Alice Rewrites History

I am still editing and revising this story; even though it has been finished for almost a year. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated.

My mother, Alice, is dead. She lies in her casket, arms firmly at her sides, eyes sown shut. She probably didn’t want it to be that way - her eyes I mean. She would have wanted them to be open, cold and gray, so she could continue to watch the world for just a little longer; though by now she would undoubtedly be bored with the darkness.

I stood over her casket at the funeral, looking at her solemn, painted face. She was wearing her summer sun dress. Not my first choice, and most certainly not my father’s, but it was one of her very few requests.

- No more than ten people at any given time at the service or the reception
- Don’t visit me more than twice a year, my birth and deathdays will be fine.
- I want to wear my sun dress. The one with the sunflowers on it.

She wanted to wear her straw hat as well, but we talked her out of it, saying that the brim would get bent by the lid of the coffin, as well as her own head because she would be laying on it. She agreed that she didn’t want to wear a bent hat for all eternity.

I stood staring at her for a long time, not blinking. My sister, Betsy, came and stood next to me. She didn’t look like my mother at all: different from her in almost every way to be honest. The only thing she inherited was melodramatic skill. She was dressed like Jackie O., thick rimmed sunglasses and all. Her black, double breasted skirt-suit thing had big white buttons and white trim around all the edges. She had dark brown hair, light hazel eyes and fair skin; a stark contrast to our mother’s dirty blonde, blue and nicely tanned features.

“You’re waiting for her to wake up, aren’t you?” she asked me. “You know they’ve already sewn her eyes shut. And done all that other stuff to keep her from rotting before she goes in the ground. She isn’t waking up.”

I turned my stare to her. She looked back and smiled.

“I feel the same way, so don’t worry,” she said choking back tears, “like this is the grand finale of it all.”

I knew what she meant.

“How’s school?” I asked, trying to get as far away from it all as possible.

There was a sudden pause in the tears, a short, squeaky breath in - held. . . held. . . and then,
“Shut up Richard,” she said and stomped out the huge oak doors of the chapel.

I remained, looking next to myself at the empty space where she had been standing. The compressed air arm slammed the door shut and snapped my gaze to the back where I noticed my father was sitting in the last pew. He had a small, sharply pointed, beak-like nose, making it difficult to look him in the face for very long. He was dressed like he was ready to go on a business trip to the Bahamas.

Khakis, Hawaiian shirt, navy blue blazer and topsiders--no socks.

My father was a rich idiot. I shouldn’t have been so hard on him, at least not on that day, but if you wanted to sum up his existence in two words, those would be the ones. His father was rich too, but not an idiot. He was a self-made millionaire, inventor of the juice box. I never knew him. Not because he died before I was born or anything, but because he thought the same that I did about my father, he wasn’t too excited about being reminded constantly of the mistake he’d made. The obvious irony about the situation was that my father inherited the family fortune because he was an only child: probably the only thing my grandfather planned poorly.

The juice box company that he started doesn’t exist anymore. My dad sold it because he didn’t know anything about money, business, life. My mother had taken control of the financial matters after that. He just sat at home with the newspaper, pretending to read something important. As I looked at him sitting in that last pew, heels together, knees apart, hands folded neatly between them, quietly crying to himself, I felt sad but not sorry. Sad and angry.

* * *

The first time my mother told me someone was sick, I believed her wholeheartedly. Sick was the word that she always used. Sick lost its meaning. First it meant sad, or dead. Sad because it made me sad to hear that someone I knew was in that condition. Dead because she said they would be soon. It didn’t take very long for it to mean lie.

My friend Jacob was the first, and I was seven. I had been unhappy in school because I didn’t have any friends except for him. I wanted to be able to play on the jungle gym with all the popular kids, but I was restricted to the monkey bars, because none of them liked me.

“Richard, honey, tell Mommy what’s wrong,” she said one day after school. I was reluctant at first, because I didn’t want her to know I wasn’t a popular kid, but I gave in.

“None of the kids like me at school. Only stupid Jacob plays with me, but he’s boring,” I confessed.

“What’s wrong with Jacob?” she asked. “One friend is better than none, right?”

I just looked forward at the glove box in front of me. She couldn’t understand. In truth she really didn’t understand and that’s why she told me what she did.

I suppose it was because I had generally been a happy child until then. Before first grade, I never had to worry much about friends. Everyone was friendly, and when someone wasn’t, I could simply ignore them and move on. In first grade, everything changed. I got to play on the big playground. I got to bring my lunch to school. Most importantly, I saw the big kids. I saw what they did and how they interacted, and I wanted it. I wanted to be like them and have what they had - social structure, hierarchy, a caste system.

Things did not fall out as I had hoped. I blamed most of my poor social status on Jacob, an awkward, red haired boy who liked to color a lot. He would follow me around at recess, talking to the back of my head about He-Man and Skeletor, and I couldn’t stand it.

My mother probably wanted to save me from telling off the only friend that she thought I would have throughout the rest of my education. Or maybe she wanted to save Jacob from being told off by the only friend she thought he would have.

“Oh, Richard, you shouldn’t be upset with Jacob.” I looked over to her, because she sounded like she was going to burst into tears as she said that. I wasn’t sure what to think.

“Why not?”

“His mother called me today and told me that he’s very sick.”

It occurred to me that Jacob had not been in school. My first thought was that it must be a cough, nothing to worry about. His mother had probably mentioned it in passing when they had spoken on the phone earlier that day. Looking back some years later, I realized that my mother never knew Jacob’s, at least not as more than mere acquaintances and certainly not enough to warrant a phone conversation. I tried to figure out how she could have possibly known that he wasn’t in class. It had to have been by some coincidence, and nothing else.

She drove by their house and saw him through their living room window.

He called for me to come and play, forgetting that I was in school.

A lucky guess.

“He wasn’t in class today,” I replied. “Does he have a cough? Or is it worse...like a tummy ache?”

“Oh, honey,” she said, bringing tears to her eyes - a trademark, no doubt something she picked up from hours of soap operas and Hallmark specials. “I’m afraid it’s worse than that. He’s in the hospital. It’s very serious.”

* * *

My father stood up as I walked toward the door. I knew he wanted to say something, but he didn’t know what. He was afraid of his own children. It wasn’t a physical fear, though he had never physically disciplined me or Betsy. It was a fear of sounding stupid. He was clearing his throat, shuffling his feet and swaying his arms. I knew he was afraid I would bite his head off if he spoke to me.

“Hey Richie. . . nice service, wasn’t it?” he said as if we had just stumbled into the funeral of a stranger and sat in the back to watch--like we were college buddies who were out looking for a good time and thought it would be good for a laugh. I only stared at his white and pink ankles just above the heel of his topsiders exposed by his hiked up khakis.

“Dressed like you live in Hawaii, yet you’re the whitest man on Earth,” I thought.

I looked up and met his eyes. He had a very confused look on his face, eyebrows raised, mouth partially open, and I realized I had made that statement out loud.

“Sorry,” I said. “I just think that maybe you should’ve dressed a little more appropriately, for Mom’s... you understand, right?”

“I just thought since she was wearing her sun dress, it would be appropriate.”

“I suppose. You’re both wearing what you’ve worn just about every day of your lives. It wouldn’t make sense to stop now.”

“I brought a suit, though,” he said. “It’s in the car, I could change for the reception if you want -”

“Dad, you’re fine. It’s just going to be Grandma, Aunt Camille, and maybe two or three other people who don’t care what you’re wearing.”

“Right,” he said.

He stared down at the aisle carpet, blue and gold paisleys on a deep red background. I leaned over to try and enter his line of sight, but he quickly shot his gaze up and over my shoulder, as if something important or interesting caught his attention. I looked in the same direction, only to see a stained glass window depicting Saint Matthew.

“It’s time to take the casket out to the hearse,” I said

He turned his gaze to my eyebrows.

“I’ll get Betsy.” I turned and left him still fixed on the spot where my eyebrows had been.

I walked outside and down the short staircase to the driveway that circled around a pattern of yellow, blue, red and white flowers. I could tell from where I stood that you would see a bullseye flying over them in a plane. Betsy sat on the curb of the center piece facing the front of the church.

“We have to take the casket,” I said.

She put her head in her lap and hid behind her arms. She was taking this a lot harder than I thought she would.

“You really still want to know why?” I asked. “Do you honestly think she would have been willing or even able to tell you?”

Betsy remained where she was. I crossed the driveway to her and sat down. From this distance I could hear her heaving, jerky breaths. She was in that post-uncontrollable-sob where you breath with a constant hiccup and your nose pours snot. I put my arm around her.

“Do you really think she was a bad person?” I asked.

“You must be joking,” Betsy said lifting her head slightly and shooting me a blood shot glance. “She was horrible! It is inconceivable that someone could do the things she did to us and still be considered a good person.”

I sat silently, watching a lone ant scurry aimlessly on the pavement. I couldn’t have agreed with her more.

* * *

There were many people, lots of stories to tell. Despite their numbers, only a few truly got to me. The first ones, of course, but once I caught on to her, recognized her style, could judge her performances against others from the past, they became incidental. They didn’t matter, especially after going through so many crying nights and panic attacks in the beginning. There was, however, one that came later that I did believe. Even looking back now, I know why I did - I had to believe her. To not would have been inhuman. It would have meant the end of me.

At ten years old, I was confident that I was going to be my parent’s only child. My grandparent’s only. Betsy came as a surprise to all of us, especially my parents--a product of failed contraception. I reacted as any spoiled only child would; I wanted to get rid of the new baby.

In my heart of hearts, I didn’t really want to hurt her. I wanted to make sure that she had a good home. I paid an older boy with a deep voice to call in an ad for adoption in the newspaper. We had desperate couples who had tried everything to conceive, single women who felt they didn’t have the physical attributes to marry let alone get lucky, and pairs of men who lacked the desire for natural conception showing up on our doorstep for weeks. Not to mention the social worker who came with a court order to have Betsy taken away because my parents had not gone through the “proper channels” to have her put up for adoption. My mother quickly figured out who the guilty party was and sat me down in the rocking chair that rested in the corner of Betsy’s room. She knelt down in front of me. I turned my head, but my eyes could not escape hers.

