Flash Burnout

by L. K. Madigan

  "Yes."

  Long silence.

  Then I add, "Well. Not okay, but better."

  My mom waits me out some more, but this time I don't break. Finally she says, "I hope so, honey. Because you know how vulnerable that girl is. She needs people she can count on in her life."

  "I know. She can count on me." I draw myself up when I say this. "I'm glad to hear that."

  "Mom, um, not to change the subject, but I kind of had plans with Shannon tonight. She's having a bad day, too."

  My mom closes her eyes and shakes her head, but I barrel on. "Her grandma died."

  "What? Oh no. Poor Shannon."

  The phone rings, interrupting my plan to wear my mother down until she hands me the car keys.

  "Hello?" she says. "Yes. Yes. All right. I'll be there soon." She hangs up. "I've got to go to the hospital. One of my kids."

  She doesn't say anything else. I know she means that one of the children at the hospital is near death. She pulls me close for a hug. "The gates of heaven are crowded today."

  I'm so sick of death right now I could die.

  After my mom changes clothes, she offers to drive me to Shannon's. Rather than admit that Shannon may very well throw a flowerpot down on my head while I'm knocking on her door, I accept.

  "I'll see you later, honey," she says when we pull up at the house. "Please give my condolences to the DeWinters. Tell them to call me if they need anything."

  "I will." I wave as she drives away; then I pull out my cell and dial Shannon. To my surprise, she answers.

  "What."

  "Shannon."

  What."

  "I'm outside your house. Please let me come in. I'm so sorry about your grandma. I just want to hug you."

  Crying. She's crying again, and I'm also so sick of crying people I could weep. For a split second, I can imagine clicking off the phone and just walking away.

  But no. I can't do that. She's my girl.

  I will not worry about all the other stuff that happened today. For now I will try to fix this one problem.

  Eventually she comes to the door and lets me in.

  I don't even have to make nice with Mrs. D., because it's her mother who died, so she's in her bedroom.

  Shannon takes me to her room, and we sit close together, arms around each other. I apologize again that I wasn't there for her when she needed me, and she, amazingly, says it's okay, that she understands, she's just upset about her grandma.

  Wow. I feel like a steaming pile of fertilizer. How could I cheat on this perfect girl?

  She talks about her grandma. I'm so very, very tired that I don't even try to feel her up.

  Finally she walks me downstairs and asks her dad to drive me home. He reluctantly levers himself out of the Chair of Stagnation and jingles his car keys at the door.

  "Aren't you coming?" I say.

  "No. I don't want to leave my mom," she says. "I'll talk to you tomorrow." She kisses me goodbye in front of her dad, and I trudge out the door after him. Then I stop and turn back.

  "Shannon."

  "Yes?"

  "I love you."

  ***

  "Your eyes are not veiled, they will give you away without fail."

  Cappie's voice rings out over the air, and I stop munching my burrito to listen.

  "School yourself while you fool yourself. Oh, my friends, it's not too late, there's still time for fate." She lowers her voice dramatically. "Now pay attention to the song because the song is never wrong."

  "Sympathy for the Devil" drifts across the airwaves.

  I swallow my mouthful of food, which now feels lumpy. School yourself while you fool yourself.

  I glance over at Shannon, who is sitting a few feet away in a sunny spot with Kaylee and Jasmine. Her grandma's funeral was last week. She's back at school now, cheering up little by little. Sometimes when she laughs at something, I see a look cross her face like, How can I laugh when my grandma just died? But people die. All the damn time. We have to grieve and then keep living.

  She looks so gorgeous sitting there, her hair shining in the sun, her lips curved in a small smile, that I want to get up and go over to her right now and kiss her in front of everyone. But she might taste the bitterness of guilt on my lips, so I stay put.

  I hate being a cheater.

  I clearly suck at it, since I find myself on the verge of confessing to Shannon at least twice a day. But then I imagine the look on her face. She hasn't even recovered from her grandma's death. No way am I going to slap her with some "it just happened" story.

