“Matt. Matt!” Sandy interrupts me, squeezing my hands. “It’s okay. I understand you’re pretty upset and still feeling sick and whatnot, but everything is gonna be okay.”
“I feel so ashamed, Sandy!”
“No,” she says. “You think you’re feeling ashamed. You think you’re feeling all kinds of stupid things because you’re still drunk, and I think what you really need right now is a cold shower and a long sleep. I’m going to take you to Alfonso’s now.”
“Oh God,” I say. “He’s gonna kick my butt so hard, but I probably deserve it.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“Whoa!” Alfonso says the moment he opens the door and sees me. “Someone’s had a few.”
“Don’ gemme started, Fonso,” I say.
“Night, Matthew,” Sandy says. “Go get some sleep.”
I give her a hug, a little too tight, a little too long, because I’ve lost all sense of time and force. “Thank you, Sandy. I love you so much! I wish you could be a dude, you know?”
“All right,” she says, gently pushing me away, “you go and sleep it off now. Things will look different in the morning.”
I’m tempted to tell her that with the soft focus of inebriation removed, things will surely look worse in the morning, but my head starts spinning again and I’m still sporadically hit by bouts of nausea, so I decide to heed Sandy’s advice. I pat Alfonso on the chest as I make my way past him and stagger down the stairs.
“A word, Alfonso?” I hear Sandy say before I enter Alfonso’s basement lair and close the door behind me. I don’t need to hear the story she’s about to tell him.
Alfonso—bless him—has prepared the couch for me with a bed sheet, pillow, and blanket. As I sit down on the couch I topple over, sinking my face into the pillow. My initial urge to sit up again is quickly crushed by the intriguingly comforting feeling of snuggling my face up against something cool and soft. I don’t want to move anymore, so I slip my shoes off my feet, swing my legs onto my makeshift bed, and hug my pillow. I need something to hold onto. My life, my world, my entire universe is spinning around me, tossing me up and tearing me down and hurling me around until I know no more whether I’m upside down or inside out.
Indescribable feeling, soaring, mumbling, freewheeling on a batshit crazy night, a voice is singing in my head.
And then I’m out. I don’t know how long Alfonso was upstairs chatting with Sandy. I don’t know if he let her walk home alone in the middle of the night or if he was being a gentleman and escorted her home. I don’t know what time it was when he came back downstairs and tucked me in. I can only assume he must have done it at some point because when I wake up way too early in the morning, I find myself with the blanket pulled up to my chin. I open my eyes and see Alfonso lying in his bed across the room, topless and peacefully snoring away. And then I notice the elephant in the room—a big, fat elephant, gray and heavy like a storm cloud. It’s sitting where my head used to be, and it’s trumpeting in excruciating pain.
“Oh God,” I moan, rubbing my eyes. A cautious attempt to move results in more dull, throbbing pain and the sobering realization that I’d probably be better off dead. And that’s just the physical pain. Its presence wastes no time in dragging me out of my comforting state of sleep-induced amnesia. In the sluggish blink of a still sleepy eye, it all comes back to me, and it brings with it the embarrassment that turns out to be no less painful than the physical agony. I scan my memory for any sign that it was all just a horribly realistic dream after all, but no such luck. It’s all true, and I have no idea how I’m supposed to live with the burning feeling of shame and guilt that comes with it.
I’m thirsty. My tongue feels like our front lawn in August, and it probably has the same color, too. In spite of my pain I manage to lift my head and look around for a bottle of water, a watering can, or a garden hose, but the only thing within my reach is a half-empty bag of potato chips. Slowly, I swing my legs off the couch and get on my feet. I look around and spot the mini fridge next to Alfonso’s bed. Something cold would be nice, so I make my way to the fridge on unsteady legs like a patient after hip replacement surgery. When I open the fridge, bottles in the door compartment rattle and chink, way too loud not only for the delicate, hypersensitive hearing of someone who’s experiencing their first hangover but also for Alfonso’s light sleep. Within a second he’s wide awake, glaring at me suspiciously.
