Disarm (12 page)

THE HENRY SESSIONS

My name is Henry Mason Logan.

My earliest memory is of going to the park when I was two, maybe three years old. My nanny, Louise, took me to this tiny park down the street and I played with this kid I'd never met before. He kept referring to Louise as my mom and I never corrected him. I figured she was better than my mom, because at least she took care of me.

My parents were busy career-oriented people. My mom was an up-and-coming lawyer and my dad had his landscaping business. Mom was always working late or dashing off to meet with clients, and Dad, well, when he wasn't working or drinking with his buddies, he was sitting in his man cave and needing his man space.

I was not allowed to enter the man cave unless he was having a football-watching party and he needed me to get them some more chips or beer.

For some reason I always thought men loved having sons because it meant they had someone to teach baseball to or how to build cars. At the very least, they had someone to carry on the family name, but my dad didn't seem to care either way. He didn't do the other things that my classmates' parents did. We never did Little League or Boy Scouts or any of that.

Why? Fuck if I know. He was a shitty parent is what I finally concluded a long time ago. Too selfish to have a kid, that's for sure.

My mom would sometimes show some semblance of affection for me. When she had a spare minute, she'd give me a hug or a kiss on the forehead. You know, easy mom stuff. But what I really wanted her to do was stay home and take care of me, be there when I got off the bus like other kids' moms. I wanted to come home to freshly baked cookies and a glass of milk. I thought that's what moms were supposed to do, not rush off to work every day and come home in time to march me off to bed.

Have I started rebuilding that broken relationship with my parents?

Hell no.

Do I want to?

I don't know if I should even bother. They are who they are and I hate them and love them regardless.

Just . . . sometimes I wish they would at least attempt to apologize, you know? Would it hurt them to say, “Henry, we're sorry we neglected you and allowed you to be raised by a nanny”? I don't know if that's the magic salve that will heal all wounds but it'd be nice to hear them acknowledge it.

They never even called me to say good-bye before I deployed.

I was a bit of a wild child when I was younger, as you are well aware. I had my first smoke in fifth grade and tried my first beer in sixth grade. By seventh grade, I'd lost my virginity to this girl—I can't even remember her name anymore—who was just visiting Monterey for the week. I bragged to my friends at school that I'd had a one-night stand but I remember wanting her to fall in love with me. I'm not sure what that says about me, that I wanted love and acceptance from a girl who wasn't even going to stick around.

Desperate? Stupid? Naïve? All of the above?

The first time I tried pot was at a party at the beginning of sophomore year. I think if I'd been able to get my hands on it, I probably would have done it more. As it was, I wasn't inventive enough to find it and not cool enough to have the right connections to the people who could.

My first fight was with a boy in the playground in second grade. He threw sand in my face so I punched him in the balls. That earned me a trip to the principal's office. Louise was the one to pick me up from the office.

The first time I stole was at this kid's house when he invited me over for dinner. That was my MO back then: I'd befriend someone and go to their house for dinner because the only thing waiting for me at home was another frozen burrito or ramen noodles. So I'd go to my classmates' houses for dinner. One time I was at Tommy Schilling's house and I saw this really cool lighter inside a hutch in their formal dining room. It was this cool brass lighter shaped like an atomic bomb and I just reached into the cabinet and took it.

I was never invited there again. Tommy accused me at school the next week, but they couldn't prove anything, and being that my mom was a lawyer, they didn't really want to pursue it.

I gave the lighter back eventually. It took until the end of sophomore year but I finally gave it back to Tommy and told him that I was sorry.

I knew I was heading down the wrong path but it was like an icy slalom; I could see exactly where I was headed but I couldn't stop. Until the first time I met the Shermans.

Jason first came to school about two months into the school year. I remember him vividly because he was tall even then, with floppy blond hair and an easygoing smile. He walked around the halls with confidence, like he'd been going there since freshman year. Word quickly got around that he was the new kid and by the end of the day, he already had half the female students swooning. One day at school and already he was destined to be the golden boy. For someone who had been trying since junior high to get attention and failing miserably, that was a big boot to the nuts.

