CARSON DIDN'T COME to school today. I texted him at noon, but no response. And again after class to see if he was still coming to work. No response. Now I'm at Dee's, trying to get some study time in before the dinner rush, but we're never too busy when it's raining anyway.
Nolan's across from me in the booth, flipping through the pages of his Watchmen graphic novel. I'm watching him while Colleen's at her job interview and Mom's out with her friend Maggie.
My phone is face-up next to my English notes. Every few minutes, I tap it. Nothing. I chew on the eraser of my pencil. What if Carson doesn't show? That fight seemed nasty. It reminded me of all the screaming matches I witnessed as a bystander of my parents' relationship.
When I was a kid, Mom tried her best not to get into it with my dad when I was around. She wanted to keep me sheltered from the violent rage that comes with dysfunctional relationships, but I did see it. Those memories are burned into me; cauterized and scarified, never to be forgotten.
Their worst fight happened when I was freshly nine, still small enough to fit into the narrow closet of my bedroom. I'd spent a lot of nights in there. So many that I overcame the claustrophobia I'd had as a child. Somehow, that small, cramped, dusty space became less suffocating and more safe.
"You're high again," Mom shouted from the living room, her voice as shrill as a banshee. "You were out with those idiot bandmates of yours, weren't you? It's Jillie's birthday, Graham!"
That tone always set Dad over the edge. Something crashed and shook the trailer. I'd later find out it was Dad flipping the coffee table.
"You get off my fuckin' back," he yelled. "This is my life, Sharon. This is my career. These are my dreams. I forgot, all right? I'm here now, aren't I? The kid's not gonna know the difference!"
Their screaming match then became less about me and more about them, as it always did. I can't remember exactly what they said; it all blended together, creating a black static fuzz in my brain, and the next thing I knew, Dad was gone and Mom was opening the closet door with glassy eyes and tear-stained cheeks. She brought me to the kitchen and lit the candles of my vanilla cake and promised things would get better. But I'd already heard that so many times, I was starting to not believe her.
I wonder if Carson feels that way. I wonder if he has his own closet to hide in when things get too rough.
Sighing, I focus on my notes. With everything going on, I completely forgot to study for my test tomorrow. It's worth ten percent of my grade and I'm sitting at a B-level grade, but I need A's if I want into the school of my dreams. My portfolio of songs will help too, but grades are important.
"Nolan, learn from my mistakes," I say, then mutter under my breath, "I have to do better if I want to get into NYU."
"Are you going as soon as you graduate?" Nolan asks.
I try to meet his blue eyes, framed with long, Tim Mills-esque lashes, but he's too focused on Doctor Manhattan or whatever his name is. "Nope." I break the lead of my mechanical pencil against my page. "I'm going to stay right here."
"Why?"
"Because I don't want to leave you here until you're older. Hull's not always an easy place to live in and family's got to stick together."
"That's stupid."
I wince. Stupid? What's he talking about? Dropping my pencil, I cross my arms and try to act natural. "What, you don't want me around?" He goes quiet. Frustrated, I say, "Come on, Nolan, speak up. If you have something to say, you should—"
"You're overbearing," he blurts, before he goes back to idly flipping his page.
An unfamiliar sensation stings me. Nolan keeps his eyes on the book, callously, almost cruelly. He's never said anything like that to me before.
"What's with you?" I manage to say.
"I don't need a babysitter anymore," Nolan says, flipping another page. "I should be out with my friends right now."
"It was our moms' ideas I watch you today," I say, even though it was my idea too. I look at my notes, but that hurt. I'm not trying to be overbearing. Maybe it's because Nolan's big now, but for the first time, I think I can see myself through his eyes: I'm a drag to be around. I'm no fun.
That's why he wants Carson to teach him how to play guitar, not me.
Rain pounds the pavement outside, and dark clouds blanket the street in a murky greenish grey. It's like the whole town is underwater, and Dee's is the glass dome protecting us. Cars speed by like oversized fish and splash tidal waves up from under their wheels. Newspapers and leaves caught in mini-whirlpools spiral through the roads.
