Opposite of Always(75)

“He needs time. Probably a lot.”

I used to think time was all I needed. But now—

“What if time isn’t enough?”

Jillian frowns. “It has to be enough.”

Since Franny’s in an understandable I Hate Jack’s Guts phase in his life, a phase that I’m desperate to help him end, I decide to ignore his warning of serious bodily injury and try to talk to him anyway.

Except he’s nowhere to be found.

He’s not at his house.

Or at the gym.

Or at Jillian’s.

It crosses my irrational mind that in the seventy-two hours since he spared my life maybe he’s found a new best friend to hang with.

When I finally locate Franny, it’s less a question of what’s he doing here? than why didn’t I think of this place earlier?

The Wood. The old treehouse we built in the patch of woods behind my house so many summers ago. The outside walls weathered and moss-covered. The roof leaking rainwater and sunshine.

“Yo, I thought I told you I didn’t want anything to do with you,” Franny says the moment I stick my head through the floor. For a second I think he’s going to play whack-a-mole with my face, but instead he turns his body toward the treehouse’s sole window, away from me. I pull myself up, lean against the wall opposite Franny.

“I never should have gone behind your back with your dad. I’m wrong for that. And I’m sorry I hurt you. You never would’ve done anything like that to me.”

“You’re right about that. I wouldn’t have.”

“All I can say is that I got caught up. With Kate. She’s sick. Really sick. And I had this idea on how to get some money for her to get this treatment, but I needed help. I thought of your dad. But I should’ve been thinking about you, too. I didn’t think about what that might mean for you, for Jillian. I was selfish. And I’m really sorry. All I can say is that if you give me another chance, I’ll do my best to be better. To do better.”

Franny turns to me and shakes his head. “What? This supposed to be the part where I forgive you? Where I say something like yo, man, we all make mistakes and then dap you up and pull you into a bro hug? Because that’s not going to happen. I’m not ready for all of that. Not even close.”

I nod my head. “Right. Okay.”

“Damn, man, you ain’t gotta look like somebody just shot your black ass. I’m just saying, give me some time. Then we’ll see.”

And it’s like all anyone ever talks about anymore is time.





Makeup Texts


And apparently some time is two days.

GROUP TEXT to ME and JILLIAN, from FRANNY— FRANNY: We practicing tonight, or y’all wanna show up to this party and make damn fools of ourselves?

ME: Uh, I definitely choose A). When and where?

JILLIAN: My house! Now!

I wrap my arms around Franny’s neck like we’re in a slow dance.

“I missed you, big man,” I say in the middle of Jillian’s garage.

He tries not to laugh, cups my head like a basketball he’s about to dunk.

“Yo,” he says to Jillian. “What’s wrong with your boy?” But then he smiles and the world is instantly less scary.

Jillian grins, races toward us, leaps onto my back, knocking Franny and me onto the old orange sofa. The three of us once again a tangled knot. And it feels right.

We try and throw each other off the sofa, an old game where we pretend the sofa is a lifeboat that can only save one of us; the other two have to be forced overboard. As usual Jillian wins, jumping up and down on the cushions.

Franny and me lying side by side on the paint-splattered concrete floor, he turns to me and says, “So we’re cool, but the next time you pull some crazy—”

I put my hands up to stop him. “There won’t be a next time.”

He nods. “Good.”

We give each other the cool, let’s do this then look. And then we’re springing back onto the orange sofa, fighting for our watery survival.





Caps & Gowns


Graduation rolls around and Dad is in full Capture This Memory Forever mode.

Last night he sat at the kitchen island cleaning his fourteen different lenses with his specially designed cloths, checking and rechecking his apertures, much the way a hunter inspects his rifle before a hunt.

Dad is a hunter. And special occasions are his prey.

Today Dad has me dead in his sights.

But I don’t complain. I get why this is important to parents, a shiny, metallic mile marker on the road to their kid’s hopeful success. Mom’s eyes have been leaking since last night, and she’s still dabbing at her tears with her hanky.

“Mom, are you okay?” I ask. Even when you know the tears are happy, something about seeing your mom cry slays you.

“My baby,” she says, as if this says it all.

As for me, I can’t help but feel proud.

Loved.

Afraid.

All I can think is, now what? What’s next?

The answer is partly college. But the answer is mostly, I don’t know.

I look at myself, capped and gowned. I say to my reflection, Good luck, man. To which he replies, You’re gonna need it. And I don’t disagree.