ringer on the phone. I fall asleep to the sound of someone’s music playing down the hall and I leave in the morning like I’d planned, before Brett wakes up, because I know he has things to do, and in the car on the way home, when I think about Clemson, it feels good, like where I should be.
THIS SEMESTER I’M making good grades, a three point zero. I’ve forced the smile and the breath from my head.
It is this simple: I pretend it was a dream. Nobody talks about it anymore. My father. My mother. Matthew. Everyone is silent. And part of me knows that this will find me later, that it will hunt me down and run through me. But all the time I’m thinking about Clemson, about being normal and doing what Brett does. I let all of it stay quiet.
IN APRIL WE all go to Deberdieu again and Brett comes even though he’s away at school. Brett brings this guy Chance McInnis, a kid we grew up with who’s a brother in his fraternity.
When Brett and Chance get to the beach house it’s like they’re different kinds of people, like they’re somewhere doing something important and even though I know what they’re doing isn’t important, I can’t help but feel that they’re stars or something. Everybody stares at them when they come in, already drunk because they pounded beers in the car the whole way down. Like they know something about the world that we don’t.
After a while, Brett goes and sits in a trash can. Legs out over the edge, his head resting against the back. Drinking his beer. I’m staring at this girl who I know would break me if I loved her but I can’t help it. I look over at Brett. Holds his hand out to me. I can tell something’s off about him, his eyes wild and swimming with the alcohol. I go over and take his hand. He looks up at me and tells me he loves me, tells me he’s sorry. I know he’s telling me he’s sorry for not being there that night. I shake my head and say it’s cool. He keeps holding my hand.
No, he says. It’s not.
Yeah, it is, I say. He rubs his eyes, his temples. I’m sorry for being fucked up, I say. He shakes his head.
You aren’t fucked up. I’m fucked up. He smiles. Not like mentally or anything, he says. I’m just drunk. I pull him up out of the trash can and he wobbles. I put my hands on his shoulders and he shrugs them away.
I’m fine, he says. Light-headed that’s all. He takes a pull from the beer. Points over at Chance, who’s sitting on the couch with this girl.
Now he, Brett says, is a sonofabitch. He looks nice and all but he’s a fucking sonofabitch. Break me in half if I told him that though. Big fat bitch.
Brett’s words sliding from his mouth like spit.
He looks at me. Smiles.
I’m sorry, he says. I nod.
Chance tells Brett to get his ass over. Brett stumbles over, sits down next to Chance. I look at the girl I’ve been watching the whole time. Leaned against a wall across the room. Pulling hair behind her ears. Cocking a hip to one side. I go into the kitchen and find some vodka. I hate vodka but there’s nothing else but beer and I need something to make me brave. The shot glass coming to my lips. Again. Once more for luck. I chase it with the beer.
SHE’S STANDING BY the stereo, looking for a compact disc. I wipe my mouth and go over and when I’m there I touch the small of her back and she turns her face up. Smiles. Eyes wobbling.
What do you like? she says.
Anything, I say. She holds up a disc. Sam Cooke again. I nod. I feel her hand graze mine. It’s light and we test each other that way with our fingers against each other and then I put my fingers through hers and she pulls me toward the porch.
OUTSIDE WE DANCE, and the alcohol has made me bold and when I kiss the girl it’s like every bad thing that came before doesn’t matter. I keep my eyes open the whole time.
THE MUSIC’S DONE. I take the girl to a bed, lay her down and pull the sheets up over her. She leans up and kisses me hard,
THIS SEMESTER I’M making good grades, a three point zero. I’ve forced the smile and the breath from my head.
It is this simple: I pretend it was a dream. Nobody talks about it anymore. My father. My mother. Matthew. Everyone is silent. And part of me knows that this will find me later, that it will hunt me down and run through me. But all the time I’m thinking about Clemson, about being normal and doing what Brett does. I let all of it stay quiet.
IN APRIL WE all go to Deberdieu again and Brett comes even though he’s away at school. Brett brings this guy Chance McInnis, a kid we grew up with who’s a brother in his fraternity.
When Brett and Chance get to the beach house it’s like they’re different kinds of people, like they’re somewhere doing something important and even though I know what they’re doing isn’t important, I can’t help but feel that they’re stars or something. Everybody stares at them when they come in, already drunk because they pounded beers in the car the whole way down. Like they know something about the world that we don’t.
After a while, Brett goes and sits in a trash can. Legs out over the edge, his head resting against the back. Drinking his beer. I’m staring at this girl who I know would break me if I loved her but I can’t help it. I look over at Brett. Holds his hand out to me. I can tell something’s off about him, his eyes wild and swimming with the alcohol. I go over and take his hand. He looks up at me and tells me he loves me, tells me he’s sorry. I know he’s telling me he’s sorry for not being there that night. I shake my head and say it’s cool. He keeps holding my hand.
No, he says. It’s not.
Yeah, it is, I say. He rubs his eyes, his temples. I’m sorry for being fucked up, I say. He shakes his head.
You aren’t fucked up. I’m fucked up. He smiles. Not like mentally or anything, he says. I’m just drunk. I pull him up out of the trash can and he wobbles. I put my hands on his shoulders and he shrugs them away.
I’m fine, he says. Light-headed that’s all. He takes a pull from the beer. Points over at Chance, who’s sitting on the couch with this girl.
Now he, Brett says, is a sonofabitch. He looks nice and all but he’s a fucking sonofabitch. Break me in half if I told him that though. Big fat bitch.
Brett’s words sliding from his mouth like spit.
He looks at me. Smiles.
I’m sorry, he says. I nod.
Chance tells Brett to get his ass over. Brett stumbles over, sits down next to Chance. I look at the girl I’ve been watching the whole time. Leaned against a wall across the room. Pulling hair behind her ears. Cocking a hip to one side. I go into the kitchen and find some vodka. I hate vodka but there’s nothing else but beer and I need something to make me brave. The shot glass coming to my lips. Again. Once more for luck. I chase it with the beer.
SHE’S STANDING BY the stereo, looking for a compact disc. I wipe my mouth and go over and when I’m there I touch the small of her back and she turns her face up. Smiles. Eyes wobbling.
What do you like? she says.
Anything, I say. She holds up a disc. Sam Cooke again. I nod. I feel her hand graze mine. It’s light and we test each other that way with our fingers against each other and then I put my fingers through hers and she pulls me toward the porch.
OUTSIDE WE DANCE, and the alcohol has made me bold and when I kiss the girl it’s like every bad thing that came before doesn’t matter. I keep my eyes open the whole time.
THE MUSIC’S DONE. I take the girl to a bed, lay her down and pull the sheets up over her. She leans up and kisses me hard,
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