Losing Her

by Mariah Dietz

  I watch her lean over his body and kiss him, and hear the crowd grow raucous with cheers. Then I Google him again and seek any information that may tell me more. There are a few photos of the two together along with the man that’s at the fight with her. There are websites with allegations of him dating “the mysterious blonde” and a few reports on them having known each other for years. This gives me a small piece of mind, knowing that the internet and these sites often fabricate information for ratings. She didn’t know him after all … right?

  I’d known for years that my parents fought. Our house in Arizona was fairly small and the walls were paper thin. I’m sure that even our neighbors knew. Their fights had never been physical. They were always verbal spars—my mom accusing my dad of not loving her enough, him accusing her of working too much, her accusing him of drinking too much, him accusing her again of working too much, and so on. There were plenty of times I’d been sure it was going to become physical when the accusations had turned to threats and the strained voices turned into angry volatile tones. My brothers had too, apparently, because on those occasions one or both of them would shove our dad into the attached garage and lock the door. It always seemed strange to me that he’d never left while in there. I have no idea what he did while he was in the garage; he had access to get out but he always stayed until Hank would eventually go unlock the door.

  While he was in there, Hank or Billy would go and talk to mom while I tried to remain oblivious to the events by hiding under my covers and pretending to be asleep.

  The fights escalated when Hank left for college. Although Hank could be a grade A-asshole to Billy and me when he wanted to be, his absence took a sense of peace from the house that had always been too fragile to begin with. Billy was only fifteen, and his hot temper didn’t serve to resolve the conflicts. Usually, he escalated the issues.

  One night, the fighting had built, becoming particularly heated. Billy was failing miserably at calming things down. I crept out of my room and down the hall to the dining room where the three of them were converged. At ten, I still only came up to my dad’s chest, but I was channeling Hank, hearing the sternness of his voice as he used to direct our dad to calm down and get out.

  My voice wavered a bit with the first word, then came out shockingly loud and clear. I felt triumphant as my dad stopped and turned to look at me, his cheeks flushed with alcohol and rage, then he laughed. It was a loud, cruel laugh, and my stomach rolled at the stench of bourbon permeating his breath as it reached me in waves. Even when it wasn’t on his breath, my father always reeked of bourbon; his pores excreted bourbon sweat.

  Anger surged through me for him laughing in my face, especially in such a demonic manner. I’d never seen or heard my dad laugh when Hank instructed him to leave. Hell, I’d never heard him laugh like that period.

  His laugh stopped as quickly as it had begun, and before I could react, he backhanded me. Hard.

  The metallic taste of blood from my cheek hitting my teeth filled my mouth as my eyes grew round with surprise. My brothers had hit me many times, way harder than that even, but my dad had never hit any of us.

  My shock was reciprocated on his face as his mouth fell open and he choked on a few incoherent words.

  Billy punched him in the gut before the shock wore off, making him double over. Although Billy was a lot shorter than Hank, he was thicker, his muscles more compact, and he could deliver a punch that left you dazed.

  My ears registered my mom’s screaming, and by the hoarseness of her voice, she’d been screaming a while. She threatened to call the police and demanded he leave. In all of their fights I’d never heard her tell him to leave, usually she begged him to stay.

  I wake up with my heart pounding as I sit up and quickly scan my room. It’s still dark enough out to know I should still be sleeping.

  Erin’s next to me, her naked leg stuck to mine. I pull mine away and roll so I feel the coolness of the sheets, offering me a chance to breathe. Maybe having her so close to me triggered the dream? I intentionally work to sleep on the opposite side of the bed from her on the nights she stays over, which is becoming a routine.

  Zeus’s head lifts at the side of my bed from where he lies on his dog bed each night, and I drop my hand over the edge to reassuringly pat his head and let him know to go back to sleep.

  He lies his box head on the mattress close to mine, looking lonely, and I make a quiet vow to him that I’ll take him running.

