Ballads of Suburbia

by Stephanie Kuehnert

  “I’m okay,” I reassured him. “I’m great, actually.”

  Wes shook his head.” Just wait for the comedown.”

  And he was right. The comedown was awful. It happened in the very early morning when everybody had finally staggered out of our house. Wes, who’d mostly sobered up by then, tried to convince me to go to bed.

  “But when I close my eyes I see snow, like the static kind on a TV with no reception. I’ll never sleep again,” I informed him, bug-eyed. “I’m scared.”

  “Let’s go someplace you’ll feel safe, then.”

  He led me to our parents’ bedroom. Mom was so zonked on her meds that she didn’t even notice when we climbed into bed beside her.

  My parents had a California-king-size bed, probably inspired by John and Yoko’s whole bed-in thing in the sixties. They’d been hippies after all, met during the civil rights movement, protested together, fell in love, and got married when it was still kind of a big deal for a white woman and a black man to do that. In Oak Park, I didn’t really have to think about my race as much as I might have in other places. Children raised by PC parents didn’t tease too often, but I was well aware that I was different. I stood out among my mostly white friends and I didn’t look like either of my parents. Deep down, I didn’t really feel like I fit anywhere or with anyone.

  For some reason, being on acid and seeing my ghostly pale mother, whose skin was nothing like mine, intensified my usual feelings. I looked at my brother and pressed my hand to his. Our skin tone—like milk with just enough chocolate syrup to make it taste good but not so much that it’s overly sweet—seemed identical. I reached up to touch his wool-thick dreadlocks, a shorter version of mine.

  “You are the only one in the world who matches me,” I told him. “You are the only one who understands.”

  “I know,” he whispered sleepily. “I will always match and I will always know how you feel.”

  We communicated on some higher level. We talked without words about our mother. But as he drifted off, my panic renewed.

  “Wes?” I shook him slightly. “I’m still scared.”

  His toffee eyes fluttered open. “How can you be scared? You’re the guardian angel. You take care of everyone. Especially me.” He squeezed my hand. “Don’t be scared. I’m here. I promise I’ll always be here and one day I’ll take care of you like you take care of me. I love you, Cassie.”

  I was able to close my eyes without being fear-stricken. His gratitude, his promise, were all I needed to feel safe.

  When we woke up midafternoon, a miraculous thing had happened: our mother was out of bed. She cheerfully cleaned up the party mess, chiding, “You kids need to learn to pick up after yourselves.” She offered to make us breakfast and called the old folks’ home where she volunteers when she has it together.

  Acid, I decided, equaled good things. It was fun plus it made my brother tell me that he loved me and it made my mom better. Like maybe I’d taken her craziness and channeled it into my trip somehow. I could do that. I could do that forever.

  Of course it was just a coincidence. A month later Mom had another episode.

  They got worse and worse every time. But at least now I had a way to escape into my own head when Mom retreated into hers and Dad and Wes disappeared. I tripped a lot, but usually no one noticed. I guess I’m that good at covering up insanity. It’s like I was born to do it. Or I was born to be crazy. Sometimes I lie in bed with Mom for hours. We both stare at the ceiling and I wonder if we’re seeing the same thing. Every once in a while I ask her, but she never answers.

  At least she never lies to me the way Wes did. I really thought that he meant it, that one day he’d step up and take care of me for a change. Instead, he left and everything really went wrong after that.

  Right before Christmas, I tried to throw a party at my house like Wes used to. Dad was gone on business and Mom had been in bed for two days. Nobody had any acid, but I was okay with that. Quentin and I had started spending a lot of time together. He’d been really sweet, consoling me after my brother left. When I was with Quentin, I didn’t need acid or even pot or beer to have a good time. I just needed him.

  The party was going well at first. I’d taken the opportunity to spread the word that Wes would be home for the holidays, so everyone was in a good mood. Everyone but Jessica. I’d noticed her stomping around scowling that night, but figured she wasn’t getting enough attention from whichever boy she’d been flirting with lately.

  Apparently, she had a problem with who I was flirting with.

