“Pyscho skank?” Dad bellows, utterly shocked by the unsavory image he is obviously getting from the word combination.
I shake my head. “Look, I haven’t had sex with anyone! Spencer just wanted to say something to set Brody off. It worked and Brody took the first shot. They fought and I stood there shocked and stunned knowing that part of the rumor was a lie and part was true. The secret about me having a mental illness was out for everyone to see and Celine, her mother, and you... Mom put it there!”
Mom covers her mouth with her hands, her face streaked with tears now, just like mine. “I’m sorry Evan. I shouldn’t have said anything...”
“Look, I will call Mr. O’Keefe. We will get our two families together and talk this out,” Dad’s attempt at bringing peace to the situation is naive.
I close my eyes and lean my head back, “No, you can’t do that. It will only make things worse. Believe me, the Fergusons know firsthand about being alienated because of Gavin and his differences and because of Mr. Ferguson’s disappearance. So does Nikki, and Asher, and Lia; all of them have been victims of rumors just like me.”
Dad shakes his head, seeming not to believe what I am saying. I continue on with a trembling voice, “Gavin, Brody, Nikki, Asher, Lia, they are all victims. Now they have added me to the list because of who I have sided with. Because I chose to stand up for Gavin.”
I flop down on the chair, exhausted.
“It isn’t right, Evan,” says Dad.
“They can’t get away with this,” Mom adds.
I shake my head from side to side and close my eyes. “They already have. If you call the school, and make a bigger scene it will only be harder on me.”
“We need to do something damn it!” Mom yells.
Maybe we do but none of us know what. Fighting doesn’t work, parents getting involved doesn’t work. We would be beating our head against a brick wall just like the Fergusons. Why should we expect any better results?
After sitting in silence, I decide to get up and go to my room. I don’t know how long Mom and Dad sat down there. Not much talking takes place. I can tell they are as stumped as any other parent might be. Lying on my bed, I look up at the ceiling and the shadows of tree branches cast by the light of the moon. Mrs. Ferguson, of all people, pops into my mind. I imagine how she and Mr. Ferguson might have reacted for years and years as Gavin was endlessly ridiculed and Brody was punished for defending his brother at school. I think of how things got worse after Mr. Ferguson disappeared. Not only are Gavin and Brody victims of ridicule, Mr. Ferguson is as well in his absence. Again, Mrs. Ferguson is left to try and pick up the pieces, much like my mom and dad wish they could.
I realize that when I left their house today, I made a mistake. I mistook the sadness and fury in her eyes as being directed to Brody for fighting. Now that I think back at that look, I guess that she didn’t yell at him for fighting. She probably went on with the night, made dinner, rallied Gavin out of his room, and gave Brody a knowing look that she understood why he did what he did. Because what else could she do except go to her room after everyone is supposed to be in bed and cry by herself. Cry for her two sons and lament over her missing husband.
I fall asleep on my own somehow, and stay in bed all day Saturday. Only getting up to use the restroom and pour a glass of water. Mom and Dad take it in turns to bring food. Mom takes lunch duty and Dad brings dinner. I eat some even though it has no taste. I hear Brody’s car leave that morning and return that night, but I deny myself the luxury of sneaking a peek out my window.
I’m afraid. If he sees me, will he wave? How will I react? Will I wave back like nothing has happened? Like I, Evan Phillips, haven’t been outed as a fruit loop after keeping it from my friends and the guy I’m in love with. Will he tell me that everything is going to be fine and that his father has been found and will be returning before Christmas, just like Gavin hoped?
Or will he completely ignore me. Better yet, will he flip me the bird and walk on like I am invisible to him: a ghost of someone he used to know and now wishes he never met?
My cell phone vibrates, suddenly. I grab my phone from my nightstand and glance at the clock before looking at my phone: 11:30 p.m.
Nikki: Did you think I forgot to call?
Evan: I wouldn’t blame you if you did.
She doesn’t text back for a few seconds, so I wait, wondering if she is thinking of some gentle way to tell me that it was nice to have known me.