When a bus stops out front, I perk up. Carson slumps out of it with his hood up, one shoulder carrying a backpack, the other with his acoustic guitar slung over it. Relief flows through me, but I don't know why he has all that stuff with him. Did he get kicked out? He pushes into the diner, his soaked red hoodie clinging to his skin, and goes straight into the backroom. I exchange a look with my cousin before I follow.
"Hey, Blue." I jog into the room after him. Carson sets his acoustic down against the couch. It's a faded-ochre Fender with a peeling Nirvana sticker on the body, and judging by the wear and tear on the neck, it's seen a lot of use.
Carson puts his backpack down, but doesn't face me. "Hey."
"You never texted me back."
"Yeah, sorry." He ruffles his hair, hiding half his face from me. "I was dealing with some shit."
"Trailer park blues, huh?" What a stupid thing to say. I chew on my lip. "I'm sorry for being there last night."
"Don't worry about it." He takes off his hoodie and ties his apron around his neck. Finally, he reveals the right side of his face, and I don't think twice—I rush over to him, but stop as soon as I get too close. He doesn't finch, just stares at me. Tiny cuts slice up the temple of his forehead and move down his cheek, covered in a crosshatch of Band-Aids. Rain drips from the ends of his hair, and his clothing is soaked.
"What happened?" My voice breaks.
"Sorry. I know this doesn't look good on me, or on you guys for hiring me."
"I don't care about our reputation right now..."
A palpable silence surrounds us. The storm battles the flimsy sunroom window panes.
"I just wanna focus on work," Carson says, his voice croaky and tired. "Sorry, Jill."
He leaves me alone. Quietly, I follow him.
***
Colleen picked Nolan up an hour later than she promised, but we ended up with only four customers all night, so everything went smooth. Near the end of the shift, I'm loading some bottles into the fridge while Carson sweeps. Paul just closed down the kitchen and left, so Carson and I are the only ones here.
"Long night, eh?" he eventually says. We haven't talked in over an hour, but I've been wanting to say something. I just didn't know how.
Stacking my final bottle of Coke into the fridge, I face him. "Sorta." I pause. "I noticed you have your guitar with you."
"Yeah."
"Maybe it's not my place..." I kick at the floor and make a squeak against the tile. "I'm just saying, if you're having trouble at home, or you need a place to lay low for a while, you can crash here. In the sunroom or something. My mom won't care."
He's quiet. I hope he doesn't think I'm pitying him or something. It's not like that.
"Yeah?" he says. "Thanks, but I'm crashing at Clarissa's."
Right; of course he has a better place to stay than Dee's. "Okay. You need a ride?"
"I'll walk. It's not too far."
"Why? Come on, it's still pouring. I'll drive you."
"I'm good. Don't wanna be a burden."
Lightning flickers through the restaurant. I round the bar and stand across from him, reluctantly meeting his gaze.
"You aren't a burden, Blue. I know I was iffy about you at first, but anyone who works with us sort of becomes family. I don't mind driving you, really. Hell, I want to drive you."
His eyebrow lifts. "Why?"
"I don't know. I'm worried about you, I guess." I laugh. "I don't know why I suddenly care, Blue." You remind me of me, I guess. Or who I could've been if I hadn't left the park. "Point is," I go on, "I know what it's like. Besides, Val lives in Clarissa's neighborhood—might go see her or something."
Definitely had no intention of visiting Val tonight, but I threw in that last part to keep this casual.
Carson twists a string on his apron until it tears. "Okay then. Sure. Thanks, Jill." He goes to keep sweeping, but backs up into a table. A saltshaker falls to the floor and shatters. "Fuck." He pinches the bridge of his nose. I grab the dustpan and hurry it over to him. Our eyes meet once before he takes it and starts cleaning the mess, a pink tinge to his warm beige skin.
"You okay?" I ask.
He says nothing, just scoots the rest of the glass into the dustpan. It's not like him to be clumsy. In the dim light, his cuts shine crimson beneath the Band-Aids, and yellowing bruises form on the skin surrounding them. As much as I went through as a kid—I never had marks like this. It's unacceptable.
"Blue, what happened last night?"
