by S.J. Finch
Chapter 6
Stale pizza. Mildew. Laundry detergent. Of all the smells in the known universe, these three together were Ryan’s favorite. Separately, none of them were especially remarkable. Together however, in Ryan’s nostrils, they formed an elegant bouquet which could be truly appreciated only by a select few. Ryan happened to be one of these few, since this combination of aromas meant that he was in his favorite place on Earth: Eli’s basement. That one fact was all he needed to know to be happy, and at any given moment, there was no place he’d rather be.
The basement had been like a second home to Ryan ever since he’d first met Eli all those years ago. The high and low points of their childhoods had occurred right here. Shared elation over clearing the final level of Super Mario Worldon Eli’s old SNES. Shared tears the night Eli’s father had died. Shared sniggering by Vanessa and Eli when Ryan had gone there for moral support before his first date. Shared commiseration after the date failed to lead to a second. Ryan didn’t often think about such things, but on the occasions he did wax meditative, he knew that when he was sixty and thinking back on the “golden years,” the memories would all be of this place.
Ryan loved everything about the basement. He loved the mismatched rectangles of scavenged carpeting that only covered a quarter of the unfinished concrete floor. He loved the ancient washer and drier that sat in the corner, the same one Eli’s mother had used since they were kids. It made the same noises now as it had the night of Ryan and Eli’s very first sleepover. Ryan loved the decades-old TV whose picture would get fuzzy if you stood in certain places relative to the rabbit years. He loved the rumbling refrigerator that stood against the wall and he loved that, even now, Eli’s mother always made sure it was stocked with more soda than the three of them could possibly ever drink. He loved the ratty, fourth-hand sofa that sat in the middle of the room, and the motley assortment of chairs that sat around it. There was the old dining chair Eli had kept when his mother had thrown out the rest of the dinette set. There was the old bean bag chair that sprayed its “beans”, the small white foam spheres, all around the room if you sat down too hard. There was the garish orange recliner that no one in the family was quite sure where it had originally come from. There was the desk chair that Ryan and Eli had stolen from a particularly disliked junior high math teacher. More than any other place Ryan knew, this was home.
On this particular occasion of course, his friends were in a shouting match.
“You’re being ridiculous!” Eli insisted. “Two arms versus eight legs? I don’t care how proportionally strong they are, in a combat situation it’s going to come down to quantity and flexibility over strength.”
Vanessa disagreed. “Uh huh. And tell me this: how are these government-engineered octopuses…octopi? How are they going to get into this ‘combat situation’? Chimpanzees are mammals. They walk on land. They are just plain better suited to government black ops!”
Eli squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. “How many times do I have to say it? They could be government engineered to walk on land and breathe above water! It’s not that difficult a concept! These hypothetical chimpanzees of yours can wield at most two, maybe three weapons. Octopuses on the other hand? They could use two legs to walk and the other six to carry weapons! Six! Against two! It’s simple math!”
Vanessa opened her mouth but Ryan chimed in first. “You know that band we were always going to start but didn’t because none of us had any talent? If we ever start it, we’re calling ourselves The Hypothetical Chimpanzees.”
“Stay out of this, Ryan!” Vanessa thundered, her face a bizarre contortion of smile and good-natured rage.
And so the argument went on, as they often did in Eli’s basement. On most nights, Ryan was right there with them in the verbal fray, but tonight he wasn’t feeling particularly combative. Ryan knew it was probably just as well, since getting into such a controversial topic as government-engineered attack animals would have kept him there for hours, and he didn’t have the time tonight.
“I’ve got to get going. Let me know who wins.” Ryan said eventually, and he rose from the orange recliner.
He headed for the door and heard Vanessa tell Eli that this wasn’t over and that she’d be right back. By the time Ryan reached the top of the basement stairs, Vanessa had fallen in step beside him.
He waited for her to say something, but she didn’t, so he kept walking. They passed through the kitchen, then the front door, and it wasn’t until they reached the end of the driveway that she finally spoke. The street was bathed in a darkening orange as the afternoon sun made its way steadily west.
“You never told me what the shrink said.”
Ryan turned to face her. “She said it was the big house for me. Do not pass ‘Go’, do not collect $200.”
Vanessa did not smile. “You can wisecrack your way into making everybody else think you’re a hundred percent: your parents or Eli or, apparently, even a trained professional, but not me. Those sarcastic and indifferent charms of yours don’t work on me.”
“Well it sounds like I’m really up the creek then, eh?” Ryan said and he smiled. Vanessa still did not.
“You tell me.” She said softly.
She was right. Somehow Vanessa had always been able to see things in him that others couldn’t. His parents, even Eli, couldn’t compare. She could cut through it all. He dropped the pretense.
“What…what are you asking?” Ryan stammered.
Vanessa had been looking at him the whole time, but now something had changed. It felt more like she was looking into him.
