Table of Contents
FIRST SHOT
New York – April 1995
The city was still dark when my 17-year-old brother shook me awake. We were the same age, but we were not twins.
“It’s Dad. He’s been shot.”
“Is he dead?” I asked with closed eyes. I saw him stretched out in one of those chalk outlines he liked to draw.
“No. I would have said ‘Dad’s dead’ if he were dead. He’s been shot.”
“You’re such a dick.”
“I’m precise,” my brother argued.
“You’re a dick,” I said. I took a deep breath and exhaled my eyes open. “Let’s go.”
“Where?”
“Where’s Dad?”
“He’s at Roosevelt Hospital.”
“Then we’re going to Roosevelt Hospital. It’s like ten blocks away.”
“Sixteen.”
“Whatever.”
“He’s unconscious in the ICU. I don’t see the purpose of going.”
“I’m wrong. You’re not a dick, Culli. You’re a sociopath.”
My words hung there, too close to the truth, as we got dressed and out the door. This was his father we were talking about. I was adopted. That’s a long story for another day.
Miguel Montoya met us at the emergency room entrance. Dad and his partner were both plainclothes cops, homicide detectives. They say the city never sleeps, but this place felt like a graveyard before the break of dawn. Just a few mopes waiting to get stitched up.
“It was like a high-speed Mexican standoff,” Miguel informed us. “I bust through the door and this motherfucker’s waving a gun in my face, catches me by surprise and the gun goes off. He misses my head, thank the lord, but shoots my hat clean off. Your dad’s got his Beretta out and he empties the scumbag’s brain all over the wall. So this fucker’s friend tags your dad – five shots to the chest. I’m almost out cold, but I see the guy firing at your dad. It pulls me back. I get my shit together and just empty my clip into the guy.”
He took a breath.
“It don’t feel good to kill a man, but you’ve gotta protect your own, ya know?”
I wished I had the life experience to offer some assurances, but instead I asked “How’s Dad?”
“Not good, man. Five shots in the chest. He’ll pull through, though. He’s one tough son-of-a-bitch. He’s like Vito Corleone, you know? Anyone else would be dead. C’mon, I’ll take you guys in. That way you won’t have to explain to the nurses why a skinny white kid is here to visit the big black bear. It’s family only at this hour.” That’s what Dad’s buddies called him. I wasn’t sure if it was affectionate or racist. Miguel was right that I didn’t look much like my brother or my dad.
He led us into the Intensive Care Unit.
Detective John Diamond was lying still in a bed behind a plastic curtain, hooked up to machines.
“John, your boys are here to see you. Cullinan and Michael.”
We stood in silence for a while.
“Go on, talk to him,” he urged us.
“He can’t hear us,” my brother objected. “He’s unconscious.”
“They say it’s good for him to hear your voice,” Miguel countered. “Go ahead. Say something. It’s good for you, too.”
“You look terrible,” Cullinan observed.
“Dad, you look great,” I started. “Don’t listen to Culli. Miguel says you’re like Vito Corleone. I know he was a gangster and you’re a cop, and he’s fictional and you’re real, but he was also a tough motherfucker. And he died playing with his grandchildren. I don’t have a girlfriend, and we both know Culli’s in no hurry, so you’d better be patient and hang in there.” My words earned a glare from Cullinan and a smile from Miguel.
We stood in silence until the sun came up.
“Mike and I have to get to school,” Culli said to Dad. “That’s what you’d want us to do. We’ll see you soon.”
FIRST PERIOD
I went to Stuyvesant High School, a specialized place for smart kids who weren’t rich. Most of us took the bridge across West Street to avoid crossing the highway, but I preferred to use the marble main entrance. As much as I hated high school, I enjoyed the brief sense of grandeur before the mundane set in. In front of me were seven hours sitting at a desk. I wondered if Dad would get a desk job after he recovered. If he recovered.
“Hey, Mike.” It was my emo friend Dave. “What’s up?”
“Not much. How’s by you?” I guess I was his metal friend – long hair, black trench coat and all.
“I’m having a party tonight.”
“Of course you are. It’s Friday. You have a party every Friday.”
“Hey, it’s not my fault my mom is cool and buys us beer. You should come.”
“I don’t drink beer and I hate parties.”
“Yeah, but Red’s coming tonight.”
“Who the fuck is Red?”
“She’s a friend of Lucy’s. You should meet her,” Dave suggested.
“Great.”
“You sound nonplussed. But you’ll be there, right?”
“Whatever,” I agreed.
“We’ll play guitar after.”
“Yeah. Okay.”
The school day was a bore except for a moment in Government Class when the teacher asked us to come up with a constitutional argument against the draft. I think she was impressed when I used the Thirteenth Amendment’s clause about “involuntary servitude.” If the man handing you a gun and sticking you in the jungle doesn’t constitute involuntary servitude, I don’t know what does. Of course, my dad was drafted to fight in Vietnam and no one was saying much about the Thirteenth Amendment then.
My eighth period physics teacher was not so impressed when I fell asleep during his lecture about the sun. School felt like involuntary servitude.
FIRST IMPRESSION
Dave’s parties were all more or less the same. A lot of drunk kids, some smoking pot, rarely any harder drugs. I guess they wanted to be coherent enough to have faux-philosophical conversations and make out. At least the music wasn’t too loud. And some of it was good. When Jimi’s version of All Along the Watchtower came on, I was already sitting alone in a corner with my guitar, half-watching folks out of the corner of my eye.
I got lost in the song. Going note-for-note with Hendrix was an all-consuming endeavor. I didn’t realize I was mumble-singing to myself until she walked in front of me.
Red.
That was the color of her hair. Not that natural orange we call red, but a deep metallic red, flowing halfway to her hips.
“Nice guitar,” she commented on my black Les Paul Custom. “Is that an amp?” she pointed to the cigarette-box-encased pocket amp I was playing through.
“Ha ha … yeah,” I answered. “They’re getting pretty clever with these things.”
“They said you shredded, but I didn’t think you’d actually be good. They’re a bit prone to exaggeration.”
“Who’s they?”
“Lucy and Dave, of course.”
“And you’re Red?”
“That’s what they call me.”
She was tall, with a womanly figure and a boyish demeanor. She wore all black – denim and leather – but not too much with the spikes.
“You like Metallica?” I gestured at her shirt when I caught myself staring.
“Hell yeah. Can you play Master of Puppets?” she nodded at my guitar.
I answered her question by ripping out a string of notes.
“One?”
I obliged.
“Nothing Else Matters?”
I placed my pick on my knee and began the quiet fingerstyle intro. Dave and Lucy floated into our corner of the room. I got to the verse and he started singing. Red picked up the harmony in the second verse. I wasn’t much of a singer, but I joined in for the choruses. Dave grabbed his guitar and threw down the rhythm just in time for me to play the guitar solo. There was clapping. I managed to be embarrassed and happy at the same time.
“Let’s go out on the roof,” Dave suggested. “The moon is huge tonight.” Dave was really into the moon.
“So I’m at this Guns N’ Roses concert last year,” Lucy began, “and Axl keeps saying shit like, ‘Good evening, Las Vegas!’ and ‘Thank you, Las Vegas!’ At the end of the show he keeps shouting, ‘Las Vegas! Las Vegas! Las Vegas!’ We were in Atlantic City.”
