“I’m going to be watching you all,” he threatened as he pulled away. We just laughed afterward and walked into the house.
That night, my mother got home and as soon as the door slammed shut, she came at me faster than a speeding bullet.
“Logan, school called and said you weren’t there.”
“Well, I was,” I replied, but couldn’t look her in the eyes.
“What’s going on with you?” she asked.
“Screw you, Mom!”
“Excuse me?” she replied, wide-eyed. That was the first time I had ever cursed at my mom and it felt awful, but I resented her for accusing me. Jared watched me slam the door to my room, and he stared after at me with his confused adolescent eyes. I think that at this point we all knew things were officially going downhill.
School sucked, and even though basketball tryouts were coming up in a couple weeks, I didn’t even want to try out. I decided that I’d rather smoke weed and chill with my buddies. Fuck school, I thought. Besides, all of the richie-rich kids would judge me anyway, especially since I’d been skipping school a couple times a week. It had started when we skipped the first day and ran from Officer Pinelli.
I continued to cut class and had gotten detentions and tardies, and had been forced into multiple appointments with my guidance counselor. Mr. Nedrow was my guidance counselor; he must have been thirty five years old, but looked twenty five. All of the high school girls loved him. He would ask me how I felt about my parents being divorced and about what had happened to my brother.
“Shit happens,” I told him, “What can I do? I’m fine.”
What was I supposed to tell him? That my fucking world was falling apart, that my brother wouldn’t even speak to me, that I had no relationship with my dad, and that my mother and I were slowly distancing? Screw that. What would that accomplish, and did he really care or was he just setting me up so that he could fill out his fucking perfect report?
My crowd of punks grew bigger the more that I skipped school. We had a crew of about ten guys who would sneak out of class, one by one, throughout the day. Rory’s mother got sick, so we started to party at my house during the school hours.
A typical day in my junior year was waking up and waiting for my mom to go to work and then either going back to bed or driving over to Rory’s and taking bong rips in the morning. I think I was officially a loser, since I never went to classes and, when I did, I only did enough to cheat on tests in order to barely pass. The first semester was almost over and the only class I was passing was Mr. Hillfield’s class, and even he knew something was up with me. I would slouch back in class with a black hoodie over my head. When the teachers would call my name, I’d ignore them until they kicked me out of class. Everyone knew I was slipping, but I didn’t want to listen.
•••
Basketball tryouts that year were interesting. My heart was beating out of my chest as if the drummer boy was in there. The cigarettes made my lungs feel filled up after just a couple times down the court. Since my lungs felt collapsed, I could barely hit the jump shots that I used to hit easily. Younger and older kids were whizzing right by me; I was not “Ice” anymore. The coach looked at me like I was a completely different person, and I didn’t want to hear it. I didn’t make varsity like I had always imagined; I was stuck on the bench for the JV team—as an upperclassman. Not long ago, the whole world had been calling my name, and my dream girl had been so close, but now I smoked weed until my eyes turned red and I couldn’t even run up the court. What the hell has happened to Logan?
Some nights, when my mother wasn’t working, I would come home and walk by her door on my way upstairs. I could hear a whimpering cry as I walked past. My heart told me to stop what I was doing and hug her, but my adolescent mind continued up the stairs and ignored it. My father had told me that her family had been dirt poor and that her father’s sickness had started when she was young.
“I always wanted to make her rich and take her pain away, but that dream started to fade away, as I was only making things harder on her.”
•••
Butcher Boy was awful, and once again, I walked into the store high and ready to package bread crumbs. The girls who worked there were so hot, though. Looking through the glass bread case that day was this amazing girl. She must have been my age, or maybe she was closer to seventeen. For months, she would peek at me through the glass. I finally ran into her taking the trash out in the back. Her name was Tiffany, and she had a tough Boston accent. I was shy, but managed to say hello; she smiled and said hello back.
“We should hang out sometime,” I said.
“Sure,” she said as she wrote her phone number on my hand. I figured that I could have her come over to my house for a party sometime. In a couple of nights, my brother would be over my dad’s and my mother would be working a double-shift at the nursing home all night.
