Solitary: A Novel

by Travis Thrasher

  "I'd be careful," Jocelyn says, as if reading my mind.

  "Why's that?"

  "There are some really scary people around here. Not just the guys. Some of the girls-" She fakes a grimace.

  Rachel laughs. "Give me a break."

  "She's being honest," Poe says. "Everybody here is just a little different."

  "Good to know I'm hanging out with the right people."

  Poe's ghostly white face looks serious, almost startled. "Oh, we're so not the right people, Chris. If you're looking for those, you're definitely sitting in the wrong place."

  "I like where I'm sitting."

  Jocelyn takes a grape and starts chewing on it as if to mask the smile on her lips.

  When I get home I find Mom passed out on an old fold-up lawn chair on the deck. It's a bit jolting because of where's she sitting.

  Since our driveway juts up at a forty-five-degree angle toward the cabin on the side of the hill, our deck overlooks the sloping mountainside. It's not just a story off the ground. It's more like four stories. A fall would be deadly.

  Someone consuming a bottle or two of wine might find a fall particularly easy.

  I breathe in and call out for her to wake up, but it's not happening.

  I scoop her limp body up like a corpse and carry her inside. As I put her down on the couch I make sure her head is propped up on one of the arm cushions. Blonde hair that used to be cut every few weeks looks uneven and faded. Strands glide over her nose and mouth, and I brush them back, the way she used to brush my hair off my face when I was little.

  I lock the door, worried she might suddenly wake up and shriek and tumble over the deck.

  A window is open, letting the afternoon light creep in.

  I hear birds and the rustle of gentle wind and even the faint sound of the creek.

  It should be peaceful.

  Another sound yanks me out of my melancholy mood and calls me back out on the deck.

  Far below, down through the trees, I can make out the gravel road below us.

  I see a car coming, the first I've seen since we've been here.

  It's not exactly a car. It's one of those massive SUVs that are used in the military. It's not even the smaller suburban version, but a black, shiny, hulking Humvee.

  It rumbles past, leaving a cloud of dust.

  I half expect a squadron of other vehicles to follow.

  I wait and watch and listen, but nothing comes.

  Where was that thing headed?

  I want to take my bike out and see where this road leads.

  Glancing back inside, I decide that I might take a bike trip a little later.

  Mom won't care.

  She probably won't even know.

  I don't know if there's really any spaghetti in SpaghettiOs. I wonder if the 0 comes from the feeling you get an hour or two after eating them. Those tiny little chunks of hot dog surely can't be anything that was once living and breathing, right? Regardless, I can't help but love this wonderful and easy little dinner. Since Mom isn't cooking, it's my choice for dining.

  It's already 6:30 in the evening and the sun is slipping away. Halloween is this coming Sunday, with the school dance the night before. As I pedal down the road through the shadows of trees, I wonder what it would be like to go to the dance.

  It's not really the dance I'm wondering about. It's what it would be like to go with her.

  You have to stop this.

  Perhaps I should stop the dreaming, but I can still think about Jocelyn. I can still suppose.

  just because she's being friendly doesn't mean she's interested in you.

  I know this. I've never been one of those guys who thinks that just because a girl talks to him or smiles at him or is nice to him means anything more.

  Maybe it's because I'm new and I'm needing someoneanyone-to lean on.

  Sounds corny, but I could use a little help.

  I know that running into Jocelyn last weekend was complete luck. That's all.

  She came to talk to me because of her step-uncle.

  That's it.

  I ride for ten minutes thinking things through until I reach the barrier.

  I stop my bike.

  With the hill sloping upward to my left and then heading on down to my right, I stand in the middle of the mostly dirt road facing a large gate. There are two stone blocks on each side, with a black wrought-iron gate between. On top of it are spikes. The gate opens at the middle.

  There's a sign to one side: NO TRESPASSING.

  And in smaller type underneath: Private Property. Violators Will Be Prosecuted.

  Even though the barrier makes it impossible for a car to pass, I know I can slip right around it and keep pedaling.

  The road continues on until it curves around the trees and disappears.

  Now I'm really curious.

  This is where that big, honking Humvee went.

  I walk up to one of the stone blocks and peer around.

  Something catches my attention, something that doesn't look like it belongs in the Carolina woods.

  It's a black, square device that's planted in the ground.

  It's about two feet tall.

  A camera.

  If someone is watching it, they can see my face peering down at it.

  They can probably see the hairs in my nose, too.

  I pick up my bike and decide to come back at another time.

  I have plenty of time to check out what's farther down the road.

  Next time I'll do it with the cover of night.

  I'm propped up on my bed doing a bad job on my homework when I hear the stairs creak.

  "I didn't hear you come home today."

  Maybe because you were floating in a sea ofMerlot, Mom.

  I just nod and stare up at her.

  She comes in and sits at the desk that's too tiny for a sixth grader and looks around at the narrow sliver of a room.

  "I'm sorry," she says.

  I'm not in the mood for a heavy conversation and nod again, accepting her apology for being dead drunk when her son came home from school. But she continues.

  "I wasn't expecting this."

  "Expecting what?"

