Transcription (20 page)

The slimy pills exploded from his mouth and through his nose. They were coated in thick foam and stomach acid.
 

The arms jerked him backwards as the hands jabbed into his abdomen.
 

James suffered a fresh wave of vomit. The contents of his stomach seemed to explode from every hole in his head. He couldn’t hold himself up.

“Call nine-one-one,” he heard a familiar voice say.

“No!” he groaned.

“Don’t worry,” the voice said. James identified the voice—it was Bo. “We’ll get you help, buddy.”

“No,” James said. “No ambulance. No police.” More vomit cut him off.
 

He heard a woman’s voice. “Should I call?”

“Yeah,” Bo said.

“NO!” James said. He shook himself free from Bo’s grip and pushed up to his knees.
 

Danielle’s finger hovered over the button on her phone.
 

“Don’t call the police,” James said. “People will die.”

She lowered the phone.

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James tried to object as Bo went in the house. He was too weak to do much more than blink and shake his head.

Bo came back out shortly with a glass of water. He handed it to James. He crouched next to James’s chair and helped the man lift it to his mouth.

“You should really get to the hospital,” Danielle said. “I don’t know what you took, but you seem to have taken an awful lot of them.”

“That many pills is not a mistake, man,” Bo said.

“Listen,” James said. He dragged in a breath. “I screwed up, okay? I’m going to be okay. I puked them up.”

“But why?” Danielle asked. She put her hand on his.

James looked down. Drool leaked from his mouth and he wiped it away with his free hand.

“I got some really bad news. I found out that my father was the one who murdered my mother.”

“What happened?” Danielle asked.

James slumped back in his chair. Bo helped him take another drink of water. It cooled his burning throat, but made his stomach rumble as it hit.

“It’s a long, awful story. I can’t talk about it.”

“You might not want to talk about it,” Bo said. “But we deserve to hear it.”

“Give him a break, Bo,” Danielle said.

“No,” Bo said. “He’s our responsibility now. We saved his life, so now it’s our responsibility.”

“My gag reflex saved my life,” James said. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes. “Get over yourself.”

“Stay awake,” Bo said. “Don’t go to sleep.”

“I’m tired,” James said. “Sue me.” He kept his eyes closed.

“He’s right,” Danielle said. She removed her hand from his and he heard her voice moving as she talked. “You should at least stay awake.”

Bo’s voice moved directly in front of him. “I knew this kid in high school who overdosed,” Bo said. “He begged his friends to not call the police because he didn’t want to get in trouble. They figured since he could still talk, he was fine. He went to sleep and got brain damage because of it.”

“I don’t believe that,” James said. He kept his eyes shut.

“Well, how about this—if you fall asleep, we’re going to call nine-one-one. So, you either keep talking and open your eyes, or you can explain it to the triage nurse at the hospital.”

“Fine,” James said. He opened his eyes.

Bo was leaning against the railing and holding an empty glass in both hands. He took a fresh glass from Danielle and held it out towards James.

“Drink this. Do you think you’re going to throw up again?”

“No. All the pills are up,” James said. “I’d be dead already if they weren’t.”

“Don’t say shit like that,” Bo said.

James dragged his eyes to his right. Danielle was kneeling and picking up the mess of vomit with a plastic bag. He felt his stomach roll and threaten to give back the water. He closed his eyes, hoping to quell the new wave of nausea.

“Hey, man,” Bo said.

“Okay. Okay,” James said. He opened his eyes. Danielle was gone.

“How did you find out your father killed your mom?” Bo asked.

“He wrote a confession in a letter,” James said with a vague wave towards the house.

“Oh,” Bo said. “So he might have meant it metaphorically or something, right? Maybe he didn’t do it directly.”

“He stabbed her,” James said.

“Oh,” Bo said. “That’s pretty bad.”

“Yeah,” James said. “The worst part was, he used me as bait.”

“What?” Bo asked.

“Yeah. I was sleeping over at my friend’s house and he came and scared me through the window. I cried and wet the bed. My friend’s mom called my mom and she came over to take me home. That’s when my dad killed her.”

