Dad’s eyes shoot right through me, and he laughs, for once not at me, but also not with me. I figure he laughs at himself and at the world. “Life isn’t fair, Bret, but that doesn’t mean you accept it. I’m sorry you got hurt by this girl, but let me tell you, this won’t be the last time that you get a hurt by some girl or that life kicks you in the teeth.”
“Why?” I ask, my face pointed at the ground because unlike Mother, I don’t think there is an answer from up above, yet something deep inside has to ask the question.
“Why what?” he replies.
“Why would she do this to me?” I ask picking my coat and hat off the garage floor.
“Son, that’s the wrong question.” He flicks off a row of lights in the garage. “Ain’t no sense asking why. The only question is what’s next? It’s a big world of hurt, get used to it.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, hungering for my father’s words for once in my life.
“Everybody gets beat up,” he says, the lines in his face casting shadows in the dim light. “What matters isn’t why you got beat up, but that you can get up, dust yourself off, and face another day. If you spend your time whining and asking why, you’ll just stay knocked down.”
“But how?”
“You just do,” he says, and the blinding light of the obvious hits me even in the darkness. I’m not sure why the idea of unending and universally shared pain is supposed to bring me comfort, but somehow it does. The universe is right here in front of me: I know the example of my father’s life, day in and day out, is the best explanation he can give. I follow in his footsteps, as he turns off the last light switch. The garage goes dark, he locks the door, and we walk, not touching but still connected, toward the house together.
Eighteen
February 14, Junior Year
“Anything?”
“Anything,” Alex repeats when I reach him the next day on the phone after school
He sounds like hell, which is five times better than I sound. I went to bed at three and didn’t crawl out from under the covers until almost noon, but Dad didn’t kick the bed even once. It’s like a sleepless nightmare. The image of Kylee and Sean is a splinter in my eye that no amount of tears can wash out.
“Did you see Sean at school today?” I ask.
“I saw him, but I kept my distance,” Alex replies.
“You didn’t say anything to him, did you?”
“Well, I don’t really know much,” Alex says, and sighs.
“I know only what my eyes saw, which was them together,” I say. “That was enough.”
“What are you going to do?” he asks. “Do you want me to do anything?”
“I want you to kill him, or me, or maybe Kylee, or maybe all three of us,” I announce.
“What about rehearsal?” Alex asks, believing the band still matters and will endure.
“Go ahead without me,” I say, not ready for a breakup encore. “Just practice like everything’s normal. Tell Sean I’m sick, which wouldn’t be a lie.”
“It’s not the same,” Alex says.
“Buddy, it will never be the same again,” I say with both grief and fury. “Just do me one favor.”
“Like I said, anything, but I think you should know—”
“What?” I interrupt.
“I’ve known Sean a long time, and he’s a good friend. He’s obviously been a prick, but we have a history,” Alex says, his anxiety obvious. “And I know we’ve got history too. But don’t make me do it, please.”
“Do what?”
“Choose.”
I pull the phone away, shut my eyes, and bury my face into my pillow to stifle a scream. Kylee chose Sean, so why won’t Alex? Can I take him siding with Sean?
“You there?” Alex asks after a few moments of dead air on the phone, which is all that is left to escape from my lungs. “Look, Bret, I’ll help you, but don’t make me choose.”
“I understand,” I tell him, though it’s a lie. I left my understanding with my mom’s mac and cheese back in Sean’s driveway. “Just act like nothing’s happened for tonight, and if you could, do me one favor, until I have a chance to talk to Kylee.”
“What do you need me to do?” Alex asks slowly, his hesitation understandable.
“After practice, you guys go someplace together. Go to Venus. Just pile in the Crown Vic, so I can know that tonight he’s not with her again. Just do this one thing for me.”
“If it helps you, then of course,” he replies.
“More than you know,” I say. We hang up so I can go find Mom. I want to drive her to work—for the first time—and then drive myself to Kylee’s. I’m not even sure if I want her back or if I want to show her the knife that she and Sean put in my back.
