by Halli Gomez
I knocked on Mrs. Blackwood’s door. My neck twitched, and my hands squeezed together. I didn’t want her to think I was a crazy drug addict. Be the cloud, I told myself, be the cloud. My shoulders relaxed a bit.
The curtains near the door moved; then the door opened. I stood as straight as possible, but there was no need. The woman who opened the door was old—original American settlers old. And her eyes were so cloudy, she wouldn’t see me even on a sunny day.
“Are you Troy?” she asked and squinted at me.
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Would you mind cleaning the porch? I have been told I need to paint. And try not to hurt the little critters living in the corners.”
I glanced around and wondered what her idea of “little” was.
“What a nice boy. My kids are grown and claim their lives are too busy to come help.”
I hoped she would skip the whole I-raised-those-kids-and-wiped-their-dirty-noses part. And to give them the benefit of the doubt, based on her age, her kids were probably old themselves and hired teenagers to clean cobwebs, push lawn mowers, and paint. Hmm, I should’ve gotten their names. Jobs = money, and money = a plane ticket.
Mrs. Blackwood went inside. I turned on Shinedown and fought with a spider determined to keep his home, but I won in the end and relocated him to the grass. I finished the job in forty-five minutes, took the money, and graciously accepted the compliments on my work. Of course I’d help her again. Because I was such a nice boy. And I needed money.
. . . . . . . . . .
I rode my bike to the city bus stop, locked it in the bike rack, and took my position away from the people on the bench. Most were regulars, and you’d think we’d nod to each other, or maybe say “hey.” But no. They shifted their gaze away from me, just like the first time. Did I really have to explain it to everyone? Maybe I should just wear a sign on my back.
When the bus came, I counted my way to the back, slid into the seat, and leaned my head against the window. The door closed with a whoosh. So much for my big breakthrough.
The bus sped around a corner. The buildings grew larger and closer until the bus pulled to a stop. I shuffled out and made my way to the hospital, bending down and letting my right fingers drag across the rough sidewalk. Then ten steps, and my left fingers dragged on the ground. It felt good to be balanced.
At the front door, someone zipped around me and opened it. I didn’t even know anyone was near me. That would have made a perfect anti-crime commercial: kid, totally oblivious to anything except the chewed gum on the sidewalk, robbed as he enters the hospital.
“Thanks,” I mumbled.
“My pleasure, Troy,” Mr. Isenhour said.
I glanced at him. He smiled, but something about him told a different story. His hair stuck out, and the muscles in his face were tense. Mrs. Isenhour didn’t look much better. Her head turned back and forth, and she had dark lines under her eyes that weren’t from makeup. I thought about handing them the folder and picture, but this wasn’t the time for that discussion.
Mr. Isenhour took his wife’s hand. “Do you want to go to the bathroom before we go in?”
She obviously didn’t have the same issues with the bathroom floor that I did, or he never would have suggested it. Unless he didn’t know. But they looked like they shared a lot. Especially the bad stuff.
She put her head down and shook it.
“David had a few rough days at school,” he said.
“Sorry.” I was. I knew it sucked.
I followed them into the meeting room but stayed in the back as they moved toward the front. Without the company of Khory, I felt like a beacon, bright and flashing, calling people to stare at me. Even in this group where people saw me, not the tics.
Susan started the meeting. For a second, I thought about sharing my zero-gravity experience to introduce myself, an icebreaker kind of thing, but then Mr. Isenhour started talking about David’s week.
“As you know, David was allowed several exceptions because of the Americans with Disabilities requirements. Well, a few of his classmates didn’t like the idea. I’m not sure if they were jealous, but they took it out on him.” Mr. Isenhour took a deep breath. Mrs. Isenhour had her head down but kept turning it back and forth. “He’s been bullied all week. Called names, pushed around on the bus, and one child ripped up his notebook.”
“I’m so sorry to hear this,” Susan said.
“I hope those kids were suspended,” a man two rows in front of me said.