“Ha! Classic Axl. He must have been high off his ass,” Dave concluded.
“It’s amazing that Steven Adler actually got kicked out of that band for being too much of a junkie,” I said.
“That’s a high standard,” Red noted.
“Too strung out for GNR.”
Lucy and Dave headed back inside and Red and I were left alone on the roof.
“That was subtle,” she said.
“Dave’s about as subtle as rush hour.”
“Well, this was a setup from the get-go.”
“Yeah.”
“They said we’d like each other. That you’d be good for me.”
“Dave said that?” I laughed.
“Lucy. I don’t think she realized I’d be bad for you.” There was a sadness behind her wicked smile.
The ensuing silence managed to be uncomfortable without being awkward. I thought through several things to say, but couldn’t get them out of my mouth.
“My dad got shot today.”
“Holy shit! Is he okay?”
“I think he’s in a coma. He’s a tough guy, though. A cop. He’s been shot before. He’ll be fine.”
“My dad’s gay. Just took him twenty years of marriage and four kids to figure it out.”
“Good for him. It can be hard to figure out what you really want out of life.”
“Yeah,” she smiled. “Sometimes.”
We resumed our silence in greater comfort.
FIRST TRY
One of Red’s friends came out on the roof.
“We’re leaving,” she told Red.
“Hey, this is Michael.”
“Hi,” I waved.
“Briana,” she stated her name and smiled, cold and polite. “We have to catch the 11:42 train, otherwise we’ll be stuck in the city.”
“Would that be so terrible?” Red asked.
“Yeah. My parents would kill me.”
“Okay, okay. I’ll get my bag,” she said and shooed Briana away. Red flipped her hair over her shoulder and turned back to me. “So, it was cool hanging out. Maybe I’ll see you again.”
This was the part where I was supposed to ask for her phone number. “Yeah, um … see you around,” was all I could come up with.
She made a fist and held it out. I extended my fist and we bashed them together. She started away, then rushed in for a quick hug and retreated as fast as she came in.
“Okay, laters.”
“Later.”
After Briana, Lucy and Red headed off to Riverdale, Dave and Briana’s boyfriend came out on the roof.
“Mike, this is Wade; Wade, Mike,” Dave introduced us. “He goes to school with the girls up in the Bronx. I’ve got dishes to do. I’ll be right back.”
“Gummy wreath?” Wade offered. “They were $.99 for two huge bags. They must be left over from the holidays, ‘cuz they’re stale as shit.” He was good looking and athletic, his parents were rich, but he had horrible taste in snacks.
“Sure…” I took one from the bag and tried to bite into it. My teeth couldn’t make it past the crunchy outer layer. I gave it all I had, but gave up after ten seconds. “Are these things made of obsidian?”
“Yeah, they’re indestructible. But I bet they make excellent projectiles!” Wade suggested.
I felt the weight of the gummy wreath in my hand and tossed it up and down a few times. “I bet I could hit that water tower on the roof across the street.”
“No way! Dude, I’m a quarterback and I don’t think I could hit that.”
“I used to play right field and pitch before our first baseman broke his leg. I could totally hit that shit.”
“Twenty bucks?”
That was a lot more money to me than it was to him. It was probably a bad bet, but I couldn’t refuse the challenge.
“Sure. How many tries do I get?”
“One! What, you’re going to throw a whole bag?”
“Like that would be such a waste of fine candy?”
“One shot.”
“Okay, fine, but give me a fresh one, without tooth marks in it. I don’t want to throw a knuckleball by accident.”
He handed me the bag and I selected the most symmetrical green gummy wreath. I took two steps back and then charged towards the railing, whipping my left arm forward as I hurled the hard candy in a majestic arc.
“I can’t even see it!” Wade complained.
I held my index finger up to my mouth in a hushing gesture. PING! The gummy wreath sounded off as it ricocheted from the water tower and came back into view falling towards the street.
“That was sick, dude!”
We both looked down over the railing, relieved that there was no one walking on the sidewalk down below.
“Okay, my turn,” Wade declared. “Double or nothing.”
“Good luck.” I knew I had been lucky.
He wasn’t. “Fuck, man!”
“That wasn’t even close. You need to work on your release point.”
“It’s not exactly like a football, you know.”
“I can’t even throw a football,” I confessed. “A baseball fits my hand. Footballs are just weird.”
“Seriously? You’ve got an arm like that and you can’t throw a spiral? We’ll go to the park sometime and I’ll show you how.”
“Sounds good.”
“It’s all about the grip. You need to get a comfortable grip that works for you.”
“People are always telling me I need to get a grip,” I quipped.
“Okay, one more. I’m gonna get it this time.”
“Double or nothing again?” I offered.
“Word.” He carefully selected his next projectile and slung the gummy wreath into the night. It struck low. “Damn. That’s eighty bucks!”
Dave came back outside. “What the hell are you guys doing?”
“Uh … nothing,” Wade claimed.
I just cracked up. “He’s trying to hit that water tower with one of these gummy wreaths.”
“No fucking way. Never gonna happen,” Dave declared.
“Dude, he already hit one,” Wade pointed to me.
I shrugged.
“Yeah, but he’s a freak. You guys wanna play some cards?” Dave asked.
“Hell yeah,” Wade agreed. “I’m already eighty dollars in the hole. Gotta win it back somehow.”
“I’m in,” I concurred. “We can use the gummy wreaths for poker chips.”
FIRST CALL
I walked around the neighborhood with a pocketful of quarters. Every few blocks I would stop at a payphone, drop a quarter in, and dial 1-718 and then the first six digits Wade had scrawled on a piece of paper for me. The guys thought it was so funny that I hadn’t gotten Red’s phone number, and now I was having an impossible time even calling her.
I had tried to call from home, but I felt awkward with my brother around so I went for a walk. Things were already weird with John in the hospital, and neither of us really knew how to deal with it. I tried to reassure Culli that everything would be okay, but he knew I was full of shit. No one ever knows what’s going to happen, and he was the one who might be a doctor someday. What the hell was I going to be? A writer? A musician? Maybe a spy? When we were kids we had a running joke that he was going to be a world-famous detective, I was going to be a master criminal, and we’d have epic rooftop battles.
I crossed the West Side Highway and walked down Pier 84. It wasn’t in such good shape back then. When I was a little kid, Dad used to take me there to look at the big grey aircraft carrier. The Intrepid. I always wanted him to tell me war stories, but he never wanted to talk about it. He said it wasn’t anything anyone needed to hear about anymore. Something about letting go of the past. Said I’d understand when I was older. Apparently I wasn’t there yet, because I still wanted to hear the stories. I wanted to know what it was like. Besides, who doesn’t love a good story?
I turned back to face the city, watching a thousand windows reflect the setting sun. I dropped a quarter in a payphone and dialed all the digits.
“Hi, this is Michael. Is … uh … Red there?”
“Ha ha … you don’t even know my real name, do you?”
“Oh, hey. You sound different on the phone.”
“Yeah, I hate my voice. Like when I hear it recorded, I sound like a wuss.” She sounded younger, more like a girl.
“No, it’s nice. It’s just different. No one likes to hear their voice recorded. Our voices sound much cooler in our heads. More resonant.”
“Ha ha … the voices in our heads. You have those too?”
