by David Kummer
Jed
Each morning, before preparing for the work day, I drank half my coffee and then left the house to check the mailbox. This time of year, the grass was covered in dew, the sun glaring directly in my eyes. Our neighbors house across the street would’ve blocked it had they built a taller attic. Maneuvering along the driveway in my sandals, careful not to step in the grass and soak my feet, I drank in the sight of our little neighborhood.
Once at the mailbox, I did a quick glance down the street in either direction. There were often cars leaving for work, the men in suits or similarly nice outfits pulling away for their various occupations. Some of them had wives who perched in the doorway, waving them off, dressed in a robe. Some had teenage sons also leaving for their shifts at any of the various establishments around town. Those high schoolers with their summer jobs. But me, I stood alone at the mailbox, observing the same, mundane routines every morning.
“Hey there, old man!”
I had just opened the mail slot when I had to stop and turn. The man waved at me from across the road, standing next to an identical mailbox. Everyone in this neighborhood had the exact same, all set in ornate stone that rose from the ground. Each house looked nearly identical, the same architecture and same color palette. Some were larger, some had nicer cars, but we were more similar than different. Each and every one of us.
“Morning, Carl,” I called back, nodding at him. I turned back to the mailbox and stuck a hand inside, discovering a few letters and a small package.
“Crazy stuff about Bruce Michaels, huh?”
I rolled my eyes with my back still to Carl, but turned around to oblige him in a short conversation. I’d always felt a soft spot for him and his wife, ever since they lost their son to a summer camp accident a few years back. That whole situation had disturbed me. Not just the loss itself, but the town’s reaction and especially this neighborhood’s. Despite the cooked meals delivered and the baskets of gifts and the warm letters, nobody ever went to visit Carl’s house. Nobody checked up on them, not after the funeral. Neither did I, of course. But it still didn’t sit right with me. That sort of cold dissociation.
“Really is,” I responded, granting him a smile.
“You’ll be having him around for dinner, I assume?” Carl’s eyes were intent, and his meager grin did nothing to hide his true intentions.
“Not sure.”
“Well… if you do, be sure to say hi from me. I’m a… a big fan and all.”
Carl blushed a little and hid it by digging through his mail. As I’d expected, he wanted to meet Bruce. Everybody did. I would surely get more questions like this, but maybe, if possible… maybe I could grant Carl’s wish. Just to be thoughtful, for once.
“How’s your boy doing?” Carl called to me, straightening up again. His eyes didn’t give away any emotion now.
I always felt a little uncomfortable when he asked about Mason, wondering just slightly if he felt some kind of… jealousy or bitterness. Mason had attended that same camp, after all, years before Carl’s boy.
“Just fine, thanks.” I gestured back at the house with my handful of mail. “I best be going. Lucy’s waiting.”
“You take care, alright?” Carl wrinkled his nose and glanced in either direction. With nobody in earshot or driving by, he took a few steps into the road and said in a slightly lower voice, “Heard there’s some… big party this weekend. Friend of mine said his daughter’s been talking with friends about it. Not sure where or anything. Just thought you’d wanna know.”
“Thanks, Carl.” I nodded at him and escaped back to the house.
Just before I reached for the doorknob, I turned around to see Carl in his own doorway. Back to me, facing inside, he touched the wall with a hand and collapsed against it. His body breaking down into gentle sobs. I averted my eyes and caught on a house down the street, where an older man sat on his front porch, smoking a cigarette. I recognized the man but couldn’t decide on a name. Something about his appearance struck me. The way his eyes roamed, not unlike my own. Maybe we’d both run our course here.
As I turned away from the landscape of wealth and uniformity that had consumed me, I couldn’t help but think to myself that all of us were the same here. This segment of Little Rush, we faced the same difficulties and the same fears. Even Blough and I, though we didn’t get along. Even Carl.
We were sons of great men and of terrible ones, but we had become neither. There were no heroes and no villains. Just existence, breathing dying, in the name of nothing. All for nothing. What a generation to call my own.
