by CL Walters
“It’s so quiet,” Max says.
“It’s hard to believe that people are just gone, left everything like this. Abandoned.”
A raindrop.
Another.
I look up at the sky as the rain begins to fall.
“There!” Max points to a building with an open doorway at the other end of the main thoroughfare. By the time we reach the opening, our t-shirts are spotted with raindrops, our hair slick with moisture; we duck into the darkened interior, a barn. It isn’t comfortable, but it’s dry.
“It could be a while.” I stand at the doorway, looking out at the gray sky that’s opened, emptying on the town. I shake out my hair.
“It’s okay.”
I turn from the doorway as Max takes her yellow coat out of her backpack and lays it down on the ground near a wall.
“You sure? We could make a run for it. I know you had plans.”
She sits down. “I don’t mind waiting.”
“It’s going to be muddy either way.” I look back outside.
“Packing isn’t going anywhere. Besides, I’m an expert at it.”
I turn away from the entrance and follow where she’s gone deeper into the building. Leaky places are beginning to make music in the room of the barn, but Max has picked a place that is dry.
Using my own jacket, I lay it out next to her and sit down. “I packed some food.”
“You did?” She smiles. “I’m impressed.”
I draw the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches from my backpack. “They’re smashed. Sorry.”
“Still food.” She thanks me when I hand her one. “Who knew you were so resourceful. I may have to change your name.”
“To what?” I unwrap my smashed sandwich and take a bite.
“I’m going to be thinking about it. What does your name mean, anyway?”
“Griffin? It’s a monster. You know the one with the lion body and the eagle head and wings. When I asked my mom why she named me after a monster, she said she wanted something to match my brother’s name.”
“What’s his name again?”
“Phoenix.”
“The bird that rises from the ashes?”
“She claimed something like the griffin is a revered monster.”
“Well, you know the internet never lies.” Max bumps my shoulder with hers.
“It says ‘ferocious monster.’”
“That plus Serial Killer. Car-slave. They all kind of work. You could have a name like mine that means ‘great stream’ and get teased for having a strong urinary flow.”
This makes me smile, draws me out of being moody about my name. “Great stream, huh?” I pause and am unable to control myself. “Is that before or after it’s hard?”
She backhands my shoulder playfully, and we sit in the ghost town together, laughing.
It’s funny, I think, how an echo of desolation has bounced around inside me for so long, and suddenly, sitting here with Max, her echo seems to answer mine. Now, I don’t feel like a shadow but someone alive, and it took her friendship to help me begin to find myself. The realization that she’s leaving in a couple of days, and I will be on my own again, alone, drifting, thins me out. I’m not sure I will ever be able to escape that echo.
8
“What is wrong with you?” Mom asks as she moves through the living room, plucking up her things for work.
I press buttons on the remote, killing stuff, and while video games usually bring me to an even plane of emotional existence, even my first-person romp in a graphics-induced universe isn’t helping my mood. It’s been a couple of days since my hike with Max, and I haven’t run since. I don’t want to acknowledge the foulness of my mood, but it’s getting more difficult not to. Max is leaving. It makes me want to break shit, but I don’t know why, and I don’t want to think or talk about why my mood might be related to that fact.
I change the subject, focusing on my mom instead, taking in her scrubs. “Maybe since I’m working now, you can quit one of your jobs.”
She straightens. “Don’t think I haven’t thought about it.”
“You should. I mean, you’re getting rent from me, and should be from Phoenix, soon.”
She stuffs her cellphone in her purse. “I’ll think about it.”
“You could do something you want. Maybe start dating.”
She freezes. “What are you talking about?”
I shrug. “Just throwing out ideas.”
She moves again. “Well, don’t think too hard. You should shower. You’re starting to stink.”
She’s right, I haven’t showered since I got back from the hike. I haven’t had anywhere to go or anyone to see. Didn’t seem to be a point.
“I won’t be home until about two.”
I nod, listen to the door close behind her as she leaves, and maintain my position on the couch with my remote and escapism.
Sometime later, Phoenix wanders into the living room and flops into the chair. “Damn, you’re ripe.”
“Fuck off.”
“Where’s the other remote?”
“I broke it. But there’s an old one you could plug in.”
Phoenix digs through all the video game paraphernalia until he finds it, then plugs it into the console to charge. He returns to a seat and watches me play until we can program him into the next game. We play, doing something normal like laughing, pushing, ribbing one another. Acting like brothers, I suppose.
My time with Max to The Bend inspires me to keep ahold of what’s real, even if it’s difficult. So as Phoenix and I play, I work up the courage to try and unpack some of the boxes I’ve been carrying. “Why didn’t you come see us if you were in the city?”
His avatar ducks behind a concrete pillar to avoid enemy fire. “I told you. I was mad.”
“At me?”
Phoenix sets down the control and looks at me. His avatar gets blown up a few seconds later. “No,” my brother says. “Why would you think that?”
I shrug, struggling to figure out what I’m trying to say. “I just–” I stop. I’m not sure how to articulate the feelings. I feel anger, sure, but that’s my default setting. I feel… hurt. “You’re my brother, and all that time, you didn’t want to know how I was? To check on me?”
