Bright Lights, Dark Nights (34 page)

Everything else in the world had disappeared, but my rage was alive.

 

Chapter Seventeen

 

When Mel woke up, we got breakfast, just the two of us. The food was much more tolerable than our dinner food had been. At least they were clearly pancakes, and eggs, and I devoured them both.

“I miss you like swearwords I shouldn't say in a hospital,” Mel said. “How's Naomi?”

I twisted my mouth a little and looked to the side.

“Oh,” Mel said. “Have you talked to Mom?”

“Just a little,” I said.

“Dammit, Walter, don't be that person,” Mel said. “You've got everything in the world going for you. You piss me off because you're so much like me. I started seeing a therapist.” Mellie was quiet for a minute and let that thought hang in the air. “It's been really good. You may want to sometime, too.”

“Therapist?” I asked. She had tattoos. I'd thought that was her therapy. “Why?”

“What do you mean
why
?” Mel asked. “Because I needed someone to talk to. Because I wasn't thinking normal.”

“So what? No one's normal,” I said. “Normal is stupid anyway.”

“That's exactly what my therapist said, that there is no normal. But—and this is why I think you could benefit as much as I have—the way we were raised was definitely
not
normal. We think it was, because it's all we knew, and all we had to compare it to was TV shows, and everyone knows that's all crap.”

“It was normal before Mom cheat—before Mom and Dad split up,” I said. I tried to finish my eggs before they got any colder. “I don't need therapy.”

“Someday you're going to figure out that our logic is a little faulty, and I'm just suggesting you be a little proactive about it,” Mel said. “Ever ask yourself this: Who raised us? I mean, who taught you confidence? Who told you how handsome you were when you were growing up, who taught you how to talk to girls, or stand up for yourself, or fix a car or even how to drive? No one. Dad was a workaholic. Mom was depressed. Who told you you're worthwhile, that you're special? No one told you these things growing up. No one told me, either. So that's the voice in our heads—it's saying,
I'm not special. I'm not worthwhile. I'm not handsome. I don't know how to do this. I'm not a part of this.
But that's what you learn in therapy. Walter, you
are
special. You are worthwhile. You're handsome, and you're sweet, and the world is yours if you want it. And that's the truth. That's what we should have learned a long time ago. That's what I'm trying to learn now.”

I smiled uncomfortably. I didn't take compliments well. Maybe therapy fixes that, too.

“You think I'm just talking out of my ass—therapy nonsense,” Mel said. “But Naomi saw it. I could tell. She knows how special you are.”

“I don't think you're talking out of your ass,” I said. We did raise ourselves, and we did a pretty poor job of it, too. In a way, I'd been thinking similar thoughts myself, just not that precise. Hearing Mel voice them was like jumping to the back of a book and seeing how it ends.

Dad was still out. The doctor had said the sooner he's up, the better, and now it had been twenty-four hours. Was that considered soon, or no? That was too vague. Was it already too late? Sitting around the hospital made time drag; the importance of time made it all hurt. I needed to get out for a bit.

*   *   *

Nate skipped school. Something, he told me, he can now do as a single bro. With nothing much going on besides old episodes of
Celebrity Boxing
(where did they even find that?), I left the hospital and met Nate at the court. Not for a fight, but for some actual basketball. We were trying to sink the ball from half-court, both shocked to see the hoop didn't fall right off the second it got hit.

“This is fun,” Nate said, chasing after the ball. “Can I toss this to you? I'm worried I'm going to make your face look worse.”

“Not possible,” I said. “Toss it.”

It felt good to be out of the hospital, out in the sun, away from the drama, even just for the morning. I dribbled the ball to about halfway down the court and hurled it. Nowhere near the net. I followed the ball and passed it back to Nate.

“There's no win to my situation,” Nate said. “I like Kate, obviously, but I don't want to be tied to her, either. We're graduating. We've got our last summer here, then college. It's a good time to be free.”

“Have you ever actually explained to me why you broke up?” I asked. “I'm still confused, months later.”

