Solitary: A Novel

by Travis Thrasher

  I remember reading that the tagline for jaws 2 was one of the most popular ever. I can see why.

  The phrase pops up in my head as I'm washing my hands and see the figures approaching in the mirror.

  It's Gus and his boys.

  I tried to talk with Jocelyn after second period, but she gave me the complete stranger treatment. She didn't know I had a letter for her, a letter I'm seriously contemplating throwing away.

  The splotchy skin of Gus stands out under the cold, white light.

  "You ever been hurt, Chris?" he asks me. "Like hurt really bad?"

  Oli stands behind him, guarding the narrow passageway to the door. Oli is short for Oliver, I have learned. Newt told me.

  Not that that's going to help anything at this moment.

  I see Burt and Riley flanking Gus. They're average guys who get all excited when Gus pushes their buttons. Otherwise they're pretty harmless.

  Gus, however, isn't.

  I've been expecting this for a while.

  "What are you going to do now, man? Where are you going to run now?"

  My notebook and a couple of textbooks sit on the edge of the sink. I think about using the doorstop of a English book on Gus's face but know that I won't get far.

  There's no window in this bathroom, not that I would have time to open and climb out of one.

  The door opens, and Oli slams it shut.

  "You're not looking so brave now, are you?" Gus says.

  The bathroom isn't that big. There's a narrow entrance, which Oli is blocking, then an open area with five sinks in it, then a half wall that leads back to the urinals and a set of four stalls.

  Burt moves toward the back area.

  I dash over to him, scaring him and slamming a shoulder against his puny side as I scram to the stalls. I don't have a plan. I'm just running.

  I get in the last stall and lock it. The door is flimsy, and I know it will just take a good kick to open it. You can reach in underneath the door as well as get in above the walls.

  This only gives me time to think.

  Come on. Do something.

  I hear them scampering behind me.

  Gus curses at me, calling me names. The other guys are laughing.

  I look at the white plastic seat. It takes two good jerks to pull it off.

  "You really want to be hiding in a john, do you? You wanna know how gross those toilets are? Do you really want to know what that water tastes like?"

  I'm holding the light toilet seat, and then I put it on the floor. Not sure what I'm going to do with it.

  Gus taunts me some more, then says something under his breath to one of the guys.

  I pick up the tank lid. It's heavy, white, ceramic.

  Then I stand firm, a little ways back so the door can't strike me.

  "Go ahead, Oli," Gus orders.

  This isn't going to be pretty.

  The door blasts open and slams against the side of the wall. As Oli regains his balance from kicking the door in, I rush toward him with the tank lid as a battering ram. It hits him square in the chest and sends him backward with a gasping cough.

  The next few seconds are a blur.

  I ran Oli into one of the other two-I think Riley. Burt doesn't know what to do and just stands there.

  I wouldn't know what to do either if some crazy kid holding a tank lid from a school toilet came barreling out of the stall at me.

  That leaves Gus, who looks at me still holding the lid and then backs off to find something to hit me with.

  He launches a garbage can at me, but it simply rolls to my side. Then he grabs my stack of books and flings them at me.

  I follow him because I want to get out of this bathroom with my teeth in place and my face intact.

  Gus stays over by the sinks as I drop the lid on the ground in a loud crash and then rush out the door into the mostly empty hallway.

  On my way to my next class, I realize my books are still in the bathroom.

  So is my letter to Jocelyn.

  Later that afternoon, as I'm moving slowly through the masses trying to avoid Gus, I see two figures huddled near an open classroom.

  I can see Mr. Meiners looking down, his arm around someone.

  Then I see her.

  Jocelyn.

  She's got her hands in her face. One hand wipes her eyes.

  Tears.

  I wonder if someone she knows died.

  I stop and nearly get trampled by the herd behind me.

  "Watch out," some girl says.

  I want to go to Jocelyn, see what's wrong.

  She doesn't want you knowing.

  I lurk around the lockers on the other side and watch them.

  Jocelyn continues to cry. But then she does something else, something strange and baffling.

  She laughs.

  The tears she's crying-1 can't tell if they're tears of sadness or ofjoy.

  Or maybe both.

  Time scrapes by, the same needle on the same side of the same album turning around and around.

  Mom comes and goes, doing a little better, staying busy. But sometimes I hear her come back home really late and then I see her the next morning and know her habits haven't changed. I don't have to smell her breath to know. Drinking somewhere other than home is still drinking. To avoid a lecture, she promises that we're going to get cable and Internet.

  I'm sixteen years old. I should be the one getting lectured.

  Classes remain the same. Schoolwork remains the same. I'm uninterested and uninvolved. The same way 99 percent of the students are regarding me.

  Jocelyn is a stranger. And all the words I summed up and scripted in a silly little letter remain missing, just like our brief friendship.

  If that's what I can call it.

  Rachel reaches out to me, just as Poe seems to try to cast an evil spell on me every time I see her. In my mind they balance each other out.

  Every now and then I see Ray. He talks to me like I'm part of the crowd at a pep rally, shaking my hand or patting me on the back.

  This is life.