“Yeah, I guess. I mean, everyone does, right? Not in a psychotic way, just like our conscience, our inner desires, all that shit.”
“Word. The trouble starts when the voices can’t agree. Like Herman’s Head.”
“I think they cancelled that.”
“Yeah, they cancel all the good shows. It’s a conspiracy,” she said.
“My granddad is a big conspiracy buff.”
“Oh yeah? Me too.”
“Like aliens and shit. He says he was abducted a couple times. Also some stuff about the Nazis, the Knights Templar. I can’t keep it all straight, but he’s got some great stories,” I said.
“I like stories. Tell me a story.”
“I like to watch the reflections in the windows. Look at all those windows and see how all these lives are going on. They’ve all got their problems and their shit that they’re worried about. But maybe right now they’re just standing there, watching the setting sun. Maybe just for a moment, the world is staying still for them. They’re free from their problems. Just for a moment, everything is okay.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah, whatever. They’re probably all just sitting in front of the TV like fucking zombies, right?”
“ZOMBIES!”
“I fucking hate zombies.”
“You know some?” she asked.
“No, I just mean in fiction. They’re so slow and stupid. I can’t stand slow. Or stupid.”
“Sometimes slow is nice.”
“I try to do things fast unless they’re worth doing slow.”
Awkward silence.
It lasted a while.
“So maybe, sometime…” I started.
“Yeah, maybe. I don’t know. I’m sort of … it’s complicated.”
“Well good. Simple’s boring.”
“No, it’s just, I’ve had some experiences. Not such good ones,” she confessed.
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
“Sometimes I think I might not like guys.”
“Okay. I mean, if you don’t like me like that, that’s cool.”
“No, I do. That’s the thing. But it’s complicated.”
“I can handle complicated.”
“You shouldn’t have to.”
“Maybe I want to.”
“Are you going to Briana’s party?” she asked.
“Wade’s girlfriend?”
“Yeah. It’s her birthday. Next Friday. You should come.”
“I don’t really know her. I don’t think I’m invited.”
“I just invited you, silly. Take the train up with Wade and Dave. Everyone’s going to be there. She has the best parties. They go all night.”
“Okay. I’ll be there.”
“See you then.”
I walked home, happy in the dark.
FIRST STREET
“So, you gave her a call?” Wade asked as we walked around the East Village.
“Yeah.”
“And?”
“Well, she invited me to Briana’s party. I’m heading up with you and Dave, so it doesn’t really seem like a date or anything.”
“Dude, Briana throws the best parties. This is the first party she’s had since we’ve been dating. We’re totally gonna do it. I’m psyched.”
“You guys are gonna have sex?”
“Yeah. How about you?”
“I’m sure I will not have sex with Briana.”
“No, you and Red.”
“What about us?”
“Do you like her?” he asked.
“Yeah, I mean, what’s not to like? She’s smart, hot, and likes cats. Plus, she knows all the words to Master of Puppets.”
“Yeah, but do you like like her?”
“Sure. I mean, I could see us repopulating the planet after the inevitable apocalypse ravages humanity. We just connect like that.”
Wade laughed. “You’re a hopeless romantic, my friend.”
“Yo, check this out,” I changed the subject. “They’ve got Metallica T-shirts that don’t say Metallica on them.” I gestured towards a gruesome skeletal design hanging in a window.
“Okay. What is it?”
“I think it’s the same artist – Pushead – but it’s his own line.”
“Pushead?”
“Yeah, I don’t know. Doesn’t sound like the name his parents gave him. Kuro. I’m getting one of these. What size is Red? Like a medium?”
We went into the store, but none of their wares appealed to Wade. “I’ve still got to find a pair of jeans. Let’s go west.”
I paid and we left. We came upon a pack of 3-card monte dealers as we turned up Broadway.
“Hold up,” Wade said. “I’m good at this.”
“Dude, no one’s good at this. They cheat.”
“No shit. But I can still beat them,” Wade claimed.
“Show fifty, win fifty. Show fifty, win fifty. Where’s the queen?” the dealer pattered as he shifted the cards back and forth.
An old woman pointed to the card on the left. “No, it’s the middle one,” Wade corrected.
“Yes! The young man is correct!” the dealer congratulated him as he flipped up the center card.
A burly guy standing next to him said, “Show fifty, win fifty. Gotta show the cash to win.”
“So I just show you my money, and I get paid fifty dollars?” Wade asked.
“Show fifty, win fifty. Gotta show the cash to get paid,” the bouncer-shaped dude confirmed.
“All right! I’ve got fifty dollars.” Wade produced a fifty-dollar bill from his pocket and waved it in the air. The bouncer snatched it.
“Hey!” Wade objected.
“Follow the queen, where’s the queen? Gotta play to win.” The dealer began his patter as he moved the cards around.
Wade just stood there and stared at the bouncer like he was gonna sock him in the jaw. Hitting him in the throat would be more effective. “I didn’t show the fifty to play. You said I already won.”
“Gotta play to win. Where’s the queen?” the dealer continued.
The bouncer nodded towards the cardboard box with the three cards on it.
Wade stared at him. “I’m not picking a card.”
“Gotta play to win,” the dealer insisted.
Wade pointed to a card without looking.
“No, I’m sorry. That’s the king. Better luck next time to the young man. Who’s next? Follow the queen, where’s the queen?” the dealer continued right along with his shtick.
Wade wasn’t moving.
“Come on. Let’s go.” I put a hand on his shoulder, hoping he wasn’t about to slug the big guy, as much as I would have liked to myself.
Wade grumbled to himself as we walked around. I tried to console him, but couldn’t come up with anything more creative than, “Fuck those guys, man.”
“My mom gave me that fifty dollars for a new pair of jeans. She’s gonna be pissed.” He bent down and picked up a loose piece of concrete from the street. He felt its weight in his hand. “I’m going to hit that guy with this stone. And then I’ll find another stone and hit that fat-faced dealer.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, man.”
“Dude, I’ve got a great arm. I’m a fucking quarterback. And this has much better mass than the gummy wreaths.”
We both laughed.
“That’s not what I mean,” I said. “See those guys? They’re pickpockets, yeah. But they’ve got knives. And that guy’s packing. There are like ten guys in this crew. They’ve got spotters. They all work together. We could take down six of them and still lose the fight.”
“What, am I supposed to just walk away and forget about it? I gotta do something,” he insisted.
“Fine. Let’s get the cops.”
“Fuck the cops.”
“Dude, my dad’s a cop.”
“Oh. Sorry. I didn’t know.”
“Nah, it’s cool. Most cops are a pain in the ass, but we can use them here.”
“How are we gonna do that?”
“Well, running a 3-card monte scam is illegal. And scamming kids has to be even more illegal. Let’s just walk around until we find some uniforms.”
“What are we gonna do with uniforms?”
“Cops, dude. Cops. Over there. That van.”
We walked up to an NYPD van. There were two cops with coffee and donuts.
“Excuse me, officer,” Wade began. “Are those 3-card monte things illegal?”
“Yeah.” The cop bit into a jelly donut.
“Well, uh … I just–” Wade began.
“They just stole fifty dollars from my friend,” I said.
“What do you mean stole?”
“I’d already picked the right card, then they said ‘show fifty to win fifty.’ I took out my money and the guy grabbed it from me. They tried to get me to play another hand, but I’d already picked the right card.”
