A Third of Me (6 page)

I feel the boot again and taste the metallic yuck of blood in my mouth, which almost makes me hurl right here. I try to speak…

“What's that?” Larry asks, bending down.

“I said you're the only cock sucker I know, you fucking asshole. You go to hell.”

I'm about to die. Right here, right now. This is my last breath. I take it, knowing the last thing I'll ever see is this bat raised in the air, aimed at my face, Larry's face red with alcohol and fury so intense that–

I hear something crack. I feel drunk. I see funny shapes and colors I can't describe. I don't know if I've gone deaf, blind, or what. The pain is gone and I can't feel anything. All I know is Damon Loveless just became lost in limbo, in flux somewhere in the great unknown.

Brian…help me.

Brian

I'm at work when I get the call from the county hospital. I don't even bother to tell my boss, I just go. Lauren is already there. I push past the ward nurses and try to find him on my own.
That goddamn son of a bitch!
How could–

Two of the floor security guards have me on the ground before I know it.

I'm so insane by this point that Lauren has to do all the talking. She convinces them to let me see him, although I have to be escorted into Intensive Care by Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum.

Christ.

His face is wrapped, the bandages stained with rust-colored blotches. I wouldn't hurt a fly, but I want to
kill
Larry Martin. He's already in police custody, but I don't know that right now. I don't care. I just want him
dead.

"Damon?" It comes out as a whisper. All I hear in reply is the rhythmic beep of the heart monitor.

Lauren

Brian and I sleep in the floor of the Intensive Care waiting room for two nights before Damon is moved to a normal room. We go in together. Damon's bandages are gone from his face. His nose and jaw are yellow and purple, stitches crawl from the side of his mouth up to his hairline. It's almost unbearable to look at him.

We're both crying like little babies when Damon starts rustling around in his bed.

Damon opens his eyes a little. He sees Brian.

“Hey,” he says groggily.

“Hey there, little buddy.” Brian's gonna lose it. I just know it.

“Where am I?” Damon asks, looking around. Then he sees the plastic bracelet around his wrist. “Larry put me here?”

Brian nods. I just watch them.

“Can I get you anything?” Brian asks.

“A mirror.” Damon says.
Of all the things, Damon?

Brian hesitates. “I don't think–”

“Just give it to me, Brian. It doesn't feel pretty so I don't expect it to look pretty.”

Brian searches the drawers in the room and pulls out a hand mirror. He gives it to Damon.

Damon takes a long time looking over his bruised and battered face. He drops the mirror on the bed, turns away, and begins to sob. I watch Brian take his hand and squeeze it.

Brian says, “Do you want me to go?”

Damon shakes his head. “Nah, man. Just sit with me for a while if that's cool.”

I lean over and kiss Damon on the forehead, just inches from a scrawl of sutures. Then I leave them alone.

But I can I still hear them from outside the room.

“I came to your apartment. I wanted to tell you–”

“Shh,” Brian says. “Try not to talk. You have to get well, all right?” He comes outside the room and pulls the door closed.

“He's sleeping.”

“Did you tell him Larry's in jail?” I ask.

Brian shakes his head. “I'm just glad he's alive.”

I pull him close and wrap my arms around him, and we both cry until we have no more tears.

Two weeks later, Brian picks me up. Damon should be discharged today. We pull up to the front entrance of the hospital. Damon is being pushed out in a wheelchair by a male nurse, and I can't help but laugh at him.

“This isn't necessary, bro. I can walk.”

“Sorry, it's policy,” the male nurse says. Damon stands up and hobbles over to Brian's car. I help him get in.

He's grinning from ear to ear, and I can't wait to hear what he has to say.

Damon

I'm so happy to see these fuckers. I slide in the backseat and grab Brian's shoulders, ruffle his hair. And of course I can't resist a smooch on Lauren's cheek. She smells nice.

I tell them about the police stopping by for a chat and how Larry was apparently under suspicion of stealing tools and supplies from the job site, and after the home run he knocked to my face, well, let's just say he'll be living it up in a gray bar suite for a while. I'm not too happy about having to pay the rent and having to live in that shack by myself.

Lauren says she's moved to town. She's living with her cousin who's a freshman at the university down here. She's excited, but she's even more excited about a job interview tomorrow (hopefully not in telecommunications). I wish her luck then she shows me the new purse she got. It's made of pink seat belts. It's ridiculous looking, but I don't tell her that. What am I, an asshole?

Brian doesn't say much while we're on the road. At first, I think he might be mad at me for some reason, then I see his face in the rearview and relief washes over me because he's grinning. Grinning like a fucking idiot. Love this guy.

I'm blindfolded once we get to Brian's apartment. They carefully walk me up the stairs and it's excruciating because I can feel my ribs pop and grind. It doesn't really hurt that much, but the sound of it is enough to make me nauseous. I hear the door open and I step inside. I kick off my flip-flops and feel the plush, cool carpet beneath my feet. They walk me across the living room, down the hall, and into the spare bedroom where Brian has a small office. When he rips the blindfold off my face, I see it's no longer an office at all. His desk and bookcase are gone. I'm looking at all my stuff – my bed, my posters, TV, gaming console, stereo – from my old room, except it's neat and organized. Brian must have gone over there and brought it all over here.

But why?

Brian stands there looking at me, smiling with his arms crossed, pleased. “You can rearrange it however you like. Lauren and I finished decorating last night. We tried not to rush it, but it looks all right, I think.”

My brain tells my head to nod, but I'm not sure if it does. Lauren puts an arm around me and lays her head on my shoulder and I suddenly feel like crying.
Don't do it. Don't you fucking do it.

I do though. I can't help it. I don't just cry but I sob like a little bitch.

I say, “Dude, I can't stay here. There's no way I can afford the rent on this place.”

