When I Grow Up (Tales from Foster High)

by John Goode

  He sighed and dropped his head. “Billy.”

  “Billy what?” I gripped the chair as I struggled to stay upright.

  I wasn’t going to make it.

  I’d gotten too caught up in the story, too involved with Linda’s problems, and now they were mine in a way. And as with most of my problems, my mind was handling it the way it normally did.

  By shutting down.

  The haze that was way too familiar dropped down over me, and I knew it was just a matter of time before I hit the ground like a dame who talked too much in a thirties gangster movie.

  Quiet, you. I have insomnia and TCM—deal with it.

  Instead of sliding off the chair and onto the floor, I found someone in front of me speaking gently and reassuringly.

  “—okay. You’re in a safe place and nothing is going to happen.”

  As my pulse slowed and vision returned, I saw Seb kneeling in front of me, one hand on each of my shoulders as he tried to talk me down.

  “You’re in a hospital. The safest place in the world. It’s okay.”

  The haze didn’t go away, but it receded a little as I nodded silently.

  “You can’t see when someone is having a panic attack?” he asked Tyler.

  “Um… no?”

  “You want to lie down or something?” Sebastian asked me.

  “No,” I said, a little surprised I could talk. “I’m good.” It was a lie, but what was I going to say? No, my dear boy, I’m a heartbeat away from being institutionalized, where I will be endlessly pissed that there aren’t white padded rooms and straightjackets because it will mean that all TV, including Buffy, lied to me, and I couldn’t take that kind of news.

  Sebastian started to stand, but I stopped him.

  “Thank you,” I mouthed and gave him a weak smile.

  He tossed a salute with a grin that would have made teenage girls everywhere squee if it was on the CW. “All part of the service.”

  He gave Tyler a death stare as he strode to the other side of the room and pulled out his cell phone.

  “I’m sorry,” Tyler said in a way that told me he was about to apologize for everything he had ever done to me.

  “It happens,” I replied, trying not to make a thing about it. “Just give me a second to recharge.”

  He nodded, sitting there looking like a little kid waiting for permission to talk.

  Taking a deep breath, I asked, “Okay, where were we?”

  “Billy won’t let them operate on her.”

  Now I was pissed. “What? How? Why?” Great, I was three Ws away from being a reporter.

  “He showed up and they’re still married. He won’t let them operate.”

  “They’re what now?” I said, unsure I was hearing this right.

  “He’s saying it is against their personal beliefs and he isn’t going to allow them to operate, and no one here can tell the hospital different.”

  “What in the fuck? Who cares? Why don’t they just go in and do it?”

  Tyler looked at me with those sad hound dog eyes. “Because they know if they do, Billy will sue the living shit out of them.”

  “But they haven’t been married in forever!”

  “The law doesn’t care.”

  I was about to throw a fit when the waiting room door opened and Sheriff Taylor walked in. At first I thought he was there to check on Linda, but when I saw his partner at the door, I knew different.

  “Tyler,” he said in a low voice. “I’m gonna need you to step out here.”

  “You have got to be kidding me,” I said, standing up.

  He didn’t look like he was liking this any better than Tyler was. “The hospital said there was someone kicking chairs in the waiting room, and they called us to escort him out.”

  “I’ll be good,” Tyler said in a voice that was breaking my heart. “Please don’t make me leave, Sheriff.”

  Taylor sighed, and I knew it wasn’t going to be good news. “They’re asking you to leave, son, and there’s nothing I can do about that. Why don’t you go home, take a shower and rest up, and then come back when there’s a shift change. They’re saying to take you out now; that doesn’t mean you can’t come back in later.”

  “Why don’t you arrest that scum bucket who’s in there killing Linda?” I demanded. Even as I asked, I knew it wasn’t his fault, but I was so fucking tired of this shit. Why does the world have to be this stupid? There are gay people who’ve lived together for fifty years who aren’t allowed in the hospital rooms of their partners because they aren’t really married, but this redneck fuck can hold Linda hostage?

