by Dave Connis
He stands silent. Still. As if the act of listening fastens him to the floor.
“As for what really happened at school. I know you know, but I just … can’t talk about it yet. Not because I want to avoid it or pretend like it didn’t happen or because I think it’s not a bad thing, because it is. I see that it is now. I like, feel the wrong of it like it’s breath on my neck or a punch to the gut. I—I’m so broken, Dad. Like. So broken, and now that I know it, I’m afraid of people realizing I’m too broken to be around. That’s why I haven’t told anyone what I did to make the Anti-Adam Order do what they did. And all of this—suddenly having friends, like real friends, Addy, Dez, Mr. Cratcher, Mark, the list goes into space. All of it just hits me over and over, and it’s the most painful and healing thing that’s ever happened to me. I still don’t know what any of it means. I’m still addicted to porn, but I don’t want to be.”
He stares at me. I can’t read his eyes. Are they cold? Are they angry? Indifferent? He puts the pizza down on his desk, and then, for the first time in my life that I can remember, my dad hugs me. I’ve never given a thought to my dad hugging me, and I think if I’d thought about it before now, I would have cringed. But now that he has, I will expect him to do so for the rest of my life.
Being honest is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. It doesn’t come easy like lying or telling half-truths, but it does come with freedom. What was it that Trey said? Not the whole banging a girl with big boobs fiasco, the other thing? Something like: “If we’re just honest together, it creates those hallelujah moments.”
Suddenly, I have an answer to one question. It isn’t a life changing answer, but it’s an answer I didn’t have before.
What do you do when death’s heavy on you?
Go to Nashville, find that album, and then finish a forty-year-old project.
Together.
—
We all sit at Pritchett’s. The fries are silently picked at. Milkshakes slurped with sadness. Even Addy is silent. I nod at Dez and she taps against her milkshake glass.
“Hear ye, hear ye,” she says.
“What?” Elliot snaps.
She ignores him. “Everything sucks. We all hate ourselves. And now that Mr. Cratcher’s about to kick the can, we’re in dire need of something awesome to take our minds off the intense magnitude of suckitude.”
“Very honest introduction,” Addy adds.
Dez raises her hands. “Hey, it’s not false information.”
“Keep going,” I say.
“Where was I?” she asks.
“In dire need of something awesome.”
“Right. Therefore, we’re in dire need of something awesome. A few incredible facts about Mr. Cratcher have come to light via the interwebs that suggest this possible something awesome.”
Dez explains everything she found out about Mr. Cratcher and my picture. She proposes the trip to Nashville and finishing the album and how being together could help us beat our addictions. How it would make Mr. Cratcher happy to see his album finished before he died. When she finishes, Trey and Elliot just look at each other.
“I can be the creepy old chaperone,” Addy says. “I have vacation days I need to use before the year’s up. I mean, if you guys want me to. I’m not really in on the whole addict camaraderie, but I do like you as people.”
Trey looks at her. “I want you to go. Maybe a few days will be good together. You’ll realize how that little one-year age difference between us doesn’t matter.”
Addy laughs. “So apparently Trey’s going.”
Dez smiles. “I didn’t think he’d be hard. Elliot?”
Elliot looks at all of us but points at me. “You’re already into this?”
I nod. “Yeah. Dez and I talked about it a little bit already.”
He sighs. “Shit, I can’t say no if everyone’s going.”
“So, you’ll go?”
He nods. “I mean, if our parents are all chill with it. Yeah.”
“Well then, fellow Knights of Vice members, honorary and actual,” Dez says. “You’re charged with talking to your parents about it tonight. Use any means necessary to get it to work.”
Trey nods. “Cool. You know, now that I think about it, this could be really awesome.”
“It will be,” Dez says.
“Yeah,” I say, feeling like we’re about to embark on one of those adventures everyone dreams about.
I think about my friends. About this moment. About the future. I’m so overwhelmed with a hallelujah in the middle of a storm that I stand on the booth and raise my milkshake. Most of Pritchett’s looks at me, but I ignore them.