  This is how I spend my days.

  I long to be twenty-seven and grown up. Why twenty-seven? It just sounds good. Not married-no way. But living in a house. No, scratch that. Living in a cool loft in a big city. New York, maybe Chicago. With a serious girlfriend. With a bunch of guys I like hanging around with. With a sweet car. And an awesome job that pays way too much.

  Is this too much to ask for?

  Maybe.

  It feels like a mirage. Like the promise of water when I'm in the middle of a desert.

  The days in that second week of November smear away, leaving empty slots on a calendar I ignore.

  The weekend approaches, and with it comes the promise of getting away from here, of getting away from the reality that I don't have much to look forward to day after day.

  Friday finds me alone at my locker, and I feel something touch my arm.

  For the second time in a week, I see Jocelyn in tears.

  "Chris ..."

  Then she gives me a big hug.

  When she moves away, I see something in her hand.

  Then I realize.

  My note found its way to her.

  "How did you-"

  But she puts a finger on my lips and stops me from saying anything else.

  "Later."

  "What?" I ask.

  "Don't say anything. Okay? Not now. Just wait for later."

  "Later?"

  "Are you doing anything tonight?"

  I chuckle. "Yeah, I have a double date I'm going on."

  "Seriously."

  "No."

  "Then meet me at my locker at the end of the day."

  "For what?"

  She gives me a heartmelting smile that seems to say I adore you and I'm sorry and I'm yours all in some magical way.

  Or maybe I imagined that.

  Maybe I'm imagining this.

  "Okay" is what I think I say.

  Then she's gone.


  "Do you believe in God, Chris?"

  These are not the words I'm expecting out of Jocelyn the moment the doors shut and she starts up her car.

  "Why?"

  "What do you mean why? Do you?"

  As she backs out of the parking space, I wonder what to say.

  "Don't think about it, just answer the question."

  I commit. "No."

  "You need to. You have to. You really have to."

  She grabs my hand. She's beaming and seems to shake with excitement.

  "What happened?"

  "A miracle," she says, taking her hand back and brushing back her hair.

  I stare at her lips for a moment and find myself getting lost in them.

  "I tell you, it's a miracle."

  "What is?"

  "You, Chris. You're the miracle."

  Either she's on some strange drugs or somebody has brainwashed her.

  "I'm lost," I say.

  "I know. It's fine. I just had to tell you that. And have to say that God works in mysterious ways."

  "Why's that?"

  "Because of you, Chris. Because of you."

  We drive for almost an hour. Jocelyn says that she wants to get far away from Solitary, so she drives to Asheville. Mom and I drove through it on our trip here.

  I try to press Jocelyn for more info, but none comes. She says she wants to talk to me face-to-face and tell me what's happened. As she drives, the sun starts to fade away and the shadows begin to smother the inside of the car.

  "You hungry?"

  "No," I say.

  "Teenage guys are hungry all the time."

  "I left my appetite at school."

  Along with reality.

  "Come on. Let's get something to eat. I've gone on a lot of dates here."

  I think of all the "dates" I've gone on. I don't know how many actually count.

  "A lot of older guys have asked me out. Some not knowing my real age. It happens, you know."

  "Yeah."

  But I don't know. I'm new to this.

  We end up at a cool burger joint with modern furniture and snug booths and a rocking vibe. The burgers have unique pairings like pineapple and barbecue sauce or eggs and jalapenos, the latter of which I decide to try.

  My questions are building.

  Half her hamburger is gone before she takes a sip of her drink and then says, "Okay."

  "Okay, what?" I ask.

  "Okay, I'll tell you what's going on. I can see it all over your face."

  "What?"

  "Confusion."

  "Yeah, well, for the last couple of weeks-"

  "I know, I know," she says. "Just hear me out."

  "Okay."

  "How's your burger?"

  "I want to hear you out," I say, adding, "It's good."

  "You need to know, you do have friends at this school."

  "What do you mean?"

  "You said that everybody wants to keep you away from me. Not everybody. "

  "Maybe not Rachel."

  "There are others too."

  "Why do you say that?"

  "Because someone gave me this."

  She produces my letter, which looks like it's been trampled on and wrinkled and tossed about.

  "Who?"

  "I can't tell you who."

  "When?"

  "Today. This afternoon."

  "Where'd they get it?"

  "They didn't say. They didn't say anything except that I would want to read it."

  "I wrote that a week ago."

  Jocelyn touches my arm. "It's beautiful. I don't think anybody has ever said such kind things to me."

  "I didn't even know if I was going to give it to you. Then Gus and his friends confronted me in the bathroom and tried to pound my face in, and I ended up running out on them. The letter was in my notebook and got left behind."

  "It was unbelievable, what you said. I read it three times in a row. And that's when I knew."

  "Knew what?"

  "There's so much to tell you, I don't know where to begin."

  She takes another bite and finishes it, never taking her eyes off mine.

  "First off, first and foremost, I'm sorry about the last two weeks."

  "Yeah, me, too."