  “If I could throw Billy Stilleno out of here, I would,” he said, leveling me a stare. “But I have to enforce all the laws, not just the ones I agree with.” He looked over at Tyler. “Grab your coat, son. Let’s head out.”

  Matt came barging into the waiting room, and he didn’t look any happier than I was. “Oh, come on!”

  “Matt,” Taylor warned him. “They didn’t ask me to take you out of here, but you throw a fit and I’m gonna have to. Now shut up, help your man grab his things, and take him home before this becomes a real problem instead of just me walking you out.”

  Matt looked over at me, and I nodded. “Go. I’ll stay and call you if anything happens.”

  Mouthing the words “Thank you,” he got Tyler to his feet and led him out with the sheriff. Once they were gone, Sebastian came over, not sure what was going on. “Did they get arrested?”

  I had already taken my phone out and called Kyle’s number. “No, they’re taking them home because the hospital complained.”

  “Do we have to leave?”

  “They can try but they better bring more than two cops to do it.” The call went to voice mail, and I almost screamed into the phone. “Your ass better be in the air, because you need to be here about four hours ago!” I hung up.

  “So what do we do now?” Seb asked, uncertainly.

  “We sit and wait and hope she doesn’t die.”

  He sat down next to me. “Who doesn’t die?”

  Oh God, I was going to have to tell him the story.

  “Okay, remember how I told you about Kyle?”

  I owed Tyler an apology; there was no quick way to tell this story after all.

  Matt

  HE SAT in the passenger seat and said nothing.

  I’m not going to lie and say Tyler was the easiest person to love. He was moody and withdrawn at times, and he had a streak of self-loathing that was only matched by his own ego. It was like he drew pride from looking the way he did and then punished himself for liking it. He was a good man, not a great one, not a bad one, just good. He had done horrible things in his life, but he had learned from them and honestly tried to change.

  And then things like this happened.

  After that freakjob had shot up the school and held Kyle captive in the library, Tyler had looked like he was ready to run in there and take that kid apart all by himself. Later, when we were at home, I asked him why. I mean, I knew he liked those kids something fierce, but why was it his responsibility to save them? He looked at me, and what he said ran chills down my spine.

  “Because I can’t let someone else I love die and do nothing. I just can’t.”

  He wasn’t saying he couldn’t stand by and let it happen. He meant if someone else died, he couldn’t take it. I’d almost asked him what that meant but I dropped it, because when was the subject going to come up again?

  If you aren’t paying attention, I might not be the sharpest tool in the shed.

  “You hungry?” I asked him, knowing he was but he wouldn’t eat.

  He shook his head, still staring out the passenger-side window.

  “Mind if I stop at Starr’s and get myself something?”

  I wasn’t that hungry, but I was hoping if he saw me eat, he’d eat.

  The only response I got was a shrug.

  Good enough for me.

  I pulled into the parking lot and pushed t
he call signal to order. Starr’s is one of those old-time drive-ins where the staff brings you your food on roller skates. It was pretty much everything Sonic tried to be, but with heart. My parents had come here on dates, and as I looked over the menu, I wondered how many people in Foster owed their lives to this place.

  I ordered a ton of food, knowing Tyler ate like a machine when he was depressed. Lucky for him he liked working out, because that boy spent a lot of time depressed. It was weird because it wasn’t like he was clinically depressed; it was just how he was. He was a sad person and I wished I could make him happier sometimes, but I took solace in the fact that by just being here I was making it better.

  “She’s going to die,” he said as we waited for our food.

  “Come on,” I said. “We don’t know anything yet. Kyle will be here in a few hours, and the hospital is going to have a hard time refusing her only child. This will get taken care of.”

  “No it won’t. She’s going to die because she’s friends with me. That’s how it always goes.”

  This was a spiral I’d heard before, and I knew if it continued, he was going to just go nuts. So I decided to roll the dice.

  “Well, actually, only one of your friends has died. That’s a low sampling to be using the word ‘always.’”