I texted Tiffany to invite her to my house party, and had Rory text all the people he knew. The party was a mix of jocks and burnouts and cute girls. We had some freshman girls that Rory knew come over. They were so quiet and shy, but we had enough liquor for the whole party and weed to pass around. Tiffany showed up after the third shot of vodka went down my throat.
“Hey baby,” I yelled as I ran over, hugged her aggressively, and squeezed her butt. She loved it, I assumed, since she laughed and took a shot. My house was filled with probably about twenty people, all underage drinking; girls and guys were hooking up on the couch, and Rory was in my mother’s room with some girl. The party was awesome, and everyone was just having a good time.
Tiffany and I went upstairs to my room as I found myself hammered. I mean, I could barely see anything at this point. Every time I would drink, it wasn’t even about having fun—I would get blackout drunk.
Tiffany jumped on top of me, but I was limp from the liquor. We started to make out heavily as my lungs felt like they were going to collapse from shortness of breath. She slowly started rubbing me, and as my fingers slipped around her jeans, I started to get hard. Her thong was tight against her ass; I carefully removed it around her legs. I locked the door and reached into my pants; my condom was wrinkled up and I tore it open like a madman. I put it on and spread her legs as she took her shirt off so that I could suck on her nipples. I went deep inside her as she moaned. I thrust back and forth, faster and faster, until I fell back onto the bed. Breathing heavily and sweating from the alcohol, I heard a loud-sounding exhaust coming down the street.
Fuck! It’s my dad; I forgot he lives right down the street, I was thinking. I threw my pants and shirt on and ran downstairs to warn everyone.
“My dad’s here!” Everyone panicked because they saw me panic. The freshman girls hopped out of the bathroom window, some half-dressed. Everyone else ran out the back door, and I kissed Tiffany before she ran out. The house smelled like pot, there were thongs on the lamps, and my father walked in to see his first-born son hammered and mumbling. I was terrified; maybe it was the fact that Dad was still so young and just had an intimidating look to him. He sat me on the couch as my eyes felt like they were wobbling all over the place.
“You’re coming with me,” he said.
“No, I’m staying here for Mom,” I replied.
“Dude, you’re getting in my truck and I’m taking you to my apartment.”
I paused and, all of a sudden, felt the words come out of my mouth.
“Fuck that.” His eyes lit up as I immediately hopped off the couch and ran out the door with a bottle of liquor in my hand. He chased me down the hill to the school, but I cut through a couple of blocks to Rory’s house and got away. I shut off my phone and drank until I passed out at Rory’s. What the hell have I become? I thought. Whatever it is that’s happening to me, I think I like it.
Chapter 7
THE DARK SIDE
My mother and father knew that I was heading downhill after that night. Mom said that she wanted me to see a psychologist because clearly this divorce was affe
cting me. To tell you the truth, I was starting to selfishly enjoy my situation; I had an excuse to be bad and to do whatever I wanted.
She took me to a doctor who specialized in kids with divorced parents; Jared was too young, she thought, but I wasn’t, especially since I would be turning seventeen soon. The psychologist had me sit down, so I slumped in the chair.
“Logan, why do you feel the need to drink?”
“I don’t know; it’s fun.”
“Why is it fun, Logan?”
This lady was irritating me; I pretty much gave her one-word answers as she continued to dig deeper. After a while I grew silent.
After we finished the session, the shrink pulled my mom into her room and had me sit and wait outside. All I could think about was what total bullshit this was to have a stranger judge me, from a couple of silly questions. How could she possibly know my pain? She had never walked in my shoes; she just saw a kid on the wrong path and had decided to prescribe him antidepressants.
My mother agreed that I should try them, especially because she had been on them for most of her life. We rode home together, and things felt so different; I couldn’t even look my mom in the eyes as she talked to me. She reminded me that her father was very sick, with bipolar disorder and depression. A part of me wanted to hug her and tell her that everything was going to be okay, but I couldn’t work up the courage to do so.
