I backed up into the doorframe. My socks hit a slippery patch on the wooden section of the floor. I slid backwards, and caught myself against the doorknob. Declan reached out his large, strong hands. Was he reading himself to strangle me? I wouldn’t blame him if he did. I wouldn’t blame him if he hit me, punched me right in the nose.
He didn’t. Instead, he flapped his hands furiously. He grabbed me, and straightened out my body. Brushing me off, he gently put me back in an upright position. He softly patted my shoulder for good measure.
“I-I-I w-w-w-a-a-a-s h-h-h-hoping ya-ya-ou w-w-w-e-e-e-ren’t h-h-h-e-e-e-re f-f-f-o-o-o-r her! B-B-B-u-u-u-t I-I-I g-g-g-uess I-I-I w-w-w-a-a-a-s wrong. P-P-P-l-l-l-e-e-e-ase! P-P-P-l-l-l-e-e-ase d-d-d-o-o-o-n’t t-t-t-a-a-a-ke P-o-o-o-ppy a-a-a-w-w-w-ay f-f-f-r-r-r-o-o-o-m m-m-m-e! S-S-S-he’s a-a-a-ll I-I-I h-h-h-a-a-a-ve. P-P-P-l-l-l-e-e-e-ase!”
Declan cried. His tongue wagged. His hands flapped so fast, they blurred together, a bird flapping its wings furiously agitated.
“I-I-I thought ya-ya-ou were a-a-a d-d-d-e-e-e-cent k-k-k-i-i-i-d. I-I-I thought ya-ya-ou w-w-w-ere h-h-h-e-e-e-re f-f-f-or m-m-m-y s-s-s-sister. I-I-I g-g-g-uess n-n-n-o-o-o-t!”
He wailed in my ear. Snot bubbled out of his nose.
I shirked down, scared, nervous. How was I supposed to handle this? How was I supposed to react to this person? Here, I assumed Declan was some hotshot glam-beau. All of those pictures, ads, television spots. I assumed Declan was some stuck-up twerp who would care less about some measly high school girl. I assumed he had a long list of girls on the back burner for when this relationship fizzled.
I assumed wrong. Instead, a grown man, in excruciating angst, stood before me. He cried like a baby. Declan was unable to calm down. But if he could, he would see that compared to him, I was nothing. He was a superhero, and I was not.
“H-H-H-o-o-o-w am I-I-I going t-t-t-o c-c-c-compete?” he whimpered, a sick whining dog, kicked and down. “P-P-P-l-l-l-e-e-e-ase, I-I-I b-b-b-e-e-e-g ya-ya-ou . . . d-d-d-o-o-o-n’t s-s-s-steal m-m-m-y g-g-g-i-i-i-rlfriend! S-S-S-he’s a-a-a-ll I-I-I g-g-g-o-o-o-t. I-I-I l-l-l-o-o-o-ve h-h-h-e-e-e-r,” Declan groaned.
“Wait,” I sniffed, “wait, um, but . . . Declan, I want to explain,” I whispered.
“S-S-s-a-a-a-ve i-i-i-t!” he spat.
Declan shook his head. He ran his fingers through his thick, dark hair. He cleared his throat several times. It rumbled with gooey phlegm. Groaning like a hurt animal, he ran away.
I bit my lip. Now I had to wait for the wrath of his sister. Denver was bound to hear the news of my misdeeds soon, if she hadn’t already.
“Denver, please,” I pleaded.
“First my parents! Ugh! Camera! And now! You! This! Thing! Blowing up! In my face! Ugh! Not turning out! How I planned! Ahh!”
Denver rambled, half tearful, half frustrated. With me? With life?
“No, wait. You don’t understand. You didn’t let me finish. Your brother, Declan, he didn’t let me finish either. And, Poppy . . .”
“Poppy? Poppy? You are going to bring up Poppy? Now? After all of that? Seriously, dude?”
“Um, no, wait. Please, she didn’t let me finish either. This whole thing. It’s all just a big misunderstanding, I swear,” I begged Denver to listen to what I had to say.
“Oh, I see, a big misunderstanding, huh? One, big, old, mistake! I thought you were different, Dexx.”
“I was. I am.”
“I thought you had changed! I thought it was a sign. Like fate, or something. Like, it was meant to be. Like, sometimes you need to go the wrong direction to get what you want.”
“Wait! Huh? Changed? Sign? Slow down. What was meant to be? What do you want?”
“You! Us! Your name!” she spoke nonsensically.
“My name?”
“Yes, your name. Fate. Us. Your real name. It isn’t Dexx, now is it?”
“No. No, it’s not,” I mumbled.
“I knew that about you. You’re Dalton, not Dexx. Dalton Dabney. Dexx is just your DJ moniker, your stage name, so to speak, your nickname at school, between friends. But your actual name is Dalton Dabney, which goes with Denver. Denver Davies and Dalton Dabney.”
