Opposite of Always

by Justin A. Reynolds

  “Oh,” I say. “What are they up to?”

  “Shopping for a tux, I think. I guess Franny wanted help.”

  “I see.”

  “He’ll be back for dinner. Did you need something?”

  “No,” I say. “Not really.”

  Mom slips her glasses off, but keeps them in her hand, which is something she does when she’s about to say something important. “With all that Franny’s going through, Dad and I thought it might be nice if Dad offered Franny help with prom stuff. Franny seemed really excited.”

  “I bet he did.” I know I shouldn’t be jealous. I mean, my parents have been asking me to spend more time with them, but I’ve spent most of my free time with Kate. That’s not their fault, or Franny’s, for that matter, but still—

  “What does that mean, Jack?”

  “Nothing.”

  She stares at me. “How’s Kate?”

  “She’s good.”

  “Yeah? You two going strong?”

  “Strong enough.”

  “Prom’s coming up fast. You gonna be ready?”

  “I was thinking you might wanna go with me to the florist? Help me pick out a corsage for her?”

  “Aw, sweetie, I would love to,” Mom says. “Only things are really tight right now with the store and planning this anniversary party and . . . I really want to help you. Franny asked me to go with him. We can all go together. It’ll be fun.”

  I wave her off. “No, it’s cool. You should probably just stick to your original plan. I don’t wanna mess you guys up.”

  “Jackie, don’t be like that. How about you and I . . .”

  I manage a smile. “Don’t sweat it, Mom. I totally understand. I should be able to pick out a silly flower by myself, anyway. No biggie.” I kiss her cheek, then quickly turn away and pretend I’m busy looking for something in the cabinets, because something weird is happening to my eyes, to my nasal passages. They’re getting wet.

  “You sure something else isn’t bothering you?” Mom asks.

  “Yeah,” I say. I discreetly wipe my eyes, my nose, before turning around to face her again. “I’m sure.”

  She opens her mouth to say something, but I’m already hurtling out the kitchen for upstairs.

  So, let’s recap: everything not named Kate has changed for the worse, and I’m to blame.

  All this time I thought I was supposed to save Kate. Maybe it’s me who needs saving.

  Franny’s dad gets ninety days in county for disturbing the peace.

  Which is utter BS.

  Evidently, the Quickie Mart store owner was under the impression that The Coupon had no intention of paying for his rocky road ice cream.

  Told The Coupon he wasn’t welcome in the store.

  To which The Coupon did not take kindly.

  The Coupon decided to take his time browsing, looking at stuff he had no intention of buying, because that was his right, same as anyone else’s.

  Finally set his ice cream atop the counter, waited for the man to ring him up.

  The owner wasn’t having it. Ordered him out.

  What’s your problem, The Coupon said.

  You’re the problem, and people like you, the owner shouted. Now get out of my store!

  People like me, The Coupon repeated. People. Like. Me. Felt a whoop-ass rage bound through his body. He’d never been the Let Things Slide type. But he thought of his mom, his son, waiting for ice cream. Somewhat composed himself. Picked up the register scanner, aimed it at the barcode on the side of the carton, looked at the price, rounded up for tax. Tossed his money, snatched a plastic grocery bag from the counter, plunked his ice cream into it, and headed for the door.

  Only he wouldn’t get far.

  The store owner’s wife had already called the police.

  And as luck would have it, there was a cruiser not a block away from the store.

  And, well—

  You’ve seen this scene before.

  You write the rest if you want.

  How to Come Home

  What’s scary is that you can drift and not realize it. The oncoming car feverishly flashing its lights, blaring its horn, as you float dangerously left of center. The thing you hope for is that when you finally open your eyes, it’s not too late.

  “Jackie, dinner,” Mom calls up the stairs.

  When I get to the table, there are two extra place settings, and Dad’s ushering in Franny and Jillian.

  I look at Mom and she nods, as if to say, It’s time, Jackie.

  Dinner is awkward at first. Namely, because Franny’s playing Avoid Eye Contact with Jack at All Costs, and he’s awesome at it.