“There’s no booze in there, borrachiño,” he says with a croaky voice.
I examine the contents of the fridge. Not only is there no alcohol, there’s nothing to drink at all, only bottles and jars of salsa and guacamole. Nothing against Alfonso’s delicious home made awesomesauce, but it’s not exactly what I’m craving right now.
“Seriously?” I say. “You got a fridge full of condiments but not even a bottle of water or anything else that’s remotely suitable to wash away the foul aftertaste of the shittiest night of one’s life?”
Alfonso yawns and stretches like a sleepy dog. “That bad, huh?”
“Worse,” I say and close the fridge. “Hasn’t Sandy told you anything?”
“Oh, don’t get your hopes up. Sandy has told me everything.” He sits up and leans back against the headboard. “Wanna talk about it?”
“Do I have a choice?”
He shakes his head. “Nope.”
With a heavy sigh that matches the weight of the world on my slender shoulders I sit down on Alfonso’s bed. “It was the most embarrassing thing that ever happened to me.”
“What was? Having a threesome with two dudes, or being walked in on by Sandy?”
“Both,” I say. “And it wasn’t a threesome! Not that I’m an expert or anything, but a threesome is something that three people do voluntarily. I had no idea what was going on. I was totally wasted and making out with Chris, and then all of a sudden somebody opened my pants and …” I can’t say it, and I probably don’t even have to because I’m pretty sure Sandy didn’t leave out any of the critical details. “I was basically assaulted. Sexually, I mean.”
“Right,” he says. “How wasted was he then?”
“Jack? I don’t know. I’m pretty sure he’s had more than me, but I guess he’s also more used to it. He didn’t really seem like he didn’t know what he was doing.”
Alfonso looks at me in silence for a long while until I finally say, “What?”
“Nothing,” he says, shaking his head. “It’s just …” He chuckles. “I can’t get over the fact that Jack likes dick. Didn’t see that one coming.”
“Tell me about it.”
“So if you had to choose between Jack and Phil, who would it be?”
“What?” I say, sounding more agitated than I should.
“What what? They’re both into you. It’s pretty obvious.”
“That is so not gonna happen. Like, ever!”
“Why not?”
I look at him. “What do you mean, why not? Jack is an asshole, and Phil …”
Alfonso waits for me to finish my sentence, and when I don’t, he says, “What’s wrong with Phil?”
“What’s wrong with Phil? Dude, have you seen his face?”
“Wow,” Alfonso says, “that’s probably one of the most offensive things you’ve ever said, and I’m gonna put it down to your residual blood-alcohol level. Are you saying we wouldn’t be friends if I weren’t such a handsome stud?”
“Of course I’d still be your friend. And you’re not even that handsome.”
“See? Now think about that.”
“Whatever,” I say, rubbing my eyes with the palms of my hands. “I need a shower.”
“You sure do. And breakfast. With eggs and bacon and plenty of coffee.” He pulls up his leg and gently nudges me off the bed. “Go get your shower. Make it a cold one. I’ll fix us some breakfast. See you upstairs.”
“Yes, Mother,” I reply obediently and schlep myself to the bathroom.
* * *
I was supposed to go home on Saturday m
orning, but even after a long shower and a hearty breakfast I’m still not in a presentable state, so Alfonso makes an executive decision: he grounds me, and I spend the entire day and another night at his place. I feel awful most of the time, both physically and mentally, and Alfonso does his best to distract me from my misery. We play Xbox, we watch TV, we talk. Several times I’m hit by flashbacks that take me to the verge of tears, and then Alfonso will crack a silly joke or a silly smile, or he’ll poke his finger in my ribs to tickle me and make me laugh and forget about the sad state of my world for another couple of minutes.
In the afternoon, Sandy texts me to ask me how I’m doing and if it’s okay for her to come over. Who am I to say no? She’s witnessed the most humiliating and embarrassing moment of my life, and she just grabbed my hand and we ran. I’ll never be able to deny her any wish for the rest of my life, and that’s fine with me. So Sandy comes over and she hugs me and she tells me I look terrible.