The next day, my alarm rang loudly as I woke up and took my first dose of medication from the doctor. I didn’t feel anything as I hopped in my van and went to school. I showed up right before the bell rang, so I wouldn’t have to see anyone; I just wanted to go to class, and I didn’t feel like explaining myself. I totally forgot that my basketball tryouts were that night, though. Fuck. After class, I saw the people who were at my party a couple of nights back, and everyone was telling stories about jumping out of the windows and joking about how they wanted to do it again. For once, it felt good to be the guy who threw parties; everyone relied on me to have a good time. I saw my basketball buddies talking in the hallway, and I passed by them quickly—I wasn’t sure if they noticed me, but I didn’t want to have to explain to them how awful my life had become.
That night, tryouts began, and I was extremely nervous. I hadn’t played ball the whole summer and had been partying instead. As we ran up the court, doing drills, my breath was shortened quickly, and my heart was beating out of my chest. We ran a scrimmage: Ice gets the ball crossover, jump shot and . . . air ball.
It’s okay; it’s my just my first shot, I thought, as everyone looked at me, confused. Ice gets the ball again; crossover . . . shit. I had lost the ball. I found myself out of breath more easily than usual, and realized that it must have been the cigarettes I had been smoking all summer and continued to smoke, half a pack a day. My lungs were on fire, and my chest felt like it was being ripped apart inside as I ran to the bench with a cramp. There were freshmen who were outplaying me; they seemed hungrier and more ambitious about the game than I was. I was out of shape and no longer the all-star I had been. Tryouts ended and I went home feeling upset, and I think the antidepressant made me even more depressed.
“Life sucks,” I said to myself. That night, I felt like I had sunk into a depression hole. Negative thoughts made my eyes water. I was alone in my room and believed that my life was over; I had officially messed it all up. My brother and I never spoke and my father hated me. My mother worked her butt off to support my brother and me, and, in return, I was out getting wasted and letting my brother run around town. My basketball career seemed to be over; I would be very surprised if I had even made the team with the way I had played. I closed my eyes, which filled with tears as I sobbed alone, hoping for a better tomorrow.
Unfortunately, tomorrow arrived more quickly than I expected. I woke up and saw that my mom had already left for work. I hopped back in bed and slept all day; I didn’t even want to wake up. However, when I finally did, it had to be around three, so I went to Rory’s to smoke. We got high for the rest of the night. For three days in a row, I did the same thing. I had missed almost the whole week of school, and didn’t want to go anymore. Finally, Thursday arrived and I had to make an appearance. Every one of my teachers pulled me aside and asked me what was going on. I made up a bullshit excuse of how I had the flu. My guidance counselor called me in to chat. I didn’t tell him much, but I saw him look in my eyes and judge that I was super depressed.
Later in the day, I heard the announcement that varsity basketball tryouts had been posted. I didn’t even want to look, but figured I’d get it over with. I scrolled my finger down the list to see names that were familiar, along with new names, such as the couple of freshmen kids. Then, at the bottom, I saw, Logan Michaels.
I was shocked, and didn’t know what to expect. I wasn’t sure whether I was happy, or frustrated that I had to play for another year. After school, I drove to work to my boring job. I worked with mostly older women in the bakery, so I stayed kind of quiet and kept to myself. I saw Tiffany smile through the glass. I pointed my finger to the back room and she nodded and gestured to meet her in five minutes. We were alone and instantly started to make out and grope each other. I was not sure what was happening or if we were even dating, but I told her that I was having people over to my house again on Friday and that I wanted her to come. She laughed and told me she would be there.
The next day in school, I saw Tim. “Logan, wait up,” he said. “Congrats on the team; you excited?”
I laughed and said yes, even though I didn’t give a shit. We walked to class like the old days, and he told me about a party that he was having that night. It would be mostly jocks and girls; I figured I could bring Tiffany and show her off.