  He doesn’t move.

  We both know it’s not running that he’s missing right now. It’s her.

  Before I reach the front door I can hear raised voices. They’re not just raised, they’re yelling.

  I push open the door and see Billy head to head with our dad.

  “… this some sort of game to you?” Billy’s a few inches shorter than him still, but he doesn’t hesitate in placing his hands on Dad’s shoulders and shoving him backwards.

  “What? You don’t know us well enough to fight back yet?” With those words I know exactly where Billy’s mind is, mine has been there too. And the memory brings with it that horrible taste of blood, like I’m sucking on a penny.

  “I would never—”

  Billy punches him in the mouth, making his head whip to the side. “LIAR!” Billy shouts, grabbing the front of his shirt in his fist.

  I don’t know why I’m defending my father, but I begin to peel Billy away, struggling against his anger that is stronger than my confusion.

  “Go!” I yell at my dad, jerking my head toward the door. “Let him cool off.”

  He opens his mouth to object, but I cut him off and instruct once again for him to leave. Finally, he does. As the door closes behind him, my arms drop from Billy. Though I’m no longer holding him, he violently shrugs his shoulders like I am, before turning to face me, his head lowered defensively and his hands balled into fists.

  “Don’t give him the chance to hurt you again. He had thirteen years to come back and he didn’t! Why now? Because he no longer has to pay child support, or go to our games, or actually be a dad? Thirteen years, Max! Why in the hell are you letting him stay here?”

  “Because I made him leave!” My voice matches his volume that can still likely be heard on the doorstep.

  Billy’s head snaps back and his eyebrows bury over his eyes. “I swear to God, Max, if I ever hear you say that again I’ll beat you to a pulp. You didn’t make him leave!” His arm swings up, pointing toward the front door. “It wasn’t your fault! No one blames you!”

  “I was trying to be Hank.”

  “I don’t care if you were acting like the biggest fucker on the planet. Kids do shit, Max. They say things, they break things, they do stupid shit all of the fucking time! It’s part of being a kid! You were trying to be an adult in a situation you never should have been in. It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t your fault he hit you, and it wasn’t your fault he left.”

  His eyes manage to somehow look even angrier than they did moments ago when he was fighting to get to our dad. “Jesus, is that what you’ve thought all this time? Is that why you went looking for him?”

  My hand runs over my hair that now juts out over my fingers, an inch longer than I’ve worn it since Alaska.

  My throat feels dry and my chest feels compressed. “I don’t know.” A loud breath echoes in the silence.

  “I’m not going to tell you that you should kick him out, though I would without even blinking. But if you’re letting him stay here because you feel guilty over a fucked-up decision that he made thirteen years ago, you need to grow some balls.”

  Sharing his thoughts about Erin was the first time Billy offered me advice, and I still haven’t managed to escape them from randomly playing through my head. These words I know are going to haunt me as well.

  “Christ, why didn’t you ever say anything, Max?”

  The door opens, breaking the tension. Hank walks in with a few bags of groceries in each hand and a smile that falls as he looks
to each of us.

  “What in the hell happened?”

  “Nothing,” we say in unison.

  Hank lifts his eyebrows but doesn’t press the issue. He cranes his neck to the side, indicating the kitchen, and holds up the bags. “I got some Jäger. Let’s get this shit over with.”

  We get plastered. Completely shitfaced. Reminiscing about times that I didn’t even realize I remembered. Billy proves his lack of ability in keeping a secret and tells Hank about my fears of being the one that forced dad to leave to which Hank doesn’t respond to. He spins, raising his arm in the air, trying to kick a foot between mine. Growing up, he loved putting me in headlocks. It used to annoy the hell out of me because it was so degrading, and so damn annoying that I could never reciprocate the action, despite the fact that I’d tried for years. Now though, I’m bigger, and my alcohol tolerance seems to be at an all-time high, and I finally pin him instead.