“We head east for freedom, fellowship, Mr. Cratcher, and old-man music!”
Dez stands on the booth, glass raised, and then Addy, which of course makes Trey stand, as well.
“I’m not standing on the booth,” Elliot says.
I start chanting, “Stand on the booth. Stand on the booth.”
“I’m not doing it, so stop.”
The rest of us start chanting.
“Guys, if you don’t shut the hell up, I’m leaving.”
Slowly, everyone in Pritchett’s joins in the chant. Addy, Trey, Dez, and I share a laugh but keep going, getting louder and louder.
Finally, he curses a million times but stands. The booth strains under him. He wobbles, trying to get his footing, and he starts to fall over. Pritchett’s goes silent. Trey reaches to catch him and grabs his wrist. Elliot rights himself and flips us all off.
“He stood on the booth!” I yell.
Pritchett’s applauds.
I raise my milkshake. The others do as well.
“For Mr. Cratcher!”
The Knights of Vice respond. “For Mr. Cratcher!”
—
“Dad, it’s not like we’re going to millions of nightclubs. I don’t even know what a nightclub is. You said a while back that if I was honest with you, you’d think about letting me go on this trip.”
My dad sits in his office chair, shaking his head. We’ve been arguing back and forth about the Nashville trip for thirty minutes now. “I am thinking about it, Adam, and of course you know what a nightclub is. You have one in your room.”
“No, I don’t.”
“You have all the benefits of a nightclub in your room.”
I cock my head.
“Porn, Adam. You have porn. Forget it. It was a bad analogy. All I’m saying is, I just don’t think it’s the best idea. You are sixteen—”
“Addy and Trey aren’t. Elliot is seventeen.”
“My point is you’ve only had your license for a few months. What if it snows? Do you know what to do in the snow? What if you get in a wreck? You don’t even know how to change a spare tire.”
“If it snows, Addy or Trey will drive. If we wreck, Dez will get us there with all her money. If we need to change a tire, Dez has roadside assistance with AAA.”
“What if someone gets hurt?”
“No one will get hurt.”
“Someone will probably get hurt.”
“Addy, then.”
“You can’t just answer everything with Addy.”
“Why not?” she asks, walking through the door and dumping her black backpack on the couch. “I’m totally up for being the answer to everything. It’ll be hard for you two to believe, but I don’t get the chance to be it often.”
My dad sighs. “You’re telling me you’re up for being the sole chaperone of a bunch of … whatever they are?”
Addy leans against the wall, pulling the drawstrings on her Coalweather Construction hoodie so that the hood forms a tight circle around her face. “Trey is an adult. So he’s in charge of his own self, but the rest? Yeah, I think they’ll be all right. If we run into trouble, we can just come back. If any kids can be trusted with a road trip, I think it’s these ones. Regardless of their addiction status. Besides, I really wanna see the Blue Bird Café where Amelia Hunt got her start.”
“Wha
t about Christmas?” Dad asks. “Are you going to miss Christmas?”
“Addy,” I answer. “Kidding. No. We’ll be back before Christmas.”
My dad opens his mouth like he’s going to ask another question, but after a few seconds of silence, I point at him.
“Aha! See? You’re out of parental concerns. I’ve won.”
“You’ve done nothing of the sort. I’ll think about it, Adam.”
“Dad! You literally have no more questions.”
He turns around and starts scrolling through his agent inbox. “I’ll think about it. That’s all I’ll give you for now. Now go do stuff that isn’t porn.”
LORD OF THE FLIES REENACTMENT
I place a mic stand in front of Dez and lift the microphone up to her lips. “Okay, so I think this is how he did it.”
“God,” she says. “This album is historical, monumental, riddled with lore and scandal. It’s got to be poetic and good and perfect, yet it’s going to sound like someone let a bunch of toddlers loose in a music studio.”