“How could you do such a thing Richard? How could you?”

“I don’t know...” I mumbled.

She looked at me, trying to build up tears. I knew she what she was going to say. She didn’t try to reason with me anymore - she’d been cutting right to it recently.

“I didn’t want to tell you this, but your baby sister is very sick,” she whimpered, those same conjured tears filling her eyes.

I rolled mine, pushed her away, and escaped from the chair.

“You always say that.”

“Richard....Honey....You don’t understand....” she said as she collapsed into her lap, crying uncontrollably.

This was a performance I had not seen before. My experience shouted in my head telling me not to fall for it. I turned and looked at her crying on the floor. I could feel my throat get tight, and I tried to hold back the tears, but her lie swelled inside cracking what I knew to be the truth. It finally broke free and I ran over, throwing myself on her back, trying to wrap my short arms around her.

“Is she going to be okay?” I asked.

“We’ll see honey.... We’ll see.”

“What’s wrong with her?”

“The doctors don’t know. But they’re trying real hard to make sure she’ll be okay.” We were both sobbing harder than ever before. This had to be real. It had to be this time. I apologized over and over again, saying I would take it all back if I could.

After a few days of moping around she broke the wonderful news to me. The doctors said that Betsy was going to live. I ran into Mom’s arms, and as soon as she wrapped them around me I knew she had done it again. It was the same hug, a very distinct hug. Her right arm under my left, her left over my right, a tight embrace, swaying me back in forth in it and a straining “MmmmmmmmMM,” issuing forth followed by a long sigh. I didn’t get mad, though I probably should have slapped her across her face. Instead, I decided that I had to protect my sister from it, and I pledged I’d never fall for it again.

* * *

I pushed open the front door to the chapel and held it for Betsy as she entered. I followed behind her, and tapped Dad on the shoulder as I passed him down the aisle, and his head snapped up.

I took one last look at her face. I wanted to be sad. I wanted the thought of never looking at her face again to effect me profoundly. I can’t say if it did or didn’t. As soon as the numbness began to subside, and some semblance crept back into my chest, I slammed the coffin lid shut, allowing the numbness to quickly return.

We lifted the coffin, which felt like it was at least twice my mother’s weight, and carried it out to the hearse; Aunt Camille’s 1986 Oldsmobile station wagon. Mom didn’t want us wasting money on a hearse when her sister had a car that was completely capable of transporting her body a few hundred yards to the grave site.

I followed behind Camille, alone, in my car while Charles drove Betsy and my father in the Lincoln. I had never been that interested in paying someone to drive for me. My father, on the other hand, hadn’t driven in twenty years and I don’t think Betsy ever had.

We arrived at the site, and carried the coffin over, placing it on five green belts that would soon lower the coffin to its final resting place. Seven of us stood around the coffin, looking at each other searching for what to do next. Camille cleared her throat and spoke up.

“Well, I suppose I could start us by saying a few words. Alice.... was...... my sister.” This was followed by a long silence. I wasn’t sure if that was going to conclude her speech. Camille never had a way with words. She looked like a man: short hair, blue jeans, work boots, and a blue flannel shirt with the sleeves cut off and frayed at the shoulder, open, over a yellowing t-shirt.

“Even though things were rough....between us.... these last couple of years,” she continued. “I’m still sort of sorry to see her go.” This was agonizing. I had to interrupt to get it over with before Grandma, my dad’s mom, started in on the eulogy.

“I think we’re all sorry to see her go,” I said. I saw Grandma start to open her mouth, but I cut her off.

“I think the best thing to do now is to wish her the best in... the afterlife... or wherever, and go eat some cake and ice cream back at the house.” I scanned the six faces and saw what I could only assume to be silent approval. I whistled to the workman to come over and lower the coffin into the grave. Once the straps were removed, we stood around the gaping hole and looked in. Betsy knelt down and picked up a handful of soft, fresh dirt. She tossed it in and walked away. Everyone else followed, but without contributing to the filling of the hole. I stayed behind, contemplating Betsy action, and decided to do the same. I scooped up as much dirt as I could hold in both my hands and threw it in. Suddenly I felt release. Weight lifted off of my head and I leaned over again, throwing more dirt on top. I got excited, and just kept shoveling as much dirt as I could into the hole.

“Hey buddy, you gonna fill the whole thing in? I got the bulldozer to do that,” said the workman. I stood, wiped the sweat from my upper lip and walked away.

* * *

I didn’t believe her when she tried to use Grandma. I can honestly say I didn’t believe her for a second. She hadn’t tried it for quite sometime when she told me that Grandma had a brain tumor. I laughed. I wasn’t trying to be malicious. The way she said it just sounded so funny to me. Mostly because she hadn’t tried that sort of thing in many years and her reason for trying it again was because I refused to come home from school for Thanksgiving.

“I’m nineteen years old Mom. I’m going to have Thanksgiving with Jenny’s family this year, and that’s that. Did you seriously think I would believe you?” I wanted her to admit that they had all been lies. Every last one of them. I wanted her to apologize. It occurred to me, however, that we had never actually spoken about this issue before, so I really didn’t know how she was going to respond.

“I don’t understand,” she said, “why wouldn’t you believe me?” This was beyond all comprehension.

“Mom, I know all about the little game you play. You tell me someone is sick and dying and then I’m supposed to get all sad. And after a few days or a week you tell me they’re going to be ok, and I’m supposed to be happy and relieved. But they were never sick in the first place! I just talked to Grandma a few days ago to tell her I wasn’t going to see her on Thanksgiving. She’s fine. I know, ok - I’ve known, I - just know.”

Click. That was the last time she ever told me a lie about someone and it was the last we ever spoke about it. I didn’t go home for Thanksgiving that year. Or Christmas. I called though. Betsy told me that everything was fine, but she wished I could have been there. I asked her about Mom, and she told me that Mom was ok. Then she asked me when I got out of the hospital, because she hadn’t heard from Mom that I was better. I sighed and calmly told her that I was fine and hadn’t been in the hospital. She understood.

* * *

I pulled up in front of the house and let myself in. Everyone was sitting on the couch in the living room, silent. I went straight to the kitchen to pour myself a drink. There was an assortment of bottles on the counter, but they were all empty. Jim Beam, Jack, The Captain, Grey Goose, Bacardi, nothing was left except for a single bottle of sour apple Pucker.

“Way to stock up for the reception Dad,” I shouted from the kitchen. “You could’ve at least bought new bottles.” No one said anything.

I poured myself a glass of Pucker and walked out to the living room. I stared at the drink while I walked. It was vividly green. The light coming through the large window made it glow like a neon bar sign. I looked up and noticed that everyone had their eyes on me.

“Did I do something?” This was very uncomfortable. I thought back to the burial.

“If it’s about the dirt, then, well....I can make no apologies.”

“Richard, what are you even talking about?” Betsy said.

I noticed that she was holding a video tape in her hands.

“Is that -”

“It’s from Mom. The family lawyer gave it to us.”

I looked over at Mr. Jennings who was standing in the corner of the room. He had a little grin on his face and gave a little wave with the tips of his fingers.

“Have you seen it?” I asked him.

“No, your mother gave me specific instructions for the viewing of the tape. Only you and Betsy are to see it and neither of you are to discuss it with anyone.”

I looked back at Betsy. She wasn’t crying anymore. She knew as much as I did what was on it.

* * *

I finished school in only three years and went straight to a cubical. I didn’t mind. I had always envied kids whose dad’s had normal jobs, and I told myself I would be normal one day too. And I finally felt like I was. I went to visit Mom, Dad and Betsy on the holidays and some weekends and things felt normal. Betsy even stopped coming to me for confirmation on what Mom was telling her, so I could only assume that it had stopped all together.

One beautiful Easter Sunday, Betsy and I were sitting on the verandah, enjoying the warm weather, some honey-glazed ham and each others’ company. The last couple years had been good for both of us.

“How’s school?” I asked. She rolled her eyes.

“No one understands me.”

I laughed but quickly covered my mouth because it was full of food. Typical high school response.

“Why do you say that? You have friends, right? Mom’s been telling me all about the boys that’ve been calling. They must understand you.”

Betsy looked shyly at the ground and a little smile cracked the corner of her mouth.

“She wasn’t supposed to tell you.”

“Well she did. What’s the big deal anyway? At least you have the opposite sex knocking on your door. I haven’t had a date in years.”

She laughed at that but also covered her mouth to keep food from flying out.

“You have me,” she said with a big smile on her face.

“That is true. We have each other.”

She turned her head and looked out over the lawn. I kept my eyes on her. She was contemplating a big question. I wondered what it could be. Maybe help with school work. Maybe advice about guys. But those seemed too small for the time she was taking to think about what she was going to ask. This was bigger.

“Richard, can I ask you something?”

“You just did,” I said.

“No - shut up,” she said smiling, “Seriously though, this is important.”

“Of course, ask me anything you want.”

She sat still for a minute, holding her breath.

“Why do you think Mom told us those things? Oh - nevermind. Dumb question, sorry.”

I wanted to answer her. I really did. I just didn’t know how. I hadn’t thought about that subject in quite some time. I sat staring at my plate of ham, scalloped potatoes and green beans. I didn’t blink.

“You don’t have to answer,” Betsy said. “It was a dumb question. We can talk about something else.”

“No, no. It’s fine. It’s just that I haven’t thought about that in a while. I almost forgot
that it happened, it’s been so long, you know? I guess the only thing I can say is that she thought she was helping us.”

“What do you mean, helping us?”

That was clearly not the answer she was looking for. And it honestly wasn’t what I had expected to say. I was going to say, Because she was a horrible, selfish person, but now I think she knows it was wrong because she doesn’t do it anymore. That is what Betsy wanted to hear. It’s what I wanted to hear. But I felt that it wasn’t the truth. I could’ve switched it to that. I could’ve said, Just kidding. But I didn't. I knew that I really wasn’t kidding.

“Maybe she wanted to bring us all closer together, but she didn’t know how. I know when she told me you were sick, I was really scared. I just wanted her to hold me and tell me you were going to be okay. I believed her. And when she did tell me you were okay, I never felt so happy in my entire life. I ran into her arms and squeezed her so tight, I was so happy. Of course the hug is what gave it away.” Betsy nodded her head in agreement.

