Scar

by P. J. Post

  To think that everything I ever was and everything I ever hoped to be could be snatched away within a heartbeat means that I have more responsibility about my choices, and I need to spend more time considering the consequences of those choices.

  My first choice is to ask Estelle for help with my discharge stuff. I need help. I can’t be a lone wolf anymore. People do actually depend on me and I need to respect that commitment, which means I’m going to need to depend on and trust them as well, which cuts so far against my grain that I’m not sure how to let go.

  I preferred being young and stupid.

  13

  The Lady Doth Protest

  Estelle does some shouting and gets my stuff back, along with some antibiotics and painkillers. She basically breaks me out and they decide to let me keep the scrubs although they aren’t pleased about it. Estelle’s a bitch on wheels. I think I love her.

  The doctors tell us that Todd is still stable, but hasn’t responded yet. The prognosis is good and most of his injuries, although serious, are not life threatening. Everyone’s concern now is whether or not he’s sustained any brain damage, but only time will tell on that one.

  Shit, I don’t even want to think about it.

  Denial seems to be a new way of life for me over the last week.

  But whether it’s her new found religion, a parent’s love or her own brand of denial, Estelle is frighteningly optimistic. I can’t imagine how far she’s going to fall if he doesn’t pull through. She pushes past the nurses and doctors, dismissing their instructions, to be with him when he wakes up. Carman follows Estelle in to be there for her. She’s a tough kid. I’m proud of her. I have no idea what’s going to happen, but sitting around here isn’t doing anyone any good. Todd’s in the best place possible right now, besides I need to find Peggy.

  “I’ll check in later, I need to get back home,” I tell Sydney.

  “How are you getting there?” he asks.

  I look around. “Walk?”

  “Don’t be silly. I need to go home and change anyway. I have some calls to make as well. I’ll give you a ride.”

  “You sure?” I ask.

  “Yes. Let me talk to Estelle.”

  He steps away to talk to a nurse and then disappears into ICU for a few moments and then joins me at the elevators.

  On the ride over, he tells me that the police came by while I was outside and explained what happened to the old guy in the truck that hit us. He died of a heart attack while he was driving. Just as simple as that. Poor bastard, he probably had a family too. Everything is so fucked up.

  There’s no reason to be pissed at him. Estelle was right to be kind to his memory.

  Sometimes shit happens.

  But I have to say I’m getting sick and fucking tired of it.

  §§§§§

  I get home late in the afternoon and just stand there watching them drive away. Todd and me were just joking yesterday and now there’s a real possibility that he’s going to be all fucked up and not even remember it, or anything else. I feel alone and I don’t fucking like it.

  God’s on my shit-list.

  I notice that Peggy’s car isn’t here as I let myself in. I’m checking shit off my list and the next item is to call Beth. I would rather be kicked in the nuts than call her right now, but she’s Todd’s friend too and she should know what’s going on.

  I thought I was getting past this, but I just need her, even if it’s just her voice. I can’t believe how much I’ve come to depend on her over the last six months.

  The pain killers are wearing off, but the pain is helping me to focus, for now. I dial the number Peggy wrote on the wall above the phone to Bradford’s place in Boca.

  “Hi, I’m not here because we’re having fun in the sun. You know what to do…beep,” Bradford’s voice says again.

  “Beth, please call me, we need to talk,” I say. It’s the same message I’ve been leaving. I begin to dial again and then hang up. I can’t tell her what’s happened on an answering machine.

  I light another cigarette.

  This helplessness is gnawing at me and I swear to God I’m going to explode. I can’t stand still and I pace back and forth in front of the phone like some crazed prisoner awaiting execution.

  This is a fucking nightmare and all of those childhood memories and anxieties are fighting for attention again, tragedy that I thought I’d come to terms with.

  Everything is connecting to everything else, Beth and Annie — Todd and my mom.

  Everything is falling apart, and we were all just getting started. The future was full of goddamn hope. I keep thinking about Todd as they cut away his overalls; blood everywhere, while I stood around helpless — again.

  Fucking again!

  I hate this fucking feeling. I’m rushing with adrenaline and anxiety and have nowhere to direct it. My ribs are starting to shoot pains through my chest and I realize I’m shaking.

  I pick up the phone and pause, holding the receiver to my cheek.

  Please, answer the phone.

  I dial and the same recorded message prompts me to do what I know, and I’m about to hang up when I hear the phone pick up.

  It’s Bradford. “Connor, stop calling here. Beth doesn’t want to talk to you. Why is that so hard to understand? Just stop it, okay?”

  “Brad, I really need to talk to her. Just put her on the phone,” I say, unable to keep the emotion out of my voice.

  “No. Stop calling…”

  And then a new voice comes on the phone. It’s Beth. “Connor?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I want you to listen very carefully, okay? Go away and leave me alone.”