I chewed on her concept a moment. I hated my real name, Dalton. I honestly did. Loathed it. That’s why I changed it. Dexx had a hipper ring to it. It had more street cred. But, Denver, she had a whimsical way with words. When she said Dalton, she made my name sound cool. And, I was the wrong direction? She felt she was going the wrong way, to get me, all because, in her mind, our names cosmically matched? Did they? Did I want them to? Did I like her idea? Was she pulling me into her orbit with her views on fate, kismet, dreamfulness?
Dalton. Denver. The tune those two names made together planted a seed. We had so much in common. We got along. We liked the same things. We shared the same oddball sense of humor. I understood Denver speak.
Dabney. Davies. Our last names bounced off my lips, like an awesome drum roll.
Hope grew out of the idea of us being a couple. Life. Love? Together? Were we meant to be? Was Denver on to something?
“This whole, stupid senior project! I should have never agreed to it! What was I thinking? Love Without Labels? Hah! So stupid! Look what that got me!” Denver ranted.
“Wait,” I paused. A frightening sickness gurgled. It worked its way back up my tummy. “What project? Poppy’s project? From last night? Did Poppy put you up to something?”
I was afraid to ask, but even more afraid to hear her answer.
“Yep. And my brother. Love Without Labels. Poo! See? See, Dexx? We took you in. We tried to love you. But look! Look where that got me! A whole lot of nothing!” she smirked, irked.
“Me?” I gasped, gulping a mouthful of air. “You tried to love me? What’s wrong with me? Why are you trying to love me? Who am I? What’s my label?”
I dared to take this conversation further, but dreaded the reason.
“Why, you’re the bully, of course,” she spat out loud and clear.
A tear trickled down my cheek. The bully. I was the bully? Me? Dexx? How could that be? I was chill, open to all, a free spirit. Right?
“No!” I choked.
Images flooded back in my mind. Things I had long forgotten instantly resurfaced.
“Yes!” Denver dug into my psyche. “Ever since, like, well, forever. Have you totally forgotten? Do you not recognize us? Do you not remember? Because, we’ve never forgotten. You’re the one who started that Poopy Pants Poppy thing. And, to be honest, you were never nice about me having a special brother. You were down right awful to Declan. When we were little you used to call him ‘m-m-m-monster’ or ‘dumb’ or ‘doo-doo duh!’ Stuff like that.”
How long ago was this? How easily are childhood memories erased from the brain?
“Remember? Even recently at school,” Denver raged, “you slammed unapologetically into Poppy, in the hall. You ruined her posters. I’m not sure how it’s even possible you didn’t notice her walking with big stacks of rolled paper. And she tells me you think you met her at The Hall! How is that possible? And, then, you like, stalked her!” Denver clicked her tongue.
“But, then,” she spoke softly, and patiently, in a nostalgic tone, “you were so sweet to me in the lunch room. For the first time, I thought you were different. I thought you had changed. I thought you liked me. You took a chance on me. You wanted to hang out with me, at the mall, at your home. So, I, well, we, decided to embrace you. We forgave you, and loved you, without labels, because everybody deserves a second chance. I was so hopeful, so happy that you agreed to show up to my home, as my special guest, and that you actually liked me, instead of Poppy. But, all of this time, I guess not, I guess I was wrong.”
“You’re not wrong.”
Small tears sprinkled my face. It dripped down my
chin.
She was not wrong.
Images of Declan resurfaced in my mind, a gangly kid who didn’t quite fit in. Who ticked and jerked. Who couldn’t talk well, or defend himself. He was an easy target. Someone fun to laugh at, poke fun of, taunt, and throw wood chips at, lock in a closet.
It seemed so harmless at the time, acceptable, encouraged. A joke. A memory worth forgetting. A memory that left no impact on my own existence. So it was erased, with the other miscellaneous trivia. My eyes were left shut, not able to see the victims, because I never felt that I was that kind of person. I existed in my own world. I paid no attention to the objects of my taunts, the nameless people I might have hurt.
Now, ashamed, I never would have painted myself as the bully. I wasn’t the opinion leader. I was the funny one. Playful, quirky, full of humor. Kids liked me. They laughed at my jokes.
I never stopped to think about how my jokes affected others. How they affected Poppy, Declan, or Denver. And since no one ever said anything to me, I figured they were all right with it. I figured they got that I was kidding. I thought I was kidding, because I always thought deep down inside I was a good, caring person. The open-minded guy that accepted all. So, now, it was time to show them who Dexx really was, a good, caring person, not a bully.
“Explain!”
Denver stomped her foot impatiently.