“It also changed what I thought about you. When she first told me, I was sorry about what I had done, and I wanted to take it back. I told myself that if you got better, I would do my best to take care of you. Then when I realized it was one of Mom’s, you know, I knew that I had to protect you from her.”

“I understand,” she said, smiling at me. I don’t think she did though. She didn’t look content with what I told her. It wasn’t enough.

I stood and stacked our plates and silverware to bring back inside. Betsy grabbed my arm as I walked by her towards the door.

“Richard. Thanks for looking out for me.”

* * *

Dad had put a T.V. in almost every room in the house so that no matter where he went or
what he was doing he could be watching his favorite shows or the game or the news or whatever. We went into the third sitting room in the east wing of the house. It had the smallest T.V. I didn’t want Mom to be bigger than me.

I turned it on and popped the tape in the VCR.

“You ready?” I asked. Betsy nodded her head. I hit the play button and took a seat next
to her on the couch.

Mom appeared on the screen in her sun dress and straw hat.

“Is it on?” she said to the person behind the camera. “Yes? Okay. Richard and Betsy. Look at you two. My babies. I’ve been so proud of you. Both of you. And I’ve been so happy to see you happy. I’m sure you know what this is all about, so I’m going to get right to it.”

I jumped up and hit the pause button.

“I can’t,” I said, “I don’t want to hear what she thought it was. I’m satisfied with what I think, and I know she’ll ruin that for me.” Betsy stood up and gave me a hug.

“Okay. But I have to know. I promise I won’t tell you what she said.”

I walked back out to the living room.

* * *

Two days before the Fourth of July, Mom called me at work. I was actually happy to hear from her because I had just been promoted to a middle management position in the company. I was getting a raise, a bonus, and a company car.

“That’s sounds nice Richie. I called though to tell you something. Important. I... I’m dying Richie.” Time stopped. My throat closed and my neck grew stiff. I couldn’t breathe. I was so angry.

“Why are you doing this?” I said softly. My hands tightened. Tears and snot started to
come out of my face.

“Richie, I -”

“I thought we were done. I thought you...were done. Why?”

“Richard,” she said sternly, “now listen to me. I know that certain things took place in the past. Things that would lead you to assume that I am not telling you the truth. But goddamnit.... I am telling you the truth.” I heard the phone hit the floor.

“Richard.” My dad had picked up the phone.

“Is it true?” I said.

“Why would anyone lie about such a thing? Honestly Richard, I’m surprised. You’ve made her very upset....Anyway, she has a malignant tumor in her liver. The doctors don’t know how it got there, or how they’ve missed it for so long. But it’s there.”

“How long?”

“I’m sorry?”

“How long does she have?”

“Oh...uh.... Well they can’t say for sure. At the very least she has less than a month. But she could live for many more years, ya know?” Dad said chuckling.

“Keep me posted,” I said and hung up.

* * *

No one said anything at first. The only noise heard was the hum of the refrigerator from the kitchen. I sat down on the arm of the couch, between Camille and Dad, picked up an apple from the bowl of fruit on the table and took a big bite. I chewed loudly, smacking the peel and flesh in my mouth, sucking all the juice out first and then swallowing. Everyone had their eyes on me again.

“Where’s Betsy?” asked Dad. I looked at him and continued to chew. “Is she okay?”

“She’s fine. She’s watching the video.”

“Why aren’t you watching it?”

“Didn’t want to.”

“Well...why not? You know I think you’re mother -”

“Dad please. I just didn’t want to watch it, that’s all. I know what it’s about. I don’t
need to hear it from her mouth to know what it’s about.” He paused, deciding whether or not he should ask me.

“Well...what is it about?”

“Don’t answer that,” said Mr. Jennings. “Her will clearly states that you are not to talk about it to anyone.”

“It’s just about history Dad, that’s all. She rewrote history.” I looked over at Mr. Jennings, who thought for a moment but then leaned back against the wall, arms crossed.

“She rewrote....I don’t understand,” said Dad.

Betsy appeared in the doorway, and signaled for me to follow her back to the sitting room.

“Richie, I want to know what you meant by that,” he said. I turned back to him.

“Someday Dad.”

I entered the room. The T.V. screen was black and I could see Betsy’s reflection in it. She was sitting on the couch. I sat next to her again. She took my hand and interlocked her fingers in mine.

“So what did you -”

“Shhhhh.” Her hand was warm. She reached her other arm around me and squeezed as hard as she could.

“I understand now,” she said and smiled. I knew exactly what she meant.

How Bizarre

A mystery set in the 1930s.

Beverly, Joseph and I cavorted down the street that balmy summer evening in Boston, quoting lines that Clark Gable spoke in the movie we just walked out of. We shouted lines back and forth at each other, laughing all the while and probably looked like a bunch of obnoxious fools to the people we passed by. We never took any notice of them; three young friends in the prime of our lives. Beverly pretended to be Claudette Colbert, though she didn’t look or sound a thing like her. She batted her eyelashes at us as we swooned and whistled, though I honestly had no interest in anything she had to offer other than her friendship perhaps, and even that was questionable.

We arrived at the steps of Beverly’s apartment, as we had every night during the last week. “If she invites us up,” Joseph had told me earlier, “you just say that you’ve had enough fun for one night and you’ll call a cab.” Joseph wasted no time when it came to women. With this particular woman, I didn’t mind. I found Beverly to be irritating.

“Look at that large man walking such a tiny poodle,” I said giving Joseph a nudge.

“How bizarre,” said Beverly trying to chime in with us.

This was the most irritating thing about her. Every time Beverly found something to be strange she would say, “How bizarre.” It would come right on cue anytime Joseph or I pointed at something even slightly out of the ordinary, and it drove me bananas.

“Bizarre?” said Joseph. “I would hardly call that bizarre. Good for a laugh, but certainly not bizarre” Beverly only looked at him blankly for a moment.

“I’ve had a wonderful time this evening. Shall we meet again tomorrow?” she said, ignoring Joseph.

“The fun doesn’t have to stop yet,” he said. “Perhaps we could come up and join you for a drink? A slug of bourbon, or...?”

“Oh I couldn’t possibly imagine it,” she said. “It’s such a terrible mess up there; I simply could not abide.”

“Why it’s no trouble at all,” said Joseph, speaking with his hands. “You should take a gander at my own place. Why I -”

“I’m sorry, no. I can’t,” she retorted. “Perhaps some other time. I promise to phone you tomorrow.”

“Suit yourself kid. Have a good night. Let’s blow,” he said turning to me.

I smiled at Beverly, gave her a wink, and turned to follow Joseph who had already walked away to find the nearest pay phone.

“He isn’t upset with me, is he?” Beverly asked, grabbing my arm.

“Oh, Joseph?” I said. “No, he’ll be fine in the morning. Give him a ring tomorrow, you’ll see. But, uh-” I paused, considering whether or not I should confront her annoying habit.

I knew Joseph had noticed it too, though we had never spoken explicitly about it. “Well, good night,” I said, changing my mind. I shook Beverly’s grip from my arm, turned, and ran to catch up to Joseph who was already a block away.

“Hold up there a minute Joe,” I said, still trailing him. He was walking briskly with his head down and his hands in his pockets. I always knew when he was feeling sore about something.

“Whatsa matter with that dame anyway?” he said.

“Aw, give her a break. She’s only known us a week. She’ll come around, you’ll see,” I said, trying to reassure him. “Why, I wouldn’t even give it a second thought if she called you later tonight to come back over. Maybe she just wanted to wait till I was out of the picture.”
Joseph slowed his stride down to a saunter. His shoulders relaxed and his head came up slightly. He took his hands out of his pockets and folded his arms. I caught up and walked along side him. He was watching his feet, putting one foot almost directly in front of the other as he strolled down the sidewalk.

The city seemed dim that night. The street lamps were on and burning bright spots on to the street, but the moon was covered by deep clouds, shrouding the unlit parts of the street in utter darkness. The orange glow of the street lamps lit Joseph’s face every time he passed under them, turning his skin blood red.

“We calling a cab?” I said.

“Think I’ll walk.”

“Suit yourself then.” I turned the corner and hailed a cab.

* * *

Joseph and I first met Beverly at Smitty’s, our favorite restaurant. It was a semi-fancy joint where a lot of the more well-to-do spent their time. We were far from that status, but we always pretended like we could throw money around with the best of them. Beverly was eating alone; a small, poor postured girl with dark, beady eyes. Her curly brown hair was tucked under a mauve hat with a flower pinned to it. She was wearing a matching skirt and a white blouse with a sweater draped over her shoulders. Naturally we asked if she wanted to join us. The moment the invitation crossed Joseph's lips, she froze and stared at us for a moment, holding the food she was chewing in the side of her mouth, her cheek bulging like a chipmunk; her fork in one hand, knife in the other, elevated between her lips and the tablecloth. She was eerily statuesque, with a deep loneliness streaked across her face; her eyes wide, like a cat’s when something has scared it. I could she that she was breathing heavily, her blouse rising and falling quickly. I half expected her to faint on the spot. She swallowed and said quietly, “Sure.”
It took us about an hour to get her to warm up to us. We were making wise cracks and carrying on about this and that. Joseph kept giving her an elbow, saying, “That’s a joke kid.” At first she would barely crack a smile and look shyly into her lap, but eventually she started showing her teeth and laughing with us.

After dinner Joseph said we would be obliged to accompany her to her residence. She accepted and we began our first evening stroll to her apartment building.

“Lived here long?” asked Joseph.

“Oh no, just a bit over a month.”

“Well then, you’ve met just the gentlemen to give you a tour of the city,” he said.

“Oh, that’s very kind, but I couldn’t ask that of you,” said Beverly.

“It wouldn’t be any trouble at all,” I said. “Where’d you come from anyhow?”

“Kansas City.”

Joseph and I whistled in unison. “What’dya wanna move out here for?” Joseph asked.

“Change of scenery I guess; do you find it bizarre?” said Beverly staring off into the night sky.

