Hate

by Laurel Curtis

  After taking a deep breath to steel myself, I reasoned, “Gram, legal drinking age is twenty-one. An age that I am not. Plus, don’t you think we should take some time, just be with the family? You know, pay our respects.”

  “How in the hell are you my granddaughter? I thought I taught you to go against the grain. Rebuff the rules. That kind of thing. Instead, I got this rule-following, conservative, do-gooder. As for staying home, you just take that bullshit and shove it right back where you got it. What do you think those terrorist bastards are trying to accomplish?”

  Before I could say anything, she talked right over me. “I’ll tell you. It’s fear. A change in our goddamn lifestyle. I, for one, won’t stand for it. And as long as I’m anything less than six feet under, neither will you.”

  It was amazing.

  She was right.

  Fear and lifestyle changes were exactly what they wanted. Sure, the people who lost their lives yesterday were a huge part of it, an extensively planned and far-reaching short term goal, but in general, they wanted all of us to change.

  If you waited long enough, and sorted through all of her rants and riots, Gram often came up with some really good insight. And she was also really good at adapting to the times. Unlike a lot of older people, she embraced new technology like she’d been using it all her life. And even though she didn’t always say things in the most politically correct way, she accepted people of all backgrounds, cultures, and lifestyles.

  And I really admired that.

  “Now, since you’re such a stickler for the rules,” she mocked, changing her voice to whiny and drab to emphasize her point. “Let’s go get some Rita’s Italian Ice. The weather’s gonna be changing fast, and you know how I love my gelato. I have to get as much as I can before they close for the winter.”

  Right.

  So she was insightful and tolerant, but also, a little bit immature.

  Immature elderly.

  Ha. Now that was an oxymoron if I’d ever heard one.

  “Fine. Rita’s it is,” I conceded, like any good mother would for her kids, and steered the Cherokee in that direction.

  Taking care of Gram was basically the same.

  “Groovy. And then maybe we can go to Target too,” Gram said, milking this for all she could.

  “What do you need at Target?”

  Her hands tapped her knees, the excited anticipation exiting her body through her limbs when it grew too strong to be contained.

  “Nothing. I just love that place. Plus, I can never seem to get out of there without spending more than a hundred dollars, and I’m really intent on using up all of my money so I don’t have to leave it to your parents.”

  “Gram! That’s terrible,” I accused, shaking my head but smiling a little bit too. She was too much.

  “Why? I worked for my money, and they can work for theirs too. Same with you. You’ll never appreciate something you’re given as much as something you’ve earned. And you can write that down. Quote it. Emblazon my tombstone with it—right next to ‘She was a cold bitch’. But that’s a fact of life that will never change, my dear.”

  Life lessons from a crazy old woman.

  There wasn’t anything better.

  “Okay. We’ll go to Target, spend your money. And if you behave yourself really well, I might just drive you through your old neighborhood. You know, let you tell me stories about the old days. That’s what you elderly live for, isn’t it?”

  A big smile lifted the age-worn skin of her face. “Now there’s the little smart ass I thought I’d raised.” With a subtle wink, she added, “Be you. Be honest. Be interesting. Always. That’s what I call the ‘Triple Bs’. And guess what?”

  “What, Gram?” I answered her prompt dutifully, peeking at her out of the corner of my eye as I pulled into the parking lot of Rita’s Italian Ice.

  “A smart man likes those Triple Bs even better than Triple Ds.”

  She even gestured crudely to her chest.

  God. I loved my Gram.

  I loved the knowledge she provided to me.

  And I loved the package of humor she used to deliver it.

  “SHE STILL DOESN’T WANT TO see anyone, honey.”

  Frustrated at being turned away five days in a row, I voiced what I was really feeling, and I didn’t do it nicely enough. “Well maybe she needs to see me anyway.”

  Her face smarted just a little, but I could tell she attempted to mask it for my sake. She knew I meant well despite my exceedingly poor delivery.