  God! I'm scum.

  But no matter how loathsome and low I feel, I still can't bring myself to wish it never happened.

  I don't know how that can be.

  It just is.

  Marissa and I went right back to the way we always were.

  Mostly.

  I haven't forgotten a single moment of that day. Not a sound, not a touch. I know she hasn't, either. If things were different, maybe we would be together.

  But I want to be with Shannon. I love her. I'm smitten. Smited? And I think Marissa needs someone who is, I don't know, bigger than I am. Someone who will hurtle down hills with her.

  It's like the Shannon and Marissa parts of my life are all jumbled up inside me and I can't separate them without breaking something.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  A photograph is a secret about a secret.

  The more it tells you the less you know.

  —Diane Arbus, American photographer (1923–1971)

  Shannon hasn't been to my house in ages, what with the whole funeral/visiting family/staying close to Mom period. Then she was busy getting caught up with school and piano and stuff.

  I missed her. For the first time, I realized how much I would rather be with her than almost anyone else.

  And today she's here. It's Saturday, so we can hang out all day. She's in a good mood, too, goofing around in my room, laughing at all my jokes. Things are finally getting back to normal.

  She strikes a pose in front of the Rose Tyler poster. "Hey, big fella," she says in a suggestive voice. "Wow who's your girl?"

  "You are, sugar lips." I look around for my camera. "Hold that pose."

  I look for the camera.

  Oh.

  Shit.

  Oh shit.

  I never deleted those photos of Marissa.

  As I stand there in shock, Shannon darts past me and grabs the camera.

  "Don't," I say, trying to grab the camera back.

  "Ha!" Shannon yells, and jumps out of reach.

  "Shannon, come on." I step toward her, my hand out.

  She dances away, laughing. "Ha ha! It's time, once again, to turn the camera on the cameraman." She thumbs the on button, and my heart almost stops.

  "Not right now," I say. "I don't want to."

  "No?" she teases. "Too bad. Right now I am the photographer, and you are the subject! We'll call this the I Don't Want To series." She aims and shoots, hardly taking the time to focus.

  "Shannon, stop," I say, reaching for the camera.

  She twists out of my grasp and leaps up onto the bed, laughing.

  "Fine," I say. "Fine. All right? Go ahead." I stand with my arms out. If she takes enough photos, the shots will be far away from the Marissa photos.

  Breathless, she takes a few more pictures, giggling at my obvious irritation.

  "Okay, that's good, that's enough," I say. Inspiration! "Here. Give me the camera, and I'll take some of you."

  "No, no, no. Not today, young Spielberg," she says. "Today I am the director. Oh! Let's do that mini-movie thing! Stand over there and do something in slo-mo. Pretend you're throwing a ball or something."

  My heart is pounding crazily. If I can just get the camera away from her, I will smash it to pieces if I have to. Okay, I'm going to do what she wants until I can figure out how to get it away from her. I could kick myself for showing her the mini-movie thing!

  I act out pretending to pitch a
baseball.

  She takes about a dozen shots of me doing that. "Cool! Let's see how it turned out." She sits down on the bed and pushes the review button.

  "No!"

  "Jeez, Blake, chill." She frowns up at me, then bends her head to the screen, holding the review button down so that it scrolls through the shots really fast.

  "Sorry. Sorry. I didn't mean to yell. Just give me the camera and we'll load those onto the computer and make a little movie, if you want."

  "I will. Just a second. Look how great this looks! You really do look like you're pitching a ball." She's still clicking back through the shots in review mode. "Oh, look, there you are, looking mad. You're all, 'come on, give me the camera!'"

  "Shannon, stop!" I shout. Maybe if I act mad, she'll quit messing around. I don't even care if we get into a fight at this point, I just want to get the camera. Out. Of her hands.

  Shannon goes rigid.

  No.

  Oh God.

  She doesn't move. She just stares.

  I know exactly what she's looking at.

  Marissa. Getting out of my bed. Naked. With an expression that is almost sad.

