Solitary: A Novel

by Travis Thrasher

  I don't know whether I should laugh or shiver.

  My mother plows down the long driveway from Aunt Alice's house. It's twenty minutes after the quote of the day involving us somehow going to hell. That was the climax of the morning as far as I'm concerned. The only thing that could have topped that would've been the mannequin standing up and asking me to play a game of checkers.

  I'm waiting for Mom to say something.

  When she does, it's a keeper.

  "Well, that brings the term dysfunctional family to a whole new level."

  We laugh. I mean really laugh.

  Sometimes when life is so amazingly awful, that's all you can do. That's one option, at least. It's either laugh or cry. We've done our share of both.

  "Was she always that friendly?" I joke.

  "She saw Robert. At least I got that out of her."

  "Maybe she buried him in the backyard."

  "Stop."

  "Did you smell it in there?"

  "Yes."

  "That wasn't a normal smell. That wasn't the sort of something's- gone-bad-in-the-garbage smell. That was the sort of Dahmer-next-door smell."

  "Stop it."

  "I'm serious," I say.

  "It's probably just some dead animal."

  "Oh, well, in that case, it's fine."

  My mom laughs at my sarcasm. "I didn't realize-I didn't know she was like that."

  "What do you mean?" I ask. "You didn't realize Aunt Alice was completely whacked?"

  "Stop."

  "This was fun. Can't wait to meet some more relatives."

  "Chris-"

  "I'm not even going to say it."

  "Then don't."

  But of course I do. "I don't get why we came back here."

  "I thought you weren't going to say it."

  "Did I say that? Sorry, my thought spoke out loud."

  "We've had this conversation a hundred times."

  "And a hundred times, I keep getting the wrong answers."

  "There's no right answer I can give you," Mom tells me.

  "Sure there is."

  "No. Because all you want to hear is that we're leaving this place. And that's not going to happen. We're staying."

  "Even if that means we're going to hell?"

  "Your Aunt Alice has some issues."

  "You think?"

  "Chris, be respectful."

  "This just keeps getting better."

  "What?"

  "Everything. This place. This life."

  "Stop it."

  "I can't wait to get home and find out that the authorities are coming to get me. Maybe I'll be placed under house arrest. Or better yet, confined to stay a month with Aunt Alice."

  Even though my mother doesn't want to, she laughs.

  That's all either of us can do.

  I peel the orange at the small table by the kitchen as I wait for my mother to get off the phone. When she finally thanks Principal Harking, I hold my breath and wait.

  "It's all sorted out. The principal said that they ruled out that the gun belonged to you."

  "Whose was it?"

  "They can trace it back to a seller in Tennessee. Obviously there are no ties to you. The principal said that one of the deputies was going to stop by."

  "It's almost seven o'clock."

  "Maybe they'll stop by yet tonight."

  "Doubt it. So that means I have to go back tomorrow?"

  "You make it sound like a penitentiary."

  "You haven't walked the halls."

  "One more day and you have the weekend."

  "Fantastic."

  I can't help but think of the dance that I'm not going to.

  It's not that I want to go to a dance. I'd go milk cows with Jocelyn if I could. Or do whatever kids around here do for fun.

  "Chris?"

  I don't notice the mess I'm making with the orange until Mom gets my attention. "Yeah?"

  "Do you really think those guys you had a run-in with might have put a gun in your locker?"

  "Yeah. I mean-I don't know. I'm not sure. I don't think it happened accidentally."

  "You need to be careful, okay?"

  "I've got the whole school watching me now. I'm probably safer than I was a couple of days ago."

  "You have a point there."

  I eat a sliver of orange. "You forget how fast I am."

  "Don't talk with your mouth full."

  "Sorry."

  "You can't outrun everybody. I know, Chris. I've tried."

  The phone call around nine o'clock makes me jerk even though I'm upstairs and only hear it faintly.

  I wait.

  It's not like we get many calls.

  And calls at night are never good things. At least not for the Buckley household.

  "Chris!"

  I go downstairs and see the glow of the television as my mother holds the phone.

  I miss our cordless. And my cell phone.

  And my life.

  I don't ask who it is. I spot a reality show on television as I take the receiver and walk back toward the kitchen. "Hello?"

  "Chris?"

  For a moment, I want to let go with a sigh of relief.

  For a moment, I want to tell Jocelyn that it's about time she called, that it's about time she showed that she actually cares, that it's about time.

  "It's Rachel."

  "Hey," I say, surprised.

  Trying not to sound too disappointed.

  "You're a hard man to get hold of."

  "I don't try to be."

  "You need to get the Internet so you have email. Or at least get a cell phone."

  Maybe youd like to loan me the money to do both?

  "Yeah, I know," I say.

  "You doing okay?"

  "Yeah, I'm fine."

  "It's all over school about the gun."

  "Wonderful."

  "It wasn't yours, was it?"

  "Sure. It was part of my collection. Actually, I was just cleaning my shotgun upstairs."

  She laughs. I wish I had that laugh on my iPod. I'd play it whenever I felt awful.

