Under the Bridge

by Cooper, R.

  Under the Bridge

  By R. Cooper

  Copyright 2012 by R. Cooper

  Smashwords Edition

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  “What’d you do this time to get your ass kicked?”

  Chris jumped at the question. He was already shivering from the cold and shaking with adrenaline and tension but he raised his head and peered around the aura from Stanley Street’s one streetlamp until he saw the shape of a boy at the very edge of the light.

  Shape of a man, he should say, since according to the commencement speech that morning, they were men now, ready to face the world, or at least life after high school. Chris didn’t feel like a man. He felt pissed off and sore and stinging and scared, and he was tired of feeling all of those things so despite the kick of his heart against his ribs, he frowned and lifted his chin.

  “Nothing.” He thought he was too loud, but it was at least two in the morning and the street was deserted. The distant noise of the grad party he’d just left would be blamed if anyone heard him, and the people around here were used to ignoring what their kids did.

  Nicky, because that had to be Nicky over there no matter how unbelievable it was that that he’d be talking to Chris, snorted.

  “Isn’t that like this town? Punishing you for what they think you want to do?” Nick’s voice was far away and slightly slower than Chris remembered it, but he hadn’t really heard Nick talking up close since grade school. He sounded drunk, Chris decided immediately and watched as the outline of Nicky tipped his head back to drink something from a bottle that was probably alcoholic.

  Who knew who had sold it to him. He could have stolen it, since according to the rumors Nick was all kinds of criminal. The cool, scary, hot kind. The kind that good girls denied hooking up with despite how their eyes stayed on him when he crossed a room. The kind who had weed or beer if you needed it, even if he wasn’t allowed in your house when your parents were home. The kind who came to school with scraped and bruised knuckles every other week and a fat lip that only made him sexy instead of dangerous, or sexy and dangerous. Whichever, he was the kind who didn’t talk to Chris.

  Very few people talked to Chris unless they were punching him and then the words were along the lines of “Fuck you, faggot” which seemed a gayer and gayer thing to say every time he heard it.

  Chris licked at the cut in his bottom lip and squinted his one good eye at Nicky. At Nick. Nick hadn’t been Nicky since they’d been kids, back before Nick’s mom had married his first stepdad and they’d moved away only to move back two years later with stepdad number two. Chris had been twelve, Nick just thirteen, and the Nick who had come back to town had not been interested in being best friends again.

  Nick hadn’t been interested in being anyone’s friend. It had been a surprise to see him with the rest of the class waiting to walk across the stage to get his diploma. Only his grandmother had been in the audience, not his mom.

  “You didn’t go to Ryan’s party?” Chris didn’t know why he said it; it was the last thing he wanted to talk about and of course Nick hadn’t gone. Nick was having his own little party right here. He’d probably been getting drink under the small bridge that was part of the fire access road behind the last houses up here in the hills. The creek it was built over was dried up most of the year and that was where Nick spent his time, according to everyone.

  “So that’s what you did,” Nick commented thoughtfully, as if they were really having this conversation. Chris couldn’t make out his expression. “You showed up.”

  “Yeah.” Chris surprised himself by agreeing. He even smiled though it pulled his split lip and half of his face hurt like hell and there was no one to kiss it and make it better. “Yeah. They, uh, didn’t like it.”

  “I bet.” Nick snorted again. “They don’t like people who make them think about things they don’t want to think about.” He was definitely drunk. He had to be, to be talking to Chris again. Chris went with it anyway, though he didn’t go any closer. It was nice to have someone agree with him who wasn’t family.

  “That’s what my mom says.” Chris glanced back in the direction of the party, blocks away now. If he wasn’t small and thin he would have hit back. Someday he was going to in some way that mattered, so they wouldn’t pick on anyone else. He looked back at Nick, who was tall and broad-shouldered and anything but little. “I just think they’re assholes. No,” he immediately corrected himself with a sigh. “That’s not really true. I know they are probably just as messed up as I am, but at the moment, I’m sticking with assholes.”

