The Other Side(31)

I know that’s complete bullshit.

But, I’m a coward.

So, I walk up to 3A and finish the cigarette in my hand. Followed by the one in my pocket. And then I force myself into a sleep so unsettling and hostile that I’m brutalized when I wake from it.





Chapter Thirteen





Present, March 1987

Toby



Saturday is hell.

The conscience is profound and unforgiving when self-preservation is lacking. It’s unguarded, a bully that antagonizes toward action, even though I have a plan in place to end this in June. Sometimes I consider forgetting the plan and acting on the impulse to stop the pain now instead of later. Today is one of those days. Standing on our fire escape, I look at the ground three stories below and wonder if the hard landing would be enough to stop my body and release my soul.

I decide that it probably wouldn’t and I’d only end up in the hospital with a plethora of broken bones instead. I can’t finish school and graduate from a hospital room in a full body cast.

I’ve kept busy trying to ignore the guilt chant in my head and dodge the occupants of 2A. This morning I cleaned the leaves out of the gutters and fixed a fence post that’s been loose for over a month. This afternoon I’ve been hiding out in the basement rearranging and sorting the spare parts and hardware on the shelves in the locked supply room where no one will find me. I told Cliff to come and get me only in case of an emergency. His idea of an emergency is dicey at best, so I’m surprised he’s complied. There’s a lot to do. Johnny keeps adding to the junk pile in the corner. If it has moving parts and is abandoned, he rescues it and dumps it here. I can’t blame him; I fix a lot from this stash without spending a dime.

I brought my boom box and one of my cassettes down with me to keep me company. Occasionally, I hear someone on the other side of the door putting a load of laundry in the washer or dryer, but for the most part, it’s solitary. When I’m done and the floor is clear, the shelves are orderly, and I’m covered in the filth of grimy old parts and avoidance, I sit on the floor with my back against the cool, stone-foundation wall and I hide.

I hide from the world.

I hide from the residents.

I hide from Alice.

I hide from Chantal and Joey.

I hide from Nina.

I hide.

That is until I hear a knock on the door. I pause, unmoving, and wait to see if they’ll go away.

“Toby, I know you’re in there! No one else in this house has the good taste to lock themselves away with The Smiths!” It’s Alice yelling through a smile. Her voice is more playful when her grin is wide and toothy.

Opening the door, a greeting would be appropriate, but guilt makes me irritable and instead I ask, “How’d you know I was down here?”

“Cliff told me.”

Of course he did. Guilt, the instigator with impeccable timing, drops the needle on the track of Taber and Inga in my mind and turns up the volume until it’s deafening; I want to cover my ears even though I can’t block it out because it’s coming from the inside.

“What do you need?” I blurt. That sounded harsh and blunt and I regret it even before I see the subtle recoil of her reaction.

“Umm…” She fumbles as the smile tumbles from her lips. “I came to see if you wanted to ride with us to the gig, that way you can come in with us and won’t need a ticket.” She sounds hurt, like she already knows I’m going to bow out and flake on her.

Her words are kind.

Her tone is wounded.

I am an asshole.

I pinch the bridge of my nose because I can’t punch myself in the face to exact some punishment and then I talk over my filter that’s usually airtight. “I’m sorry.” That was for being a dick. And holding back the truth. Sighing, because she’s so fucking good and I’m so fucking not, I put the filter back in place, temper my voice, and I lie. “Something came up, Alice. Johnny’s friend in Greeley is giving away a freezer and he needs me to ride with him and help him load it. If he doesn’t pick it up tonight, she’s giving it to someone else. So, I can’t make it to your show.” My God, that felt horrible.

Her lips rub together, an act of disappointment, as she nods slowly. “Yeah...no problem...I understand...” It’s preoccupied contemplation masked by stunted phrases of misunderstanding.

Deciphered, it’s No. It is a problem. I don’t understand, in my ears, because she knows I’m lying. On the inside I’m down on my knees in front of her apologizing profusely, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I am so sorry, but on the outside, which is the only place that matters, I’m silent. Delivering silence to Alice is cruel denial. She can’t see the shame filling my eyes and threatening to spill out. She can’t see the crease of self-hate in my forehead and between my eyes. She can’t see the frustration of my lies balling up my fists. I manage to croak out, “Good luck.” It sounds misplaced and questioning because I’ve messed everything up.

She makes me wait for her reply. Or maybe she’s trying to decide if she’s going to reply at all. “Thanks,” she finally calls back from the foot of the stairs. It sounds misplaced and questioning because I’ve messed everything up.





Chapter Fourteen