Stone Angels

by Michael Hartigan

  “Wow, with that kid buttering her up, we could’ve slaughtered a lamb in front of the class and still gotten an A,” the third student in our group whispered to me. We returned to our seats to watch yet another skit about an airport.

  I knew Duncan was full of shit from that moment on.

  I gambled on him and introduced him to my group of hockey friends. They accepted him without question. He was harmless and good for a few laughs.

  A few months into our friendship I recognized his charisma for what it was: a desperate plea to fit in. We gave him a chance to fulfill that desire. He filled a role in our group. He never really contributed but he always showed up. We were easy, ambivalent to his lack of discernible talent. He didn’t have to prove anything. Most of my friends took him for what he was: a joker. He fit in fine. But that wasn’t what he was going for.

  Instantly we weren’t good enough for Duncan. He wasn’t content with a ragtag group of friends. He wanted to be friends with other people; people he felt were more beneficial to his existence. He wanted the Haves. Several times I noticed his green eyes staring lustfully at a kid’s Rolex during Spanish class. He started wearing a fake Burberry tie he bought online. He had tried to make friends with a few of the Haves. But he was brushed off, for the same reasons his parents mostly ignored him. He disregarded us as mere stepping-stones or a backup plan. We became a means to an end.

  Almost immediately I noticed his resentment of us. I noticed it because I vouched for Duncan. He was my responsibility and I knew him best. He always told me he felt animosity towards his parents for dumping all their affection and attention on their skating prodigy. But I never expected the snide remarks and behind-the-back cut-downs to translate onto people who called him friend.

  The jealousy he had towards his sister manifested itself in outright envious desire for acceptance. Not just acceptance by anyone. He wanted acceptance from everyone—especially the socially elite. He wanted what he did not have. The monster was in its infancy.

  It got to the point that Duncan became very quiet within our group but outgoing with any outside person we came into contact with. If we went bowling he’d miss his turn chatting it up with the people in the next lane. If we were at a pool hall, Duncan would have the girls around the air hockey table hanging on some fairy tale about his game-winning goal. And for the most part, people instantly liked him. Whether or not the bullshit was flowing, Duncan knew how to tell people what they wanted to hear.

  And that was Duncan’s skill. Few people knew it.

  We never really complained or paid him much attention, like everyone else in the school. Besides, when he broke the ice with girls, we only benefited. Duncan wasn’t exactly Brad Pitt but none of us were descendents of Cicero, either. So when the more attractive guys in our group were eased into the conversation, Duncan got phased out. He always ended up with one of the less-attractive girls. That was how we always thanked him.

  Duncan introduced me to my ex-girlfriend, Rose, the one he would later escort to Primal. He struck up a conversation with a group of girls one night outside an ice cream shop. The rest of us were sitting in our buddy’s 1987 Cadillac waiting for Duncan to bring us our food. Instead he brought a group of girls from a private all-girls school loosely affiliated with our own. We talked to them from the car and they ended up following us up to our high school campus.

  The school put in a new set of bleachers around the football field and we had yet to check them out. The four girls and four of us spent a few hours messing around in the dark on the new bleachers.

  I learned that one of the girls, Lindsey, was the same blind date that I had broken off a few weeks before. I chatted with her on the bleachers for a while before one of my friends interrupted, grabbed her hand and pulled her onto the empty football field.

  We played a game of football in the dark. One of my friends found an old ball under the new bleachers. That game ended when one of the girls slipped in some invisible mud.

  Duncan escorted the injured girl back to the car and the rest of us retreated to the bleachers. Lindsey disappeared with my friend who interrupted us earlier. I turned my attention to Rose, the girl Duncan made me cover during our little flirtatious Super Bowl. During the game he told me to tackle her and I did, gently. She asked if I’d take her for a walk up to the gymnasium to use the bathroom. We weren’t even halfway there before we fell into some bushes and pressed our lips awkwardly against each other.