  Mom sighs. "I thought Robert was still around. I didn't really believe he was gone. I guess I was being naive and thoughtless."

  "It's fine."

  "You could have stayed in Illinois, Chris."

  "I wasn't staying with that guy."

  "He's your father."

  "Technically."

  "I still love him," she says.

  "Good for you. I don't."

  "Don't say that."

  "He's not here to hear it. He never was around anyway."

  "You don't understand."

  "What don't I understand? Tell me."

  "Don't get that tone. I'm just saying ... I feel bad for dragging you down here."

  "It's done."

  She tries to ask about school and teachers and anything else, but my short, curt answers drive home the point.

  "Do you need anything?"

  I think for a minute.

  Yeah, Ind like you to be happier.

  "No," I finally say.

  "Okay. Come on downstairs when you're done with your homework."

  I hear the steps fade away and the television turn on.

  For some time I fight staying up here and brooding and being angry.

  Then I head downstairs.

  I know I'm not the only person in this cabin who feels lonely.

  These are the things I miss.

  I miss Brady swinging by my house and picking me up in the BMW convertible his parents gave him on his sixteenth birthday. Brady's a year older than me but acts four years younger. He was always playing a new batch of songs he'd downloaded the night before, blasting them through outrageous speakers. He never understood the "album" concept and most of the time didn't even remember the band's name. Music in Brady's car sounded the way it should: loud, fast, riotous.

  I mi
ss the Tremont brothers, Lenny and Luke. Fraternal twins and stand-up comics who would inevitably make me laugh within five seconds of seeing them. We'd hang out before class and during lunch.

  I miss dear, sweet Mrs. Williams: always encouraging me with my writing and my reading even though I gave a good C-minus effort in her class. She was like the grandmother I never had. (Though I doubt she'd appreciate that, since she's not that old.) I miss her smile and her gentle prodding. Even when I knew I should have done more, she was gentle, and she was so utterly consistent.

  I even miss Trish. I miss the idea of what we had, though I still don't know exactly what that was, if there really was a we. I think of her tears when I told her I was leaving. I think of how I laughed and asked her why she was crying, since she had broken up with me a couple of months earlier.

  "I never thought we wouldn't get back together, Chris. This is what couples do. They break up and then get back together. They don't move out of state and leave the other forever."

  I miss my high school and the normalcy of everything. How I knew where kids stood and who they were. I miss the trends I knew and the path I was heading down.

  Walking into Harrington County High, I realize I don't have a clue. The kids passing me might be poor as mud or wealthier than Brady's family. They might be kind or snotty or dorky or silly. They might be ten thousand things, but the fact is that every moment I walk by them, I don't know. I don't know anything. Sixteen years wiped away.

  The slate is clean.

  Sometimes that can be a good thing, but in my case it just feels like a headache.

  I'm heading to my first class when I see a familiar face.

  It's not the one I'm looking for, but I'll take it.

  "You're here early," Rachel says.

  "I'm taking the bus now. Last week my mom drove me."

  "What? You don't drive?"

  "We left Illinois before I could get my license."

  "Ouch. That sucks."

  "You're telling me."

  "I'd pick you up, but you're the complete opposite way that I take."

  "That's okay," I say. "Thanks."

  "You should get Joss to pick you up."

  "Maybe."

  "I can ask her for you."

  "No, that's fine." I glance around to see if Jocelyn is anywhere near.

  "Hey-one thing Joss was asking about, but she's far too proper to come right out and ask you. Well proper isn't the word. But I don't want to say prideful, because she's not, even if most of the school thinks she's stuck up. They think Poe is too. Just because they don't talk to everybody, you know?"

  "What was she asking about?" I ask, lost in Rachel's stream of consciousness.

  "What's your email address?"

  I chuckle. "Don't have one. We don't have Internet."

  "Seriously?"

  "Yeah. Still trying to get used to it. Mom says we'll get it eventually."

  "So like-there's no way to email you? How about your phone?"

  "I left it in Illinois."

  "Really?"

  "Well ... long story. I had a cell and busted it and my mom's making a point by not getting me another. What do you need my email for?"

  "Oh, I don't. It's just-well, look, I'll let her tell you.,,

  "Jocelyn?"

  "Yeah." Rachel scans the crowded hallway. "Let me go find her. She usually gets here late. Hey-see you at lunch?"

  "Sure."

  I wish I had stayed home.

  I don't talk with Jocelyn before or after either of our classes. Both times she slips in and out like a ghost. At lunch she's quiet and distant. Rachel dominates the conversation as usual, and Poe seems irritable. As usual. I try some small talk, try to make some kind of connection, but it doesn't happen.

  Gym is the last class I have, and it's spent playing tag football with a group of guys who act like they're auditioning for the NFL. Back home I played soccer and ran track. This school doesn't even have a soccer team. Football is the big deal here.

  At the end of class, with the bell signaling the end of another wonderful school day, I choose to put my jeans and shirt back on since I didn't get all sweaty. The locker room smells dank and old; the lighting is ancient, like it belongs in old army barracks. Just as I'm getting my duffel bag zipped up, I hear footsteps behind me.

  There he is: Gus, with three of his henchmen, standing between me and the door.

