Come Undone

by AJ Matthews

  “You’re my best friend. I hate when we fight. Earlier, well, that was so unexpected. On top of everything my mom and Dean had done … I was shocked speechless.” She picks at the lint on my comforter. “He’s okay, by the way. Face is bruised and his lip is cut, but not too badly. He’s not going to press ch—”

  “You went to his house? Please, no more. Why did you go to him? He called you fat. He’s an idiot. He was using you!” My stomach lurches. Hold it together, Mac. Do not get sick.

  In my peripheral vision, her head snaps upward. “Using me for what?”

  “Like you were a challenge. You know what I mean. You made me watch the movie with the Freddie Prinze Jr. guy.”

  “So you don’t think Dean cared about me?” She chokes on the words. “Was trying to prove a point?”

  I shrug and scratch my nails into my forearms, the pain a comforting distraction from the emotional distress. “Don’t know, but I never liked the guy.”

  “Yes. You never hid your disdain. But he said he loved me,” she sobs.

  “I said I loved you.” My voice is a whisper. She doesn’t react, so I wonder if she heard me. “I said I—”

  “You love me, but it won’t work, Mac.”

  My nails dig deeper, raising welts, breaking the skin. “Why can’t we be together? Why not me?”

  “Why not you, Mac? Do you want me to be honest?”

  I’ve learned to conceal hurtful things from other people sometimes, but I always want the truth. “Yes. Please.”

  Still, the urge to run away from her words is strong, and I pace in front of the door in case I need to make a hasty withdrawal from this battle.

  “I adore you. I always have. But what do you want to do with the rest of your life? I’m not coming back here after graduation. Where will you be in three years? On a stool at Paddy’s singing for tips? Which is acceptable, if you stay because you love Key West so much.”

  I open my mouth to speak, but she holds up her hand.

  “Stop. Let me finish. I get it. You do love Key West. However, you’ll stay here because you’re afraid to go anywhere else, or try anything else. You’ll be living in your parents’ house when I’m in Atlanta, or New York, or L.A., working in television or film. If you want to be with me, dig deep, find your ambition, and get the hell out of Key West. Do something. You have dreams. Follow them, Mac. Show a little drive.”

  Had this conversation occurred in an online music forum where people railed against or cheered for their favorite bands, her words would be punctuated with “/rant” to indicate her tirade was complete. This outburst is worse because it’s live and in person, directed at me about my shortcomings.

  Fair enough. The truth hurts like a weight dropped on my head. I scan the walls of my room, darting back and forth between the posters. From Woodstock 1969 to U2 to James Taylor, I’m reminded of what I love to do. My eyes fall on the poster for Ocean Eyes, the 2009 album from Owl City, a band composed of only one insanely talented member—Adam Young. I loved the song “Fireflies” the first time I heard it, and I later read how Young is reclusive and shy and thinks he has characteristics of Asperger’s. And he’s so successful. That could be me.

  “Yes.” Trini’s voice pierces the uneasy silence thick between us. Usually, our silences are easy. Not now. “That could be you.”

  Like she’s reading my mind. Except not. She simply knows me so well.

  My fingers shake and snap and I clench them into fists to stop the motion. Though stimming calms me, helps me think more clearly, I try to be more “normal”—even in private. No one’s ever told me to do this. I just want to appear as normal as possible to everyone.

  My hands are balled into fists, so I tap them on my thighs. Ugh. Why does this have to be so difficult? My mind is moving, metaphorically of course, a million miles an hour. I don’t know how to do this. So I ask. I’ve been told I should ask for help when necessary. I croak out, “How?”

  “You mean like long-term? Ask your doctor or group. Short-term? Hmm.” She taps her fingers on her chin. At least her face has softened, her scowl melting into a wary smile. She snaps her fingers and points in the air. “Got it. Come with me.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “My mom gave me my dad’s name. I’m going to find him. I mean, I found him. Now I’m going to Savannah to meet him.” Her wide smile brightens her face, and the room.

