The Book of Matthew (The Alex Chronicles Book 1) (11 page)

“Great.”

“I’m thinking about writing for the student newspaper next semester. My classes will be harder and I know I’ll be swamped with work, so I don’t know. What do you think I should do?”

She lowered her arm to the table, fry in hand. “What do
I
think you should do?”

“Yeah.”

“You’ve never really asked for my opinion before. Are you feeling okay?”

“Yes, why?”

“I don’t know, you seem…different. Have you been seeing Dr. Cramer again?”

“No. I’ve only been to see him twice. Those two times I went with you.”

That was the truth. I had only been to Dr. Cramer’s office twice. But I did see him one other time that I didn’t tell my mother about. It was an impromptu, unscheduled counseling session in the gymnasium on high school graduation day.

I thought about what my mother had said. She was right. I
was
different. I was finally being honest—with my mother, with Matt, with myself.

“Must be the new environment I’m in,” I said. “Being exposed to all kinds of new and different things…it opens your eyes, you know?”

Dr. Cramer had been right, too. His advice had helped me conquer my college-related fears. And by helping Matthew Levine come out of his shell, I had also come out of mine.

II.

August 1992

Dear Diary:

Holy shit! I think I want to DIE! The Spring Formal SUCKED! I know it was a couple of months ago but I’m still pissed! I got all dolled up in that stupid dress and for what? I thought I looked awesome. I wanted to look so awesome that Bobby would want to have sex with me. I totally thought it was gonna happen. I was really scared but I thought that’s what he wanted too. Nope. Mr. Goody-Two-Shoes stopped right in the middle… Something about God made him stop, that if we went through with it we’d both go to hell. GIVE ME A BREAK! Know what I say to that? “Better to reign in hell than serve in heaven.” John Milton, Paradise Lost. So bring it on!

Honestly, what does God have to do with any of this? I swear, Mr. Fraser has Bobby brainwashed or something. Bobby wants to wait until he’s married to have sex? WHATEVER! Who does that anymore? Is that a commandment or something? Bobby told me once that he goes to church only because his dad wants him to. He said he didn’t believe all that Bible crap so what the hell? Hypocritical Asshole!!

He started ignoring me after that night. We used to talk, like, four times a day and then suddenly after the formal we talked only once a day and I barely saw him in school. I was so used to getting all kinds of attention and I didn’t want to lose that. And I didn’t want to lose him. Maybe he didn’t respect me anymore and thought less of me because I wanted to have sex with him. WHO KNOWS! I’m new at this relationship stuff and I had all kinds of thoughts running through my head. You know, like maybe he’s just immature, maybe I’m just being stupid and over-sensitive… I don’t know…so I dumped him. It’s not like we were gonna get married or anything. I mean, we weren’t gonna be boyfriend and girlfriend forever, right? He didn’t even love me anyway. He pretty much said so. My friends said I did the right thing. I don’t know, I guess so. The worst part is I still think about him sometimes. I really think I loved him. JERK! But that’s okay because…ready for this? I lost my virginity!!!! It hurt really bad and I bled all over the place and it didn’t even feel good and the guy was such a loser, but I don’t care. I just wanted it over with. So screw you, Bobby! I didn’t need you to have sex with me!

So I gave away the Big V. Fine. I got it over with. So then, my friend tells me she saw him at the mall one day kissing some other girl. Turns out that was one of his co-workers and an ex-girlfriend. Whatever. I don’t care. We weren’t dating or anything. He was just some guy I met at the pizza place near my house. My friend ratted on him and he apologized a million times, saying he really did care for me. Yeah, right. MEN SUCK!

Sometimes I wish I was Sweet Sixteen again. Or could fast forward to eighteen. But no, I’m Sucky Seventeen. Nothing happens when you’re seventeen. NOTHING! Things are so easy at sixteen. You’re still young so not much is expected of you. But you can start to drive and get a job if you want. (Not like I’ll be learning to drive anytime soon. Mom says I’m not mature enough yet. Whatever!)

There’s not much pressure at sixteen. And then suddenly at eighteen you’re no longer a minor and are considered mature enough to vote and move out on your own and get a real job. And you can go off to college.

