Solitary: A Novel

by Travis Thrasher

What if thats what it is-some random bull thats completely ticked off

  Then I see what I tripped over.

  It's a ladder.

  The steel arms go to the very top of the wall.

  Thats my ticket.

  The creature starts to move again, this time not running but rather slipping through the darkness.

  Every time it moves it seems to change shape, like liquid, as if its shape is bending and changing to its surrounding.

  Thats crazy, Chris. Its the darkness playing tricks on your eyes. Get up and get going on that ladder.

  Just as I get to it, the shape smothers me, the smell burning my nostrils and eyes, the hair wrapping around my feet and legs, something digging into my shoe and my foot.

  Teeth.

  They feel like scissors, a dozen of them tearing down and into my skin and bone and cartilage. I howl and in a crazy, mad gasp of desperation take the ladder and try to pull myself up on it.

  The beast isn't letting me.

  So I pick up the ladder from its bottom and manage to move it a little.

  I hoist it up-it's heavy-and then I bring it down on top of the beast from hell.

  The thick metal of the ladder hits something.

  It sounds like a cantaloupe being dropped onto the street and splattering.

  I bring the ladder up and down, again and again, hearing the sound of something hard digging into something soft, a knife digging into jelly, a pole scooping up thick mud.

  Whatever had my foot lets go.

  And with it comes a howl like I've never heard in my life.

  It sounds like a baby mixed with an old man, both singing in unison in a coughy, sweaty, sickly scream of pain.

  I lift up the ladder and drop it, again, again, again.

  The massive beast underneath me and surrounding me suddenly explodes like a balloon full of black paint.

  Liquid jettisons everywhere.

  The scent is like raw sewage, making me dry-heave and cough. I look down and see a remnant of a gray cloud hovering in the air.

  With trembling arms, I slam the ladder back against the wall and desperately scramble over it.

  I don't even see the top of the wall as I flail blindly over it onto the other side.

  It seems lighter over here. Not only in actual visibility, but in terms of being able to breathe.

  I don't look back. I run straight through the woods, knowing that sooner or later I'll run into something.

  Hoping that I'll see the lights glowing from my cabin.

  Hoping that the darkness that hovers behind me is all in my mind.

  "Chris?"

  "Yeah?"

  "Where've you been?"

  "Just outside."

  "Everything okay?"

  "Yeah, sure."

  It could be any exchange between any mother and son on a late Friday night. Any exchange where the mother stands outside the door to the locked bathroom wondering what's going on. Any exchange where the teen is in trouble but desperate not to give it away.

  But instead of being drunk as a skunk or high as a kite, I'm trying to clean up a bloodied shoe and sock and foot.

  The wound isn't as bad as it looks.

  Thank God for my Adidas. Bet the marketers would like to know that they can also help fend off devilish dogs.

  There are five cuts in the middle of my toe, all looking like dog bites.

  Not some bullish, crazy demon dog, Chris. just a dog.

  The blood is coming out fast and furious. I've already used up a roll of toilet paper, and I've already flushed four times.

  Making Mom surely wonder what my deal is.

  "Are you sick?" she asks.

  That cliched image of the teen hiding something from his parents suddenly irks me.

  What am I hiding?

  And why am I hiding it from her?

  "I'm not sick," I say.

  But in a sense I am sick. I'm sick of being on my own and keeping things to myself and living and breathing behind a wall. Or a closed door or a closed room or a closed life.

  If things are going to change, I have to let someone in.

  I get off the toilet seat and unlock the door. Mom is there in her robe, looking notably out of it but nevertheless concerned.

  She gasps when she sees my foot.

  "It's better than it looks," I say. "It's just a dog bite."

  "What?"

  "Yeah, I know."

  "What happened?"

  I give her a quick synopsis of what happened, including the bit about the wall. I leave out things such as the dog smelling like sulfur and being the size of a bull.

  I also leave out how I left things with the dog.

  I don't even know how I left things.