“That sucks.” The cop laughed and wiped jelly from his face.
“So can you do something about it?” Wade asked.
“Tell you what kid, we’re kinda busy right now, but we’ll look into it.”
“Kinda busy? You’re eating donuts,” Wade objected. “I’m not big on stereotypes, but come on.”
“I don’t know, they call it a jelly donut, but is it really a donut if it don’t got a hole?”
“I think it’s a pastry,” the other cop said.
“Yeah, so like I said, when we’re done with our pastries, we’ll look into it.”
“Thanks,” Wade rolled his eyes.
We walked away.
“Fucking cops.”
FIRST KISS
“So remember, we’re never going to talk about that thing that happened at that place that time,” Wade reminded me as we rode upstate on the Metro-North.
“What thing?” Dave asked.
“Don’t worry about it,” Wade answered.
“What thing?” I played along.
“Exactly,” Wade smiled.
“You guys are weird,” Dave observed.
“You’re the one who brought a picnic basket for the fucking Metro-North,” Wade countered.
“It’s for the party.”
“I told you there’d be food at the party.”
“I just wanted to bring something for me and Lucy.”
“Then why are you eating it already?” I asked.
“Because he’s a fucking pig, that’s why. Can you believe he actually ate all of the gummy wreaths that night?”
“I can’t believe he ate any of them. I thought those things were indestructible.”
“I’ve got razor sharp fangs,” Dave smiled like a vampire.
“You’re weird,” Wade concluded.
After leaving the comfort of New York City, we got a ride from the train station with Briana’s dad. Their house could more properly be referred to as an estate. In fact, the entire party took place outside, on the grounds, as they said. There was a patio with hammocks and a swimming pool, a pavilion with a dance floor and table of refreshments, and a great field set off by trees and a swing set.
I inspected the food, but only the fruit was to my liking. I tried not to eat the whole watermelon, but it was hot and humid.
“Dude, it’s like 90 degrees and you’re still wearing your trench coat,” Lucy observed.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “It’s hot out.”
“Take it off, man. Dance a little.”
“I don’t really dance,” I objected, but she was already taking my coat off and moving to the music. I shuffled my feet a little bit, but couldn’t quite get into it. “Where’s Red?”
“She’s always late. Loosen up. She’ll get here when she gets here.”
“I’m loose,” I said as I bounced side-to-side like a boxer.
Lucy giggled. “I’m gonna circulate. I know most of these people, and I should talk to them, even if I don’t really want to. Should I introduce you to some folks?”
“Nah, that’s okay. I wouldn’t want this watermelon to get lonely.”
I watched Lucy shake her hips as she walked away, then scanned the grounds for Red. She was nowhere. Dave and Wade were having a conversation on the other side of the dance floor, but Wade was looking off into the distance. I followed his sightline and saw Briana arguing with some big jock. I looked back at Dave and Wade and read lips.
“Why the hell is she even talking to him?” Wade said. “Boone’s such a tool. I’m gonna go over there.”
“Dude, just chill,” Dave counseled. “She’s got it under control.”
“Whatever. It’s her birthday party. If she doesn’t want to spend time together, that’s her problem.”
Dave laughed. “I thought I was the emo one.”
“Yeah, me too,” Wade frowned. “She’s just got me all wound up. I thought tonight would be special.”
And just like that, it was.
Red stepped onto the dance floor from behind a pack of strangers. “I’m so happy, cuz today I found my friends,” Kurt Cobain began Lithium. Nirvana didn’t feature brilliant guitar work, but Nevermind was one of my favorite albums. The fact that he’d blown his brains out a little over a year ago added to the song’s effect.
As the song hit the chorus, I shook my hair loose and started to thrash around. I wouldn’t call it dancing, per se, but it was the closest thing I engaged in. Red joined in, spinning her wild mane in a circle. Our friends joined us as the center of the dance floor cleared. We crashed into each other repeatedly. By the end of the song all of us were sweaty and smiling. Even buttoned-down Briana let loose.
The next however-many hours were spent laughing and telling stories. I threw down my knitted wolf blanket and the six of us sat together in the field. Dave and I had brought our guitars and we played, taking requests of songs I didn’t know. I would just find the key and then noodle along as Dave kept the rhythm and sang with the group.
“We’re heading inside,” Briana declared. “We have plenty of couches to crash on.”
“Yeah, sure.” Dave put his guitar away.
“We’ll stay out here,” Red said. “It’s so beautiful out tonight.”
“It is a full moon,” Dave observed.
“Okay. Watch out for werewolves then!” Lucy cautioned.
“Maybe we are werewolves,” Red growled.
“Yeah,” I agreed, “and we’re here to defend the world against evil corporations who would rape the earth.”
Red twitched. “That’s like my least favorite word in the English language.”
“Sorry. My bad.”
“Okay, enjoy your full moon madness then,” Dave said as he and Lucy backed away.
Red lit up a cigarette and waited until the others were out of earshot. “I was talking to my dad about you.”
“About me?”
“Yeah.”
“What does he know about me?”
“Oh, a lot! I talk to him about everything. He’s a wise man, you know? Old soul.”
“Okay.”
“Just like you.”
“I’m an old soul?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s funny. My granddad used to say that. What about you?”
“Am I an old soul? Yeah, of course. You know how you just know some things sometimes? And you don’t know why?”
“Yeah. People call it intuition.”
“Sure. But what is it really?”
“I think it’s your brain using information it’s collected and figuring things out on an unconscious level.”
“Maybe it’s that. I think it’s magic.”
“Magic?”
“Yeah, it’s like magic. It’s something that happens but you don’t know how. Even if there could be an explanation, unless you have the explanation, something just happens. It’s magic.”
“Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic,” I quoted.
“Any sufficiently advanced technology is magic,” Red claimed. “Like love.”
“What does that have to do with technology?”
“Nothing at all. But that’s what I was talking to my dad about.”
“I thought you were talking about me?”
“I was.”
I tried to think of something clever to say when I was supposed to be trying to kiss her. I dug into my bag and pulled out the Kuro shirt. “I got this for you.”
“Holy shit! That’s fucking awesome, dude! It’s like a Metallica shirt but it’s not.” I thought she was about to kiss me, but then she went from manic to depressive in a blink. “I’m afraid, but my dad says I shouldn’t be. Or that it’s okay to be afraid, but not to let the fear win. Sometimes you just have to try things. Take a leap. I just … I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Pain doesn’t really bother me. I’m used to it.”
“Always the stoic one, huh?”
“Yep. That’s me.”
“Come here.”
I leaned in and she kissed me. Her mouth tasted of smoke, but I didn’t mind.
FIRST CHOICE
After staying up most of the night and taking the train back in the morning, I was attempting an afternoon nap when Cullinan woke me by jabbing the phone into my ribs.
“It’s your friend Wade. He doesn’t sound happy.”
I snatched the phone out of his hands and waved him away.
“What’s up, Wade?”
“She dumped me for that fucking rugby player. Can you believe that?” Wade asked.
“Who?”
“I mean, who the fuck plays rugby in America? Is that even a real sport?”
“It’s big some places, but not quite a top-tier American–”
“Brandon Boone,” Wade interrupted. “That’s who. He’s an entitled little bitch who can’t make the football team, so he plays rugby.”