  Still, internally cringing at how brash I sounded, I sought forgiveness in an explanation. “I’m sorry, Mrs. DePlunzio. I meant no disrespect. But Franny needs me right now. She needs Blane. And we need her. I’m pretty sure she’ll keep turning all of us away for the rest of her life if we don’t do something about it. And, for me, giving up on her isn’t an option.”

  Almost as if I’d conjured him, just as he had all of the days before, Blane pulled up to the curb in front of Franny’s house, pushed down his kickstand, pulled off his helmet, and swung his leg over to bring himself to standing.

  We’d both been here every day. And every day, we’d been turned away.

  I’d decided I was done accepting that.

  Blane was speaking to me, but it was still in monosyllabic grunts with no extraneous pleasantries.

  But God, I could hardly blame him at this point. So I said nothing.

  As Blane stepped up onto the stoop beside me, his helmet tucked easily under his arm while he tossed the last of his Chiclets into his mouth, I turned back to Gina and added, “I’d like it if Blane and I could go in together. I know it may seem like we’re ganging up on her, but the dynamic of our friendship has always been a threesome. When I’m weak, Blane is strong. I think we’ll do the best job together.”

  Gina chewed the very edge of her bottom lip, wanting nothing but the best for her daughter and pondering if there was any way to know if she was making the right decision.

  Her face relaxed the moment she conceded. “Okay, Whitney.” She nodded, determined. “I think you’re right. And the alternative hasn’t worked, so all we can do is try.”

  She stepped aside, holding the door open for both of us. I stepped in first after pausing briefly to glance at Blane.

  I thought I saw a brief flicker of relief swallow the obvious pain drowning his pupils, but with a gentle nod of his head, the glimmer of hope was gone, and he was waiting for me to get my act together and get my ass inside.

  Trying not to waste time, the jitters from my nerves starting to encompass me in a way that it felt like they might actually consume me, I followed Franny’s mom down the hall toward her room and listened desperately to hear a sound cut through the silence.

  But I heard none.

  A chill raced up my spine because of how dead the house felt. No energy bounced off of the walls and a cloud of vicious melancholy choked my lungs.

  It was clear that sadness was overwhelming the DePlunzio family. They were living and breathing it, and I knew that Franny had to be suffering the most.

  I wished it were easier to lighten their burden. That there was some magic way to bring them back to their normal.

  But I wasn’t naive enough to think it was that easy.

  Gina stopped in front of Franny’s door and knocked, turning the knob before waiting for a response.

  She pushed the door open to just a crack and then stepped aside and motioned for Blane and I to step into the room.

  “I’ll be in the kitchen,” she said softly, cupping my cheek in an uncharacteristically affectionate gesture before turning and heading in the direction we came from. Mrs. DePlunzio had always been warm, but she’d never been one to welcome us to her house with a hug.

  Hesitating ever so slightly—just enough time to to take one deep breath—Blane took the initiative and pushed open the door the rest of the way.

  He entered the room with ease, just like I imagined he’d done hundreds of times before, and approached
the huddled form of Franny on her bed.

  Her shoulders hunched over her skinny knees, and her ratty, uncombed hair hung loosely around her face. She looked frail and alone, and a certain darkness seemed to hover around her.

  So strong, like the walls were expelling it, it was a struggle to keep it from enveloping me too. The room felt smaller than normal, like there wasn’t enough room for the three of us and all of her demons.

  “Hey,” Blane greeted casually, speaking as though nothing was different. Like no time had passed and no wrongs had been committed.

  Like he hadn’t spent the last week making sense of his world turning upside down. Like the cause of her sadness wasn’t the abortion of their baby.

  I wasn’t even sure if Franny knew about Blane’s dad. About everything.

  She didn’t seem like she did.

  Had her parents talked to her at all?

  I looked on stupidly, unsure and awkward with my hands in my pockets and my mouth sealed closed.

