by J. Bengtsson
“I missed you too. So much. I’m sorry for everything.”
She held her hand up. “We all have our crosses to bear, Keith. Anything you have done dwarfs in comparison to me. If it takes me a lifetime, I will make it up to you and the others, I promise you that.” Mom’s voice shook, and I could feel her body trembling.
I lifted my head back up, looking into her teary eyes. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
Such a stupid question, seeing that currently everything was wrong. I hooked my arm over her shoulder, hugging her to me. She was frail under my touch. The strain was taking its toll. Jake was alive, and that should have brought joy, but little about the situation we found ourselves in was cause for celebration.
“I’m sorry, baby.” A sob escaped her. “I let you slip through my fingers. You were still fragile, and I knew that, and I should have held on tighter. Now you’ve rewound and are back where you started.”
I wish. If she only knew how much further I’d fallen. But I kept silent as we embraced.
“It’s okay,” I whispered in her ear. “It’s not your fault.”
Her body shook. “I don’t know how to make this better, Keith. How do I fix Kyle and you and Jake?”
“I don’t know, Mom. I just want our family back.”
“Me too.”
Mom took my hand and led me to Jake’s door. She stopped before opening it and placed an unsteady hand to my cheek “Don’t expect much. He didn’t talk to the others.”
“Has he spoken to you?”
“Not coherently, no. Listen, before you go in, I’ve spoken to a few people. We’re going to get you the help you need. It’s already set.”
I wasn’t surprised, but I wasn’t happy either. “I don’t want to be sent away. Not now. I need to be here for Jake.”
“I know. It’s outpatient. But it will become inpatient if you don’t take it seriously.”
I had no choice but to accept her terms, so I nodded solemnly as I tried to step around her.
“One more thing,” she said, stopping me. “I need you to promise that you won’t let what you see in there take you away from us again. We need you here. Strong.”
Promises were easy. Keeping them was where I’d always struggled. But I would give whatever was required to walk into that room.
“I promise,” I said, reaching for her hand and squeezing before pushing the door open and facing my fear.
If Jake saw me arrive, he didn’t acknowledge it. In fact, he didn’t even blink an eye. My brother just stared blankly at the back wall. The first thing I noticed about him were the patches of baldness scattered over his head. Had he pulled his own hair out or had that been courtesy of Ray Davis?
So many emotions passed through me in that moment, and I wanted to rage for all the injustices he’d suffered, but I knew that wasn’t what he needed. Right now, if I had any chance of reaching him, I had to be the fun brother Jake loved.
“Hey, dude, it’s me, Keith,” I said, taking a step closer.
No reaction. Not even a twitch. And although I’d been warned of his condition, the reality of seeing him this way nearly brought me to my knees. Pale, emaciated, and covered in angry purple bruises, Jake was barely recognizable under all the tubes and wires sticking out all over his broken body. A constricting cast spanned his leg, reaching up to his thigh.
“I brought you something.”
Still no response. No flash of recognition. Could he even hear me? Where was he? Locked somewhere inside his head? Now that I was closer, I could see his bones protruding from his skin. He was so thin. Did he ever get food? What kind of a fiend steals a kid, abuses him, and lets him starve? Flashes of his life in chains forced me to look away. I now understood why Kyle had run out. It was what I wanted to do too, but I couldn’t leave him – not now. Not ever. Mitch might have been Dad’s ideal son, but I was Jake’s favorite, and I’d be damned if I left this room without him knowing my name.
Settling into the chair, I was careful not to touch him. That was a trigger, I’d been warned. Digging into my paper bag, I pulled out a seashell and placed it on the sheets beside him.
“For you. Courtesy of the ocean. It says hi by the way.”
He didn’t move or even swivel his eyes to look at my peace offering.
