by Wenner, Jody
"The plans look good, Benjamin. I'm going to go ahead and offer my approval and advise the rest of the council members to vote yes as well." He passes the papers to the man standing to his left. We wait for several minutes while each member reads and votes on the plans. I hear almost none of it. My eyes are focused on the man I haven't seen in at least a dozen years. I wouldn't have even needed to hear his name to know it was him though. His face is etched into my brain, right where my childhood memory bank stored it. Those are his eyes, his same lips and nose.
I'm not sure why I would have expected him to look different, save for the fact that in my mind he appears as a crazy bum whose face is covered in dirty facial hair. When I was younger I would always look at the homeless people wandering about and try to see if his face was underneath all of the filth, but it never was. If I ever saw a drunk stumble out of a bar at closing time, I would assume it must be him, but on closer inspection, it wasn't. When I got older I wondered why I never saw him, while I was skating around the city, while Bekka and I were out exploring the abandoned parts of town. Why didn't I ever run into him? Now I know why.
The vote is over, the plan gets approved and everyone gets up to mingle about, but I stay glued to my seat. My hands are shaking uncontrollably and my chest is tight.
Frankie stands and looks at me, "What's wrong?"
"I, uh. I'm not feeling well." This is true. Very, very true. I don't know what to do. Should I march right up to him? What would I say? I need time to think. When I was young I had a rehearsed speech at the ready, but I gave that up a long time ago. I'm not ready now, but I don't know if I'll have another chance to talk to him. Do I even want to?
The choice isn't one I have to ponder for long because from the corner of my eye, I see him walking toward me.
"Hello, Zane."
"Hi."
Frankie stares.
"This is my friend, Frankie," I say, because it's the polite thing to do and because I'm at a loss for words, attempting to recall my speech from when I was fourteen.
"Nice to meet you, Frankie," he says warmly.
They shake hands.
"She was Zander's girlfriend," I blurt out.
"You knew Zander?" Frankie asks him. She is really looking at him now.
"Well. He was my son."
"Your son? You're Zander’s father?" Frankie says. "Then that makes you.." She looks at me questioningly. I shake my head.
"I'll leave you two alone," she says awkwardly, her eyes still fixed on my dad intently.
"Thanks," Dad says as she wanders toward where Pete and the others are huddled together talking.
When she's gone, I say, "So you know about Zander? You used the past tense."
"Yes." He looks down. There is a strained silence, but I refuse to say anything again. I want to know what he has to say first.
"Zane, it's really good to see you."
"Is it?"
"How's your mother?"
At the mention of her, I feel rage begin to bubble up in me. "I don't think you have a right to ask about her," I say defensively.
"Okay," he says calmly, "Fair enough."
"Listen," he says, finally, "This isn't the place or time to talk, but I'd like to see you again. What do you say?"
"I suppose," I agree, but only because I would like to hear his explanation. He owes it to me.
"Okay," he smiles and I realize he was nervous about how I would respond. "I'll get word to you about when and where then."
"Fine," I say. The idea that my father isn't a drunk homeless person, but actually has means to get word to me about something, is not only shocking but also crushing. It tells me he's been capable of seeing me all these years but hasn't. I feel like punching him, maybe pushing him off the ledge of this high building. I want to scream. Instead, I just turn and forcefully shove my way out the heavy doors and head back down into the tunnels. He doesn't deserve an ounce of my emotion. I save it for the darkness and sewer rats.
Chapter 27
Bekka
I meet Bones at a club where his favorite band, The Thunder Bolts, is playing. I arrive a little late because the idea of standing awkwardly in a club waiting for him seems too desperate. When I first enter, it's dark and I'm not sure where to begin looking for him. I start slowly weaving around the people and tables. After I've made my way to the other side of the room, I decide to stand against the wall and wait for him to find me while I watch the band set up and test their instruments. Seeing the band reminds me of the few times Evy drug me to clubs with her to see shows. I miss her, but can't stop the jealousy from seething out, even now. I wonder how she's doing as a runner.
"Tyler? Hi." Bones is in front of me. He's wearing a black t-shirt with the band's name on it and his hair is messy, but like he tried to style it that way. His smile is wide and his teeth are perfectly straight and white.
"Hi."
"You can call me Bones. My real name is Jesse though."
"Bones. That makes me think of someone scary or mean. You don't look scary," I say.
"Nah. It's cause I'm so tall and skinny. Always have been. People say they can practically see my bones."
I laugh. "Oh! That makes more sense."
He stands against the wall next to me and his feet tap the floor while we stand there for a while, uncomfortably. "You want to grab some seats?" he asks finally.
"Sure." We find a small empty table off to the side of the stage and sit across from each other.
"Uh...You want a drink?" he asks.
I flashback to the party with Alex. "No thanks."
"Cool," he says, looking around. He continues, even after we sit, to nervously tap his foot on the floor. We both just kind of watch people in the crowd around us and he waves to a few people at another table. I realize he may be more nervous than I am and I start to feel bad and relax a little at the revelation. "So, what do you do?" I ask.