  “But Beth, I need to…”

  “Talk? Yeah, I got that from the other ten messages you left. You want to talk and I don't. Stop being an asshole and stop calling.” She’s pissed, screaming and barely able to control her voice. She takes a breath and continues in a cold, flat tone. “Did you really think I would ever be with someone like you? Really? You’re a loser, Connor and a needy loser at that. I know where you come from, what kind of person you are. You don’t have anything to offer me or anyone else.

  “So you love me, congratulations. What do you expect me to do with it? Get over it. Besides, how could anyone be with you, especially…”

  I hear her breath in again and her voice grows calm and quiet.

  “Especially after what you did to Annie,” she finishes.

  I can’t…

  …breathe.

  I hear her slam the phone down and the line goes dead.

  I drop the phone and it bounces off the table and then across the floor.

  I sink to my knees in a daze as the repeated squawk of the phone reminds me that it’s off its cradle.

  Besides what I told her at the cemetery, what does she know or think she knows about Annie?

  And if she knew anything at all, how could she say that to me?

  It’s cruel beyond words. I never thought Beth could be this cold, this much of a bitch. Not even Debbie was this cold and she blew up my goddamn car.

  The stress of hearing this just after leaving the hospital is too much and I feel tears beginning to form.

  No!

  No, I’m done feeling sorry for myself and trying to make her understand. I’m done trying to be considerate and hope for the best. I’m just fucking done. If she doesn’t give a shit about her friends, then fuck her.

  “Fuck you,” I hear my husky voice say out loud. “Just fuck you Bethany fucking Warner.”

  I don’t know how to think about what I’m feeling. Loss, grief, anger, confusion and somehow my misplaced love are fighting one another for control of my emotions.

  I hear the front door open.

  Who the hell is this?

  I grab the phone and slam it down on the hook.

  I turn to see the Sheriff with several other police officers walking into the Garage like they own the place. They spread out and begin tossing pillows off the couc
h, kicking shit around and looking in boxes, like they’re searching the place for something. A couple of them run upstairs to the loft.

  What’s going on?

  “Son, you’re going to need to evacuate the premises. We have an Order of Eviction here,” he says as a matter of fact.

  “What?” I feel like I’m in a dream, where nothing is tangible or coherent — I’m floating and unable to move.

  “The owner, he’s evicting you,” he says.

  “We’re paid up on the rent, what is this?” I ask.

  He holds out an official looking piece of paper with official looking writing on it. All I see is Eviction in big bold letters at the top.

  I look at him in confusion. I see the document, but it’s still not making sense.

  “Let’s go, son. No need for this to get physical,” he says.

  I can’t process everything, that foggy, slow motion version of reality is returning, like the Nova spinning over and over. I grab the van keys off the table by the phone and then head for my guitar.

  “Let’s go, now,” he says louder, with more authority.

  “I need my guitar, just give me two seconds,” I mumble, ignoring them.

  “Boyle said that chick was supposed to get rid of this asshole. Want me to throw him out, boss?” one of the Deputies asks.

  “No, let him get his guitar. I almost feel bad for the little shit. He looks like he’s already had a bad day,” the Sheriff says.

  “Hey hippie, we’re keeping everything else for back rent, asshole,” another deputies says.

  “Enough, let him go,” the Sheriff says.

  I wince in pain as I set my guitar into its case and the next thing I know, I’m standing under the awning outside, while the police put a chain across the door. They get back in their cruisers and drive away without any further explanation. And just like that, I’m homeless.

  What the fuck?

  I mean, really, what the fuck?

  How much worse is this day going to get?

  I brace myself against the building and gently lower myself to the concrete sidewalk next to my guitar case. I lean back against the wall favoring my shoulder. I light another cigarette and just stare down the street.

  My world has twisted; everything is skewed — ugly chaos is splitting the seams of reality. I get it, I mean I know what’s happening, but it’s like watching a movie — a shitty movie.

  I dry swallow a few pain pills and the antibiotics.

  The phone begins to ring inside.

  Everything Beth said runs constantly, like an endless loop, around in my head. I’m not good enough? She could never love anyone like me?

  And Annie? Why would she say anything about Annie?

  I’ve never seen Beth treat anyone like this — never. Even people she despised, she never treated badly. I’ve never seen her be a bitch, especially not a cold blooded, hateful one.

  She’s just not like that.

  So why is she being so aggressive and cruel?

  What could make her act like this with me, to say such awful things? Things that she knew would be emotional triggers for me — painful memories that she knew I was still dealing with — fucked up traumas I made the mistake of opening up about and sharing with her. And now she’s using them against me?

  Why would she try to destroy me with my own demons?

  She just trying too hard to be something she’s not.

  Halfway through the pack of cigarettes, I see a mirage reflected up from the summer pavement. A figure is walking down the street toward me. I absently watch the apparition get closer and take shape.

  I think back to Beth.

  What did I do to deserve this? Love her? Was that my great sin, my injustice to her?

  I completely trust her.

  The figure resolves into a girl carrying an acoustic guitar case. I’m worried that I’m hallucinating.

  The girl walks across the parking lot. She’s wearing a pale orange waitress uniform and stops a few feet away and looks from me to the door and back.

