This is the Part Where You Laugh

by Peter Brown Hoffmeister

  We sit in the cut-grass. It’s thigh height and seeding now.

  I tell her about Creature. The stabbing. The surgery.

  She says, “I’m really sorry.”

  I rub my eyes. I’m so tired, and the Percocet makes me feel oddly numb, like I’ve stuck a syringe into the front of my brain.

  Natalie opens her hands and lets the grass stems brush her palms. She says, “I told her to leave him today.”

  “Your mom?”

  Natalie nods.

  “How’d that go?”

  “They’d just had sex, so she called me a stupid little bitch.”

  “Just had sex? How’d you know?”

  Natalie picks the seed stem off the end of a grass stalk. Separates the seeds with her fingernails. “They were having sex in the kitchen when I came home from my workout. Right there against the counter, and I felt like maybe they should’ve known that I was coming home too.”

  I pick up a handful of rocks, round and gray, roll them around in my hands, try to blink myself all the way awake, all the way conscious. I have this feeling like I’m writing a list of everything bad on a piece of notebook paper in my lap. Things keep coming up and I keep adding them to the list, but it’s only one sheet of paper and the pen keeps breaking through the paper as I write, and I’m running out of room too.

  Natalie says, “Are you okay?”

  I look at her. “Do you ever think this is too much?”

  “What is?”

  “Everything,” I say.

  Natalie picks up a large rock, six inches across and covered in little holes. She says, “This is the part where you laugh. You just have to. When things are so shitty that there’s nothing you can do, there’s no other way to react.”

  She throws her rock up in the air, not out but up, and it barely catches the edge of the water past our feet. Makes a loud clunk as it hits rock and water at the same time. A little bit of water splashes onto our feet.

  Natalie giggles, then shakes her head. “Has it ever been easy for you?”

  “Once,” I say. “For a little while. I guess not easy, but simple.”

  “Here with your grandparents?”

  “No, in juvie. And in the wilderness program.”

  “In juvie? Really? That was better?”

  “Not better. ‘Better’ isn’t the right word. It was just simple, if that makes any sense.”

  Natalie throws another rock and it plunks. “But you have basketball now, right?”

  “Yeah, basketball’s good.”

  “When you’re not hurt.”

  “Right,” I say, “when I’m not hurt.”

  Natalie taps me with her elbow. “And that other thing?”

  “What other thing?”

  “Well,” she says, and looks at me so serious that the scar on her face twitches. “Let’s be honest. I’m pretty fuckin’ great.”

  I laugh. “Yeah,” I say, “you’re pretty great.”

  But when I look back out at the water, I think about my grandma, think about her being stuck in bed. About cancer. About her not having much time left. Then I think about Creature again, in the ICU, wonder if he’s ever going to fully recover, if he’ll ever play basketball like he did before.

  Natalie says, “I want things to be good, you know?”

  “With us?”

  “No, in general. But they never are.” She puts her head on my shoulder. “Travis, tell me something. Tell me something that I don’t know about you.”

  My face feels hot when she says that. I say, “Something you don’t know?”

  “Something you don’t tell people. Or something you don’t usually tell people.”

  “Well,” I say, “my mom…” But I don’t know where to go with that, don’t know what to tell next. Talking about my mom feels like a big thing, like when you see a stick in the river and you pull on it and realize that it’s not just a stick but a small branch poking out of the water and there’s a whole tree underneath the surface, that a whole tree’s stuck down there, one so huge you’ll never be able to pull it up.

  Natalie says, “What about your mom?”

  “Well, she’s…” But I hesitate again.

  Natalie waits. She picks up a quarter-size rock and holds it in front of one eye like she’s trying to inspect the date on a coin. She turns it one way, then the other. Lifts it up above her head and flips it out into the water, making a plunk.

  “Something you don’t know…,” I say, “is that my mom shoots heroin.”

  “Oh shit,” Natalie says. “I didn’t think you were going to say that. I’m sorry.” She looks at me, then puts her head back on my shoulder. “I’m really sorry.”