* * *
That evening, I found myself sitting on the porch, surveying the neighborhood from a chair, but to my dismay, the older man down the road hadn’t reappeared. I had no cigarettes or even beer, but it still felt like a comfortable night to exist out here, watching people drive by.
The front door opened, and Mason hurried out, stumbling a bit when he saw me.
“Just heading out.” Mason stepped off the porch.
I asked, “So, you all just… hanging out?”
He glanced over his shoulder. Moving toward his convertible, keys in hand. He had the roof up, which seemed odd. He always kept it down, especially on sunny days like this. But I didn’t want to press him. I didn’t want an argument or even that look he shot me anytime I pried.
“Yeah. Just hanging.” He opened the driver’s door and stared at me. Something on the tip of his tongue. Then he swallowed.
I knew this wouldn’t be just a normal night. He never asked if he could use the cabin. He always just told me his plans. But yesterday, he’d actually asked. Something would be different tonight, then. Combined with the rumors Carl had shared, I had to wonder about some party. Not at my cabin, I hoped.
Behind him, the backdrop stretched in all directions, a quiet, suburban neighborhood. The wealthiest of the town in our meager glory. Matching mailboxes and glimmering cars. Freshly paved driveways and pristine lawns. The sun would finish its hour-long dive and the darkness would swallow us all. Each of us, the adults, looking on at a sky that signalled the end of another day. And soon our children would free themselves, drive their cars into the distance. Would they ever return? Could we stop them if we tried?
Sometimes, I felt incredibly connected with the rest of the houses. With these other men of wealth and nothing else. We were all proficient and efficient, all of us successful. Yet in the matter of children and wives, we couldn’t be more helpless. I supposed we were just modern men.
“Just stay safe and all,” I said. I took a sip from the glass of water in front of me, set it back down on the table next to the newspaper I’d considered reading.
We maintained eye contact for another moment. He nodded, a faltering smile, and then climbed into the car. I watched as he backed out of the driveway and turned onto the main road. I felt pretty confident they were throwing a party, with many more than just him, Willow, and Hudson. I also knew there would be plenty of alcohol. Just had a feeling. I mean, by his age, I’d taken my share of drinks. But it didn’t abate that sinking in my gut. I hated being lied to, by anyone, but especially Mason.
His car disappeared from sight and I slouched into the house. Lucy had taken off an hour ago. She and some friends were spending the night in a hotel, then going to something the next day. I didn’t know or care. For the first time in a few months, I had the house to myself.
Funny how things change. As a teenager, I’d have given anything for a night alone in a house this big, this expensive. Now I hated it. The walls closing in. The different paintings beginning to spin. The carpet opening to consume.
As the door shut behind me, I took a seat at the kitchen table and stared at the blank wall. I could see it now. Mason, partying. Mason, having sex. Mason, an unexpected pregnancy or an alcohol addiction, or both. Would I hate the girl after it happened? Would we ever talk again?
We weren’t that different, really. I did all the same stuff as a teenager. This town hadn’t changed much since then.
Only, my friends and I got drunk in someone’s dilapidated house downtown instead of a well-off cabin. Not only that, but in our free time, we’d bike around for hours downtown, visit some of the local shops, especially this one guy who sold soaps. Every day, we’d go in there and torment him. Just cause a scene. Get drunk at night, spend the morning hungover. At least we went to church, though. Mason hadn’t been to church in years. Then again, neither had I.
As teenagers, my friends and I spent more time hunting than drinking, truth be told. I never felt like alcohol dominated my teenage years. Smoking was just casual, too, and still accepted. I gave it up pretty easily. I wasn’t even sure if Mason smoked or not. If any kids did now. I didn’t know much about “kids” in general. Until Mason started high school, I hadn’t known the disconnect between me and people his age. As soon as he turned fifteen, that all changed.