After a pause, he stands upright. "We found out my dad got in a jail fight, so he's not getting out anytime soon. We had hope for some sort of parole, but... " He dumps the glass into the designated bin. "Anyway, Garnett took off, but me, Lucas, and my mom got in a fight. I accidentally knocked over Mom's vase, so Lucas shoved my face in it. Wanted me to eat it."
Goosebumps raise on my arms. I picture Lucas shoving Carson's face into slivers of ceramic. I picture them piercing Carson's skin and getting stuck in the wounds, shredding them from the inside out.
"That isn't okay," is all I can think to say.
"Yeah, well. I had it coming."
"No one should ever feel like that. You didn't have it coming. He hurt you. That's not okay."
"It's not a big deal, Jill. You don't know what it's like with us. I just... need out of that trailer for a while. I'm trying not to let this get in the way of being a good worker." His lips twitch into a frown. "But I've already messed up so many times."
I don't know what to say. If I knew when he applied that he'd come into work distracted and with hickeys and cuts and bruises, I would've thought it's not my problem. I would've thought that his issues don't concern me and I have my own shit to worry about and I don't need him around Dee's. But now, as he continues to work despite his obvious trauma, I can see how hard he's trying. And I can see how he deserves this chance as much as anyone else.
"You haven't messed anything up," I tell him. "Come on, we've cleaned enough. Let's get out of here."
***
We slam the station wagon's doors shut as we get in, and Carson shoves his guitar in the backseat. Raindrops create a metallic melody on the roof of the car.
"You ever visit your dad in prison?" I turn the keys in the ignition. The headlights cut into the night, and guitar riffs from Neil Young's Harvest album—mine and Mom's favorite—fill the car. I dial the music down so I can hear Carson speak.
"Once, yeah," he says. "He just... rambled on and blamed everyone else for what he did. Said my mom didn't work enough so he had to find a way to make money."
"You didn't buy it, did you?"
"Of course not. What he did was fucked. There's no excusing it."
I remember Kevin Blue as clear as Carson is next to me. His hair was a greying shade of brown, and his beard was as patchy as a dead lawn in summer. That man gave me the creeps.
Two years ago, he robbed Butlers' Convenience at gunpoint. Poor old Mr. Butler—eighty-seven years of age—had a stroke on the spot. Kevin wigged out and ran with his arms full of cigarettes, fell off the map for a while, but the surveillance knew it was him even with that ski mask. No one else in town wore their washed-out denim jacket with the plaid underneath quite like he did. The cops eventually caught up to Kevin and banged him on some charges for the theft. Sadly, the jury wouldn't convict him for Mr. Butler's death because of his age and health, but I think Kevin deserved way more than what he got.
I don't tell Carson that, of course. I know what it's like to love your daddy even when he's shitty.
"Doesn't matter anymore anyway." Carson crosses his arms and sinks in the seat, eyes on the passing houses outside. The rain's slowed down. "What's done is done."
I'm quiet as we stop at a red light, drumming my fingers against the steering wheel. "No one can change the past."
"Yeah. What's your dad doing these days anyway?"
I resist a sneer. "He's on tour, as always. I still can't believe how famous his dumb band has gotten."
"Yeah, they're well-off, huh? Is that where your talent comes from?"
"As much as I hate to admit it, yeah, my dad's the musical one. My mom doesn't even know what a capo is."
We both laugh. The light turns green, so I keep driving.
"When was the last time you heard from him?" Carson asks.
It hits a nerve, but if I'm asking him questions about his life, the least I can do is answer some of his. It's just... intimate. I don't talk to anyone other than Val about this kind of stuff.
"Two years," I say. "He wished me a happy birthday... on Twitter."
"Ouch."
"At least he had the decency to message me from his personal account, not Judas Cradle's page." The sarcasm is thick in my voice.
"Better than nothing I guess."
"Not really, I never replied. I mean, he can't just take off with his band and never come back then think he can message me on god damn Twitter like we're pals or something. He could've at least called Dee's and talked to me. That message ruined my day so I would've rathered he just said nothing."
"Fair enough. Your dad was a pretty crazy dude. My childhood memory's a little fuzzy, but I do remember him." He shoots me a quick smirk. "Don't hate me, but me and Shae thought he was pretty cool."