I sit in front of Mr. Cratcher’s computer and prep the DAW for recording. “It won’t be that bad. I had enough time with him to figure out some things. His masterpiece will sound like someone let a bunch of teenagers loose in a studio, at the very least.”
“That might be worse, because everything we do is on purpose. I mean, don’t get me wrong, working on this album will be like the coolest thing I ever do, but still. I feel like someone just handed me the Mona Lisa and a paintbrush and told me to restore it.”
“Meh, it’ll be fine.”
“You do realize you’ve got to sing with me, right?”
“This album is doomed. How many songs did you record with Mr. Cratcher?”
“Just that one. What was it called?”
“Um.” I click around, trying to find how he labeled it. “D&C.”
“That doesn’t help. That could mean anything.”
“Dungeon and cataracts?” I ask. “Death and cancer?”
“Just, shhh.” She covers her eyes with her right hand. “Dust and Cradle. It’s ‘Dust and Cradle.’ There’s a line in it that goes, ‘From hurt to love, from abandon to enough, from dust and cradle we live.’”
“Well, at least we know one song title out of eleven.”
“Did you talk to Trey?” she asks. “He said he plays electric guitar. Didn’t Mr. Cratcher want every instrument ever on this album? How was he going to make it relevant but also keep its soul? Was he going to allow synths or are they too synthy? Can we take some modern musical liberties with it? Or should we keep it away from reverb? Glitch effects? Accordion? What’s the line?”
“Wow. Did you drink coffee recently?”
“No. I’m just a concerned freelance musician trying to do another man’s life work justice. No big deal.”
“The music will work itself out. It’ll sound like it sounds.”
“You sound like every band interview ever. What happens when we finish it?”
“Maybe we can find some of his old contacts in Nashville and be musicians for a living.”
“Finally, a life plan. My parents will be thrilled.”
I clear my throat and play an older version of the song we’re about to record. I’m not going to lie—I’m incredibly nervous. I’ve never considered myself a singer or a musician. I’ve only ever considered myself a connoisseur of NPR and fine breakfast cereals.
“How about we change that verse,” she says. “I don’t think saying ‘I’ve been a delinquent, I am a ruler’ is the way modern Mr. Cratcher would’ve written that.”
I watch her as she writes down some substitute lyrics on the window with a dry erase marker. Her face catches the morning sun, and the sight makes me want to tell her everything about me. To be known. To banish the darkness of Deception Pass on my own time, not anyone else’s.
I want to tell her everything.
I think about talking to my dad. Telling him why I haven’t opened up to anyone about school, and then I shake my head, trying to snap myself out my Dez-induced daze.
She lifts an eyebrow. “Involuntary shiver?”
“Huh?”
“When you suddenly get the shakes, but not because you’re cold. It’s like your body decided it was allergic to itself.”
I smile at her statement, and the way her gray military jacket hangs off her shoulders. I walk over to her and put my hands around her waist. I pull her back into my chest, but she turns around. I’m so overwhelmed with her light that I need to kiss her. I lean toward her lips, but she puts a finger on mine.
“Future Boyfriend, we can’t be that yet.”
My happiness dies. “But what if what we want to be and what we can be aren’t the same thing? What if what we want to be isn’t possible?”
She kisses my forehead. “That’s something I’d ask, not you. You need to believe it for the both of us.”
“That’s not fair. What about the times when I can’t?”
“You don’t have those. Not like I do.”
That’s not true at all, because I’m currently having one. What if we’re in a perpetual state of not yet? What if we’re never good enough?
No.
There has to be a better way, and I need to fight for it. I need to fight for Dez. Maybe fighting for her starts with telling her everything. Maybe one of the ways we aren’t “that” yet is because she doesn’t know all of me. She’ll have the chance to leave me, yeah, but maybe the only way to ensure our future of being “that” is by giving her the chance to choose all of me. The dark and the light.
But what if she leaves?
I just got her.
She’s the only girl who’s ever wanted to date me.
She’ll leave.
You’re too broken.
You’re dirt. Unforgivable.
