“Quick!” You run to Alex and pose, your arm around his shoulder.
“No, Ducky—” Too late. The camera snaps.
As you run to see the picture, Alex sits on a flat rock and pulls his food from his pack.
You watch the image appear.
Next to your grinning, jack-o’-lantern face, Alex looks washed-out and ghostly. As if he’s seeing something through the camera lens that you can’t see. Something terrifying.
You pocket the photo and move to sit near him. He’s staring out over the valley, the breeze sweeping back his hair.
He doesn’t ask about the snapshot.
D [with a deep, satisfied sigh]: “Isn’t it great?”
A: “As good as it gets. Which isn’t too good.”
D: “Hey, come on, we DID it. We’re sitting at the top. THIS is what matters.”
A: “Nothing matters.”
D: “That’s just not true, Alex. SO MUCH matters.”
A: “Like what?”
D [this is hard]: “Like FRIENDS.” [All 1 of them, who doesn’t seem to be doing a great job.] “Family.” [What’s left of it.] “Simple stuff—the smell of the morning air through your bedroom window, the end of school on Friday, the beach on a weekend, a drive along the coast—”
A: “You’re a hopeless optimist.”
D: “I have my ups and downs. But I keep my eyes open. I let the good things in. What’s wrong with that?”
A: “Whatever gets you through the night.”
D: “What gets YOU through the night, Alex?”
A: “You don’t want to know.”
D: “What does THAT mean? Alex, look where we are. You wanted to do this. You suggested it! Are you so depressed you can’t enjoy this? Is it like a tape running in your brain—‘No matter what, I WILL be gloomy’? Just turn it OFF for a moment. Let your senses take over. Look at the view, feel the breezes. This is IT, Alex. This is LIFE. If you can’t enjoy this, what’s the point?”
A [nods; then, softly, under his breath]: “Yup. What’s the point?”
That hits you hard.
It makes you think.
It brings up the unanswered questions hidden away in the back of your mind since Jay’s party—WHY did he hide himself in a locked bathroom that night, and WHY was he fully clothed in the tub with the shower running?
Even back then you had a suspicion—you must have, because you didn’t want to let him out of your sight, and even after you left, you watched from outside the house until his bedroom light was out and you were reasonably sure he’d gone to sleep.
And now you have to face it, at the rock summit with your lifelines still tied and unfrayed. You have to ask him.
You wait until you’re back in the car, driving down the freeway with your windows open and the radio off.
D: “Alex, when you say nothing matters—you’re not speaking literally, right?”
A: “Huh?”
D: “Like, it doesn’t mean you would want to stop living?”
A [snapping around to face you]: “No! What’s with you, Ducky? You think just because there’s no reason to live a person should want to kill himself?”
D: “No. I was speaking theoretically—”
A: “I mean, that’s the LAST thing I would do!”
D: “OK, Alex. OK. You just said some stuff that concerned me—”
A: “I mean, just because there’s no reason to LIVE, doesn’t mean there’s a reason to DIE!”
D: “Right. I won’t mention it again.”
A: “Don’t even THINK about it.”
Alex flicks on the radio.
You drive home to the Top 40 countdown.
Feeling much better.
How could you have asked him that, Ducky?
OK, you feel like you’re attached to him. Like you have to pull the weight of two.
But cut the guy some slack.
You’re on solid ground now.
Monday
Study Hall
He wasn’t at his locker this morning. Not at lunch either.
After lunch you saw Ms. Krueger in the hallway. You turned and went to class the long way.
You couldn’t face her. You knew she was going to ask how Alex is doing.
As if you have any idea.
And Now
a Word from Our Sponsor:
YOU.
Ducky.
The guy whose name is on the front of this journal. Whose life is supposed to be chronicled faithfully here.
Forgot about him, huh?
Forgot to mention you managed to pass the math test last week.
Congratulations. Thank you.
As usual, you’re so wrapped up in Alex, you don’t even think of yourself.
After school today, you give Amalia a ride home, and she’s talking away, mentioning something about Maggie and her new therapist—and that makes you think about Dr. Welsch and your rock-climbing trip and the fact that Alex wasn’t in school today, and as you pass the turnoff to his house, you start debating whether you should call him or pay a visit—and suddenly you notice the car is silent.
“Ducky, are you OK?” Amalia asks.
“Yup. Fine.”
“Do you need to talk?”
You’re so preoccupied, you don’t hear the words right, most specifically the word YOU. Somehow you’re hearing HE, meaning Alex, and you reply, “He does, really badly. But I think he’s stopped seeing his therapist.”
Amalia’s looking at you weirdly. “Not Alex. You.”
You laugh and say no, not me, not Good Old Ducky, I don’t need to talk. I’m fine. Just have my head in the clouds, that’s all.
Because what ELSE can you say—I think my best friend is an alcoholic depressive who hates life? No. It wouldn’t be fair to put that on her. And it CERTAINLY wouldn’t be fair to Alex.
So you chat about nothing and you drop her off and you pretend it’s a hap-hap-happy day.