  "We have to get you to a doctor."

  "No."

  "Yes, right now. You don't know the dog. We need to get you a rabies shot."

  "Mom-we can't."

  "What do you mean we can't?"

  "We don't have money for that."

  "We have as much money for you as we need, Chris."

  I stare at her, not understanding what she means.

  A part of me thinks, If thats the case, lets go shopping, starting with the nearest Apple store.

  "Mom, it's fine, really. Where are we going to go at nine on a Friday night?"

  "We'll find a doctor. It doesn't matter."

  "I'm sorry," I say.

  She's probably thinking, I need to put some clothes on. Then, as she's walking down the stairs, And I need to put some coffee on.

  "Hey, Jocelyn."

  "Hi. Didn't know you had my telephone number."

  "Yeah. Hope you don't mind me calling. It's just-something came up."

  "What's that?"

  "Well, it's actually kinda weird, but-I was bitten by a big rabid dog that, if you want to know the truth, was possessed, too. Anyway, I went to the doctor late last night had to actually go to his house, if you can believe that and, well, I was given only a few hours to live. Sorry."

  "That's crazy. That doesn't make sense."

  "About the possessed dog?"

  "No-about how you got this number."

  "Yeah, well, anyway, Jocelyn, I just wanted to say-I know that I'm about to go to a cheesy dance with the hottest girl in school. And I know that it's just so ironic, not being able to go cause I've got rabies and am going to die."

  "Yeah, that's crazy."

  "Getting rabies and dying?"

  "No. How you got this number."

  Then the crazy dream I'm having vanishes in the dark like the dog from last night.

  I open my eyes and see the wood ceiling above me.

  It's Saturday morning, and I'm still alive.

  Still planning on going to the big dance tonight.

  Still going with the hottest girl in the school.

  Not ready to die anytime soon.

  And still without Jocelyn's phone number in my possession.

  I'm pretty much useless on Saturday. I keep thinking I'm going to get a phone call-a real one, that is-from Jocelyn telling me something's come up.

  I ride my bike to downtown Solitary, thinking and hoping I'll run into Jocelyn again. No such luck. Instead I get a hundred looks that all seem to say, Go away. Go back where you came from. I don't stay in the town long.

  I spend most of the afternoon in my room listening to music. The bandage on my foot is tight and secure. If it didn't impact my bike riding, I'm sure it won't affect my dancing.

  Mom eventually comes in to check on me.

  "Everything okay?"

  I nod, turning down the music.

  "I haven't heard these guys in years," she says, picking up the Tears for Fears album The Hurting. "Robert loved this when it came out. I have every song memorized, he played it so often."

  "They're pretty good."

  "A little depressing, but then again most of this stuff is."

  "Makes it even better."

  Mom laughs and sits on the edge of my bed. "How's the fo
ot?"

  "A couple of toes just fell off."

  "Just make sure you throw them away," she says. "I wouldn't want them getting stuck in the vacuum cleaner."

  "We have a vacuum cleaner?"

  "Well, it's on the need-to-get list."

  "Can you add cable and Internet to that?"

  "We don't need cable and Internet."

  "You're killing me."

  "Taking a break from being online won't kill you. It'll probably be good for you."

  "Yes. Spending time listening to depressing albums from the eighties is so much better."

  She laughs. "Excited about tonight?"

  "Should be fun."

  "Do I get to meet this Jocelyn?"

  "I don't know. Not sure if she'll come to the door or not."

  "I certainly hope so."

  "I'm sixteen and don't even have my license. That's lame, Mom."

  "Add it to the need-to-get list."

  "Can I put `a life' on there too?" I ask.

  "Right after I get one," she says.

  Turns out Mom gets her wish.

  "Wow," she says, looking out the window down to the driveway. "She's beautiful, Chris."

  It's funny when she says this. I'm looking at Mom, all made up, wearing dress pants and a blouse as if she's the one going out. All for the possibility of a brief greeting with Jocelyn.

