Paranoid Park

by Blake Nelson

  “I just don’t feel like it’s—” I repeated.

  “I can’t believe you!” she shrieked, louder now, so her friends would hear. “You think you can just dump me? Now that we’ve had sex? You can’t do that.”

  I stood there, watching her. The whole world was a dream, I realized. Nothing was real. Everyone was acting in a bad soap opera. The whole world was one big FOX TV show.

  “Jennifer?” asked one of the other cheerleaders. “Are you okay?”

  Jennifer ran to her friends. “He just broke up with me!” She burst into tears. She ran to Elizabeth, who put her arms around her.

  All the girls stared at me with hatred in their eyes. It was a big drama that had to be acted out. But deep down, nobody really cared. The other girls didn’t care about Jennifer. Jennifer didn’t care about me. I didn’t care about anything.

  Everyone was so full of crap.

  The next day, the news went around school: I had used Jennifer for sex and dumped her. I didn’t try to defend myself. There was no point.

  I found Christian and those guys skating behind the cafeteria after school and they asked me about it. What was my plan? Did I like someone else? Why had I given up free sex?

  “She was hot,” said Paul. “I hope you have some sort of backup.”

  “She was too social,” I said. “Everything was a little drama for her and her friends.”

  Paul thought I was crazy. Christian didn’t care either way. Only Jared understood. He never liked her that much but had encouraged me anyway, under the principle that getting laid was always better than not getting laid.

  Later, I took the bus home. Skating down my street, I saw a strange car parked at the curb outside my house. It was a navy-blue American car, with thick black tires. I skated right up to it and saw—too late-that it was Detective Brady. He sat in the driver’s seat, writing something.

  “Hey there,” he said when he saw me.

  “Oh, hi,” I answered.

  “Hey, I was wondering. I got an hour. I wanted to drive downtown and just sort of ... poke around. Check out the kids. Wanna come?”

  “Uh. I probably shouldn’t.... I have homework.”

  “We’ll keep it short. A half hour.”

  “But my mom—”

  “Your mom’s not home. And she won’t care. You’re helping with police business.”

  “I really-”

  “Come on, get in.”

  I didn’t seem to have a choice. I got in.

  “How’s school?” Brady asked me, after we’d driven in silence for a few minutes.

  “Okay,” I answered. I didn’t like being in his car. It was too personal. And it was kinda trashed. There were papers and folders everywhere, and McDonald’s bags and old Dunkin’ Donuts coffee cups down by my feet.

  “High school,” said Brady, smiling to himself. “It didn’t seem like much at the time. But you think back-the parties, the girls, the football games....”

  I stared out the window. “I actually just broke up with my girlfriend,” I said.

  “Oh, yeah? What happened?”

  “Nothing. I just broke it off.”

  “How come?”

  “Just not into it.”

  “Any particular reason?”

  I shrugged. “It didn’t seem right. I didn’t really like her. She didn’t really like me.”

  “Yeah, well. You can’t fool people. Sooner or later the truth comes out.”

  I didn’t like the sound of that. I watched out the window as we entered downtown. It was weird being in that car. I didn’t like it, but on the other hand I felt protected somehow. And it seemed like my story was working, that I was the innocent kid who had done nothing wrong, who had never been to Paranoid Park, except one time, during the day, with Jared.

  I also felt like ... well ... I sorta liked Brady for some reason. I mean, I was terrified of him, naturally. But being near him seemed safer than not being around him, and not knowing what he was doing, or thinking.

  And another thing: He seemed different from other people. He was a cop. He’d seen stuff. He’d dealt with the brutal realities of life. Not like most people. Most people never dealt with anything. A divorce maybe, at the most. But what was a divorce? It was nothing.

  Brady knew that. So did I.

  “You ever seen this girl?” said Brady. He handed me a picture of a young girl. She looked homeless and drugged out.

  “No,” I said. “What did she do?”