Joseph and I looked at each other perplexed. There was something about the way her eyes were glued to the black void above us that sent a shiver up my spine. She seemed so distant; like I was watching her on the silver screen, thirty feet tall, unaware of a theater full of people hanging on her every word.

“I’m not sure whatcha mean kid. I don’t find it bizarre at all; people move,” said Joseph. The ding of the passing trolly snapped Beverly back to reality.

“My apartment building is just ahead,” she said.

We arrived at the steps of her apartment, still confused by her behavior. “Whom shall I telephone tomorrow for my complimentary tour?” she asked.

“Why the master tour guide of course,” said Joseph.

“You’ll come too?” she asked me, her eyes hopeful. There was something about her that didn’t sit right with me, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. I shot Joseph a glance but all he did was clear his throat and nod toward her.

“I wouldn’t miss the master tour guide’s grand tour of our fair city for the world,” I said.

Joseph and I did everything together anyway. We had also met at Smitty’s a few years back. Since then we had spent most of our free time together. It wasn’t anything I had ever thought about; at the time we were both new to the city, starting our freshman year at different colleges. We were the best of friends after just a few weeks, hardly going a day without seeing each other.

Joseph had just finished studying law at Harvard at the beginning of the summer;
something he was not the least bit interested in. His father was however, and so Joseph quietly obeyed. “What now?” I asked him after the graduation ceremony. “I couldn’t care less,” he said. “I think I’ll take the year off. Maybe take up tap dancing like Fred Astaire.”

I had graduated from Boston College the year before from the theater department. I knew
it wasn’t a very respectable or practical profession, but I had a passion for acting and was trying to save as much money as I could to move to Hollywood. Everyone I knew thought it to be a preposterous idea. Even Joseph at times would question whether or not it was really worth the risk. I knew that he didn’t want me to go because he would miss my company.
I dreamed of the Hollywood Hills just about every night. Rolling green with luxurious mansions neatly placed in her folds. At her feet, glimmering lights day and night. Tinsel Town is what they called it in the news reels. And me in the middle of it all; my name in lights, starring in the new Paramount picture; a smash hit. Lights all around me.

* * *

The following morning I woke to find that the day had been going on without me for quite sometime. I picked up my trousers from off the back of my armchair and slipped them on. I reached for the receiver to phone Joseph. I hoped he wasn’t still sore about Beverly. Most girls we knew jumped at the chance to be with him. He wasn’t used to rejection.

“Hello, Operator? Get me four seven zero five.”

“Just a moment please,” said the operator. The line rang, but he didn’t answer.

“Lazy bum,” I said aloud, putting the telephone back on it’s stand. I quickly finished dressing, and walked out the door.

The noonday sun was unusually mild. Billowy, white clouds drifted across it, casting deep blue shadows on to the city. I strolled down the street, enjoying the break from the summer heat. California will be so nice I thought. No snow. I’ll bet the weather is like this all year long. I stood outside of Joseph’s apartment building and yelled up to him.

“Joe! Come on, ya bum!”

Nothing. I walked up the stairs to his floor and found his apartment. I knocked impatiently, tired of his lazy demeanor as of late. An unsettling thought crept into my head. He had seemed rather upset the night before, and I wondered if he even made it home. I turned the doorknob, and to my surprise, the door floated open. He always locks his door. I stepped inside.

“You here Joe?” I said.

His bed was made and his desk was in order; papers and books scattered everywhere. Joseph, however, was no where to be found. I left, closing the door behind me, and walked to the door at the end of the hall. Painted hastily on it were the letters W.C. I knocked, but no one answered. I creaked it open and poked my head in. Inside was one of the smallest washrooms I had ever seen. A disgusting toilet sat in the corner facing a rusted metal wash bin with a gaudy swan-shaped faucet rising over the top of it. In the corner across from the wash bin was a bathtub squatting on little brass feet. It seemed so quiet for being midday. Everyone must be out enjoying the weather. I stepped out onto the street and hailed a cab.

“58 North Chestnut Street,” I said. It wasn’t like Joseph be gone without giving me a ring first. Maybe Beverly did call him last night. That dog. I chuckled to myself. The cab ride from Joseph’s to Beverly’s was only a few minutes. I paid the cabbie and turned toward Beverly’s five story apartment building.

“Hey Bev! You home?” I called out. A window on the third floor opened and Beverly poked her head out.

“Hello,” she said surprised. “What are you doing here?”

“Enjoying the scenery,” I said, giving her a wink.

“Oh you!”

“Is Joseph up there?”

“Why no,” she said curiously. Her voice cracked and she let out a small, weak cough. “He went home with you, remember?”

“I know, but we split up about half way ‘cause he wanted to walk. I said, ‘Suit yourself,’ and called a cab.”

“Oh my, well he hasn’t phoned me yet.”

“Well, I headed over to his place this morning, because he wasn’t answering when I gave him
a ring, but he was gone.”

“How bizarre,” said Beverly. I was suddenly infuriated. I didn’t like the idea of equating Joseph’s unknown whereabouts with a fat man walking a small dog or a cloud shaped like a car or any of the other things she found to be bizarre. My face became hot and my hands made fists that clenched tight enough to crack my knuckles. I must have been bright red because I could see Beverly’s eyes widen just as they did the night we met.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

“Listen you. I don’t like all this ‘bizarre’ business, so just knock it off. This is no time to be talkin’ that mumbo jumbo so cool it, understand? My friend is missing and all you can do is say that it’s bizarre? Well I’ve had enough.”

Beverly looked down at me with that same blank expression. I didn’t know if she was going to shout back at me, cry, or even laugh. She pulled her head back in the window and closed it.

What is it with these crazy broads? I thought.

I hailed another cab and had the driver take me to our local rendezvous points, finishing the search at Smitty’s. It was packed with the late lunch crowd. I pushed my way through and
sat at the bar.

“Scotch on the rocks, Jimmy,” I said to the bartender. I knew the drink was cliché, but I had always thought it sounded good when I said it. It’s what they ordered in the movies anyway. I spun around on the stool and leaned against the bar, scanning the room for Joseph, instantly recognizing many of the regulars; professors and intellectuals mostly, discussing the news of the day. I never understood those bookworm types. Joseph was one of them, though he hated to admit it. Too smart for his own good I always thought. I passed over the crowd with my eyes many times, but he was no where to be found.

At a loss for what to do next, I strolled down the street aimlessly. It had been a while since
a day where I didn’t see Joseph, even for just a few minutes. My eyes wandered around the street in front of me. A group of boys were playing baseball at the park on the corner just ahead of me.

The pitch - Crack - A home run flew across the street, bounced off the sidewalk and landed on concrete steps. I trotted over, squatted down and examined the ball for a moment. I felt the mark where the bat had just connected to hit the ball this far. Whoever had the hit, dented the ball slightly.

“Hey Mista, can ya throw us da boll back?” shouted an outfielder.

I rose, eyes still on the ball. I lifted my head and began to turn to throw it back, when I noticed what building I was standing in front of. It was an old building, fifty years or more. Above the massive glass doors were steel letters that read, Boston Police Dept. No. 4. I stood there staring at the sign, my arm still raised with the ball firmly gripped in my hand.
“Hey,” yelled the same impatient outfielder, “you gonna throw us the damn boll or what?” Appalled by his language I turned and gave my best throw, which embarrassingly hit the sidewalk twenty feet in front of him.

“Nice throw, asehole.”

I turned back to the police station, contemplating the opportunity in front of me. I had never spoken to a police officer, let alone step foot inside a police station. I had no idea if they could even help me at all. It’s worth a try I suppose, I thought. I gathered my thoughts, trying to figure out the exact words I needed to use. I walked up the steep steps to the door. On either side of the sign were two large glass bulbs that lit up the entrance at night. I never realized how dull lamps looked in the afternoon.

I entered and crossed the high gloss tile floor to the front desk where a frumpy middle-aged man with bright orange hair was sitting filling out paperwork. The top of his head was completely bald and shined brightly in the soft light of the lamps that sat on either side of his desk. You probably can’t tell when he wears his hat, I thought. I wanted to be as polite and cordial as possible so that he might help me without too much trouble. I didn’t want to interrupt his work, so I stood there until he felt my presence.

He looked up from what he was doing and said, “Hullo there boy-o. What can I do ye for?” I took a step closer and rested my wrists on his desk, which came up to the middle of my chest.
“My friend is missing,” I said instantly realizing that it must have sounded very childish and silly.

“Oh is he now,” responded the officer cracking a little smile. I lowered my head, searching for what to say next, my eyes wandering down to his badge. Van der Waal it read. What an odd name for an Irishman, I thought. I continued down to his desk and saw what he had been working on. He had a number of blank sheets of paper and was drawing pictures of naked women on them. My eyes shot away, hoping that he wouldn’t notice that I had seen the work that he had been so fervently engaged in. I tried to answer him quickly.

“Yes...he is...” I said, but I couldn’t help it. I let a little giggle out and quickly covered my mouth trying to hold in the rest of the laughter that was begging to exit. My eyes began to tear up as I watched Officer Van der Waal’s face turn red as a tomato. He looked down at his papers, then back at me, grabbed the whole collection, tore them up and threw them in the waste basket. If only Joseph could have seen that. Joseph!

“Excuse me,” I said, becoming serious. “Yes my friend is missing. I phoned him today
and he didn’t answer, so I took a cab over to his place, but he wasn’t home. I searched all over the city - look Mac, I’ve never spoken with an officer before; I don’t know if there’s even anything you can do. I was just passing by when I saw the station, and thought, Why not?”
“Well son, there’s not much I can do unfortunately. Missing persons reports can only be filed after someone’s been gone for more than forty-eight hours. Can’t have the whole force out lookin’ for people that are only gonna show up a few hours later anyway.”

“Forty-eight hours huh? I understand, I’m sure he’ll return in a few hours anyway. If he doesn’t show up in a couple days, I’ll be back,” I said. I turned and walked to the door. As I pushed it open, I began to giggle again. “You’re an excellent artist by-the-way,” I said to him and walked out, exploding with laughter at the thought of his art work. It was the first time in a week that I had been able to laugh at something without Beverly saying how bizarre it was.