  My mom is beautiful. She really is.

  "Yeah, I know," I say. "Get away from the window. She'll see you."

  Mom waves. "Already has."

  "Wonderful."

  Soon I hear steps coming from our driveway to our deck, then a knock on the door. Mom opens it a little too quickly and greets Jocelyn in a voice that's a little too excited.

  "Hello, Jocelyn. Such a pleasure to meet you."

  And please marry my son while you re at it. Your children will be so beautiful. If they take after you, that is.

  "Hi," Jocelyn says.

  Move, Mom.

  Move so I can see her.

  I can see those eyes looking at me.

  I can see the amusement in them.

  Mom moves, and I see the rest of her.

  Whats she doing wearing a frilly pink prom dress?

  "Hi," I say, trying to squelch the silly thoughts going through my head.

  Jocelyn is wearing jeans and an indigo button-up shirt. She looks taller than usual and, like my mother, a little more "made up" than usual. Her hair is slightly different, with some of it up and the rest falling to one side.

  The air in my mouth seems to go backward. Out of breath is not the right phrase to use.

  Out of touch. Out of my league. Out of my mind.

  "This is such a cute place," Jocelyn says, walking toward the small fireplace we haven't used yet.

  "It belonged-belongs-to my brother."

  "Really? I didn't know that." Jocelyn looks at me with a playful glance.

  "I can give you a tour if you'd like," Mom says.

  "Not a lot to see," I say.

  Mom ignores me and shows Jocelyn around. I stay downstairs when they go up to my room. When they come down, Jocelyn still wears a humored look on her face.

  This is all so corny. I'm corny and Mom's corny and our little life in this little cabin is all just so corny.

  "Exciting, huh?" I say.

  "I'd use the word charming, "Jocelyn says.

  I can't tell if she's being honest or mocking.

  Mom makes small talk, which makes me want to go back into the woods and see that dark devil dog again.

  "We should probably go," I say.

  "It was very nice to meet you, Mrs. Buckley."

  As we head out the door, Mom's reply makes my lonely status all too clear.

  "You too, Jocelyn. Come over anytime."

  "Okay, Mom."

  "You both have a fun time. And take your time coming home."

  ?hanks, Mom.

  She's all but pleading with Jocelyn to help me with my loser life.

  I head down the steps and walk around the side of Jocelyn's Jeep and climb in.

  So many things I want to say but can't.

  She starts up the car and then peers over at me.

  "She's a lovely lady," Jocelyn says.

  "Yeah."

  For a moment, Jocelyn studies me. Then she takes my hand and squeezes it. "Relax, okay? That was fine. Your mother's just like you ... cute."

  "Cute, huh?" I ask as she lets go of my hand and turns the car around to head back down the hill. "Makes me feel like a puppy."

  "Yeah, well, I like puppies, so consider it a compliment. I don't give lots, Chris. Especially to guys."

  "Thanks, then."

  "Come on," she says in a tone that I haven't heard in her since meeting her. "Let's try to have some fun tonight and forget about the rest of the world. Sound good?"

  The school gymnasium is packed. The normal smell of tennis shoes and sweat is mixed with an additional odor: bad cologne. It reminds me of a guy we used to call Gift Cologne who would always wear a new kind of spray after Christmas and his birthday. I'm following Jocelyn and can already tell that just being on school grounds has made her attitude shift a little. She's a little more serious, a little more guarded.

  I guess I would be too if guys whistled at me the way they do her.

  "I'm sure Rachel's already here," she tells me in a loud voice over the blaring music. "Look on the dance floor."

  The song playing is exactly what I think of when I hear the term "country music." The singer has a deep drawl, the guitars are twangy, and the lyrics mention something about a pickup truck and a dog. I'm not joking.

  Bring back Tears for Fears now. Please.

  "There she is," Jocelyn says, getting Rachel's attention.

  For a minute I lose her in the mass of bodies. Back at my old high school, dances were thought of more as a joke. They'd have a few student bands play, and it became more like a concert for indie groups than a dance.