“I don’t know why I suddenly opened my eyes, and discovered Poppy. Obviously, I get it now, we grew up together. I remember people calling her Poopy Pants Poppy, but I didn’t remember being the person who started it. She simply blended in with the sea of faces at school until that night at The Hall. She stood out, dazzling me with her insane moves and beauty.”
Denver shot me a dirty look. It sickened me that I hurt her by finding Poppy so attractive. Regardless, I had to continue with my side of the story.
“Not good enough,” Denver grunted.
“Denver, I haven’t really had a lot of girlfriends,” I fessed up shyly. “As embarrassing as it is, I haven’t experienced a lot of success in that department. So . . . at the time . . . I thought Poppy and I might be a good match. She liked dancing, I spun good music. Honestly, I’d grown out of caring what others said about her or anybody, so I pined for Poppy . . . until . . . . I found out she had a boyfriend, your brother.”
“Great, Dexx, whatever. You still pursued her.”
“Because, well, I was jealous. I didn’t recognize your brother. I didn’t remember knowing him until just now. Once I found out he was dating Poppy, I kind of cyber-stalked him. From what I saw, he had it all. Fame. Fans. The girl I liked. But, then . . .”
“But, then?”
“But, then, things changed. Yes, Denver, I was spying on them at the mall. And, then . . .”
“And, then?”
“And, then, along came you!”
“Me?”
“I’ve never met anyone like you. I always thought you were so above me. Cold. You were a model, like your brother. Untouchable to a slouch like myself. But, you surprised me. You were fun, and down to earth. You got me. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I liked Poppy, but I l-lo . . .”
“Yes?”
“Loved that you invited me into your home. Seeing Poppy, here made me realize that she belonged with Declan. And being introduced to your family, your wonderful, generous family, it . . . changed me. You changed me.”
“I did?”
“Yes! For the better! So, I decided, perhaps not in the best manner, to try to tell Poppy that I had fallen for her, at first, but that I was sorry, for all the trouble I might have caused her, and your brother. Because I realized, the person I had actually fallen for was you, Denver. I’ve fallen for you, hard. I want to be dreamful, and go the wrong direction, to be with you. Truthfully, Denver, truly, honestly, I’ve fallen in love with you.”
Denver gasped. Tears trickled down her face.
“I don’t believe you,” she said.
“It’s true. This is what I was trying to explain to Poppy and to Declan. I made Poppy a mix of music. I intended on taking her aside, and giving it to her so I could explain that I was sorry how I treated her at school knowing she had a boyfriend. I attempted to talk to Declan about it as well, so I could ask for his blessing.”
“For what?”
“To date his sister, to date you. Look, I made something for you too.”
“I don’t want it,” Denver snapped, hurt.
She flipped her silky hair at me, and walked away.
Jilted, I stood alone in the long corridor. Our conversation drained all of the energy out of me, yet left me with a glimmer of hope, and an unbelievable idea on how to win back Denver.
Chapter 27
Denver
“Come here, buddy,” I crept up to Declan.
He sat in the den, petting Dancer on the head, while sneaking television time with one of his shows.
Declan didn’t acknowledge me. He gazed at the screen, and laughed. He raised his hands to his chest. They flapped joyfully as his favorite hero swooped in to save the day. Declan chortled. He clapped his hands. Dancer’s tail batted the floor with enthusiasm, enjoying Declan’s excitement. Dancer stuck his nose in Declan’s lap in search of more affection. Declan obliged, and rubbed his ears.
“Hey, Deck, I’m talking to you!”
I nudged him lightly on the back.
“O-o-o-h, s-s-s-o-o-o-rry, I-I-I thought ya-ya-ou were t-t-t-a-a-a-lking t-t-t-o D-D-D-a-a-a-ncer,” he apologized.
“Nope. I was talking to you.”
Declan smiled, and turned back to the TV. I snatched the remote, and turned it off. Normally, Declan would stammer a “hey” at me, but not this time. Instead, he turned to face me. His eyes looked upon me with a warm brotherly gaze. I gathered he understood I required a listening ear, and the television would prevent him from focusing on our conversation. He and I had a serious talk coming our way.
“O-O-O-k-k-k-a-a-a-y, I-I-I’m a-a-a-ll ya-ya-ours.”
Before I could begin, I dove into his arms. Declan wrapped his long limbs around me, and patted my back. I squeezed harder, and wept into my brother’s shoulder. He rocked me back, and forth and rubbed my neck.
“I am so lucky to have a brother like you in my life,” I blubbered.
“S-s-s-h-h-h-h,” was all Declan could manage.
“And now,” I warbled, “and now I feel so guilty for all of the times I was mean to you, fought with you, yelled at you, called you nasty names. I should have treated you better. I shouldn’t have teased you. I should have been a better sister. That stupid girlfriend of yours, and her stupid project got to me, and now . . . and now . . .”