  “How’s French?” I ask Jillian.

  She laughs. “Hate to say it, but not the same without you.”

  My heart swells. “I hate that you hate to say it, but I totally get it. I lost myself for a while.”

  “Yeah, you did,” Franny agrees.

  “Well, I’m sorry. You guys deserve better. Have always given me better. I owe everyone here an apology. I think it’s just that I’d finally gotten what I’d always wanted, what I saw my two best friends have, and what my parents have, being so wonderfully intertwined with someone else, so cosmically tangled that you have no idea where they start and you end.”

  Jillian bites her lip. “That’s beautiful, J. And that’s what we’ve always wanted for you, too. Franny and I wanna see you happy. You deserve to feel loved, to be loved. Which is why we have tried to be understanding. Why we’ve tried to give you your space.”

  “I know,” I say. “You guys have been awesome.”

  Mom squeezes my hand. “The thing is, you don’t forfeit your whole world to prove your feelings to someone. You bring your worlds together. You get more world, not less.”

  “Hey,” I say to Franny as we clear the kitchen table.

  “Hey,” he mumbles back.

  “So, there isn’t a good enough phrase to describe what I’ve done, but I’m really . . .”

  But Franny shakes his head. “Save it, man. Soon as we get done with these dishes, I’m gonna get my payback.”

  “Uhhhhh,” I gurgle.

  “You’re about to get the ass-whooping of your young life,” he promises. “In Metal Brigade.”

  He pushes me in the shoulder.

  Jillian awwwws behind us.

  I push him back the same.

  Prom-ises

  The night before prom I can’t sleep.

  I have Kate rattling around my head, of course. But it’s more than that.

  I think about my last prom.

  The teeter-totter feeling—initially believing I’d been stood up by Kate, only to find out that, no, she was actually in the hospital.

  What if tomorrow, it happens all over again?

  What if Kate doesn’t show? What if she’s not well?

  But Kate does show. And she’s even more beautiful, which I didn’t think was possible.

  “How are you feeling?” I ask her as soon as I open the front door.

  “Umm, nervous, actually,” she says.

  “That’s it? Nothing else?”

  She laughs. “Excited? I don’t know what you want me to say.”

  I want to just ask her, But do you feel healthy? I study her, although I’m not sure what I’m looking for exactly, and I suppose she seems okay.

  “Jack, aren’t you going to introduce us to your date?” Mom asks behind me. “I swear he wasn’t raised by wolves.”

  “Sorry,” I say. “Mom, Dad, this is Kate. Kate, Mom and Dad.”

  “Nice to meet you, Kate,” Dad says. “We’ve heard so many good things.”

  Kate grins. “I hope they’re true.”

  Mom beams. “You two look so good together. Can I hug you, Kate? Is that weird to ask?”

  “Mom,” I protest.

  But Kate laughs, holds out her arms. “I love hugs.”

  “Sooo.” Kate nods. “This is what I missed out on when I didn’t go to my own prom.”

&
nbsp; This year’s prom theme is Mardi Gras, and there are possibly more beads in this room than in the rest of the world combined. “Yes,” I say, taking in the scene. “All of . . . this.”

  “Should I flip my top up now or wait until later?”

  “As tempting as now is, my vote is later.”

  “Good call,” she says, pulling me onto the dance floor. “First, let’s get our nonrhythmic grooves on.”

  “Definitely,” I say. I snap my fingers and I am not within ten miles of locating the beat. Fortunately, Kate is also very good at being dysrhythmic.

  “Nice, horrendous moves,” I say, as I perform a cross between the cha-cha and what I like to refer to as cracked-out polar bear on wheels.

  “You’re pretty awesomely terrible yourself.” She flaps her arms so hard that either she is (invisibly) on fire and trying to put out the (invisible) flames or she is attempting to gather enough momentum to lift off, fly Mary Poppins style above our heads, before exiting this prom via the skylights.

  “What do you call that move?” She steps back, presumably to get a better look at my killer routine.