Now I couldn’t get Beverly’s face out of my mind. I kept running over all the memories of the last week and realized that she was the one who was bizarre. What if she lied to me about Joseph not being there last night? That was the only logical explanation.

My apartment was only a few blocks west of the station, so I walked back, threw open my door, flipped on my radio and collapsed in my armchair. The officer is right. I thought. Joseph’s a smart kid. He’ll probably turn up any minute now. I don’t know why I let myself get so worked up over it. That dame Beverly sure got me going. Just then the telephone rang.

“Hello? Yes operator put her through.” Speak of the devil, I thought. “What do you want?”

“I found him,” said Beverly.

“Oh really, where’d he turn up?”

“He came here,” she said. It occurred to me that she could possibly be telling the truth.

“And you let him upstairs?”

“Well of course, I’m not cold-hearted you know.”

“Now that’s debatable,” I said, only half kidding.

“Well, we were worried about him, weren’t we? I couldn’t just let him sit outside.” We? I thought. But I stopped myself from balling her out again. Joseph was okay. Even if she was lying to me about where he had been, he would tell me all about it later, and I would find out.

“Are you going to let me come up to see him?”

“I think I can manage,” she said laughing. “He’s asleep now though. I think he had quite a rough one last night.”

“Did he say what happened?” I said.

“No, just that he needed to sleep,” said Beverly.

“Sleep? I sure am curious about what he was up to,” I said trying to see if Beverly would come clean. There was silence on the other line. I couldn’t even hear her breath.

“Well, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“No need to rush, take your time. He’s not going anywhere,” she said.

I thought about dressing up a bit. I worked up quite a sweat from running around all day, and could’ve used a nice bath. I was sure after a good nap and a glass of brandy, Joseph would
be ready for a night on the town; the three of us together again. I couldn’t be upset with Beverly. After all, she was a shy, reserved girl, and if they had spent the night together, she wasn’t going to be jumping to tell anyone about it. I guess she’s not so bad after all, I thought, forgetting all about what I had said earlier that afternoon.

I cleaned myself up and put on my best trousers and sweater for the evening’s activities. I skipped down the stairs of my building and took a deep breath of the fresh summer afternoon air. I pulled out my pocket watch. Only a couple more hours until sundown. I was in such a good mood, I decided to walk over to Beverly’s building. I couldn’t explain it, but I was flying higher than I had in a long time. As I walked along, I whistled some made-up song to myself. When her place was in sight, I ran over and shouted up.

“Hey Bev, you gonna leave me out here all night?” The window on the third floor opened and Beverly poked her head out, just as she had earlier that day, this time with a big smile on her face.

“Course not, come on up,” she said.

I was glad to see her so happy. I wanted to put this whole messy day behind us. I ran up to the third floor, skipping two stairs at a time. Beverly was waiting for me at the top. She wore a pretty white dress with small flowers on it and a coat resting on her shoulders, sleeves empty.

“You cold?” I asked, pointing at the coat.

“Oh, I get cold so easily.”

“So where is the old boy?” I said.

“He’s inside sleeping. I thought that we would let him alone for a little longer, then we can all go out together. Forget this whole day ever happened,” she said

“Fine by me,” I said, relieved that she felt the same way.

I followed her down the hall to her apartment door. Apartment 3B. I had run up the stairs so quickly that I hadn’t taken the time to look around at the inside of this building that had been such a mystery before. The walls were cream, patched with gray and cracking everywhere. The floor was black and white checkered tiles. Dim lamps hung from the high ceiling, evenly spaced between the apartment doors.

Beverly stood at her door, fumbling with her key for a moment before finally opening it. She held the door open, and I entered, eyes closed for a moment, trying to draw in my head what I had imagined her apartment to look like. I took a deep breath, opened my eyes, and let out all the air, not sure what to make of what I saw.

The floor was smooth, dark wood, so worn you could hardly see the lines between the planks. The walls were painted a brilliant white, but were mostly covered by bookshelves that were empty save a few thick books lying flat on a solitary shelf. In the center of the living room were two neatly placed armchairs, with a small, round table between them. The chairs faced a large radio that was distanced from the wall, and not connected to the outlet. The kitchen was in pristine condition. From where I stood, I couldn’t see a single blemish, but it was the back wall of the living room that captured my interest.

Above a writing desk and next to the window were pinned dozens of newspaper clippings. I stepped toward the wall to satisfy my curiosity, but her open bedroom door caught the corner of my eye. It was only cracked slightly, but enough for me to see a small portion of her bed. I could tell it was unmade, but I assumed it was where Joseph was sleeping. Her sheets matched the bright white of the walls except for what looked like brown pokadots of all different sizes scattered randomly across the fabric; a fashion I’d not seen before. I leaned forward slowly and took a single step forward, my eyes fixed on the dots. As I focused on them I realized that they were not round dots, but splatters, as if someone had taken a brush and spattered paint all over the material. And they weren’t brown, but a deep red color, like the bricks of Beverly’s apartment building. I took a step towards the room to peek in at Joseph, but remembered what I had been looking at in the first place, and decided it would be better to let him get as much rest as possible.

I walked to the back wall and studied the clippings carefully. My initial thoughts were on how disorganized they were. I couldn’t tell if they were in chronological order, in order of significance, or if they were just haphazardly scattered across the wall. The only organizing element was the theme of each headline.

Man Found Dead in
San Francisco Apartment

Murder Mystery Baffles

Houston Police

Two Dead in Apartment Rampage;

Detroit Police Search For Killer

Kansas City Murder; Three Dead

All at once the truth congealed. There were dozens more pinned, but I did not need to read them to conclude what had happened to Joseph, and what was about to befall me. Surprisingly, my heartbeat did not quicken, nor my breathing. My mouth, however, went dry as desert sand; my throat burned and my eyes watered. I turned to Beverly who was still standing at the open door. The setting sun blazed through her window, and reflected off what she held in her hand into my eyes; a blinding white.

“How bizarre,” I whispered as she shut the door gently behind her.

Enough

This is the first short story I ever wrote.

David’s suit case was always either too big or too small. He never understood why that was, but it was something that he had to live with any time he wanted to go anywhere. His travels recently were taking him to Colorado: the land of plenty of space unless it’s your own backyard.

His parents’ big move last summer was nothing short of difficult. David’s father was offered a promotion in the company that he had served so well for twenty five years and so he felt like he had to take it.

It was really no big deal to David; seventeen years in the same house - the same mold - got redundant. His mother took it the hardest. Everyone was gone during the day at school and work. At least here she had friends and family. She knew she was going to have to start over once they moved. As the time to say goodbye drew closer, she was in fifth grade all over again; collecting gifts and trinkets from her friends in hopes that she wouldn’t forget them.

David was just finishing at a community college and planning to transfer to a local university when his parents broke the news. He knew he wasn’t going with them. He had too much going for him where he was.

David’s brother, Dan, stayed in California too. He was out of high school and jumped at the opportunity to live away from home. David knew Dan cared about their family, he just couldn’t tell how much. Dan liked to do things his way.

David never knew if it was going to be warm or cold out there. The Midwest was a new and strange place. During the summer, it could be eighty degrees outside without a cloud in the sky all day, and then by mid afternoon it would be pouring rain--but only for about fifteen minutes.

David had been to visit his parents in Colorado twice before. Once, a month after the move and again on his winter break. It was now spring break and he would be going out there for a week. His dad was traveling all the time and would only be there a few nights, so it would just
be him and his mom mostly. It was okay: plenty of time to relax.

Today, however, there was no time. He had to do laundry, pack, take care of the bills and the rent, plus his band was playing a show in Hollywood later that night. On top of all this, his flight was leaving at 6:30 the following morning. David’s dad was in town on business and gave him explicit instructions to be at Grandma’s house at 4:15 am to get a ride to the airport. David knew that he wasn’t going to sleep.
Boxers.
Socks.
Pants.
Shorts.
Shirts.
Jackets.
Toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant, hairbrush.

Now to zip it up. It looked like this time it was going to be too small. Between tugs, David glanced over at the clock that sat on top of his bookshelf. 3:15 pm. He finally won his battle with his suitcase zipper and rushed into the living room to check his email. David never missed a day of checking his e-mail, in hopes of a letter from an excited fan and to keep up with any auctions he was bidding for on eBay. He almost never got anything from anyone that he knew.

“Can I get a ride with you over to the show?” said Adam from the couch. David hadn’t noticed him sitting there

“I have to be there by five,” said David. “So, yes, if you don’t mind getting there a little early.”

“Oh. Do you know if Justin is going?”

“I really have no idea. Give him a call at work. The number is on the fridge.”

Adam pushed himself up from the couch and walked to the phone.

* * *

Gas-powered RC cars defined the junior high years that Adam and David bounced through together. Every weekend David was at Adam’s house working on a new car. Adam was the mastermind behind the construction and David was just the flunky assistant. He didn’t mind though because he adored Adam.

Adam lived in an old house in Altadena that was built in the 1920’s. From the outside it looked like a small, one-story cottage, but when you walked down the steep, sweeping driveway, you could see that it was actually two stories. The bottom floor consisted of a T.V. room, bathroom and Adam’s bedroom.

Adam’s room was cool. Not amazing by any means, but cooler than most other rooms that belonged to boys his age. His walls were covered in posters of bands and movies: Nirvana and Smashing Pumpkins; Hackers and Mallrats. On one wall he had hung the guts of a computer that could run from its place if he hooked a monitor up to it.

The two tromped down the steep, narrow staircase and turned through his bedroom door. Adam walked across the floor and sat on his bed which lived in one corner of the room. It had the softest comforter, pillows and mattress that David had ever felt. David leaned against the large computer desk in the adjacent corner that took up half of each twelve foot wall that the wide arms extended across. In between the two was a long sliding glass window that was patched up with duct tape from when Adam threw his two hundred dollar watch through it during a fight with his dad. Across from the window was Adam’s dresser topped with pictures of him and his parents. To the left of the dresser was the wall that was always concealed by the open bedroom door and to the right was a walk in closet filled with the latest skate and surf clothes. The closet door formed the corner directly opposite of the desk with a large built in cabinet that met the foot of his bed. The cabinet was the only thing in his room that was from the original construction. It was where Adam kept all his toys and hobbies.