  He slowly looked over at me, and I could see the disbelief on his face.

  “It’s true. Only Riley has died, unless you’re saying Riley was your only friend besides Linda, and in that case it still isn’t an ‘always,’ it’s a ‘so far.’”

  “You think this is something to joke about?” he asked, his voice no longer melancholy but ramping up to pissed.

  “I think this is a horrible turn of events, but it has nothing to do with you or your friendships.”

  “I could have driven her up there,” he said, getting louder. “I could have gone myself and kicked the shit out of Billy and got this over with. Instead I did nothing, and now look at her.”

  I nodded like I was agreeing. “So then if she gets better, you’ll be moving in with her?” He looked at me, confused. “To make sure she doesn’t ever drive to work or cross the street alone. Because a pretty significant percentage of accidents happen in the shower, which is going to get weird, but then I suppose you could sit on the toilet and wait.”

  “Stop making jokes,” he growled.

  “Why? If you can make this worse than it actually is, I can make jokes.”

  “She could be dying!” he snapped. His hands were balled into fists.

  “I thought she was dying. Make up your mind, Tyler: she is either already dead and it’s all your fault, or she could be dying, which means anything could happen. But it can’t be both.”

  “I don’t want her to die!” he screamed, his face turning red with frustration and rage. And like that, his anger and grief crested and he began sobbing. “I don’t want her to die, Matt.”

  I leaned over and pulled him into an embrace. “Then stop blaming yourself and start praying for the best.”

  He nodded into my chest as he just let it all out.

  But I knew this was only round one.

  Sebastian

  MAN, AND I thought Jersey was a lot of drama.

  Yeah, that’s not fair and probably not appropriate, but when I get nervous, I make jokes. It’s a defense mechanism that comes from a lifetime of trying to be what everyone in the world wants you to be. I’m not going to go into detail—I don’t know you all that well—but frankly, no one has had a great childhood and if they say they did, they’re lying.

  So anyway, I joke. Badly, for sure, but when I’m in an uncomfortable place, it’s what I do. And let me tell you, I couldn’t think of a more uncomfortable place than Foster, Texas at the moment. The kicker is that the town hides it well. When we drove in, all I could think of was Norman Rockwell paintings and Jimmy Stewart movies. How in the world could this town be as bad as Robbie described it?

  And then it slipped for a second, and I saw just a glimpse of the monster underneath.

  Not the whole thing, just enough to wonder if I’d imagined it, and if I was stupid, I’d shake my head and go, “nah.” I’ve seen more than enough horror movies to know the jackass who goes “nah” gets killed in the most gruesome way, and you laugh and scream at him because he should have known better.

  I fucking know better.

  One, that “I’m her husband” shit wouldn’t fly in a real town. The doctors would just go and do the fucking operation and let the chips fall where they may. Only in a place like this would trained medical professionals pause because some trailer-park trash gave them the stink eye. Two, who the fuck holds a person’s medical treatment hostage? I can’t even imagine what kind of fucking knuckle dragger thinks that’s okay, and I’ve met some real slimeballs in my day. And three, being read by a guy who looks like he was kicked out of Smallville for being too muscular. I understand protective friends, but dude, at least wait until we’ve spoken more than three words before you come swinging at me like I’m a child molester or something. And don’t even get me started on that Tyler guy. See, if that Matt asshole thinks he knows who I am, then I know exactly who Tyler is.

  Because I was him up until last year.

  I was one of those genetically gifted guys who had almost no body fat and lean muscle mass. It’s called an ectomorphic body type: low fat storage, high calorie use. It basically means I start out as normal and get a lot better with a little work. I’m not completely bragging—I mean, I am a little bit, but not as much as you think. But if you think of someone famous who has a great body, I can assure you they’re an ectomorph.

  So what that means is I was stuck-up in high school.