  That doesn’t stop my heart from racing when I imagine the changes a road trip entails. New people, new places, noises, possibly crowds. My eyes flit around my room again, and I wonder how these people I admire manage these things. Change is hard for neurotypicals, or so Mom tells me. For me, the potential for disaster is Mt. Everest high. The concept of change makes my skin itch. My eyes burn. My ears ring.

  “C-can I think about it?” My words come out a jumbled mess.

  She throws her hands up and her face screws up again.

  Uh-oh.

  “You know what, Mac?” She’s using my name instead of Goon. Also a negative sign. “Never mind.”

  She stomps out, as much as one can stomp in flip-flops. She grabs her phone and keys from the dresser and tears open the door. Out of the corner of my eye I notice her pause and glance over her shoulder. I don’t say anything. Neither does she. The emptiness of the moment vibrates against my skin.

  The door closes. Not a slam, but a soft hush, like the cover of a book closing.

  Is this the end of our story?

  When all is wrong in the world, like now, picking on the six-string always calms me. I grab my guitar and head up to the roof.

  The weight of the guitar alone is a comfort. It’s a mahogany Martin D15M Mom and Da spent way too much on when I passed the G.E.D. a couple months ago. Though classified as an “entry level” guitar, it’s more expensive than any other instrument I’ve owned. They said a serious musician needs a serious instrument. I don’t know about the serious musician thing, but I’m trying.

  Liam is still up on the deck. I expected to be alone. “Oh, sorry. I’ll go back to my room.”

  “No bro, sit. Did you get the gossip? About me and Bennie?” He takes a swig from the bottle clenched in his hand.

  “Um, Shay said to ask you. Are you the one who found Bennie? You were gone for a while. We assumed you hooked up with the girl from high school.” The chair creaks as I sink into the padded seat.

  He runs his hand over his close-cropped hair and gives a nervous laugh. He seems rattled, unusual for the guy who has more confidence than Shay and me put together. “I wasn’t the one who found Bennie. Shay and Leesh found her. With me. I was giving her a tour on the boat.”

  He tips his beer bottle back again and takes a long swallow.

  “Oh. I thought you didn’t like her.”

  “I don’t, but she’s got a mighty fine ass and lovely mouth. When she’s not talking.”

  Huh? Oh. Ohhhh. “So you had sex with her on the boat. Got it.”

  He slaps me on the back. “You’re getting better at reading between the lines, baby bro.”

  Liam opens the cooler he’d parked between two of the chairs on the rooftop deck and pulls out another frosty brown bottle. He twists the cap and the hiss echoes loudly through the empty New Year’s morning streets.

  After the crazy night he had—we’d all had—I don’t blame him for being restless and in the mood to drink.

  “If you want to be alone, I can go.”

  He waves at me. “Do what you need to do. Besides, I’m leaving soon, and I haven’t spent much time with you. I miss you sometimes, buddy.”

  He’s in the military now, but home for the holidays. It’s amazing with the whole family together again, if only for a short time.

  I nod and resume plucking out the notes from “Fall at Your Feet” by Crowded House.

  “That’s a pretty melancholy tune, bro.”

  My fingers pause mid-chord. “Yeah, well, I can’t say I feel joyful this morning.”

  “Girl trouble?”


  The laugh gets stuck in my chest. “Not the kind you think.”

  “So you’re not dating the cute little blonde anymore? What was her name?”

  “Jodie, and no, we broke up a couple weeks ago.” Hopefully the interrogation is over.

  “What happened, man? She was hot!”

  This was true, but used to getting her own way. She kept pushing me …

  “Oh man, don’t tell me? Another one bites the dust because you won’t have sex? Give it up already.” Liam sighs.

  “You know why. I take so long to get comfortable with people touching me. I wasn’t ready with Jodie, and she pushed me, and it wasn’t going to work out. I don’t think it’s wrong I want to be cautious and vested in a relationship before taking a huge step.”

  “Well, if you’re saving yourself for Trini, that’s crazy talk. Isn’t she going out with the quarterback?”

  I stiffen and flex my hand, still sore from the unexpected punch I’d thrown. “Uh, no. Not anymore. They broke up two weeks ago.”

  I pluck on the guitar strings again. I don’t want to talk anymore.