Adam was one of those kids who liked to tinker. At a young age he knew a lot about mechanics and electronics, but his strength was in computers. He began designing websites at age ten, and was able to program games by age twelve.

They were almost finished with the car. Only a few small adjustments to make and then they just had to put the finishing aesthetic touches on. Adam pulled a heap of gears, and miscellaneous metal pieces with wheels out from the cabinet while David cleared some space on the desk to lay it down. After examining it for a minute, Adam said, “Here, hold these two pieces together while I dig around in the cabinet to find my wrench.”

David stared at the car. I wish I had a hobby like this, he thought. I really should save some money so that I can buy another model rocket. That’s at least something that I can do without Adam’s help. I wonder how long it would take to learn how to build one of these on my own. I bet Dad could help me with it. David realized that he had let his thoughts run away and didn’t know how long he had been standing there holding the two whatsits together while Adam looked for the wrench.

“Hey Adam did you find that wrench -” As David turned, he saw that Adam was holding a glass bottle. He was staring at it with such fervor that it seemed as though he was looking right through it, and passed the floor to the heart of his house. David let the pieces he was holding bounce off the desk and onto the floor.

“What is that?”

“It’s a bottle of alcohol.”

“What?”

“It’s scotch.”

“Well what’s it doing in your room?”

“I don’t know.”

Adam removed the cap and breathed in the aged vapors. They floated up his nostrils and into his eyes, clouding them. The bottle was more than half gone. Its origin was unknown but also a matter of little importance to them. David took the bottle from him and looked at the label.

“1935,” he said.

“I think we should try it.”

“Are you serious? This stuff’s probably terrible.”

“I dare you to take a capful,” said Adam.

A twelve year old can never turn down a dare. Adam poured David the first shot of his life into the cap of his Listerine bottle. David took a big whiff.

“Smells like mint,”

“That’s the Listerine dumbass, just drink it already.”

David tossed the burning liquid to the back of his throat and choked it down. He fell all over himself running to the bathroom, shoved his head under the sink and turned it on full blast. The flavor still lingered under his tongue; a butterrum Lifesaver dipped in the smell of Mop ‘n’ Glow.

“You’re next,” coughed David.

He poured Adam his shot. Adam tilted his head and gulped it down. He closed his eyes tight for a second, let out a cough and breathed a sigh of relief and satisfaction.

* * *

“Did you get a hold of him?” asked David, tying his shoes.

“Yeah, he can give me a ride, it’s cool.”

“All right, well I guess I’ll see you there then.”

“See ya,” said Adam throwing himself back on the couch.

David closed the front door behind him, guitar in one hand, bills in the other. He trotted down the steps and turned to the front of the building to put the bills in the outgoing mail slot.

David hated being the guy in charge of all the money in his apartment. His other roommate, Justin, was less than reliable, so David knew going into the situation that he was going to have to take control and be in charge of those things.

Justin was an old friend of David’s that he had known throughout childhood. He wasn’t David’s first choice for a roommate, but he didn’t have many options with most of his other friends not being in school and jobless. Justin had never really been what most would consider a fair weather friend, but he was introverted, so there was some distance between him and David.

He walked out the glass front doors and down the steps to his car. 4:04 pm. I hate Hollywood, David thought to himself.

The problem with playing a show in Hollywood was that you always had to be there in the middle of rush hour. Getting there was more than just a pain in the ass; it could be infuriating. David was focused on the long drive ahead, when his concentration was broken by his ringing cell phone.

“Hey Danny.”

“I talked a few more people from school into coming tonight.”

“Oh, awesome.”

“They might bring friends; do we have enough tickets for them?”

“Oh yeah, it shouldn’t be a problem.”

“See you there.”

“Later.”

David had played music with his brother from the time they started school. Piano lessons turned into interest in the marching band which evolved into playing guitar and bass. They had been playing in a band together for quite some time.

David pulled into the parking lot behind The Knitting Factory to unload his equipment. His music career consumed much of his time recently. He stayed in school to make his parents happy but he would jump at the opportunity to quit and tour full time. Sometimes he felt like it was impossible to slow down enough to catch his breath. Life was reduced to flashes of color and noise and it was hard to remember what he even did last week. He knew that once school started up again after spring break, the events of this day would be nothing but a dim memory of a few words and pictures.

* * *

David sat on the couch watching afternoon cartoons. A grande burrito sat on the coffee table in front of him and he chewed loudly trying to quench the hunger that had been brought on by the afternoon’s water polo practice. His senior year was getting more exhausting with each passing week. His mom poked her head around the corner.

“David, phone.”

“Hello?”

“Hey Dave, guess who this is?”

“Uh....I don’t know, who?”

The voice sounded familiar, but distant. It was like trying to remember a dream the
morning after.

“C’mon man, it’s Adam!”

“Oh hey! How’s it going?”

“I’m good, I’m good. What have you been doing, these last few....years?”

“Um, well I’ve been playing water polo, and I’ve been playing a lot with my band-”

“That’s cool, that’s cool,”

David could sense the anxious hesitation in Adam’s voice, but tried to brush it off.

“So what have you been up to?” asked David.

“Oh well....You know me, always up to something.”

David let out a fake laugh trying to pretend like he didn’t know what that meant. His heartbeat started to quicken as he searched his mind for the real reason Adam called him.

“Hey listen, I’m in kind of a tight situation,” said Adam. “I owe a couple people some money, and I don’t know them that well, you know just people from school, but I thought it could be easier if I just - you know - owed the money to one person - “

“Wait, stop,” said David, his heartbeat pounding in his wrists. “We haven’t talked hardly at all or even seen each other once in almost two years, and the first thing you do is ask to borrow money?”

“I know, it sounds bad, but - I mean - c’mon man, I’ve never asked you for anything like this before, you got some cash don’t you?”

“What kind of money are you talking about?”

“Three.”

“What?! You honestly think I have that kind of cash? I’m seventeen, remember?”

“Well could you ask your parents maybe?”

“What the hell are you talking about? My parents can’t loan you three hundred dollars. What about your parents? I don’t understand why you’re coming to me about this.”

“I....I can’t ask them,” stuttered Adam. “They don’t understand, you know how they are.”

“Adam....seriously you need to wake up. Your parents care about you man. I’m sick of you lying to me about this stuff. Things are no different than they were two years ago. I know you don’t owe anyone money. You need to get your act together. You’re smarter than all this stuff that you’re doing. I tell you these things every time we talk, and you never listen. Why don’t you try and get a job doing websites, or programming or something? You’ve always been good at stuff like that, why would you let it go to waste?”

David suddenly realized that he had practically preached a sermon to Adam. He braced
himself for the ugly reaction.

“I knew you would be a little shit like that. Big, important Dave, too good for his old friend Adam. You don’t know what I’ve been through the last few years--you don’t know how hard it’s been for me.”

“Look, I want to help you, but not by giving you more money to fan the flames.”

Dave kept the phone to his ear for almost a minute after the click. The dial tone was so loud that he almost didn’t hear his mom talking to him.

“David, are you ok?” He quickly pulled the phone from his ear.

“Uh, yeah...I’m alright.”

“Your burrito is probably kinda cold, you want me to heat it up?”

“Sure, thanks.”

David held his head with his finger tips for a few minutes. His mom sat beside him. “He’ll come around. I know he’s really a good kid,”

“I’m not so sure,” David sighed.

* * *

The turn out at the show was disappointing, but David was used to the routine, so it didn’t bother him. All he could think about was how he had to be at his grandma’s in six hours. He wandered around the venue looking for his bandmates to get them to take all their stuff out to the cars. He found Paul before he found anyone from his band.

Paul was a friend David had made through some mutual acquaintances of theirs. They shared an interest in the same music so they got along pretty well. David never really felt that close to him though, because Paul was the type of person who lived in his own world. He would ignore a conversation if it had nothing to do with him, not go somewhere unless there were people he knew going, and not think twice about you if you didn’t like the same things as him.

“Hey Davey, we’re all going over to this guy’s pad for a little party, you wanna go? Good show by the way.”

“Thanks, who’s place?”

“A friend of a friend’s--you know. They were at the show and invited a bunch of us over, you gonna go?”

“Where is it?”

“Oh it’s like five minutes from here, you gonna go?”

“Uh, I’ll have to see. I have to meet my dad right now for a late dinner but I’ll probably stop by later. I’ll call you to get directions after I drop him off at my grandma’s.”

“Alright, you need any help loading up?”

“Oh yeah sure, I just gotta find Dan, have you seen him?”

“Uh, a little while ago. He might be outside.”

The two walked up the stairs to the front of the venue. The Sunset Strip was just beginning to wake up for the night. Cars cruised down the street, shaking shop windows with the bass that poured out of their trunks. Everywhere you looked lights flashed, lines to get passed bouncers stretched for blocks and struggling actors strolled down the sidewalk, dressed like they had just made their first million. Sitting on the curb were Adam and Justin.

“Hey good show man,” said Adam.

“Thanks. What are you guys up to now?”

“Oh we’re just going to head back to the apartment, you?”

“Oh, I got a busy night planned. I probably won’t sleep. I have to go get my dad from my grandma’s so we can get a late dinner, then I might go over to some guys’ place for a little kickback. I’ll be back home after that though.”

“Cool man,” breathed Adam as he and Justin stood up. “I’ll see you when I see you.”

“Peace.”

As they turned the corner, Dan came hopping up the stairs.

“Hey, Dan! We gotta get out of here. Dad wants us to go grab a burger with him.”

“Dad’s in town? Goddamnit Dave, why don’t you tell me this shit?”

“It’s just a half an hour of your time, then you can go do whatever you want.”

“What are all these guys from school supposed to do?”

“I don’t know,” sighed David. “What were you planning on doing later?”

“I wanna take them to Fred 62.”

“Who else is going?”

“Whoever.”

“Alright well can’t you just send them back to your dorm for a bit with someone? I know I saw one of your roommates here. Just send them back, then you can go get them after the thing with Dad and I’ll meet you guys there.”

“Oh now you wanna go too?” said Dan in his usual holier-than-thou tone.