  I mean, I was cute, in shape, played football—I had it all going on. Girls flirted, guys looked, and I knew it. So much so that when a couple of friends asked me to head out to the Left Coast, all I could think about was how famous I was going to be. Good-looking guys were all over TV. I could do that; who couldn’t? I was sure that within a month, I’d be on Dawson’s whatever or 9021addwhatevernumberyouwant and be living the high life.

  And then I saw what actual beauty looks like.

  I don’t tell this story much, but it helps to explain why I know what kind of person Tyler is. See, my friends, who were also high school jocks who were now college jocks, and I decided to go bum around Hollywood and see how the other half lived. There were four of us and we were built, young, and cute. We had nothing to fear. So we went to this place that was stupid popular and my bud Crash—no, that’s not his real name—started hitting on the girl at the door to get us seats while the rest of us waited to be noticed.

  Crash didn’t get us a table but he did get us to the bar, which was just as good in my opinion. So we downed some overpriced beer and leaned on the wood, waiting for someone to come up to us and say we were as stunning as we thought. About an hour into this, the beer added up and I went to go take a piss. I drained the lizard and, because my mom taught me well, went to wash my hands, and someone walked out of one of the stalls. Okay, not just any someone—a real someone.

  Jensen Ackles came out and washed his hands next to me.

  Now at the time he was just on a soap opera so I had no idea who he was, but I was stunned by the way he looked just standing there. He glanced over at me, nodded, and flashed me a grin that made me think I’d never learned to smile correctly. But it was more than his looks. Don’t get me wrong. He was so bangible it hurt. But he had something more than that. He had this aura, this presence, that was electric, even though he couldn’t have been more than a year older than me. It was a thing I had never experienced before.

  He finished and then moved toward me and paused.

  “I need a towel,” he said, still smiling.

  And that was when I realized I’d been staring at him, most likely with my fucking mouth open.

  “Oh yeah. Sorry. I mean… here,” I said, turning around and trying to tear a paper towel off for him.

  Which
was when I almost tore the machine off the wall because it was one long cloth towel that was looped up inside.

  “Fuck,” I said as I realized the damn thing was about to fall off.

  “You know, I’m good,” he said, the smile never wavering, but his body language said he was freaked. “Thanks.”

  He rushed out of the bathroom, leaving me there with a broken hand towel and a broken ego.

  Of course, by the time I got back to the guys, I had shaken it off. Silently convinced myself I had imagined everything, and whatever whoever the fuck that was had, I had the same and more. Deep down, I knew. I knew at that very moment that stardom wasn’t going to work. I went out on auditions and tried my hardest to make people see how great I was, but in the end I was working tables, reading about the young, fresh-faced new guy who was signed as a series regular on Dark Angel.

  When I got “discovered” for modeling, I thought maybe for a second I’d been wrong, that I did have it.

  But I realized that the guy I modeled for had probably hired me because he wanted to sleep with me. I didn’t even care when I stopped working and just became his boyfriend. Well… I did care, but I didn’t argue, because I knew I was out of my league. Of course, when I walked in on him with not just one but two younger, better-looking guys than myself, I did what I should have done the instant I walked out of that bathroom.

  I went back to a small pond to enjoy my big fish status again.

  Of course, that isn’t how it worked out: I met Robbie and things changed. For the better, to be sure, but you see, I knew Tyler well. He was a big fish here in Hicktown, USA, and I’m sure he’d gone off somewhere thinking he was hot shit and it hadn’t worked out for him. So he’d come running back here where he could be the hometown hero with the heart of gold. A pretty boy who could do no wrong, living where the world revolved around him. He was definitely into that. So much so that, instead of stepping up when Riley was killed, he drove off and abandoned Robbie because his status was more important than doing the right thing.

  You know, I hadn’t really realized how much that guy pissed me off until I met him. I mean, I always made the joke to Robbie that I would have kicked that guy’s ass for him, but now… I just might. He was so busy telling his horrible, dramatic story, where I’m sure he was the main victim and not the woman dying in the hospital room, that he couldn’t even see Robbie slowly starting to pass out from a panic attack.