  Apparently, talking a good game with Franny’s mom in order to get in here and following through with meaningful, insightful, and helpful commentary didn’t go hand in hand.

  “How are you feeling?” Blane asked, tucking Franny’s unkempt, straight, brown hair behind the shell of her ear.

  “Fine,” she answered generically, her usual bubbliness flattened by the weight of her guilt and shame and grief.

  “Good,” he said on a smirk, letting her completely generic answer be enough.

  “Are you coming back to school tomorrow? Whit and I miss you at lunch.”

  Hah. Whit (AKA I) missed everyone at lunch. Blane certainly hadn’t been sitting with me while Franny had been gone. In fact, I hadn’t been sitting with anyone.

  “Yeah. It’s not the same without you,” I added lamely.

  Talk about the understatement of the century.

  Though, I’d wager that things not being the same had more to do with the reason for her absence than her absence itself.

  I honestly didn’t know what else to say. I didn’t want to point out that no one was talking about her, that she didn’t have to worry about ridicule, because something much bigger had happened so soon after. I felt like that would belittle what she was going through.

  But at the same time, I wanted to be able to remove any external shame she might be feeling. She would still be subjected to the judgement from within, but the absence of judgment from others might go a long way to lessoning her burden.

  Why was it so hard to be the person you needed to be? To say the thing someone needed to hear?

  Clearing my throat, I gave it my best shot. “When you’re ready to come back, we’ll both be there waiting for you.”

  Blane nodded his appreciation, and then turned back to Franny.

  Looking at them sitting there, I felt like I was intruding. Like I had done my part.

  Like maybe if I let them have this time alone, they would be able to grieve their baby together like they both needed.

  Even the strongest people needed to lean on someone every once in a while.

  Blane had taught me that several times over since I’d met him that day in seventh grade. And it had never been more true than it was right then.

  Unfortunately, my head and heart weren’t in a completely good and generous place. In addition to wanting to give them the space they needed and deserved, I was also dealing with an ugly, soul-eating part of myself that had never before reared its imposing head.

  Jealousy.

  Raw and powerful in a way that if I wasn’t careful, it would easily consume me, and subsequently, everyone in my path.

  This was Blane and Franny. My two best friends. And they’d been together so long without me ever feeling left out, or even worse, envious.

  But that was before. Before light dawned on the deep darkness of oblivion.

  Now I watched, and I did it diligently. Every touch, every kiss, every gentle move he made, I noticed. Every time he closed his eyes and breathed in her scent, I noticed. Every fucking time he did something that made him the kind of guy he was—gentle and real and absolutely no bullshit—I noticed.

  Longing was not a good feeling. It was strong and unavoidable, and in this situation, it felt nothing but dirty.

  Sure, he was my friend first, but I had apparently been living blind for years. I’d ignored his draw, the way he carried himself, the way he cared for those around him. But now that I’d switched off his fucking cloaking device, every gesture nagged at me.

  He hadn’t changed.

  I had.

  And it sucked huge, hairy, disgusting donkey balls. We’re talking something’s wrong they’re so large, they’ve never been groomed they’re so hairy, and they’ve been soaking in putrid milk they’re so disgusting.

  God, how stupid.

  I seriously wished I’d never come to this realization. Because as it was, love, a feeling based in uncontrived affection, felt tarnished. Damaged and unacceptable and like it would never fit into my life.

  I didn’t want to look at the two of them together and feel anything but happy. But love was too strong an emotion to ignore. Once it had you in its grip, it held on tight, strangling and shoving you in its preferred direction whether you wanted to go or not.

  Sometimes ignorance really is bliss.

  An ache settled in my chest, throbbing and pulsing like a wave, as Blane placed his lips on Franny’s temple and spoke softly into her hair.

  She nodded along numbly, the words Blane spoke swirling around her but never really landing. I wasn’t inside her head, but it wasn’t hard to see. All you had to do was look.