  “And she’s homeless too. She lives down by the river. Sometimes under the bridge. Sometimes other places.”

  “Wow,” Natalie says. “That’s really sad.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m sort of used to it now. It’s been like that for a long time. A real long time. I wish it wasn’t, but…”

  Natalie says, “Nobody should have to get used to that.”

  “I know.”

  Natalie reaches and breaks a stem of grass. “Is that why you were so weird about the feed-the-homeless event the other day?”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t get that. I just thought you were being a dick for some reason.”

  “Yeah,” I say, “I should’ve told you.”

  “Or maybe a good girlfriend can tell when something’s wrong. You know?”

  “So you’re my girlfriend now?”

  “I think so.” She looks up at me. “Am I?”

  “I’d be okay with that.” I lean down and kiss her.

  “You’d be okay with that? Fuck you.” She kisses me. “You’d be ecstatic. You’d be enraptured. You’d die of happiness, all right?”

  “All right.”

  We kiss, sitting like that. Not like we’ve ever kissed before. Slower.

  The water’s warm in front of us. There’s a gust of wind and the smell of algae and rot comes over us. Natalie giggles. “That smells amazing.”

  We both sit there and stare at the lake, smell the foul odor. School pops into my head. It’s only a few weeks away now. I say, “It’s gonna be different in the fall, you know? I hate Taft.”

  “Well, maybe this year’ll be better. Maybe a full season of basketball will distance you a little from last year.”

  “Maybe,” I say. “I hope so.”

  “And I’m not going anywhere.” Natalie leans her head on my shoulder again. “I’m staying right here.”

  VISITING

  Creature’s mom left a message on my grandparents’ machine saying that Creature is out of the ICU, that he’s awake now and can have visitors. I ride the bus to RiverBend.

  When I get to Creature’s room, the door is propped open. Coach is next to the bed, talking to Creature, and three of our teammates stand at the foot of the bed. All three of them are bigs on the team, two power forwards and the starting center, and they make the room feel too small.

  I talk quietly. “What’s up, guys?”

  One of the bigs, our center, whispers, “Hey, PG. How’s your summer been?”

  “Good,” I say, “good,” since we’re not close friends. I don’t want to explain anything. Then I point at Creature and shake my head.

  One of the forwards whispers, “I know. Crazy, huh? Were you there?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “It was one of the weirdest things I’ve ever seen.”

  “No doubt. And it was in the middle of the game, huh?”

  “Yeah.”

  Creature says, “Wait, what’s this voice I hear?” He tilts his head so he can see me between two of the bigs. “T, baby. Come over here.” His voice is dry and weak, like he’s been eating sheets of sandpaper.

  I step up next to his bed, opposite Coach. Say, “How you feeling, Creat?”

  “Not too bad, considering.”

  It’s good to see that tube out of his mouth.

/>   Coach says, “Listen here, Creature. You take care of yourself. You hear me?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You’ve got a big season coming. It’s important. And you’ll be strong by then. So rest up as much as you can right now. Now’s the time to get healthy and strong, okay?”

  “Yes, sir. I will.”

  Coach grips Creature’s forearm and gives it a little squeeze. “Okay, I’ll let you two talk now, but then you go back to sleep, all right?” He pats Creature on the shoulder.

  “Okay,” Creature says.

  Coach points at me. “And we need to have another meeting sometime soon, got it?”

  “Yes, sir. Got it.”

  Coach goes to the door. The bigs follow him. One of the bigs says, “Recover quick so we can pound on you in the paint, right?”

  Creature says, “Can’t pound on something this fast.”

  The big flips Creature off as they all leave the room.

  —

  After they’re gone, I sit down in the plastic chair next to his bed. Say, “Creat, I’m sorry this happened to you.”

  “Don’t worry about me. I’m all right.”