“I’m sorry, man.”
“His dad’s so fucking rich. He buys companies and breaks them apart and sells the pieces. What a family. I didn’t even think she liked the guy. What’s she thinking?”
“Brandon?”
“Yeah. I think she’s just dating him for his money. I know she can seem like a bitch and all, but I didn’t think she was that shallow.”
“That’s fucked up, dude. I thought things were going well with you two.”
“Yeah, me too! We were hot together. I’m totally blindsided here, man. I don’t get it. How do you leave a happy relationship for a jerk?”
“It doesn’t make any sense,” I said. “Did you guys talk about it?”
“I asked why she wanted to be with such a tool. She wouldn’t talk about it.”
“That’s too weird, man. You’ve gotta just forget about her.”
“Maybe I should kick his ass.”
“That might make you feel better, but it’s not likely to get you anywhere.”
“I’ll start playing rugby and I’ll hit him right in the scrum.”
“I don’t think that word means what you think it means.”
FIRST BASE
I floated through school that week. I saw Dave and we made plans to hang out with the girls on Saturday night, just the four of us. I felt bad for Wade, who was sitting at home and playing video games all the time. That was me six weeks ago, but now I was as happy as I had ever been.
I had a baseball game on Saturday. Like I had told Wade, I used to play right field and pitch a little in relief, but our first baseman broke his tibia when some huge dude tripped over his foot on the bag. Playing first base, you get a few cleats digging into your foot, but it takes a real catastrophe to fracture your shin bone. I didn’t really hit enough to stick at first base, but I could suck up all the offline throws that our shitty infielders made. The Stuyvesant baseball team wasn’t made up of bad kids. Just bad ballplayers.
We didn’t even have our own field. We had to travel up to Randall’s Island for our “home” games. Down by a run going into the bottom of the ninth, I ripped an inside fastball down the first base line and dug for a triple right out of the box. The terrain was rocky and the grass was high out in the right field corner, so I knew their right fielder would have trouble picking up the ball. I guess we had a home field advantage after all.
I could have made it to third standing up, but the headfirst slide was my favorite part of baseball. It was almost the reason I played the game, growing up watching Lenny Dykstra and Wally Backman. I led the team in dirty uniforms. I had visions of stealing home to tie the game, but their pitcher was keeping a strict eye on me. He struck out the last two guys in our order, so I was still standing on third when our leadoff man came up.
I was always a fast runner as a kid. I won every race in grade school and I was always the fastest kid on my Little League team. But Fat Marty made me look like a turtle. The way he ran was supernatural. He always joked around that he was half cheetah. I would believe it, too. This kid was an Olympic-caliber runner and he loved baseball. When he was in center and I was in right, we covered so much ground that we could’ve gotten by without a left fielder.
But he was hitting and I was running. He looked over to third base and gave me a wink. The infield was in, but he was gonna go for it anyway. I smiled and took a modest lead as the pitcher stared me down, then I took a big secondary lead as he moved towards the plate. Marty squared off and was leaving the batter’s box by the time his bat made contact with the ball.
It was a perfect drag bunt.
I broke for home.
They had no chance to get me, and forget about Marty.
Just before the ball rolled to a stop, it hit a rock and popped up into the charging third baseman’s hand.
You don’t hear about what it’s like to get thrown out at the plate. There’s the exhilaration of knowing you’re carrying the tying run on your legs. You have the power to stop time, make the game last forever. But then the third baseman makes a perfect barehanded grab, a perfect flip, a perfect tag from the catcher. All of that happens, and you’re left lying there in the dirt.
Your teammates stand around dumbfounded. And instead of being mobbed by them, you’re suddenly lying at the bottom of a dog pile, but it’s the guys on the other team. You’re stuck in their celebration and you can’t get out, so you jab at them with your elbows and knees, hoping you get a lucky shot at someone’s neck or their groin. It’s not nice, but you want them to feel as bad as you feel.
Whatever. It’s only baseball, right?
FIRST INSTINCT
When I got to Dave’s house, Red and Lucy were in a mood. Silly and morose. They kept saying, “Two heads, swinging on a pike.” And giggling. Lots of giggling. I found it difficult to insert myself into their conversation.
“Who are they talking about?”
“Brandon Boone. He’s the guy Briana is dating now. He’s a tool. And then some rugby coach. I’m not sure what they have against him, but he’s probably a dick, too.”
“Now they’re talking about a school bus full of dead people. Should I be concerned?” I asked.
“You should have been concerned a long time ago, my friend,” Dave laughed. He turned to the girls. “Hey, so are we going to watch this movie, or what?”
“Basic Instinct? Yeah, put it on,” Lucy demanded.
We sat in silence through two hours of sex and violence. I found myself uncomfortably crossing my legs as Sharon Stone was crossing hers.
“I thought the girl/girl scene was superhot. Didn’t you?” Lucy asked after the movie.
“Um … yeah,” Dave said.
I was less eloquent than Dave, so I remained silent. We watched as our girlfriends kissed each other and then giggled.
“So, what’s for dinner?” Red asked.
“Vodka!” Lucy declared.
I allowed myself to ponder the directions the night could take.
Red and I ended up in the kitchen and Dave and Lucy ended up in the bedroom.
“Why are sex and violence always linked together?” Red mused.
“Not always,” I objected. “What about romantic comedies?”
“Yeah, but romantic comedies aren’t sexy. They’re romantic.”
“Fair enough,” I conceded.
“They’re not always that funny, either.”
Red pulled a knife from the rack. She tilted her head and watched her reflection in the blade. “I used to cut myself,” she said.
“Why?” I asked.
“Things happened. I thought it was my fault. Maybe it was my fault.”
“What happened?”
“There was this guy. We were friends. He had such an awful life. He just needed to feel loved, you know?”
“Everyone needs to feel loved.”
“Yeah, well. I guess that’s what I was there for.” She had placed the blade on her wrist and was testing the pressure.
I wrapped my fingers around the blade and lifted it away. “Hey. That’s what I’m here for.”
“There’s always this sense of violence with a guy.” She kept looking at her wrist. “Kissing a girl is so much different.”
“I don’t feel violent,” I said as the blade scratched at my skin. “I mean, not towards you. If I ever met this guy, I don’t know. I might–”
“See? It’s there. Simmering beneath the surface. You all have it.”
“I think everyone does. The world’s a fucked up place. Doesn’t that make you angry?”
“It makes me sad.”
“Better not to play with knives when you’re sad.” I slid the knife back in the rack.
“You’re no fun.”
“I can be,” I frowned.
“Aww … don’t you get sad now,” she said. “Come here, killer.”
FIRST HAND
“So nothing happened?” Wade was incredulous. “That’s like Stairway to Heaven without the guitar solo.”
We were playing poker at Dave’s. It felt like the dust had settled after an epic battle and we were the three wounded survivors on the losing side.
“It was like we were magnets facing the wrong way,” I said. “One moment she can’t keep her hands off me and the next moment she can’t stand me touching her. I said that we could be friends, but I don’t think she wants to be. I’ve just never met anyone like her. Sometimes I feel like she understands me better than I do, and other times it’s like she’s just on another planet.”
“Nah man, she likes you a lot,” Dave assured. “She’s just … complicated.”
“She said that. What happened with you and Lucy? Things didn’t seem quite right this morning.”
