In the Echo of this Ghost Town

by CL Walters

  Mom. Nope.

  Tanner. Not an option, even if I wished it were. Maybe I should text him.

  Phoenix. Maybe. Haven’t seen him.

  Cal. Stupid idea.

  My dad. Hell no.

  Max. That would be weird.

  I feel like one of those half-used jars of salsa surrounded by other mismatched items that don’t go together. I’m beginning to see the benefit of having people to bounce ideas around with; how there are ways people complement one another—like Max—or distract like Marcus or Bella. Max is the chips to my salsa. I think maybe I was in the latter category with my friends. Understanding it makes me miss Tanner because when it was good, before I messed it up, I think we were like chips and salsa too. This awareness makes me frustrated at the same time because it reminds me that I wasn’t a great friend and looking in the mirror—or at salsa without chips—sucks.

  With a sigh, I shut the door and decide that going for a run will be a better use of my time. At least the thrashing from the concrete will quiet my thoughts for a while and deplete this awful energy I’ve got building up. It’s making me think about letting off steam by doing something stupid.

  “Why are you sighing like a bitch?” Phoenix walks into the dining room from the hallway. His hair is standing up in tufts all over his head, and he scratches his stomach scored with a lot of ink. He opens the refrigerator.

  “There isn’t much in there,” I say and ignore his comment. “You cleaned up the house on my birthday?”

  He glances at me, bent over into the fridge. He nods.

  “Thanks.”

  “Happy Birthday.”

  “So, where here have you been?”

  He closes the fridge after looking inside. “Someone ordain you our mother?” He walks past me to the coffee pot.

  “Just haven’t see you that’s all.”

  “We really should stop meeting this way.” He chuckles as he makes a pot of coffee. “Been busy.”

  “Doing what?” I ask as I walk down the hallway. I walk into my room and jerk my t-shirt over my head to change my clothes for a run.

  He stops in the doorway of my room, leans against the jamb. “Again, are you my mother?”

  I flop on my bed to put on socks. “Whatever. You haven’t gotten a job yet?”

  “I got some prospects.”

  I roll my eyes.

  “What?”

  I look around my room for my shoes and think that maybe I should buy some new ones as much as I’ve been running. But I need other stuff like gas for my car, to replace the screen on my phone, and a cheap laptop for school. I can make do. “You’ve been home almost two months, bro.”

  “Stuff isn’t panning out.”

  “And why’s that? It took me less than a week.”

  “Well, you don’t have–” he stops himself, stares at the carpet, then disappears from my doorway.

  “I don’t have what?” I follow him back into the living area, shoes in hand.

  “Never mind. Forget it.” He pours a cup of coffee before the pot has finished its cycle; it hisses at him.

  “I’m not going to forget it. Mom works too hard. Today’s her last day at Bob’s. She needs us to step the fuck up.”

  He faces me. “Last day at the minimart, huh?”

  I don’t respond because I see what he’s doing. I’ve done it. I did it to Tanner when he tried to talk to me about things that made me face feelings. I’d change the subject, offer sarcasm, anything to avoid talking about what was real.

  I walk around into the kitchen, removing the barrier between us. “I don’t have what?”

  “Just forget it. I’ll find a job. I got some feelers out there.”

  “Legit ones?”

  His eyebrows come together, and he’s gone from twenty-five miles-per-hour to eighty. “What the fuck, Griffin?”

  “Where were you, Phoenix? The last four years?” I ask.

  “Around.” He walks around me into the living room.

  I follow. “Around my ass. What do you have that I don’t?”

  “Fuck off, little bro, and go take your jog.”

  “Tell me, Phoenix. Stop being a pussy and just tell me.”

  He slams his coffee cup on the coffee table and comes at me. “You want to know?”

  I hold my ground. “I’m not little anymore, Bro. Stop trying to protect me.”

  He twists away from me, runs a hand through his hair, then resumes his big man posturing even though he’s smaller than I am. “That’s my job.”

  “Since when? You aren’t around. We’re here right now. Different.”