  We were alone when we got back to the car. My other friends had disappeared with girls in similar fashion, behind bleachers and bushes.

  The girls’ vehicle, along with Duncan and the injured girl were gone. Rose and I spent the time waiting and talking and by the time my friends showed up, I thought I was in love. Thankfully my friend’s Cadillac held six people somewhat comfortably and we drove the girls home to various towns on the North Shore of Massachusetts.

  Duncan dated the injured girl until we left for college. He made out with a few other girls on a few other occasions. I was certain I’d marry Rose, the girl from the bushes.

  Because Duncan and I dated friends, we spent time out together as couples. I grew closer to Duncan. He dropped the overacting charade around me sometimes, I thought, even though he put it on for the girls. Rose saw right through him. She never liked him because she knew he was treating her friend poorly. But she sucked it up and laughed at his jokes when we were at T.G.I. Friday’s or Sunny’s Bowladrome.

  When I started getting college acceptances back and my top two choices both deferred then rejected me outright, Duncan was the first person to call with his condolences. When Providence College accepted me, he called with congratulations.

  When he was wait-listed at Providence, I wrote a letter to the Dean expressing how I, an accepted student who accepted his invitation to the school, would deeply appreciate if his best friend could join him at college. I doubt the letter had much impact on their decision to let him in, but nevertheless I never told Duncan I wrote it.

  When he got his acceptance letter he drove to my house and appeared genuinely enthusiastic.

  “My parents said ‘congrats’ and then had to take my sister to the rink,” he said. “But isn’t this great? We can request to live together. I already looked into it. We just have to put each other’s names down on that housing sheet.”

  I remember the queasy feeling that crept up from my stomach. Something inside screamed bad idea.

  My other friends echoed that instinct; turned out they never really liked Duncan all that much. They never wanted to tell me; they didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings. But since they were scattering to all corners of America for higher education and would probably never see him again, they didn’t care what they revealed.

  My parents were reluctant to tell me their opinions about Duncan and our housing situation.

  Duncan called a few nights later to see if I sent in the housing form yet.

  “Duncan, I don’t know man. I told Ben I’d room with him,” I lied.

  Ben Lovelace was a classmate I was friendly with from a few high honors classes. Duncan didn’t know him. Duncan wasn’t in those classes.

  “So what. We could live in a three-man,” he said. I didn’t have a response.

  I stuttered before saying, “Let me call Ben first.”

  “Sure. I’ll just put us down and then you two can do the same.”

  “Do you think it’s a good idea to live together? I mean, lots of people say it’s a bad idea to live with friends.”

  “We’ll be fine. We’ll meet plenty of new people. I’ll make a bunch of new friends and you’ll always have Bennie Love,” he half-joked and hung up.

  “I wouldn’t call him that if I were you. He hates that.”

  “Chill out, Shaw. And tell Bennie Love that too. It’s college, baby. College!”

  He hung up.

  I didn’t even put my phone back on the receiver before calling Ben. I tried to convince him it was a bad idea but, after sk
imming the housing form, we realized that in order to get a bigger freshman dorm room, we had to sign up for a three-man as soon as possible.

  “I don’t care. I say we go for it,” Ben said. “It’s got a ton more room than those two person closets. I’ll just ignore the kid if he’s a tool. Besides, the three-man dorms don’t have security guards at the front door. It’s easier to sneak stuff in.”

  Decision made.

  Ben was a rough personality, somewhat of a loner but a great guy to hang out with. He was bright, quick-witted and loyal to his friends. He was a champion on the high school debate team, loved politics and reveled in a good argument. That summer Ben began taking out his frustrations on a heavy bag and a speed bag. Sparring lessons became his regular after-school exercise. He already scheduled time at the local gym in North Providence, ten minutes from school.

  If Ben could deal with Duncan, I figured I’d be fine. Plus, his abrasiveness might calm Duncan down and intimidate him into being straight with us on a regular basis. Ben would be a nice buffer.