  He's smiling.

  Aw, man. Not now. Not today.

  "I thought I told you I never wanted to see you again."

  Gus's cheeks remind me of the jowls of a walrus. Chunky black sideburns sandwich colorless eyes.

  "Look, not today."

  "Got somewhere to go? Perhaps with one of your lady friends?"

  I stand there, holding my duffel.

  Gus is the biggest of the four. He's an unhealthy big, fleshy and sloth-like. Doesn't mean he couldn't hurt me.

  The one that makes me even more nervous than Gus is Ali, or Ollie, however the guy spells it. He looks as if he might be from South America, though I've heard him speak, and he sounds distinctly Southern. He's the opposite of Gus: all muscle, not in a body-building sort of way, but in a hurting sort of way. He was playing tackle football when we were supposed to be playing tag. I got sidelined by his arm a couple of times, even though I didn't have the ball. Imagine getting struck by a flagpole while riding a motorcycle. I still can feel the pain in my chest, and know I'll have a couple of whopping bruises there this evening.

  The other two guys are country bumpkins.

  There's a hallway leading back outside to the field, but the bumpkins go over to block it. Ali stands between me and the door to the school hall.

  "What do you want?"

  Gus laughs, then spits on the floor. "What do I want? You ask me now what I want?"

  "I'm not looking for a problem."

  "Maybe you shoulda thought of that when you decided to help your little gay friend."

  I scan the locker room, but nobody else is around. It's a long, narrow rectangle, and I'm in the middle of it. The showers and the stalls are behind me.

  "What is this? Is this what new guys get?"

  Gus steps closer. I can already see dots of sweat on his forehead. I don't think they're out of any kind of nervousness. I think the guy is a habitual sweater. The meat in his veins is squeezing to get out.

  "What are you hoping to get out of Jocelyn?"

  I was still thinking about Newt. Jocelyn's name coming out of his mouth shocks me.

  "What?"

  "You like her?"

  "Who says that's your business?"

  He's now within an arm's length of me. "This place is my business. Jocelyn is my business."

  "I'm not your business."

  Gus laughs, the tip of his tongue rubbing the bottom of his teeth. "You're at the top of my list, boy."

  For a moment, I hover above this little cliched high school scene.

  I'm standing there, bag in my left hand, the big kid in front of me. Behind him to his right by the lockers stand the other guys I don't really know. A little farther down toward the doorway stands Ali/Ollie.

  Something comes over me.

  I think it's not wanting my face punched in or doused in a toilet or worse.

  I dig my right hand into Gus's throat and ram him backward with all the force a one-hundred-seventy-five-pound guy can muster. Gus definitely has a good forty or fifty pounds on me. He just stumbles and shuffles backward.

  The momentum crashes both of us into Ali, who reaches out to try and grab his friend. Gus is too heavy and lands on his back, with Ali pulled down underneath him.

  I do something I'm halfway decent at: hurdling. I vault over the two guys and reach the door.

  It opens with ease, and I bolt down the hallway, past students looking at me with glances that ask what I'm doing.

  I'm getting out of here with my face and my backside intact.

  I reach the center of the square school and recognize the lockers
nearby. I scan the area and find what I'm looking for.

  I decide to take Rachel's advice and ask for a ride. I can't take a chance of running into Gus and his goons again.

  "Jocelyn," I call out.

  For a minute I think she's ignoring me.

  Then she stops and turns.

  And waits for me.

  "You look like a little overheated."

  "I just got out of gym."

  The red Jeep Wrangler rattles over the winding mountain road. It's pretty beaten up, both inside and out. The ragtop above me has a fist-sized hole in it. Jocelyn's driving makes me more nervous than the confrontation I narrowly escaped.

  "People don't shower after gym where you come from?"

  "Actually I just had a run-in with Gus and his friends."

  For a moment she stares at me while we ride around a steep corner. I'm about ready to tell her to look at the road when she finally does and then drives far over into the oncoming lane. Maybe she doesn't know that there are two lanes on this road even though no line cuts into the black asphalt.

  "What happened?"

  "I think he wanted to make up for our last interaction."

  "When you stuck up for Newt?"

  I nod.

  The jeep slows down a bit. Jocelyn glances over at me. "Chris ... you don't want to mess around with him."

  "Everybody keeps telling me that."

  "You don't."

  "I was getting ready to leave. He and his posse came out of nowhere."

  "And what'd you do?"

  "I escaped. And ran fast."

  "Was Ali there?"

  "Yeah."

  "He beat up a kid really bad at a party last summer. Don't mess around with him, either."

  "Let me state again, I'm not messing around with any of them. It was just-when I saw Gus do that to the poor little guy, I couldn't help it."

  Once again, I see that look.

  That look-there's something that she gives away. Something deep inside. Something that's there that I can't exactly explain or pinpoint. But it's beneath the beauty and the guarded expression and the air and everything else that makes up Jocelyn.

  I'd like to think that it's interest.

  Not just a "hey you're kinda cute" interest.

  More of a common-bond kind of interest.

  More like a "I get it and I get you" sort of thing.

  There's something deeper down there.