I cringe. "I might hate you a little bit now," I say, but half-smile so he knows I'm teasing. Focusing back on the road, I say, "No, I get it. The whole rock star thing is cool to some people. It's why my mom was so in love with him. But he's my dad and he was not a good one, so I feel differently."
"I don't blame you."
Just as I'm turning into Clarissa's neighborhood, I spot a girl storming up ahead, her long black curls reaching her mid-back.
"Is that...?"
I pull up beside her. Just as I thought: it's Val. And she has mascara-soaked tears streaming down her face. I honk the car, startling her, but when Val sees it's me she throws her arms up. She gets in the back, slamming the door behind her. Rain drips off her hair and onto her faux-leather jacket, and the smell of beer permeates the cramped space inside the car. Bottles clink together in her backpack as she shoves it onto the seat and says, "I hate everything."
Carson and I exchange a look before we face her.
"What happened?" I ask.
"He cheated on me, Jill. He fucking cheated on me."
I grit my teeth. I'd be the first to admit Val isn't perfect—she can be mad, impulsive, and quick to jump down your throat. But she's loyal to a fault, and cheating is a low blow, no matter who you are. Now when I picture Danny Jacobi's winning smile and stupid basketball jerseys, all I can think about is dumping hot coffee in his face.
The truth is, I've wanted Val to be done with him since forever; I never trusted that guy. I'm not happy he cheated, and I'm not relieved she's hurting, but damn am I hoping this is the end of him. A guy like him doesn't deserve a girl like Val. Or anyone, for that matter.
Carson looks away, likely sensing this isn't a conversation for his ears. I focus on Val.
"When did he do it?"
She wipes her eyes, face twisted in a pissed-off scowl. "Mandy's party. Last year. I was just at his place to 'talk things out' and saw them texting. Went through his phone while he was downstairs and sure enough, they were reminiscing about it. Laughing and sending winks." She scoffs. "So I stole a bunch of his brother's beer and dipped without a word. It makes me sick, Jill."
Discomfort radiates off Carson. Mandy is his ex. They didn't date for long, maybe six months or something, but it was the most serious relationship Carson ever had. As far as I know, all of his others have been fuckbuddy arrangements that end in drama or one-night stands. But he even had his profile picture on Facebook set to him and Mandy kissing for a whole two months.
"Wait," Carson says, his eyebrows tugging together, "which party?"
"The end of the year pool party, obviously." Val clicks her tongue. "Don't you remember when they were all over each other?"
His nostril twitches. "Yep. Cool. That's when I was still dating her. She told me they never did anything."
"Yeah, he told me the same thing. They fucked in the pool house. And guess what? I had sex with him that night. How disgusting is that? He didn't even shower!" She punches her leg. "I'm telling you, Jill, I'm gonna kill this guy."
We all go quiet. Val breathes heavy through her nose, and Carson taps his leg so hard the vehicle rattles. Now I feel like the one who shouldn't be here.
"I'm sorry, Val," I say and glance at Carson. He bites his thumbnail and chips it with his teeth—intentionally or not, I can't tell. When I touch his leg, he looks at me. "I'm sorry to you too, Blue. That sucks."
"Thanks." He turns away. "I never really trusted Mandy anyway. I'm more pissed at Jacobi than anything. Me and Mandy broke up not long after the party, but Jacobi's been acting like we're bros. Fuck him."
Val lightly punches Carson's shoulder. "You gonna kick his ass for me?"
He sits on it. "No. I can't afford to get arrested."
"Yeah. That'd be too easy anyway."
I sigh and run my fingers through my hair. "Well what should we do?"
"I don't know." Val sinks into the seat. Black-tinted streams dry on her cheeks, but she wipes them with her sleeve. "I can't believe I was ever dumb enough to like that guy. Let alone love him."
What would cheer Val up? More drinking, probably, but we have school in the morning and I have to pick up Nolan at seven-thirty. Nolan. Thinking about him reminds me of what he said earlier, and that horrible feeling of anxiety resurfaces. I don't want to be overbearing. I want to be fun. And I totally want Val to forget that asshole once and for all.
The rain has stopped, and the clouds open to reveal the moon. I smooth my hands along the worn polyurethane of the steering wheel.