I drop Mom at Wal-Mart around four, then lie to her that I’m headed over to Alex’s. How easy it must have been for Kylee to tell me she loved me, for Sean to act like my friend, for the two of them to smile to my face as they betrayed me. Mom has arranged for Dad to pick her up, so I don’t need to worry about her, although whether or not she should worry about me is subject to question.
I make a rare stop at my brother, Cameron’s trailer. His wife, Sandy, is home with the kids. I tell her some story about needing a certain CD, and she lets me in. She then goes back to reading some trashy tabloid while her two kids stare at the TV. Unnoticed, I liberate their libation from under the kitchen sink. While our father has taken all Twelve Steps, Cameron tries not to fall down the three in front of his trailer every weekend night when he comes home drunk. I slip the bottle of Jack Daniels into my coat, grab a CD to make the lie true, and flee the scene.
The snotsmobile is in Kylee’s driveway when I make the first drive-by, gathering up my nerve. As I walk to the front door, I think about those famous astronaut words: “One small step for man …” But for me, each step is one huge leap as I try to walk like a man.
“Bret, how wonderful to see you!” Mrs. Edmonds says, inviting me in with open arms.
“Is Kylee home?” I ask, almost unable to hear the answer. I lose either way, yes or no.
“She’s in her room, probably writing in her journal. I just love how creative she is!” she says, and starts walking toward Kylee’s room. “Let me get her.” Unlike in my house, where shouting is preferred to strolling even a few feet, Mrs. Edmonds disappears to summon the daughter she loves, a feeling I shared until yesterday.
“Cutie, what a surprise!” Kylee says, emerging from her bedroom with her mother. She means that in the best way, I’m sure. She looks as beautiful as ever despite her ugly actions.
“I have to do some grocery shopping, I’ll be back in an hour or so,” Mrs. Edmonds says, reaching for her coat. “Will you need a ride home before then?”
I answer by pointing outside. She peaks out the window, then claps her hands together. “Bret, you drove over! Congratulations.”
“Well, it was Kylee’s inspiration,” I say, knowing only too well that truth is a double-edged sword.
“How so?” Mrs. Edmonds asks, her right hand on her chin, intently awaiting my answer.
“I followed her advice and finally did what my dad told me,” I reply, eyes averted from both Edmonds women.
“I’m surprised to hear Kylee suggesting that someone listen to their parents,” she says. It’s probably the first mean thing ever to leave Mrs. Edmonds’s lips in front of me.
“Mom, I thought you were going to the store,” Kylee says in full eye-roll mode.
Her mother gives Kylee a hug and a kiss, then I get the same. She buttons her coat and is out of the door. Kylee grabs my hand, “An hour, that’s enough time, nudge-nudge, wink-wink.”
We’re in the bedroom in ten seconds, undressed in thirty. I wonder if my five senses will detect Sean, since my sixth one did not. I’m surprised that I’m able to do this. I wonder if I’m an even better actor than Mr. Douglas thought. After we finish, at my suggestion, Kylee heads toward the shower. I tell her that I’ll join her in just a mom
ent. I tell her lies without remorse.
When I hear the shower start. I know this is my chance to strip her emotionally naked instead. My eyes dart around the crowded room. Kylee is a collector: every Harry Potter book and by-product ever created, Troll dolls, and pictures of ballet dancers. But that is what she keeps on the outside, what she hangs for show. What she writes in her purple journal is what she keeps on the inside, things she tells no one else. I walk over to the rolltop desk. The element of my surprise visit works for me—the top drawer is unlocked. I open it slowly. The water washes over Kylee’s beautiful body while my blood runs cold at the ugly thought of what I will do.
As I reach into the drawer, her cell phone rings. She doesn’t yell. She’s not heard the phone or me sucking my breath in. I pick up the cell phone, and answer it without a word.
“Kylee?” Judas disguised as Sean says.
I wait him out in silence. The line goes dead, and I feel like joining it.
I pause, then I dial *69.