“They were suspended. The school did a good job of taking action, but the incidents set David back emotionally. We had just gotten him to a good place at school.”
I sank in my chair. I hated to say that it would only get worse, but his mom would know all about that. No way she had a fantastically wonderful childhood. Which brought me back to the question of why they wanted kids in the first place.
The rest of the meeting was filled with ups and downs. People on meds and off, being a productive member of society and locking themselves in their houses. I wanted to share, tell them about my zero-gravity experience and feeling like a cloud. I even half raised my hand. But what was the point? Yeah, I’d had some good days, a few really excellent ones, but as I listened to the stories, I knew things would eventually go downhill. Even the part of me that hoped I could be positive, liked, and hopeful knew the truth and was done with the reminders.
So as soon as Susan made her closing statement, including “please take some coffee and cookies, or they will go to waste,” I burst through the front doors and onto the sidewalk. What exactly was I hoping for? To find someone like me. That’s what I’d put on the list. And I did it, but deep down I wanted something else. I didn’t believe knowing other ticcers was the key to happiness, but maybe I’d hoped they’d have answers, ideas, something to take the pain, loneliness, and embarrassment away.
The only answer I got was that we were one big group of alone. No matter what we did, there would be us and then the rest of the world.
Shoes click-clacked on the sidewalk behind me. I turned and walked toward Mrs. Isenhour.
“Sorry to hear David is having a rough time,” I said. “Please take the picture. Maybe it’ll cheer him up.”
Mrs. Isenhour nodded and took the picture. “Thank you. Will you let us give you a ride?”
I knew that look. Khory had it sometimes when she looked at me. She wanted to help, but on Mrs. Isenhour it was almost pleading.
My arms lifted. It was an urge, but not a tic. I wanted to hug her. Have her tell me everything would be okay even though we both knew it wouldn’t be. But I couldn’t do it. She wasn’t my mom. Only David could feel that kind of comfort. I let my arms fall.
Mrs. Isenhour put her hand on me. “Please.”
I couldn’t trust what might come out of my mouth, again not a tic, but maybe a cry. I pressed my lips together and nodded. I slid into the back seat of a Toyota 4Runner and gave Mr. Isenhour my address to put into his phone’s GPS.
“Did you meet him?” Mrs. Isenhour asked.
Him? Oh, Tim Howard. “No, my mom sent it to me.”
That got a peek at me from the rearview mirror. Did my anger seep through?
“You live with your dad?” Mr. Isenhour asked.
Or maybe he realized my parents weren’t together.
“And stepmom,” I said.
“We would love to meet them,” Mrs. Isenhour said.
Of course. No decent adult would drive a teenager home and not want to meet his parents.
“Um,” I started. Apparently my lack of conversational abilities wasn’t limited to pretty girls.
Mrs. Isenhour turned around.
“They don’t know I’m here. That I go to the meetings. I tell them I’m at a friend’s house or my girlfriend’s,” I confessed.
That brought a smile to her face. What? She encouraged lying? That wasn’t going to go well for her when David was my age. I may not be popular, but I’ve seen and heard things worth ly
ing about. Oh yeah, and I may have done some myself.
“You have a girlfriend,” she said. “I look at you and see possibilities for David. High school. Friends, girlfriends.”
I wasn’t expecting that. Of course there were good days and bad days, but overall, high school was a nightmare. And my girlfriend? I’ve only had one.
“Who in your family has Tourette?” Mr. Isenhour asked.
“My mom.”
“So, your dad is like me. A non-ticcer. He may still find the meetings interesting. I’ve learned a lot myself. Being on the other side has its own set of problems and responsibilities.”
I had never thought of it like that, but maybe that’s what Dad meant during our talk in New York.
“I can talk to him if you want. Father to father.”
Really? What would he say? Your son has been sneaking off to meetings because he doesn’t want you there? “Thanks. I’ll think about it, if that’s okay.”
“Of course. You just let me know.”
“I’m sorry about the problems your son is having,” I said.
Mrs. Isenhour gave me that look again. Wanting to help but mixed in with helplessness.