  Liam sits straight up in his chair, eyes wide. “What? Here’s your chance!” He waves his hands in the air animatedly. “So you’ve gotta … ”

  A crazy, but ultimately successful plan was about to emerge from his methodical brain. I should have waited for Liam to dictate a course action before going on my own earlier. “I punched him.”

  Liam gapes at me, eyes wide and unblinking. “You did what?”

  “I caught Dean making out with a girl in the alley by the movie theater. So I punched him.”

  Liam finally blinks. “Oh wow, man. I am—” he sniffs mockingly “—so proud of you. Does she know?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You told her why, right?”

  “Uh. I didn’t tell her about the girl Dean was with in the alley.”

  “Why not? The guy sounds like a total asshat.”

  That’s the truth. I still don’t get what Trini ever saw in him, other than he was, admittedly, the most attractive guy in school and she was a self-professed freakish former fat girl.

  She’s too good for him. Too good for me, too. Smart, funny, talented, devoted. I hope when she hits it big in film, she thinks of the old friend she once had growing up and thanks me from the Oscar podium.

  “I told her I punched him because he hurt her, and I wanted to protect her, and I am in love with her. And then I kissed her.”

  Again, Liam is stunned into unblinking silence. That’s a hard feat to accomplish, since Mom always says he hasn’t shut up since she first met us.

  When he finds his voice, he jokes, “Well, little bro, I’ll give you points for enthusiasm, if not for style.” Liam shook his head. “You did all this? Because you generally don’t—”

  “Yeah, I don’t like conflict. Try to avoid it, because it makes me sick to my stomach when people get mad at me, even if I don’t get why they’re mad.”

  These feelings for Trini had been eating me up inside, like the alien gnawing its way through people’s chests in the Sigourney Weaver space movies. I had to let the mess out.

  “I am proud of you, bro. Taking chances is tough, so here’s to you.” He tips his bottle of beer at me and chugs.

  For me, taking a chance was like jumping out of a plane without a parachute. Any upset in routine could trigger a meltdown.

  No meltdown yet, though I’m sure my adrenaline levels hit an all-time high earlier. It was yet to be seen, however, if the risk was worth the reward, or if any reward would come at all.

  “Mac?” Da calls out gruffly from the porch below us. I don’t think he got any sleep at all. “Trini’s mother is on the phone.”

  Weird. Why is she calling me?

  I dart down the stairs and pick up the cordless in the hall. “Hello?”

  “Hi, it’s Elena. Is Trini around?”

  “She left an hour ago.”

  “Left? For where?” Elena sounds surprised Trini took off.

  She didn’t leave a note? Or send her mom a message? She’s still angry at her mom, so I guess she wouldn’t think of being considerate. I get that.

  “Um, yeah. To find her dad.”

  “Oh. I wasn’t expecting her to leave immediately. I wanted us to go together.”

  She hasn’t asked me a question, so I continue my train of thought. “She told me she wants to find out where she comes from. Like she has no idea who she truly is. I guess that’s why.”

  “B-but …” she sputters. “I need to tell him first.”

  By “him,” I assume she means Trini’s real dad.

  “I need to find her.” She sounds panicked. I’m not sure why, because she’s the one who gave Trini the information she needed to find the guy.

  “Not smart. She’s still mad at you.”

  “She can’t be alone, Mac. The stress—what it can do to her.”

  “I’ll go.” Wait, what?

  Elena exhales. “Oh, wow. Okay. You would do that?”

  My pulse throbs under the entire surface of my skin, thumping in my ears. I guess so. I can’t back out now.

  “Okay. Yeah. So I gotta go. I’ll try to find her.”

  “I’ll check her credit card account and text you if I find anything.”

  “Oh, okay. So bye.”

  I hang up. What would JT do?

  Of course. In the song “You’ve Got a Friend,” his friend called out, and he ran to help. Trini called out, in my room, asking me to go with her, and I didn’t run.

  Idiot.

  Now I have to run faster than I ever imagined.

  I place the phone back on the receiver and rush past Da.

  “Hold on a minute, boy. Where ye off to in such a rush?”