  “You don’t have to fucking remind me. I feel guilty about it.”

  “About what? It’s always fucking secrets and lies with us. What the fuck is it?”

  “You don’t fucking want to know.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I fucked up!”

  I stop, wait, because I know he’s going to finally tell me. I don’t want to chase the truth away with something stupid I might say.

  He makes a frustrated sound, then says, “I was in prison. Just like dad. Like father, like son. You happy now?”

  I’m not happy. No. But I’m relieved to know the truth. I’m relieved to know that he didn’t contact me for a reason. I can understand this. I wouldn’t have wanted him to know if I’d been in Dad’s shoes either. I don’t know what makes me do it, but instead of punching his face like I wanted to do a moment ago, I wrap my arms around him. It’s Max’s rules running through my mind. Rules 4 and 5: accept and forgive.

  Instead of pushing me away like I expect him to do, Phoenix sort of wilts against me. Then he cries. It’s awkward as hell, my big brother letting his emotions loose, but I don’t run away from it like I did with Tanner. Sure, Tanner didn’t cry or anything. In retrospect though, I think he was trying to share his feelings, and I shut him down. Phoenix breaking down is like getting another opportunity to do it better. I hold him tighter.

  He steps away eventually, depleted of his anger, but looking sheepish. “Fuck. Sorry.” He wipes his face with his hands.

  “I don’t think you need to be sorry about that.” Saying it feels right, feels like something Cal would say.

  Phoenix just looks at me. “Are you a Nichols man?” He offers a teary grin and crosses his arms over his chest. His smile fades, and in that instant, I see the shadow of our father on his face.

  “Yeah. And so are you.”

  His eyes jump to mine, then Phoenix’s eyes slide away because he can’t meet my gaze anymore. I get the discomfort since I’ve heard it before, real men don’t cry. There’s a lie in there, though, I think. I’ve got so many feelings wrapped around the complications of my life. Feelings coiled around Tanner and my friends, my brother, Mom, and my father, around Max and Cal, even around Bella. All these threads that are different and messy and knotted. I don’t know how to unravel them, but it doesn’t change the fact that there are emotions at play. I’m not looking at my brother as if he’s weak because he’s cried, but rather brave because he has. I don’t think he sees it. I don’t know how to say that though. I’m not sure he’d hear it.

  He clears his throat. “You going for that run?”

  “Yeah.” I sit on a chair next to the door and put on my shoes. “Want to come?”

  “No.” He sits on the couch and reaches for his coffee which has sloshed onto the table. “Shit,” he mutters and takes the sip of his coffee and uses his t-shirt to clean the mess. “Thanks though,” he adds as though wanting to keep this peace we’ve brokered. “When did you start running.”

  “A couple of months ago.”

  He doesn’t say anything.

  “I was drinking too much.”

  His eyes fly up from the coffee mess on the table to my face.

  “I didn’t want to admit it to anyone, you know, but I was drinking so much, blacking out, and doing stupid shit. Lost all my friends.” I almost gag when I say it, taking responsibility. Hearing it out loud suck
s and being the one to admit it even worse, but then it’s almost like the power of it hanging over me lessens. “I wanted a drink so bad, that I just went for a run, and it made me feel like shit, but a good kind of shit.” I scoff at the reality of it. “A kind of shit that made it, so I didn’t want that drink.”

  “You go to one of those programs?”

  I shake my head.

  “Want to?”

  “Like AA? You do?”

  “Yeah. It’s a twelve-step program for recovering addicts.”

  “You go?”

  He nods. “That’s why I left your birthday. It’s where I go, mostly.”

  I look up at him. “We must really be Nichols’ men.”

  He gives me a grin full of regret. “Yeah.”

  A couple of days later, I drive Phoenix to one of his meetings and stay with him. I park in a church lot and follow him up the stairs into a meeting room where there are a bunch of chairs set up in a circle on a cheap blue carpet. The meeting fills up with people, all men.

  “Griffin?”