  Clenching my hand into a fist at my side, I worked hard to find my voice and force it past the lump in my throat.

  “I’m gonna go guys,” I declared shakily, and then added an excuse to make it more believable. “I told my mom I’d look after Gram today. Keep her out of the booze cabinet or something,” I joked.

  Franny didn’t look up, but Blane did his best to fake a grin. So hollow in its sincerity, I wasn’t sure who it benefited.

  Turning to the door, I placed my hand on the knob but paused before leaving. Looking back over my shoulder, I met Blane’s blue eyes and told him, “You know how to find me.”

  I didn’t want to say “if you need me”. I didn’t want to make it seem like they did, or even worse, like I somehow thought I’d actually be able to help.

  But I wanted them to know I’d be there.

  I didn’t wait to see his response.

  Stepping over the threshold and clicking the door closed behind me, I took a deep breath and rested my head on the white glossy paint between me and them.

  I closed my eyes and let my worry-fueled thoughts take over.

  Lifting my right hand, I rubbed subconsciously at the tightness that had a lock on my chest.

  I hated that Franny and Blane were going through all that they were.

  And I hated that Franny couldn’t seem to find any peace in a decision she couldn’t take back.

  But, most of all, I loathed that I couldn’t stop myself from fretting over my frivolous problems when I so obviously was the luckiest person in the room.

  LOOKING TO EASE THE GUILT weighing on my conscience, the first thing I did when I got home was seek Gram out.

  She had been my excuse for leaving, and selfishly, I knew she’d also be able to make me feel a little better.

  Even if it was just for a short while.

  “Gram!” I yelled as I pushed open the front door. I knew my parents were still at work so she was the only one there.

  Silence.

  “Gram!”

  Nothing.

  Dropping my stuff in the living room and heading toward the basement, I called out again. “Gram!”

  Still, no answer.

  Changing directions, I headed for the other side of the house.

  I was starting to get worried so I took the steps up to the second floor two at a time and made a beeline straight
for her room. My legs worked quickly and the sound of my pounding footsteps mirrored the frantic nature of my heartbeat.

  “Gram!” I called out again, this time with a large note of desperation.

  Sliding my way into her room, my eyes searched the space expecting the worst, but once again, came up completely empty.

  “Where the hell is she?” I asked myself aloud.

  Her hearing was lacking, but at the decibel I was calling for her, she should have been able to hear me.

  Kicking my feet into the highest gear possible, I threw myself in reverse and launched my way back down the stairs. This time, I took so many at a time, that I couldn’t remember my feet actually touching any of them.

  To an outsider, it probably would have looked more like a controlled fall down the stairs than any kind of planned descent. But to me, it was just necessary.

  I ran back to the basement door, flung it open with absolutely no care for the neighboring wall, dinging and denting it with a loud bang, and made a similar controlled fall down fifteen more steps.

  “Gram!” I screamed once more, the cry in my voice making my throat feel scratchy.

  My eyes bounced from one space to another, stopping on each and every horizontal surface including the floors, both in front of and behind every single piece of furniture. But I worked quickly, wasting no time and moving efficiently from the bottom of the stairs to the one and only closed off part of the basement. My room.

  With no preamble I knocked the closed door open and pulled up short at the scene before me.

  Gram, tucked into the covers of my bed with my laptop resting on her legs over the covers, and my headphones muffing the entirety of her ears.

  She had a bowl of salsa on the bed next to her, and there was a trail of crumbs leading from the bag of chips straight to her mouth.

  “What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” I shrieked, finally loud enough for her to hear past the sound barrier my headphones provided.

  Pulling my headphones from her ears, she questioned, “What?”

  “I said, what the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

  Shaking her head like I was the one who’d lost their mind, and maybe I had, she responded, “What’s it look like, NeeNee? I’m watching my Soaps, just like I told you I did.”