Brian shrugs. “Who said anything about you paying anything?”

“No, no, I can't let you do that. I mean this is great, really fucking great. I just… Wait, what about the house Larry was renting?”

“That's been taken care of. You're not responsible for it. So, what do you think? Want to be my roommate?”

“Just say yes, hon,” Lauren whispers.

I do want to live here. I think about it more and I know it would be incredible. Me and Brian, roommates. We'll have so much fun. We'll go do things, watch movies, listen to music, but we'll still be boring and that's okay. Boring people are still interesting to each other.

“I'll help out though,” I say finally. “I'll get a job. I promise I will.”

“That's fine,” Brian says. “I think that'd be great for you anyway. But as long as you're here, you won't have to worry about anything.”

I nod and say thank you. Hell, I even say it again before the waterworks turn back on. I don't think I've ever been more grateful in my life.

But there are more surprises. Brian pushes open the closet door and there's my clothes.

“I resisted the urge to toss some of your threadbare stuff,” Brian says.

“That's good, because they're comfortable,” I say then slide open the closet door some more. There are my shoes and a wire caddy with my socks, underwear, and towels inside – all of them neatly folded. Hanging above them is a row of super nice shirts and jeans.

“You left some of your expensive clothes in here, Brian.”

“Those are yours.”

“What? You're shittin me.”

“I shit you not,” Brian says. “I went ahead and removed the tags so you wouldn't bust my chops about the price.”

I take a shirt off a hanger and hold it up to my chest. Oh yeah, this is definitely me. I check the size: Medium. Perfect. Then I check the inside label on the jeans. Also perfect. It says these are made of–

“
Selvedge denim
,” I read. “What the fuck is that?”

Brian just laughs.

Brian

Before Lauren agreed to help me out with Damon's room, she had asked me if I foresaw this situation becoming a problem in the future. I had said it doesn't matter. Damon needed somewhere to go and he had no money. Besides, I want him here.

I've taken the day off to spend time with Damon and to get him settled in. It doesn't take long. We make some adjustments to his room and go out for groceries.

I'm in the spice aisle when Mom calls. We use to be very close until I told her about myself – came out, whatever you want to call it. We make small talk, that's about all we do anymore. She wants me to come visit this weekend. I say I will. I tell her Damon has moved in with me but nothing more. She likes him. Mom always says Damon could show me how to find a girl so she can have some grandchildren. Or that I need to ask Lauren out, which leads to how Lauren and I would make such a great couple and would have beautiful babies. Mom's agenda has always been very clear, which leaves me with nothing but guilt for not being able to give her what she wants.

Damon drops some frozen pizzas into the shopping cart. I shake my head. He shrugs. I say goodbye to Mom and push on, forgetting the oregano. I have to go back and get it before we leave the store, leading me through the books and magazines. I pluck copies of
National Geographic
and
Science of Tomorrow
from the shelf and write them off as impulse buys without feeling too ashamed of burning ten bucks.

I start dinner – chicken fettucini with a garlic cream sauce. Damon puts his pizza in the oven. I don't make a big deal out of it because he's very picky and doesn't like homemade meals. Maybe he'll eat some of it to humor me.

He does.

He wants to watch football, but I don't know anything about it and don't care. But that's what we watch. I might as well be watching a Portuguese soap opera.

“Tell me,” Damon says, “how can you be from the south and not like football?”

“My parents never watched it and I was never into sports.”

“I remember you played baseball. Do you ever watch it on TV?”

I shake my head. "The only reason I even played in fourth grade was because of Mom.”

“She made you, didn't she?”

“Yep. Well it went something like this. She asks me if I want to play baseball. I say no, of course, then she says
I think you will
.”

Damon laughs hysterically at this.

“The same thing happened with the cub scouts.”

“You were in the scouts?”

“Yeah, same reason,” I say, joining in the laughter. “I didn’t want to join, but Mom said
I think you will, Brian.
And the same thing happened with swimming lessons, which I failed, by the way.”

“How did fail swimming lesson?”

“I wouldn't go under without holding my nose.”

“Then I would have failed, too,” Damon says. “I can't do it either.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah, man. I don't even like getting in the ocean. I went once on my senior trip. If I can't see what's in the water, I'm not getting in it.”

My eyes are getting heavy. Too much food consumed too quickly, I guess. I hand Damon the remote and say goodnight. While I'm in bed reading
Science of Tomorrow
, I read about all the latest discoveries and technological breakthroughs around the globe.

One particular article catches my eye and nearly stops my heart. I read it carefully from start to finish. Then I read it again.

And again.

I turn out the light and lie there listening to the muffed voice of the sports announcer squawking on the TV in the living room.

My mind races, sifting through that article in my head. I think about the doctors, the scientists, and these three special individuals involved in this radical and controversial experiment.

I allow myself to drift off and think about it no more.

But I will think of it again. Someday.

C H A P T E R T H R E E

T
HE
I
MPOSSIBLE

Lauren

Today, I start training at local pathology lab called PathCheck. They made me an offer and I took it without even thinking. I'm now a glorified data entry clerk, entering patient information and biopsy results into a computer. And to top it off, I don't have to deal with the public. Score.

Brian and I exchange emails from work. He says things are going well at home, and he's heading back to River City for the weekend. I tell him to send his mother my love.

Damon is also going but driving separately. I guess he'll be staying with one of his aunts.

Later, he calls me from the road and we catch up on all that's been going on. He looks for work during the day then he and Brian go to the gym together once Brian gets home. He says there's not much else going on, but I can tell something's on his mind.

“Lauren, has Brian said anything to you about…having any kind of…
feelings
for me?”

There it is. “It's no secret, hon.”

“Check this shit out,” he says, clearing his throat. “Before Larry put me in the hospital – don't you tell anyone this, okay?”