Tiffany picked me up later that night to go to the party, and I had already gotten alcohol from one of Rory’s friends. I had gotten a bottle of Hennessy; it was what I heard in almost every rap song I listened to, so I had to try it. It was expensive for a fifth, though. Tiffany drove us to the party as I took a couple shots. The ride was awesome and I became drunker, smoking cigarettes and taking shots. We pulled up to the party and I rolled in feeling like a million dollars. Tiffany was at my side while everyone who hadn’t seen me in a while hugged and high-fived me. I am the man, I thought.
I lit a cigarette; my teammates were surprised to see me smoking, but I didn’t care because I was hammered. Hennessy is fucking awesome, I said to myself; I had almost finished an entire fifth. My eyes and face grew flushed as Tiffany noticed me starting to stumble. She wanted to get me home by eleven; she said that I was wasted as I stumbled through the house party. We left the party on account of me being wasted and, after hopping in her car, I was hanging out of the window, screaming and shouting. During the ride home, I couldn’t keep my hands off of her as I chain-smoked Marlboro Reds. She didn’t even want to kiss me because I had smoked so many cigarettes. After she dropped me off, I stumbled up the stairs. My mother was just getting home again as I was coming in the door. I walked past her with my eyes crossed and mumbled gibberish as I fell onto the couch. My mother looked sad; she had just worked a double-shift and got home just in time to see her son puking in a trash bag.
The morning arrived and I was pretty confused about what had happened the night before. I must have blacked out. Whatever, I thought, as I went over to Rory’s house to take bong rips with him and Tyler. I told them about my night with Hennessy and how awesome it had been. We got another bottle of it that night and invited a bunch of people over to Rory’s house. “Round two,” I said, as I took a shot of Hennessy and chased it with my medication and a beer. I was falling in love with this lifestyle; I loved getting drunk and high. Nothing mattered as I sipped another beer and smoked a Marlboro Red. There were girls dancing with their shirts off, girls taking shots, and girls making out with each other on the floor. Who would pass this life up? I took another shot of Hennessy as I ignored Tiffany’s calls; she must have texted me twenty times before I shut my phone off.
I stayed
over at Rory’s so that my mother wouldn’t see me hammered again. The night ended in another blackout; all I remembered was dancing with girls and kissing them, but everything else was a blur. Morning arrived to a slamming headache. I had work in the morning, but I called in sick; first, I was too hung over to work, and second, I didn’t feel like explaining myself to Tiffany. Instead, Tyler, Rory, and I just got stoned all day and ate pizza. I was at the point where I smoked weed every day, and ninety percent of my paycheck went to buying weed and alcohol.
The next day at school, my guidance counselor called me in again. He wanted to meet with me on a weekly basis. My grades were going to shit and I was failing a couple of classes. I had over ten absences and tons of tardies. Just to buy myself some time, I blamed it on my parents’ divorce. The counselor also mentioned that if my grades continued to slip, I would not be able to play any sports. He was getting on my last nerve, and on top of that, my teachers started to pull me aside after classes to ask if everything was okay. I gave the same excuse of my parents being separated; it was just taking me a little time to adjust. My teachers hated to see me like this.
•••
On the first day of basketball practice, my coach had us scrimmage. I must have gotten the ball just twice and I couldn’t keep up with the team. Luckily, I hit both shots, but was so winded afterward that I could barely play. I began to realize that life continued to move on regardless of whether or not I did; the world didn’t revolve around me. The freshman kids were better than me, my old teammates had improved. I didn’t even want to be on the team anymore. I jumped into my van after practice, feeling awful. What’s happening to me?
After a long week of actually attending school, I was completely drained. Practice got worse each day and so did I. The weekend finally arrived and I had patched things up with Tiffany at work—I’d given her some excuse that I slept all night and had been sick. I invited her to another party at my friend Tim’s house. It was supposed to be a huge party, and I figured I’d get another bottle of Hennessy, buy two packs of cigarettes, and go to my local pot dealer to get an eighth of weed. It would be a total of eighty dollars spent for recreational purposes.
The Crossroads of Logan Michaels Page 9
