One Voice 02 - Here Without You (16 page)

“Well, then, I suppose you boys need to find Nate.”

On second thought, it seemed as if Mom got the picture.

“I miss Natey-nate,” said Lola looking up from her cards.

“Where is big ol’ Nate?” Sarah was genuinely baffled.

I took Sarah’s chubby hand in mine and replied, “That’s what we’re going to figure out.”

[email protected]

I called off the One Voice meeting tonight, Dan. Just plain old couldn’t cope with it. Saturday night changed a lot of things for me and Casey, not to mention Nate. And I’m hoping it doesn’t ultimately change my commitment to the things I’ve come to believe in. But I’m not ready to think that far ahead. I’m crushed and I’m in pain and I’m not ready to lead a group devoted to anything. No matter how vital the cause.

I
LEFT
our dormitory room in the afternoon today, as I think both Casey and I needed some time to be alone after what went down with Nate last night. And shit, it’s been twenty-four hours. If I don’t spell it out to you now, I may just stuff it deep inside myself and hold it there forever.

I’m sitting here in the lower campus laundry room, of all places. And since it’s a Sunday night, I figured the place would be all kinds of packed—full of upperclassmen getting their supply of clean clothes for the week. But it’s empty, except for me and my laptop, perched on an orange plastic chair in the corner, and a girl I recognize from the library, who’s washing enough clothes to outfit an army. It must be her turn to wash, dry, and fold the clothes of everybody in her apartment.

Looking for Nate, Casey and I made two trips to the gas station. The first time we just drove in, saw a guy we didn’t know working the pumps, and pulled right back out. The second time, about an hour later, the same guy was working the pumps, so we parked and went inside the minimart. Nate’s friend Missy was working at the cash register. At least she fit his general description of his friend Missy—“sorta tall, with dark hair that looks kinda stiff in the front, and always chompin’ on bubble gum.”

Missy was a fucking fountain of knowledge.

“Oh, shit. Yeah. I know exactly where the guy is staying.” She gloated for a couple minutes and then pronounced, “The guy’s staying on my couch.”

That news was unexpected.

“Nate told me that his uncle got hauled into the slammer for some shit or another, and he lost his house. His uncle hadn’t paid rent in a while, and the landlord took advantage of the opportunity to kick Nate to the curb.”

That explained the bare house and the for-rent signs.

“If you guys wanna see him, though, you can stop by my apartment. No prob.”

Casey’s eyes got all wide, and he started nodding. I thought he might jump outta his skin. “Could you jot down your address and we’ll head over and see him?”

She tore off a piece of a brown paper bag and wrote down an address that was actually in the same complex as Ma’s, but way down at the other end. “If you wanna see him smile, bring beer.” I took the scrap of paper from her.

Nate hadn’t indulged in booze or a joint or anything else since we’d become friends with him. This didn’t sound good.

We didn’t say even one fucking word to each other in the car. I think we both already knew what was coming was gonna suck royally. And it was gonna change things.

When we got there, Nate let us into a dingy, smoky, crack-house kind of apartment. It stunk like stale cigarette smoke. The walls were all brown with stains and a bunch of skinny, stray-looking cats were draped all over the furniture. Nate didn’t even wait for us to close the door. He just turned around and walked across the room, and then dropped his ass smack dab in the middle of the couch. He sat there squinting at us, wearing nothing but a wifebeater tank top and unzipped jeans.

Nate looked like shit. He smelled like shit. And he appeared very relaxed and at home in this pile-of-shit apartment. From the looks of him, he hadn’t shaved or brushed his hair in days. This scene reminded me a lot of when we first saw Casey after he’d been beaten by Liz Trainer. It was a gross and nasty sight. It spelled major depression.

We weren’t offered a seat or a beer, which was what he was drinking. Nate’s dark, dull eyes found the television set as if we weren’t there.

“Dude.” Yeah, that was my brilliant opening. “Dude, where have you been?”

“Eh?”

I knew he’d heard exactly what I’d asked, but I repeated myself nonetheless. “You fell off the edge of the fucking earth, dude. You never told us how Cindy was or what happened to Rich or where the fuck you’ve been.”

Nate looked at me. Directly. Angrily. Scarily. “So here’s the deal. Rich tried to choke Cindy to death while I was frolicking in the grassy quad with you guys, in a fucked-up effort to encourage all the poor homos at Boston City College to get the hell outta their closets. Sorry I inconvenienced ya by not callin’ every five fuckin’ minutes.”