  I just had to endure the remainder of the summer and get to that point.

  The weekend before we moved to college I made plans to get some dinner with Duncan and his girlfriend. Rose was busy and I didn’t mind playing third wheel for a night.

  Duncan said he had some things to do with his family and he’d call us when he was ready. I went to Duncan’s girlfriend’s house to pick her up so we could then go meet Duncan wherever he was.

  “I haven’t heard from him yet,” she said when I walked into her living room. The familiar Instant Message ding chimed repeatedly. She was talking over the Internet to a few people at once. “Let’s give him a couple minutes.”

  “Where was he today?” I asked.

  “He was taking his mother out for her birthday. I think they went shopping or something,” she said without looking up from the screen.

  “I thought that was earlier.”

  The phone rang a few minutes later. Duncan said he was en route to her house; he’d be a few minutes. His girlfriend hung up the phone and, after glancing briefly at the computer, immediately picked it up again.

  She looked at me, ashen.

  “That son of a bitch!” she screeched. “This is the last time!”

  My confused expression was reaction enough.

  “He wasn’t with his mother. Look!” She spun the computer screen to me and pointed at a social media post from one of Duncan’s townie friends, Jen. The girl claimed to be, “out celebrating with Duncan.”

  “I’m calling her right now. I’m sick of this,” she said.

  She waited for an answer but didn’t get one.

  She dialed the number again and simultaneously sent the girl an online message.

  Duncan’s girlfriend ranted to me as she typed a response to Jen. I could hear her ramblings but was too apathetic to really hear her argument.

  “Do you know this girl, Shaw? Do you know if he’s cheating on me with her?”

  “I’ve never met her, sorry.”

  “Don’t lie to me, Shaw.”

  “I’m not. I don’t know any of Duncan’s hometown friends. I didn’t know he had any.”

  “Sure. Well, he lied to me last week about being out with this same girl. He said he was studying but she had up a message about hanging out with him. He told me he just ran over to say hi. Clearly neither one of them is very bright. I know he’s full of shit most of the time but I always hoped it was never directed at me.”

  I started feeling uncomfortable; it wasn’t my fight. But those character revelations certainly gave me pause.

  On the third phone call Jen picked up. She explained that Duncan was with her for most of the day. It was her birthday and they went out to celebrate. She insisted they were just friends, had been since kindergarten. The girl didn’t know why Duncan would say he was with his mother; he had nothing to hide from his girlfriend. There was nothing shady going on; there was no reason to lie.

  “I don’t believe you, bitch,” Duncan’s girlfriend said and slammed down the phone.

  She started crying. I gave her a lame pat on the back and got no reaction.

  I left her sobbing and let myself out the front door.

  I bumped into Duncan on the front porch of his girlfriend’s house.

  “You guys ready?” he said cheerfully.

  “Ready? I don’t think so. I think dinner might be off,” I said and laughed. This didn’t concern me so I found it somewhat entertaining. Duncan’s eyes shifted and his face suddenly went overly solemn.

  “What happened? Is everyone alright?” he said, sounding very concerned.

  “Yeah man, but you might have to explain why you were with that girl Jen today. Your girlfriend’s not too happy about it, just to give you a head’s up.”

  “What do you mean, I wasn’t with Jen today?”

  I laughed. “OK, sure I’ll buy that but I know the crying girl inside will be a little harder to convince.”

  “No, really, I wasn’t with Jen today.”

  “It’s alright Duncan, it’s me. I don’t care who you were with.”

  His thick, dome-shaped hair was tussled slightly. The thick black eyebrows that shaded his rodent eyes dipped inwards. He was getting angry and adamant.

  “I was with my mom all day. We went to the mall and got some lunch and then I took her around to some stores like she wanted. I even bought her some flowers.”

  His act was more rehearsed than a high school play, but not as well executed.

  “Duncan, seriously, she talked to Jen on the phone. You might want to cut the bullshit, for your relationship’s sake.”