“Look, I get you’ve been through hell, and I don’t blame you for acting like a zombie, but I’m going to give it to you straight, bud: you keep this shit up and people are going to think you’re a few McNuggets short of a Happy Meal, you feel me? Before you know it, shrinks are going to be coming in here throwing around big words that end in ‘ology’. So here’s what I need you to do, champ. Wake the fuck up.”
Apparently I’d been too engrossed in my inspirational speech to notice movement on Jake’s part. It wasn’t until the shell was flying through the air that I realized what had happened. I watched in shock as the fragile seashell hit the wall with a thud, shattering into a thousand little pieces as it fell to the floor.
“Whoa. Dude. That was gnarly. Nice arm. You’re a destructive little shit, aren’t you? You wanna destroy another one?”
Staring straight ahead again, Jake slipped back into his comatose state. Oh, no, you don’t. Now that I knew he was in there, no way was I letting him go without a fight. I pulled another shell from the bag and placed it beside him. “Do your damage.”
This shell lay idle by his side. I pushed it closer like a dog nudging a ball at its owner. Nothing.
“Okay, I get it. You need a joke first. Why don’t oysters give to charity?”
I waited. Every joke needed a pause for effect.
“Because they’re shellfish.”
I laughed, and I knew if Jake felt better, he would have too. We’d been telling these jokes to each other since we were little kids, the stupider the better.
“Damn, dude. You’re a tough crowd. Fine, time for more surprises.”
Out of one of the plastic baggies, I pulled a clump of seaweed and placed the slimy concoction on his arm. “Did you know that seaweed has a mild laxative effect and is quite useful in maintaining healthy digestion?”
No response.
“Now, I know what you’re thinking, Jake. Who’s the poor sap who had to test that theory? Am I right?”
Finally, I got a reaction. Jake glanced up at me for the briefest second before looking away. The bruises circling his eyes were all shades of the rainbow, and his lip was lined with black stitches, but still I sighed with relief. I had him now, and I wasn’t letting go.
Gently tracing the cool algae over his arm, Jake seemed fascinated by the slippery feel. After piling more seaweed onto his arm, I looked up to find him staring at me. Our eyes met, and even though no words passed between us, I understood what he wanted. When I was with him, there would be no sympathy – no tears. All that was required of me was to make him feel alive. That I could do.
And to reward him for the non-verbal deal we’d brokered, I hit him with another joke. “What does seaweed say when it’s stuck on the ocean floor?”
Jake cleared his throat and, in barely more than a scratchy whisper, he spoke his first words to me in six long and grueling weeks. “Kelp. Kelp.”
20
Samantha: The Story of the Stone
After parting ways with Keith, I knew there was one last thing I needed to do. Driving back to Shannon’s house, I sat down at her desk and began penning a letter for Keith on the only paper I could find, a notepad with the slogan, Warning! Don’t pet the redhead.
My fingers flew as the words transferred from my brain to the parchment with ease. I’d always done my best writing when it really counted, and this was one of those times. Originally, I’d just intended to quietly leave town, but seeing Keith again had changed my mind. If I had the chance to say goodbye properly, why wouldn’t I? Did Keith not deserve to know the truth about me – the girl he’d fallen in love with? I wished I’d had the courage to speak my truth while we were still together. Maybe if I’d been honest to him when it
really counted, he might have reciprocated when it mattered most to him.
I started with the parts he knew, Sullivan’s death and my father’s abandonment, and then I moved onto the isolation I’d felt at school and how both he and Shannon had saved me in different ways. Then came the tough stuff, the part of my life I’d kept hidden from view – my mentally ill mother. Every nasty detail was described, all the way through to the horrible last day I’d spent with her. And when I was done, I was certain Keith would understand the reason I was leaving was not because of his abandonment but because I needed the chance to know what it felt like to be safe in my own home.
And finally I settled in for a story that needed to be told: the story of my agate stone necklace. It was more than just a pretty crutch hanging around my neck. It had special meaning; special protective powers. That’s not to say the stone hadn’t seen its fair share of failures, Sullivan being the biggest of all. Its healing powers hadn’t been enough to save my brother, but they had been enough to save me. Toying with the stone, I slid it along the leather cord as I remembered the moment it came into my life.
