Risen

by Lauren Barnholdt

“Have a little self-respect,” Alec mutters with a look of disgust.

  But when it’s done, Leo gets the same hug from everyone in the room. We’re brothers now.

  The only problem is Cody. He’s the last one brought in, and the moment he sits down, it goes wrong.

  “First, I’m going to ask you a few questions,” Jay says, as we all stand behind Cody, watching silently.

  “Fine. Ask away.”

  “Do you want to be part of this family?”

  “I already have a family.”

  Jay’s eyebrows rise. “You didn’t choose that one. This will be of your own choosing.”

  “What am I choosing to be part of, exactly?”

  “To be in this crew. No matter what. That you’ll have our backs and we’ll have yours.”

  “I don’t need to say an oath to do that. We’re already friends, aren’t we?”

  “Stop being such a dick,” Alec hisses.

  Cody turns and looks at us. He doesn’t say anything, just turns and looks back at Jay. Jay smiles, sits down in the chair opposite him. “Dude, you’re being kind of a pisser, here. Everyone else did this already.”

  “Even Richardson,” Nick says. “If he can do it, you can definitely do it.”

  “Thanks,” I say. Nick just shrugs.

  “I just don’t get it,” Cody says. “Seems weird to me.”

  “Well,” Jay leans back, slaps his thighs. “Maybe it’s not for you, then.”

  Cody shrugs. “I don’t think it is.”

  Jay’s face gets cold as he seems to realize Cody isn’t going to be swayed. “You better get the fuck out of here. It isn’t safe for you anymore.”

  Cody stands and looks at us. “Guess I’ll see you around.”

  “Hurry up and go,” Jay says. “You’re lucky I don’t make an example of you, better leave before I change my mind.”

  Cody walks out and nobody says a word. I’m feeling pretty down about it, too, because he was the one guy besides Jay that I actually like.

  Jay comes back to us and folds his arms. “Kind of a bummer about Cody, but some people aren’t cut out for this life.”

  “But what are we actually doing?” Alec says.

  “We’re going to make money. We’re going to get girls.”

  “Yes!” Leo shouts.

  “And we’re going to run the school.” Jay walks over to the chair and sits down in it. “It’s not over just yet,” Jay says. “I still have to go. I still need to be initiated.”

  “What do we say?” Nick asks.

  Jay takes the revolver off the table and suddenly removes a single bullet from his front pocket. Instantly I know what he’s going to do. “Jay, don’t…”

  “Quiet.” He smiles but I can see his hands are shaking a little. He loads the bullet into the chamber.

  All of us start yelling but nobody moves to stop him. Jay spins the cylinder and then quickly puts the gun to his head and pulls the trigger.

  CLICK.

  Jay smiles wider. Takes the bullet out and puts it in his pocket. “That’s to show you why I’m the boss. Because whatever I ask of you guys, I’ll do more. Understand?”

  He turns and places the gun back on the table, cuts his finger with the knife, lets the blood onto the picture of the saint and sets it aflame.

  I watch as the picture curls and turns black.

  CINQUE (5)

  Jay pulls out a dusty bottle from one of the cabinets and starts pouring.

  We celebrate our initiation with shots of whiskey.

  We all hold up our glasses.

  “Salud,” he says.

  “Salud,” we reply in unison.

  It’s funny because out of our whole group, only Leo is even Italian—and I think it’s just on his mother’s side. But we all grew up watching The Sopranos, Mean Streets, Goodfellas and all the other mob movies over and over again. Jay and his buddies even know the phrases they said, the songs they sang, the food those fat mafia guys ate.

  I throw my shot back as quickly as possible and squint as the intense burning sensation hits the back of my throat. I nearly gag.

  “Ugh, that’s disgusting,” Alec says, wiping his eyes.

  “Another,” Jay says, picking up the bottle and pouring again.

  We raise our glasses. “To family,” Nick says.

  “To family,” we reply.

  “Even Richardson,” Nick adds.

