DeShawn was almost shouting now, angrier than I had ever seen him. I looked around me. Half the kids looked uncomfortable. The other half, Jason and Dylan included, were smiling.
“We’re running out of time,” Jon snapped. He stopped and took a deep breath. “Look, these are very important questions, DeShawn, and I’m happy to keep talking to you about it later, but right now we have to move on.”
DeShawn looked at the ground and didn’t say anything.
“Okay.” Jon took a deep breath. “I want everybody to bow their heads and close their eyes.”
We did as we were told, but it was obvious by now Jon’s lesson had been ruined. And even though I didn’t like Jon, I felt a little bad for him. All he’d wanted to do was tell a nice story with a moral, and DeShawn wrecked it. I wondered how DeShawn could get away with something like that when none of the rest of us could. Was it just because he was the only black kid in VBS? I thought it must be more complicated, because these things usually were. I thought it must have something to do with how little we knew about him. All I knew was that his mom had died, but I didn’t know how, and my parents wouldn’t tell me. They said it was up to DeShawn to decide how much he wanted to share with other people about his life. And I realized now why he didn’t share anything: the less that people knew about his life, the more power he had. He could use everything we didn’t know—his past, where he came from—like a weapon.
“Now,” Jon said after all our heads were bowed and our eyes closed, “what I want you to do is think of something Jesus has been convicting you about, something that has been separating you from the grace of God. It might be a grudge you’re holding against a friend; it might be a lie you told your parents. You aren’t going to share this with anyone, so be completely honest. Once you have your sin, I want you to open your eyes and write it down on the piece of paper I gave you earlier, fold it up, ask Jesus to forgive you, then come pin your sin to the cross.”
With my eyes closed, I tried to think of something quick and easy to write down on my paper, but nothing was coming. My stomach still felt weird, and the sun beating down on me was giving me a headache. Behind my eyelids, the darkness was starting to move. Finally, I opened my eyes and blinked. Most everyone else was writing something down. A few kids were already at the cross, pinning up their sins.
I looked down at the piece of paper in my lap. I wished I had something clear and obvious to write: I shoplifted at the mall or I stole one of my dad’s beers, or even something better.
Beside me, Jason stood up and walked over to the cross. Dylan was already back from putting up his. The more kids around me who got up, the more I felt I needed to write something down, the less I could think.
I kicked a stray dog and tied firecrackers to his tail.
I slashed Jon Newman’s car tires and spray-painted curse words on the windshield.
I installed a hidden camera in the girls’ locker room and watched them get undressed.
When Jason came back and sat down next to us, he looked satisfied with himself, like he’d taken a massive dump or something. “Come on, Ben,” he said to me, low enough that Jon couldn’t hear, “just write something down so this can be over.”
“I’m thinking,” I muttered, staring at my paper.
I had sex with a hooker.
I killed someone.
“Saw you talking to your cousin earlier,” Jason said after a while. “You guys real close?”
“Shut up,” I said, still looking at the blank piece of paper. I could feel my face get red, though.
“You guys seem like you hit it off. Too bad she’s your cousin.”
I tried to ignore him. That was usually the best way to get Jason to drop something.
Then I heard DeShawn: “They were up in his room forever last week, playing video games.”
I looked up at my foster brother. “Knock it off, DeShawn.”
Jason was grinning. “Really? How did we not hear about this?”
“Yeah.” DeShawn smiled. “I heard them giggling all night.”
I couldn’t take it anymore. I leaned forward and shoved DeShawn hard. “I told you to shut up.”
DeShawn fell back on his hands, and for a second he just looked surprised. Then something in his face turned hard and he lunged at me. I had to duck, and Jason grabbed DeShawn by the arm. “Whoa, guys, calm down.” But DeShawn shrugged him off and came at me again. The next second, we were both on our feet and DeShawn was trying to push me and I was grabbing him at the wrists and trying to hold him back. It was a weird time to be thinking it, but with my hands tight around his wrists, I realized this was the first time I had ever actually touched him. As soon as I could, I broke free of him and took a step back, breathing hard. I could feel the whole tribe’s eyes on us, but I couldn’t just sit back down now. I had to say something.