I was ten and trembling. Sullivan was beside me, fidgeting in place. My grandfather was dying, and we’d been summoned for our final goodbyes. I’d never known death at that stage of my life, and I was terrified he’d take his last breath in front of me.
“It’s time,” my father said, his chipper voice masking the pain. “He wants to see you kids. Sullivan, go first.”
I waited for maybe ten minutes before my brother emerged from the room shell-shocked and blurry-eyed. I tried to snag his attention, to ask what had happened, but he was in no mood to catch me up. In fact, he slunk off to use the bathroom, which had always been his go-to place for a good cry.
“Samantha?” Dad said, opening the door. I took a deep breath and stepped into my grandfather’s hospital room. He was lying in bed, eyes closed, looking peaceful. Please don’t die on me. As I stepped forward, he turned his head in my direction and smiled. I’d only met him a handful of times, but the one thing I remembered about him was his smile. I sometimes wished we’d skipped a generation and he’d been my father instead.
“Come, Samantha,” he said. “Don’t be afraid.”
I tiptoed closer.
“Honey.” His tired eyes were trained on me. “Can you reach around and unclasp my necklace?”
Doing as I was instructed, I removed the jewelry from his neck and laid it into his weathered palm.
“Sit.” His bottom lip trembled as some unseen memory passed through his mind. “I want to tell you about this stone.”
And then he began a remarkable tale of his time in Vietnam. While on a mission and hunkered down in a bunker, he found the necklace lying in the dirt. Thinking someone had dropped it accidentally, my grandfather affixed it around his neck for safe-keeping, fully intending to give it to the rightful owner as soon as he returned to base camp. But shortly after, he and his platoon came under attack, and my grandfather was one of only four survivors. The necklace, he’d said, was his lucky charm.
“And now it’s yours, Samantha. You’re special, and I know you’ll do right by this stone. Do you understand?”
I remembered nodding, but at the time, I didn’t really understand its significance or why my grandfather was giving it to me and not Sullivan. Maybe he knew life would test me and I’d need that extra bit of protection. Or possibly he just saw a fighting spirit in me and knew I’d keep going even when times got tough – just as he had done all those years ago. Whether the stone had magical powers or not wasn’t as important as the wearer believing it did. And I believed.
My grandfather passed on a couple days later. And even though they’d never been close, Sullivan took his death hard. I did all I could to calm him down, but my brother was inconsolable. That was when I knew what I had to do. Even though he’d given it to me, I removed Grandpa’s stone from around my neck and fastened it around my brother’s neck. And as I told him the story of the stone, I watched in wonder as it eased his pain.
My story told, I sealed the envelope and addressed it carefully. Then I flipped it over and printed on the back, “Be who you want to be – Love always, Samantha.”
And then I was out the door and in my car, determined to add closure to my departure. Pulling into the post office, I found a spot in the front and parked. As I walked to the mailbox, tears swamped my eyes, but I didn’t let them stop me from doing what needed to be done. Kissing the parched envelope, I dropped it in the mailbox, and as I walked back to my car, I traced my fingers along my collarbone where the agate necklace had once hung.
Bobbing in the water, my board at the ready, I spotted the unbroken wave and paddled like mad to catch it. The last few swells had fallen out before I could get lift, but this one… I just knew it would be epic. And then I was up, my hair blowing in the breeze, a smile centered on my face. The ride was everything I knew it would be.
I felt so lucky to be here, to feel alive like this. Adjusting to life in San Diego hadn’t been as difficult as I’d thought. My two little cousins, nine and eleven, were old enough that watching them during the afternoons while their mom was at work was no hardship at all. I met a few friends at my new school and was thrilled to discover my aunt’s house was a twelve-minute drive to this surf spot.