  I was talking with Quentin and Adrian in a corner of the living room. Quentin reached over and took my hand. I didn’t think too much of it because he did it a lot when we were alone. But I guess it was the first time he’d done it in public and as soon as it happened, Jessica swooped in, dragging me into the dining room.

  Pink-faced, she ranted, “When Mary told me that she thought you liked him liked him, I told her, ‘Cass would never do that to me. We’ve been friends for too long and there’s a code.’”

  “Whoa,” I interrupted, putting my hand up between us. “What the hell are you babbling about?”

  “Quentin! You can’t go out with him. He was my first boyfriend!”

  I brought my hand to my mouth, attempting to conceal my laughter. “You can’t be serious. You were in seventh grade. You went out for like five minutes.”

  “We went out for a month. He was the first guy to tell me I was beautiful. He said I looked like Winona Ryder.” Her eyes grew wistful and she tugged at her Winona Ryder haircut.

  I laughed openly. Quentin and I had recently discussed this. I’d told him, “You know you upset the whole balance of our friendship by telling her that. Suddenly, she was the skinny starlet, and Mary and I were the chubby girls who wore baggy clothes because we hated our big boobs. She made us feel like shit and ordered us around.”

  Quentin smiled at me and said, “I don’t think anyone could order you around.”

  He was right.

  I told Jessica, “This is ridiculous. You broke up with Quentin. It’s not like he broke your heart or anything. You’ve dated a bunch of guys since. And it’s not like I’m mad at Mary for going after Christian. He was my first boyfriend, remember?”

  “That’s your business. I don’t want you with Quentin.”

  I softened for a moment. “Do you still have feelings for him? If you really do, I’ll back off.”

  “No.” Jessica wrinkled her nose. “He’s too short for me. I just don’t want you with him.”

  “Jessica…” I took a deep breath, preparing to reason with her.

  Then I heard my mother call out for me.

  She’d never left her room during our parties before—even if there was a band playing and kids all over the house. No one had known she was there until that night when she stumbled into the living room like a zombie, moaning, “Cassandra! Wesley!”

  Jessica craned her neck to look through the doorway at Mom in her stained blue nightgown and tangled blond hair sticking up every which way. “Oh my god,” Jessica snorted, stifling a giggle.

  I wanted to tell her to shut up. I wanted to slap her. Instead, I raced into the living room, telling myself: Get the situation under control. And don’t cry. Whatever you do, don’t let them see you cry.

  Everyone had backed up, giving my crazy mother a wide berth, like she was an animal who might attack. I put my arms around her skinny body and tried to steer her toward the hallway that she’d come from, saying, “Mom, let me get you back to bed.”

  She refused to move. She reached up to pet my hair and said, “Cassie, get your brother. I took too many pills. He needs to drive me to the hospital.”

  When it came to my mother, I’d dealt with a lot, but nothing that bad. I froze, stammering, “Mama, Wes isn’t here.”

  Confusion filled her gray eyes. “Get Wes. We need Wes!” she insisted loudly.

  We really fucking did need Wes, but he wasn’t there. I had to handle i
t.

  “Adrian, I need you to give me a ride. Everybody else needs to get out of here now!” I barked.

  No one needed to be told twice. The house cleared and Adrian and Quentin helped me lead my dazed mother to Adrian’s car. I stayed calm. I didn’t even cry when the doctors told me they’d have to pump Mom’s stomach.

  I didn’t cry until I called Wes to tell him about it and he told me that he wasn’t going to come home for the holidays.

  “No,” I bawled. “You have to. I need you. Everything is falling apart.” And I went on to explain about Quentin and me and how Jessica insisted I break it off.

  “Jessica’s just jealous,” he assured me. “She’ll get over it. I’m glad you’re with Quentin. You keep an eye on him and Adrian because they need it. You watch over everyone for me until I come home, Cassie. Be the guardian angel.”

  Every time I talk to him he says that, “Take care of everyone for me, Guardian Angel.” And I’m trying, but I really don’t know if I can do it. I really wish that he’d just come home and I’d have someone to watch over me for a change.

  11.

  “ARE YOU GOING OUT AGAIN?” LIAM asked as we microwaved leftovers in the kitchen together on Saturday evening. Our parents were out on a date for the first time in ages. “Didn’t you say that there was a concert tonight and I could come?”