"When I was a kid," I say with a smile, "before Mom bought Dee's, she used to drive this car around all the time. When things got really rough for her, sometimes she'd just go out to the lake, the farthest point away from civilization as she could get, and just yell or talk or cry or let it all out. She took me there once after my dad left. We both screamed into the sky. It was... purifying."
It was the first night Mom and I had laughed together since Dad disappeared, and the moon was just like how it is tonight: full and glowing a rusty-orange, a sign of the seasons changing. A sign of a new beginning.
I throw my elbow over the back of the seat and meet Val's stare. "Let's go there."
"Huh?" She sniffles. "I don't care about being late, but don't you have to be up early?"
"Yeah, but forget it. I don't care."
Val's lips quirk into a grin. "Hell yeah, Jill. That sounds awesome. But don't get pissed at me if I end up trashed on the ride home."
I laugh. "As long as you don't hurl on my seats."
"No promises."
Excitement pops and crackles like fireworks in my veins. Okay, this isn't that rebellious, but it's been so long since I've let go. Since I've not cared about staying up until three or four or five a.m. Since I've had real fun.
Carson's still biting his thumb, so I poke him with my elbow. "Want to come with?"
"You sure?"
"Yes!" Val shouts. "Come with us, Blue."
"Okay. Let's do it."
Smiling ear-to-ear, I flick on the radio and drive. We listen to Hull's rock station in silence as we drive through town and into the dark and desolate countryside, past fields of baled hay and horses grazing, down the bumpy dirt road that leads to the lakeside. And it feels right. Like the three of us are meant to be together.
***
When my feet sink into the stones of the beach, I stretch and walk toward the water. We're twenty minutes from Hull, but it's so quaint and quiet out here, only touched by the cottages built throughout the forest. The tide grazes the toes of my shoes and foams with the smell of earth and lake. It looks like it'd lead straight to the moon. If it wasn't for the lingering feeling of rain in the air, I'd think it never stormed at all.
Val pops a tab off a beer bottle. She tosses one at Carson then hands another to me.
"Nah," I say. "Not when I have to drive."
"Suit yourself." Val chugs half her drink in one go. "Well, here we are. It's beautiful, but I'm not yelling at the sky like some sort of crazy person."
I laugh and shake my head. "Hey, you don't have to. That's just what me and my mom did. If that makes us crazy people, so be it."
Val finishes her beer and cracks another. I want to tell her to slow down, but I know better than to mom her. Val isn't like Colleen; she can handle herself.
"You gonna confront that cheerleading bitch, Blue?" Val asks Carson, who sits on a log and tunes his guitar.
"Don't see what good it'd do. We haven't even talked in months."
"You don't want to stand up for yourself?" I ask.
"There's a lot I wanna say," Carson says, setting his guitar aside, "but I don't know if it's worth the stress."
The sound of waves crashes all around us. I hug myself as a chilly wind cuts through my hoodie, and Carson picks up a rock. After cleaning it with his fingers, he gets up and hands it to me, and our eyes briefly lock before I accept it. It's black with speckles of white, but when I turn it into the moonlight, it shines opalescent shades of pink, purple, and blue. Like a little galaxy. My cheeks warm.
"It's pretty." I tuck it in my pocket. "Thanks."
"Thought you might like that one," he says.
I laugh and brush my hair behind my ear. "You can be a sweetheart sometimes, you know that?"
"'Cause I gave you a rock?"
"Yes. Because you gave me a rock."
Val grumbles and slurs, "Wow, I didn't realize I was third-wheeling. I'll leave you two lovebirds to it then." She stumbles down the beach, but I jog after her.
"Val, wait! Don't go, come on."
"It's cool, I'm kidding, I'm kidding." She holds her bottle up, but keeps walking. "I need to be alone for a sec anyway."
Val disappears down to the beach. Lovebirds. I'm going to kill her for that comment.
It's dark out, so hopefully Carson can't tell my face is on fire. I try to act natural as I sit on the beach and lean my hands back, digging them into the cold, damp stones. Carson joins me moments later and sips his beer. The calm whoosh of the waves licking the shore syncs with my breathing, the beat of my heart. The natural rhythm of the universe. I almost want to shut my eyes and fall asleep.