  “Now there’s the Captain Jupiter I remember.” Nick slipped into the light enough for Chris to see his heavy-lidded eyes and the glisten of alcohol at his mouth. He smiled a little, as if just saying “Captain Jupiter” made him want to laugh. Chris pictured them in the capes and helmets of cartoon superheroes in his backyard and felt his face get hot for no reason he could think of.

  “Hey, you were my sidekick,” he defended himself without thinking and winced, but Nick stumbled and straightened up in almost the same motion.

  “You were bossy,” Nick answered after a second and took another swig before holding the bottle out. “You want some?”

  God only knew what was in that bottle. It was brown and almost clear in the light. Chris looked away from the pink mouth that the girls raved about and the high cheekbones and Nick’s serious, shadowed eyes and tried to act as if people offered him booze every day. But his heart was pounding as he slowly crossed the street.

  Nick’s fingers didn’t brush his as he took the bottle, but Chris could see him looking over his face and noting his cut lip, his swollen eye, his messed up hair. Chris had looked this beat up before but he didn’t think he’d ever noticed Nick taking an interest. But if Nick was bothered he didn’t say anything, he just handed over the booze and watched as Chris tried and failed to keep his eyes from watering up as the JD hit his tongue.

  “Delicious,” he croaked when he’d had enough and handed the bottle back. “Thanks.” He wiped his mouth and tried not to cough.

  “My stepdad’s,” Nick volunteered in a strained voice, but shrugged when Chris stared at him. “It’s better than the pills or whippets or whatever stupid shit they’re doing back there.” He looked back at Chris suddenly, right into his eyes. Nick’s eyes were the exact shade of the whiskey he was drinking. “Why did you go? Why do you always—?” Nick stopped and raised the bottle to his mouth. He drank enough to wet his lips but not enough to swallow. “You aren’t their punching bag.”

  He spoke slowly. Chris wondered how drunk Nick really was. He already hurt, but it hurt more to think of anyone drinking alone under that bridge.

  He reached for the Jack and gave a start when Nick let him take it. It fucking hurt more to drink it; it hurt going down, it hurt his bottom lip. He hated it.

  This time he did cough, only to freeze when Nicky bared his teeth in a grin. Chris felt warm and stupid and glanced at his feet.

  “I know I’m not their punching bag,” he mumbled with whiskey on his breath. “But they need….” He prodded his lip with his tongue and heard Nick inhale. He looked up to find Nick still and watching him. “I won’t be invisible.”

  “Your lip is bleeding.” Nick had the same warm, boozy breath but long, long eyelashes. He was wearing the old leather jacket he always wore, probably his dad’s, kind
of like an aviator’s jacket from the 60’s or 40’s and if he brushed his hair to the side he’d look like a hero from old serial footage from history class. Chris realized he was staring, but at least Nick probably wouldn’t kick his ass for it.

  “I know,” he responded after an embarrassing pause and glanced around them at the same empty street. “What are you doing out here?”

  He didn’t ask why Nick didn’t want to go home, he wasn’t that stupid, but no way was he going to pry. Not with Nicky speaking to him for the first time in years.

  “Dumb question for the Valedictorian.” Nick turned away and Chris clenched his hands in frustration before he realized that Nick wanted to be followed. He was heading off the street, down toward the bridge, but he paused and twisted back around enough for Chris to glimpse his raised eyebrow. “And the head of Amnesty International and the Gay-Straight Alliance and champion mathlete….”

  Chris nearly tripped over his feet and he wasn’t even moving. “You… noticed me?” He cringed to hear himself and then scowled sharply before Nick could turn around again. “You could have talked to me. You ignored me for almost five years.”

  Nick exhaled loudly. It kind of sounded like he said “Yeah” but he shook his head. “I’m not one for talking.” He looked like he wanted the bottle back.