  I shake my head. Look above me at the syringe and needle box on the wall with the red BIOHAZARD sign. “The police are on it. They talked to all of us. Got descriptions, and said they’d be in contact with the Portland police too.”

  Creature shakes his head. “They won’t find him, T.”

  “You don’t think so?”

  “As the great poet Chris Rock once said: ‘If you wanna get away with murder, shoot somebody in the head and put a demo tape in their pocket.’ ” Creature smiles at the old joke.

  I say, “So you’re a rapper now?”

  “No, baby. But to cops, black people are black people.”

  “Never know,” I say. “They might find him.”

  Creature adjusts himself. Looks uncomfortable. “How are your ribs, T?”

  “A little better. Still sore, but better.”

  I point at his stomach. “How does that feel?”

  He pulls the gown back, reveals the line of staples, a small clear tube draining something from the bottom of the incision. “It’s not the most pleasant thing I’ve ever felt in my entire life.”

  We both laugh, but Creature stops short, puts his hand to his bandage and breathes deep. Closes his eyes.

  I say, “Hospital rooms make me nervous.” I stand up and walk to the table. Pick up the TV card. “They’ve got ESPN2 here, and it’s Summer League week. I saw an ad when I was watching baseball with my grandpa.”

  “Baseball?” Creature turns his head and pretends to spit on the floor.

  “Exactly.” I pick up the remote.

  “Is basketball on?”

  “Games all day. We could see if they’re still running.” I click the power button, flip to ESPN2, and find a game. “Who is this? Let’s see…Cleveland and Orlando. At least we can see Kyrie Irving.”

  Creature says, “The metronome of his left-hand dribbling, the quick beat of his crossover.”

  The game’s at the start of the second half and we sit and watch. Don’t talk. A nurse wearing a panda shirt comes in once to check on Creature and do something with his IV, but she doesn’t kick me out. Kyrie goes for 23 and 8 before they pull him halfway through the fourth.

  Creature says, “He looks good. Controlling the game, and he’s a serial killer in the pick-and-roll.”

  “Tough to guard.”

  The nurse comes in again. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I wanted to let you two watch until the end, but it’s time for rest now. Malik, you’ve had visitors for more than two hours.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She says, “I’m going to give you some pain medication now and it’ll help you go right to sleep.”

  Creature smiles at her.

  I stand up and get out of the nurse’s way. “Take care of yourself. Okay, Creat?”

  “Back at you, baby.” He lifts his fist off the bedsheet and I lean forward to tap it.

  CROCODILE HUNTING

  Natalie and I paddle out into the dark. We both have headlamps, but we keep them turned off.

  “You think you know where?”

  She points. “I’m pretty sure.”

  I paddle us in that direction, paddle slowly because my ribs are still sore.

  Natalie sees me wince as I follow through on a stroke. “Here,” she says. “Give that to me. Let me paddle.”

  From the bow, she has to paddle back and forth more. She strokes right side, then left. Left again. Then right again. But she keeps us straight. She says, “I noticed this the other day. I was looking for frogs, and I saw the buildup. Look past there.” She points with the paddle.

  I can’t see anything in the dark.

  “Use your headlamp,” she says.

  I flick it on. Shine it across the water. See two eyes on the surface.

  “See?”

  “Yeah, I think you’re right.”

  As we come closer, the eyes slide under the water, disappear into the black.

  Natalie says, “Creepy, huh?”

  “Yeah, it’d be scary if we tipped.”

  “Don’t say that,” she says, and giggles. “Don’t even think that.”

  I say, “Where’s the other one?”

  “I don’t know. But let’s paddle up to that nest.”

  “You want to paddle up to it?”

  “We’re in a boat, right?” She guides us to the buildup. It looks like the start of a beaver dam. Less woven and not as thick, but a rounded area with leaves and long grasses, sticks on the edges. “You think they’ll have babies?”

  I say, “It’s too cold here. Or at least I think so.”

  “Too cold to mate or too cold to live through the winter?”

  “Both, maybe. I think. But I don’t know.”