Nikki: Ash, Lia, and I are going to the Fergusons’ house for second Thanksgiving dinner. Want to come?
My chest tightens, still feeling like the outcast, the odd man out. Wait, what is this second Thanksgiving thing?
Evan: Not sure it is a good idea.
Nikki: Says the girl that wouldn’t blame me for not calling her. You are an idiot my friend :)
Seeing those words: “my friend” and a colon parenthesis smiley face, a grin pulls at my lips.
Nikki: I’ll call you on Monday. Hang in there. You are truly one of us now sister-friend.
I tap the side of my phone sending the screen into darkness, place it back on the charger, and lie there, thinking of Nikki’s last text. The next time we talk, I need to ask her what the hell sister-friend means exactly. And what is second Thanksgiving?
I hear my door open, but I don’t open my eyes. I’m still mostly asleep even though I have to pee, but I don’t want to get out of bed yet.
“Wake up Evan.” Mom’s voice is soft at first. “Evan, you aren’t going to sleep all day today. I let it slide yesterday, but not today. Gavin has knocked on our door five times this morning and I don’t want to send him away once again.”
I open my eyes, shove the blanket off my face, and search the room for my mom. “Gavin?” I muster through my dry, crackling voice.
She stops picking up the clothes on my floor and stares at me. “Yes, our neighbor Gavin Ferguson.”
Why was Gavin knocking on our door wanting me? Was there something wrong? “What did he want?”
“Jesus, Mary and Joseph, Evan! Throw your dirty clothes in the laundry bin. It is sitting right there plain as day next to your closet!”
I try to stop her rant once again, “Mom!”
“What?” She looks up at me, hair awry and looking flustered by my lack of organization.
“What did he want? Was he all right?”
Gavin wouldn’t just come over like that, five times mind you, unless something was wrong.
Mom shakes her head then goes back to throwing random socks, pants, sweaters, and tops into my hamper. “Not sure. Dad answered each time. I think Dad said he was talking about taking pictures with you or something. Dad told him that you were still sleeping. He kept saying he would check back. Like clockwork, he has - nine, then nine thirty, then ten, ten thirty, eleven.” She stops and looks at me. “It is eleven twenty and I’m sure he will be knocking in the next ten minutes. It would be nice if you answered it, rather than us again. Dad said he looked pitiful every time he had to send him away.”
I look at her curiously and wonder why she has had such a change of heart for the Fergusons, specifically Gavin. Is she that affected by what happened Friday: the fight, skipping school, Mrs. O’Keefe, and that her secret and mine are out in the open for everyone to pick apart and dissect, then put back together in a way that suits their imagination, just like the disappearance of Mr. Ferguson.
She tosses a shirt in my hamper than scoops up my white gauzy sweater. It’s on its last legs, but I love it anyway. She holds it in her hands and folds it as she speaks, “I can tell he needs you. He needs a friend, Evan.”
She fiddles with it nervously, then looks up. “I was wrong about them, Evan, I see that now.” She shakes her head before continuing, “I believed the rumors and I shouldn’t have.” I know she is referring to the O’Keefe’s and the Morietti’s. “I should have known they wouldn’t have changed much since high school.”
That’s right, she was in high school with th
em. She holds the sweater out to me now, “The sun is shining, but it is cold out today.”
The doorbell rings and Mom smiles softly and says, “Told you he would come back.”
I take the sweater from her hand just as Dad calls, “Evan, Gavin is here to see you!”
I holler back, “Okay, I’ll be down in a minute!”
Mom picks up the last of my scattered clothes and carries my hamper out of the room. Before she leaves she looks at me with raised eye brows and says softly, “Don’t forget your camera.”
As soon as she shuts the door, I push the covers off and get out of bed with a new found energy.
Gavin is standing stiffly in the middle of the kitchen while Dad leans against the counter drinking a cup of steaming coffee. As soon as Gavin sees me, his stoic stance and expressionless features loosen and come to life. I notice a camera much like mine hanging around his neck. “You got a camera Gav?” I ask as I clear the bottom step.