The ocean filled a void in my life that had opened up with the lack of a committed father, the stress of a mentally unstable mother, and the death of my big brother. It was as if being on the water leveled the playing field. Sure, I had been handed a raw deal, but look what I had – this ride, and then the next. Peace was what I’d been missing, and here on the waves, I’d found it.
Of course I knew who to thank for my newfound happiness – the boy with the stupid questions who smelled like seaweed. I smiled. That was another benefit of my new Zen lifestyle. Remembering Keith was no longer painful. Now when I thought of him, I didn’t dwell on what could have been, but instead comforted myself in the knowledge that we’d changed each other for the better. When all was said and done, Keith had occupied only a very short chapter in the story of my life, but it would be remembered as the crucial turning point – the moment in time when I took back my life. Keith McKallister had not just given me my first love, he’d given me my passion.
“Hey,” a male voice interrupted my daydream. I looked up, blocking the sun with my arm. He was college-aged, deeply tanned, and smiling at me with an affecting grin. “Sick ride.”
“Thanks. The conditions are challenging today.”
“Don’t I know? I’ve been wiping out all day. I’m Drew, by the way.”
“Samantha,” I said, reaching for his outstretched hand. “But everyone calls me Sam.”
Five years later
21
Keith: Yogi
“Excuse me, people. Coming through.”
“No, ma’am. Hands to yourselves, please.”
“Easy, killer, let’s keep the volume levels in the healthy range.”
“Sir, I assure you no one wants to see that… no one.”
The sea of quivering bodies parted as beefy security guards cleared the way for us to make it through the back gates where there would be sanity. As Jake’s star had begun to rise, so had the crowds. And despite the fact that he was just eighteen years old, his followers weren’t all giddy preteen girls – as the middle-aged woman flashing her nipple ring proved. From the very young to the very old, Jake attracted a wide range of music lovers, men and women alike. My job was to keep their hands, feet, breasts, and teeth off him. Not as easy as it sounded, I assure you.
“Hang on, bro. We’re almost there.”
As we pushed through the hordes, Jake dipped his head, acknowledging my words but saying nothing in return. He didn’t need to. I was dialed in, able to understand his wants and needs without clunky conversations slowing us down. Before me, Jake had navigated these shark-infested waters alone. He’d had no one to read his non-verbal cues or make him smile when his day turned to
shit. The people assigned to his team in the early days didn’t care about him. He was a paycheck, nothing more, nothing less. Back then, Jake was more a zoo animal than a musician, placed on stage so people could gawk at the boy who’d survived a grisly high-profile crime. The suits didn’t care if he could sing or write or perform. All they cared about was that paying concertgoers would fork out the money required to watch the infamous one-hit wonder perform his hit song, “Deception.”
No doubt expecting Jake to crash and burn after his debut solo flight, the label was intent on milking his notoriety while keeping their expenses at a minimum. Why pour resources into a lost cause? So they dropped Jake into a debilitated tour bus, arranged for a forty-eight-year-old drunk to be his manager/handler, assembled the motleyest stage crew they could scramble together at a moment’s notice, and assigned him Lassen, the most cantankerous bus driver known to man.
But the funny thing about underdogs was you could never really count them out, and while the bosses were totaling up their chump change, Jake was quietly building a devoted fan base. Before the studio heads knew it, their one-hit wonder had morphed into a two- and three-hit phenomenon. Followers arrived in droves, filling concert halls and gymnasiums and then later stadiums and arenas. Jake was a rising star who’d suddenly found himself in an enviable position of power. And to everyone’s surprise, he wielded it.
After just one album, Jake turned the tables on his label, suing and claiming he’d been coerced into signing the contract as a minor. In an effort to avert a public relations disaster, Jake was let out of his contract. He promptly signed a favorable multi-million dollar deal with their biggest competition. It was a shake up heard round the musical world, made more fantastical because it was a kid just shy of his eighteenth birthday who’d choreographed it all. Well him, our two fed up parents, and Mom’s lawyer friend, Larry.
