Tweaked (3 page)

Once Chase had crashed, they confronted me.

“Gordie, how long has your brother been into drugs? And why on earth didn't you tell us?”

I was stunned. “Hey,” I said, “I didn't know it was this bad. It's not like we pal around together. Besides, if he won't listen to you, what makes you think he'd listen to me?”

A look of confusion came over Dad's face. I suddenly felt bad. I hadn't meant to criticize him as a parent. From all comparisons I'd made with my friends' parents, he was a pretty good one, which I suppose was all the more reason why what I said was true.

Besides, what I couldn't tell them was that I had made my own attempts when I could see that he was straight enough to talk. But all I ever got for my efforts
was a pat on the cheek and a patronizing “Gordie, it's all under control.”

But then, what older brother listens to the younger kid? Chase was always the one who steered the bike when we rode double or wrenched the controls out of my hand when he got impatient playing video games. When I was ten, he talked me into going on the Zipper at the exhibition, even though I barely scraped past the minimum-height restriction. It was the first year our parents had dropped us off at the gate and allowed us to spend the day on our own.

“Stand on your tiptoes,” Chase whispered once we got to the front of the line and he was able to eyeball the yellow tape on the side of the wicket. I did as I was told. I still don't think I quite reached it, but the guy in charge was distracted by a couple of girls and waved us through.

As we sat in the cage, waiting for the ride to start, I reminded Chase that I was afraid of heights.

“It's being scared that makes it fun. You'll see. Besides—” he rattled the cage, causing it to swing violently— “it's safe, and you'll be fine. You hardly ever hear of rides breaking down; they inspect them all the time. Just don't look down.”

I quickly discovered that this was virtually impossible as we careened face-first in the cage toward the ground at a hundred miles an hour. I screamed—a long, heartfelt scream.

“Okay, so you have no choice but to look down.” He laughed as we whipped past the ground and zoomed toward the sky again. “But it will make you tough. Don't you feel tougher already?” he shouted as our cage spun upside down again.

No, I did not feel tougher, and all I could do was continue to scream. Chase screamed too, only it was a scream of exhilaration. Then all I could think about was how I was stuck in a cage swooping a hundred feet in the air with a maniac who thought it was fun while I was sure I was going to die. I did learn one thing from the experience, and that was never again to listen to my brother, at least not to the point where I put my life in his hands.

When we finally got off and my feet were on the ground again, Chase held me by the shoulders while I tried to get my bearings. “There, now just think, you can tell your friends. I bet Jack hasn't been on the Zipper. I bet he's not as tough as you.”

No, Jack had not been on the Zipper. But he also didn't have an older brother to force him into doing things when no one else was around. I never went on that ride again, but I have kept the ticket stub all these years.

If there has been one positive thing in my life over the past two years, it's that my bass playing has really improved.
During that first year Chase was a junkie, I'd drown out the squabbling between Mom and Dad by cranking up my amplifier. I'd practice for hours at a time. Jack had talked me into buying a secondhand bass. He was already playing with Bobby Yee and Steve Goertz off and on. They needed a bass player and they asked me to join the band.

We call ourselves The Pogos. We do a mixture of stuff, nothing much original, although Jack has come up with a few decent songs. So far, we've had only one gig and that was at a junior high dance. We are gearing up to play in the battle of the high school bands in August.

On the Saturday morning following Chase's arrest, Jack and I head to Griffin's Music where I am picking up my new Fender Precision bass. I'd bought it a month earlier and was having it adjusted.

“I hear Harris Reed got his hand broken,” Jack tells me as we walk down the sidewalk. “Every knuckle in his hand was smashed.”

“How did he do that?”

“He didn't do it. His dealers did. I guess he owed them and he couldn't pay.”

I get a creepy feeling in my stomach. The image of messing someone up intentionally is like a scene from
The Sopranos,
not something that happens in my own neighborhood.