His robotic voice is more animated today, but I can still hear the automated tone just beneath the excitement. “Yes. Brody surprised me with an early Christmas present. It is just like yours actually. There are a few different schematics with it being a different model and all, but he said he wanted me to have one like yours since I learned how to take pictures from yours. Said it would be easier to work, but it isn’t like I am stupid. I can figure out a camera, right, Evan?”
I glance over at Dad and as our eyes meet he comments, “You have a pretty awesome brother to go to all that trouble to find one like Evan’s for you. You are one lucky boy.”
Gavin nods and starts to sway side to side nervously, “Y-yes, sir. He is the best brother anyone could ever dream of having.”
I scoot around Gavin and get a cup out of the cabinet. As I pour my coffee I ask, “So where is Brody?”
“Working. He had to go into the shop to work a few hours today. Mom is home, but she is trying to get things together for second Thanksgiving dinner. Are you coming over? Nikki, Ash, and Lia are.”
“Second dinner?” I ask.
“Everyone comes over to our house for a second dinner after they have it with their families.”
Hearing Gavin’s explanation pulls at my heart. “Uh, I’m not sure.”
I add creamer and some sugar to my coffee and stir slowly.
“You should go, Evan. What time does is start, Gavin?” Dad comments
“Seven o’clock,” replies Gavin.
Dad blows on his coffee. “We are eating early, Evan, so you can go.”
“She can?” Gavin asks excitedly, then claps his hands. “You can! Nikki is going to be so happy!”
“Nikki?” I ask.
“Yeah, Nikki wasn’t sure if you would come, but she said if I asked, it would be hard for you to say no,” Gavin says confidently.
I smile. “Well, she was right. I can’t say no to you, Gav.”
Gavin and I walk out onto my back porch and into the biting cold. I zip up my jacket and let my camera hang free. Gavin is already stepping off the porch and walking toward the back fence line.
“Where are you going?” I ask as I step off the porch and follow after him.
“Over the fence into the green space behind the houses,” Gavin says.
“Um, are you sure we can do that, Gav?” I ask.
He turns to look at me as he gets to the fence line, “The trails back here are cool and there will be a lot to take pictures of.”
All of a sudden, he lifts his leg up and starts climbing the links of the fence. The fear in his eyes makes you wonder if he thinks he is climbing the Empire State building. He looks anxious and rigid after climbing a mere two links. Then he hikes his leg up over the fence before bringing his other leg over and down. His movements are careful as if, in missing a foothold, he might fall to his death.
When he touches down, I start to climb over.
“Be careful, Evan!” he barks at me as he steps back and watches. If I was to fall, he wouldn’t catch me because of the touching thing. Maybe that is why he is so scared.
I follow Gavin through the tall, canopied shrubs and onto a simple dirt trail. It is well-traveled. “Come back here much?” I ask Gavin.
Nasal sounding, he says automatically, “Sometimes, not much anymore. Dad and I used to come out here together.”
“You miss him,” I say, matter-of-factly.
He doesn’t respond, just keeps walking. Suddenly, the sun releases its rays from behind one of the blanketing clouds and it shines a golden vintage glow onto a small cluster of dandelions. “Look,” I call out. “They are the last few before winter.”
Gavin has stopped and we are standing side by side. He looks over at me and lifts his camera up, like he is asking permission to take a picture of them. “Yeah, go for it.”
He snaps from up high. I tell him, “Try getting down like this, level with the subject.” I squat down and Gavin does the same awkwardly. He almost falls over and my first reaction is to reach out to stop him from falling, but luckily he catches himself by placing his hand on the ground.
“Okay?”
He doesn’t say anything just nods swiftly and holds the view finder to his right eye. A small chain of three clicks, capturing the image of the dandelions, shedding their feathery seeds in the wind. I whisper, “That is going to be a series of beautiful images, Gav.”
He pulls the camera from his eye and smiles goofily, “Really? You think so?”
I nod, “I know so.”
His calm demeanor shifts to full on excitement. “Can we develop it Evan?”
“Sure, but let’s take some more shots first.” I rise up and look around at the expansive wooded area.
