by JA Huss
I’m learning, Pete. I’m learning.
She stands in front of me, not saying anything, and finally I ask, “You cool if I—?” I gesture over to Scotty’s grave.
She nods. “Yeah. I kinda just wanna sit here for a minute anyway.”
“Copy,” I say, and then feel out if she wants me all up on her or if she wants to be left alone for a sec. She steps up and puts her arms around me, so I just wrap her up until she lets go. And then we hold hands for as long as possible until our fingertips slip away from each other and I move to the headstone.
It feels massive as I approach. It’s not. Not really. It’s just a normal-sized memorial. But it gets bigger and bigger with each step I take. And each step I take feels like five normal steps. I don’t even know if that makes sense, but it’s certainly how it feels.
When I land at the plot, I walk all around it. I’m not sure why, but I wander behind the marble slab, examining it from all angles. I’m just making sure it’s all OK. Like, suddenly I don’t completely trust the groundskeepers or whoever to keep it all pristine.
But it is. It’s fine. It’s beautiful, in fact. Which I’m glad about. I didn’t expect it to be otherwise, but still. It’s nice.
And now I don’t know what to do. I mean, I don’t know if I should pray or... Praying seems disingenuous. Because it’s just not me. And because even though I’ve dreamed of Heaven and possibly even died and been to Heaven, I’m still not so sure I believe in all that shit. So praying feels like it’s out.
I could just, like, be here. Just stand here and commune with the air and the grass and the trees and just absorb the world as it continues to turn. And, in doing that, maybe that honors Scotty’s memory. A certain amount of deferential stillness on my part would certainly be dignified. But that’s also not really me. I suppose it could be, but it feels out of place somehow right now.
I guess, if I examine what I want, I feel like I want to say something. Like, actually talk to Scotty like he’s still here. Even though that seems cliché and maybe even a little hokey. Because I don’t know if Scotty would be able to hear me anyway. Is the consciousness that was Scotty Clayton still somewhere in this vast expanse of cosmic dust? Does it matter? Is it even Scotty that I’m here for? Or is it me? Is it Maddie?
Fuck it. Who gives a shit?
“Hey, dude,” I say. “Sorry it took me so long to swing by, but... as you already know, I’m a terrible person.”
I don’t say any of this loud enough for Maddie to hear. For a lot of reasons, but not least of all because this ain’t a performance. This is just for me and Scotty. Or maybe just for me.
“Um, so... I guess I should fill you in on everything since there’s no one else who’s been able to... Fuck.” I trail off because, well, because I feel shitty. Then I start back up because, well, because I have to.
“I guess the first thing is that I’m back. Back in Vegas. As you can tell, because, y’know, I’m here.” This is going very well. Christ.
I hang my head. And then I decide to just let it out.
“Look, man, if you’re somewhere that you can hear me or, shit, even if you’re not, here’s the thing I wanna say. For a while now, I’ve been carrying this fuckin’ belief around with me that what happened to you was my fault. Right? Like because I fucked with you and joked around about stuff that it somehow drove you to make the decisions you made. And that if I hadn’t been the way I was – with you, I mean – that you’d be alive now. And here’s what I wanna say about that.”
I crack my neck side to side, then look over my shoulder and see Maddie, sitting under the tree with her eyes closed. I nod a tiny bit and then look back at the grave and resume.
“What I wanna say is... who the fuck do I think I am? Y’know? Like, how the fuck do I think that I’m so powerful and important that you made your life decisions based on me and whatever the fuck I said? That’s messed up, right? You don’t have to answer. Rhetorical. But, yeah, it’s fucked up. It’s arrogant and narcissistic and yet at the same time happens to be chickenshit. Which, I mean, that’s no small achievement, so I guess I can at least be proud of what a trifecta of bullshit I managed to pull off for so long.”
I’m kind of cooking now, so I keep going. I might be getting a little louder than I want to, but I don’t care.
“Because all I really did was use what happened to you as an excuse to wallow in my own sad, lost, failed travesty of a life. And know why that’s fucked up? Of course you do, but I’ll say it anyway. It’s because it fucking diminishes you twice. First, it makes it seem like you weren’t your own person, and second, it then uses you to allow me to be as worthless a person as I could manage to be. And for that... Fuck. Sorry doesn’t cut it, but it’s really all I got. So. Sorry.”
I blow a breath out through my lips.
“And the bitch of it is that I totally know you’d forgive me. Because you were always the bigger man. The better man. And... Shit. Something I never told you... I always looked up to you. I did. Because in all the ways that matter, you were the kind of person I wanted to be. You and Evan. I dunno why the two of you ever decided to keep me around. But you did. And I will be forever grateful for that. Because any good in me, anything that I learned about how to be a good person or a good friend... anything after Mom died, at least... I owe to you two assholes. I don’t think I ever said that. But I’m not sure I knew it before. So. I’m sorry. But, yeah, now you know.”
It feels like my brain itches. But I think maybe what I’m doing right now is actually scratching it. So once again, I keep going.