"Not much. Hang out, I guess," he says shrugging his shoulders.
"No, I mean for a job."
"Oh, right," he smiles. "I don't have one."
"Really?"
"Yeah. I mean, I did. But, it sucked. Looking for something else. I guess. I'm not super into the whole working thing." He looks down at his hands. Then he says, "Frankie told me you work at the factory with her?"
"Yeah."
"How's that?"
"It's okay, I guess," I say. "You thinking about applying?"
"Hell no! I actually worked there once. That place is awful."
"You did? What happened?"
"I got fired."
"Fired? How?"
"I dunno." His foot is going a mile a minute still. "I don't know how anyone can go there day in and day out. It's worse than jail."
"You've been to jail?" I ask. I thought Frankie said this kid was a dork. I usually think of dorks as being more of the rule-follower type. I guess we have different definitions for things across the river.
"Sure."
"For what?"
"Just dumb stuff." I want to know more, but I'm not assertive enough to ask. Some spy.
"How do you pay rent without a job?" I say, instead.
"I'm crashing on my buddies couch right now. I kinda just move around a lot. I don't really like to tie myself down, you know?"
"Sure," I say, but I don't really know. Does that apply to girls, as well, I wonder? "So, what do you do all day long if you don't work?"
"I usually hang at The Watering Hole, just skate, hangout, you know."
"Really? All day?"
"Sure. It's better than packing boxes."
"I suppose."
The small club is starting to fill up and the crowd, coupled with the band testing their gear, is making the volume louder and it's getting harder to talk. We turn our attention to the band, just about ready to start. It takes a lot of the pressure off because at this point I realize Bones is really not my type.
When the band starts, he gets up out of his seat, and without even looking back at me, he
wanders into the tight-packed crowd standing near the front of the stage. He begins dancing like a crazy person, flailing his arms and legs like he's on fire or something. It is particularly odd looking because of how tall and skinny he is, but he seems very unconcerned about how he looks, that much is obvious. Most of the people near him take a few steps away so he has even more room to twist and kick. Several people have stopped watching the band and have begun to focus on him, like he's a sideshow, but he's unphased and continues on.
I sink into my chair and try to pretend I'm not with him, and instead attempt to focus on the band, but it's so loud, my ears are starting to ring and my head is thumping. I wait a while, wondering if he has any plans to return to the table, but he doesn't. When I search him out again, he is lost in the crowd. After what seems like a reasonable amount of time has passed, I decide to chalk this one up as a loss and I push my way through the club and exit without hesitation. I'm not sure what Frankie was thinking setting me up with this guy.
Once outside, I breathe in the dry night's air. The relief of getting away from the club and Bones fades quickly as the reality of having to walk home alone in the dark again sets in. This time I focus on staying away from hidden alleyways and try to stride confidently. At least I learned my lesson and paid close attention on my way here. I'm certain I can find my way and I don't have far to go. Besides, it's still relatively early and the moon is full, lighting my way.
Zane
A few days pass. As I wait in the darkness of the tunnel while Evy works, I formulate everything I want to say to my father. I also wonder if he'll really stay true to his word and arrange for us to meet. Does he really want to see me, after all this time, or was that simply lip service? I don't know what to think, so I just try to have no expectations because I don't want to give him the satisfaction of crushing me again.
Evy returns full of spitfire.
"Jesus. I can't take this job anymore. I'm so over it."
"What's wrong?" I ask.
"I dunno. I think the darkness is just getting to me," she says as we begin walking back to the exit. "I hate working at night and I never get to see Greer because even when I can get a pass, he's at the lab during the day. I'm worried he's going to move on, fall for one of the female scientists or something."
"He wouldn't do that," I assure her.
"I dunno. I just feel like I'm losing it lately."
"I hear ya."
"Any word from Bek or anything?"
"No. I don't think she's allowed to contact anyone," I say, thinking about my dad and wondering if that's really true.
"I suppose. I wonder how she's doing."
"I bet she's doing fine. She's strong."
"Have you ever thought about going over?"
"What?"
"You know, accessing their tunnels."
"I don't know their tunnel paths or have access codes," I say, but realize I could get them. I think this is something I've known for a long time but didn't want to think about.
"Right. Plus, it's not safe."
"No. It's not."
Evy says, "Would you though, if you could?"
"I dunno. She made it pretty clear in her letter she was ready to move on, that she doesn't need me."
"That's bull," Evy says.
"She's not one to need people. You know her."
"She didn't like to admit it, but she needed you."
"Maybe." I didn't like thinking about it. I'd been doing pretty well pushing it away for a while, or so I thought. "Can I ask you something, Evy?"
"Sure."
"Would have been happy to be assigned as a spy?"
"Some days I think the idea of getting to start over and be someone else, like completely reinvent yourself, that is pretty appealing."
"Yeah, I'm guessing that was what Bekka was getting at in her letter too."
"Well, who doesn't want a clean slate?"
"I guess a lot of people would opt for that. Not me," I say and I know there is bitterness and spite in my words, directed at both Bekka and my father.