  Without raising her head, Shannon clicks the review button again. And again. Faster. Her breathing speeds up.

  I get my hand on the camera, but she wrenches it away from me.

  When she looks up, a cry comes out of her throat. "Aauuww! How many?"

  I stare at her, my heart crashing into my gut.

  "How many times?"

  I shake my head.

  "How many, Blake?!"

  I'm not sure what's she's asking, but I answer the question I think she's asking. "Just once."

  Her face is stunned. She must have thought I would say something like, "We were just goofing around with the camera. Nothing happened. Just taking pictures."

  She almost can't believe it. "You did?"

  I sink down on the bed.

  Silence.

  "When?"

  I stare down at the floor.

  "When?" she screams.

  Ohmygod she's going to bring my parents running. "It was three weeks ago."

  "Three weeks ago," she whispers, counting back. "No." Her hands fly to her cheeks. "No. Not that day."

  I hold my head in my hands.

  Her voice is almost pleading. "Not that day? The day that my grandma died? And I was calling you and calling you." Her voice chokes, and she drops the camera, spinning for the door.

  I jump up and grab her around the shoulders, trying to hold on to her.

  "You lied to me! You kept telling me she was just your friend! Bastard. I hate you!" she screams, and slaps me with every ounce of rage and strength she has.

  She clatters down the stairs.

  I don't move for a second, because I'm seeing stars. She dusted me good.

  I close my eyes and hold on to the doorway, waiting for the stars to subside. I don't mind. I deserve this.

  Then I stumble downstairs.

  "Blake, what on earth?" says my mom. The front door is standing open.

  I tear out the door after her, but Shannon is an athlete. I'll never be able to catch her on foot. She's already at the end of the block.

  "Mom," I pant, running back to the house. "I need the car."

  "What?"

  "Shannon is ... We had a fight. I need to go after her."

  My mom hesitates, then shakes her head. "No."

  "What?"

  "No, Blake. What on earth is going on? You've got a big red handprint on your face, and Shannon ran out of here crying."

  "I know. We ... She's ... come on, Mom!"

  "I'm sorry, but I'm not letting you get behind the wheel when you're in a state like this."

  "But I ... Oh forget it!" I tear out the door again.

  I run all over the place.

  No Shannon.

  How could she have gotten so far away? Is she hiding somewhere?

  Not only do I feel horrible for hurting her—no, let's face it, for breaking her heart—now I'm worried that she might get hurt. Hurt even worse than what I did to her. What if she runs out in front of a car? Does she have any money to call home? Did she grab her purse on the way out?

  I head back home. How many times how many times how many times rings through my head.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Always back up your images. It's not a question of if

  you'll lose important photos, but when.

  —Spike McLernon's Laws of Photography

  I stay in my room the rest of the day. I spend the whole time trying to write a letter to Shannon. There must be some way to explain. Some combination of words that will make her understand that sometimes things just happen, and that I really love her and will do whatever I have to to prove it.

  So far I haven't figured out the right combination.

  I try to listen to some tunes on my iPod, but I can't. I have never felt so bad that I couldn't listen to music. I've reached a new low.

  My mom comes to the door after a couple of hours and knocks. "Honey?"

  "I don't want to talk," I say.

  When I go to take a leak later, I see that's she's left a bottle of Coke and a plastic container with a sandwich outside my door. The Dog Formerly Known as Prince is lying nearby. He sits up, wagging his tail as if to say, I can haz sammich?

  I pee, wash my hands, then come back and pick up the food.

  Garrett's door is open. I find myself walking over to it without even meaning to.

  "Hey," I mumble.

  "Hey, Blake."

  Great. If he's being all sensitive and not calling me Studly, he must know what happened.

  I stand there for a minute, shuffling my feet. "Want to come in?" he asks.

  I almost never go into Garrett's room, because of the smell. And because, well, he's forbidden me to. I step through the door, taking a tentative sniff. I don't smell farts or sweat, just a faint whiff of dog.