Nate threw the ball again—nothing. He chased the ball this time. “All right. It's kind of my fault,” Nate said. “I may have had a crush on someone and mentioned it to Kate, not something I recommend. I just had one of those moments, like,
Am I with this one person forever, or do I play the field a little?
I tested the waters, and, Walter, the waters were turbulent. So Kate cuts me free, says go be wild, only I don't actually want to go be wild. So we've been in limbo ever since.”

“So it's a ‘grass is always greener' thing,” I said.

Nate took the ball back to half-court. “If I make this shot, I find a million dollars today,” Nate said. “No, let's keep it realistic. A hundred dollars.”

He missed. I walked after the ball. “Should have made it fifty,” I said, squinting in the late-morning sun.

“So what happened with Naomi?” Nate asked. “You made it sound like it was over.”

I took the ball to half-court. “It's confusing,” I said, and threw the ball. I hit the board, which was closer than Nate had reached, and it bounced back toward us. “There was some conflict, drama, arguing. It was like flat-out war for a brief moment, and it's been quiet since then. I think we just got exhausted or something. And my dad flipped out after the fight, and now he doesn't want me anywhere near her.”

Nate walked to the ball. “All right, take out the dad part, 'cause that's a stupid reason to do anything, and forget the warfare, because that just happens. Take all the extraneous debris out of the way. How do you feel about her?”

“She's amazing,” I said. “Best thing to ever happen to me. Easily.”

“So what's with the silence? Why are you talking like it's over?” Nate asked. “Don't be an idiot.”

“I told you it was confusing,” I said. Nate bounced the ball to me. “Okay, if I get this shot, my dad gets cleared of all charges and the state issues a public apology. And I find fifty bucks.”

Miss.

“We should keep talking about you, though,” I said. “Your situation isn't even complex. There's no nuance at all. Just go back to being Nate and Kate. Everyone's happy.”

“If I make this shot,” Nate said.

He missed. Half-court really was a long distance, and I should mention the wind was a factor as well. I couldn't even feel my fingers.

“All right, Mr. Complex,” Nate said. “You want to go back to Naomi. So do it.”

“I need to talk to her,” I said. “I know. It's a two-person decision, whatever we do. If I make this shot … whether I make this shot or not, I'm gonna talk to Naomi.” My shots were getting worse. I hit the cage fence behind the hoop.

“You're right. It is a two-person decision,” Nate said, and tossed an easy layup. “I'm gonna talk to Kate, too. We gotta talk to our girls.”

“Actually, I have to do something else first,” I said. “Before I talk to Naomi. I'd feel better, I think. I want to talk to Lester.”

“Dude, Lester almost took your face off,” Nate said. “You fought the beast and lived to tell the tale—let it go. But if you're serious, I'm gonna go with you. I don't have any plans today.”

“Okay. Thanks. It really wasn't like that, though,” I said. “I was more of a beast. He's not bad.” I took the ball back from Nate to the middle of the court. “Whatever happens. Here we go. If I make this shot, we're going to track down Lester Dooley.”

I threw the ball, and it sank right through the hoop.

*   *   *

Nate took the basketball with us as we walked southeast through the city. A steady dribble formed a beat along the sidewalks.

“Are you planning on using that thing as a weapon?” I asked. “You could do that cool move if we get in trouble, where you throw the ball and Lester catches it, and—
wham!
—deck him right in the face.”

“Like in
Good Will Hunting
?” Nate asked, and tossed me the ball. “Every damn movie, this guy's seen.”

We crossed Main Street into the Basement. The city was like a mood ring. When I'd been falling for Naomi, it'd felt impossibly large, like something out of a fairy tale, friendly characters everywhere out to greet me on my way. In my dad's world, it was a corrupt urban crime town and everyone had an ulterior motive. Somewhere in there was reality. On our way to the Jungle, the buildings felt cold and stiff. Like nothing dared move. Today I was in a western and the townsfolk were frozen till the first gun was drawn.