Mr. Isenhour pulled the car into my driveway. The drive was much quicker than the bus that made several stops before mine. Most of the inside lights were off, which meant Jude was asleep and Dad was relaxing. No need to disrupt a quiet night.
“Thank you for the ride,” I said.
I got out of the car. Mrs. Isenhour lowered her window and held a piece of paper out to me.
“I hate to go behind another parent’s back, but I’m also not comfortable with you riding the bus at night. Here are our phone numbers. Call us if you want a ride.”
“Thanks.” I spun around so she wouldn’t see my quivering lip.
I went inside, closed the door quietly, and crept to my room. I wasn’t in the mood for small talk, and even though it was still early by my standards, I got ready for bed and crawled under the covers.
I went over the conversation again. My life made Mrs. Isenhour happy? Obviously she didn’t know the details. I picked up my phone, texted good night to Khory, and shut the light off. Okay, some of the details were pretty awesome.
MARCH 27
“Turn those screens off and get some fresh air,” Mrs. Levine yelled from the top of the basement stairs.
We sighed and moaned. Leave our haven to search for fresh air in this polluted world?
“Fine,” Rainn mumbled and shut off the TV.
We grabbed our phones and jackets and headed outside to the backyard. Khory and I lay on the grass and held hands. It was actually nice outside. A movie scene type of night with soft grass and a cloudless sky where you could connect the dots with stars. Which I did in groups of ten.
Jay sat across from us texting a girl he liked who obviously didn’t like him or she’d be here. Rainn and Diego were to his left, for once not making us all gag. Diego was reading.
“It’s Friday night. Put the book away.” Rainn tried to swat it out of his hand.
Diego moved it out of her reach. “I need to study for my driver’s test. Did you know that it’s illegal to play in traffic?”
“I’ll make a note,” she said.
“It is also illegal to tie your dog to the roof of your car.”
“If you don’t put that book away, I’ll tie you to the car,” she said.
“You won’t be whining when I get a car and we can drive to the lake or the park at night. Hint, hint.”
I glanced at Rainn. She lifted his book back up.
“I cannot wait till I don’t have to drive with my parents,” he said. “My mom never stops yelling at me: ‘Both hands on the wheel. Don’t you dare touch that radio. And if I ever catch you texting and driving . . .’” He dropped his head in his hands. “Her nagging is more distracting than texting.”
“Yeah, right? As if adults are better,” Rainn said. “My mom talks on the phone while driving, and not hands free, by the way. It’s just so important that she plan her gym and strawberry frappuccino dates. My dad speeds and drinks coffee. He has a stick shift, so I’m not really sure how he gets all that to work.”
“Well, after tomorrow, I won’t have to deal with it,” Diego said. “Troy, do you have your license?”
“No,” I said. My eyes back to the stars.
“Why not? You’re sixteen, right?”
“My dad won’t let me.” I said.
Jay glanced up from his phone. “What? No way.”
Being a teenager and not being able to drive was horrible enough to pull Jay away from his crush. Yeah, it was up there for me too on the list of very bad. I sat up. “You know he’s a cop. Well, he’s seen tons of kids die in car crashes. He doesn’t want me to be like that.”
“Oh, man, that’s sad. I swear I’m not going to text and drive,” Diego said. “Rainn’s going to be my DT.”
Knowing them, a DT was something perverted. I wasn’t going to ask.
“What’s a DT?” Of course Jay was willing to go there.
“Designated texter,” Rainn and Diego said at the same time. Then they turned to each other and kissed. Barf.
“My dad told me one story. A guy was driving. And his girlfriend leaned over.” I paused and scanned the crowd. They stared at me. My neck twitched, and my face scrunched up. Just like talking about zero gravity in science, my friends were interested in the story, not my freakish moves.
“Dude, come on,” Jay said.
I shifted toward him, well, really away from Khory. We didn’t talk about things like this.
“Okay, she leaned over to him. Put her head in his lap and—” I couldn’t say the rest. My face was hot.