Alfonso says, “See?” and I tell them both to shut the hell up, but it’s all just playful teasing and, as such, chicken soup for my battered soul.
By the time I return home on Sunday morning, I’m almost my old self again, and my family is none the wiser. To them I’m still the same person I was before I spent two nights at Alfonso’s. In the afternoon I tell Zoey about the party and how I made out with Chris. I leave out all the juicy details that involve Jack. I hate that I can’t tell her the whole truth, but I simply can’t risk that in another lapse of self-control she publicly confronts Jack about something that has to be even more embarrassing for him than his boozer parents or incidents of domestic violence in his family.
Nevertheless, telling Zoey about making it to second base with Chris props up my bruised self-confidence, and deep down I feel like I’m all grown up now. I’m no longer a boy. I’m a man with one hangover and one nearly sexual encounter under his belt, and I’m beginning to feel on top of the situation. My own extensive reasoning, fueled by long conversations with Sandy and Alfonso, finally lead me to the firm conviction that I’m not to blame for anything except getting wasted. Everything else was beyond my control, and in the cold light of day it seems undeniable that Jack has more to be embarrassed about and Chris has more to answer for than I do. I’m the victim here, and acknowledging that makes me feel surprisingly good and strong. It makes me feel pumped. It makes me feel ready to walk into school on Monday with my head held high, ready to accept their apologies.
By the time I walk to school on Monday morning, I’m peeing my pants. Not literally of course, but it’s a miserable feeling nonetheless.
“Something wrong with you?” Zoey asks, being annoyingly perceptive.
Of course something’s wrong with me. I’m scared out of my wits to run into Jack and/or Chris, and I’d much rather turn around and run home, but I obviously can’t tell her that.
“It’s nothing,” I lie. “Just feeling a bit under the weather. I think I might be coming down with something.”
“You’re telling me now?” Zoey asks, taking two steps back and stopping us all in our tracks. “I have a date on Thursday! If I catch whatever kind of pestilence you’re stricken with I’m going to kill you, Matthew, so you better stay away from me!”
And off she runs, leaving Sandy, Alfonso and me exchanging puzzled glances.
“Poor Matt,” Sandy finally says, feeling my forehead with her hand. “Are you having a fever?”
“What? No?” I swat her hand away like an annoying mosquito.
Alfonso looks at me. “You haven’t told her, have you?”
“No.”
“Told me what?”
I sigh. “Not you, Sandy. I haven’t told Zoey what happened. I mean, I told her I went to the party and made out with Chris, but not … the rest.”
“Oh,” Sandy says.
“Yeah. Anyway, listen, you guys, I really appreciate what you did for me in the last couple of days, but once you see either Chris or Jack coming my way, could you take a step back? I really feel I need to deal with this on my own.”
“Of course,” Sandy says, putting her hand on my shoulder. “Just so you know, we’re very proud of you, Matt. Aren’t we, Alfonso?”
“Sure. Go get’em, champ! And if they start pulling your hair, just shriek like a girl and we’ll come a-running and tie Jack’s nose hair and Chris’s butt hair in a knot!”
Both Sandy and I glare at him, but he just shrugs.
“Hey, I’m just trying to be supportive.”
* * *
The moment of truth comes when we’re walking down the second-floor hallway on our way to class. Chris is standing outside our classroom, scrolling through his phone, his back and one foot propped against the wall. The way he’s standing there he’s the definition of cool, and he knows it. I’m finding it less and less endearing. His black T-shirt reads Kiss & Tell—in pink lettering no less—and it’s hard to believe he’s not wearing it on purpose, today of all days. It’s almost as if he’s taunting me.
“Hey,” he says as he sees us coming.
“Hey,” say both Sandy and Alfonso before they give me a silent nod and disappear into the classroom.
I don’t say, ‘Hey.’ I don’t say anything. I’m not even returning his annoyingly complacent smile. That’s how tough I am this morning. Good thing he can’t hear my palpitations.
