Rumble (25 page)

Hayden’s still with you is because

of what Luke did. She was going

to break up with you, but afterward,

she couldn’t. She felt sorry for you.

She. Still. Does.
Each word is a slap,

and I’d really like to return every

one of them with a nonverbal,

totally physical, in-kind smack.

But what would that get me? Ten

seconds of pleasure, followed by

a little time in lockup, which would

only make her even happier. “I have

no clue why hurting me brings you

such pleasure. Probably because not

much else does, especially not your

Big Guy in the Sky, who I seriously

doubt you believe in yourself.

I know what you did, Jocelyn,

and if there’s a hell, I’ll see you there.”

I Leave Her

Standing there, stuttering.

What are you talking about?

I never did anything.

Come back here!

“Fuck off!” I call back

over my shoulder, amend,

“Fuck off and repent!”

Freaking bitch thinks

I don’t know the role

she played in the smear

campaign against Luke?

It was Vince who first listened

in on a private conversation

between Luke and me, then

shared that information

with Doug, who passed it on.

But when Jocelyn heard,

she felt compelled to tell

her brother. Cal is also

a churchgoing sort—why

wasn’t
he
at that meeting?

I would have loved to take

him on, too. To have accused

him right there in front

all those holier-than-thou

fakers of masterminding

the plan to drive Luke to suicide.

Okay, maybe that wasn’t the goal,

but that was the end result.

I really did think things

had to get better once school

ended, but June was a goddamn

nightmare, especially after

someone posted those pics.

Couldn’t prove who—not like

they bragged—but I knew

who was behind it.

Martha keeps telling me

that forgiveness is the path

to contentment, but some people

don’t deserve forgiveness.

I think I’ve just added Judah

the Sin Hater to that list.

I Fake My Way

Through my afternoon classes.

Sit in the far back, pretending

to listen, when my mind whirls

Jocelyn’s words like fruit in a blender.

Hayden agrees. Hayden feels sorry.

The only reason Hayden’s still with

you.
And my favorite:
Thinking about

BJs is as good as giving them.

She can’t be right about Hayden

wanting to break up with me,

can she? We’d had a few blowups,

but nothing major, and after Luke . . .

Things did get better. I’m not sure

how I would have survived the pain

without her. She propped me up

at the funeral. Talked me through

the depression, the immense guilt

I assigned myself. Now I hear Judah

You can’t rightly blame anyone else.

Suicide . . . weakness . . . homosexual behavior . . .

How long has Hayden been confiding

secrets to Judah? Was he her confessor

before what happened? Did he have

anything to do with her wanting to

break up with me? Is she ready to do

that now? Because I won’t let her.

I sneak my cell from my pocket, text

carefully, under the desk, so as not to be

detected using contraband technology

in class:
SORRY IF I EMBARRASSED YOU

TODAY. FORGIVE MY BOORISH BEHAVIOR?

CAN I SEE YOU TONIGHT? WE NEED TO TALK.

Her return text comes late in the day.

AREN’T YOU SICK OF ASKING FOR

FORGIVENESS? WE DO NEED TO TALK.

BUT NOT TONIGHT. GOING OUT WITH

MY PARENTS FOR MOM’S BIRTHDAY.

CALL ME TOMORROW.
Ominous.

Tonight, It’s My Own Bed

Where sleep eludes me,

dipping in close to tease,

ducking just out of reach.

It’s a hard-rhythmed dance,

syncopated with words.

H words:

Hungry

Heart

Heaven

Hayden
Hayden
Hayden

S words:

Sin

Sinner

Sorry

Suicide
Suicide
Suicide

M words:

Mercy

Merciful

Meek

Mourn
Mourn
Mourn

B words:

Blessed

BJ

Breakup

Blame
Blame
Blame

The repetitions are the beat

of a telltale heart.

The Harder I Reach

For sleep, the more frantic

the drumming becomes.

Snippets of past dialogues

reverberate inside my head.

Dad:
Goddamn pussy,

that’s what he was.

Goddamn coward, and

a waste of talent. I can’t

stand crap like that.

Doug:
He’s a dick licker,

dude. He’s gonna burn

in a fiery pit. Don’t that

bother you just a little?

Hayden:
Maybe it’s because

you’re like your brother.

Judah says it’s possible.

Alexa:
I’d never do

that to a friend.

Jocelyn:
She. Still. Does.

I Turn on My Right Side

Flip to my left, jam my pillow

over my face. But nothing I do

can quell the stream of memories.