We pass a toy store where a small white unicorn in the window catches my eye. “I'll only be a minute. I'll meet up with you,” I tell Jack.

He shrugs and continues toward the music store.

When I buy the toy I ask the clerk for a double bag so that you can't see through it. When I meet up with Jack again he asks me what I bought. “Something for Jade's little sister. It's her birthday.”

I'm not all that good at lying, not like some people in my family. But Jack is busy inspecting another bass, much like the one I recently bought. “I think I like yours better,” he says. “The vintage sunburst. It's more traditional.”

The owner of the store appears with my new guitar. I lift it from the case and feel the weight in my hands, discovering all over again why I bought it in the first place. Jack and I had searched the music stores for months before I found this one. The first time I held it I couldn't believe how naturally it fit against me. When I played it, I was blown away by the tone. It was a little more than I wanted to pay, but it had everything I'd been looking for. Now I return it to the case, stuffing the bag from the toy store alongside it. I am on a high when we leave the store.

“I can't decide which guitar I want,” Jack says. “I mean, once I've saved the money. But first I need a job that pays a lot more than ripping tickets at the theater,”
he moans. “I need one like yours.” We stop at a crosswalk. The light turns green, but Jack is studying my guitar case. “Gordie, have you thought about keeping your bass locked up? I mean, it's worth a lot of money, and Chase has his bail hearing next week. What if he does come home?”

Man, I wish he hadn't brought that up. Not at that moment when I was feeling so good. But then, he doesn't know I installed a lock on my closet door months ago. That's where I keep my guitars. That's where I keep anything that can be sold for a few bucks. Jack doesn't know this because I've never told him. It's embarrassing to have to keep stuff locked up in your own house. “I'll look after it,” I say.

Monday after school, the smell of a roast cooking and the warm scent of something freshly baked, brings me into the kitchen to see what's prompted Mom to cook after all these months.

“Hi, Gordie,” she says, waving a spatula toward the cookies cooling on the counter. “Have a cookie. I have news. Your brother's coming home in a few days. He made bail.”

I hesitate to take the cookie. It's not the news that I'm having trouble adjusting to, it's Mom being so cheerful. Dad is also in a lighter mood when he arrives home from work, although he is not as jubilant as Mom, so I suspect he is more cautious about the decision than she is.

As it turns out, once he's through detox, Chase will be coming home to live with us until his case goes to court. The judge at his bail hearing imposed a number of restrictions: He has to attend counseling, he has to abide by a curfew and he has to stay away from his
druggie friends. I know it's this last one that makes Dad nervous. Things would never be where they are now if he'd had any control over Chase before.

At supper the talk between my parents turns to the practical side: how they are going to come up with the money. Fifty thousand dollars is what they need to bring Chase home. I nearly choke. Apparently bail has been set high because Chase is at high-risk for taking off.

They have no savings left; it's been spent on lawyer's fees and by Chase at various times when he stole their bank and credit cards. And then there were the times they'd bailed him out of drug debts so high he was threatened by dealers. They couldn't afford it, but they also couldn't let him get hurt.

The meaning of money has definitely changed for them. Two years ago it was a major decision to buy a five-hundred-dollar television set, and now they are talking fifty thousand dollars, and for what?

I really did wish they'd discuss their finances in private like they used to, before it required so much attention that it spilled over to when I was around. It's not a really comforting feeling knowing that your parents are totally broke.

“Well, there is also the S2000,” Dad muses as he pushes the potatoes around on his plate.

I look up from my own plate in horror. Dad purposely avoids my gaze.

“Charlie Anderson has been wanting to buy it for some time. It would cut down on what we'd have to borrow against the house.”

I know their finances are not my business, but since they insist on discussing them in front of me, there are some things I can't leave unprotested. “But you promised I could use it once I got my graduated license. I have that now.”

“Look, Gordie, I'll buy another sports car someday. And when I do, you can help me pick it out. I'm really sorry, buddy. It's just that we could really use the money right now.”