Maybe that’s why we never had another kid. Henry thinks that’s the case. Him and his wife had talked about it, but they had trouble the first time around anyways. Lucy and I… we didn’t talk much about stuff like that. It wasn’t a good thing, but just one of those losses you can’t win back. There were moments for stuff like that, to commit your relationship, ensure you’re both communicating well. That moment passes, though, and by the time you realize it’s too late.
I’d always wanted a son. We agreed on that, at least, and then it actually happened. Lucy had her own reasons, but me… I wanted to have those man-to-man conversations. With someone I’d raised, cared for. I wanted that deepest of connections. And now, I felt nothing. Nothing but fear, anger, desperation, loss.
Mason had slipped so far away. What did I have left? A small fortune of assets, some businesses, an empty home?
Lucy would probably leave me soon if things didn’t change. It’s not like we’d been happy. The more success I got, the farther I drifted from my family’s rowboat. But I, with the huge ship, could do nothing about it. I couldn’t move. I’d been anchored in this hurricane ocean. The distance between our two lives began to stretch. I wanted nothing more than to be on that smaller raft. I’d face life-threatening storms on the sea if only I could have them. Worth more than this gigantic vessel.
My chin smacked the tabletop as I let my head fall. This table had cost me more than some people’s cars. And now, my tears dripped onto the expensive wood I couldn’t even pronounce. I don’t know how long I cried, and, like most things, it doesn’t matter. Tears never stuck around for long. They evaporated and left behind empty spaces.
In the richest house around, there was nothing alive. An elaborate vessel, and I was tied to the mast. We were sinking, sinking, sinking.
17
Hudson
I’d never been a fan of parties in the traditional sense. Whether they took place somewhere I was familiar with or in a house I’d never been to, I disliked the actual “party” aspect. The techno lights, the throbbing bass notes, playlists that weren’t really in my wheelhouse. Lots of people swaying, sweating. The girls were always dressed sexy, the kind of outfit where you really want to start a conversation and more, but you’re also aware they’re way out of your league. Well, that’s how it was for guys like me. Other dudes, like Mason, they could bang anybody they made eye contact with.
The guys. That’s another thing I hated about parties. They were always dressed awkwardly and stood that way, too. Some wore jeans, others cargo shorts, and others went all in for that “cool” look, like something Kanye would wear. I guess. I don’t really know cool guys or what they’re supposed to look like, but it sure as hell isn’t what high school boys wear to parties.
So, yeah, parties sucked. Or at least, the stuff everyone else liked about them. But I did enjoy the atmosphere, as long as I stood a few feet away from it. The human connection, sort of an energy charge. Just being where everybody else was, seeing what they saw. I always felt alive, even a bit happy.
Mason’s cabin held innumerable lights, flashing everywhere, almost blinding. And the floors pounded with bass vibrations emitting from two huge speakers. He had the full party atmosphere, complete with a DJ, some college kid. He really just chose the songs, didn’t do any actual DJ-ing, but wow did some people think he was cool. Girls, too. Those damn college kids.
Willow looked absolutely stunning, a kind of sexy that nobody else could pull off. The “I’m taken but I know I’m beautiful” kind of sexy. Mason did his best, but for the first time she really looked out of his league. I think he knew it, because he kind of sulked around the place for a while. He drank even more than I did, which never happened.
That’s another thing about parties. I couldn’t really get as drunk as I wanted. When I’m alone or with those two, I liked to drink enough that I could potentially die. Entertaining, in a way. Wondering if I’d wake up on the floor or in a hospital bed. Or if I’d even remember the night. At parties, that’s a no-go. I just casually drank, loafed around the corners of whatever room I found myself trapped in. I did not dance, not even in that quirky, sarcastic way. Not even when drunk.
I would describe myself as the wallpaper of the party. There were a few of us, really. Occasionally, I’d see the others, dressed very much like me. They didn’t look quite as sad, though, and they sometimes fist pumped when the right song came on. But altogether, we formed the wallpaper. We were the conversation topics that couples used if they wanted to avoid awkward pauses. We were the comedic relief that “cool guys” mocked to impress more attractive girls. We marked the boundaries of any given room, and, sometimes, if there were enough of us, we could even dictate the room where everybody flocked to. Nobody likes to be in a room without wallpaper to distract. Things get too real.