Anger must be Phoenix’s default setting too. He stands up with a frustrated noise.
I think he’s going to leave, run away from the conversation because it’s what I would have done, but before he disappears down the hallway, he turns and stalks back into the room.
He looks conflicted, the whole of his features frowning, his body sort of hunched over on itself. “Yes.” He runs a hand through his hair. “You’re my brother. There wasn’t a day that went by that I didn’t think about you, that I didn’t wonder how you were.”
My avatar is long dead, and the default settings of the game are playing on the screen. I watch them a moment, both buoyed by his acknowledgement of missing me but also crushed by it. “Then why didn’t you come home?”
“I couldn’t.”
“Why?”
“Can’t you just fucking drop it? I’m here now. I’m not going anywhere. You have my promise about that.”
“Why can’t you just be honest with me?”
“Why is this about honesty? I’m being honest with you. Right now!” His hands fly out to his sides.
“I’m not a fucking idiot, Phoenix. And I’m strong enough to handle whatever it is you aren’t telling me.”
“I’m not! Don’t you fucking get it yet, Griffin? I’m not strong enough.” He turns around and stalks out of the room. Part way down the hall, he yells, “Just drop it!” then slams his bedroom door. A few minutes later, he stalks through the living room. “I’m going out.”
I watch him walk down the walk and turn up the sidewalk, reminding me of Tanner. Only this time I was the one trying to talk, and Phoenix is shutting me out.
My phone pings, drawing my attention back into the room. It’s Max: Would you like to come
over for farewell pizza?
I text her back right away: Yes. What time?
Max: 5
I look at the time on my phone. I’ll be there, I text her.
Needing to burn off frustration before then, I go for a run. The movement spends the energy I’ve got pent up from what happened with Phoenix in addition to my sour mood, so when I get back home, I feel more balanced. After a shower and a trip to the store to pick up something for Max’s farewell pizza (I chose a cake with flowers and a giant, shiny Good Luck balloon), I park the car.
Max swings open the front door, maneuvers with ease down the ladder, and hops toward the car. She looks cute in those favorite denim cutoffs that show off her legs. The t-shirt is tie-dyed a rainbow of colors, Poison written in block letters with “Nothing but a Good Time” scrawled underneath. I didn’t add that song to the playlist. I’ll have to remember it. She’s smiling and pulls her hair back, tying it up into a loose bun as she walks toward me.
“Am I late?” I ask when I get out.
“No. Pizza hasn’t arrived. You won.”
“I didn’t know it was a competition.”
“Life is a competition, SK. Come on.”
“I bought you a cake.” I hand it to her.
“That’s sweet, literally.” She smiles, and the dimple is etched in her cheek.
“Clever.”
“Kind of big for the three of us.”
She starts up the short ladder to get in through the front door. I’m behind her, working to keep my eyes off her ass, but then it’s a good thing I’ve allowed myself to admire it because she loses her balance.
I reach up, hands on her waist to help her. “You good?”
She hums an affirmation, which hits my gut with warmth that spreads outward.
I make sure she’s all the way up the ladder before I let go, and the skin of my palms burns from touching her. I wipe them against my thighs, trying to reset my nerve endings. Friends, Griffin. She’s leaving.
Pointing at the cake, I say, “I picked that one out because you never know. Maybe that’s what your dad will eat when he gets back.”
Her smile fades.
“Shit. I’m kidding, Max.” I grasp her shoulder to offer her comfort and bend slightly to meet her eyes, which slide down to the ground. “I’ll make sure he’s eating good.”
Her eyes jump up and grasp onto mine. “Promise?”
I nod. “I also got this for you.” I hold out the balloon to her.
She takes it. “I’ll bet you think you deserve some applause for it too.”
I grin at her. “Maybe.”
She snorts, shakes her head, and then leads me into the house. “Griffin’s here, Dad.”
Cal turns away from the counter where it looks like he’s making a salad. “I’m glad you’re here. This one’s been moping about.”
I measure her with my gaze, recognizing myself in Cal’s words.
She stops next to him at the counter, her back to me. “Dad, you lie.”
He wraps an arm around her, squeezes her with affection before letting her go to finish the salad.
“All packed?” I ask.
“Yes. I guess.”
“Nervous?”
“Yes.”
“Excited?”
“Yes.”
“I’m not,” Cal says.
Max hands me some plates. “Help me set the table?”
After the plates are on the table, Max is folding napkins, and I’m setting the utensils on them. “You know pizza is a finger food, right? All the water wasted washing dishes.”
“But salad isn’t a finger food.”
“It could be.” I set down a fork and go to retrieve the cups.
Cal sets the salad bowl on the table just as a knock signals the pizza guy has arrived. “I’ll grab that.” He disappears.
Max places her last napkin. “That makes you a caveman.”
I stop next to her and set down the last fork and cup. “Is that your new name for me?” I drop my arms to my sides. “I thought I was going to get something nicer.”
Max assesses the table, dropping her arms to her sides. “You think you deserve a nicer name, SK?”