Seventeen is like the shitty age between two really great ages. I found out about my dad on my seventeenth birthday… Yep, give me sixteen or eighteen any day of the week. Well, only ten more months and I WILL be eighteen…

…and then I’ll be going to college! Sometimes I think I rushed into deciding what school to go to. I mean, my grades are pretty good and my SAT score is an 1130, so I could probably get into a better or more expensive school. But the way I figure it, a school is a school is a school, right? A degree from, like, Yale won’t guarantee me a job any more than one from Kilmore. The fact that the school name has “university” attached to it is good enough for me. Besides, why on earth would I want to carry around $100,000 worth of student loan debt from some top-notch school that may or may not land me a decent job?

Maybe I’m just lazy. I didn’t feel like giving up my weekends to walk around campus after campus listening to recruiting officers brag about shit I would never need or use. I picked up this brochure at Kilmore that talked about some of the facilities on campus, like “state-of-the-art science facility with planetarium, Olympic-sized heated indoor pool, a one-million-volume student library…” And it went on and on. I mean, who really gives a shit? It’s all to impress the parents anyway, to make them feel better about all the money they’re gonna be spending on a child they’ll barely see for the next four years. I did like their Student Center, though. That was pretty cool looking. I liked the place overall, too, so I’m gonna apply. The more I think about it, the more I think I was meant to go to Kilmore University.

So, that’s everything. Oh, after that waitressing job fell through at you-know-where where you-know-who works, I got a job at Burger Palace for the summer. I figured making hamburgers and pushing buttons couldn’t be that hard. And from what I hear you can eat as much of the greasy food as you want. I don’t really care what I’m doing. I just need to make money because I want to start taking guitar lessons. Oh, yeah—and I want to get away from HER. He doesn’t bother me as much. My father, I mean. He doesn’t cry and mope like she does. I just give him the silent treatment. That seems to be working pretty well.

Sounds weird, I know—taking guitar lessons. It was Bobby’s idea. I got hooked on his Guns N’ Roses tapes and he suggested we take guitar lessons together. Well, that obviously never happened. Bobby’s gone, but my desire to play an instrument isn’t.

Oh yeah, I quit smoking. Well, actually, it quit me. I guess I was never really addicted after all.

Luv Always,

Alex

PS – Mental note: Fill out college application papers

SPRING

I.

A new year and a new semester began. I arrived back at Kessler Hall on a dark, cold night in mid January. When I unlocked the door and pushed it open, I saw the answering machine flashing in the dark. There were three messages.

I switched on the overhead light. Lisa’s side of the room was untouched. It was clean and empty, just as she had left it. She had yet to return from Christmas break. Maybe one of the messages would tell me why.

I pushed the replay button and sat on the bed to take off my shoes. The machine clicked, there was a beep, and then the first message began to play.

“Hi Alex, it’s your mom. Just making sure you got back okay and that you’re settled in. Give me a call sometime if you want. Love you.”

Of course I had gotten back okay. My father always saw to that. Whenever I wanted to come home my father was always there, right on time. He’d pull into the closest spot in the parking lot of Kessler Hall, parking illegally if he had to so that neither of us had far to walk. When I emerged from the front door overburdened with my large duffel bag, he reserved one arm to hold my bag and the other to give me a hug. And when it was time to return to school, my father would pull up right in front of the dorm again, jump out of the car to give me a hug, and then hand me my bag.

I always waved at him as he drove away and waited to walk away until his car was out of sight.

On this particular ride back to school, we talked about Matt. We were doing 45 on an open country road. It was cold and dark. A cloudy mist hung low over the cornfields on either side of us.

“So who’s this Matt fella?” my dad had asked.

“Mom told you about him?”

He grinned at me. “Bits and pieces.”

“Great. I can only imagine which bits and pieces she chose to tell you.”

My father laughed. “Well, why don’t you tell me the whole story then?”

So I told him the whole story—minus all the sex stuff. He was my father, after all. He listened intently, as he always did, and waited for me to finish before he spoke.