I did my best for Mason. And I enjoyed myself to some extent. For as much as I claim to hate parties, I really like the atmosphere if I’m away from it. Like outside, on the back porch. I can feel the energy of the crowds without having to talk. For the first hour of the party, I strolled from room to room, downing a few beers. I actually played a game of beer pong, which was a first, but this one cute girl didn’t have a partner. Needless to say, we lost, and I never spoke to her again. But I guess that experience had its own charm, a good story to tell. I knew I’d eventually have to start liking parties, so I figured this summer was the time to change.
Mason took, by my count, seven shots in the first thirty minutes. And I spotted him with three separate beers. This meant he was pretty much wasted by the time eleven o’clock rolled around. I’d been waiting for this moment, when the whole world descended into a thick darkness. I could sneak out and leave. I had it all planned. But then Mason started to worry me.
“Come on.” Willow clutched him by the arm, dragging him across the room toward me. Her hair was a little frazzled now and she kept pulling down the back of her skirt. As they approached me, struggling, she let out a huge sigh and pretty much threw Mason at me.
“What’s up?” I looked at Mason. His eyes were doing a little dance of their own, swaying over the room, sometimes wide and other times narrow. I’m not sure I’d ever seen him this drunk, at least not while I was this sober.
“He won’t stop,” Willow grumbled. “Keeps grabbing at my ass and punching other guys in the shoulder. I swear, Hudson, I’m gonna hit him.” She looked at me with crazy eyes, shaking her head.
I believed her. “Let’s just hold off on that.” I turned to Mason and touched him lightly on his cheek. “Hey, dude. What’chu looking at?”
His eyes were across the room on a group of three guys. They were all dressed in button-ups, pretentious ones, and didn’t have any girls draped around them. The one in the middle, who had similar features and build to Mason, kept pointing at things around the room and snickering. The speakers, the couches, even the table where another college-aged student served beers and shots. Whoever this guy and his goons were, they’d caught Mason’s attention without much effort.
“That son of a bitch,” he breathed, now gripping my forearm so tightly I winced. “He brought
them? I swear… I’ll…”
“Mason, come on.” Willow rolled her eyes and tried to pull him backward. He struggled against her for a moment but then relented.
As they turned to leave, I whispered, “Willow, who’s that?”
She glanced over her shoulder, frowning. “One of the Blough boys. Him and Mason don’t… get along.”
The crowd swallowed them at that point. I stared in bewilderment as they disappeared. I knew the Bloughs, of course. They were the “other rich family” of Little Rush. I’m not sure who coined that phrase, but it fit. If there was a successful, local restaurant that Jed Cooper didn’t own, you could bet money the Bloughs did or would soon. They even lived on the same street. This Blough kid had a similar build as Mason, maybe a bit wider, and he also had the blackest hair I’d ever seen, cut tight. Besides that, him and Mason were identical in almost everything. No wonder the animosity, then. But how come I hadn’t heard about this before?
That thought nagged at me as I wandered through the rooms. The idea that Mason had taken up a different confidant in Willow. Of course they knew things about each other I never would. And I guess it made sense that she knew more about Mason’s dislikes and hatreds. To be fair, I hadn’t told him about my walk with Bruce, and I didn’t intend on it. That conversation felt private to me. Mason didn’t fit in with us. He wasn’t a “searcher,” or whatever term Bruce had coined. No, I wanted to keep all of that to myself, and it made sense that Mason did the same for a few things.
All the same, up to this moment, I’d never felt like a third wheel to them. I think they did it on purpose, always including me in stuff… too much. Never ignoring me whenever we hung out. Willow hugged me all the time, kissed me on the cheek, all that. I just felt like we were… just three good friends, and those two had a different level of friendship. I guess I should’ve realized, at some point, that things would change. They always did. I only hoped it wouldn’t cause any lasting issues.