  I turn at the sound of my name and come face to face with Tanner’s dad.

  “Hey, Mr. James.”

  He extends his hand. “Welcome.”

  I shake his hand. “I’m here with my brother.” I use my thumbs to point over my shoulder at Phoenix who’s talking to someone behind me.

  Mr. James’s eyes light up. “I didn’t know Phoenix was your brother. Goodness. It’s a small world.”

  “I didn’t know you came to this–” I stop unsure what to say, not wanting to be rude.

  “About a year now. The meetings and the community have helped me in lots of ways. Not just with the drinking, but also with other things.”

  I shove my hands into the pockets of my jacket and look down at my shoes. I think I know what he’s talking about, but I’m feeling so uncomfortable with how out in the open he is.

  “That’s good,” I eventually say.

  He smiles, and I see Tanner. “Yeah. I’m better, but you know it isn’t all easy. I have to work hard at being better every day. I’m just glad I’ve been able to start fixing things with Tanner.”

  I study him, interested in this bit of information. I know a version of what he did to Tanner and Tanner’s mom. I know what Tanner has had to deal with. I wouldn’t have ever thought Tanner would forgive him.

  “We’re a work in progress. Geez. Listen to me going on and on. How have you been?”

  We talk about my working for Cal. Tanner’s dad offers me a place if I ever need it, so I mention Phoenix looking for work, and they talk for a bit. The meeting begins, calling us into the circle.

  Phoenix and I take our seats. I look across the circle at Tanner’s dad and wonder if Tanner was willing to forgive his dad for all that he did, would he be willing to forgive me?

  Phoenix leans toward me, “I don’t know if I can do construction.”

  “I didn’t think I could either, but you might like it. It’s like running. Besides, it’s a job.”

  The meeting opens with a prayer, a recitation, and a reading. I suddenly feel like I’m in a church service and fight the urge to flee. It’s fucking uncomfortable, and I can’t put my finger on why I feel like I want to run away, but I do. I grasp my phone and think about Max who I know would tell me to calm down and be there for my brother. When people begin sharing—much like Tanner’s Dad earlier—I feel the fight or flight response, afraid of all the feelings.

  There are tears. Men sharing. Crying. Offering their stories that reveal their hearts. I think about how vulnerable many of them are and consider how I thought Phoenix was brave for sharing with me. I have the feeling all the ways I’d thought boxing up gentle Griffin and protecting him with defensive Griff perhaps wasn’t brave at all, but because I was afraid.

  Later, I’m lying on my bed trying to sleep thinking about all those boxed-up feelings, and the hot-girls-hot-cars poster leers at me from the wall. It makes me think of Bella. I’ve been putting off calling her for too long, but there’s a bunch of snakes swirling around in my gut, hissing anxiety about doing it. I reach for vulnerable Griffin, and instead of thinking about it, I dial Bella’s phone. My heart thunks around in my chest, rattling like a broken-down car as the phone rings. I’m hoping she won’t answer, like she’ll see my name and avoid a poor imitation to Tanner, but the next thing I know I’m hearing her voice.

  “Hi Griff. This is a surprise.” She sounds the same even over the phone which is a weird detail to grasp onto.

  Before, I would have said something to attempt to charm her. Now, though, it’s like I can’t find those words anymore. The importance of being honest rears its head at me thanks to the voices of Max and those honest voices at Phoenix’s meeting. “I wasn’t going to,” I admit.

  “Then why are you?” I can hear annoyance edge her voice, a typical Bella tone.

  “I felt like I owed you an apology.” As I say it, I’m not sure I mean it. She’d been the one to compare me to Tanner. She’d been the one so adamant we have sex even if I’d been willing. She hadn’t reached out to me either, yet here I’m calling her to apologize. For what again?

  “What? Why?”

  “I just wanted to say I was sorry with how things went down between us at my party, and after. I was drunk and I shouldn’t have, you know–” My tongue trips over itself trying to find the words to express what it is I need to say, even if I don’t really know what it is I need to say.