  “Nothing. She’s a runaway.”

  “I thought you only did homicides?”

  “I do.”

  I wasn’t sure what that meant, so I shut up. I watched the people on the street as we drove around more. Because he was a cop, Detective Brady could drive anywhere he wanted. He pulled onto River Walk and drove on the bike path. We moved slowly through the bike-riders and joggers. People would get pissed at a car being there, until they looked in the car and saw Brady’s face. Then they turned around and minded their own business.

  At the far end of River Walk, we saw some skaters under the Morrison Bridge.

  “Never could do anything with a skateboard,” said Detective Brady, slowing down.

  “They had them back then?”

  He smiled. “I’m not that old.”

  We cruised slowly past the skaters. “You recognize any of these people?”

  “Where would I recognize them from?” I said.

  “From anywhere,” said Detective Brady.

  I shook my head. “Never seen them before.” “So this girl,” said Detective Brady, turning the car around. “The one you broke up with. What was her deal?”

  I stared out the window. “I dunno. She thought she was supposed to have a boyfriend. So she got one. But she didn’t even know me.”

  “It’s always so interesting,” said Detective Brady, “how people do what they think they’re supposed to. We’re not nearly as independent as we think. You learn that being a cop. I’d like to say we catch every criminal with our brilliant crime-solving techniques, but the truth is, most of them come to us. That social instinct kicks in—the guilt, it wears them down.”

  “Huh,” I said, casually.

  “There are exceptions. Sociopaths. They don’t have that guilt mechanism. They don’t feel it in their gut. Or young kids, gang members, they think of themselves as soldiers. That seems to insulate them psychologically. Or else they’re on some ego trip. They think they’re God, or above other people in some way. But those are the exceptions. Most murderers are loose nuts. If they had any self-control, they’d never have committed the crime in the first place.”

  As he said this, Detective Brady steered his car along a different bike path. I soon saw why: Ahead of us, a group of street kids were sitting around a fountain. There were about eight of them. They were real Streeters: dirty, homeless. “You recognize any of these guys?” he said.

  “I really don’t know any of these people,” I said, annoyed that he kept asking me. “I don’t hang out down here.”

  But even as I spoke, I saw I was wrong. I did know one of them. Paisley. She sat on the end of the bench, eating a candy bar. My heart thudded in my chest. I looked away, kept my eyes down, and prayed she wouldn’t look at the car.

  She didn’t. She looked at her candy bar and the girl sitting next to her. Detective Brady gave them a long look. But he kept driving.

  I took a long silent breath, and then Paisley was behind us and I was safe inside my innocent-kid story again.

  Meanwhile, normal life went on. It was autumn now-the leaves were changing, pumpkins appeared in front windows, people began wearing sweaters and track jackets. The football team had won a couple games and people got psyched about that. Homecoming and Halloween were right around the corner. Everyone seemed happy and excited and hopeful....

  But not me. I was in social freefall. I was now totally scorned by the Jennifer/Elizabeth crowd, which meant Christian Barlow and Paul Auster couldn’t hang out with me as much. Jared w
as chasing one of Jennifer’s friends, so it put him in a difficult situation. They kinda had to cut me loose. To be honest, I was glad. It was too hard trying to act normal all the time. Though when Friday and Saturday nights came and I had nothing to do, that sucked.

  At least I could skate. But that got harder, too. It started raining again, and the only decent indoor place was Skate City at the mall, which was full of twelve-year-olds. Skating in the rain was better than that place.

  And then my parents’ divorce proceedings officially started. My mom totally lost it. She took sleeping pills every night and went to bed right after dinner, sometimes before. Or she’d go stay at Grandma’s and Aunt Sally would come over. Aunt Sally didn’t have kids, so she had all these weird rules that didn’t make sense. And she was a vegetarian, too, so the dinners she made were pretty gross. The brownies were good, though.