“Yeah, we broke up. Says I’m too sensitive.”
“You are pretty sensitive, dude,” Wade said.
“Fuck you.”
“I rest my case.”
“I thought girls like sensitive guys,” I said.
“Yeah, me too.”
“Hey, do you call or what?” Wade demanded.
“Yeah, I call.” Dave put two chips in the pot. “Lucy wants someone more dangerous, like Mike. She said we should switch.”
“How the fuck am I dangerous?”
“Wait, she said you should switch?” Wade asked. “Like, she dates Mike and you date Red? That’s hilarious.”
“Yeah, she said that I don’t challenge her or something. Whatever.”
“How the fuck am I dangerous? I raise.”
“You wear a trench coat, all black, play metal, and practice martial arts like eight days a week. Plus you’re fucking raising all the time.” Wade called my raise. “What the hell do you have?”
“Three aces. Maybe I am dangerous. Lucky in cards, unlucky in love, right?” I dragged in another pot.
“Then why the fuck am I not winning?” Wade demanded. “At least your girl didn’t leave you for a rugby moron. I really need to drill that guy in the face.”
“Dude, let it go,” Dave counseled. “He’s a dick, she’s a bitch. They’re perfect for each other.”
“Wade’s wrong, Dave.” I said. “You’re really not that sensitive.”
“It’s not like that, man,” Wade said. “I still care about her. I don’t know how people get all bitter and hate the people they love. I’d still do anything for her.”
“Dude. You’ve gotta get over her,” Dave insisted. “Move on.”
“She’s pregnant,” Wade announced.
“What?” Dave jumped.
“Umm … is it–” I began.
“She says it was me.”
“I’m sorry, dude,” Dave stammered. “I mean, are congratulations in order?”
“What? No. She’s seventeen. She’s not having a baby. She wants me to go with her though. That asshole’s too much of a chicken shit. I don’t like it, but I guess it’s what I’m supposed to do.”
“So you’re going?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
FIRST BLOOD
I had made a habit of napping in the afternoons after school, but Culli had made a habit of waking me up with bad news.
“It’s your friend Wade. He’s not dead. He’s in the hospital.”
“What the fuck happened?”
“He jumped off the roof of his school. Apparently the building isn’t that tall. He broke his right femur, left tibia, and lost some blood.”
“Can’t you just say he broke his legs.”
“I’m sorry about your friend. That’s what I’m supposed to say, right?”
“Yeah, C. Thanks. We’ve been spending too much time at hospitals these days, huh?”
“Yes, we have. I’m borrowing another Raymond Chandler from your shelf. I think Dad likes those the best.”
“How can you tell? He’s still in a coma.”
“He snores less when I read it to him.”
I took the subway up to Riverdale and went to see my friend.
“I felt like I couldn’t do anything right,” Wade moped. “So I jumped off the roof of the school. But I couldn’t even do that right.”
“How did you land?”
“What?”
“Did you try to land on your head?”
“No.”
“If you wanted to die, you should have landed on your head.”
“I’ll remember that next time. I landed on my feet. They say I crushed my legs.”
“That means you wanted to live. So you succeeded.”
Wade laughed.
“You’re not wrong, but you’re not as right as you think you are,” he said. “I woke up this morning and I wanted to die. Somewhere between the roof and the ground I changed my mind. You’re probably wondering why.”
“I wasn’t going to ask, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to know.”
“It’s all about the kid. It hurt so much, going with her to get it done. That’s not what I wanted, not what I would have done. But it wasn’t my choice. It was hers. The best I could do was support her in that and be there for her. And I was. I felt all noble and shitty at the same time. Like a samurai stabbing himself in the stomach. It wasn’t my stomach. But I felt the pain there just the same. And you know what?” he asked.
“What?”
“It wasn’t even mine. After I go with her, she tells me thanks; then she breaks down, starts crying, and tells me it wasn’t mine. She was with that jerk back when we were still together. It wasn’t enough that she dumped me for him, but she cheated on me first, then used me to do what he wouldn’t do. Is that fucked up, or what?”
“That’s fucked up,” I agreed.
“Anyway, you know how they say your life flashes before your eyes when you’re falling to your death?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, my life didn’t flash before my eyes. Not the life I’ve had. Instead, I see the kid’s life. I see this kid growing up, and I realize – that’s what I want. For the first time in my life I realize I want to be a dad. And all of a sudden I want to live, but it’s a bit late to change my mind. It’s only a few stories and I try to get my legs under me. I guess my timing sucks,” he concluded.
“Your timing could have been worse.”
“True,” he laughed. “But look at me. My life’s a mess.”
“Hey, tell me about it. My dad’s in a coma, my first girlfriend dumped me – decided she prefers girls – and I fell asleep during my SATs. My life isn’t exactly a shining example of success. I have no idea what I want to do.”
“Yeah, but you’re so good at everything. Whatever you want, you can just do, you know? I can play football, sure. At least I could. But that’s literally the only thing I’ve ever excelled at. And I don’t really love the game. I just played it because the chicks dig a jock. But I never had the heart of a jock.”
“I know.”
FIRST PERSON
A week later, I somehow found myself at another party with the usual suspects. It was Red’s birthday and we were at her house. Red, Dave, and a few others were watching Monty Python and the Holy Grail while Lucy and I hung out in the kitchen. I had taken to playing with kitchen knives.
“Can you believe about Wade?” Lucy asked me.
“Yeah. Pretty fucked up. At least he’s bad at suicide,” I said as I spun a blade around.
“Will he be okay?” she asked.
“Yeah. He sounds pretty excited about life now, actually. He just had a momentary lack of clarity.”
“It all goes back to that Brandon fucker.”
“He sounds like a world class turd.”
“Trust me, he is.”
“You know him?”
She laughed. “Yeah, I know him. He lives around the corner.”
“From you?”
“No, right here. Down the street from Red. They grew up together.”
“Oh.” I flipped the knife in the air and caught it by the handle.
“They sort of–” she paused. “They have a history.”
“Like, a romantic history?”
“Not exactly. You might call it more of a sexual history.”
“Oh.” I tossed the knife a bit higher.
“You know how you can’t use the word ‘rape’ around Red? How she goes ballistic?”
“Yeah. I sort of figured–”
“Yeah. The thing is, she’s all empathetic and shit. She makes excuses for him. Says that his parents fucked him up. His dad’s an outrageously successful entrepreneur, and has berated him all his life. Tells him he’s worthless.”
“That’s a sad story and all, but I mean, Dave’s dad was awful to him until his mom took out a restraining order, and he’s like the nicest guy in the world.” I put the knife down. “I might be a little fucked up myself, but I’m not going to go blaming that on anyone else. Just because there’s a reason someone’s fucked up doesn’t absolve them from their actions.”
“No, it doesn’t. And Brandon’s worse than worthless.” The cold rage in her voice sounded like more than concern for a friend. “It’s not just Red.”
“I’m sorry.” I went to touch her shoulder and noticed my hand was bleeding.
“Holy shit, dude, what happened to your hand?”
“I guess I need to work on my knife juggling.”
“Yeah, or you could not work on your knife juggling,” she suggested.
“Where’s the hardware closet?”
“We should get you to a hospital!”
“Nah. I’ll be fine. I just need some super glue and duct tape.”