“You said whoever, didn’t you?”

“You guys are going to Fred later?” said Paul, butting in. “I’m there.”

He hadn’t been paying attention to the conversation at all, he simply heard the name of a place he knew people thought was cool.

“Fucking shit, all of Hollywood can’t squeeze into a booth at Fred.”

“Don’t be such a dick," said Paul "there’s plenty of Fred to go around.”

“Look, not everyone in the world is going to be there, so don’t worry about it,” said David.

“Ok, ok, well what are you going to do after we drop Dad off?”

“I’m going over to some kickback around here somewhere,” said David.

“You better not make us wait there for you Dave. If we’re sitting more than five minutes, we’re just going to order without you.”

“Shut up and help me load up this stuff and I’ll meet you at Grandma’s.“

* * *

Adam was flat on his back in the middle of his parent’s living room.

“Hey Jimmy! Is there anymore to drink?” he mumbled loudly.

“Nah bro, it’s gone.”

“Fu-hu-hu-kk,” coughed Adam between giggles.

He sat up and turned to David who was sitting on the couch, staring off into space.

“How ya doin man?” he said.

“I’m alright,” replied David uncomfortably.

“That’s good, that’s good...I had a little too much to drink..”

“Uh...yeah...I guess so.”

“What’s wrong man?” asked Adam suddenly very concerned.

“Nothing.”

“No, what’s wrong, did I do something wrong?”

Adam began to stutter and slumped over against the armchair. His eyes were glazed and clouded.

“How come you didn’t want to drink anything?”

“I just don’t feel like it.”

“You never feel like it!” screamed Adam.

A stream of vomit immediately projected itself out of Adam’s wide open mouth. It splattered on his parents antiques and on their leather couch. Some found its way over to the black baby grand that sat against the bay window. On the piano sat a time line of the Stevens family. Portraits of Adam’s parents and grandparents at one end, followed by portraits of Adam. The contents from frame to frame morphed with each school year. The final frame, closest to the keys of the piano, was much different. It contained David's senior portrait, in his cap and gown.

“Let’s talk about something else,” said David.

He hated coming to Adam’s kickbacks, but for some reason he felt obligated.

“How’s your computer class going?”

“Fine,” said Adam, unhappy with the change in topic.

“How about political science?” pushed David. “Justin was saying how you got a higher grade than him on the last essay.”

“Yeah...” said Adam bashfully.

“So you think you’ll be out of city college in a couple years with me?”

“We’ll see...I might take it a little slower than most. I want to make sure that I don’t fail anything.”

“Alright. You know, my dad told me that he would hire you to do an internship in his office. Lot’s of software development and maybe some web design too. There could be some real potential there.”

“I know. I think I’ll call him tomorrow,” said Adam, suddenly looking more sober.

* * *

David pulled into his grandma’s driveway. 10:47 pm. She was an elderly immigrant from Austria, with a thick German accent who lived in a peeling, two story, Spanish style house in the hills of Glendale.

David’s father was waiting on the porch: a sharp, well-dressed fortysomething.

“Where’s Danny?” he said.

“Taking some buddies back to his dorm--he should be here any minute.”

“How was the show?”

“Alright. Normal Hollywood thing.”

“Does that mean it sucked?”

“Well we didn’t suck, but the show overall did.”

“That’s too bad...So how’s school going?”

“Busy,” said David, staring off into the night sky.

Danny’s headlights flashed across them as he pulled in behind David’s car. He tooted his horn and they climbed in.

“Someone’s in a hurry,” said Dad.

Danny rolled his eyes and backed out of the driveway.

* * *

David sat for a minute with the phone to his ear.

“Hello? Dave, you still there? I was...just sayin that I’m sorry...about the stuff I did to you
the last few years. It was...uh...it was pretty shitty.”

“Huh?” said David walking through his new apartment picking up dirty dishes and empty glasses. “...Oh yeah...sure, sure.”

“I was just thinking about stuff, you know, that’s happened over the years and I realized that I’ve been wrong this whole time. I should’ve been listening to you.”

David sat down in his recliner, kicked off his sandals and turned on the T.V. He wanted to end the conversation as soon as possible.

“Adam, I’ve heard this before man, you-”

“No. Dave. It’s different this time, it really is.”

David could hear something different in his voice, but he wasn’t quite sure what it was.

“I want to believe you man, but you have to understand that I can’t.”

“Yeah, I know...so....how’s the apartment?” said Adam, searching for something more pleasant.

“It’s alright. Not what I thought it was going to be. Turns out Justin doesn’t make a very good roommate.

“I figured that,” chuckled Adam.

“How you doing down in San Clemente?”

“Oh man, it’s so nice. Less than a mile from the beach. I just sit and relax all day.”

“That’s cool,” said David, knowing that his next question would tell him whether or not Adam was serious about his apology. “Are you looking for a new job down there....or?”

“Oh....yeah, I am, but I’m gonna try and take a few units at the community college down here...so....yeah...”

“How are you paying for the apartment?”

“My dad just writes me a check.”

“Oh, alright. Well, hey if you need any help with any of your classes, I could definitely give you some,” offered David.

“Cool, thanks man.”

“Adam.”

“Yeah?”

“I think I can forgive you.”

* * *

Danny was the most impatient person David had ever known. He couldn’t even talk to him on the phone for more than a minute without Dan cutting in with “Hey could you wrap this up, I’m kinda busy right now.” And now he couldn’t wait to drop their dad off and get back to his dorm.

“Dan, slow down. Jiminy Christmas,” said Dad.

“Chill out Dad,” snapped Danny. “The guys have been waiting at my dorm for an hour.”

“Alright, you’ll get there. So Dave, you gonna try and get some sleep tonight?”

“No, I’ve pretty much accepted that I’m going to be up all night. I’m going to Fred 62 with Dan and Paul and some of the guys.”

“What’s at Fred 62 that warrants you staying up all night?”

“Rocky road pancakes.”

“Huh, I see.”

“And before we hit up Fred, I have to go get Paul from a party back in Hollywood.”

“You’re going back to Hollywood? Jesus, Mary and Joseph, Dave! I’m the one paying for your gas! Are you sure you don’t want to try and get some sleep?”

“I’ll just be more tired if I only sleep an hour or two. I can just sleep on the plane.”

“Whatever you want to do, just don’t be late.”

Danny pulled back into Grandma’s driveway.

“I’ll see ya later Dad,” said Danny.

“Alright bud, see ya. Be good and stay focused on school. Dave, I’ll see you at four fifteen.”

“Yeah, see ya.”

He and his dad stepped out of the car. David leaned into the window.

“What time are you gonna be at Fred?” he asked.

“I’ll call you when I’m on my way but probably a little after midnight.”

David walked over to his car and hopped in. 11:14 pm. He followed the same route that he took to get to his grandma’s: through the Hollywood Hills and down Sunset Blvd. David turned the dome light on and glanced over at the directions that he had scribbled down from Paul over the phone while he was In-N-Out with Danny and their dad.

From the 101, exit Sunset.

Left on Highland.

Right on Fountain.

Go three blocks down and turn right.

Street name starts with either an S or a V.

Find parking.

Address is 1128, apt. 3E.

David’s phone was vibrating in his hand. He saw from the caller ID that it was Adam. He didn’t really feel like talking right then, but he decided to be nice and answer.

“Hello?”

“It’s Adam.”

“What’s up?”

“You on your way back yet? Justin and I want to play some video games and we want you here,” Adam said with excitement in his voice.

David pulled the car over for a minute.

“Oh, I still haven’t even been to the party yet. And after that I’m meeting Dan over at Fred 62 with some other people. You wanna go?”

“Oh...no it’s cool man, I’ll just chill here,” Adam’s voice relaxed slightly.

“I could come get you, I’m just leaving my grandma’s.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it.”

“Alright, well when I get back I’m gonna need help staying awake. I have to be back at my grandma’s at four fifteen to meet my dad.”

“Why?” asked Adam surprised.

“I’m going to Colorado this week, remember? My flight is at six thirty.”

“Oh, right. I forgot,” said Adam with obvious disappointment. “I’ll be up when you get back.”

“Cool man, I’ll see you then.”

He plowed his way into Hollywood much faster than earlier that day. He finally found
parking and strolled over to the apartment building. The lobby was gratified and unfurnished with the exception of a dead fern in the corner. The elevator was circa 1934, including a gate that you had to pull in front of you for the door. The hallway was grey cement, including the walls. David ambled down it, looking for 3E. Upon finding it, he reached for the doorbell, but the door opened before he had the chance to ring. A stranger stood in front of him.

“How’d you know I was here?” said David.

“Just had a feeling. Good show tonight, by the way.”

“Thanks.”

“Want a beer or something?”

”Nah I’m good. “You are?” said David, extending his hand.

“Oh sorry, I’m Rick. This is my pad, make yourself at home.”

“Thanks.”

David pushed his way through the groups of people that were somehow all smashed into Rick’s tiny one bedroom apartment. The different circles that they gathered in were like the gears of a clock. David looked around the room, taking snapshots in his head. He would most likely never see this place again. Paul was sitting at a table playing poker with some other guys.

“Hey Dave, you made it!”

“Yeah, but I think we gotta be leaving soon.”

“Oh, c’mon, we have to stay long enough for you to play a few hands of poker with us.”

“I would, but I don’t want to make Dan wait. He gets pissed so easily about that stuff.”

“Alright, but we gotta stay for a little longer, just to hang out.”

“We’ll stay as long as we can.”

David stood looking over the table. He was starting to feel his energy slowly leave. He thought back to packing earlier that day. It felt like a year ago.

“Hey Paul, let’s go soon. I think Dan will probably be at Fred any minute.”

“Alright, just one more hand.” He turned to the rest of the table, “Boys, I’m all in.”

* * *

Saturdays were the only day that David slept past ten. He usually didn’t like to because his bed was next to the window and the morning sun usually made it too hot to sleep. But the pressures of school and everything else had sucked all his energy out, so he needed to sleep despite the sweat. His slumber was disrupted by a loud knock on the door. The only people who ever knocked before entering were pizza delivery guys and the land lord. David wasn’t expecting the land lord, so he hoped that he hadn’t ordered any pizza in his sleep.