  “Isn’t it obvious? Chicken trapped on an escalator,” I say, not missing a beat, my arms flailing, my feet hopping up to the next invisible step.

  And then she’s twirling her arms in a circle and making a whooshing noise, and then she’s spinning round and round. And I have to ask, “And what do you call that?”

  “Cat on a windmill.”

  We spend most of the evening on the dance floor, thoroughly embarrassing ourselves. And it’s electric.

  “This punch would taste so much better if it was in a juice box,” Kate shouts over the thumping bass.

  “Juice boxes are the best,” Jillian says.

  “Juice boxes for president,” Franny yells, raising his plastic cup in the air.

  I raise my cup. “Juice boxes for czar!”

  When our favorite Mighty Moat song comes on, our foursome erupts in our worst dancing yet.

  “I didn’t think anyone liked Mighty more than me,” Franny says to Kate, impressed at her word-for-word recitation.

  “Would I sound pretentious if I told you it’s because I know the band?” Kate asks.

  Franny stops dancing. “Get outta here.”

  “Okay, I’ll get out,” Kate says. “But I don’t know how I’d invite you to their concert if I’m gone.”

  “Are you serious?” Franny says, jumping up and down.

  “You have no idea what you’ve done,” Jillian says, laughing.

  “Jack, why have you kept Kate away from us?” Franny demands. Which seems to be a popular question.

  On the last slow song, I mull over where I should put my hands, but Kate makes it easy for me—places my hands on her back centimeters above her ass. Her face rests on my shoulder. And there’s no place I would choose over here.

  But then I feel her body quiver.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah,” she says. “Just felt weird for a second. I think it’s passed.”

  “You sure?”

  “Let’s just dance.”

  But the song’s not over when Kate leads me out into the foyer.

  The door still closing, she says, “I have to go, Jack. Like, right now.”

  “Go where?” I ask. “What’s wrong?”

  But she’s already retreating down the corridor, her breath jagged, eyes anguished. “I’m sorry to do this to you.”

  “I don’t understand. Where are you going?”

  She jabs the elevator call button. “I’m sorry.”

  “Wait, tell me what’s happening.”

  “This was a mistake. I can’t be with you. Not the way you want. I’m sorry, Jack. I shouldn’t have come. You should just forget me, okay? Just forget me.”

  The elevator chimes open. Kate steps inside and slips off her heels, squeezing them in the same hand as her clutch. And she’s mashing the buttons as if the doors can’t close fast enough, as though she can’t be away from me soon enough.

  “Kate, wait,” I yell. “I can’t forget you. I could never forget you.” I wedge my arm between the doors.

  “Please, Jack, just let me go,” she snaps.

  “Wait, just tell me one thing. Are you okay?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Good question. “I don’t know. Are you feeling sick or . . . unwell? I just . . .”

  “I’m feeling like I shouldn’t be here, Jack. Nothing else.”

  “But . . .”

  “Please, let me go.”

  I step back from the elevator because what else is there to do? The doors close, Kate disappearing right before my eyes.

  And it’s like when you don’t clean the chalkboard well enough, and you can still see the ghost of what was written before; I can’t erase the last prom from my brain. I can’t let Kate leave alone. I slap the elevator-down button but there’s only two elevators and one hasn’t budged off the tenth floor and the other is currently making its sweet descent to the lobby, where it will deposit Kate into the shiny night.

  I push open the heavy stairwell door and I run, trip, and stumble down. I’m a speeding, heavily sweating torpedo, and I’m locked on my target. I explode into the gold-gilded lobby, my head on a pivot, sweat flinging left and right, and I possibly induce a heart attack in an old woman alarmed by my bluster, only I’m busy staring at Kate’s empty elevator.

  I burst through the brass front doors, cool night air invades my lungs, and there’s Kate, standing beside a cab. Kate sees me as she slips in, pulls the door closed.

  The cab’s rear lights, two bright-red exclamation points stamping Kate’s departure.

  I collapse onto the concrete.

  Like newly asphalted roadkill.

  My heart raging.

  And I can’t breathe.

  I can’t do anything right. Not even breathe.