  “No, Griff, I don’t know. What are you talking about?”

  I hesitate, pause to search for the truth because lying would be a lot easier. Was I sorry I slept with her? Yes. But what if she wasn’t sorry about it? And why would I apologize for that. Because I’d used her. Because I’d ignored my inner voice who’d told me not to. But I don’t say those things and instead say, “I’m sorry I didn’t call you. After.” It’s true, but it isn’t hurtful. Hurting her isn’t what I want, which is new. Four months ago, I wouldn’t have cared. Four months ago, I wouldn’t have called.

  She sighs. “It’s okay. I’m sorry how I just sort of left, too, but it isn’t, like, you or anything. I don’t want you to get the wrong idea after—you know—what I said. It’s just, after your party, I feel like maybe I wasn’t making good choices for myself.”

  I withhold a sigh of relief but then get caught on her words and narrow my eyes. “Because I’m a bad choice.”

  “No. No! That’s not what I mean.” She sighs loudly. “It’s just that I’ve been partying a lot, for a while, and I feel like I’m not going anywhere. I’ve seen where that dead end took my mom, and I just think I want more for myself, you know?”

  “Yeah.” I know exactly what she means.

  “I started Cosmetology School.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Beauty school. Like cutting and styling hair, doing makeup and stuff.”

  “That’s cool,” I tell her.

  She talks a little bit longer about it, and I’m not interested at all, but I listen anyway because I’m trying to be better. Eventually she says, “Thanks for calling.”

  “Yeah.” There’s an extended pause that stretches after my words. I’m not sure what else to say, and I just want to cut the line. “Well, I should go.”

  “I should go,” she says at the same time.

  We laugh uncomfortably.

  “Thanks, Griffin.”

  I hang up and am simultaneously unnerved by the call and relieved, that door closed and sealed. I look up at the hot-girls-hot-cars poster and take it down. I don’t want to be that Griffin Nichols anymore.

  1

  I stand inside the doorway of a building at the community college where I’m taking classes, shrugging into my jacket, backpack between my feet on the floor, measuring the weather with my eyes, and contemplating the Chinese take-out I’m going to pick up to share with Cal. Tiny snowflakes dust the world in quiet chaos. It isn’t really the kind that will stick, but it is November, so that could change.

&nb
sp; “Griffin, right?”

  I turn my head to see who’s talking to me and zip up my jacket.

  It’s a cute girl from my writing class. She’s got a puffy, blue jacket on, and her short, blond hair, framing her face, is covered with a matching yarn cap layered with greens, blues, and yellows, and one of those puffs on the top.

  I pick up my backpack and sling it over my shoulder. “Hey. Yeah.” I don’t know her name.

  “Lauren.”

  “Writing class.”

  “You finished with your next paper?” she asks.

  “No.” That’s a huge ass no. I always wait until the night before. I hate writing.

  The truth is, I don’t like school. I wish I did but sitting in classes feels more like a visit to the dentist to poke around for cavities. My mind never roots in the classroom. Instead, it drifts to thinking about working with Cal. I break through the drywall and rip out the old stuff, take the innards of the house down to its skeleton. I picture the wood framing lined with treasures like wires, pipes, casing, and mistakes that need to be fixed. It’s where my roots have grown.

  She smiles. “I was thinking that maybe—if you’re interested in some company—we could meet up at the library and work on our next paper together.”

  I noticed her a couple of months ago when she’d walked into class that first day. She’s got this vibe I found appealing at the time. Back in September, a part of me was running from the weird kiss with Max and the awful hookup with Bella. I looked at her and thought, “Hell yeah!” But after being honest with myself about what happened with Bella added to the mixed-up ways I’m still thinking about Max, I haven’t thought about her since.

  “I work, so it’s kind of hard to meet outside of class.” I shove my hands into the pockets of my jacket.

  “Oh. Right.” She glances away, and I have the feeling that maybe I’ve misread her, that she might be disappointed. Maybe she’s interested in me.

  That idea feels good.