Casey took a step behind me, but still he managed to squeak out his question. “Is Cindy all right?”

Nate looked at Casey. “I don’t know, babe. But I do know that she couldn’t talk for a week, she’s
still
having trouble swallowin’, and her skinny neck is covered in bruises and scratches from her own fingers trying to claw my uncle’s hands off her. Oh, and she pissed her pants when the ass hat was stranglin’ her. From what Aunt Terri tells me, it was a lovely scene, top to bottom. So I would say she’s not doin’ too good.”

“Any permanent injuries?” I asked hesitantly. This was like walking on a pile of broken glass. It was really hard to know where to step.

“It’s hard to say. Psychological trauma kinda sticks with ya, don’t it, Casey?” I had asked the question, but he glared at Casey as he replied. His voice was low, smooth, and cool. I could not detect a hint of emotion in it, even when he said, “Plus, Cindy won’t see me. Don’t wanna lay her eyes on the brother who screwed her life up so fuckin’ bad.” Then he directed his icy glare toward me again. “She’s let Aunt Terri in her confidence, though, and Terri keeps me up to date on the fucked-up status of Cindy’s trauma.”

There was silence in the room, with the exception of various feline mewls from the small gang of cats that seemed to be stalking Casey and me. It was a heavy, uncomfortable silence. A profound silence. A silence that told me things I didn’t want to hear or know.

“Anyhow, I got booted from my house, cuz good ole Uncle Rich is in the slammer now, where he belongs. And I can’t pay for that shithole on my own. Lucky for me I got friends like Missy, who’ll take me in for a price.”

Nate had never said so much in so short a time period since we’d met him.

“I ain’t paid the price yet. It’s fuckin’ steep.”

I had a feeling I knew exactly what was on the
price tag
—to keep Missy satisfied in bed. I sincerely hoped Casey was clueless about it.

“But it’ll surely come down to me payin’ that price—sooner rather than later. Missy ain’t too patient. So, in answer to your question, ‘where you been, Nate?’ I been around. Kickin’ around. But I been real fuckin’ busy. I been tryin’ to get my sister to look at me. I been talkin’ to the cops about my asshole uncle. Been movin’ my crap outta one shithole and into another. Been pumpin’ gas into lazy drivers’ tanks. Like I said, been busy.”

Casey and I stared as Nate slid his venomous gaze away from my face to look at the television.

“That’s where I been.”

Casey must have felt brave or something. He stepped over to that nasty couch. Really cautiously, as if he weren’t sure whether or not Nate was gonna bite him, he sat on the edge of the couch and tried to take Nate’s hand. But Nate snatched it away.

“Sweetheart… um, Nate, what’s going on with us? You haven’t answered our calls or texts or—”

“Shit, kid. Ain’t it obvious?” Nate actually smiled. “It’s over with us three. A done fuckin’ deal.” Still smiling, he stared straight ahead. “Can’t you dudes take a fuckin’ hint? Nah. S’pose I gotta spell it out for ya.”

Casey’s eyes filled with tears, and I moved to him quickly and placed my hands firmly on his shoulders.

But Nate wasn’t done with us. “Now you two
college boys
can concentrate on gettin’ smart and changin’ the friggin’ world so three homos like us can fuck each other without no public interference.”

I opened my mouth to challenge him, but I closed it just as quickly. There would be no discussion today. This Nate wasn’t the Nate we knew.

Instead I took Casey by the arm and helped him stand up. Tears were flowing pretty freely down Casey’s face now, and he looked like he was in shock. I figured he’d have a full-blown panic attack soon. How could Nate hurt Casey like this? He knew how soft, sweet, and vulnerable Casey was. “We’ll get outta your hair, then, dude.”

For an instant, and I’m talking about a fraction of a second, I thought I saw a flash of pain cross Nate’s face. But he quickly caught himself and said in a sarcastic tone, “Au revoir.”

It was ironic that he chose to say his final good-bye to us in French, as we’d fallen in love through the completion of a French project during our junior year in high school. Then he said it again. “Au-fuckin’-revoir.”