We’re standing close enough that the skin of our arms and the backs of our hands brush. A current sizzles from where her skin touches mine, rushing through my body and seizing up my heart so that it palpitates in an unsteady rhythm. I swallow, wanting to explore the sensations but afraid. I disconnect instead, folding my arms over my chest. Friends.
“I hoped.”
“Here’s the pie.” Cal walks back in with the pizza. “Let’s eat.”
We settle around the table to eat, and I realize I can’t remember ever doing this with my own family. Maybe when I was little, before Dad went to prison. After, Mom was always working. Phoenix and I ate in front of the TV. I mostly sit and observe Cal and Max, the way they talk and laugh. The way he watches her with a smile and his eyes shining with vibrancy I might characterize as affection, probably love. He tells me about the cabinet Max refinished for him and how beautiful it is, the pride evident in his smile and words. I offer thoughts when they invite me into the conversation, laugh when I’m supposed to, but it would be a lie to say I’m not feeling the pall of the impending departure. Tomorrow, they won’t be here.
Has it only been seven or eight weeks ago that Max walked into my life?
We play cards. Eat cake. Talk more. I hear stories about Max growing up. Her spreadsheets using star stickers to keep Cal on budget, and her color-coded grocery lists.
“I think that’s enough embarrass Max for one night.” She stands, still smiling.
I will my heart to stop its weird dance when I look at her.
She carries the cake into the kitchen.
“I don’t think it’s embarrassing,” Cal says, leaning back in his chair. He stifles a yawn.
“Dad,” she looks over her shoulder, “you told Griffin I color-code the grocery list.”
I stifle a smile. “I’m sure it’s helpful.”
“It is.” Cal stretches. “Before I forget, Griffin, would you do me a favor while I’m gone?”
“Sure.”
“Would you come out to check on the house every day? I’m a little worried about those doors.”
“You got it.”
Cal stands. “On that note, this old man is sleepy. I’m going to leave you young ones to clean up.”
“We got it,” Max says, standing by the table again.
Cal leans over and kisses her temple. “Night.”
We both wish him a good night and watch him leave the room. I get up to help clear the rest of the table.
“Thank you, Griffin.”
“Sure. No problem. I don’t mind.” I like helping her.
“No.” She hands me a damp cloth. “I mean for being there for my dad.”
I can see she’s trying not to cry when I take the cloth.
“It’s for the table.” She turns back to the sink.
I wipe the table so it’s clean. “He’s going to be okay.”
“I know.”
I stop next to her at the sink and drop the cloth into the sudsy water. “Then what’s up?”
She doesn’t look at me and continues washing the salad bowl, but it looks more like she’s just swirling around the water. “It’s just me.”
That organ in my chest keeping me alive sputters again. “What?”
She turns and looks at me, and I see her teary gray eyes are sparkling water under a starry sky. “I’m scared to leave him.” She blinks, and a tear drips down her cheeks.
I wrap an arm around her and draw her against my side. “You’re going to be great. I know it.”
“What if I’m not. What if I can’t find any friends? What if I can’t find my way around. What if I flunk out? What if I just miss Dad so bad that I sink into a horrible depression where I never shower and my roommate plots to get me removed.” She smiles through her tears.
“All of those t
hings are improbable.”
Her eyebrows arch over her tear-filled eyes with a question she doesn’t even need to vocalize.
“You’re one of the weirdest people I know,” I say.
“That doesn’t help.”
“Sure it does. Weird is good. You’re original, and fun, and kind. You care about people. I mean, if you could care about me—a fake serial killer—and get me to talk to you, then surely you can get normal people to like you. And you’re one of the smartest people I know. As for the roommate and depression and stinking up the place, I’m not sure a girl who color-codes lists is bound for not showering.”
Her arm wraps around me from behind, the heat of her hand imprinting my skin through my t-shirt near my hip, and her head tips to rest against my shoulder. “Want to hear something really weird,” she says and sniffs.
“You mean something normal since everything you say is weird.”
“I’m going to miss you.”
My throat constricts. Breathe, I tell myself. Breathe. I take a breath. “I know,” I say, going for our usual sarcasm since it feels safer.
She pinches my side. “I’m being serious.”
I accept her words for what they mean to me—everything—and offer them back to her with honesty. “I’m going to miss you, too.”
I turn my head toward her, intending to plant a kiss against her cheek. At the same moment, she turns her head. My lips brush the corner of her mouth, right where her dimple would be if she were smiling.
I freeze.
She freezes.
Her eyes jump to mine, and her fingertips press the place I’ve kissed.
The air contracts around us, heavy with suggestion, anticipation, tension.
My eyes drop to her fingertips. Her lips, pretty and pink, slightly parted, and my heart drops into my stomach. It shouldn’t. Shouldn’t. Shouldn’t, I repeat to myself as a reminder that Max is my friend.
Max moves. Her hands frame my face, and she presses her lips to mine.
Her pumpkin pie scent swirls around me and makes me hungry for her. My first impulse is to grasp her hips, walk her backward, press her against the counter, lift her so she can wrap her legs around my hips, and taste my fill.