  He lets out a strangled laugh of surprise and pats my arm a few times to tell me he understands. I release him and he sits back in his chair and eyes me.

  “You didn’t do anything wrong, Max. Not with dad anyways. The porn star, now that’s another issue. But you never made a mistake with dad. That wasn’t your fault.”

  We sit in silence for a while, all lost in our own thoughts.

  “Molly’s having a baby,” Billy announces quietly.

  “Is it yours?”

  My eyes grow as I look to Hank and wait to see Billy attack him. The universe has me completely shocked when he instead laughs quietly and takes another drink.

  “When are you going to Delaware, shithead?” Billy asks.

  I shake my head and pour another shot of Jäger that I toss back without blinking.

  “You should go … shithead,” he continues.

  “I’m supposed to let her go. That’s what David told me.”

  “What?” Billy asks. “Dude, are you hallucinating?”

  “No, shithead,” I reply, filling my glass again. “He wrote me a letter.”

  “What?” Hank grabs my glass before I can get it to my lips. “When did he write you a letter?”

  “He wrote one to each of the girls and their families. Jameson and I each got one.”

  “And he told you to let her go?”

  I nod, and reach for the bottle. Hank rips it away from me as well, and I turn to ask him what in the hell he’s doing.

  “Max, what in the hell did this letter say?”

  I grab my glass and drink it, raising my eyebrow to him, daring him to stop me. “He said that she would freak out. He knew it. But when she freaks out she doesn’t plan, she reacts. This time she planned. She planned it all. And I did let her go. I didn’t have a fucking choice in the matter. She’s gone. Get used to it.”

  Hank looks at me and blinks several times. I see the questions streaming through his mind and guarantee they’ve already crossed mine at least a thousand times.

  “At least go get Wes back,” Billy says. “Don’t tell the SOB, but I’ve kind of missed him.”

  I wait until Monday, because I felt like shit all weekend. Apparently, I’m not as bulletproof as I had thought when I decided to finish off the Jäger by myself. I approach Wes’s apartment and knock.

  He pulls open the door, and his face falls into a frown as he sees me.

  “I’ve been an asshole. I know,” I start. “I feel like I’m trying to learn to fucking breathe again.”

  I notice Wes’s face tighten with a grimace. “Why don’t you talk to me, then? I know this is hard on you, but being a douche isn’t going to help things get better.”

  “I’m failing classes. I can’t sleep an entire night because I fucking talk to her when I sleep. I talk to her, Wes! Like she’s still here.” I brush a hand over my hair and avoid looking to see his reaction. “I live with her sister and dog. And my dad just came back into my life. I need Erin right now.”

  “Your dad’s back?”

  My eyes lift to Wes and rather than expressing shock, his face is relaxed and calm, reflective of the old Wes, my best friend. “Apparently.”

  “Where in the hell has he been.”

  “New Orleans.”

  “What in the hell, dude! What’s he like?”

  I shrug my shoulders and shake my head. “Fine. I don’t know.”

  “He’s back?” he whispers, and I nod in confirmation, realizing how crazy this is. Wes lets out a deep breath and then nods. “Just make sure you wrap it up. Hell, double wrap that shit.” He slings an arm around my shoulders and roughly hugs me as he pats my shoulder a few times.

  My dad moves out on Wednesday as the new month begins. He’s found an apartment that’s just a few minutes away from our house, ensuring me that he’ll still be over constantly.

  Great.

  Wes and I help him lug boxes into his new place because neither of us have class. I caught him looking back and forth between my dad and me a couple of times when he first arrived, but he quickly fell into a natural rhythm, making easy conversation that unveiled stories of how my dad picked up computer programming last several years ago, and is now a contractor working remotely for a company out of San Francisco.

  Billy had been worried that he didn’t have a job and was trying to be a freeloader. At least this will give him a small bit of comfort.