You aren’t worth fighting for.
You’re worth a stick of Juicy Fruit. Why would she stick around?
All of this rushes through my head over and over. Echoing on itself, gnawing its way into my nerves, and I know that the spark I have to ignite my honesty needs to catch the fire quick, otherwise it’ll die before the words get out.
“Future Boyfriend,” she says, taking my hands off her waist. “Justin Timberlake and Beyoncé didn’t get giant Twitter followings by standing around like idiots in a music studio. We need to record. I have to get to school—”
I take a deep breath. “I asked girls at my school for sex. I offered money to a few.”
She looks at me with soft eyes, prompting me to tell the story. Telling me whatever I say next she’ll understand.
“I had this list on the back of my door of all the girls at my school I thought were hot. A list of girl’s names I was working through.”
I still feel like dirt. I still feel responsible for pouring my unnatural disaster self all over someone else. A bunch of someone elses.
I look at Dez. Waiting for her to tell me we’re done. Waiting for her to see me as unlovable, just like my mom did when she didn’t even say good-bye. Just like the way Addy’s leaving told me my mom was worth more than I was. Her eyes bore into mine, but she says nothing.
“I didn’t care about people, Dez. The Woman leaving, Addy, my family. I’d decided that people weren’t worth the manual labor of caring I think because I believed that about everyone else, I believed that about myself. I love porn because there’s no labor involved outside of moving my hand. Those girls don’t hurt me. Anyway, in the span of a week, I’d asked a bunch of girls to have sex with me who were in the same group of friends, who now call themselves The Anti-Adam Order. I offered one twenty bucks to do me in the hallway. She pretended to say yes and started making out with me right in the hall. Then before we went anywhere, she started screaming. Teachers came running. They used that, the fact that I’d offered her money, and the other girls’ testimonies about my asking for sex to win the suspension.”
I pause. Too afraid to look at her. Too afraid to let our souls touch.
“At the time, I didn’t think I deserved that retribution from those girls. Now, the hardest part about remembering is that I was so sure I hadn’t done anything wrong. So sure I was the victim because I hadn’t forced myself on the other girls; I’d only asked, only offered money. I thought I was in the clear, but I’m so not. I’m the opposite. I’m a smoky tendril of evil. The Anti-Adam Order is legit. They formed because of how much I sucked at being a human.”
I laugh and wipe a tear forming in my eye.
“Now I’m part of my own anti-order. I hate myself for all of it. For what I still do.”
I’ve feared this moment since we talked on her bed after Mark’s funeral. Is this enough for her to decide I’m too messed up? Can a girl only have so much grace for a guy? Especially one who was trying to pay girls to do him? The Woman didn’t have any grace for my dad, and he didn’t cheat on her once. I’m pretty much handing Dez a platter full of steaming bucket’a’bull and asking, “Am I still awesome?”
My eyes feel wet. I wipe at them haphazardly and aggressive as though I can catch the tears before she sees them, even though I’ve been crying through the whole story.
She grabs my hand. “Look at me.”
I bring my gaze up. “It’s just my eyes sweating. Not crying.”
She laughs and then pushes herself onto her tiptoes and kisses my forehead again. I feel like a Pokémon. Like, before that kiss, I was Adam, but now I’ve evolved into Adameo: body of fire with nine million HP.
“You have nothing to worry about, Future Boyfriend,” she says. “I like my men like I like myself: human. I don’t know what the Anti-Adam Order is, but I’m not in it, and if we were all honest, we’d all have our own anti-orders. What you did was wrong, yeah, and you’ll have to deal with it, but that doesn’t make you horrible for infinity. We’re all just dirt with legs. All of us. We may think we aren’t, but we are. Okay?”
I wipe my eyes again. “Yeah. Yeah. Okay.”
“Thanks for telling me.”
“No one else knows. I haven’t even told Addy yet.”
She nods. “You should.”
“I’ve just been so scared. I think … so I’ve been having these dreams about the last vacation my family went on before The Woman left.”