  And then tires screech. I sit up in time to see the cab reverse violently into the hotel drive, kicking grass onto the sidewalk.

  Kate came back.

  The cabbie hops out, yells, “You’re Jack?”

  I stand. “That’s me.”

  “Call 9-1-1!”

  I scream into the lobby, “Call an ambulance! Call 9-1-1 now!” I race down the front hotel stairs, yank open the back-seat door.

  Kate’s lying there, chest heaving, her face clenched. “Kate, what’s wrong? What’s happening?”

  The cab driver is muttering. “Does she need an inhaler or something? Please, God, help this child.”

  “Jack . . .”

  “Kate, tell me what to do.”

  But she’s barely there.

  “Kate, talk to me.”

  “Jack,” she says, feebly. “Stay with me.”

  “I’m never leaving.” I crawl into the cab, gently lift her head from the seat, set it onto my lap.

  Somewhere in the near distance, sirens shriek.

  “Kate, you’re going to be okay.”

  “I’m sorry,” she says.

  I don’t know if I should try to keep her talking, or if I should tell her to conserve her energy. I don’t know anything. Why don’t I know anything?

  “You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” I say, stroking her hair. “Just breathe, Kate. Nice and easy, okay. Nice and easy.”

  “Hey, what’s happening, man?” It’s Franny. “You guys okay?”

  I shake my head. “Something’s wrong with Kate.”

  “Oh my God,” Jillian says, leaning into the doorframe. “Did someone call for help?”

  “It’s on its way,” I say to my friends. “Help is on the way,” I repeat near Kate’s ear, wisps of her hair clinging to my cheek.

  The siren is right on top of us.

  I look through the rear window, only to see nearly our entire senior class standing on the hotel stairs, clasping their faces and each other.

  A pair of paramedics appear and place an oxygen mask over Kate’s face, and all I can see are her eyes, earth
y and wet.

  “Make a lane, people,” the husky paramedic barks. They quickly deposit Kate onto a stretcher and hustle her toward their squad.

  “Where are you taking her?” I hurry after them as they load Kate into the back.

  “You family, kid?” the woman paramedic asks me.

  “Yes,” I say.

  She knows I’m lying. “Hop in,” she says.

  “Just stay out of the way, man,” the guy orders.

  “Jack!” Jillian and Franny are on the curb. “We’ll follow you.”

  I nod. The ambulance doors close. The siren squawks. I keep out of the way, only moving to take Kate’s hand. She squeezes my fingers weakly, but I’ll take it. I’ll take it.

  “She’s going to be okay, right?” I ask the paramedic.

  And I can tell she wants to say yes but she won’t lie to me.

  The hospital is a blur of moving bodies and glinting instruments.

  Orders bellowed, machines stirring to life.

  Get another IV in here stat!

  Venturi mask now!

  Yo, where’s that IV? I needed that IV yesterday.

  Her veins are crap on this arm. Lemme look over there. Move, move!

  Why is this kid in my exam room?

  Think he came in with her.

  Well, he can’t be in here. Yo, kid, you gotta get out. We got your friend covered. We’ll come find you when she’s cool.

  Those fluids need to be up, Juan.

  Saline?

  Naw, give me some KCl.

  We want blood gases?

  Yeah, we need ABGs. CBC. BMP. The whole shebang, Tracy.

  Kate. Kate. Listen to me. Look at me. I need you to breathe, nice and easy, honey. Just relax, okay.

  Got it!

  ’Bout time.

  Yo, why is this kid still standing here? This ain’t a damn made-for-TV movie. Somebody get this kid to the waiting room already. How many times I gotta ask?

  “Come on, kid, you gotta come with me. This way. Come on. It’s okay. You sit here, okay? We just got cable, so there’s probably something to watch if you try hard enough. You want something to drink, there’s water there. Crappy coffee too, if you’re desperate. That’s a joke. Okay, no it isn’t . . . listen, she’s going to be fine. I’ll come back out here when she’s stable and I’ll let you see her and you’ll see how fine she is. Okay? . . . Okay?”