“Whadup Kylee, why didn’t you answer,” I hear Sean say. I hold my breath press the off button. I look at the time. It’s close to 7:00, so Alex has arrived at Sean’s by now. Sean believes I’m sick and they’re making plans. I turn off the phone as I hear Kylee turn the water off, so I dress quickly. I drop the cell on the bed and snatch the journal from the desk on my way out of her house and her life.
After a few miles, I pull over to the side of the road. I’m just down the street from Sean’s house. I put my hands on the purple journal cover and close my eyes. A few cars drive past, and I realize I’m not ready to dive into the past yet. To fight the temptation, I get out of the car and toss the journal into the Metro’s messy trunk, next to the emergency tool kit. I slam the trunk hard, and it feels good. I slide back into the front seat. Inside the band rehearses; out here, I’m ready to act.
I see Sean’s SUV in the driveway, and I’m thinking how much I love the sound of breaking glass. But I also know that possessions matter more to those who don’t have many, than to those who have plenty. Maybe that’s why Kylee meant so much to me. I think about the little happiness I’ve had in my life. Now it’s all gone, the taste of Kylee makes me sick. I put out my last cigarette, the fourth I’ve smoked in an hour, then toss the unopened Jack Daniels into the backseat. My father’s had the will to avoid drinking for sixteen years. I can follow his example for the next sixty minutes.
Around 8:30, about a half-hour sooner than normal, I see the lights go on outside of Sean’s house. I inch up, turning off the lights and music. I hear two voices, which I assume are Alex and Sean. Moments later, I see Alex’s Crown Vic leave.
After a few minutes, I park next to Sean’s SUV, screening my car from one neighbor. The house on the other side is empty, as fate deals me the rare pair of aces. I know there’s nothing I can do to get revenge on Sean, just like there’s nothing I can do to stop Hitchings, or undo Kylee crushing me. His SUV is the most visible, available source of revenge. I’m sure his dad can replace it for him, just like Kylee replaced me with him. Sean’s all about having things he’s never really worked for, but for once this payback is something he’s earned.
I knock on the door and ring the bell, just to be sure his mother isn’t home. I imagine the scene at Venus: Alex flirts with Elizabeth while Sean does his shy-guy act. They’re laughing, no doubt, but I know that my laugh here won’t be the last one. I’ll never get that with Sean, but this, this will have to do: I will do the best with the tools I have; I will do the worst with the tools I have. There is no answer at the door; there is only one answer available to me.
I open the trunk, then hunt through the crowded toolbox. I grab a handful of nails, some long, some short, some bent, some straight, and then take hold of the dull, thick hammer. Lining the nails like bullets, I remember telling my mom and Principal Morgan and the rest that I didn’t condone the violence at Columbine. That I would never be capable of such behavior myself. And it’s true. Driving the nails into each tire, two or three swings deep into the tread until I hit steel, I know I’m killing something that’s already dead. I know I’m doing something wrong, so I use a hammer.
Sean’s too carefree to lock the car, so I open the driver’s-side door and pop the hood. I begin driving nails through every hose. An experienced pro now, I have no trouble finding the oil filter, which is where I drive the final nail home before I drive myself home.
As I leave, I drive by Hitchings’s house, and I wish I was like those shrewd, soulless criminals you see on TV. I would figure out a way to pin this on him, and kill two vultures with one Stone Cold-inspired move. But Hitchings will have to wait until I am physically stronger, or morally weaker. I’m certain this isn’t over with Sean, but I don’t care and I won’t hear, since I never plan to speak to him or Kylee again.
I never want to hear Kylee’s voice, but I still want to know her heart. I want to know how she could break mine so easily. I try to imagine the scene when Sean arrives home, but already the passion of payback has evaporated. There’s no laughter, first or last.
When I get home, I open the trunk and pull out Kylee’s journal. After exchanging forced pleasantries with Mom, I lock myself in my room, ready to learn how Kylee exchanged me for Sean. As I open up the pages to Kylee’s journal, I hope that it’ll provide the answer to the only question that really matters. I don’t care about when or where or even how often. In the pages of Kylee’s journal, I seek an answer to the question that Father has warned me never to ask: why?