  "What's going to happen?"

  "They said they found out the gun wasn't mine. Like that's a big surprise. They're letting me come back to school."

  "We've been really worried."

  I like her use of the plural.

  "I tried to get Jocelyn to call," Rachel continues. "But of course she won't. She felt pretty bad about how she acted the other day, once she found out the truth."

  "It's fine."

  "I told her-and Chris-I mean, I know you have other things going on. But I feel really, really awful."

  "It's okay."

  "No, I do. We all do. Even Poe feels bad, if you can believe it. She doesn't show it, but really she's got a huge heart."

  "It's really not a big deal."

  "Well-so you're coming to school tomorrow?"

  "Looks like it."

  "I guess we can talk then. But I just-well, there was something I wanted you to think about. Something I wanted to ask you."

  "What's that?"

  Rachel pauses for a moment, and I wonder whether the line got disconnected. "Hello?"

  "No, I'm here. Sorry," she says. "It's just ... well, let me see how to put this."

  "Just say it."

  "Do you still want go the dance?"

  "What?" For a moment, I think she's asking me. Doesn't she already have a date? Wasn't that why she wanted some other couple to come along?

  "Let me rephrase that. Are you still willing to go to the dance? I know you said that you would. That you wanted to."

  "With you?"

  "No, no, no," she says, laughing. "With Jocelyn."

  "Uh, that might be a problem."

  "No, but that's the thing. It's not. She's willing to go."

  "But last time she was talking about it-you were there. You heard what happened."

  "But she didn't know about the note, Chris."

  "It's really fine. I don't need to go."r />
  "Just think about it, okay? Just-look, there's a lot about this school and this place and Jocelyn that you don't know."

  "I realize that."

  "Yeah, I know, but you don't really realize it. There are things-it would take way too long and it wouldn't make sense. Stuff about Jocelyn. Stuff that's just-I don't even get. Stuff about her family. And about her. She's really changed in the last year, Chris."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Just trust me. She's changed. She's different. But she's also ... I don't know. She carries sadness with her like it's her child. Like it's her duty to have it. I can't explain it. I try to help, but I just can't. She's been with some winners, I tell ya. I could tell stories. Every man in her life has treated her the same-horribly. And I just want-I want her to have fun. I want her to actually have a little fun."

  I don't know what to say.

  "Look-just think about it."

  I don't have to think about anything.

  I don't have to because I know who I'll be thinking about later.

  The same person I've been thinking about ever since meeting her.

  "I'll go," I say.

  "Thank you, Chris. I know that she likes you. I can tell."

  "Oh, yeah. She's madly in love."

  "You're different. She knows that."

  "How do you know I'm not like those other guys?"

  "I just know, Chris. I'm a good judge of character. Poe and Joss-they're good girls. They're quality. You'll find that out. I mean, Jocelyn is drop-dead gorgeous. So is Poe, minus the whole darkness thing going on. But underneath you'll find some pretty amazing girls."

  I want to say something else, but I can't.

  "Just find me tomorrow-find us. Don't mind Joss either. She'll surely be a little reserved. A little guarded. That's just her, okay?"

  "And she knows about this? You sure she knows about this?"

  "Yes."

  "You're not playing matchmaker?"

  Rachel laughs. "Oh, I'm sorta playing it, but Joss knows. She said it would be fine to go to the dance. For me."

  "Okay."

  Not the reason I'm wishing for, but I'll take it.

  When I get off the phone, Mom looks at me from the sofa.

  "What was that about?" she asks.

  "I don't know. Girls. Hard to figure out."

  "They always will be."

  "Yeah."

  I head to the stairs.

  "Chris?"

  "Yeah?"

  "If you want to talk ... about anything ... I'm here. At least I'm trying to be."

  "I know."

  "Girls included."

  I laugh and say goodnight.

  Even though sleep won't come for quite a long while. I already know that.

  I'm too excited to sleep.

  I discover that my locker is empty.

  Not like I had a thousand mementos and memories stored inside, but I do need the books and notebooks that I left in there.

  I head to the main office and explain my problem to a young lady at the main desk. She guides me to the small waiting area outside the principal's office. When the door opens I go inside to see Miss Harking.

  "Good morning."

  I nod and say the same, even though it's not really a particularly good morning for me.

  "We changed your locker. We gave you one on the south side, the new lockers just installed a year ago. That way you'll have one that nobody will be able to get into. With some of the older lockers, we've had issues of people knowing their combinations."

  I nod again.

  "Of course, you have to understand our concerns when something like this occurs."

  "Yeah."

  "Did Deputy Ross come by to interview you yesterday?"

  "No."

  "He didn't? Did anybody?"

  "No."

  She jots a note on her desk. "Tell me something, Chris. Do you know who did this to you?"

  "Not a clue."

  "But you have any ideas? Do you think it might have been Gus or one of his friends?"

  "I don't know. I know he's been after me. So, yeah, if I had to guess one person, it would be Gus."

  "We spoke to him. He said he had nothing to do with it."

  I nod.

  Did they think he'd admit it?