  Guess there's not much else to do around here.

  I start looking for Jocelyn and then think about Gus and his buddies. But I don't find either in the crowd.

  I feel a tug on my arm, and Rachel gives me a hug like a long lost friend. "You made it."

  "Yep," I say.

  "Chris, this is Lee."

  A good-looking guy with short hair and a face that makes him look like a fifth grader smiles at me and says hi.

  "He's a sophomore," Rachel says in a voice that already sounds like it's disappearing.

  A new song starts playing, this one AC/DC. The room erupts, and everyone seems to start dancing. That includes Rachel and Lee.

  But not Jocelyn. She moves her head and speaks into my ear. "I hate this song. Come on. Let's go see if they have anything to drink."

  I follow her like a little boy wading through the crowd with his mommy.

  Even in the chaos of student bodies jumping around us, I see the familiar stares.

  Glares, I think.

  People who look at me with complete and utter disdain.

  I don't get it.

  I don't get it because I haven't done a single thing to any of them.

  Why did Rachel want Jocelyn to come to this thing?

  I can't help wondering this as we stand and watch Rachel and her date dance and glisten with sweat and wave repeatedly at us. We hold our plastic cups of soda in our hands. Occasionally we try to talk, but it's too loud to hear anything.

  The DJ plays either loud, bad country or loud, classic rock and roll. Every fifth song is what I call bad peppy pop-something that sounds like an overproduced song sung by someone who lacks talented and is not of age.

  Guess it's easy to be a critic when you're standing on the sidelines.

  After about half an hour of this, I ask Jocelyn if Rachel is going to dance all night.

  "Yep. But we'll be able to talk to her at the party later."

  I nod as if I know what she's talking about.

  A party?

  Suddenly I'm a better
mood.

  Suddenly I don't worry about this night ending with the two us standing and staring at the crowd in the middle of the gym.

  "Such fun, huh?" Jocelyn asks.

  "You don't like to dance?"

  "Not here," she says, staring off at the students who don't seem to be anything like her.

  Or like me.

  Our first dance is-well, I'm not sure how to describe it.

  I'm heartbroken in several different ways. For the wrong and the right ways.

  I blame Rachel.

  She's the one who comes up after the song and brings that tenyear-old with her.

  They're beaming like newlyweds frolicking around in their love. Rachel hugs me again for some reason. And then the music starts.

  A slow dance.

  "Come on, Joss. Go dance."

  "No."

  "Come on. Oh, I love this song. Come on."

  "Okay, fine."

  And then.

  Yes, and then ...

  The moment is etched in my mind.

  Jocelyn takes a hand.

  But it's not mine.

  "Let's go."

  The expression on Lee's face surely can't be as surprised as the one on mine.

  I probably could fit a football in the gap between my lips.

  I see Jocelyn wander off on the dance floor with its beating blue and red lights to slow dance with Lee.

  Slow dance.

  Arms wrapped around each other. Slow moving and close and ...

  Mine.

  That's my dance.

  Thats why I'm here, right?

  Then I hear the voice singing. It's a female singer-someone I think I've heard before but can't actually name.

  It sounds like an older song, maybe a decade or two old.

  I see those eyes and that face staring at me. As if she wants to make sure I'm watching her.

  Is she trying to get me jealous?

  "She's lovely, isn't she?" Rachel yells out.

  Lovely isn't the right word.

  And as the song begins to crescendo, a song that I've surely heard but don't recognize, I watch the couple dance and laugh and I feel jilted.

  The words seem to echo my thoughts.

  "I have nothing-nothing. Nothing. If I don't have you. "

  And somehow, in some way, I'm moved.

  Not to anger, but something else.

  There's nothing suggestive to this dance. It seems innocent and fun. And it seems like this is Jocelyn. This picture. Just a girl wanting to have fun. Wanting to give a guy the pleasure of dancing with her.