  Duncan took a few steps closer to me on the porch. The one moth-covered light bounced shadows over his face. They danced there, making it seem as if he was looking in opposite directions.

  “I was with my mom today,” he said sternly. I stared directly into his eyes.

  “No. You weren’t,” I said, clearly irritated. “And that’s fine but why are you so bent on lying . . .”

  “I said I wasn’t with Jen,” he interrupted. “End of story.”

  The awkwardness hung around us like cobwebs. I waved my hand above my head, hoping to brush it away.

  “Fine, I’ll see you later. I’m guessing dinner is off,” I said, and pushed past him to my car. He must have watched me walk to my car because there was a pause before I heard the door slam shut.

  I remember driving home that night thinking about how many times in the past I had heard Duncan lie. To that point, he never directed the lies at me. At least, I thought he didn’t.

  When we stared into each other’s eyes on the porch, I knew he was lying straight to my face. His lies did not discriminate. And in the same moment, Duncan realized I figured him out. He had no remorse and, despite the overwhelming evidence to the contrary, he clung to fabrication.

  It wasn’t even the content of the lie that bothered me. Frankly, I was glad I didn’t have to spend dinner with him and his girlfriend. But he lied to me. There was no truth in that story, so what truth was there in any story he had ever told me? As far as I was concerned, if he made one false statement, his entire lexicon was suspect. What was his word, if not reliable?

  I discovered an ugly truth. I recognized his affinity for lies then but I did nothing. Ben, Duncan and I already signed and sent our housing papers the day before. We were locked into living together at college. I was trapped.

  Chapter 19

  Three and a half weeks before Ben, Duncan and I moved to college, my closest high school friends and I embarked on a farewell trip. It was the kind of trip that makes and breaks relationships. When acquaintances become fast friends and friends showed their true colors. It was similar to those family vacations when an uncle insults an aunt and one entire side of the family goes home vowing to change their last name.

  I learned a lot about people on that trip, especially the ones I was traveling with. I recognized true loyalty and compared it to opportunistic
loyalty. The trip taught me about rage and its ability to hide within a man, deep inside, blanketed by a cheery disposition, an intellectual façade or overzealous sense of honor.

  My friend Frank’s parents gave him a graduation present: two rooms in Orlando at their time-share resort for a week and a half. We put the group together, minus a few that left early for school due to athletic scholarships and flew to the Sunshine State. Duncan was a last minute addition after one of the other guys backed out. He rounded off our crew at eight, putting four people in each room.

  I took vivid memories away from that trip.

  The first full night there we went to what the concierge called the Wonderland Parade at Disney World’s Magic Kingdom. He told us we’d be able to get on the rollercoasters uninhibited while all the screaming children watched the parade.

  After several falls over Splash Mountain we moved on. But on the stroll to another ride we encountered the parade snaking its way through the people-lined streets. I think it was Duncan who noticed the young women dressed like princesses marching in between the oversized electric-light caterpillar and the butterfly shooting sparks from its wings.

  Eight pairs of feet screeched to a halt when the fantasy women walked past. I focused on Alice, whose large breasts seemed inappropriate for a children’s parade but perfect for the white frock they spilled from. With help from the group, I heckled her, yelling things about magic mushrooms and the walrus in the oyster bed. When I yelled for her to meet us at a bar after the parade, she winked.

  Within minutes, five black-clad security guards—definitely not the day shift that walked the park in purple and yellow costumes—surrounded us.

  Until my time at college, almost getting banned from Disney World, the happiest place on earth, was the most daring and frightening experience in my young life. Frank didn’t help that situation by hitting on Cinderella while she strolled along with Prince Charming. She was digging it. Who could blame her after a long day of smiling at five year olds? The Prince threatened him until Mike, the 6 foot 4 inch college-recruited linebacker, stepped up and told the Prince what he planned on doing with the glass slipper. As she sauntered off, Cinderella yelled out the name of a bar. We took it to be an invitation.