"No? Why not?" Evy asks.
"Sounds pretty selfish. Think of the people you would be leaving behind. Your brother would miss you, and Greer."
"Yeah. I guess you're right."
We come to the end of the tunnel shaft, and it's time to face the bright daylight. As we climb out, Evy says, "Thanks for talking, Zane. I've been lonely."
"Me too, Evy. Let's do it again soon," I say, smiling at her in the sun.
"It's a date," she says and laughs.
Chapter 28
Bekka
The streets are quiet as I walk home. I'm not tired at all, maybe because I left the club early. The loud music is still thumping in my ears, making sleep seem like an impossibility. As I move along the dark streets, some invisible force directs me toward LeRoy. I'm so lonely and bored and I feel the urge to just talk with someone. Not like nervous, small talk. Not first-date stuff. I want to just talk, like really talk.
He is on his mark, against the wall, but he's not sleeping. He's writing in his notebook.
"Hi," I say as I approach, but still a good distance away, so I don't scare him and so I can read what kind of mood he's in.
"Bekka! Hi. What are you doing out this late?"
"Just coming back from a bad date," I confess. Happy that he remembered my name, I impulsively ask, "Can I sit?"
"Please," he says, closing the book and tucking it away.
I plop myself against the wall a few feet away from him. "Writing more poems?"
"Poems?"
"Sure, you know, like the ones in the..." I sense he might not have realized or remembered giving me his poems. "What are you writing?" I ask instead.
"Just some memories."
"Like a journal?"
"Kinda."
"Have you ever written about a bad date?"
"Sure. Plenty."
"I bet her name wasn't Bones," I say.
LeRoy laughs. "Bones, huh? I can't imagine what could be wrong with a guy called Bones."
"Yeah. I guess that should have been a red flag." I relax a little and adjust myself on the hard pavement. "What about Gerty? Do you two having something going on?"
"Gerty? Nah. She's a nut."
I laugh, remembering that Gerty said the same thing about him. "I think you like her," I tease.
"Well, she does have a nice rump."
"It's not bad," I say. We're both laughing now. I pull a bottle of fluorescent liquid from my bag and show it to LeRoy. He digs in his pile and produces a plastic cup, which I fill.
"What is this stuff?" he asks as we sip it.
"Hydroblast. End of the month and I didn't do a good job allocating my water. Plus, I'm a little low on funds."
"Ah. Well, cheers," LeRoy says as we clink plastic.
"Were you ever married?" I ask, resting my head against the wall.
"Sure."
"What happened?"
And just like that, LeRoy's voice hardens. "It was a long time ago." I immediately regret asking such a personal question.
"I didn't mean to pry. You don't have to tell me."
"You wouldn't believe it if I did anyway."
"Try me," I say.
"Listen, Bekka..." He turns to me and his voice still sounds strange. "You need to get out."
"What are you talking about?" I ask, jumping up to a crouch. He's turning loopy on me again, and just when I thought we were really starting to connect.
"I’m not talking about now," he says, gently pulling me back down. "Things are about to get bad. Real bad. I like you. I don't want to see you get hurt."
"Huh?" At first I think he's talking about the street gangs or something, but then I realize he means something else. Something more. "How do you know?"
"I just do. You should go back. No. You should leave altogether." He voice is grave now and he sounds like he's pleading with me.
"Uh. Okay, LeRoy. I'll think about it."
"Before it's too late
, okay, Legs?"
Zane
After a full week of work and a lot of anxiety waiting to meet with my father, I finally have an evening to relax. I sink into the couch in only my shorts to do some writing. I've decided it's time to tackle that letter to Bekka that I never knew how to write. I'm ready to have closure, which seems funny considering the fact that never seeing her again should be enough closure for me. As someone who has always put words to paper much easier than speaking them, I just know I'll finally be able to move on after I can express myself in a letter. And who knows, maybe I'll even find a way to get it delivered.
Just as I begin writing, there's a knock at my apartment door. Thinking it's gotta be Fulton, I leave the notebook open on the table and get up to answer it, still in just my shorts.
"Hi, Zane," Harlow says. She's holding a bottle and from the whiff I get, she's already helped herself to some of it. "Hadn't seen you in awhile. Thought I'd pay ya a visit.” Her eyes are fixed on my exposed chest.
"Oh. I...Sorry," I sputter, looking at myself. "I wasn't expecting company."
"Can I come in?" Her voice is a bit slurred and before I have a chance to reply, she's already staggering past me, setting the bottle on the kitchen counter.
Annoyed that I'm being forced to break from my letter, I close the door and watch as she begins to rifle through my cabinets.
"I'm just going to go grab a shirt," I say, but she is still focused on helping herself.
When I return she has made herself comfortable on my couch, drink already in hand. I sit on the chair across from her.
"Why don't you join me over here," she says, patting the couch.
"I'm good."
"You're too serious." She frowns.
"Probably," I admit.
"You should live a little, Zane Brenner."
"Is this how you enjoy your nights off?" I ask.
"This," she gestures to the space between us, "isn’t exactly what I had in mind."