“Dude, she gave him a blow job while he was driving?” Jay said. “Damn.”
I nodded. “The guy must have closed his eyes or went crazy.” Which was just a guess since I had no actual knowledge, but I would have gone insane if Khory did that to me. “Then he drove into the oncoming lane.”
Khory gasped and grabbed my arm.
I continued. “They ran into a semi. His girlfriend sat up at the wrong time and—” I slid my hand across my neck.
We were all silent. What could you say to that?
“So, your dad won’t let you drive because he thinks you’ll let Khory give you a blow job and you’ll get yourself killed?” Jay asked.
My cheeks were on fire. Khory and blow job in the same sentence was enough to blow my mind.
“Ha, ha, ha,” Khory said.
I left it that way. No one had to know my dying wish had been to kiss a girl for the first time. But they were friends, right? And interested in my story. If I could speak in front of a room full of judgmental, self-centered kids and still have the guts to go to school the next day, why not them? My tongue moved behind my teeth trying to form the words.
“No. He thinks I’m unreliable,” I said. “He thinks I’ll swerve into traffic and kill myself. And someone else. Because of the Tourette.”
“Duh. I hate to tell you, dude, but it’s not a secret,” Jay said.
I fell back on the grass and closed my eyes. Of course I knew it wasn’t a secret, but I still hated how the word sounded and what it stood for.
“So you’ll never get to drive?” Diego asked.
“Well, I wouldn’t say that. I’m going to borrow his car. Just for a few minutes. A quick trip around the neighborhood,” I said.
“You’re going to steal your dad’s car?” Jay asked.
“I think of stealing as not giving back. This is borrowing. It’s the only way I’ll get to drive.”
I did believe that, but knowing Dad would ground me for life if he found out started a massive wave of tics. Rapid-fire neck twitches that scraped the back of my head across the grass and dirt. I counted to ten. Over and over. My hands squeezed together. The darkness was a lifesaver.
Jay leaped up. “Hey, I have a great idea. I’m going to teach you to drive.”
I sat up. “
You’re kidding, right?”
“Wait, maybe his dad has a point,” Diego said. “No offense or anything, but maybe you’re better off riding a bike the rest of your life.”
“Would you be okay with riding your bike after you pass the test?” I asked.
“Good point,” Diego admitted.
I turned to Khory. “If I don’t drive, you’ll either have to ride on the handlebars or chauffeur me around for the rest of our lives.”
“Not going to happen,” she said.
I grabbed her hand and squeezed it, then put my arm around her.
That’s the second time I let myself dream about a different number ten.
. . . . . . . . . .
“Hands at ten and two. You don’t get to drive with one hand until you’re more experienced like me,” Jay said. “Okay, start your engine.”
A race-car analogy probably wasn’t the smartest thing to say right now, especially since we were in his Mustang. Jay and I were in the front, and Khory, Rainn, and Diego were in the back. We buckled our seat belts. I turned the car on, then gripped the steering wheel until my knuckles turned white.
My neck twitched. I counted to ten.
“Move the wheel slowly. Not too much unless you’re turning.”
I had the general concept, gas on the right, brake on the left. D meant drive. R, reverse. But I listened to Jay’s step-by-step directions because it was his car, which he so stupidly put in my hands. And I wanted this so bad I would have kissed his shoes if he asked. It also gave me time to finish my round of ten.
I inched to the left, away from the curb in front of Rainn’s house, and pulled into the center of the road.
“Stay on the right,” Jay said. “But careful not to hit the curb or take out any mailboxes.”
Gotcha. Sounded easy enough. And it was, until we passed a few. Then they taunted me like a new person’s lunch tray. I wanted to touch them. More than that. I wanted to plow them down.
My right arm jerked to the right and my left arm pulled to the left. Breathe. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. Repeat. I pressed the gas, and the car lurched forward. I took that as a beginner’s mistake and pressed the gas again. The car jerked down the street. My foot felt heavy, and the bottom of it tingled. It was an itch that could only be scratched by slamming down hard.