  I nearly tell him to go screw, but then I look at his face and he’s smiling at me. I can tell he’s genuinely kidding around this time and not just trying to make me feel like crap. We all throw back our drinks.

  Alec makes a gagging sound.

  “He’s gonna puke!” Leo points at him. “Puke! Puke! Do it!”

  Alec shakes it off. “I’m fine, get the hell away from me.”

  Everyone’s laughing now. We drink yet another round.

  The room is swaying ever so slightly and I feel good. I feel proud. Someone starts singing the wedding song that Mama Corleone sang in The Godfather and we all join in, arms around one another’s shoulders. It’s hard because it’s an Italian song and I don’t know many of the words, but it’s fun to try.

  A few minutes later, Jay’s got Sinatra playing over the subwoofers and we’re all drinking beer.

  He’s happy, like a proud papa.

  “So, what happens now?” I ask him.

  He lights up a cigar, takes a few puffs and blows smoke rings towards the ceiling.

  “Lots of stuff happens.”

  “Like what?”

  It occurs to me that he hasn’t actually thought that far ahead. He probably just intends to milk the whole Nate situation, continue to take money from kids in exchange for protection. “You’ll see,” he says, grinning and blowing a few more rings.

  “You don’t have a plan.” Maybe it’s the booze because I wouldn’t normally call him out like this.

  Jay stares at me for a moment. Then the grin returns. “No, I have a plan. And you’re going to love it, Richardson. Priority number one is to get you laid.”

  Nick points at me. “I knew he was a virgin. I knew it.”

  I can’t even respond. I guess it must just be that obvious I’m a virgin, because Jay assumes it, even though for all he knows I could have gotten laid sometime over the last five years when we barely hung out together.

  Of course, I never did.

  But I could have, that’s the point.

  Leo belches. “Let’s get some crack whore. Pay her twenty bucks to let Richardson pop his cherry.”

  “Fuck you guys.” I take a swig of my beer. The room has been swaying and now it’s kind of spinning. If I wasn’t so drunk I’d be incredibly embarrassed, but instead I just feel disoriented.

  “I’ll take care of it,” Jay says. “We’ll get you a nice girl. Don’t worry.”

  “Hey, I want a girl. Get me one, too,” Leo says. He belches yet again. Classy.

  Alec stands up and takes center stage. “Yo, I got an idea. Let’s throw a party.

  We can have it here, make it really exclusive. Invite only the hottest broads.”

  “Like that slut Candice Simmons and her little whore friends,” Leo yells.

  Everyone else claps and shouts agreement at the idea.

  Jay’s nodding and smoking his stogie. I wonder if it’s that simple. Candice hates Jay, and they think she’ll just show up here with her friends and what—screw all of us?

  Suddenly, I hear what sounds like the front door opening.

  Moments later, heavy footsteps descend the basement stairs, and then Jay’s dad is peeking in and looking at everyone. He’s pretty much the same as I remember him. Big, almost fat, but more like a fat guy that could throw you through a wall if he had a mind to do it. His hair is brown and closely cropped, and a carefully trimmed goatee.

  Jay stands up. “What are you doing here?”

  His father’s eyes scan the room. “You guys win the game tonight?”

  “Don’t answer him,” Jay says.
Everyone just sits there, not sure what to say or do.

  “I didn’t know you were having friends over, but how y’all doing?” his dad continues, as if Jay hadn’t just told everyone to ignore his questions.

  “It’s really none of your business.”

  “No?”

  “No.”

  All the laughter has evaporated. . Even with the music playing, it feels quiet and tense. Mr. Stevens is just standing there on the stairs. He doesn’t look angry the way my dad would if I had a bunch of friends drinking alcohol in the house.

  “I’m looking for some stuff,” Mr. Stevens says, finally.

  “Good luck with that.”

  “I might need your help.”

  Jay sits down and takes a long pull from his beer. “Whatever.” He lays his head back on the chair.

  Mr. Stevens looks at Jay and sighs. “Do you know where Stace’s doll is?”

  “Is Stace here?” Jay says, sitting up again.