  "We'll keep our eyes open. If anything happens today, I'm just down the hall. My door is always open."

  I leave with a slip of paper telling me the locker number and combination.

  Three lockers down from mine, I see him. The little guy named Newt.

  "You're back," he says, his eyes looking massive behind glasses three sizes too big for him.

  "Hey."

  "That your locker?"

  "They gave me a new one."

  "I thought you were expelled."

  "Not yet," I say.

  Newt appears to be using his locker door as a shield. He looks as if he wants to sneak inside the locker and shut the door.

  "You're Newt, right?"

  "Yeah."

  I make small talk, yet every word I say makes him seem to shrink more.

  "You okay?" I finally ask.

  He looks around. The hallways are crowded over in this section.

  "Yeah, I'm fine."

  "You don't look fine."

  "You just better be careful." He says it in a whisper.

  "Careful of what?"

  He does a double take and then turns quickly to shut his locker. "See you later."

  I nod, glancing and seeing Gus and company heading my way. I'm sure they were roaming the halls looking for me.

  I take out a book and turn my back toward them.

  "Changed lockers, huh?"

  Turning around, I shut the locker door with my books in hand.

  The English book with its one thousand pages is big enough to make a dent in Gus's ugly meatloaf of a head.

  "Easy, killer," he says as if he's reading my mind. "Just coming by to say hello."

  I don't say anything. I just stand there, ready for something.

  Ready to fight. Or tear down the hallway.

  "Got any special surprises in your locker today?" Gus asks.

  I'm not taking the bait. I start to walk away.

  "Hey. You. Turn around."

  I stop and look back at him. Gus is flanked as usual by his buddies.

  "I hear we're neighbors. You know that? So I don't have to just look forward to seeing you here. Who knows? Maybe I'll show up at your front door sometime."

  This sounds like a threat.

  I wonder if he knows it's just my mom and me staying at the cabin.

  I want to tell him that I'll have a baseball bat waiting to greet his ugly face and ratty teeth.

  Instead I turn around and head to class.

  This is teenage madness.

  Trapped in a room knowing there's more outside.

  Trapped listening to a teacher talk about Hemingway as if each sentence and word the man ever wrote had mythical importance.

  Trapped knowing she is in the room with me.

  Adults surely don't have to endure this, do they?

  Forced to be somewhere they don't want to be, forced to not say all the things they need to say, forced to do things they don't want to do.

  Thats the idea, boy. Its called corporate life. Its called the American dream.

  I hear grownups saying they'd like to never grow up, but isn't that exactly what we all want to do?

  I see a big kid with watermelons for arms, dressed in basketball shoes, staring at the wall.

  I see a bleached blonde chewing gum and doodling in her notebook.

  I see a guy rubbing the sides of his gelled hair as if something went terribly wrong this morning. (If he asked, I'd tell him yeah, something went terribly wrong.)

  Every one of these kids wants to grow up and get out.

  My eyes shift back to Jocelyn.

  Her hair is blocking half her face, but she sneaks a peek at me.

  I turn back around.


  Afraid and nervous.

  Oh so young.

  Oh such a teenager.

  Even though I hurry, I don't reach Jocelyn as we go out to the hall. I see her white shirt and bare arms disappear with the rest of the students being swallowed in the black hole of the hallway.

  That means lunch is the next thing I have to look forward to.

  I curse in my head and go back to my locker. I see Newt standing there, looking like an FBI informant just before coming in.

  "Here," he says, giving me a sheet of paper folded in half.

  "What's this?"

  "Shhh."

  "Nobody's around, man."

  For the first time I notice a scar on his arm, a lot like the reddish streak on his face.

  "They're everywhere. They're listening to everyone."

  I start to open the paper, but he grabs my hand. "No, no. Not here. In class."

  "Class is better?"

  "Don't let anybody see you."

  He starts walking backward and runs into a guy in a leather coat who doesn't even stop. Newt turns and practically dashes down the hall.

  I start to open the paper again, then decide to get my books and head to the next class, where I sit next to the wall close to the back. With a spiral-bound notebook half open, shielding the paper from the rest of the class, I open the sheet.

  It's a copy-a rather bad copy-of a newspaper article, dated last year.

  Authorities have called off the search for Stuart Algiers after a month looking for the 16-year-old from Solitary, N.C.

  Algiers disappeared after telling his parents he was going to Colorado with friends over Christmas break. He never returned, and his friends said he never made it.

  The family, which declined to be interviewed, was questioned and has cooperated with the police.

  Algiers has a younger sister. She attends Harrington County High School, as did he.

  I read it again, trying to figure out why Newt gave it to me.

  Does Gus have something to do with this?

  Algiers.

  Have I met anybody with that name in my classes?

  I fold up the article and plan on getting some details when I see Newt again.

  Poe is the only one at our usual table. She sees me coming, so I can't back out. I drop my bag lunch on the table and sit down across from her.

  She looks at me with suspicious eyes.

  What have I ever done to you? I'd love to say. Instead I ask how's it going and make small talk.

  Truly small, because it goes nowhere.