  Conversations remain careful. He doesn’t talk much about the years he’s been gone and even less about the years he was around, leaving us with discussing a lot about me. Thankfully, Wes fills in a lot of the stories that I glaze over, he was around for so many of them it’s not difficult for him.

  “Your Grandpa would have been proud. Did you know he played baseball all through school? If he hadn’t joined the Marines out of high school, he would have played in college. Everyone talked about how he had a hell of a curve ball, but an even better instinct on knowing where the ball was going to land. He played shortstop. Caught countless fly balls.”

  “He would have loved to have seen Max play. He kicked ass out on the field. He could hit the ball so long it didn’t matter if you knew which direction it was going, you were shit out of luck, because it was soaring into next week.”

  A smirk creeps across my face and my head shakes. I haven’t thought about baseball in a couple of years, let alone missed it, but right now the comfort and sureness of the weight of the bat in my hands makes me yearn for the sport.

  “A couple of guys I know are working to create a league this summer. We should red shirt it. See how it goes.” It’s as though he can read my desire for the game.

  “Yeah. We’ll see.” I’d like to commit, but I sort of fear what playing will do to me. Will it make me regress further? Make me want to find other things that I’ve allowed to leave my life?

  “Why has no one ever taught me how to punch someone? You guys make it seem so easy, but it’s not. It hurts like a mother!” Our heads turn as Kendall comes through the door, being led by Savannah, Abby, Jenny, and Kendall’s old roommate whose name I can’t remember.

  A bag of chips falls to the floor as Jameson stands. “You punched someone?” His question comes out with as much shock as I feel.

  “My thumb kills,” she whines, dropping her purse. “Apparently, you’re supposed to have your thumb on the outside of your fist, which is not at all how I form a fist.”

  “What in the hell happened? Are you okay?” Jameson’s eyes scan over her repeatedly.

  “No, my wrist hurts, and my thumb hurts—”

  “Why’d you punch someone?” His agitation grows as he cuts her off.

  I turn to Savannah, who looks reluctant to join in the conversation. The girls have been convening over here more and more recently, causing mayhem on my emotions, which has led me to spending more time with Erin at her apartment.

  “Who’d you punch?” Landon asks.

  “Was there hair pulling involved?” Wes adds with a grin.

  Jameson shoots him a glare before turning back to Kendall, whose face has turned calculated.


  “Abby what in the hell happened?” I demand.

  “We sort of ran into Nathan Hudson …” Abby begins, letting her words trail off.

  Jesse lets out a line of profanities in Spanish as he looks up at the ceiling.

  “What in the hell were you guys thinking?” Jameson snaps. “You guys have been drinking and you tried to get in a fist fight? You were supposed to be celebrating Jenny’s engagement! And she’s pregnant!” he says, waving a hand to Abby. “And you didn’t get in a fight with just anyone … you went and punched an asshole that would probably have hit you back! What in the hell happened?”

  “I’m only four months pregnant. I’m still tough,” Abby retorts.

  Jesse, who already looks ready to punch someone himself or start screaming, mutters something in Spanish and shakes his head.

  I look over in time to catch Kendall’s expression. I’m expecting to see fire and anger, followed by her screaming about how she can take care of herself. Instead, her face is somber before it crumples, and she falls into Jameson’s chest and cries.

  My gaze hits the area rug as my jaw stretches. I force myself to believe that what I’m feeling is purely sympathy for Kendall, who I’m starting to less reluctantly view as a friend, rather than just Jameson’s girlfriend. My attention turns to the other girls. Jenny shifts uneasily, looking over to Savannah, who also looks on the brink of tears.

  “Babe, it’s okay. Nothing’s going to happen. Shhh.” Jameson tucks her under his chin.

  “I hate him,” Kendall’s muffled voice cries. “I just want her to come home.”

  I feel eyes turn to me, waiting for a reaction I can’t give. I know her absence affects all of us, but sometimes I forget the magnitude of it.