“Next time, stop when I tell you to stop,” I said.
DeShawn still had his fists clenched. “I don’t have to listen to you. You’re not the boss of me.”
Then Jon Newman was between us. “Boys! What’s going on here?”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw everyone looking at us wide-eyed. I saw a group of girls who’d been over near the cross, practicing an interpretive dance, rush over to see what the shouting was about. Everyone was going to hear about this. And instead of this calming me down, it only made me angrier at my foster brother. He always messed up everything. I clenched my fists.
Pretty soon, Ms. Swanson showed up and made everyone else go away. I was glad for that, because by then I was so mad and embarrassed and almost sick, I felt like I might do anything, even cry. I sat there on the grass with my head throbbing and my stomach tight, wishing I had never gotten up that morning, wishing I was still in my bed, caught in that amazing dream.
When my mom came to pick us up, I could tell from the look on her face that she was more upset than angry, which meant my punishment wouldn’t be that bad. It was funny, but when I did something just a little bad—like say a curse word where my parents could hear—my consequence usually sucked, like no internet for a week. But when I did something that really concerned them—like getting in a fight with my foster brother in front of everyone—my parents just sat us down to discuss it, like that would fix everything.
That evening, my mom and dad sat us down in the living room and tried to find out what the fight had been about. I didn’t know how to answer, and DeShawn didn’t try, so we both just looked at the floor and shrugged. My dad started talking about respect, about self-control, about using words, but I wasn’t really listening. I was wondering if Bethany had heard about the fight yet or, worse, if she had actually seen it.
When I finally got upstairs to my room to be alone, it was only seven thirty in the evening. My parents hadn’t even told me I had to stay up there, but I felt so bad and sick of everything that all I wanted was to just be asleep, even though light was still coming in through my windows, and I could hear birds singing. I emptied out my pockets. Two things: the crumpled-up protein bar wrapper and the blank piece of paper where I’d never written my sin. I tossed them both in my trash basket and fell on my bed.
Now, in the van, I was sitting next to Dylan’s little sister, who kept trying to show me the picture she’d drawn in Sunday school. In the seat in front of me, the guys were cracking jokes that I couldn’t hear.
Dylan’s parents dropped us off in front of the movie theater. We got tickets for the PG-13 action movie, but once we were past the lobby, there was nothing stopping us from sneaking down the long hall to theater three, where the R-rated horror movie was playing. When we reached the entrance, we stopped short. I felt something in my stomach flutter. Bethany, Nola, and Laura were standing by the entrance, about to go in. They looked at us with raised eyebrows.
“Jason, what are you guys doing here?” Laura asked.
“What’s it look lik
e?” said Jason. “Going to see a movie.”
“I don’t think Mom would want you to see this.”
“I don’t think Mom would be especially thrilled about you seeing this. But Mom’s home sick. If we both keep our mouth shut, we’re good.”
Laura looked like she was about to say something but then decided it wasn’t worth it. She sighed and shrugged. We stood there awkwardly for a few seconds. Although we all saw each other almost every day, it was usually at church or someone’s house, where things were safe and contained. Here, each group had caught the other breaking the rules, wanting to do the same thing, and something in the air between us changed. No one knew what to say. I tried not to look at Bethany, who was really pretty in a blue summer dress. It was Nola who finally spoke. “What’s up, DeShawn?” she asked, smiling at my foster brother.
DeShawn nodded.
“Excited for our camping trip next week?” Bethany asked.
“I can’t wait,” DeShawn said.
The two girls laughed like he’d said something hysterical, like he was the first person who ever used sarcasm. By now everyone had heard about our fight, and they’d also heard about DeShawn’s argument with Jon Newman. The girls looked at him like he was Jay-Z.