“Holy shit, that’s terrible,” Bo said. “I’m so sorry.”

“It was me,” James said. “I’m the reason she went out that night.” He covered his eyes with his hand and then mopped away the tears that fell.

“Were your parents divorced or something?”

“No,” James said. “They were married.”

“Not separated?”

“No.”

“You all lived together?” Bo asked.

“Yeah.”

“So he could have killed her anyway,” Bo said. “I mean, he didn’t need to use you as bait. He could have just killed her in her sleep if he was going to do it anyway. Not to be callous or anything. I’m just pointing out, he didn’t need you.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” James said.

“Listen, man, you’re not responsible. A lot of people have shitty fathers. What he did is not your fault.”

“He was a good man. He sacrificed himself to save a lot of lives,” James said.

“Okay,” Bo said. “I guess I don’t know the whole story. Regardless, I think it’s safe to say that you shouldn’t feel bad for something that happened when you were a kid. Your mom was killed, but you were also a victim, you know?”

“That’s fine, Bo,” James said. He let his head rest against against the chair again and then remembered to keep his eyes open. He sat up. “Wait, where is Danielle?”

“She’s cleaning up a little,” Bo said.

“Danielle?” James called. His head swam as he pushed to his feet. He blinked as he stared into the dark rectangle of his sliding door. As she came into focus, he knew what he would see. It seemed like a foregone conclusion. She was standing at the counter that divided his living room from his kitchen. Her eyes were down. She was looking at a document, folded over to the first page of a story.
 

His voice was flat and resigned when he spoke.
 

“Oh, no.”

“What’s wrong, James? I didn’t mean to intrude. It was just sitting here on the counter.”

James worked his way over to her. She held out the story and he slapped it down to the counter. James tried to make his eyes focus on the paper. The words were too blurry to read. Danielle found the light switch and James blinked at the suddenly bright text.

Relief washed through him when he saw the story.

He sighed. “Oh, thank God.”

“What’s wrong?” she asked again. “Listen—I didn’t mean to be nosy, I just love to read, you know? That’s a good story. It’s a little tame for modern audiences, but it’s got good suspense to it. Did your Dad write it?”

“Yes,” James said. He nodded.

It was going to be okay. Things might get a little complicated for Danielle in the next day or two, but she was going to be okay. Lots of people did things a million times worse, and they were fine.

“Have you ever thought about publishing it?” Danielle asked.

“No,” James said.
 

Bo came up behind him. Now he had two invaders in his little apartment. James couldn’t take it any longer.

“You guys have to get out. I appreciate your concern, but I’m going to be fine. You can leave by that door.”

“No,” Bo said. “We’re staying with you an hour. If you can stay awake an hour and you look like you’re getting better, then we’ll leave.”

“Fine,” James said. “But back on the porch.”

“Fine,” Bo said.

They allowed themselves to be ushered back towards the sliding door. Bo waited in the doorway while James folded the story back to the beginning and placed it carefully into its box. He put the lid on and then shuffled after Bo. The light outside hurt his eyes, but James adapted fairly quickly.

She had been lucky. Not all the stories were framed around murder. Some of them stopped at vandalism or destruction of property. The one she had picked up was somewhere in between. It was the tale of a young man who assaults runners and bicyclists. By the end, a few broken limbs are the extent of the damage. If caught, Danielle might do some prison time, but her life wouldn’t be ruined forever. Her fate could have been so much worse.

James found his chair again. Bo sat on the railing against the building, and Danielle took the other chair. It was a warm morning that felt like it was going to be an insufferably hot day. For the moment, it felt good. Every now and then, the breeze came the wrong way and wafted the smell of vomit over to James. Aside from that, it was a pleasant place to sit.

“How old were you, if you don’t mind me asking?” Bo asked.

“Pardon?”

“How old were you when your dad… you know.”

“I was eight I guess. Right around there.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Danielle said.

“Don’t sweat it,” James said. “It was a long time ago.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Bo asked. “As long as the band-aid is off, do you want to squeeze some of the pus out?”

“Bo!” Danielle said.

“No. Thanks, but no,” James said. “My pus is fine.”