Nineteen
Kylee’s Journal
September 6
Senior year, finally. My last year in Flint under the spell of the ShadowCaster. I’m so glad I’ve hooked up with Bret. He lets me be the light in his life. If I can keep him happy (nudge-nudge), then he’ll keep me even happier (wink-wink). I love falling in love! I’m sorry about Chad. I’ll cut him loose now that Bret and are tight. I’m glad Bret came along, so I didn’t have to feel alone for even one day, and it’s not like Chad really loved me, anyway. Bret’s the sweetest guy in the world. He wants to be with me so much; feeling is mutual. I hope my parents hate him. He’s a year younger than me (even younger than his age in many ways), but that’s okay since I’m out of here next year.
September 7
Met Sean Dupont, one of Bret’s pals yesterday. There’s something about him. He’s shy, but seems self-confident. Interesting mix, kind of like me.
October 8
I told Bret I loved him. If I can just keep us out of the house and away from my parents, then I won’t have to compete for his attention. Next week, I’m going to see Bret’s band debut. It’ll be exciting, but I’m jealous. I would LOVE to have people love what I do so I can suck in that applause. I wish I could get onstage (something other than a dance recital with no one in the audience but parents). My parents wanted to go see Bret’s band, but I blew them off. If they came, the evening would be about them, not me.
October 16
What an amazing night. I was worried for Bret, and scared that his band wouldn’t be any good, but wow! He’s charismatic when he sings. After the show, Bret and Alex just took off, something about some rock. So Sean gave me a ride. If Bret ever grows up, he’ll be able to drive us places. Sean’s really goodlooking, but kind of shy so it was fun to flirt with him a little. I helped them paint the rock with the name of their band. My 18th bday is coming up and I told Bret it would be cool to see my name up there. Bret’s so loving, not that he’s said that word to me yet. I’ve heard them before, from Chad, but this time love will last.
October 17
Bad scene at this party last night where Bret was hassled by this asshole named Hitchings. Thank God, Sean was there to help, since I don’t think Bret knew what to do.
November 4
I love Bret to death, but I never see him. When we met this summer, we talked all the time and he was like so into me. I got all his attention, but now he is so busy with plays, his band, his lame job, so now I don’t see hi
m much. I’m going over tonight to drive him to his play for opening night (I wonder if Sean’s going?). I always have to drive because he’s so immature, acting like he’s ten years old and pouting about this thing with his dad. He’s real gutless sometimes about standing up to people like Hitchings or letting his dad boss him around.
November 18
Sean called the other day looking for Bret. He wasn’t here, but Sean and I talked for a long time. He’s really smart and pretty funny. He kept telling me how lucky Bret was to have a beautiful girlfriend like me. It would be nice if Bret remembered anymore to say once in a while that I was beautiful, like he did last August. I love Bret, but it just isn’t the same as B4. I’m trying to tell him I need more, but he’s not listening.
November 19
Bret is always going on about how different he is from other people, but when it comes right down to it, once you take away all his “look,” he’s more or less like every other guy I’ve been with, except for that Monster in his pants, which I don’t like putting in my mouth (GAG). He’s whiny sometimes too: he wants to dress and talk the way he wants but isn’t secure enough to deal with people who make fun of him. He’s got a lot of growing up to do.
November 26
So I turned eighteen years old yesterday and I guess I should be all happy, but... Bret, I know that he tries, but chocolate and cigarettes? It’s like I’m in prison or something! He wrote me this romantic letter (it’s clipped in,) and he did this really nice thing with a Wizard of Oz poster—he still remembers that I was wearing my ruby red slippers the first time we kissed. Alex didn’t get me anything, which doesn’t surprise me one iota, since he doesn’t care about anything that doesn’t have to do with how great and wonderful and perfect Alex is. The nicest gift I got was from Sean: twelve red roses and the lyrics to “Tiny Dancer,” this old Elton John song. I thought about him in the shower (Sean, not Elton!) Gotta Bmorecareful; don’t want to hurt Bret, but Sean is obviously interested.
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