I led Casey to the apartment door, and we went outside. Casey lost it by the time we got to the car. A full-on anxiety attack hit him hard. He had to do regulated breathing techniques the whole way back to his house, but thankfully he didn’t barf.

S
O
, D
AN
,
that’s how shit went down with Nate, pretty much exactly. Right after that, Casey said he wanted to go back to school. I don’t think he wanted to subject his family to his oncoming depression. We didn’t talk about anything ’til Sunday morning, when we decided that Casey and I would put our romantic relationship on the back burner. We both hung around the dorm room until Casey went off to the library. I decided to get the hell outta that room before he came back.

We don’t know how to act together anymore. This platonic relationship is new to us. We need to talk a lot more to make it work, but it isn’t the right time.

Never noticed how friggin’ tiny that dormitory room was before today.

Z

17

N
ATE
’
S
D
IARY

October 25

A
IN
’
T
WRITTEN
here in a hell of a long while. Like maybe two weeks or so.

Couldn’t do it. Couldn’t make myself sit down and write about what was goin’ on inside my fucked-up head. Kinda wanted to, a whole bunch of times. Thought that maybe if I just sat my ass down and got some shit offa my chest, then maybe I could read it back to myself out loud and make some sense of it.

But every time I picked up the notebook, grabbed a pen, found a place to park my truck where I could be alone with my thoughts for a bit, somethin’ stopped me from writin’.

I finally figured out that I don’t wanna get my head clear on things. I don’t
wanna
get the whys and the hows of what’d happened to my life and then respond to it like a man. Nope. What I want to do is to run. To steer clear. To do everythin’ in my power to make sure that nobody can wreck me again, the way Cindy’d just done.

And lemme tell ya, I am fuckin’ scared stupid by how much I love Casey and Zander.

Am I mad at ’em for distractin’ me from Cindy, leadin’ her to gettin’ the beatin’ of her life? Well, yeah. I’m pissed off at them two, ’specially Zander for sendin’ me on a guilt trip about leavin’ before his super important One Voice rally. But I’m pissed off at them two for way more than temptin’ me away from my responsibility to Cindy. I’m mad as hell cuz their lives are movin’ on in ways that mine just can’t. I’m stuck in a rut, waitin’ for Cindy to graduate from high school and be old enough to leave our hell home. I’m pissed cuz I kept on takin’ beatin’ after beatin’ so she didn’t have to. Don’t know how that’s Casey and Zander’s fault, but somehow, in the back of my mind, it just is.

I felt like them two left me. And I’m here alone.

We aren’t “us three” no more. They’re “them two,” and I’m all alone, way the fuck up here. Alone like always. Watchin’ out for Cindy. Gettin’ pummeled by my Uncle. Workin’ my ass off at stupid jobs I don’t give a shit about.

When they walked outta Missy’s place last Saturday, I felt slapped upside the head all over again. Watched ’em out the window as they walked to Miz Minton’s Volvo, Casey fightin’ a panic attack. Yeah, that made me feel lower than low. And Zander was supportin’ his every step. All I kept sayin’ to myself was, “Them two, not me. Them two, not me.”

Wah-fuckin’-wah. Looks like it’s time for Nate-the-asshole’s pity party.

Guess I don’t have to worry no more about them two forgettin’ all about me and not bein’ “us three” no more. I fixed that, didn’t I? Treated them two like the lowly shit I know
I am
. Meant to drive ’em off, and I did.

Can’t live this broken-apart life no more. Can’t make them two live it with me.

Thing is, it’s all so much friggin’ easier to deal with when I’m drunk and high.

[email protected]

Life is sucking to the max, Dan.

Thank Christ I have Claire and Anna and you to vent on otherwise my marbles would be rolling down the street. Had lunch with the girls today at New Caf. Didn’t wanna risk bumping into Casey on upper campus, because, man, he’s down low, as in superdepressed, and I needed a chance to come up for air.

We just shot the shit at lunch, talking about indie bands and YouTube. But at the end of lunch, Claire went out on a limb and asked, “So you canceled One Voice last Sunday. Didn’t see that coming. What’s up?”

And I answered her. I just fucking answered honestly. “Me and Nate and Casey, we sorta….” It was damn hard to make myself say the words. “We sorta broke up.”

The girls gawked at me for a second. Then they exchanged a quick glance, and Claire nodded to Anna in a “take it away, Anna” way, like these kinds of situations were her territory.