Snot bubbled up from my nose.
“W-W-W-What d-d-d-o-o-o ya-ya-ou m-m-m-mean?”
He cleared his throat. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, then snapped back in my direction.
“All of these years we’ve spent together as brother and sister, well, perhaps I could have gone out of my way to treat to you . . . differently.”
“B-B-B-u-u-u-t w-w-w-hy? C-C-C-cause, I-I-I’m g-g-g-l-l-l-a-a-a-d ya-ya-ou d-d-d-i-i-i-dn’t.”
Declan clapped his hands lightly.
“What?” I was taken aback.
“W-W-W-hy w-w-w-o-o-o-uld I-I-I h-h-h-a-a-a-ve w-w-w-a-a-a-nted ya-ya-ou t-t-t-o t-t-t-r-r-r-e-e-e-at m-m-m-e-e-e d-d-d-i-i-i-fferently? C-C-C-ca-a-a-use I-I-I w-w-w-o-o-o-uldn’t! I-I-I’m g-g-g-l-l-l-a-a-a-d, D-D-D-enver! I-I-I’m g-g-g-grateful that ya-ya-ou a-a-a-re m-m-m-y s-s-s-i-i-i-ster. Ya-ya-ou t-t-t-r-r-r-e-e-e-at m-m-m-e l-l-l-i-i-i-ke a-a-a h-h-h-uman b-b-b-e-e-e-ing. Ya-ya-ou t-t-t-r-r-r-e-e-e-at m-m-m-e l-l-l-i-i-i-ke a-a-a-ny s-s-s-i-i-i-ster w-w-w-ould t-t-t-r-r-r-e-e-e-at a-a-a b-b-b-r-r-r-o-o-o-ther, and, and, and, f-f-f-o-o-o-r th-a-a-a-t, I-I-I l-l-l-o-o-o-ve ya-ya-ou!”
Declan, stupid Declan, I thought as a tear trickled down my face. Of course he would have the perfect thing to say at the right moment. I dove back into his arms, and bawled all over again.
“I love you too, you jerk! You are the best big brother a sister could ever ask for as well!”
“Ya-ya-ou a-a-a-nd P-o-o-o-ppy, ya-ya-ou b-b-b-o-o-o-th t-t-t-r-r-r-e-e-e-at m-m-m-e-e-e l-l-l-i-i-i-ke m-m-m-o-o-o-st s-s-s-strangers d-d-d-o. Ya-ya-ou kn-o-o-o-w, l-l-l-i-i-i-ke th-e-e-e-re’s n-n-n-o-o-o-thing w-w-w-r-r-r-ong w-w-w-i-i-i-th m-m-m-e, l-l-l-i-i-i-ke I-I-I’m n-n-n-normal.”
I tried to give him my ‘but you are normal look’ to no avail. Declan was not ‘normal.’
“M-M-M-o-o-o-st p-p-p-eople, o-o-o-nce th-e-e-e-y m-m-m-e-e-e-t m-m-m-e-e-e, a-a-a-nd h-h-h-ear h-h-h-o-o-o-w I-I-I t-t-t-a-a-a-lk, w-w-w-e-e-e-ll, something ch-a-a-a-nges. Th-e-e-e-y t-t-t-a-a-a-lk t-t-t-o m-m-m-e real l-l-l-oud, and, and, and real s-s-s-l-l-l-o-o-o-w. N-N-N-o-o-o-t ya-ya-ou. N-a-a-a, n-n-n-o s-s-s-p-p-p-ecial t-t-t-r-r-r-e-e-e-atment. Ya-ya-ou honor m-m-m-e by b-b-b-e-e-e-ing a-a-a r-r-r-egular s-s-s-i-i-i-ster. A-A-A n-n-n-o-o-o-rmal s-s-s-i-i-i-ster. M-M-M-Mean!”
Declan laughed.
I swatted him playfully. Sucking up my tears, I dried my eyes. I wondered why I never saw our relationship that way. Declan didn’t want special treatment. Just like at school, just like at work. He wanted the same sibling rivalry, the same turbulent, ridiculously passionate, yet fun-loving relationship most families shared. He wanted the tease train, the rowing roller coaster, the making fun merry-go-round. Declan craved boring normalcy. Stupid Declan, I loved him for it. I loved him for accepting me. I loved him for standing by my side as any normal brother would.
“It’s easy to be brave with you by my side,” I whispered.
Declan nodded. “S-S-S-a-a-a-me,” he sputtered. “M-M-M-a-a-a-ybe I-I-I should g-g-g-o-o-o f-f-f-i-i-i-nd P-o-o-o-ppy. Sh-e-e-e d-d-d-o-o-o-esn’t kn-o-o-o-w wh-e-e-e-re I-I-I a-a-a-m.”
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