  The first envelopes from the lawyers started coming to the house. Henry and I would see them in the mail slot. I found myself wishing I could talk to Detective Brady about it. I wondered what advice he would have. He was one of the few people in the world I might listen to.

  But mostly I just felt numb. I woke up every day and put on my clothes and went to school. My grades began to slide, and I barely talked to anyone. You’d think a teacher or someone would have said something, but they didn’t. They probably figured it was the divorce.

  I was also not as scared anymore. I stopped worrying that I would suddenly get caught. I read on the Internet that if they didn’t solve a murder case in the first two weeks, the chances of ever solving it were, like, three percent.

  I tried to do homework. About once a week or so, I would study for a couple hours and actually remember what I studied. But most nights I would zone out. I’d sit in front of the TV and go catatonic. I didn’t feel happy, I didn’t feel sad; I just felt sick. I felt like I would get sick. I was pretty sure I’d eventually get cancer.

  But then other times, driving my mom’s car or sitting in class, I’d think, At least I’m free. At least I can skate when I want. There’s no court date, no lawyers, my fate isn’t in the hands of anyone but myself.

  But was that really freedom? When there was all this dark stuff in my brain, all these things I could never speak of, or tell anyone about. Any place could be a prison, I realized, if your head wasn’t right.

  Even a nice house in the suburbs.

  Around the end of October, I started skating Vista again. Vista was an old, winding street that traversed the West Hills and eventually led downtown. There were different side streets you could take. Younger skaters and beginners liked it; it was about two miles of easy cruising. At the bottom, you could get the city bus back to the top for a buck fifty. Sometimes you could slip in the back door and not pay at all.

  Anyway, I got in the habit of doing that on nights when I couldn’t stand to be home and couldn’t think of anything else to do. I would stay out for hours. You could even do it in the rain. It was pretty chill, slaloming the smooth streets, with an iPod or whatever, the wet night air misting your face....

  One night I was doing that, cruising Vista. A light rain fell. No one was out—a few cars, no people. The streets were wet and I got going a little too fast, and when I hit the bus stop at the bottom, I couldn’t make the turn back up the hill. So I bombed the rest of it, and went downtown. I wanted a coffee anyway, and I was getting cold. I kept my speed up and cruised the Twenty-First Street strip, which is where I saw Macy.

  She was standing outside the Saigon Café. She was talking to Rachel and Rachel’s boyfriend Dustin. I would have kept going, but she saw me and yelled my name. So I stopped, which screwed up my plan to make it all the way to the train station. But that was okay. I hadn’t had the best luck with trains lately.

  Rachel and Dustin were going home. Dustin didn’t have the board Rachel bought him, but he said how awesome it was and thanked me and babbled on about how he was learning to ollie. Obviously, if he was truly into it, he’d have his board with him, but whatever-not everyone is born to skate.

  Rachel and Dustin offered us a ride home. I said I was good, that I wanted to get a coffee, and then Macy said she wanted to stay, too, and we would take the bus back. I didn’t think that was necessary-her hanging out—but truthfully, I was glad. I needed the company.

  We got coffees and sat outside, beneath the awnings at Saigon. It was still misting out, so it was fun to drink hot coffee while the rain fell quietly on the street.

  “So how are things with your parents?” Macy asked me. Obviously the neighbors had been discussing the plight of my loser family.

  “Not that good. It’s official now. They’re getting divorced.”

  “That must be hard.”

  “Maybe it’s good. At least it’s out in the open. At least everyone knows what’s happening.”

  “Where’s your dad?”

  “Staying with my uncle.”

  Macy sipped her coffee. We both sat with our backs to the café, staring at the wet street. I pulled a chair around so we could put our feet up. She liked that. She put her dainty Pumas up next to my huge, dirty skate shoes. Our feet looked like Beauty and the Beast.

  “So does Rachel’s boyfriend ever use his new skateboard?” I asked.

  “Not really,” she said. “But he still likes it. It’s the thought that counts.”