  “No. She’s at—she’s with Mandy.”

  “Oh. Right. Sounds like a party.” Jay taps the arm of the chair with his finger.

  Tap tap tap.

  “She wants her doll and I need to get some other things, too.”

  Jay looks like he’s biting the inside of his lip. His knuckles are white around the beer can.

  None of us knows what’s going on. Jay gets up and starts toward the stairs.

  “Fine, come on. Let me show you where it is and then you can leave.”

  Mr. Stevens folds his arms and purses his lips, as if trying to control his temper.

  “You need to learn how to handle your liquor, son.”

  “I’m fine. You need to mind your own business, I’m an adult now, remember?”

  Jay brushes past him up the stairs and out of view.

  Mr. Stevens gives us a wave. “Nice seeing everyone,” he says, and then follows Jay.

  The room is silent for a long time. We can hear footsteps overhead.

  “Awkward,” Nick says in a singsong voice, breaking the silence.

  Alec raises his eyebrows. “Jay and his dad seem really close.”

  Everyone snickers. I still feel drunk, but it’s a sick feeling now and I want to go home.

  I wonder what the problem is between Jay and his dad.

  Back when we were best friends, they seemed to get along okay. But Jay was definitely closer to his mom. Maybe him and his dad drifted apart after the suicide, just like we did.

  Everyone’s kind of sitting here now, hanging out without saying much of anything, until Jay comes back downstairs.

  “My dad’s at his girlfriend’s this weekend with my little sister and he didn’t tell me he’d be coming home tonight,” he says, as if that explains all the anger between him and his dad.

  “Is his girlfriend cool?” I say.

  “What are you, TMZ or something? You need to know my family business Richardson?”

  I’m shocked by his sudden turn of mood. “Sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it.”

  “Well at least you have the place to yourself more,” Nick says.

  Jay nods. For a little while the room falls silent.

  But then Jay comes over and pats my shoulder, and he smiles at everyone. “My house is your house now, fellas. We’re family, right?”

  We all agree.

  Jay grabs my shoulder and squeezes it, almost painfully. “Family. Remember that.”

  Nobody is awake at my house when I get home.

  I feel sick and still drunk, which is bad, because I drove. The whole ride home I was totally paranoid that a cop was going to stop me. But I barely saw another car the entire time.

  I pour myself a glass of water and guzzle it down because I heard it helps with hangovers. Of course, I’ve never even had a hangover.

  The house is dark and quiet and the room is still turning and swaying. Seems like maybe I drank too much water, too fast. Suddenly I’m running to the bathroom and puking my guts out.

  Dark brown liquid pours from my mouth and throat. It burns and tastes disgusting coming up. It’s shocking how much of it there is.

  I catch my breath, wipe my mouth with toilet paper and flush the vomit. I feel a lot better now and the room isn’t spinning anymore. Hopefully my folks didn’t hear anything.

  I go upstairs to my bedroom and flop down on the bed, still fully dressed.

  Moments later I’m asleep.

  I sleep like the dead that night, but awaken to a loud knocking on my door. My encrusted eyelids flutter open and I turn onto my back. Sunlight is streaming into the room. My alarm clock says it’s nine a.m.

  Another loud knock on the door.

  “Leave me alone please!”

  “Tim,” mom calls. “Can I come in?”

  “No. I’m sleeping.”

  “I’m coming in.”

  “I just said—“

  But the door opens and she walks into my room despite me asking her not to.

  She’s wearing a track suit. Mom is big into her morning workouts and she runs like five or six miles every day like clockwork. “Why are you still wearing the same outfit you went out in last night?” she says, her perfectly plucked eyebrows arching.

  I just groan. “Please leave me alone, it’s early.”

  “Nine o’clock isn’t early, Timothy. I’ve been up since five.”

  “That’s because you’re crazy.”

  “Knock it off.”

  “You knock it off. I’m trying to sleep.”

  “Were you drinking last night?”

  “No.”

  “Then why did you stay out so late and why are you sleeping in your clothes?”