“If anyone else said that I’d say they were full of shit, but with you I can’t tell.”
“Seriously. Just find some super glue and duct tape and meet me in the bathroom.”
I found some hydrogen peroxide under the bathroom sink. My thumb stung as I disinfected the wound. I put the peroxide down and looked myself in the eye. I found an annoying pimple to pop instead of shattering the mirror.
“Hey,” Lucy startled me. “Will this work?”
I nodded and began applying glue to my cut. “What happened with you and Dave? You couldn’t ask for a nicer guy.”
“I know. Maybe that’s the problem. He’s just a bit too sensitive. Too considerate. Sometimes a girl wants a little danger, you know? Not an evil scumbag like Brandon. But just someone who’s not afraid to get dark when the situation calls for it. I felt safe with Dave, but there’s not a lot of passion in safety. Is he okay?”
“He will be. He’s just gonna mope around until he falls head-over-heels for someone new.”
“Don’t tell him about all that Brandon shit. I don’t know what he’d say,” she worried. “He can be overly dramatic. I don’t like to talk about it, but I feel like I can trust you.”
“So why the hell is Briana dating that asshole, anyway?”
“I couldn’t say.”
“I mean, does she know? Did you tell her about everything?”
“She knows. The three of us used to talk about everything. I tried to talk to her about Brandon, but she just shut me down. She doesn’t want to hear it. We’re not really friends anymore. I guess that’s why.”
“That sucks.”
“Yeah. It does. I’ve moved on, but I’d still like to strangle the shit out of her boyfriend. You know, I spent a long time blaming myself for what happened. I think that’s what Red does. But I came to accept that I can’t change the past. I let the blame fall where it’s deserved and move on.”
“There shouldn’t be people like him in this world.”
“No. There shouldn’t. But there are, and there’s not much we can do about it. I mean, I’m not really going to strangle him. All I can do is make sure to open all my own drinks from now on and look out for my friends. I tried with Briana, but you can’t help someone if they won’t let you.”
“Did you consider pressing charges?” I asked as I wrapped duct tape over the dry super glue on my hand. “Duct tape fixes everything.”
She laughed. “Yeah. I thought about it. But there’s no physical evidence. It’s my word against his, and he can afford the best lawyers money can buy. Who’s going to believe a 17-year-old girl who had alcohol in her system and lacks a clear memory of exactly what happened?”
“I do.”
FIRST PAGE
I slipped over to the Boone residence after everyone else had fallen asleep. It was massive. Brandon lived around the corner from Red, in the same cul-de-sac in Riverdale. There were a few poorly positioned security cameras. They captured the front entrance, but Brandon’s room was around back and had a terrace with an open window. I climbed a tree to get a good look.
A teenage boy lay asleep on his bed next to a box of pills and a half-empty 40-ounce bottle of Olde English. No one looks evil when they sleep. He looked more like a sad, lonely kid than a villain.
A small diary lay open on his desk. I slipped from the tree down to the balcony outside his window and strained to read the upside-down contents of the open page. It was dated the night I first kissed Red.
Went to Briana’s birthday last night. Bitch knows how to throw a party. I can’t believe that slut got herself pregnant. She says I got her pregnant. Thought I pulled out that one time. Guess I was pretty drunk. I don’t know how she would even remember, anyway. I got her so wasted. Haha. She totally wanted it though. That little black dress? I know when a girl is asking for it, and who am I to say no? When you’ve got all this, you gotta spread it around.
I can’t believe she wants to get rid of it. My child. She should be fucking honored to have a Boone in her womb. My family’s so much better than hers. Maybe my dad’s an asshole, but he’s earned the right. He’s built something. What the fuck has her family built?
No way in hell I’m letting her kill my baby. She even wants me to go with her to get it done. I told her I’d give her an old-fashioned abortion. With my fist. Haha. I also told her to stop dating that football moron or I’d show everyone the pictures I took. That bitch is mine now. I’ll fucking kill her if she does anything to my kid. But she’s so hot. Drives me crazy.
Crazy indeed.
LAST CALL
My brother was out when I got home. I opened his copy of Mosby’s Nursing Drug Reference and flipped the pages to flunitrazepam. Its primary use was to treat insomnia. Side effects included amnesia and loss of motor control. Mixed with alcohol it could cause vomiting and, in sufficient doses, death. Lovely.
I went for a walk on Pier 84 and gazed at the Intrepid. I dropped a quarter in a pay phone and dialed Red’s number on the first try.
“Hello?”
“Hey. Red?”
“Yes. Michael?”
I nodded. Then I felt stupid because she couldn’t see me nod. Then I felt awkward because no one was talking.
“Are you happy?” I asked.
“Right now?”
“Well, yeah, but more like in general. Are you happy?”
“I don’t know,” she answered. “Sometimes.”
“Do you know what makes you happy?”
“Yeah! Kittens and rainbows and really dark music. A good tattoo or a well-executed pass.”
“Ok. But do you know what you want to do?”
“Right now?”
“No, not right now. In general. Like, with your life. Do you know what you want to do with your life?”
“I want to live it. You know, really live it. And experience things. I want to help people.”
“Yeah, me too. That sounds good. Helping people. I mean, the world is a pretty fucked up place. Maybe I can change it.”
“And cats,” she added. “I want to help cats.”
“I saw this cat today, walking over here.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m out by the West Side Highway, by the Intrepid.”
“The Sea, Air and Space Museum?”
“Yeah. Well, anyway, I’m walking over here and I see this cat. And it’s the most beautiful grey cat. It’s just sitting outside a deli, looking all satisfied with itself, the way cats do.”
“It’s probably a deli cat.”
“Yeah, I guess. At first I thought it was a stray. But you’re probably right. That makes me feel better.”
“Good. It’s probably got lots of yummy mice to eat.”
“Yeah, but that’s the thing. I mean, I guess it’s got a place to live and mice to eat. But it just looked lonely sitting out there.”
“Maybe you’re projecting and it’s not the cat who’s lonely.”
“Well, we talked for a while.”
“The cat talked to you,” she said.
“Yeah, such as cats do. We just chilled a bit. I guess this cat’s role in life is to catch mice. To protect its deli. Maybe that’s why it looked so satisfied.”
“Yeah. It’s got a job.”
“And I’m just thinking, what’s my role in life? What’s my job?”
“Michael, you’re seventeen. You don’t need a job. I mean, unless it’s money.”
“No, it’s not money. That’s never been a problem. I’ve never really had a lot of it, but there’s nothing I’ve ever needed that I didn’t have or couldn’t get. Until now.”
“Is this about us?”
“No. I didn’t think there was really an ‘us’ anymore.” I made finger quotes even though she couldn’t see me.
“There will always be an ‘us.’ We won’t be together, but I’ll always be thinking of you. You’ll always be there, somewhere in my mind. With the kittens and the rainbows.”
“And the really dark music?” I asked.
“Yeah, that too.”
“I’m not sure if that makes it better or worse.”
“It makes it better, Michael. Maybe not now, but trust me.”
“But we’ll lose touch, won’t we?”
“We don’t have to.”
“I’ve seen it before. With Dave. He’s always crazy about a girl, and then they break up and he sulks for a month, and then it’s like they never even knew each other. They both just move on.”
“It doesn’t have to be like that.”
“Well, I’ve never really had a girlfriend before. So I guess I don’t know.”