  Beth hurt me as deeply as is humanely possible and in a way that only she could.

  I stare up at the girl. Tears are running down my face, the rage is buried deep again, crushed under the weight of this new sorrow — this ultimate betrayal.

  I’m not sure how to come back from this.

  It’s one thing to move on and drift away from friends, but Beth couldn’t have been any more cruel than if she were vindictively trying to punish me — like she’s trying to drive me away. She’s knows I can never forgive her, not for this.

  Wait a second.

  I lean forward and take a drag off my cigarette, trying to concentrate through the fog of the pain medication.

  Back the fuck up.

  “Boyle said that chick was supposed to get rid of this asshole.” That’s what one of the cops said and I’m pretty sure I was the asshole he was talking about.

  Boyle.

  Officer Boyle.

  Fucking Dan-o?

  What does he have to do with any of this?

  Why was she supposed to get rid of me? What does that even mean? Did someone tell her to get rid of me? Is that it?

  But why would anyone give a shit about me?

  Her father, that’s fucking who.

  This must have something to do with her father being an asshole last week and wanting her to go back to school. I’m not sure what exactly, but that has to fit into this somehow. Everything changed on a dime right after he called.

  I wasn’t sure before but that has to be it.

  The phone is still ringing inside like background music.

  A glimmer of a spark comes to life deep within my soul.

  It’s growing brighter, focusing my thoughts.

  I look up to see Shelly, the girl that Shauna was such a bitch to at the Café. She sets her guitar down and stares out across the industrial park. “Looks like I picked a bad time to ask for help? Got a cigarette?”

  I pull one from the pack along with my lighter, and hand it up too her.

  She shields the lighter from the breeze and lights the cigarette. She leans down and hands it back to me. “You look like shit, what happened? Are you okay?” She looks concerned but unfocused, and not quite like the same girl I met before.

  “No, I’m not okay at all. But I think it’s going to all work out,” I say, smiling up at her.

  The spark grows to a flame and warms me from the inside out. Maybe it’s the painkillers or maybe I’m delusional and my logic sucks, but I suddenly remember all of Beth’s questions that didn’t make any sense at the time when I went to visit Annie, and the argument we had back at the Garage later that day.

  But what about Trevor? Peggy said it was like they were acting and even then only when they were around me. Is he in on this too?

  She was trying to make me hate her and it nearly worked. I’ve been such a fool. If my head hadn’t been so far up my ass I would have seen this for what it was.

  Fuck.

  In hindsight, I think she told me then what she was doing. I’m the thing she had to let go of. I think Tonya’s trying to protect me from something. And if she’s going to this extreme, then it must be necessary. Something very fucked up is going on.

  Something dangerous.

  I can only think of one reason that would drive Beth to be this cold and to throw away her friends and all we’ve achieved — one thing that would give her the courage to go against everything she believes in to be this much of a fucking bitch to push me away and — protect me?

  “You look like you got run over by a bus, why are things going to work out?” Shelly asks. Her dimples frame a cute smile that belies the not-quite-right gleam in her eyes.

  I’m still worried about Todd and Peg, but a wave of hope washes over me — everything’s going to work out.

  It has to.

  I look up at Shelly and grin. I must look like I’m off my rocker, grinning like this with all my stitches.

  “Becau
se she fucking loves me.”

  14

  Curtis Ray Lamont

  I’m sure PBS would say that being this emotionally dependent on someone is unhealthy in the extreme, pathological even, but the realization that Beth loves me, be it real or delusional, cuts through the fog and everything begins to stack up like bricks.

  Beth is safe in Boca for now. If she’s been doing all of this to protect me, I can’t imagine how she must be feeling right now, but I’ll have to help her mend those wounds later.

  Right now, I have to deal with what’s in front of me.

  All of the responsibilities I have to my friends become individual tasks to be checked off a mental list. The first task is to find Peggy. If Todd wakes up and I’ve let anything happen to her, he’ll have my ass. He needs me now, and I won’t let him down. I can’t.

  “Can you drive?” I ask Shelly as I stagger to me feet.

  “No,” she says in a panic.

  “Good,” I say and toss the van keys to her. I’m far too stoned to drive right now and waiting sounds like a bad move for Peggy.

  “Seriously, I can’t drive,” she says nervously.

  “You’re sixteen; you had Driver’s Ed, right?”

  “Yeah, but…”

  “But nothing. Let’s go,” I say.

  I open up the back of the van and slide our guitars in and slam the door closed.

  She’s just standing outside the driver’s door, staring at me while I climb up into the van. I motion for her to get in while I roll down my window. She slowly gets in and shuts the door.

  “I can’t do this,” she says with fearful eyes. She looks like she’s about to hyperventilate. She looks like the girl from the Café again. “You said I should come by if I needed anything, not for me to kill the both of us.”

  “Before we can sort out your situation, we have to sort out someone else’s. Let’s go. We’re in a hurry. You can do this.”

  She turns the key and grinds the starter motor. I give her a sideways glare and light a cigarette. She leans back and places her hands on the wheel.