It was as if the birds had stopped chirping in the trees and the whistle of the crickets had died away. The mood had changed in an instant. No more playful arguing. No more good-natured insults or weak Monopoly references. Vanessa had changed the game and she had done it so fast Ryan’s head was spinning. Her gaze, gently exploding from blue eyes that seemed to shoot into Ryan’s soul and shatter his defenses like a slow-motion bullet through glass. All of a sudden, this was a big deal. Without warning, tonight, here, this crack in the sidewalk next to the tree planted on the parking strip, had become significant. Important. Mature.
“You’re not the guy that left on that camping trip. You look like him, you sound like him, you smell like him, but that guy never came back. You, whoever you are, you’ve replaced him. And I’m not saying that’s bad, I’m just saying that you’re a different person, and that is not something that you should just shrug off.”
Her voice had never wavered, her gaze never faltered. In that instant, Ryan hated her for it. He hated that she had seen right through him, he hated that she wanted to help, he hated that she was lecturing him on how to deal with his own problems, like he was a child.
“What am I supposed to say to that?” Ryan demanded. “Of course it was a traumatic experience, I was scared to death. I’m still scared! Do you know what I count as a ‘good night’ nowadays? One where I don’t wake up at four in the morning screaming and drenched in sweat. I don’t know why it happened to me and I don’t know why I lived. I don’t know if I’ll ever get over it, and I don’t know how I’ll even be able to tell that I am over it. Maybe I’ll have these god-forsaken nightmares until I’m forty, maybe I won’t. I don’t know! That’s my point! If I don’t know this stuff, you don’t know this stuff, so talking about it isn’t going to do a bit of good. My problems aren’t going to be solved by therapy, and they’re not going to be solved with a hug, a pint of Fudge Ripple, and a good cry. I tough this out and I crack wise, because that’s the only way I know how to deal with things.”
He finished red-faced, and immediately felt like he had gone too far. Vanessa had kept her voice even and controlled when she spoke, but he had thundered away at her without mercy. Still, she hadn’t flinched. She hadn’t once broken her gaze, which had now turned to steel as she grit her teeth. Her voice was soft, but her words held the same icy chill as the
evening air.
“You don’t want my help, that’s fine, but this is not a problem that’s going to just go away. You don’t get to go back to being that kid playing Xbox with Eli anymore. You stared down death, and lucky for you, you lived, but now you’ve got to deal with effects of that.”
“And what makes you the expert on all this, huh?” Ryan asked angrily, trying to use righteous indignation to keep the high ground that was rapidly crumbling beneath him.
“Nothing.” She said simply. “I don’t know what it feels like and I can’t, I guess…relate…to what you’re going through, but I know you. I know you think you can just walk away from this and it’ll all sort itself out, but I think this is too big for you to handle on your own. I was just offering to help.”
He had no retort. All she was doing was being concerned, and if that made Ryan as mad as he was now, he knew the problem was his, not hers. Still, he was stubborn. He didn’t want her help. She only knew half the story, and that half was terrible enough. If Vanessa couldn’t help him work through the effects of a bear attack, and he was still sure she couldn’t, Ryan knew she definitely wouldn’t be able to help him cope with a wolf-monster attack.
Ryan had to respond, but he knew he had to do so carefully. If he showed any weakness, any indication that Vanessa had gotten to him, it was over. If Ryan admitted to anyone, even himself, that he couldn’t do this on his own, he would cease to be Ryan. He had always believed that showing weakness was for the touchy-feely types, the ones who couldn’t deal, the ones on Lit Mag, the ones who listened to Coldplay. Showing emotion was for people who weren’t strong enough to laugh it all off, and showing emotion was showing weakness. Ryan had learned that the moment you show weakness was the moment they pounce on you. You show weakness, the slightest chink in the armor, and they’re all over you: Ryan the nerd, Ryan the geek, Ryan that couldn’t hit the ball even when it was on the tee, Ryan that spent his recesses on the swings rather than playing soccer like the other boys, Ryan that didn’t wear the latest fashions or drive the nicest car. He had made it this far on his own, by keeping it all bottled up inside, and he was going to get through this the exact same way.
Ryan knew he had to be mean. He wanted Vanessa to stop trying to help him and leave him alone. She didn’t deserve it of course, but Ryan knew he had to be harsh to get the message across.
“Did I come to you on my knees, begging you to interfere with my life? No! What does that tell you? If I wanted your help, if I wanted anyone’s help, I would ask for it!” He finished savagely as he turned and started the few remaining steps to his car.
“No you wouldn’t!” And her voice finally wavered. It had cracked on the last syllable, somewhere between white-hot anger and a sob.
It had worked. Her glassy façade had cracked and Ryan had won. It wasn’t a victory he would savor.
No more words were spoken as Ryan got into the Cherokee and pulled away. If he had mustered the strength to look back, to look her in the eye before he got in the car, he would have seen her blue eyes contorted, red and puffy, balanced precariously on the verge of the tears she was fighting with all the strength she had. If Ryan had turned and looked back as he rounded the corner at the end of the street, he would have seen Vanessa strike out in anger and frustration and slam her hand against the tree so hard that she would have a bruise on one side of her palm for days afterward.