Finally, I give up trying to sleep

without pharmaceutical aid and

wander down the hall to the bathroom,

where Martha’s sweet little helpers

await. I swallow two, head back

to bed. Passing my parents’ bedroom,

I hear voices beyond the door. Dad’s.

And one that’s unfamiliar. Female.

Most definitely not Mom’s. Damn!

Can’t he wait until a day or three after

he and Mom are, in fact, divorced?

A woman in his room, in the gray

soup of early morning, can only mean

one thing. What if Mom came home

suddenly? That he isn’t worried

about that can only mean one thing,

too. Why won’t they just talk to me?

I’ve handled a lot worse things.

As the Meds Kick In

The conversations inside

my thickening head begin

to mute. Only one person

remains, more obstinate

in death than he ever was,

maneuvering this world.

Luke, musing:

What if aliens came from

more than one planet? And

some of those guys sucked.

Like, they were mean and

stupid. And when they mated

with monkeys, the people who

came from them ended up

being mean and stupid, too.

I think you had something

there, Lukester.

Luke, freaking:

Oh shit! Matt! Come here.

Look what someone posted

on my page. And check out

the comments. Who? Who’d

do this? Who knew? Who told?

Not me, Luke. I never said

a word to anyone. Promise.

Luke, coping:

They’ll get tired of picking

on me sooner or later, right?

They’ll get bored, or something.

Or find somebody new, someone

weaker to prey on. Right?

I thought so, too, or I would have

gone after them. I didn’t want

to make things worse for you.

Luke, withdrawing:

Why do they hate me?

I never tried to touch them.

Never even looked at them

creepily in the locker room.

He flashed his dick at me,

asked if I’d suck it good.

Who’s the queer? Right?

Compelling question.

One I never asked that prick.

But I should have.

Plunging Toward Sleep

Unable to stop the fall

now, even if I wanted to,

still I remember one last,

the
last, exchange, in fact,

I’d ever have with my

totally lost little brother.

Luke, vacillating:

Hey, Matt? I love you.

Not in a gay way, in case

you think I’m also a perv.

I wish we’d have more time.

But I can’t take it anymore.

This is the only way out.

Me, distracted:

“Hey. Don’t mess around.

I’ll be home in a while and

we can talk this through.”

Luke, deciding:

Tired of talking. At some

point, you just have to find

the balls to step off the chair.

Hope saying “balls” didn’t

make you uncomfortable.

Me, Dismissing

I thought

he was being

melodramatic.

Not like he’d never

been that before.

I told him

to wait. Expected

he’d listen. He’d always

listened to me before.

I should

have gone.

Should

have hurried.

Should

have pleaded.

I

should

have

promised

to make

it all

right.

I Ascend

From the depths of dreamless

sleep, surface the lake of late-

morning light. Lie motionless

for a minute or two, trying to

make sense of the hangover

rocking. Part pharm. Part guilt.

I crawl from the covers, limp

to the bathroom, in giant need

of a piss. On the return trip,

I remember the noises emanating

from the master bedroom and

pause in the hallway to listen.

Not sure what for, exactly, because

were I to catch wind of my dad

boinking his girlfriend in my mom’s

bed, I’d probably blow it. Speaking

of girlfriends, I need to call mine,

and the importance of that thuds

in my head. I go to my room, locate

my phone, check for messages.

I find one. It’s simple, and from

Alexa, not Hayden.
HAPPY V. DAY.

I Think It Over

Decide to respond with

a simple,
RIGHT BACK AT YA.

No use hurting her feelings.

Then I call Hayden, who

is surprisingly cheerful.

And why did I feel the need

to attach “surprisingly” to

the “cheerful”? Regardless,

“Happy Valentine’s Day,

my beautiful lady. I made

a six thirty reservation at

Stacy’s. Hope that’s okay.”

It’s my family’s favorite

special occasion restaurant,

not haute cuisine, but good.

“I was hoping we could get

together earlier, though.

I want to give you your present,

and I really do want to talk.

It’s cool, but the sun is out.

We could take a walk or ride bikes.”

She Chooses the Latter

Almost too enthusiastically.

This day will either be very,

very good or total suckage.

We agree to meet at Bohemia Park,

where we can catch the paved

bike trail that skirts the river and

Dorena Lake. Hayden’s already

there when I arrive, and I catch

my breath at the way the afternoon

sun glints off her hair, haloing

that amazing face. I tuck her gift

in the pocket of my flannel vest,