  Neither of the caimans is in the nest. Natalie pokes at it with the end of the paddle and nothing moves. Nothing reacts. “So they’ll just die?”

  “I don’t know. From what I read about them, these caimans are five or six years old, as tough as they’re going to be. They’re at the right age to have a chance.”

  “But they’re from the tropics, right?”

  “Central and South America.”

  “So come winter, they’re dead?”

  “I guess we’ll see. Everything’s got to work for survival. Everything’s gotta try.”

  Natalie paddles us in a circle. Looks out across the water where I’m shining my headlamp. We don’t see any eyes now. Natalie says, “It’ll be sad if they die.”

  “Yeah, I’d feel bad about that.”

  Natalie turns the boat and starts paddling back across the lake. “Do you want to call Animal Control?”

  “No. I’ve thought about it.”

  “And you don’t think that’s best?”

  “No.”

  She paddles a few strokes. The boat carves right and she straightens it out. “Why not?”

  “Because I’d rather die in the wild. If I was them, I’d rather not be in a cement pen, even if I got fed regularly.”

  “So not a wildlife preserve?”

  “You mean a zoo?”

  Natalie stops paddling for a second. “I guess that’s a pretty shitty life, huh?”

  “That’s the worst.”

  Natalie paddles again and I turn my headlamp off. Watch the outline of her as she guides the boat across the lake. When we’re near the shore, the bank below my tent, she backstrokes and ships the paddle. Steps out and catches the bow. “So you’re just gonna let whatever happens happen?”

  “That’s my plan.” I hop out. We pull the boat up on the round rocks together.

  “Well,” she says, “the neighborhood pets will throw a huge party if those caimans don’t make it through the winter. There’ll be balloons, drinks, housecats playing spin the bottle, dogs making YouTube videos of themselves shooting off fireworks.”

  “Yeah, they might be kinda happy
about that.”

  We pull the canoe the rest of the way up the bank, tip it over in the grass. Natalie leans the paddle against the hull. “I have to get home now.” She kisses me. Turns and walks a few steps down the path. “Thank you for telling me, Travis. You’re insane, but I like that. You put small crocodiles in a city lake?” She shakes her head. “You’re a wild card.”

  NEEDING THE JUICE

  Grandpa’s watching baseball and I walk past him. Go to Grandma’s room to check on her. There’s a lamp on next to her, but she’s not reading or watching TV. She’s staring at the wall.

  “Grandma?”

  She turns as if she’s looking away from a movie screen. She looks at me. Blinks. “Oh hi, sweetie.”

  “Are you okay?”

  Her hands are shaky. Lips quivering, her mouth looks like she’s trying to chew something small. She says, “I had to take pain pills.”

  “You did?”

  “Yes,” she says. “We should talk.”

  I’m holding on to the doorjamb. “Can we go out in the canoe and talk there? I can show you something cool out there in the dark.”

  “No. I’m not strong enough.”

  “Are you sure? You could just sit in there and I’d paddle. You wouldn’t be cold. I’d put a blanket around you.”

  “No, sweetie. I really can’t.”

  I’m gripping the doorjamb tight, my thumbs and fingers clenching the painted wood. “Do you want to at least go out on the porch together?”

  Grandma moves her hands in circles on her bedsheet like she’s feeling for sand particles.

  “Please?” I say.

  Her hands are still shaking a little. She looks up. “Okay.”

  I support her as we walk through the house. Grandpa doesn’t say anything as we pass him. We step out on the porch and I help her sit down in a deck chair. Then I drape a blanket over her lap. I sit down in the chair next to hers.

  Grandma sighs. “You know, Travis, I told you that I’m going to die soon. Do you understand that?”

  It feels like my mouth is full of dryer lint.

  She says, “I just want you to be ready, you know?”

  We stare out at the dark. The porch light behind us obscures everything beyond. It’s like looking into the mouth of a cave, the illuminated edges, nothing in the middle, black in the middle of that deep.