  I’d shown Liam the Symbiotic flyer when I’d first gotten it and promised to take him to the show to make up for ditching him after school for the past two weeks. I’d been so busy that I’d forgotten to update him. “Sorry, Liam, the show got canceled. That guy Wes, who used to be the frontman, didn’t come home like he was supposed to last weekend and the rest of the band didn’t want to do it without him. I’m just going over to Maya’s. I’d invite you, but I don’t think you want to sit around with three sixteen-year-old girls.”

  “Not really,” Liam grumbled. He opened the microwave and tested the warmth of the pasta with his fingers. “Get a plate. It’s ready.”

  We ate our dinner in silence in front of the TV. I could tell Liam was disappointed, but I didn’t realize how upset he was until I rose to leave.

  “I won’t be out too late,” I told him.

  “Oh, you’re sleeping at home for once?” he replied coldly.

  “For once? I’ve only slept over at Maya’s three times—”

  “You spent all of last weekend over there. Sorry if I’m having Stacey flashbacks and feel like I’m getting ditched all over again.”

  “Liam!” I objected, but quickly apologized after seeing the hurt in his eyes. “I’m sorry. I won’t be out too late. I’ll watch the end of Saturday Night Live with you, okay?” He shrugged, so I gave him a big, melodramatic, Harlan-style bear hug.

  “Okay!” he huffed, pushing me off of him, but at least he was smiling.

  I found Maya and Cass having a cigarette on a bench outside of the Write Inn. Maya’d dyed her hair a darker red and in the faint street light, it looked almost purple. “Do you think Symbiotic should have played tonight?” she asked me as I sat beside her. “Christian really wanted to, but the other guys still look at it as Wes’s band.”

  “It is Wes’s band. He started it in eighth grade,” Cass interjected.

  “Clearly Cassie sides with them, but I don’t know. Wes is gone. He can play with them when he’s around, but they can do shows without him. Christian’s a good frontman, too. Even Wes says so.”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know the history and I’ve never seen the band.”

  “Maya hasn’t either, but she likes Christian, so…” Cass teased her cousin straight-faced, her amusement evident only in her brown eyes.

  Maya dropped her head into her hands and groaned. “Not this again.”

  I exchanged a glance with Cass and joined in on the torment, joking, “That’s who you ditched me to be with last night! You’ve disappeared on me at Shelly’s two Fridays in a row now.”

  Maya looked up quickly, concerned. “You didn’t really think I’d ditched you, did you? I would not ditch you for a guy.”

  “Don’t worry. I was so drunk I didn’t notice you were gone,” I reassured her with a smile. It was nice to know she wouldn’t pull a Stacey on me.

  “Good. And yes, I was hanging out with Christian. He’s cool, but I couldn’t go out with him. He and Cassie have a history.”

  Cass choked on the smoke she’d just inhaled. “‘AA history’? We dated briefly the summer after eighth grade and I think he was just using me so he could hang around Wes and get into Symbiotic. I’m over it. When it comes to pursuing Christian, the girl you should be concerned about is Mary.”

  Maya brushed that off. “She and Jessica can’t spread rumors about my sex life. I’m from out of town, they don’t know me.”

  “They’ll make stuff up. That’s what they did to me. According to them I’ve slept with Adrian, Christian, half the skater boys…” Cass ground out her cigarette with the toe of her boot.

  “They said all that about you?” I asked, horrified. “I thought they were your best friends.” Then I remembered the way Maya had scoffed at Mary’s claim. “Or used to be.”

  “Used to be, I guess.” Cass stared out at the traffic speeding down Oak Park Avenue instead of facing me and Maya. “And they claim they had nothing to do with those rumors. But it all started after Jessica warned me not to go out with Quentin and I ignored her.”

  “Well,” Maya asserted, “at least Mary got hers.”

  Cass lit another cigarette. “What are you talking about?”

  “Kara and I saw Christian freak out on her at the park last week. She ran away crying. And Christian told me last night that he told her to stay the fuck away from him because he’d never go out with someone who treated her friends like she treated you.” Maya grinned at her cousin. “You should’ve seen it.”