Mom is shaking her head. “It won't be necessary to sell the car. We'll take out a loan and return the money when this is all over.”

“No.” Dad's tone is abrupt. “Look, I'm borrowing as little money as possible. I don't want to be on the hook for fifty thousand dollars if something goes wrong.”

By “something” he means if Chase takes off.

Jade is not at work that evening, and it's lonely without her. It seems the only times I feel good anymore are when I'm with her or when I'm playing with the band. I'd like to spend more time with her, but every time I think of asking her out, I picture some disaster happening with Chase. It's one thing to tell her about
my brother. But she goes to a different school, and she's never met the real thing. I am paranoid that if I ask her out or if I have her over to the house, he'll show up, all spaced-out, demanding money, scaring her off. Right now, everything is so chaotic in my life it's better to keep things simple. At least that way, there will be no chance of her confusing me with him.

I spend the first hour at work sorting and hanging small packets of electronic parts from display hooks. It's a slow night, so it's a good time, my boss Ralph Barnes tells me, to teach me how to handle cash.

“I've had this store for thirty-five years, Gordie. For the first twenty-five, nobody was open on Sunday. But now I have no choice, if I want to compete. If I teach you to handle things, perhaps I can take the odd Sunday off. I'm too old to be working every day of the week.”

Ralph is old, but he never tires of talking about his store. Once he's shown me how everything operates, I handle the transactions for the remaining hour. Before leaving the hardware store, I call Jade to find out what's going on. She's just brought her mother home from three days in the hospital. She had a very bad chest infection, although the way Jade relates it, it sounds as common as if she'd gone to the grocery store. “She's on mega doses of antibiotics and a heap of other drugs. She's sleeping right now. I could sure use a visitor if you're not doing anything.”

It's raining again when I leave the hardware store. I walk uphill along the pavement, jumping rivulets, the smell of wet concrete filling my nose. The sound of car tires splashing through puddles prevents me from hearing the footsteps until they are right behind me. Suddenly, I am pushed hard against the wall. There are two of them, probably ten years older than me: teeth missing, pockmarked skin, greasy hair shining in the neon lights.

“Keep your mouth shut!” one of them orders, pinning my arms against the brick wall so I can't move.

The other waves a metal pipe in my face.

My heart is racing harder than it ever has and in a way I have never felt before. “What do you want?”

The guy with the pipe grins.

“Is this something to do with my brother?” I try to keep my voice steady, but I am not nearly as together as I try to sound.

“Bingo,” announces the guy pinning me against the wall. He grabs my shirt collar, pulls me toward him, then pushes me back again, whacking me hard against the building, nearly knocking the wind out of me. “The creep owes us money. Two grand to be exact. He racked it up before he went and got himself arrested. Your brother has a bad habit of running up tabs. You'd better tell him from us that we want to get paid, or can we tell him ourselves? Are you expecting him home anytime soon?”

I shrug and lift my hands like I don't have a clue.

When the guy pinning me realizes I'm not going to run, he drops his hold on me. “You tell him he's got a week.”

The guy wielding the pipe emphasizes the time limit by jabbing the pipe into my stomach. “A week. And if we don't get paid, he's going to be lying alongside his friend in intensive care.”

I don't know what else to do but nod. All I want is to get away from there. The two of them start to walk away. The one who had choked me turns. “You tell your brother DC and Ratchet came calling.”

I watch their backs for another minute, then I turn in the opposite direction and begin to walk fast. It isn't the way to Jade's place, but there's no way I'm about to go in the same direction as them. Feeling like I'm about to heave, I turn to the gutter. I break into a cold sweat. My mind is racing, and I don't remember how I even end up in front of Jade's apartment building. I stand there for several minutes trying to collect myself. It's not that I'm afraid of being beat up, although the thought of Harris and his smashed fingers doesn't help. It's more the idea that they'd been watching me that creeps me out. They know where I work. What else do they know about me?