“And, I suppose, this is particularly important for you to hear because... I don’t know if Maddie mentioned it, but... We’re... I’m... She and I... You get where I’m going with this, right? We’re together now. Like, a couple and shit. And... and this is the important part, OK? So stay with me. I love her. I love her. Like, a lot. Like, I couldn’t see the shit coming, but here it is, and I love her. And I really, really hope you’re good with that. Because, like... and I hesitate to use this phrasing for reasons that will become apparent quickly, but... she gave me my life back, man.”
I glance over my shoulder again. She still has her eyes closed. I again turn my head toward the grave.
“She gave me my life back, dude.” This time, I say it barely above a whisper. “She saved me when I thought I was past the point of saving.” Pete’s words coming through my mouth.
“And I hope you’re OK with it. Which of course you are, because you’re awesome and you just want the best for people. Fucking dick.” I shake my head and smile.
“I suppose there’s a shit-ton more to say, but... hey, man, I can’t make up for the past, which you well know. And I can’t foretell the future, which you also well know. But I can do my best to be here, in the breathing present, and make this world, as I know it now, the best it can possibly be. Or at least I can try that with my little corner of it, right? Oh! And I totally forgot to say... I’m super fucking rich now. Yeah. I am. So when I say that I can make the world a better place and shit, I actually can. So, I’m gonna do that, I think. And I’m gonna do it with Maddie. We’re gonna do it together. We’re gonna try to live in your image, bro. And I hope that you’re OK with that too.”
Now that I’m at the end of my fucked-up little graveside homily, I start feeling self-conscious about everything I just said out loud. I find myself shuffling my feet and kind of looking around, and then I look back at the headstone and say, “Dude? If you actually were able to hear any of this... can you give me some kind of sign? Or whatever?”
I hold my breath. Not intentionally. It’s just what happens. I don’t know what I’m expecting. Like, a dove or some shit to land on the grave marker. Or a gentle breeze to suddenly blow through. Or, hell, Scotty’s voice to come from out of nowhere and go, “Bro, don’t sweat it. We’re cool.”
But none of that happens. Nothing happens. No dove, no cool breeze, no disembodied voice from the heavens. Just the sound of traffic
in the distance and of maybe a leaf-blower somewhere nearby. The grounds crew tending to everyone’s lost friends, family, and lovers.
And then, after a few long moments, I let out the breath I’ve been holding in and say, “Yeah. OK.” And then I turn and head back to where Maddie sits.
“Hey,” I say as quietly as I can when I approach. Her eyes flutter open.
“Hey.”
“You wanna stay here anymore, or...?”
She looks up at me and shakes her head. “No. I’m good.”
“Are you?”
“I dunno.”
I sigh and nod.
“But,” she goes on, “I think maybe I will be.”
I nod some more. “Yeah.”
She reaches her hand up to me. I take it and help pull her to her feet. When she lands, she falls forward into my arms and leans up to give me a kiss. She strokes her hand down the side of my still freshly naked cheek and says, “Thank you.”
“Shit,” I say, my brow furrowed. “For what?”
“For being here. Even though it’s hard.”
“Hell. This isn’t hard—” I start, with the intention of enumerating for her all the things we’ve gotten up to lately that have been much harder. But she cuts me off.
“Yeah, it is.”
I don’t challenge her. I just nod once again and give her another kiss.
“It’s a privilege,” I say. “I mean, that’s what commitment is.”
“What?”
“Showing up. Even when shit ain’t easy. Especially when shit ain’t easy.”
She closes her eyes and presses her forehead against my chest. I can feel her nodding into me as I stroke her hair. And then, without looking up at me, her muffled voice mumbles out.
“I love you.”
With her face as close to my chest as it is, I wonder if she can hear my heart break.
“I love you too,” I manage to croak.
She looks up at me and says, “You ready?” I nod slowly and give her one more kiss on the head.
She takes my hand in hers, and we begin walking to the car.
And as we walk, it’s probably just in my mind, but I swear I can feel a tiny breeze at our backs, pushing us along.
Chapter Fourteen - Maddie
December 30th
One Day Until New Year’s Eve
“OK, great, thank you very much,” I say before hanging up the phone.
I was just talking with the Afghan Foreign Ministry and am a little surprised to discover that getting visas for me and Tyler basically just requires filling out an application. I thought for sure that Tyler would have to pull some strings with someone at, like, The State Department or something, but apparently not. In fact, they actually seemed more shocked that I was so eager to come for a visit.
Two months ago, I was working in a strip club, dreaming about how to get my real estate drone business off the ground and today I’m working on getting travel visas for me and Tyler Morgan to go to Afghanistan and build schools for girls.
This year is not ending up at all the way I would have imagined.
I’m finding myself thinking about my life more than I ever have. More accurately, thinking about my future. Which is new for me because I don’t feel like I really believed before that I had much of a future, so I never spent much time considering it. It was always just about putting one foot in front of the other. And now, I’m making plans to, like, try and help change the world. Wow.
I remember once there was a big Powerball. Like huge. Seven hundred million dollars or some ridiculous number like that. And you can’t buy a Powerball ticket in Nevada, we don’t actually have lotteries here because… well, who knows why. So people get in the car, drive to California, and buy tickets. Then if they win, they have to pick their money up across state lines. It’s dumb, but whatever.