  I grab the knob of the door leading into my room from the main living area and hold on for support. “I’m going to find Trini. She needs me. She found out … her dad isn’t the guy who raised her as a kid. She’s gone to find her biological father.”

  The floor shifts under my feet as he comes closer. “Is this such a good idea? Not her going ta find her dad, but ye tagging along on the road. Ye know with yer—”

  He’s right. This could be a disaster. I lean my forehead against the door. My body shakes from hair to foot, afraid of everything out there. Everything beyond my isolated world. I have to go, though. What I could lose is so much greater than the risks I’ll face. “You and Mom are always encouraging me to do more on my own. Doesn’t this count? I have autism. I’m not smart, not like Shay, or savvy like Liam. But I can do this. Trust me?”

  Da sighs, which sounds more like a snoring bear than an exaggerated exhale. “I trust ye, son. The rest of the world is what worries me.”

  I face him and make eye contact. No sense hiding the truth from him. “Me too, Da.”

  He slaps his arm around my shoulder. “Yer mother is goin’ ta kill me. Ye know this? Let’s get ye packed.”

  He ticks off all of the things I need on his hand. Meds. Wallet. Cell phone and charger. Clean underwear and clothes. He leaves the room and comes back a few minutes later with protein bars and a wad of money.

  I put the bars in my backpack, but shake my head at the cash. “I have money in my account. I don’t need yours.”

  He shoves it at me again. “Take it anyway, in case.”

  I give in and take it from him, shoving it into the front pocket of my bag. It’s a battle I’m going to lose, and if I stay any longer, Mom might wake up and try to stop me.

  Da walks out the side door with me and rubs my head. I always liked how that felt as a kid. He called the game “shake-a-head,” and while others might find the motion disturbing, it’s always helped me feel grounded. I need that now.

  I slip on my helmet and climb on my scooter.

  “Check in every few hours, will ye, boy? For yer mother’s sake.”

  I tip my head at him and he nods back.

  “For Mom. No problem. And Da? I’ll be okay. I promise.” Am I t
rying to convince him, or myself?

  “Yes, I know ye’ll be fine, son.”

  If by “fine” he means sweaty and nauseated and unsure, then he’s nailed it.

  No turning back now, though. Elena’s depending on me. Trini, too, though she doesn’t know yet.

  Time to show a little drive and prove my worth.

  “You turn the pages and you see/The light hiding in the shadows in the deepest part of me.”—Lyrics from “Like a Book” by Mac Kelly

  New Year’s Day

  The Welcome Inn

  Homestead, Florida

  MY EARLIEST MEMORIES are of Key West. People think “beach town, ocean smells.” Yeah, but not all ocean smells are pleasant. Like the piles of seaweed washed up on the beach at high tide simmering in the sizzling sun. That smell is downright nauseating.

  However, I’ve never smelled anything as rank as this vomit on my clothes. Most of the puke is on my T-shirt, so I slip it carefully over my head.

  Trini’s eyes widen. She acts like she hasn’t seen me without my shirt on. We’ve known each other forever, and when you live in Key West, you spend lots of time in the water. Maybe it’s because I kissed her last night, and now she sees me in a different light. Hopefully. There’s no time to be hopeful, though. I dart to the bathroom and flick on the lights, the buzzing fluorescent overhead casting an eerie blue glow on the old pink tile. Cigarette burns mar the sink, marks made long before this room was converted into a non-smoking one, but the bathroom appears clean enough.

  I slide back the thin white curtain and find the tub is clean too. Trini could take a bath, so she can sit. I’m not sure if she could stand, given her state. A spider falls from the ceiling and brushes against my arm before falling into the chipped pink tub.

  Never mind. Shower it is. I tilt my head up and don’t spy anymore arachnids crawling across the ceiling, so I flip on the shower and rinse the creepy-crawly down the drain. I check the water temperature, and the powerful blast shoots scalding needles against my forearm. I dial the temperature back and let the water run while I go back out to the main room.

  Trini is in the same spot I left her. Her head is bowed, like she’s praying. Her lips move, barely, but no words come out. I guess when you hurt like she does, you pray to God, or whoever you believe in, to make the pain and nausea go away.