  “Unless you’re drunk I guess.” Chris raised his voice. He was as stupid buzzed as he was sober apparently. Nick turned all the way around to face him again.

  “Drunk?” He pulled at his jacket. He didn’t seem like he was ready to beat anyone up, though Chris knew he was capable and could see him shaking. “This isn’t drunk. Can you still feel? Then you aren’t drunk.”

  Nick’s eyes widened like he hadn’t meant to say that, then he quickly turned and started to walk away.

  Chris crossed his arms and saw goose bumps on his bare skin though he didn’t feel cold. “I didn’t realize that was the criteria!”

  “Criteria!” Nicky yelled back over his shoulder, moving surely through the high grass. “That’s a good word, Captain. The student body approves. Good luck in college, all right?”

  He would have disappeared into the night if he hadn’t flicked open a lighter to light a cigarette.

  “You’re a dick, you know that?” Chris shouted after him and saw a light come on in a nearby home. He looked down. He was still holding Nick’s whiskey.

  His lip stung as he took another drink and then licked at the cut, but it didn’t stop him from following after Nick, heading blindly toward the bridge as Nick vanished from sight.

  The grass was tall and the dry bed of the creek was low. Chris fell and got back up and hurt his knees and scraped his hand and spilled some whiskey in the space of a minute. He was pissed by the time he ducked down to get under the bridge and saw the dim light of a camping lantern. He was not in the mood to look around, even if Nick had fucked more than his share of girls here.

  It looked cold and dark and lonely with that little light, not the kind of place to bring anyone. Nick was sitting on an old garden bench he must have dragged here from somewhere. There was a backpack next to him, open and filled with snack bars.

  Chris stopped dead. He didn’t have to bow his head to fit in the small space. Nick probably did when standing, but now he was frozen on the bench, his cigarette glowing as it dangled between his lips. His eyes were wide.

  “Chris.” He looked like he hadn’t expected Chris to show up and got to his feet only to sit right back down. Then he coughed as he threw his cigarette to the ground to crush it out. “Cozy right? Just like your mom’s place.”

  “I always imagined there’d be a mattress.” Chris shut his eyes at how drunk he sounded but couldn’t shut up. “For all the people you sleep with.” He opened his eyes when he realized he was telling Nick that he’d imagined him having sex, grinding against some girl on a dirty mattress, going down on her. Of course, in his fantasies, it wasn’t a girl, it was him, which hopefully Nick wouldn’t guess. “I mean girls you sleep with. I know you aren’t…. You don’t…. That you date girls. Drink?” He took one and stepped closer to offer the bottle. Nick stared at him without taking it.

  “I don’t ‘date’ girls,” Nick answered at last. “I fuck them.”

  “Oh I know.” Chris needed to stop talking but he felt like a kid again, like they were in his clubhouse and he could tell Nick anything. “Everyone knows. You’re a heartbreaker.” That’s what his mom called Nick when Chris had, vaguely, mentioned the stories. “Heartbreaker,” he was compelled to say it again, quiet and low. Nick flashed a smile, a gorgeous smile, and kept on staring at him.

  “What do you know about it?”

  “Breaking hearts?” Chris waved at himself, his skinny body and straight dirty blond hair, the greenish-blue eyes that might have been pretty if one hadn’t been black and blue as well. He was cold without his sweatshirt, but he wasn’t going back to the party for it. The jocks could keep it since they’d ripped it off him. “I think our football team has some homosexual tendencies, but me? Not a heartbreaker. Not like you. You should hear what the girls say.”

  Nick liked being on his knees, that’s what they said, not that Nick had ever been seen in public with any of them.

  “Those girls don’t have hearts to break.” Nick played with his lighter before stuffing it into a jacket pocket. “You can’t hurt them even if you try.”