  Garrett gestures to a beanbag chair on the floor, and I collapse into it, thinking, I'll never get to share the soccer beanbag with Shannon again.

  We sit there in silence. It's a relief. I don't feel like talking, and I appreciate that Garrett isn't questioning me.

  He's IMing and studying. I can't concentrate on two things at one time like that, but he does it all the time.

  I eat my sandwich and drink my Coke, belching a couple of times. When I'm finished, Garrett glances over at me and says, "You okay, man?"

  I don't know what to say. Finally I shrug.

  He studies me a second, then stands up. "Be right back," he says.

  I stretch, then burrow deeper into the beanbag, feeling the tiniest bit better.

  Garrett comes back into the room carrying a stack of DVD box sets. He hands them to me.

  It's the first two seasons of Doctor Who. He knows they're my favorite, because Rose Tyler is in them.

  "Want to watch in here?" he asks.

  "Really?"

  "Sure. I haven't seen those episodes in a long time."

  "Thanks." I crawl out of the beanbag and put Season One, Disc One, in his DVD player.

  When I become aware of the room again, Garrett is zonked out on his bed. It's four thirty. I've been watching Rose and the Doctor for three episodes. I crawl out of the beanbag and stretch, feeling my joints creak from not moving for so long.

  Garrett starts up, blinking and disoriented. "What time is it?"

  "Four thirty."

  "Oh." He sinks back down on his pillow. "Man. I was sleeping hard. Having the weirdest dreams." He yawns.

  "About what?"

  "Wolves and forests and shit. Looking for something."

  "Huh."

  "I've got to snap out of it, though." He sits up groggily. "I've got a date tonight."

  With Cappie?"

  "Nah." He sees me looking at him and shrugs. "Not tonight. I'm going out with Aracely."

  "Really?" I'm impressed. That girl is hotter than Dez Hayes. "The homecoming queen?"

 
; "That's the one."

  "Damn," I say.

  He chuckles. "She's really nice." He looks closer at me. "How you doin'?"

  I blink. Oh yeah. For a while I forgot that my life was wrecked. "Fine."

  "No. For reals."

  I don't answer. It's all crashing back into me now: shame and guilt and sadness.

  "Garrett?"

  "Yes."

  "I can't be like you."

  He looks at me.

  "I can't be with more than one person at a time."

  "Ohhhh." He seems to understand now. "But you always said that Marissa was just a friend."

  "She is!" I say automatically. "I mean she was. But then something happened. That day. You know."

  He raises his eyebrows. He knows which day. "Ahh."

  But it was just one time!"

  He nods, even though we both know that just one time might as well be just fifty times.

  "And Shannon found out today."

  He shakes his head. "Brutal."

  "I still don't even know how it happened," I say.

  He nods.

  "I mean, I never thought about, you know, doing it with Marissa. Really. I thought Shannon and I would—" I put my head in my hands. "I'm serious as a car crash, man. I still don't even know how it happened. It had something to do with all that other stuff. You know." I glance at the door and lower my voice. "That stuff at the morgue."

  Garrett looks down at his hands. "Maybe—"

  "Maybe what."

  "It's something I've been thinking about lately."

  "What?"

  "Sex as medicine."

  Blink. Blink. My brother is freakishly wise.

  Just like that, I kind of understand. And I feel a glimmer of relief that someone else understands.

  Not that it helps.

  I'm still a loser who cheated on his girlfriend. But now I feel like a sliver in my soul has worked its way to the surface and I can throw it away.

  ***

  I'm hungry again, but if I go downstairs, I'll see my parents, and I don't feel like talking. I hear Garrett leave for his date around six o'clock. I'm back in my room, curled up on my bed, letting Doctor Who take me on adventures.

  I'm in the middle of Episode Four, where the Slitheen family have taken over the bodies of portly politicians so they can fit their alien bodies inside. It reminds me of the time Shannon was so bitchy I imagined her unzipping her forehead to reveal an alien inside. She never once farted in my presence, now that I think of it ... unlike the Slitheen.