  “Because I felt like it.” I move to a sitting position.

  Mom searches my face for clues. “Really, Tim? Really? I thought we taught you better than to drink and drive. You could have called us to pick you up.”

  Sure, I think. That would have gone over just great. I imagine my dad—it would have been him for sure—carting me home in the middle of the night, not even speaking to me, his eyes locked on the road ahead, mouth shut. Dad’s silences are worse than screaming. There are a thousand times I’ve wished he would show enough interest to actually yell at me.

  “I’m telling you, I didn’t do anything,” I groan.

  “I don’t like what I’m seeing.”

  “I was just out really late hanging out with Jay and the rest of the football team.

  They won the game so everyone was hyped up.”

  “You’re spending time with Jay Stevens again?”

  Another one of mom’s nightmares. “You’d probably prefer me drinking and driving as long as I wasn’t hanging out with Jay.”

  “That’s not funny.”

  “No, but it’s true.”

  “He’s a negative influence on you. You were better off when the two of you weren’t seeing much of each other.”

  It’s true that Jay has always gotten me into scrapes. Like the time we were making prank calls and someone got annoyed enough to actually figure out who my parents were and called my mom at work to inform her of our activities. Or the time when Jay convinced me to run away from home with him and we wrote notes and left them for our families and then we spent the night camping in the woods a mile from my house. When I got home the next morning (we were hungry and had run out of candy) there were cops all over the place and my folks were in tears.

  “Everyone else was drinking,” I say. “But honestly, I didn’t have any. I told them no. You’d have been proud of me. I even told Jay that I didn’t want to drink and drive, that was like my main reason.” I can’t even believe the lies rolling off my tongue.

  “Jay Stevens isn’t going anywhere, Tim. He’s a very troubled young man and I wish you’d stay away from him. I’ve told you before that he’s just going to…”

  “…drag me down with him. I know. You’ve told me that a million times already.”

  “The two of you have nothing in common.”

  “We do.”<
br />
  “I don’t see it.”

  “But we do.” How can I explain it to her? I think back to third grade, when Jay and I met. My family had just moved to Middlebury and I had no friends. I remember being in class the first day and nobody talked to me. I wanted to disappear. But it turned out that Jay had been absent that day, and the next morning he came right over and asked me if I liked video games. A silly question but the first real offer of friendship anyone had given me. I was so grateful that he was even speaking to me. And we just hit it off.

  But Jay always did get me into a lot of trouble. And my parents—mom especially—never liked him. They were happy when Jay stopped wanting to hang out with me, even though it made me miserable.

  Now that Jay and I have started being friends again, mom’s radar is up and she can smell trouble.

  But I have a great GPA, my teachers love me, and I’m headed for MIT or Stanford if all goes according to plan. Which is why even though everything about this situation looks like I must have been drinking and driving, I can still talk my way out of it.

  She wants to believe me, of course. Parents are suckers like that. I’ve found that my mom will accept almost any lie I feed her because she wants it to be true.

  “Where’s dad?” I say, changing the subject and swinging my legs over the side of the bed. “He said maybe we’d play tennis today.”

  “He’s at the club already.”

  “Oh.” I try not to look disappointed.

  “You weren’t awake and he wanted to get an early start.”

  “He could have at least asked. I would have woken up.”

  “Tim. You know how your dad is. He was bouncing off the walls at six a.m.”

  “Yeah. I know.”

  She sits down on the bed next to me. Up close she looks a lot older than at a distance. Mom wears a lot of makeup, and she knows how to hide wrinkles and all of that. But sitting near me, I can see the layers of foundation and the lines underneath it.

  Her pores are massive. “He really loves you.”

  “He avoids me like the plague.”

  “Honey, that isn’t true. Your father works too much, he pushes himself too hard and it doesn’t leave much left over for anything else.”

  “And that’s my fault?”

  “I didn’t say it was. I’m just explaining.”

  “No explanation required.”

  Funny, if I wasn’t so genuinely angry I might actually be happy that I was able to deflect the heat off myself and onto dad.