  Cass shook her head. “I’m glad I didn’t. I would have felt bad for Mary.”

  “What? After all she’s done to you?”

  “I don’t blame her. She’s always been Jessica’s pawn. They’ve been friends since birth and Jessica’s been ordering Mary around since she could talk. Jessica’s a bossy only child whose parents don’t pay any attention to her. I kind of feel sorry for her, too.” Cass sighed. “We were friends for a long time. As shitty as they’ve been to me lately, I miss them. It sucked to lose my brother and my best friends in the same month.”

  “Cassie…” Maya put her arm around her cousin’s shoulders and squeezed her.

  Cass accepted the hug for a second before squirming out of it and standing up. “Can we get out of here and talk about something else?”

  We instinctively headed in the direction of Scoville in awkward silence.

  “Someone say something,” Cass insisted as we approached the tennis courts.

  “O-kaaay.” Maya turned to me wearing that smirk of hers. “Kara, if Cassie’s got Quentin and I’ve got Christian, you need someone. Do you think Craig’s cute?”

  “Are you Harlan now or something?” I groaned. “And no, I don’t think Craig’s cute. Subject change, please!”

  Maya pointed at her cousin. “At least Cassie’s smiling again.”

  Cass flicked her cigarette to the ground. “I’m smiling because I’m gonna beat you to Tasty Dog and then you’re gonna have to buy me a milk shake!” She ruffled Maya’s hair and took off running down the hill.

  “Cheater!” Maya called after her, telling me, “I’m not chasing her.”

  “I feel really bad for her about Jessica and Mary,” I said seriously.

  “Yeah, it sucks when friends turn on you—”

  “Oh, Jesus Christ!” Cass shouted. She’d halted at the bushes near Scoville’s main entrance and we ran to catch up with her.

  Two kids rolled out of the shadows and into a circle of mulch illuminated by one of the tall lampposts that stood around the edge of the park. I recognized Quentin’s pale face and dark braids, which were matted with twigs. Cass quickly sat him up and brushed t
he dirt from his hair.

  The other boy, whom I didn’t recognize, retched violently. Cass shifted Quentin into Maya’s arms and went to the guy I didn’t know. He tried to push his dark brown hair out of his face, so Cass pulled it into a ponytail at the nape of his neck; it hung halfway down his back. After he finished spewing vomit and wiped his stubbled chin, I realized he was gorgeous.

  His pale skin glowed in the moonlight, making the dark ink on his inner arms prominent. “Thrown” was tattooed down his right forearm in Old English-style lettering, and “Away” completed the phrase on the left. He tried to focus his bloodshot brown eyes on me. I should have been disgusted by him, but I’d never felt so instantly drawn to someone. It wasn’t just the tattoos that fascinated me. I liked that he looked pure punk with the Misfits T-shirt and the chain wallet and the leather jacket painted with Social Distortion’s skeleton logo on the ground beside him, but he rebelled against the stereotypical image with his long, almost hippieish hair. All the other nonconformists still conformed to their subculture of choice. This kid immediately struck me as someone who was completely comfortable in his own skin. I desperately wanted to feel that way.

  “Jesus, Adrian, what happened?” Hearing Cass speak his name erased the names of any other boys I’d ever thought about from my mind. I couldn’t have scripted a better entrance for my first love, as ripe with impending disaster as the beginning of Mickey and Mallory’s romance in Natural Born Killers.

  “Whiskey,” Adrian moaned. Two empty fifths lay in the bushes.

  “I know that. You guys showed up half drunk around six, right as I was leaving. Do you remember that?” Cass questioned calmly. She forced Adrian to lean against her instead of lying down in a vomit-drenched spot and looked over at Quentin, asking, “Do you remember that, Quentin?” He slumped against Maya, his eyes closed. “Quentin!”

  His eyelids fluttered, but he made no effort to talk. Maya lightly slapped his cheeks. I glanced at Cass, who seemed like she’d handled this type of situation before. She instructed, “Take Adrian.” So I knelt beside him, putting my arms around him for support as Cass had.