True Places(38)

She was looking out the window, at the weather maybe, or nothing.

“Mom? Trevor isn’t going to care whether I show up.”

She nodded. Reid waited for her to say he was right, he should be able to choose his own friends, but she kept staring out the window. She wasn’t backing him; she was bailing.

Iris spoke over a mouthful of food. “Does he have other friends?”

“Yes, lots.”

“And they’re not your friends?”

“No.”

Iris thought this over. “How many people do you know?”

“You mean about my age? A couple hundred or so at school. Plus kids from other schools.”

Her eyes widened. “That’s too many. How many friends do you need?”

Reid glanced at his mom, who had turned from the window. Her eyes were almost as wide as Iris’s. Reid got the idea Iris didn’t usually talk this much.

“If it’s the right friend, just one.”



After school, Reid went to Alex’s. They ate Chinese takeout that Alex hoped wasn’t meant for dinner, then went outside to play horse. Reid didn’t like basketball as a team game, but horse was different, especially with Alex. He cared enough to try hard but not enough to remember who had won two minutes later.

Reid dribbled the ball a couple of times before launching his shot. It caught the inside of the rim and fell through the net.

Alex grabbed the rebound. “Lucky shit.”

They hadn’t played horse much lately, and Reid thought maybe they’d been hanging out less overall since the Incident. That’s how they referred to Alex’s overdose on the rare occasion it came up. Mostly they kept the topic and everything related to it, like Alex’s therapy, at a distance, as if it had happened to someone else, someone they knew pretty well but didn’t care that much about. As Reid waited for Alex to take his shot, he realized that not talking about the Incident was bogus.

Alex set up where Reid had shot from, took the shot, and missed. “Shit. H,” he said.

Reid scooped up the ball and cradled it with his elbow. “So I want to ask you something.”

“You want me to explain girls again?”

Reid smiled. “Seriously. Is this a chill time to talk about death?”

Alex stuck his hands in his pockets. “The Incident.”

“Yeah, the Incident.” Reid bounced the ball to his friend. “What happened?”

“You know what happened. I took a shitload of pills.” He side-armed the ball to Reid.

Reid caught it, slid it to the ground, and trapped it under his foot. “Walk me through it.”

Alex looked at him sideways, shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. “I told my parents. I told the shrink. I said I was honestly glad I didn’t off myself. I think I told you that, too.”

“You did. But walk me through it.”

Alex blinked at him.

“I want to know.”

His friend nodded. “Okay. Give me the ball.” Reid tossed it to him, and Alex wandered the driveway, dribbling. “New Year’s Eve and I was bored out of my skull. You had the nerve to back out of our plans because of a cold.”

“The flu.”

“Okay, man-flu. I forgive you.” He spun on his heel, changing direction. “My parents were out, I was bored, so I had a cocktail. Rum and Mountain Dew.”

“Classy.”

“Right? So good I had another one. Still bored, so one more. Nothing but crap on TV, but I figured getting high would improve my attitude, so I smoked a joint. TV still sucked. Now it’s almost midnight and I’m rummaging in my parents’ bathroom and I find a stash of pills I’d never seen before.” He came to a halt in front of Reid. “Secret stash.” Before Reid could say anything, Alex walked away, bouncing the ball. “So I take a couple Xanax and wait for it to kick in. I’m just messing around, seeing what happens. And what happens is that I’m feeling different. One drink is different than none, two is different than one, three is even more different, especially if you add weed.” He stopped, took a shot. All net.

“Your go,” he said, but kept the dribbling the ball. “That’s what no one gets, not that I’ve tried that hard to make my point.”

“What? What doesn’t anyone get?”

Alex held the ball in front like he was resting his hands on a beer gut. “Everyone talks about depression, about pain. It wasn’t about pain. I wasn’t in pain. I just wanted to feel different. Every time I took something I felt different. Inside each pill was a door and I wanted to keep opening them, see what was there. Sure, I lost my judgment—that was the dumb part, opening too many doors—but that wasn’t the goal, if we can talk about Mountain Dew cocktails in the same breath as goal setting.”

Alex stared at Reid expectantly. Reid nodded, though he wasn’t sure he understood.

Alex went on. “If you feel different enough, you don’t care what happens to you because it’s not really you anymore. That’s my point. But it’s not the same as wanting to die. Not that I know. I’m just guessing. My best guess is it’s not even close.”

“I get it.”

“Here’s the other thing, though. The really fucked-up thing.” He swiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “The shrink put me on Zoloft. Guess what? It makes me feel different.” He laughed. “Joke’s on them.” He handed the ball to Reid. “That’s all I’ve got.”