“We’ll keep in touch. Let’s make it a blood oath.”
“Okay,” I agreed.
FIRST THINGS FIRST
No one was around when I returned home. I blasted Pantera’s Vulgar Display of Power as I shaved my entire body with my dad’s straight razor and gave my head a buzz cut with my brother’s clippers. I couldn’t tell whether I looked clean-cut or like a psychopath. I resisted the urge to go all Natural Born Killers and shave my head. I settled on nondescript.
Later that week at school, I “borrowed” a pair of shoes from the Lost and Found. I did some research “for a term paper” at the New York Public Library, the one with the lions out front. I shoplifted a pair of tweezers from the drugstore and paid for a Snickers bar. I gave the Snickers to a homeless guy on my way home. I hope he wasn’t allergic to peanuts.
FIRST TIME
I woke up nervous on Monday morning. I had barely slept, awake all night with dreams of anti-insomnia medication.
I went in to take my Advanced Placement Calculus BC test. I can’t say that I had been studying for it, but we did so much test prep in class that it would have been hard to do poorly on the thing.
Later that day I took a long shower then went to visit Wade. They had moved him to a nice room on the second floor of the hospital. I had to sign in at the front desk.
“Dude! What the fuck happened to your head?” Wade asked.
“Yeah, I guess it’s my summer look,” I laughed.
“I can’t believe you’re still wearing that trench coat. It’s like a hundred degrees outside, man.”
“I’m just crazy like that.” I removed my coat and hung it over the back of my chair. “So how are you feeling? Do they have you hopped up on lots of pain medication?”
“Yeah, man. It’s like I’m floating in and out of consciousness. It’s majorly trippy. They won’t let me near anything sharp, but I guess they’re not worried I’m gonna get up and do anything stupid.” Wade gestured to his two broken legs. “I’m reading the Illuminatus Trilogy. It’s like all over the place, but it really puts some stuff in perspective for me.”
“Isn’t that a crazy conspiracy book?” I asked.
“Yeah, but life’s a crazy conspiracy, you know?”
“Indeed,” I agreed.
Wade dozed off after some less coherent conversation. He had one of those morphine drips with the pain button. I had convinced him to take a couple extra hits before I snuck out through the back entrance of the hospital.
Wearing my stolen shoes, I headed over to the Boone residence. I got a bit lost in the backyards as I avoided the cul-de-sac. Brandon’s bedroom light was on. I climbed the tree and pulled my hoodie further over my head as I spied on him. As he flipped through a magazine, I was surprised to learn that he paused to read the articles.
I had pictured this evening all week, almost since Lucy had told me about Brandon’s secrets. I was prepared for the nerves. What I wasn’t prepared for was the watching and waiting. The right moment would come and I would have to be prepared. I would have to act fast. Not like a zombie.
I had my story all planned out if I got caught, but I didn’t want to go down that road. I wasn’t confident I could execute the lie. I figured I’d probably just punch him in the face if I heard him speak. If I saw his outrage at the violation of his privacy. Like he was someone who deserved those rights. Like he was someone who deserved anything.
It felt a lot like I was back in right field. Standing out there for hours each game, waiting for something to happen. Twitching with every pitch. And maybe a few times per game I would break into a dead run and snag the ball. This was like that, but worse.
And then it happened. He went to the bathroom.
I took one breath and leapt from the tree to the balcony, bending my knees to soften the sound of my landing. I climbed in through the open window, careful not to touch anything. I headed straight for the box of pills. Using tweezers, I pulled out a blister pack and popped a dozen pills from their casing. I dropped them into his open 40 ounces of Olde English. I moved fast, but not fast enough. He was flushing before I was out of the room. I moved quietly and quickly to the balcony and waited for him to wash his hands to cover the sound of my jump back to the tree.
He didn’t wash his hands.
I was stuck on the balcony, just around from the window. His footsteps re-entered the bedroom. I waited as he paced. I waited as he opened a safe, saying the combination out loud. Metal scraped against metal. I heard him flipping through some things. The night was so quiet I could hear him breathe. Could he hear me breathe? I could hear him drink.
I waited.
His breathing changed. It began to sound like sleep, but not good sleep. I risked a peek back through the window. He was out cold, lying flat on his back in a pile of photographs. One hand cradled his 40 and the other clutched an old polaroid.
I crept back inside. A compromising photo of Briana lay on the bed. There were photos of other girls, too. I was tempted to take them, to destroy them, but I couldn’t risk it. It might look suspicious.
I stood by the bed, looking down at Brandon Boone. I saw that the polaroid in his hand was of him and Red as smiling kids.
He convulsed and puked. The polaroid fell to the floor. I worried he would wake up, but he didn’t. His body seized as he choked on his own vomit.
And then it stopped.
He was dead.
I left.
I went back the way I came in.
I found my way back to the hospital, snuck back in.
I changed back into my own boots and donned my trench coat. I shook Wade awake.
“Hey dude, I’m heading home.”
“Did I doze off? Did I miss anything?”
“Nah, not really. You’re just a bit hazy. You were telling me about the Illuminatus Trilogy. Something about conspiracy.”
“Yeah, man. Life’s a crazy conspiracy!”
“It sure is.”
I signed out at the front desk and headed back to Hell’s Kitchen.
I walked by the abandoned train tracks and dropped my stolen shoes into the brush. A hobo would find them. One of the mole people, if they were real.
I walked down Pier 84 and chucked the tweezers into the Hudson.
It was time to go home.
LAST NIGHT
“My medical encyclopedia isn’t where I left it,” Cullinan complained when he got home.
“What do you mean? It’s right there on your desk,” I pointed.
“Yeah, but it’s in a different place. It’s rotated at least ten degrees counterclockwise.”
“Whatever. Maybe I moved it. I’m thinking of becoming a doctor.”
“Medicine’s not a hobby, Michael. You’d have to be capable of sticking with something for more than two years to be a doctor.”
“That’s cold.”
“Did you hear about that kid who died in Riverdale?”
“Yeah. Some of my friends went to school with him.”
“They say he poisoned himself, mixing alcohol with too much flunitrazepam.”
“Where did you hear that?”
“Detective Montero. It’s a big scandal. His parents are very influential. They want it investigated. It turns out the kid’s rugby coach sold him the drugs. ‘They’re gonna throw the book at him.’ Those are Montero’s words.”
“Wow. That’s some serious shit.”
“Dad’s awake.”
“Dude! How the fuck do you not lead with that?”
“I already saw him. Just got back from the hospital.”
“You might make a great doctor someday, but you’re better off becoming an astronaut. Your head’s already in outer space.”
“It’s important to have a doctor on a spaceship.”
“Come on, let’s go see Dad.”
Five shots to the chest and my dad’s waking up. He really is like Vito Corleone. And my name is Michael.
THE END
Thanks for reading First, my first novelette and the first chapter in Michael’s story.
If you’ve enjoyed it, a review would be stellar. Cash would be cool, too. You can pay what you want here: https://leanpub.com/first-novelette.
In the next edition, I’ll write some shit about myself here, but I’ll leave the heavy lifting to my various websites for now.
- Read my blogs and such at zenmadman.com.
- I offer copywriting services at hoppecopy.com.
- I’ve got poker books galore at pokerisaskill.com.
Cheers!