Sucks.

  “The whole thing does, dude. That totally wasn’t worth it. I could’ve done way more awesomer things than that last night. I mean, that dude got paid and I got arrested. It wasn’t nearly as fun as I thought it was gonna be when I was blowing rails and talking about it a coupla nights ago.”

  At least you’re honest, man.

  “Shut the fuck up,” Michael says back. “Yo, Kyle, I need a half.”

  “Just wait till I drop you off,” Kyle sneers.

  Michael pulls his wallet from his jeans and opens it. There’s only one dollar in it and he looks at me. “Hey, Kyle,” he says. “Do you think you could spot it to me.”

  “No,” Kyle answers, whipping a sharp left toward the downtown parking lot where Michael says his car’s at.

  “What about you, Trav?”

  What about me?

  “Spot me twenty for the half, man. I’ll get you back.”

  Are you serious?

  “I need it for practice. I’m driving straight to the studio.”

  I look at Kyle, then back at Michael, and say, Fine, whatever, and hand him a twenty out of my wallet, and Michael goes, “That’s why you’re cooler than everyone else I know.”

  Sure, I nod. Cooler.

  • • •

  Later on I call Laura to tell her that if she’s still into it and not that mad at me, I got the cabin for the third and fourth.

  “That’s wonderful,” she says. Then: “I’m sorry I got bitchy with you the other night. Are you mad?”

  No.

  “Okay,” she sighs. “I can’t wait to go to the cabin. It’ll be like old times. Remember how much fun we had the last time we were there?”

  • • •

  The last time we were there: First night, Laura puking on me right as I’m undressing her so we can have sex. Getting so stoned the next afternoon that I passed out. Waking up and watching Laura talk to this tall, blond, muscular guy from a cabin window, and how much it looked like she wanted to fuck him. Going to dinner, getting really loaded on Singapore slings, and laughing later that night when Laura told me to “Put it up my butt.” An ugly sunrise. Two beautiful grams of blow. Chris and Michael crashing the place with a case of Two-Buck Chuck. The cops showing up. A minor possession-of-alcohol ticket. And Laura telling me to straighten up, after lighting a cigarette and finishing a bottle of champagne, because she either missed her period altogether or is “really, really late.”

  Yeah, I say. I remember.


  17.

  THE CALL COMES JUST BEFORE six A.M., and the only reason I answer the phone is because I’m still awake watching Pirates of the Caribbean in the living room.

  On the other end of the line is Chris, who sounds all jacked up, and the first thing that smashes through my head while he’s asking, “Dude, have you seen Kyle? Have you seen him at all?” is, Lay off the blow.

  But instead of saying that, I say, No, I haven’t seen him in a couple of days.

  “You sure? Are you sure you haven’t seen him anywhere?”

  Yeah, why? Is this about him moving out?

  “Moving out? No. He didn’t move out, but the fuckin’ cops—”

  What, Chris?

  “The cops were just here looking for him.”

  What? I ask again.

  “The fuckin’ cops just came to the house looking for him, dude.”

  What for?

  “They wouldn’t tell me shit, but I overheard one of them talking about a car accident . . . a hit and run.”

  Are you serious or is this a prank? Are you high right now, Chris? Huh?

  “Yes, but this isn’t a prank, you dick. This is for real.”

  There’s another long pause.

  Then Chris says, “Dude, what should we do?”

  What can we do, Chris? I mean if the cops are looking for him and can’t find him then he’s probably hiding, man.

  I hear him make this moaning sound, and then he says, “I’m gonna have to call you back.”

  Click.

  I walk upstairs to my bedroom and open up a window and try to breathe but it doesn’t help.

  Then I remember that I have some pot stashed in my sock drawer and roll a joint.

  It’s still raining outside.

  18.

  IN OUR TOP STORY THIS noon hour, police now say they have in custody the driver of the motor vehicle that crashed into a house at the corner of Eighteenth and Walnut Streets early this morning, leaving two children, ages eight and six, dead, as well as the lone passenger of the car, a twenty-one-year-old female whose name has not been released.

  Police say they apprehended the driver, Kyle Joshua Rhodes, just over an hour ago after they received an anonymous call informing officers of a bloodied individual trying to climb a tree on a residential property in the Richmond District.

  While police aren’t confirming anything at this point, alcohol and some illegal substances are believed to have been involved.

  Again . . . to repeat our top story this noon hour, Kyle Rhodes, age nineteen, has been taken into police custody at this hour and is believed to have been the driver of the automobile that crashed into the side of a house at approximately four thirty this morning, leaving two young children dead, and also the passenger of the vehicle, a young female who has yet to be identified.

  As soon as more details come in, you can be sure that we here at Channel 7, the city’s leading news source, will pass as much information along as we can.

  19.

  LAURA CALLS ME AND SAYS that she’s not feeling well and please, pretty please, will I come over to her house and be with her tonight, and I tell her I will and in a whisper, she says, “Okay,” and hangs up.

  I stop at this Chinese restaurant on my way to Laura’s and pick up some soup for her and some kung pao chicken for me, and when I’m walking back to my car, my cell starts ringing.

  It’s Claire. She’s crying hysterically and tells me that Emily was the girl in the car with Kyle and that they’ve just charged Kyle with vehicular homicide, DUI, fleeing the scene, reckless endangerment, failing to maintain, and a few drug possession things.