  “Oh.” To do something, Chris went over to look at the other side of their hiding spot. He could see some house lights in the distance but nothing else. He thought about Nick trying to hurt people and why, and if Nick liked hurting people the way the jocks seemed to. Sometimes when Chris was getting punched he felt like the jocks wanted some reaction from him and he could never think of what it was, not that he would have given it to them if he had. But Nick, if Nick asked him for something, he’d probably try to do it, not that Nick ever would. Nick could barely speak to him even now.

  It made Chris feel wrong inside, as if he was going to be sick, though he didn’t feel like he was going to throw up. He felt the same when he thought about Nick’s girls. He cleared his throat. “Still were a lot of them though.”

  “Yeah well, you aren’t missing much.”

  Chris turned around in surprise. “I’m not interested in girls, Nick.” He was drunk enough to laugh about it. “Duh.” That’s why he was always in these messes, why he was here right now. Not that he had any more luck with guys.

  Nick flicked a careful look in his direction. “I know that. Everyone and their cat knows that. Shit it’s why…. It’s why your lip is bleeding. Still bleeding. Fuck.” He hunched his shoulders. “I know that hurts.”

  Chris inhaled. “No my lip is bleeding because the world is full of bullies and I don’t want them to see me scared.” He didn’t deny that it hurt or ask why Nick cared that it did.

  “You’re scared?” Nick’s gaze burned, it actually burned. Chris felt hot all over and tripped forward. He was still shaking from earlier and Nick could ask him that?

  “Aren’t you scared?” he asked in return. They’d done announcements about who was going to do what after graduation. He’d heard Nick’s plan for his future. “You enlisted.” Saying it was strange. They were still at war and Nick had enlisted.

  “I leave in the morning to spend a week with dear old grandma and then I’m gone.” Nick reached over without looking into his eyes. “Give me that.” He took a swig and put the bottle down. “It’s cool though.” He seemed unsteady as he raised his chin. “Anything to get out of this fucking town, right? We can’t all be college smart like you.”

  Chris wondered if it would do any good to remind Nick that he was smart. Maybe not right now, but he said it anyway.

  “You’re smart. You figured out the pulley we used in the clubhouse, remember?”

  “Yeah.” Nick took a moment to answer. He gave Chris a curious, sideways look. “Yeah I remember.”

  “You’re still a dick though.” Chris felt he should add that. He
wasn’t shaking anymore but his legs were feeling weak. That empty spot on the bench next to Nick looked tempting but he stayed where he was. “You still haven’t said why you’re only talking to me now.” He cleared his throat. “This just because you’re drunk? I don’t need that kind of friend. You gonna talk to me tomorrow?”

  “I won’t be here tomorrow.” Nick stared at the ground. “I don’t think I’m ever coming back here.”

  Chris bumped into the wall behind him. He hadn’t expected that answer for some reason. “Oh.” He sagged back. “Ever?” He licked his mouth but it just seemed numb now. “I know you don’t want to see… your family, but I’ll be here during breaks and stuff. You know. If you ever wanted to hang out. Talk. My mom asks about you sometimes too.”

  “How do you do that?” Nick was still studying the ground. He picked up the bottle by the neck, let it dangle, then put it back down. A moment later he reached down and tipped it over. They both watched the last of the whiskey pour out and trickle down toward the bottom of the dry creek bed. “How are you so brave all the time? It’s stupid. Fighting back… it’s really stupid. But you were always like that. I could snap you in half and you’re still in my face. My stepdad… some people think you’re a weak little shit, that it’s weak to keep caring like that and I don’t know why but that makes them want to beat the weakness out of you. So why? Why do you care so much?”

  It was the most Nick had probably said to anyone in years. His voice was rough and fast and he only stopped to breathe and push his hair from his face.

  “You came out sophomore year and spent most of that year in the nurse’s office and then the counselor’s office. Your mom came to the school and raised hell but you stayed. Shit you were something to see. I’m sorry I wasn’t… that I didn’t help you. I’m really sorry, Chris.”

  “You had your own bruises, Nick.” Chris said it because it was true and because it was the only way he could think of to say it without making Nicky hurt more.