It’s not until you’re around the block that you start realizing how good it would feel to talk to Amalia—to anyone—about all this.
And because you don’t—because you CAN’T—you feel rotten and alone.
Just the right mood for your shift at Winslow Books.
On the way to the store, you stop at Alex’s. Paula answers the door and tells you he’s asleep. So you say good-bye and head to the store, feeling relieved that at least he’s THERE, although you can’t imagine where else he’d be.
Alex Speaks
You catch him on the phone after dinner:
A: “What’s up, Ducky?”
D: “Hi. Nothing. I mean, I didn’t see you today at school, and I figured I’d call.”
A: “Uh-huh.”
D: “So…I’m calling! Are you OK?”
A: “As much as I ever am.”
D: “I thought…maybe you pulled a muscle or something on the climb. MY legs sure are killing me.”
A [long pause]: “I’m fine.”
D: “You’re fine? That’s fine. I’m fine too.” [Great vocabulary, McCrae.]
A: “Uh, Ducky? You don’t have to do this.”
D: “What?”
A: “Check up on me. One mother is enough. Just let me have my space.”
D: “OK.”
You’re upbeat. You understand.
But you want to smack yourself because you’re making Alex SICK of you—and why shouldn’t he be, when you’re hovering over him and questioning his every move—and you realize ONCE AGAIN that YOU BETTER WAKE UP, this is YOUR life.
So.
MY life…
Let’s see. It’s fifty-six degrees outside.
The math homework is impossible.
My sneakers are wearing out.
It’s almost bedtime.
Thank God.
—Up After Midnight—
This Is Beginning to Become a Habit
Well, bedtime came and went. And you sat there and tried to think of something ELSE to write, but you couldn’t, so you read and li
stened to the radio until you were bored and thirsty, at which point you headed for the kitchen.
Lo and behold, Ted was there, sneaking a dish of ice cream, and you grunted hello.
T: “Can’t sleep, huh?”
D: “Nope.”
T: “Girl trouble?”
(Please.)
D: “Not exactly.”
T: “Well, what, exactly?”
D: “Nothing.”
T: “Come on, bro, what’s on your mind?”
And suddenly you felt like you-know-who, all bottled up with nowhere to go, which was stupid because Ted seemed to be in a decent mood, the kitchen was quiet, and you felt comfortable in a way you hadn’t felt since before Mom and Dad returned, as if the house was yours again, just the two of you shooting the breeze at midnight.
You got a glass of water, sank into a kitchen chair, and began to talk—keeping it light, skimming the details, not wanting to bore him—until you realized THIS IS YOUR BROTHER and he’s bored you PLENTY over the years, and if you can’t talk to him, who, then?
So you unloaded. You talked about Alex’s moods, Alex’s absences from school, the rock-climbing incident, the way your life had become CONSUMED by Alex’s problems.
D: “My best friend is being sucked into his own private black hole, and I’m diving in after him. My other best friends are all eighth-grade girls, and I can’t talk to THEM about this. So I keep it to myself. And it affects everything in my life. School. My friendships.”
T: “And then, in the middle of all this, Mom and Dad come home.”
D: “Right. I felt so strange at the airport, picking them up. Uncomfortable. Same thing at Disneyland. I mean, I should be happy they’re home. We’re going to be together for Christmas.”
T: “Well, life is sometimes like that.”
D: “My life, anyway.”
T: “Hey, I feel strange about Mom and Dad too. I felt especially strange at Disneyland.”
D: “You didn’t seem that way. You were acting like a little kid!”
T: “Overcompensation. That’s like an exaggerated reaction to cover up how you’re really feeling. You’ll learn about that in Psych 101.”
(Thank you, Dr. Freud.)
D: “So that was an act?”
T: “Sort of. I mean, I feel weird even now. Listen to us, all whispery and quiet. A week ago, we’d be in here crashing around, not worrying about waking anyone up, not caring about who’ll notice the food missing from the fridge. It’s different now.”
Ever since that conversation, you’ve been thinking about that difference.
Part of you wants everything to be the same. Mom, Dad, Ted, Ducky, apple pie, Disneyland.
But you know it can’t be that way again. Not totally.
Before Mom and Dad came home, you’d gotten used to a new life.
Independent. Free.
You hate to admit it, but part of you is looking forward to their next trip.
Tuesday 12/8
Study Hall
Three tests Friday. You thought they weren’t supposed to schedule so many in one day.
Big trouble. Have to cut this short.
BTW, Alex in school today. (Hooray.)
Didn’t say much to you, though. Looked tired.
As usual.
Late-night Ramblings
Half-open Eyes
Mom and Dad so quiet during dinner. Dad’s mad, I think. Don’t know why.
More details as they become available.
Midweek Checkup
or, The Remains of a Once-Vital Youth:
Ducky, We Hardly Knew Ye
Studied till 11:30 last night. Ouch.
You feel like dry toast today.
Saw Alex at lunch. He must not have seen you. He came in late and took a seat alone by the window. You had dessert with him, but he was very quiet so you didn’t force the conversation.
When you went your separate ways afterward, he didn’t even say good-bye.