“C’mon, I have a great spot,” Gavin says. As he leads the way, I snap a shot of him walking down the narrow dirt path; capturing Gavin’s unique stride and the camouflage of his father’s army cap.
Gavin traipses through the brush and dirt trail like it is his own backyard. He’s comfortable here.
When the sun slides behind another blanket of clouds, we head back to the work shed. Gavin is relentless about at least getting the negatives done today.
He helps me with the drums of developer, fixer, and pouring them into and out of the canisters. Once we have the negatives I hold them up between us to the window’s natural light. My eye fixes on the images of the dandelions, all three in a row. I lean in closer and don’t realize I am invading Gavin’s space until I am already against his shoulder. Fearful of his reaction, I flinch, but he doesn’t budge. His eyes are glued to the images of the dandelions. “You were right Evan. They are beautiful. You know, Dad would have really liked you. I hope someday...” He looks at me smiling, then furrows his brow suddenly with worry as he scans my face. “Did I say something wrong?”
He doesn’t even realize I touched him. He didn’t realize it on the bus because he was out of it, stuck, having a seizure, but he is fully coherent now. “I, uh, was touching you Gavin.”
Before he can flip out, I drop my hand from the film strip and it dangles beneath his. I hold my hands away from him as I rapidly say, “I didn’t mean to. It was an accident. I was just so wrapped up in the image and I got to close.”
He doesn’t say or do anything. I’m relieved because I don’t know how much damage he might do in here if he did flip out. He might tear the place apart. Mom would come running, then Dad, it would be a bad situation.
He takes the dangling filmstrip in both hands and studies the images. “It’s okay, Evan.”
“What?” I mutter in compete, mind-blowing, elated shock.
He shrugs then looks at me and smiles lightly. “I’m okay.”
“Yes, you are.”
I have contributed to another person’s well-being. I feel the rapture and bliss of being partly responsible for Gavin’s okay-ness. I want to jump up and down and hug him, but that might be too much. Instead I just watch him as he slowly observes each image he has captured.
When I walk Gavin home, I am eager to
see Brody or Mrs. Ferguson to tell them what happened in the work shed. Brody’s car isn’t in the drive and Gavin walks straight into his house without saying goodbye. I follow him in, hoping to see Mrs. Ferguson. I watch Gavin walk into the kitchen and open the refrigerator.
“Gavin?” Mrs. Ferguson calls out.
Just as she appears in the hallway, she sees me. “Oh, hi Evan.”
She says smiling, but obviously pre-occupied with the laundry basket in her arms. She looks around the corner into the kitchen at Gavin holding the refrigerator door open. “Did you two take lots of pictures Gav?”
He doesn’t respond, so I do. “Yes, he got some great shots. He is a real natural with the camera.”
She sets the laundry basket down on the sofa and sits down next to it, letting out a long breath as she rubs her forehead. “You know, pictures are said to capture a person’s soul in some cultures.” She opens her eyes wide and smiles at me. “Have you heard that, Evan?”
“Yes, Mom used to tell me that all the time, when I was little.”
I contemplate how to tell Mrs. Ferguson about Gavin. “Um, can I talk to you for a minute Mrs. Ferguson?”
Her smile fades a little. “Is everything all right. Oh, no, did Gav do something wrong at your house. I am so sorry Evan...”
I shake my head. “No, he didn’t do anything wrong at all. I just want to tell you something important that’s all.”
Appearing really confused now, she says, “Oh, okay. Hey Gavin!”
Gavin comes out of the kitchen and into the living room with a bag of pretzels in hand. He stands in front of his mother as he digs his other hand into the bag of pretzels.
“Can you check your room for any other dirty laundry? I tried to get in all the nooks and crannies but I couldn’t reach under your bed.”
He looks from his mother to me. “Are you staying Evan?”
“Did you want me to?”
He bobs his head up and down as he talks through his pretzel chewing, “Yes.”
“I’ll make sure she stays put, Gavin, now go on and get that laundry please.”
Dismantling Evan Page 31