  “That fucking asshole!” she screams. “He killed my best friend!”

  Calm down, Claire.

  “No!” she yells. “I hate him!”

  Claire, don’t say that.

  “Fuck you, Travis. You couldn’t give a shit less. Screw you.”

  Click.

  I try calling her back but she doesn’t pick up, and when I try again, her phone doesn’t even ring. It goes straight to her voice mail, and I drive to Laura’s.

  Lying on a couch when I walk in, a mimosa by her side, Laura tells me that she’s the only one home, then scoots over so I can sit next to her.

  I brought you some soup.

  Laura sits up. She kisses me and squeezes her arms tightly around me. “How are you handling things?” she asks.

  As best as I can, Laura.

  “I saw Kyle’s mug shot on the news,” Laura sighs. “It didn’t even look like him—not the Kyle I remember.”

  Pulling her arms from my neck, I say, I don’t think I can talk about this right now. I’m sorry.

  “That’s okay,” she says. “Here. Look what I found in my room the other day.” She reaches to the floor and opens this black leather journal, pulling out a piece of paper.

  What is that?

  “This,” she smiles, holding it in front of my face. “This is the first thing you ever wrote for me.”

  Let me see it.

  I snag it from her hands and read it. It goes:

  Even in this crowded room, we are the only ones truly here,

  The only ones who matter,

  All the way across this packed hall, this dirty floor,

  Through all of these people,

  Your lips are the only thing that matter to me,

  Pink,

  Smiling,

  Wet,

  When you turned at me, then turned quickly the other way,

  I saw your truth and I wanted you to stay,

  And for the first time ever, I found comfort

  Blushing, I’m like, Oh, wow, that’s not very good, and Laura goes, “Don’t be embarrassed. It’s beautiful. You were fifteen. Everything’s lame when you’re fifteen, baby. I think it’s great.”

  You really do?

  “I love it,” she says, taking the paper from me and sticking it back into the journal. “I also think we should still go to the cabin.”

  I don’t know about that, Laura. I don’t know if it’s a good idea, considering what just happened.

  “That’s why we should go, baby.” She kisses my lips. “It’ll be good to get away from all this for a night or two. None of us can really do anything at this point, ya know.”

  I guess you’re right.

  Laura slides up against me. The soft skin of her face rubs against mine, and she goes, “Come on, what do you say?”

  I’m into it.

  “Awesome, baby.”

  emily.

  THERE’S A MODEST MOUSE SONG that used to always get stuck in my head. It went:

  It’s hard to remember we’re alive for the first time. . . . It’s hard to remember we’re alive for the last time. . . . It’s hard to remember to live before you die. . . . It’s hard to remember that our lives are such a short time. . . . It’s hard to remember when it takes such a long time. . . . It’s hard to remember. . . .

  Kyle told me he was okay to drive. He went, “You’re more wasted than me. Plus I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble.”

  The decisions that we make.

  I mean, I was really wasted too. It was so surreal. We’re on the road and a split second later—BAM—we jump a median—BAM—we jump a curb.

  And then there was this house.

  And these sounds.

  Splintered glass.

  Broken bones.

  Severed veins.

  And that’s all I know.

  The decisions that we make.

  20.

  THE NEXT MORNING I WAKE up around six. Laura’s still asleep, and I don’t feel like waking her, so I write her this note that says:

  I went home to pack and shower.

  Call me when you get up.

  I love you.

  Travis

  But then I decide I cannot say that last part. Not yet. So I crumple the note and leave her a different one.

  I stop by the accident scene.

  Kyle’s Camry has be
en removed and there is police tape all around the sight. Almost an entire side of the house has been completely annihilated and I can see into the bedroom where the vehicle went in.

  There are all these stuffed animals lying around. A bunk bed is completely smashed up, wedged into what remains of a wall on the far side of the room, and it looks less than half the size of a single mattress now. There’s a strip of border still left with bears and rainbows on it, and bouquets of flowers have already been placed everywhere.

  I feel totally sick staring at this, but I can’t turn my eyes away.

  I shut my headlights off and I lean back. Close my eyes. Try to put myself there.

  I wonder if anyone even screamed. I wonder what flashed through the minds of the two children before they were nailed. The news at ten said that they died instantly, as did the girl—Emily—who flew through the windshield and ended up underneath the car, skull crushed, neck and spine shattered.

  Kyle, they said, was saved, if you can really call it that, by the airbag, and only had minor injuries, and was able and coherent as he fled the scene in what police think was less than a minute after the crash.

  I wonder how big the eyes of the children got when they turned their heads the split second before they were killed.

  Their names were Brandon and Adam, and apparently they liked to play with their toy cars and two dogs.

  Also, someone who was at the scene said the smell of the burning flesh from the fire that had broken out, leaving the boys’ bodies charred, was making officers on the scene sick.

  I take a one-hitter from my stash, flip the headlights back on, and a few moments later, while I’m still trying to get away from it all, Tool comes on the radio:

  I will work to elevate you just enough to bring you down. . . .

  21.

  LAURA AND I GET TO my parents’ cabin, which sits right on the edge of the state’s biggest lake, at like four that afternoon. Halfway through the four-hour drive it began to rain, and since that very moment Laura’s been all super-bummed about it and also because I wouldn’t let her put in the Shins CD while I was playing Ugly Casanova.