On your way to class, you ran into Sunny, who looked worse than you. She was even more off-the-wall than usual—loud jokes, under-the-breath insults, sudden space-outs.
Poor thing. Her mom’s really deteriorating. It’s hard to find out exactly how much. Sunny’s not giving any straight answers.
But you were worried. So you tracked down Dawn after study hall and asked if she knew anything.
“Sunny doesn’t confide in ME anymore,” she replied.
Well.
You wish they would patch things up. Sunny desperately needs a best friend.
Don’t we all.
Thursday
There’s No Place Like Homeroom
Who is DAD to lecture you about bedtimes and study habits?
Now that they’re home—NOW you’re supposed to suddenly revert to childhood? Get into your jammies and brush your toofies and kiss-kiss before the little hand reaches the nine?
You tried to be calm about it. You ARE a reasonable guy. You explained that 10:45 wasn’t too late for a good night’s sleep, and you only had twenty more pages to read. And besides, you’d stayed up late OTHER nights this week.
WHY the explosion? WHY?
Something’s up. Mom and Dad are arguing behind closed doors—whispering, hissing.
Maybe they’re still having trouble adjusting to the return.
Welcome to the club.
Soc stud
You were walking head down through the main hall, lost in your own world, when you smelled cigarette smoke. You looked up, and you were in the mood to BLAST somebody, to ask the idiot if he could READ THE SIGNS—and you were practically face-to-face with Mrs. Snyder.
She’d just walked through the front door and she was stubbing the butt out in an ashtray.
“Hi,” you said.
“Hi,” she said.
You probably didn’t stand there very long. It just SEEMED that way because you felt so AWKWARD seeing her in the middle of the school day, so you just nodded and moved on while she disappeared into Mr. Dean’s office.
Terrific. Alex has become an official Case.
Reflections on a Lousy Day
(Written at Winslow Books)
He totally ignored you at the lockers.
You sat with him at lunch. A half hour of slow chewing and window gazing.
You mentioned you saw his mom. You asked if he saw her.
Shrug. Shrug.
Finally you asked, “Are you mad at me about something?”
He didn’t answer. He stood up and left.
How much of this can you take?
Never give up?
NEVER?
Even Good Old Ducky has his limits.
TGIF
Because
YNAW
You Need a Weekend, that is.
Your chemistry exam is a killer.
English and French are no day at the beach either.
In between, you eat lunch all by yourself. Alex is at another table.
Fine.
Unfortunately, Marco and a bunch of Cro Mags sit at the table next to you and start quacking and making stupid comments, turning your lunch into sheer misery.
When the bell rings, you’re out of there. But as you’re rounding the corner to class, you feel two hands reach around your face and cover your eyes.
You lurch away. You HATE their idiotic pranks and you HATE the fact that ruining your lunch isn’t enough, that they have to follow you into the hallway and continue their torture—and you’re ready for anything, an egg shampoo, a ridiculous hat, a fight.
But it’s Dawn. And behind her is Maggie, holding a flower. And Amalia, with a small box of chocolates.
“Don’t EVER do that again!” Great, Ducky, dump on your pals. “I mean, you scared me.”
Dawn looks shocked. “Sorry.”
“We were going to hold you hostage,” Amalia explains. “Force you to endure flowers and chocolate.”
“We thought you needed it,” Maggie adds.
You feel like a total JERK. Yo
u try to smile, but it feels phony. “Thanks, guys.”
“I mean, if you don’t LIKE chocolate, I’ll eat it,” Amalia says.
It’s a joke. You tell yourself to LIGHTEN UP.
“Whatever,” you say. “You can have it.”
“Excuse ME, sir,” Amalia says, “what have you done with good old Ducky?”
Good Old Ducky.
Good Old, Used-up Ducky.
Discovering Ducky:
A Journey to the Wild, Screaming Beaches
You wind your way among the marauding Rollerbladers.
You shield yourself from the blazing sun.
You risk bruise and blister on the sand and jetties.
And finally you find him. Here on the farthest rock, away from the noisy crowd.
He’s floating high over the silver-blue ocean. He’s crawling into a cool crevice with the starfish. He’s billowing in the sail of a distant catamaran, and he’s riding the waves in the wake of the surfers.
You can’t really see him. He’s not a person, but you wish he were. He’s a lot of things you want to be.
He’s alone.
He’s free.
He’s not afraid.
And he knows what’s important.
Sunday
Discovering Ducky 2
You fix pancakes for the whole family. Mom is blown away. Dad smiles for the first time since, oh, Tuesday.
Ted says you should have put raisins in the pancakes, but you take it in stride. Cool and good-humored. A rising tide lifts all boats.
Next you call Alex.
He can avoid you all he wants.
He can be mad at you.
He can even end the friendship.
But he has to TALK to you first.
That’s all you ask.
Mrs. Snyder says he’s not home. He left on his bike. Somewhere.
You have a hunch where.
You find him at Las Palmas County Park, at your old spot near the creek.
You say hi and he says nada.
You fight the impulse to spin away and head right back over the bridge.
Diary Two Page 28