So I was in the grocery store while all this Powerball mania was going on and the woman in front of me must’ve known the checker because they gabbed for a good seven minutes about what they were gonna do with their money if they won.
Buy big houses, fancy cars, go to Europe, put all their kids through college. Shit like that. And I remember thinking, “I honestly have no clue what I would do with money like that if I won.”
And now I have won, and this is what I’m doing.
I’m tempted to feel proud, but then I remember that this is how Scotty lived his whole life. In service to something greater than himself. And he never once asked for a pat on the back. He just did what he thought was right. And while I’ll probably never be as un-selfish and noble as my brother, I can at least try for the “not being proud of myself” part.
Tyler is gone right now. On his way to talk with Dr. Eldridge about how he’s cured—I have to chuckle, because that’s how he’s been phrasing this visit. He’s “cured.” So I’m here alone. And this house, man… it’s something else. Huge, like so many bedrooms, and so many living rooms and more than one kitchen—three, if you count the outdoor one—and more bathrooms than two people need. Like every bedroom has a bathroom.
And this place is super cool, but only if the house is full.
Right now, it feels pretty empty.
I can imagine nothing worse than getting everything you ever wanted and having no one to share it with.
So yeah, I won the Powerball alright, but my prize wasn’t Tyler’s money.
It was Tyler.
And if I ever lost him… God. That hurts to even think about. But if I ever lost him… no amount of money could ever make me feel better. A huge pool with real rock landscaping would not replace him. Having an equal number of bathrooms to bedrooms would not make up for my loss.
Money isn’t everything. I thought it was, but I was wrong.
Life is about purpose. And if I’m being generous with myself, I’d say that’s what I was really looking for when I came up with all those crazy ideas to make money. It wasn’t the paycheck I needed, but the purpose.
In fact, I have no desire to buy anything right now. Not that it’s my money, but I could very easily ask Tyler for things and he’d just go get them for me. Fancy purse. Done. Diamond necklace. Done. New luxury car. Done.
But if he tries to do that—and I don’t think he would because I think we have a similar worldview about this—I’m gonna say no.
I’ll say it gently, because if he ever did get it in his head to go out and start buying me shit, there’d be a reason for it. But I don’t want any of that stuff.
I just want to be with him. I want him to be safe, and healthy, and happy. That’s it. That’s all I need.
My phone is in the bedroom, so I get up from the pool and go get it. I find Plumeria Brown’s contact, press send, and get her voicemail.
I decide what I have to say can be said on a voicemail.
“Hey, Plu. Maddie Clayton here. No need to call me back, there’s no emergency. I just wanted to call and say… thank you.” I smile into my phone. “Yeah, that’s pretty much it. Just thank you. And hey, maybe we’ll see each other sometime. Like when there’s no crisis or anything. You, know. As friends and shit.”
I press end on the phone and walk back out to the pool. I like the pool, not because it’s hot out or anything, but because the waterfall makes noise. It’s just too quiet in that house. It’s just too big. It’s just… not me.
And then I’m pressing another contact and when my mom answers and says, “Maddie? What’s wrong?” I feel a stab of guilt. Because she automatically assumes I’m in trouble. And the reason she assumes that is because I never call her, and when I do, I usually am calling to ask for something. Money mostly.
“Nothing, Mom.”
“But you’re calling me.”
“I know,” I say, trying to laugh it off. “But I swear, nothing’s wrong. In fact, I have good news.”
I have this sudden need to tell my mother I’m happy. And the words just come out, the same way they did when I was talking to Scotty.
“So Tyler and I
are together…”
And I go on, and on, and on. I tell her nothing bad, even though most of what we’ve done in the past couple months has been kin-da cra-zy. I tell her about the date to the Hoover Dam, minus the tunnel stuff, of course. And I tell her about his makeover with Rodney, and how good he looks, and send her a picture that I took last night on my phone. And my mom makes a big deal about it, and us, and I swear to God, I don’t think she’s been this happy in years. Maybe since Scotty died.
So when that chat is over I go there. “We went to see Scotty,” I say. And I tell her about that. And she is quiet, and I talk softer, and we are both crying before I’m done.
But it’s the kind of cry that’s OK, ya know? It’s the kind of cry that says, I got through it. It was hard, and it took a long time, but I’m still here.
And before I know it, my phone is dying and I say, “I gotta go,” because I figure we’ve been talking long enough.
But she says, “Go find your charger.”
And I don’t even argue. I go find it, and we talk more. And my dad gets on the phone, and we make plans for Tyler and me to come see them.
And even though I’ve resisted that every time they’ve said it before—why, I’m not really sure. Maybe because I’d have to admit that they’d moved on and I was still stuck—I don’t resist now. I actually daydream about it.
And when we hang up, I feel happy.
I feel peaceful for the first time in seven years.
I feel, to use Tyler’s words, cured.
Chapter Fifteen - Tyler
Sitting down on the sofa in Dr. Eldridge’s shrink-house, it strikes me that the place looks brighter. It’s always been nice and warm and inviting, but it just seems cheerier somehow.