“So how are you feeling today?”
“Good,” I lie.
“Right,” he says, followed by a chuckle. “Man, you were so out of it Friday night.”
“And you weren’t?”
He shakes his head. “Nah. I usually stay way clear of my drinking limit.”
I rest my case. He knew exactly what he was doing, and he doesn’t seem to think there was anything wrong with it.
“Good to know,” I say and walk into the classroom. I sit down at my desk and take my notebook and pens out of my backpack.
“You all right?” Alfonso asks, and I nod.
Chris finally enters the room, and when he passes me on his way to his desk in the back, he gives my shoulder a quick, gentle squeeze, still smiling.
The audacity!
A few seconds after Chris, Jack enters the room, as always with Steve in tow. I can’t look him in the eye, so I quickly avert my gaze. I assume he’ll just ignore me as well, because everything else would be awkward, but as he walks past me he says, “Hey, Matt,” and nudges my arm gently, with the back of his hand. I look up, and behind him Steve looks almost as puzzled as I feel. And because he’s Steve and he can’t let any friendly behavior toward me stand, he flicks my ear in passing and says, “Hey, Maddie!”
It doesn’t even bother me anymore. It’s the kind of thing I expect from Steve. What mystifies me, though, is Jack’s unprecedented attempt to treat me like a human being, so I turn around and look at him. Our eyes meet, and as he holds my gaze for a few long seconds, I try to read his face. I’m not exactly sure what I’m seeing—is it remorse, shame, or even affection—but I know it’s something I have never seen in Jack’s face before, and I have no idea what it means or how to deal with it. I turn back around and my eyes meet Phil’s who is just taking his seat next to me.
“Hello,” he twangs, dorky as ever.
I reply with a grunt.
* * *
I somehow make it through the first half of the day. Chris keeps pretending that nothing out of the ordinary ever happened between us, and he chooses to ignore all of my pointed remarks. Jack, on the other hand, seems to go out of his way to feign a level of friendliness that has never existed between us. When he takes his seat next to me during lunch, he accidentally kicks the leg of my chair.
“Oops,” he says. “Sorry, Matt.”
I stare at him in silence, still trying to get used to his miraculous transformation from wolf to lamb.
“Boy,” he says, digging into his mashed potatoes, “I got so wasted Friday night, I don’t remember a thing.”
“Oh really?” I say. “That’s funny, because I got so
wasted too, and I remember everything.”
As if someone’s hit the firing button, glances start flying across the table like shrapnel, back and forth between Sandy and Alfonso, and between Chris and Jack. Jack turns to me and grins, and I’ll forgive anyone for mistaking it for his signature smug and slightly derisive grin, but I’ve seen it too many times to be fooled. I can tell it’s fake and laced with insecurity today.
“Who’d have thought,” he says, “that one day you’d turn out to be such a cool dog?”
Steve bursts out laughing, and rightfully so, because this can’t be anything but a sick joke. I can’t take it anymore, so I push my lunch tray away from me and get up.
“Where are you going?” Sandy asks apprehensively.
“Restroom,” I say.
I have to go pee all right, but while I’m at it I might as well put my head down the toilet and throw up because this whole charade is making me sick to my stomach. I leave the cafeteria and walk down the deserted hallway. Being all by myself for the first time today, the smell of Lysol and waxed linoleum feels like a breath of fresh air. With my eyes fixed on the floor I turn the corner and bump into a small Asian man in a shabby suit and a trilby hat.
“Ah! Sorry, sorry,” he says with an awkward laugh, lifting his hat. Not only are his clothes from the 1950s, his manners are too, and I’m thinking, One thing’s for sure: Phil was definitely not adopted. “Please, I look for principal office?”
“The principal’s office? That’s on the third floor. This is second.”
“Ah! Third floor, yes? Thank you, thank you!” He lifts his hat again and makes his way to the stairway.
Cupid Painted Blind Page 19