  I nodded. A car drove by, its wheels whooshing on the wet pavement. I snuggled deeper into my coat and stared at my feet.

  “So I heard about you and Jennifer,” said Macy.

  “Yeah.”

  “That didn’t last very long.”

  “No,” I said.

  “Why did you break up with her?”

  “Why was I going out with her? Who knows?”

  “You must have liked her a little.”

  “I liked her last summer. Before she decided I was her boyfriend.”

  “With all the stuff you’re going through, I guess something like that would be hard....”

  I laughed at that and sipped my coffee.

  “Why do you laugh?” said Macy.

  “All the things I’m going through,” I said. “It sounds so ridiculous.”

  “But you’re going through a lot,” she said seriously.

  I tried to shrug it off, but the way she said that got to me. Sympathy. I needed it. I was starved for it. I was so grateful for it, I felt tears come into my eyes.

  But I held them back. “Lots of people’s parents get divorced,” I said. “There are worse problems.”

  “Like what?”

  “People getting killed in Iraq. Little kids starving in Africa.”

  Macy looked at me. “Since when are you worried about starving children in Africa?”

  “You know what I mean. Our little problems. Our little issues. It’s all so stupid.”

  “Not if it’s happening to you.”

  “Bigger stuff can happen to people than their parents splitting up.”

  “Yeah? Like what?”

  “Like stuff.”

  She stared into the street. “Did something happen to you?” she said quietly.

  “No. I just mean in general.”

  “What happened to you?”

  “Nothing. You know what I mean.”

  Macy sipped her coffee. That was the thing about Macy. She wasn’t the dumb girl from down the street anymore. When she asked you something, the question sunk into you. You had to answer.

  “No,” I said. “I just feel like there are other things that happen. Outside normal life. Outside parents and girlfriends and breakups. Like right out there.” I pointed into the dark street. “There are other levels of things.”

  Macy was unsure of what I was talking about.

  “Something did happen to me,” I said, before I could stop myself.

  But Macy proved just how cool she was at that moment. She didn’t ask me what. She didn’t say anything. She just sat there, with her coffee, staring into the darkness. If I wanted to say more I coul
d. If I didn’t ... well, that was okay, too....

  Macy and I rode the bus home. We sat side by side, our hips touching, our elbows knocking occasionally. I held my skateboard between my legs and spun one of the wheels with my fingers.

  An old man got on at Burnside. A woman with a PBS book bag dropped her change in the slot. I could smell Macy; her thick hair had frizzed out slightly in the rain. We rode up the hill. I pointed out the place where you caught the bus at the bottom of Vista. I pointed out some of the good skateboarding streets.

  Macy’s cell phone rang. It was her mom. They had a short fight about when she was coming home. Macy didn’t back down at all. I didn’t remember her being so defiant to her parents. I found myself watching her talk, watching her face.

  Also, she had a body. I hadn’t really noticed that before. She wore a tight sweater under her coat, and I could see it as she talked. Not that I was thinking about that. It was just more evidence of the transformation of Macy.

  She hung up and tucked her cell phone away. We rode for a while in silence. “So Rachel and Dustin seem pretty happy together,” I said.

  “Yeah.”

  “What about you?” I asked. “Do you like any boys?”

  “Where did that come from?” she asked.

  “You asked me about Jennifer.”

  “It’s not really the same,” she said.

  “Do you want a boyfriend?”

  “I would if I liked someone. And if they liked me.”

  “Jennifer was insane about having a boyfriend,” I said, spinning my wheel. “She’ll have a new one by the end of next week.”

  Macy didn’t answer. She stared out the rainy window. “What happened to you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You said something happened to you.”

  “Just this thing happened. I can’t talk about it, really.”

  “What kind of thing?”

  “It was nothing, really.”

  “It didn’t sound like nothing.”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “All right. If you say so,” she said. Her phone rang again. She checked to see who it was, then put it away.