I hadn't had my growth spurt yet so I was only about five-six at the time and not much to look at. Jason didn't know about my history, so I thought maybe he was someone I could befriend and he could elevate my standing at school. At the very least, I'd get a warm dinner or two out of his family. So I did my thing and insinuated myself into their dinner plans. Turned out we lived only a few houses apart, so that was a bonus.

Jason seemed like such a nice kid. He didn't even look suspicious when I asked if I could see his house and he automatically just invited me to stay for dinner.

That was the first day I met Elsie.

Who is Elsie? The simplest I could put it is that she's Jason's little sister. The most complicated is that she's the love of my life. I'm going to try to be objective when talking about her, try not to let my feelings for her now color how I remembered her in the past.

Elsie was a cute girl. She was this little thing with light brown curly hair and big hazel eyes. When I walked into the Sherman house, she came running down the stairs with an eager smile, but when she saw me, her expression changed like she'd smelled something bad. I couldn't really blame her. I had braces so I never smiled, and a head of crazy wavy hair that I rarely ever brushed. Turned out that was the thing we'd bond over: our hair.

“Your hair is out of control,” I said just to piss her off.

“Yours is worse,” she said with attitude. I wanted to tease her more, to see how mad I could really make her, but her mom came out to greet me so I bit my tongue.

“Jason, who's your friend?” she asked, looking me over. But she didn't look at me with distaste like other parents because she hadn't heard anything about me. She just looked at me with curiosity and maybe some amusement.

“Henry Logan,” Jason said, clapping me on the back. “Nicest guy in school.”

I didn't really agree with that appraisal, but who the hell cared? I could pretend to be the nicest guy in school if it got me free food and some company.

Dinner at their house was like a revelation. Until then, I'd never realized how nice it could really feel to sit at the table with Mom and Dad and talk about your day. The Shermans asked their kids about their day and really listened, but then they asked me about myself and also seemed really interested. It was really sweet and intrusive and made me a little panicked. I think I might have said three words before stuffing my face with mashed potatoes.

I was invited over for dinner twice more that week and I returned, soaking up their normalcy. They were what I'd always wanted in a family but never got.

I don't know if it's healthy to both resent and envy the Shermans, but I will tell you one thing: I never stole a thing from their home. It never even occurred to me.

Jason and I became really good friends. At first he hung out with me because I was the only person he knew, and I hung out with him because he was the only one who still would. Eventually though, a real friendship happened.

He was hilarious. He was always telling the nastiest jokes when there were no adults around. He had the largest repertoire of sexual jokes I'd ever heard, and the guy was smart without even trying. The best thing about Jason though was that he was loyal and a true friend. I couldn't tell you how many times other students came up to him and told him stories about my past. Jason just shrugged them off and told them that I was his friend regardless, that I didn't steal from him or beat him up so why should he care?

He was so sure of himself, a trait that he definitely got from his dad, who retired as a lieutenant colonel in the Air Force. Jason was one of the best-looking kids in school and his confidence and that laid-back smile really drove the ladies crazy. He always had to let them down easy. Ugh, it made me sick.

I was the invisible sidekick for the longest time but then I shot up in height and the braces were taken off and all of a sudden girls were looking at me too. Not in the
hey, aren't you the guy who steals things?
kind of way either. I wasn't used to that kind of positive attention, so I took the cue from Jason and played it cool.

Something changed when Elsie turned thirteen. I don't know if it's because she was officially a teen, but all of a sudden I saw her in a different light. I didn't know what to do around her. I'd either clam up or just start saying mean stuff to get a reaction out of her but she was a firecracker and would always dish it back.

I remember one time we were hanging out in their family room downstairs. Jason and I were talking about sex when Elsie came sauntering in, sucking innocently on a lollipop.

I'm sorry if this sounds really crass but for a fifteen-year-old boy, a girl sucking on a lollipop is like visual Viagra. Thank God for throw pillows and the oversized sweatshirt I was wearing.

“What are you talking about?” she asked casually, plopping down on the couch near me.

“About positions,” Jason said with a straight face.

“Like football positions?” she asked, all wide-eyed wonder.

Jason shot me a grin. “Something like that.”

I played along. “Yeah, like, there's this position called the donkey punch. That guy's responsible for coming up from behind and punching the opposing player in the back of the head.”