When we went into the theater, I thought for sure the girls would sit in a different row. That was just how our world worked. The older girls never hung out with us unless they were forced to. So I was shocked when they followed us deep into the row we had chosen, near the back of the theater—Bethany, then Nola, then Laura. We were all sitting in the theater together. I was second to the end of my friends, so the only thing that separated me from Bethany was DeShawn. She and Nola were asking him more questions about how much he hated Bible school, and even though he kept giving them short, sarcastic answers, they laughed like he was doing a stand-up routine. I realized then, he was why they had chosen to sit with us.
It felt like no matter where I went, no matter what I did, the Weight would always be there, stealing the show. I crossed my arms and looked down at the floor, waiting for the day to be over. Then I felt DeShawn tap my shoulder. “Can we switch seats?” he asked. “I like to be more in the middle.” For a second, I just stared at him. He raised his eyebrows and gave me a look. Was this some kind of trick? Finally, I nodded, and DeShawn and I switched seats.
I was sitting next to Bethany Moyer in a dark theater, about to watch a horror movie. I couldn’t have planned it better if I tried. I could smell the sweetness of her perfume, and I hoped I didn’t smell bad. I was worried I was breathing too loud. I couldn’t even think about eating my popcorn, so it just sat there on my lap, hot and untouched.
The first twenty minutes of the movie, before the screaming, Bethany giggled and whispered to Nola, sitting on the other side of her. I waited for my chance. I was set on not flinching during the scary parts, not even moving. How I would do this was just by not paying attention to the movie at all. That way, I wouldn’t be startled when the shit went down. And then maybe, just maybe, when Bethany got scared she would reach out for that solid, unshakable body there beside her and hold on and not let go. It would only be after the movie was over that she realized it had been me, Benjamin Waid, sitting right there all along, making her feel safe. The movie was hard to ignore, though, and I tried hard not to get drawn in. I was worried I would flinch or, worse, scream.
When the first character bit the dust—the blond, of course—Bethany let out a shriek and grabbed the arm of the person next to her, but it wasn’t me; it was Nola. She looped her arm around Nola’s and rested her head on her shoulder, laughing nervously. I felt cheated.
A few seconds later, Laura stood up. “I’m going home,” she said in a flat voice. “I feel sick.” In the dark of the theater, we couldn’t see her face.
“Great,” I heard Jason mutter beside me. “First my mom, then my sister. I bet I’m next.”
APRIL
April woke up to the smell of butter frying. She heard the soft spit and crackle. She was lying on the sofa in the living room, tangled up in a blanket. She had a crick in her neck, and her back hurt. But for a long while, she didn’t move. Lying completely still, she stared up at the ceiling. As long as she didn’t move, she wouldn’t have to confront what had happened last night, or face what was happening now.
He was out there in the kitchen. She could hear him moving around. The butter frying, the clatter of dishes being moved. He must be making her breakfast. How sweet! April felt as if she were about to throw up. Her kids! Where were her kids? It was Sunday, so they’d be at church. What time was it?
When she came into the kitchen, the blanket wrapped around her shoulders, she saw him standing over the stove, a spatula in his hand, making eggs. He looked up and smiled. Watching that smile spread across his face was like watching dawn light spread across a valley. “Good morning,” Paul said. It sounded almost profound.
April swallowed. She tried to answer, but all that came out was a weak croak. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Good morning. What time is it?” she asked, looking at the clock above the refrigerator.
“Quarter after eleven,” Paul said, confirming what she already knew.
“I never sleep this late.”
“Well, you didn’t get much sleep last night.”
April turned from the clock and looked at him. He was wearing the jeans he’d slept in and his flannel shirt, unbuttoned with the sleeves rolled up, revealing the brown of his chest and arms. His hair was tousled and his face unshaven.
April felt her chest tighten. She went over to the table and grabbed her phone from where she had left it last night. A text from Laura at 10:40: Where are u?
