Rumble (10 page)

game. I move my hand to the left, whisper

trace the outward curve of her breast.

She doesn’t protest, but rather sighs

into the heavy fabric of my shirt, and now

I wonder what it would be like to “you

know” with her right here, right now, zero

hesitation, just please, please, let me

love you like that. But now the screen

lights with battle, and in the barrage I hear

my mom, hear my dad, hear Hayden’s father,

all shouting,
Be careful! Don’t ruin your life

like I did!
And,
What would Christ think?

From Satan to Christ

In about twenty seconds, all because

of a flush of passion. And that is made

all the weirder considering neither S

nor C means one damn thing to me.

Consider the poor kid who stumbles

through life in the shadow of both.

The credits roll and as we exit,

I ask, “Did you like the movie?”

It was pretty good, I guess.
She slips

her hand into mine, steeples our fingers.

Some parts were better than others.

I wish I could read her, know for sure

she means what I think she does. But

I’m not about to ask her to clarify.

I unlock our hands, tuck her slender

shoulder beneath my arm, kiss the beat

in her temple. “I love you. Know that?”

Her arm circles my waist and she tucks

a thumb in my back pocket.
Yes, Matthew,

I know that. And I kind of love you, too.

Kind Of?

Hope she’s not trying to tell me

something. We cruise the mall

like Siamese twins until something

in a window catches her eye, severs

our connection. As she exclaims over

the latest Coach purse, my eyes scan

ahead, and I’m dismayed to see Lainie

heading our way, elbow to elbow

with Vince. So much for breakups.

I hope Marshall is still in one piece.

Vince gives me a curt nod and Lainie

coos,
Oh, hey, Matt,
pulling Hayden’s

attention away from turquoise leather.

This could go poorly, and does instantly,

when Vince rather obviously checks

out my nymph. Lainie’s voice frosts.

Hayden. Huh.
She considers what to say,

and I think she might spare me. But

the green-eyed monster wins out.

Her mission is now to hurt Hayden.

I’m surprised to see
you
here.
Her words

stab and the “you” twists the knife.

No Escape

I’m in trouble now.

I should have known.

Hayden:
Really? Why would

you be surprised to see me?

Lainie:
Because of last night.

I kind of thought maybe Matt

and Alexa were a thing now.

Hayden (a serious shade of red):

Last night? What do you mean?

Lainie (ignoring my evil glare):

Sorry. Sometimes I read too much

into things. Guess I was wrong.

I can either stand here

like a wuss and wait

to be leveled, or act

like a man, invite

the solar plexus punch.

“Alexa was at the party

last night. I drove her home.”

Acting Like a Man Is Overrated

Especially when it means hurting

someone you love, and Hayden

is stung, even though she hangs on

to a good percentage of her dignity,

at least in front of Lainie (the bitch).

Oh, that,
is all she says, refusing

to publicly cede ground.

Something simmers beneath

the surface, though, sizzling

like hot oil. Vince senses it, too,

decides to dodge the pending spatter.

Let’s go.
He gives Lainie

a decent push, ignores her complaint.

Hayden watches their retreat,

mostly as a way not to look at me.

I reach for her, but she sidesteps.

Will you please take me home?

Sssssssplatter! It blisters.

Hope it doesn’t leave a scar.

She Walks Two Steps

Ahead of me all the way to the truck.

It’s a struggle to stay behind her,

considering the relative lengths

of our strides, but if I’m lucky,

maybe her quickened pace

will burn off a little anger.

Luck is not my best thing.

We are barely out of the parking

lot when she spits,
Alexa? Really?

I thought Marshall was your date.

Reverse déjà vu?

“I did take Marshall to the party.

What Lainie forgot to mention

was how she climbed all over him,

trying to piss off Vince. . . .”

Lainie and Marshall? Whatever.

Anyway, what’s that got to do

with Alexa?
Cavernous breath.

That’s why you got home so late.

“Listen. Lainie drove Alexa

to the party. When she hooked up

with Marshall, Alexa needed

a ride home. That’s it. Nothing

happened between Alexa and

me.” Except for my wanting to kiss

her, and her slightly disparaging

remarks about Hayden. But that’s

nothing much. Nothing, really.

It’s maddening when the truth

(mostly the truth) isn’t enough.

You know how I feel about Alexa.

I can’t believe you’d do this to me.

“Hayden, I didn’t do anything

to you, and I didn’t do a damn

thing with Alexa except make

sure she got home safely. Please

don’t be mad. I would never

jeopardize what I have with you.”

Seethe. That’s the word.

She’s seething.
You’re wrong.

You already jeopardized it.

End of debate. I drop her

off and if her dad is watching

out the window, he’s gloating

about what he sees. No kiss. No

goodbye. No see you tomorrow.

Infuriating!

Why won’t she listen?

Why won’t she believe me?

Will she just stay mad for

a little while, then automatically

forgive me? Why do I doubt

that? Girls hold grudges

longer than guys do.

Except, that’s not exactly

accurate, is it? I mean,

there’s Dad. And there’s me.