“It’s been my experience that people don’t get over shit by keeping it bottled up. That’s all I’m saying.”

“When I need life advice from someone in his twenties, I’ll ask for it,” James said.

“You were a lot nicer before,” Bo said. “I mean, all things considered, you’re probably coping pretty well, but you were nicer before.”

“Thanks for saying,” James said.

“Give him a break, Bo,” Danielle said.

“I’m just saying—you get a real sense of a person when you see how they cope with adversity.”

“What’s the worst thing that ever happened to you, Bo?” James asked. “How well did you cope?”

“Well, let’s see,” Bo said, gripping his chin. “Worst thing? Oh wait—I’ve got one. It’s somewhat apropos, too. When I was sixteen, I finally got up the nerve to come out to my mother. She quoted scripture to me while she kicked me out of the house. I had to live in my car while I finished high school.”

“That’s terrible, Bo,” Danielle said. “How long did you live in your car?”

“A year,” Bo said. “I managed to finish school early and I got a job. Eventually, I found a room to rent.”

“Do you talk to your mother now?” James asked.

“Holidays and birthdays,” Bo said. “We tolerate each other around family. She has never accepted me, and I never forgave her. She stopped trying to have me arrested, at least.”

“What?” Danielle asked.

“Oh yeah, that was another fun thing she did. She got my little sister to claim that I sexually assaulted her. It was a win-win for her. She got her old boyfriend off the hook for the abuse, and she was able to convince everyone for a while that I was a sexual deviant. Win-win,” Bo said. “I never tried to kill myself over it.”

“Bo,” Danielle said.

“The day my father killed himself, my best friend murdered his family and himself with silverware,” James said. “I was in the house.”

“Jesus!” Danielle said.

“When my mom had me falsely accused, I spent the night in jail. I was raped until I started bleeding. I spent a week in the hospital,” Bo said.

“This isn’t a competition,” Danielle said. “You’ve both suffered. You don’t need to prove who had it worse.”

James ignored her. “I’ve spent the last twenty-five years locked away trying to fix a mistake my father made. I missed my entire life so his carelessness wouldn’t kill a ton of people.”

“And I live in a town where half of the people want to see me come to physical harm just because of the way I was born, and who I happen to love,” Bo said.

“So move,” James said.

“So fuck your father’s mistake,” Bo said.

“Hey!” Danielle shouted. “What are you doing? There’s enough suffering in the world—you’ve both proven that. You don’t need to add to it by having some kind of grief contest.”

James looked down at his hands.

“Anger is good,” James mumbled.

“What’s that?” Danielle asked.

“Anger is good. It’s better than hopelessness, which is all I’ve been feeling lately. The anger is okay,” James said.

“You don’t have to accept your fate, man,” Bo said. “Choose your own path.”

James shot him a glance. “You don’t know everything.”

“Neither do you,” Bo said.

“I’m starting to think that neither of you know
anything
,” Danielle said.

A voice from below drew their attention.

“What are you guys doing? I thought you were coming right back,” Chloe yelled from the sidewalk.

“We got caught up,” Danielle said.

“We’re going to be late,” Chloe said.

“You guys go without me,” Bo said. “I’ll stay here with James.”

“No,” James said. “You’ve got plans and I need to rest. I don’t believe there’s any risk of me falling asleep now.”

“I’d feel better if you moved around instead of sleeping,” Danielle said. “Why don’t you come with us?”

James shook his head.

“Yeah, you know what? That’s a good idea. You’re coming with us.”

“No,” James said. “Thank you, but no. I don’t think I’m in any shape to move around. I’ll be fine, I swear.”

“How about this—you come with us, or we leave you here and we call the police to report how we found you? You can spend your day trying to convince them that you’re not a danger to yourself, or you can come have fun with us.”

James groaned and shook his head.

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James felt absurd. He felt like he was a mummy, dragged from some black and white horror movie, stripped, and dropped into the river. His skin was so white that it glowed. When the girls finished smearing sunscreen on him, he was whiter still. The bathing suit that Bo had lent him was bunched around his waist like a skirt. When he pulled the drawstring tight, it hung off his hipbones.