He tossed some clothes from the floor on and walked to the door. He paused for a moment before opening contemplating whether or not he should look out the eye hole to see who it was. He was feeling more adventurous than usual this particular morning, so he opened the door. In front of him stood Adam, well groomed and with a little smile on his face.

“Surprise,” he said.

“Uh...Come in.”

“How’s it going?”

“Good. I mean, as good as it could be. So I hear that Justin’s dad got you a new job? Looks like it worked out, yeah?”

“Yeah I’m doing programming for Dr. Batalah.”

“Awesome, that must be paying well. Want something to drink?”

Adam plopped himself down on the couch as if he hadn’t heard David at all and stretched like he had been up and working since five in the morning.

“Long day so far?” asked David.

“Yeah I had to be at work pretty early this morning. It feels so good to have an actual job again.”

“That’s really great man. I’m glad to see you’re on your feet.”

There was silence for at least a minute. David was suddenly filled with a terrible anxiousness in his stomach. He would not be able to deal with it if Adam asked him for money again. But David quickly put down that notion. Adam had been working full time, there’s no way he would need money. David did know, however, that Adam did have something fairly serious on his mind. David finally decided to break the silence.

“So what brings you down here?”

“Well...” Adam paused for a minute searching for the words to say. “You know how I was living in the room above my girlfriend’s garage?”

“Yeah,” said David casually.

“Well she’s going to Germany for three months, and I really feel like I’m a burden on her parents because they won’t let me pay for anything. I know it’s not a big deal for them, but I just feel bad about it. And I really can’t move back in with my parents, because, and I know you’re going to disagree, but I really feel like they don’t want me there. I can’t go back.”

“You can stay here as long as you want. I’ll get you a key,”

Adam was stunned by the unexpected response.

“That’s it?” he said. “You don’t want me to expla - I had this whole proposition laid out.”

“I trust you. I’m sure Justin will be okay with you staying, so you can stay.”

Adam was still shocked at what he was hearing David say. He was embarrassed by it and unwanted tears welled up in his eyes.

“Is something wrong?” asked David.

“No, no, no,” said Adam hastily. They sat in silence for a long time.

The weather was beginning to warm. The sugary smell of springtime had found it’s way back into the Los Angeles Basin and the local mountains were cloaked in a brown haze which made them look like a large distant painting. The freeway across the street from the apartment building was unusually noisy, but the months of living next to it turned it into a new silence. It was hardly noticeable anymore to David. The palm trees of the valley swayed in the wind. From the balcony of the apartment, you could see thousands of them, tall flowers in a field of rooftops.

“You need help getting your stuff or anything?” asked David.

“Oh, no I got someone to help me out, thanks though.”

He remained on the couch like a statue; leaning forward, heels together forming a “V” with his feet, hands folded neatly between his knees.

“Adam, you don’t have to feel bad anymore. You’ve come a long way these past few years.”

Adam perked up a bit. “Thanks Dave.”

* * *

David looked at the last two bites of his rocky road pancake sitting in front of him.

“You gonna finish that?” asked Dan. He stabbed the two pieces with his fork before David even finished shaking his head. David glanced down at his watch. 2:04 am.

“I’d better get home. I gotta finish packing some stuff up,” he said, pushing back his chair from the table.

“Lates Davey,” said Dan as he stretched and yawned. “I’ll see you at the family Easter shindig next Sunday.”

“Alright. See you guys later.”

“Later,” said the others in unison.

David’s eyes were getting heavier and heavier the closer he got to his apartment. After what seemed like hours, he pulled into the parking garage, stumbled up the stairs to his apartment and pushed open the door.

“Hey man, how’s it goin?” greeted Adam sitting on the couch, the blue glow of the television lighting his face and casting deep shadows across the walls.

“Tired,” yawned David. “I gotta pack a couple things up real quick and then...what time is it?”

“Almost two thirty.”

“Is everyone else asleep?”

“Yeah they turned in a while ago.”

“Sorry to leave you here alone for so long.”

“No worries.”

“So yeah, let me pack up this stuff and then we can start a movie or something.”

“Sounds good.”

David rounded up his things and brought them into the living room, setting them next to the front door. Adam stood at the DVD rack, scanning the titles.

Finally stopping on one, he said, “How ‘bout Mallrats?”

“Sure,” said David, collapsing onto his recliner.

Adam popped the disc in and started it up. David’s eyes began to weigh down again. He closed them for what felt like only a second when he was shaken awake by Adam.

“Hey man, it’s ten till four.”

“Oh, did I fall asleep?” mumbled David.

“Yeah man, like five minutes after the movie started. I could barely hear it over your snoring.”

“I don’t snore,” smiled David as he rolled over on the fully reclined chair.

“Like a bear. C’mon man, you gotta get up and get over to your grandma’s.”

“Yeah,” said David forcing himself off the chair.

“You need help with your stuff?”

“Nah, I got it. Thanks though. Hey, sorry we didn’t get to hang out today. We’ll have to finish the movie and hit up those video games when I get back,” said David, slapping Adam on the back. Adam just smiled and nodded.

“See ya next Friday,” said David as he grabbed his bags and walked out the door in one sweeping motion.

* * *

The week went by way too fast for David. He never thought he would ever want to be around his parents as much as he did once they were gone. David stood over his suitcase which sat on the bed. He contemplated how to close it without breaking the zipper. His mom insisted on taking him shopping for new clothes and went a little overboard. He crammed as much as he could into his parents’ luggage, but he was still left with more than he came with.

He jumped up and landed sitting on top of the bag, but the mattress gave more than he expected and he fell off the bed with his bag spilling on top of him. David lay on the floor for a minute, trying to let his frustration subside. He finally got up and decided to leave the suitcase alone and check his e-mail. No fans, no eBay, just one lone message from Justin. Oh God, please let the apartment not be burned to the ground, thought David. The e-mail simply read:

Davey, you need to read this.

A document was attached to the e-mail. He didn’t know why, but his palms started to sweat. He could feel his heart beating in his wrists. The document was simply titled “Enough.” David took a deep breath and opened it.

Well here I am. Sitting in Dave’s apartment. Everyone’s asleep and I’m alone. It is becoming increasingly apparent to me that my life is going no where. I can’t hold down a job. I can’t stay in school. I’ve let down almost everyone I know. Especially you Dave. I’ve wanted to make it up to you so many times. I’ve wanted to tell you how sorry I am everyday. I don’t understand how you could just forgive me like you did. I don’t deserve that. I don’t deserve anyone who cares about me.

So I’ve had enough. Enough of myself. I’m never going to get it together and I have to go. I’m sorry Mom and Dad. I’m sorry Justin. I’m sorry to anyone’s dad who ever trusted me with a job. I’m sorry Dave. I’m sorry Dave. I’m sorry Dave. I’m sorry Dave.

A thousand thoughts rushed into David’s head at once and he couldn’t move. The grandfather clock in the hallway struck on the hour and snapped David back to reality. 10:00 pm. He grabbed the phone and called home.

“Hey Justin, I just got your e-mail. Please tell me he’s okay,” said David, his voice quivering with tears.

“I can’t say. He’s missing. I woke up this morning, he was gone, and his letter was open on your computer.”

“Have you guys looked for him? Did you call the police? What the hell are you doin - “

“Dave, just shut up for a second. I called the police. They came and took a report, but, I mean, there wasn’t much to say. All I found was the letter. I drove around after the cops left. Checked the Greyhound stations, Union Station and as many bus stops as I could. I’m searching more tomorrow. When are you getting home?”

“Tomorrow, late. I can help you look for him on Saturday.”

“Alright, well I’m not going to be home tomorrow night. I’m going to a party, so I’ll
probably be back home Saturday morning, then we can look for him some more.”

“A party? Don’t you think you have more important shit to do, like look for Adam?” He was borderline hysterical.

“Look man, there’s not much I can do once it gets dark. Besides, it’ll give me a chance to kinda relax and collect my thoughts for a bit.”

David desperately wished that he could be home right then to look Justin in the eye and tell him he was the worst friend Adam ever had.

“Alright, whatever you want to do,” said David “I’ll see you Saturday.”

David could barely sleep that night. Memories of the last day he spent with Adam flashed through his head. He wished he could go back and blow off everyone else he hung out with that night just so he could have spent more time with Adam. The flight the next day was the longest trip of his life. All he could think about was getting home so he could look for Adam. He didn’t tell his parents what had happened, and they didn’t sense that anything was wrong. He just sat quietly, lost in his own thoughts and memories. Last Friday was a lot clearer than he thought it would be.

The plane finally touched down. David and his parents grabbed their luggage and walked to their rental car. They pulled up in front of his apartment and David stepped out.

“We’ll see you tomorrow Dave,” said his dad.

“Yeah, see ya Dad. Bye Mom.”

He climbed up the stairs, his luggage feeling so much heavier than it did when he left last week. With bags in hand, he grabbed his key and fumbled with it trying to get it in the keyhole. As soon as he did, he threw open the door and dropped his things just inside. The apartment was completely dark, indicating that no one was home. He flipped on the lights and walked into the kitchen to get some water. The sink was full of disgusting dishes, as expected. He walked back into the living room with his glass, which fell out of his hand as soon as the couch came into his line of sight.

Adam was laying on the couch. He was on his side, with his back to the room. He was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt with the hood pulled over his head. David crept over to him, afraid of what he might see. He stood over Adam and put his head next to his nose. He was breathing. David almost fell on the floor with relief. He wanted to shake Adam awake and tell him how sorry and angry and sad he was about what had happened between them. He wanted to stay up the rest of the night playing video games and watching movies. He wanted to make up for every second lost.

He decided to let him sleep instead. David turned off the lights and climbed into his
bed. He slept more soundly than he could ever remember.

The next morning David woke early. He squinted at his clock. 6:44 am. He got up to get some water. He walked out and looked at the couch, but Adam was gone. David’s heart froze. He ran to the front door but stopped before opening it. He noticed a white piece of paper, folded once, sitting on the floor between his feet. He was starting to cry as he reached down to pick it up. It read:

Went running. Be back soon. -Adam