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Authors: Todd Strasser
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because my father wants me to? You know they’re sending Guard units overseas? Every week guardsmen are getting killed? And for what?”
“Maybe you won’t get sent.”
“Oh, great. And then I get to look forward to spending the rest of my life working in drywall. Whoop-de-do!”
I was surprised to hear him put into words what I’d sensed he’d been feeling for a long time. “You don’t have to.”
I heard him exhale slowly, and then he tilted his head down. “It’ll kill him. I mean, first my mom. Then that stupid second marriage. Then my brother moving to Boston and my sister moving to Florida. And what about Alyssa?”
Slade’s mom had died of breast cancer when he was five. A failed second marriage had left Mr. Lamont with joint custody of Alyssa. Since then, Mr. Lamont had resigned himself to single fatherhood, and many lonely nights in front of the TV in the company of a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. Sometimes it worried me that Slade seemed to be following in his father’s footsteps. The solitary drinking and solemn, silent moods during which he didn’t want to go anywhere or do anything.
“It’s your life, Slade,” I said. “If you don’t want to work with him—”
“Might as well,” he muttered, cutting me off. “Don’t know what else to do … unless it’s to just end it all.”
“Slade!” I hated when he talked like that. “Please, let’s go back.”
But he didn’t answer. Below us, small waves splashed against the rocks and pilings. I knew he was upset about leaving me, because that was how I was feeling about seeing him go. The longest we’d ever been apart was maybe four or five days.
“I love you,” I said. “We’ll talk every day, I promise.”
He looked away into the dark. “I have news for you, Cal. We won’t talk every day. I read the regulations. For the first two months of basic training, you’re allowed just one phone call—to your parents.”
That took me by surprise. “Two months isn’t that long. You won’t believe how fast it’ll go.” It was strange. He’d just turned nineteen and I was still a month from turning seventeen, yet there were times when I felt like I had to fill in for his mother. In my own dark moments, I sometimes wondered if it would always be this way. Would I have to struggle to get him out of these moods for the rest of my life?
Under the pier Slade turned to me again and for a second I thought his eyes were glistening, but then a cloud covered the moon and it was too dark to be sure. “You promise?” he asked.
“Yes, all of it. I promise I’ll always love you, and after those first two months, we’ll talk every day and it’ll go fast. Now come on, let’s go back to the beach.”
Slade nodded and reached up toward something. It was only then that I noticed the belt. It was hanging from one of the supports as if it had been tied there. At the other end the belt looped over on itself through the buckle. I didn’t know if Slade meant it seriously or just as a symbol, but it looked like a noose.
Chapter 16
Sunday 4:54 P.M.
WHEN I HEAR the punk cashier in the hardware store yell, “Hey, stop!” my first inclination is to bolt through the door and down the sidewalk as fast as I can. It would be the natural, logical thing to do in my situation, right? So I don’t know where the guile and wherewithal that keeps me from running comes from. Maybe I just know that once I start to run, I’m bound to be caught. So somehow, even though my heart is racing and I feel like I want to jump out of my skin, I force myself to stop and turn to look at her.
She’s holding out a small brown paper bag. “You forgot this.”
I force a smile and take the bag. “Thanks.”
And then I’m out of there.
At the bus stop, despite my hunger, I’m too wound up to eat the sandwich I bought. So I sit and stare down at my black fingernails. Thank God the bus comes soon and it’s almost empty. Sitting near the back, I wolf down the
“Maybe you won’t get sent.”
“Oh, great. And then I get to look forward to spending the rest of my life working in drywall. Whoop-de-do!”
I was surprised to hear him put into words what I’d sensed he’d been feeling for a long time. “You don’t have to.”
I heard him exhale slowly, and then he tilted his head down. “It’ll kill him. I mean, first my mom. Then that stupid second marriage. Then my brother moving to Boston and my sister moving to Florida. And what about Alyssa?”
Slade’s mom had died of breast cancer when he was five. A failed second marriage had left Mr. Lamont with joint custody of Alyssa. Since then, Mr. Lamont had resigned himself to single fatherhood, and many lonely nights in front of the TV in the company of a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. Sometimes it worried me that Slade seemed to be following in his father’s footsteps. The solitary drinking and solemn, silent moods during which he didn’t want to go anywhere or do anything.
“It’s your life, Slade,” I said. “If you don’t want to work with him—”
“Might as well,” he muttered, cutting me off. “Don’t know what else to do … unless it’s to just end it all.”
“Slade!” I hated when he talked like that. “Please, let’s go back.”
But he didn’t answer. Below us, small waves splashed against the rocks and pilings. I knew he was upset about leaving me, because that was how I was feeling about seeing him go. The longest we’d ever been apart was maybe four or five days.
“I love you,” I said. “We’ll talk every day, I promise.”
He looked away into the dark. “I have news for you, Cal. We won’t talk every day. I read the regulations. For the first two months of basic training, you’re allowed just one phone call—to your parents.”
That took me by surprise. “Two months isn’t that long. You won’t believe how fast it’ll go.” It was strange. He’d just turned nineteen and I was still a month from turning seventeen, yet there were times when I felt like I had to fill in for his mother. In my own dark moments, I sometimes wondered if it would always be this way. Would I have to struggle to get him out of these moods for the rest of my life?
Under the pier Slade turned to me again and for a second I thought his eyes were glistening, but then a cloud covered the moon and it was too dark to be sure. “You promise?” he asked.
“Yes, all of it. I promise I’ll always love you, and after those first two months, we’ll talk every day and it’ll go fast. Now come on, let’s go back to the beach.”
Slade nodded and reached up toward something. It was only then that I noticed the belt. It was hanging from one of the supports as if it had been tied there. At the other end the belt looped over on itself through the buckle. I didn’t know if Slade meant it seriously or just as a symbol, but it looked like a noose.
Chapter 16
Sunday 4:54 P.M.
WHEN I HEAR the punk cashier in the hardware store yell, “Hey, stop!” my first inclination is to bolt through the door and down the sidewalk as fast as I can. It would be the natural, logical thing to do in my situation, right? So I don’t know where the guile and wherewithal that keeps me from running comes from. Maybe I just know that once I start to run, I’m bound to be caught. So somehow, even though my heart is racing and I feel like I want to jump out of my skin, I force myself to stop and turn to look at her.
She’s holding out a small brown paper bag. “You forgot this.”
I force a smile and take the bag. “Thanks.”
And then I’m out of there.
At the bus stop, despite my hunger, I’m too wound up to eat the sandwich I bought. So I sit and stare down at my black fingernails. Thank God the bus comes soon and it’s almost empty. Sitting near the back, I wolf down the
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