Church service started at 10:30. Without hesitating, April texted back: Not feeling well. Staying home today. It was almost alarming how easily the lie came to her, although, she could argue, it wasn’t exactly a lie—she really didn’t feel very well at the moment.
“You okay?” Paul asked. He was pouring her a cup of coffee.
April glanced out the window. The street outside was empty. Thoughts crowded her head, pushing and shoving to be first in line. “We should close the curtains,” she said, going over to the window. “How long have you been out here?”
Paul walked over to her and handed her the cup of coffee. “Relax. Nobody saw me.”
With the curtains closed, the kitchen was dark. Paul turned back to the stove, eyes on the frying pan. “How do you like your eggs, anyway? I’m making scrambled because I thought, everybody likes scrambled. But I can make them different if you like. When I was in New York, eggs were like the only thing I ate with any nutritional value. They’re so easy. I can’t cook for shit, but you literally cannot fuck up an egg, I don’t think. Even if you make it wrong, it still works—it just wasn’t what you intended.”
April watched this boy babble on about eggs. Last night, she had kissed this boy. Last night, she massaged his naked back and chest. She had stroked his nipples and wrapped her legs around his ass.
“Paul,” she said softly.
“Even more than pasta, I think eggs are like the saving grace for guys who can’t cook but don’t want to look like complete cavemen. ‘Hey, I don’t know shit about mincing garlic or how to tell when the chicken’s done, but I can make you a killer omelet.’”
“Paul!” she said again, louder. He stopped, surprised, and looked at her. “I think you should go, Paul,” she said. “I think that would be the best thing.”
He looked at the eggs, then at her. “I wanted to make you breakfast.”
“I’m not really hungry.”
Paul put down the spatula and walked over to where she stood. When he put his hands on her shoulders, she flinched. “April, you don’t need to worry about this.”
She bit her lip. “I don’t?”
“I understand how this must be for you, but everything’s gonna be okay.�
�
“I don’t think you do … understand. This is a lot more complicated for me than it is for you.”
“I get that.”
“You can just sleep with someone. You can just sleep with someone and leave the next morning.”
Paul spread his arms out. “But I didn’t leave. It’s the next morning and I’m still here. See?”
Yes, he was still here, standing in her kitchen, making her breakfast.
“Look,” said Paul after a few seconds passed and she hadn’t spoken, “why don’t you have your coffee? I’ll finish making breakfast and then we can talk. Okay?”
She couldn’t think with him standing there. She couldn’t focus. They could talk. What was there to talk about? There was nothing to say. There was nothing to salvage from this situation.
On the table, her phone buzzed. A text from Laura: Okay. Going to a movie with Bethany after church. Won’t be back till evening. Hope you feel better. April remembered that Jason also planned to spend the afternoon with his friends.
“I’m gonna go take a shower,” she said to Paul, and walked quickly out of the room.
She couldn’t think in the shower and didn’t try. She turned the water up as hot as she could, and let it nearly scald her. After her shower, a towel wrapped around her, April stood looking at the unmade bed. It was the first time her bed had been used for sex since her divorce, ten years ago. April hadn’t had sex in ten years. And, gee, when put like that it made her sound pathetic, like an old spinster. She’d been busy! She’d had kids to raise, a family to support, a goddamn vacation Bible school to run.
It wasn’t as if she’d made a conscious decision about it, it had just happened. Since Ray, she simply hadn’t met a man she was interested in having a relationship with. That was that. April remembered, a few years back, when a mechanic at a car garage told her she really needed to get laid. It was after she’d given him a piece of her mind regarding the bill he gave her. He’d said it as an insult, but also with an expression implying that if she decided to take his advice, he could make himself available. Of course, at the time, she’d been furious, storming out of the garage and never going back. But there had been nights afterward when she wondered whether maybe that mechanic had been onto something.
Another Life Page 15