Elsie frowned. “That doesn't sound right. There's no punching in football.”

I continued as if I didn't hear her. “And there's this one play called the doggy style, where one player comes up from behind again and just rams into the other guy.”

“That sounds like the donkey punch,” Elsie pointed out, looking at me with skepticism.

“No, you don't punch anyone in doggy style,” I said, my face nearly exploding from the effort of trying not to laugh.

Jason doubled over, clutching his stomach as he laughed. I let go and laughed along with him.

Elsie stood up and huffed, realizing we were yanking her chain. “You guys are dickheads,” she said and stomped off.

“You're not supposed to say that word!” Jason called after her.

She turned around, her hands on her hips. “Yeah? Well you're not supposed to be talking about sex either!”

Jason and I fell back onto the floor in hysterics.

I spent more and more time at Jason's house. I'd come home from school and find my house empty, and it was just so easy to just walk down the street and knock on the Shermans' door. Jason and I would go to the family room and play Nintendo and eat snacks. I swear I owe that family thousands of dollars for the food I ate at their house. His dad kept grumbling that Jason and I were eating them out of their home but I never felt unwelcome. The colonel always made sure I knew he was kidding.

Things at my home were more of the same. Mom stayed at the office until nearly ten, and my dad, well, I had no idea where he was spending his time. All I knew was that he'd come home around nine smelling like alcohol and cigarettes and then lock himself in his man room. I was convinced that my parents were having separate affairs but I never could find proof.

And the sad thing? I didn't even care to find out.

I was so tired of it, of the constant loneliness, so I went over to the Shermans' house and knocked on Jason's window but he didn't answer. The guy's a pretty heavy sleeper. Elsie's window was right beside his so I tried hers, thinking maybe I could go through her room to Jason's and crash on his floor.

Elsie's face appeared in the window, her face sleep-creased, her curly hair tied up into a messy bun. She looked so adorable. She let me in, looking a little bewildered, and asked me if something was wrong.

“Why would anything be wrong?” I asked, instantly on edge.

“Because you're knocking on my window in the middle of the night.”

I looked at my watch. “It's only ten thirty, smart-ass.”

“But you're in my room at ten o'clock on a school night,” she said. “Something is definitely wrong.”

I sat on the edge of her bed and sighed, feeling deflated. Jason and I never really talked about our feelings, but Elsie was a girl and girls are pros at that kind of thing. “My parents are still not home,” I said.

“That really sucks.” She sat down on her bed and leaned against the headboard. I kicked off my shoes and climbed in, settling myself against the footboard. We faced each other in the semidarkness, our faces lit only by the night-light in the corner.

“They always come home late,” I said, focusing on the bookshelf above her head. “But I'm so tired of sleeping in an empty house. And when I wake up, they're already gone. It's like I live by myself.”

“Sounds like fun to me,” she said. “You can do what you want, watch what you want.”

“It sounds fun, but it really sucks. I'm not even sixteen yet and I'm already living by myself.”

“Are you lonely?” she asked in a small voice.

I pondered my options. Lying was my first instinct but I had already opened up to Elsie, I might as well tell her the truth. If nothing else, it might make me look like a sensitive soul. “Yeah. I really am,” I said. I nudged her thigh with my foot. “You and Jason are so lucky. Don't you ever forget that.”

Her hazel eyes watched me. “I won't.” She slid down onto her pillow. “Henry, can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“Is that why you're always here? Are we, like, your adopted family or something?”

“Yeah, something like that.” I glanced at her. “Why, do you want me to leave?”

“No,” she said. “You can have my family. You and Jason are basically twins anyway. Twin dickheads.”

I squeezed her socked foot. “Don't talk like that.”

“Why? You and Jason do.”

“Because we're disgusting and gross.”

“Yeah you are. Your feet smell.”

“They do not!” I laughed the comment off. I was at about that age when deodorant and a daily shower had become a necessity.

She scrunched up her nose and giggled. “They really do.”

I got up, grabbed my shoes, and headed to the door. “I'll go stink up Jason's room then,” I said with a grin before tiptoeing out. “Good night, brat.”