Tilt (52 page)

I Realize Something Else, Too

If there is no God, it doesn’t matter

what the fuck I do. All

that self-righteous

whiny crap is for

cowards, really.
I have to

do what’s right
is synonymous

with
I’m scared to do what’s wrong.

Is that how I’ve lived for

sixteen years—afraid?

Screw that. If I don’t

have to worry about pleasing

some Pearly Gatekeeper, I’m damn

sure going to live large. First I have

to find the courage I somehow

missed. I close my door,

open my window. Smoke

half of a fatty. Grab my keys,

step into the hall, listen for voices.

I don’t hear Mom at all. Gramps and

Dad are talking on the deck.

I make the kitchen

undetected, reach

up into the cupboard, where

I know Dad keeps his booze stash.

I’ve never had a taste for alcohol.

Too hard to get buzzed on

without getting busted.

Plus, I hate what it’s done

to my father. But screw it. This

is a special day. Vodka, right. You can’t

smell it as bad. I take a big gulp. Yech.

Still, I take another. And one

more. Enough. I don’t want

to get wasted. Just brave.

I don’t tell anyone I’m leaving, but

get into my car and head toward the freeway.

I want to go fast and I do, windows open

to let any idea of God out. Holy

shit. Ninety mph is flying.

Alex

Any Idea

Of Shane reconsidering,

at least right away, goes up

in figurative smoke when

he shows up at my door

wasted

and unannounced. My good

Catholic family is loudly sharing

our old-fashioned Friday fish

dinner and it takes a few

minutes

for us to recognize the doorbell.

I volunteer to answer it and

my first thought when I see

Shane is how did he get here? He

can’t

have driven over, right? Not in

this shape—hair wind-mussed,

eyes freaky wide, and smelling

like weed and booze. He must

be

out of his mind, and I won’t

let him in like this. I lead him

to my car, shove him inside,

praying the Shane I love can be

reclaimed.

Harley

Praying

Is something I’ve never done.

It’s as foreign to me as Somalia,

as is the concept of God. Gramps

was raised Jewish, and Gram

a Protestant, whatever that is.

Gram told me that when they met,

they embarked on a “search for

deeper meaning,” trying paganism

and Buddhism and Wicca, winding up

mostly agnostic. Mom never took

me to church, never tried to provide

me with faith. Dad, well, Dad pretty

much only believes in himself, plus

a small measure of Cassie thrown

in. So I think it’s really kind of weird

that Dad and Cassie will say, “I do”

in a church. What’s even weirder,

and a little creepy, is it’s the same

church where Shelby’s funeral was,

almost a month ago. Since then,

I turned fourteen. We celebrated

with a sleepover—me, Bri and a couple

of girls I’ve made friends with at Carson

High. I think Bri is a little hurt about

that, but she doesn’t go to Carson, and

I can’t walk around all by myself,

looking like a total loser. Serena is quiet

and smart. A lot like Bri, in fact. But

Chloe is just this side of crazy. She’ll

do anything for attention. And when

she gets it, I get it, too. For my birthday,

she brought an R-rated DVD. Lots of

nakedness and sex. Bri was humiliated,

not that she didn’t watch. Serena

pretended it was cool. Chloe whooped,

Uh-huh! That’s what I’m talking about.

I Have to Admit

A couple of scenes embarrassed

me, too. Is that what it takes to

be an adult? Later, I asked Bri,

“Do you think our parents do stuff

like that?” I really can’t picture

Mom naked and rubbing against

some naked man. Bri thought

a second.
I guess they used to.

“Things are bad between them,

huh?” I probably shouldn’t know

half the stuff I do, including

her answer,
They pretend it’s okay.

But we’d have to be stupid not

to know what’s going on. I think . . .

Her face kind of collapsed in on

itself.
They’re talking about divorce.

I Hate How Relationships

Are so fragile. How they

crack

shatter

fall to pieces.

And the hammer is

time

distance

moving forward.

Why can’t people grow

closer

tighter

welded together?

Instead they go

looking

for the next

frail connection.

There must be a way to

stay

in love

no matter what.

Case in Point

My fickle mother.

Here she meets Robin,

who I really think she liked

a lot. But when he went back to

Vegas, where he lives, she cut things

off completely. I know it’s hard to maintain

a long-distance relationship, but why not

try to nurture a connection? They

hadn’t spoken since he left, and

he called the other night when

we were eating dinner. She

answered but was cold

as January. Freezing, frigid

cold. Seemed like she wasn’t

saying something she wanted to.

So maybe that’s part of the problem.

Lack of communication. Why can’t people

just open up and talk about what bothers them?

Now she’s dating one of Shelby’s doctors.

She says it’s not serious, and until it

is, she won’t bring him home for

a home-cooked introduction.

Is it me she doesn’t want to

disappoint? Or is it him?

I Don’t Want to Think

About it tonight, so I won’t.

Tonight I’m going out with Lucas,

just the two of us. He’s picking me up

as soon as Dad and Cassie leave.

They’re having a joint bachelor/

bachelorette party. Not sure what

that is, but if it involves strippers,

it could be interesting. Or gross.

Dad comes out of his room,

dressed up for a change—slacks

(who knew he had them?) and

a button-down shirt. “Wow. Snazzy.”

He smiles.
I know, right? Your old

man still cleans up pretty good.

You don’t mind hanging out here