Dad, who’ll always blame

Mom for his fizzled dreams.

Not his dick. Not his warped

sense of morality.

Me, who will never

forgive those who played

supporting roles

in the Luke melodrama.

No, I can’t forgive them,

and the only narrow windows

of forgetfulness I enjoy

are when I’m with Hayden.

Therein lies a big problem—

I need her more than

she’ll ever need me.

The Person

I’d really like to choke

is Lainie. She’s the impetus

for all levels of this mess,

and it’s probably good

she’s nowhere within reach

right now. Stinking troublemaker.

What is wrong with people like her—

those whose greatest pleasure lies

in destroying others? Bitches,

bullies, and broadcasters-of-shit.

And for what? To feel mildly

better about themselves,

try to scrub away a chunk

of the cancer eating them up

from the inside out?

They’re like well-fed Rottweilers,

tearing into an entire flock

of chickens, just to watch feathers

fly and get off on the piteous

squawking. All fangs

and slobber. Zero sympathy.

I Give Hayden’s Temperature

A few hours to drop a degree or two.

It’s Saturday night, and both my parents

have gone out, but not with each other.

Retreated to their separate alcohol-soaked

corners. One, to talk sports and regret.

The other, to discuss God and loss.

What’s it like to spend an entire

weekend together as an intact family?

Hayden and I were supposed to have

dinner together, post-mall. I’d planned

on Thai. Instead, I microwave half-assed

beef broccoli, chase it with a couple

of Dad’s beers. He won’t miss them,

and the carbonated buzz sounds inviting.

Guess I’m burrowing into my own

alcohol-infused sanctuary. Alone.

I turn on the TV for company as I eat,

random noise to fight the suffocating

quiet. It weights this house, threatens

to drop it down into a sinkhole of memory.

How do I escape it? Where can I go?

What can I do? Maybe Luke had the right idea.

Buzzed but Anxious

I won’t sleep right away, so I tune into

old action movies on cable. Before it gets

too late, I call Hayden, apologize again

for doing nothing wrong, although I don’t

reiterate that last part. “Will I see you

tomorrow? I’m still jonesing for Thai.”

Even bounced off a satellite, thousands

of miles above us, her voice sounds cool.

I don’t know. I’ve got church, and after,

Mom wants us to visit Nana.
The tough

old crow lives in a retirement complex,

but not because she needs care. More like

because she needs company. Most of her

circle has moved away or journeyed on

to the Old Folks’ Mansion in the Sky.

“Please think about dinner. And what you

want to do on Monday. I love you with all

my heart.” Please don’t desert me, too.

I Crash Late

Still alone, anxiety shimmering

around me like an aura. Though

it’s cool in the house, I lie on top

of my blankets, somehow too warm

to go under. Every room is empty,

and silence-bloated, so the blood

whoosh in my ears sounds like

the bellow of swollen surf. I try

to relax my muscles, but I feel like

a winter kill, left to freeze overnight.

My therapist gave me relaxation

techniques to try at times like this.

I imagine floating on my back in

a warm, salty sea. No effort. Eyes

closed to the gentle sun against

my face. Now I create a mantra,

a rhythmic chant: “Ohm. Ohm.”

Before long, it changes: “Omega.”

The last. The ultra. The end. I sink

beneath the surface, no light, no air,

but oddly no fear, and it doesn’t hurt

not to breathe. Is this what death is?

I have nowhere immediate to go,

so I let the current tug me at will.

It carries me to some sort of undersea

grotto, at least it seems I’m underwater

still, until I bump up against a graveled

shore. A thin finger of light pokes down

from an opening in the rock above.

I crawl onto the beach, find myself

completely dry. Breathe in. Exhale.

I am alive. I hear footfalls in the gloom

ahead, the slam of a door. “Hello?”

I call, to no reply, so I investigate.

Along a narrow corridor flanked

by slick black granite. A sudden whisper

of fear lifts goose bumps all over my body,

and I know I have to hurry, or it will be

too late. I break into a trot, chanting,

“No, no, no.” And now I’m running

down the hall in this very house. “No!”

Luke’s door is locked, but the knob

is no match for the adrenaline screeching

through me. The first thing I see is his

feet. He’s still wearing his left shoe;

the right has fallen beside the chair

lying sideways on the floor. Then I look

up at his face. It’s plum blue. And he’s smiling.

No! Please, No!

My own scream yanks me awake, and I fight

the black glove of night pressing me against

my bed. I turn on my side, curl into a capital

G
, knees against my chest, sucking in air around

an immense exhalation of sobs. The clipped rhythm

of bare feet informs me Mom is home, and aware.

She bursts through the door, flips the switch

beside it, flooding my room with ochre light.

What’s wrong?
She looks at me. Understands.

“I’m f-f-fine,” I stutter, though it’s obvious

I’m anything but. “I haven’t . . . I just . . .

It’s been a while since I’ve dreamed about it.”

Mom approaches slowly, almost warily.

Something melts, her sharp edges blur