  "No. Don't you dare apologize, Chris. You didn't do a thing wrong. You treated me like a lady and you behaved like a gentleman, and my problem was that I didn't recognize it. That's my problemone of many. But how you acted and how you've been-and now this note. It takes my breath away."

  "You take my breath away," I blurt out.

  "Thank you."

  "That sounds corny."

  "Not the way you said it. Not the way you looked when you said it."

  "Probably like a ten-year-old."

  "Maybe twelve."

  "Maybe," I say with a laugh.

  "This week has changed everything."

  "How?"

  "I can't explain. There's too much. I don't want to explain everything-not yet."

  "Why didn't you talk to me these past two weeks?" I ask.

  "Because I've been scared."

  "Why? I'm not going to hurt you."

  "No, I know that. I've known that all along."

  "Then why? I don't get it."

  "Because I've been falling for you and falling hard. And I finally realized it, and it absolutely terrified me."

  Hearing her say that, watching her say that, terrifies me.

  I can't believe this.

  The last couple hours are all like some dream I'll wake up from.

  God, if you are up there, then please, please, please let me get what I want.

  "Then why did you ignore me?"

  "Because I don't want to hurt you," Jocelyn says.

  "You won't. How can you?"

  "All I know is this. This is the truth: God sent you to me. He used you in the most amazing way ever. Do you believe in destiny?"

  "I'm not sure. I'd say no."

  "Yeah, well, I didn't either until it slapped me on the face, and I woke up and saw a beautiful, brilliant sunrise and realized that every day we have is a gift. And every smile that comes along is a gift too."

  I'm totally lost.

  Who is this person, and where did Jocelyn go?

  "Not sure what to say."

  Jocelyn finishes her meal, then puts the basket over my halfeaten meal. "Don't say anything. Just know this. You're the gift that came along. You and your words."

  She stands then and urges me out of the booth.

  "Where are we going?"

  "You'll see."

  The night wind caresses us as Jocelyn winds through the neighborhood streets. She drives with purpose, knowing where she's going. I hold the door handle next to me and glance at her.

  The picture is one that I believe I will remember until my dying breath, even if it's a hundred years from now.

  Her hair swirls and blends in the darkness. Her eyes seem to radiate, their focus straight ahead, their windows shielding something deep and powerful behind them that I want to see. She looks like she's twenty-six, not sixteen. She looks like she's a woman who doesn't need to be with a boy.

  She looks at me with a smile confirms that I shouldn't think such thoughts.

  The old, expensive houses pass us by on old-school blocks with old trees towering above, all reeking of old money. It reminds me of some Chicago suburbs. Money is money anywhere. It's a beautiful thing to not be in that world, but to be here in the passenger seat, taking a drive and looking out and wondering where we are going.

  Jocelyn turns on the radio.

  The tune playing is perfect, and I know after two seconds that it will be our song.

  She turns it up and keeps driving, not revealing anything, just driving and listening.

  I never want to leave this moment.

  "Here," she says. "This is what I wanted to show you."

  "This is crazy."

  "It's some view, huh?"

  I look behind us at the towering
stone structure that seems to hover with arms outstretched. The lights from the deck glimmer above us. In front of us, below the falling stairs and the lawns of the golf course, lies the snug and sleeping valley. The downtown of Asheville burns brightly to our left.

  "This is called Grove Inn?" I ask.

  "Grove Park Inn. Presidents have stayed here. It's legendary. Made of stone. They say it's impossible for it to burn down."

  "Have you ever stayed here?"

  Jocelyn doesn't answer. "This is one of my favorite views. When it's a clear night like this, you can see forever."

  "It's amazing."

  Slivers of stairs coil down from the hotel several stories above us. We stand in a small, fenced-in alcove that has two lawn chairs facing out. It's a private nook, one of many scattered around the falling hill.

  "The restaurant above us is pretty spectacular," Jocelyn says.

  "You've eaten there?"

  "A few times," she says.

  "Wow."

  "Yeah. The sun sets while you're eating, and by the time you get dessert everything around is radiating."

  "I can't imagine."

  "I wouldn't be able to imagine either. It's a whole other world up there."

  "What?"

  "The people who stay here. Did you see all those cars in the parking lot?"

  "No," I say.

  "You didn't? Come on-you're a guy. Guys notice cars."

  "My mind was on other things."

  Jocelyn smiles. "From any other guy, I'd say please."

  "Yeah, I know."

  "But you're not any other guy."

  "I don't think I am."

  "I know you're not."

  I don't know what to do, what I'm supposed to do. Should I hold her hand? Put my arm around her? It's a bit chilly here on the side of this mountain with the valley breeze blowing up.

  "I wanted you to see something beautiful. Something amazing. There are lots of beautiful things around here. You just have to leave Solitary to find them."

  No, you don't.

  I want to tell her this, but it sounds like another line.

  She continues. "I wanted to get away and have some breathing room, you know?"

  "Breathing room?"

  "Yeah, a chance to not worry about ... about anything."

  The way she says anything makes me worry.

  "I know this is crazy, coming up to you at the end of school and kidnapping you."

  "I volunteered," I say.

  "I know. But after these last two weeks. I'm sorry, Chris."