“Sounds like a nice guy,” he said.

“We’ll see how it goes.”

“Just be careful,” he warned.

I looked at the silver cross that hung from a chain around his neck. It was the same one he had mysteriously acquired two years before. I had never asked where he got it.

“Are you going to do some Bible thumping?” I asked. “Put fear into me by quoting from the Old Testament or something?”

“I don’t do that. I’ve never done that. Especially with you. I’m not that kind of Catholic.”

“I know, sorry. So you’re going to give me the birds-and-bee spiel?”

He looked at me sideways. “You’re a little old for that,” he joked.

“Good, because that would be weird. I couldn’t handle it.”

“Me neither.”

“So…what should I be careful of?”

“Well, you know how guys are…” He trailed off.

“They’re all pigs? I know. Mom told me.”

“Okay,” he said laughing. Then his voice changed and he became serious. “Just don’t get carried away with this Matt guy.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, stay true to yourself. And don’t make too many sacrifices.”

“Thanks, Obi Wan,” I kidded him.

My father shook his head. “I feel as old as Obi Wan.”

“You’re not that old. Few more years yet.”

My father was quiet. He smiled.

“Kidding,” I said.

“I know.”

“Thanks for the advice, Dad.”

My father and I only ever spoke of his infidelity once, briefly, and it was never during the car rides to and from Kilmore University. By then, it was as if the affair hadn’t happened at all.

The answering machine tape kept rolling, paused, and then clicked a second time.

“Hey Alex, it’s Lisa. Hope you had a nice break. I’m spending the night at Adam’s so I won’t be back until tomorrow. Don’t wait up. See ya!”

I stood up and hoisted my duffel bag up on top of the bed. A twinge of jealousy emerged from the pit of my stomach. Lisa and Adam seemed to have the perfect relationship. There were no commitment issues, no communication breakdowns, no second-guessing, no wondering what the other person was thinking…

Lisa was blissfully happy nearly all the time. I secretly hated her for it. But what I hated even more was the fact that I couldn’t help but like her.

I unzipped my duffel bag. Matt’s Christmas present lay on top. Surprisingly, thankfully, I didn’t regret my decision to buy it.

The five weeks during Christmas break had passed by quickly and uneventfully. I spent Christmas day with my parents. I spent New Year’s Eve with some high school friends, watching the ball drop on MTV, wishing I had Matt to kiss at the stroke of midnight.

I spent the rest of Christmas break wondering if Matt was wishing he had
me
to kiss at midnight.

I started unpacking the contents of my duffel bag. The answering machine tape clicked one last time.

“Hey Alex, it’s Matt. Give me a call tonight. Thanks. Bye.”

Matt’s voice sounded hurried, his message left so quickly I had to replay it to be sure I heard it correctly. I pushed rewind and then play.

“Hey Alex, it’s Matt. Give me a call tonight. Thanks. Bye.”

I let the machine run. There was a pause on the tape, and then a computerized voice. “Time of last message: 8:03 p.m. End of messages.”

The machine stopped itself and rewound to the beginning of the tape. I looked at the clock. It was 8:15 p.m.

I hurriedly unpacked the rest of the contents of my duffel bag. Clothes were stuffed back into drawers and books were piled on the floor at the foot of my bed. Then I threw the duffel bag in the bottom of my closet.

I sat on the edge of my bed and took a deep breath. It was 8:30 p.m. I was hoping Matt would be home.

As I reached for the phone to call him, it rang. It startled me and I jumped.

“Hello?”

Someone was breathing on the other end.

“Hello!” I repeated more forcibly.

The voice was weak. “Hi, Alex?”

“Matt? Is that you?”

“No…” The voice trailed off.

“Who is this?” I asked.

“You don’t remember my voice?”

Then it hit me. I couldn’t believe it.

“Bobby?”

“Yeah.”

“Why…uh, how did you get my number?”

“I called the university’s main number and asked for the operator.”

“Christ, I haven’t talked to you in…” I paused to think of how long it had been since I last spoke to Bobby Fraser, the first boy who broke my heart.

“It’s been almost a year and a half,” he said.