"Hey, check it out." Carson points toward the lake. "You can see Mars's reflection on the water."
I follow his finger. Right below a sanguine dot in the sky, a line of red glimmers down the water like it's trying to reach out and touch us. The sight takes my breath away.
"I didn't know we were close enough to Mars to catch its light," I say.
"It's closer to Earth now than it normally is. But yeah. Sometimes, when the sky's super clear, you can see it."
He picks up another rock and cleans it off, eyes half-lidded and full of dejection. My heart hurts for him. I can tell he's upset, but guys like Carson always hide their emotions, afraid to show anything but anger, aggression, or a controlled happiness. Carson isn't the type to cry. He must, though. When no one's around.
"Really, though," I say, "are you upset about Mandy?"
"I don't know. It doesn't feel great."
"She's the only girl you've ever really dated, isn't she?"
"Yeah. After her, I just wasn't interested in starting a legit relationship."
"What about Clarissa?"
"What about her? We're just hanging out."
"Oh. But it seems like you're always with someone."
"I know." He skips a stone over the water. It hops three times. "Just don't like being alone, I guess."
Once again, I'm having a too-intimate conversation with this guy. But somehow, it feels right. "I don't really like to be alone, either," I tell him. "I mean, I'm used to it by now, but you know..." I trail off, thinking about how sometimes when it's dark and my mind isn't cluttered with worry for my family or distant dreams of my future as a working singer in some big city, I do wonder what it'd be like to have a boyfriend. To be kissed and held by someone.
"So why aren't you ever with someone?" he asks. "You've been asked out. You could have a relationship no problem."
"I don't know. It doesn't matter."
The corner of his lip twitches. "Come on, don't play that game. You asked me something, now I'm asking you."
"Because..." I look up, defeated. I have to give him something. "I don't know. I guess when I picture the life I've always wanted in the city, a boy's never really been a part of that. And I know not all guys are the same, but from my experience, they like to leave. My dad left my mom, my uncle left my aunt, and... this one asshole left me."
He raises his eyebrows. "Wait, someone left you?"
I shrug and play with a rock. "It's not like I'm a total virgin, Blue."
"Now you've gotta tell me."
My walls shoot up. Only Val knows about this, and I was planning on keeping it that way, but... something about Carson is so easy to talk to. Like I could say anything and he'd never judge me. Like this beach belongs to us; whatever we share here will never leave. The promise is as permanent as the stones on the shore.
"Fine, I'll tell you," I say. "But before you ask, no, you don't know him. He was from summer camp." I'm trying to downplay it, but my throat constricts. "I was just a kid. I mean, I was thirteen, and he was... older. Seventeen."
"Uh. Bit of an age gap there."
"You think? I was so stupid! I actually fell for him. He used me, obviously. He convinced me he liked me and that we'd be together after the summer, but after he got me to sleep with him, he blew me off."
"Ouch. That must've sucked."
I throw a rock. "Yep, I learned my lesson young. I won't be making that mistake again."
Carson's quiet for a moment. "Like you said... not everyone would be like that." When I don't reply, he adds, "Sorry. I shouldn't've asked."
"It's okay." I smile. "If I didn't want you to know, I wouldn't have told you."
Silence overtakes us, and awkwardness creeps in. I look down the beach for Val, but her silhouette is far away. I guess there's a lot I've wondered about Carson lately. If we're having a heart-to-heart, now might be the best time for me to ask: "You still hanging out with Shae?"
"Not really. He only ever wants to get stoned."
"Yeah, Shae's always been like that." But so have you, Blue. Until recently.
"I'm no better than he is," Carson says.
"That's not true. You're trying, and that's more than he can say."
"That doesn't make me better. Being clean sucks. I hate it."
"Why?"
Silence. Carson skips another stone.
"I want to understand it," I mumble. "I never got why my dad chose that shit over his own girlfriend and kid, you know? He always picked 'the boys' over us. Always. And I could never understand why. My mom just said I would get it when I'm older. But I'm older now and I still don't know why I wasn't enough for him and—" My voice breaks. I dab my eyes with the sleeve of my powder blue hoodie. "Sorry, wow. I can't believe I'm actually getting emotional."
Carson exhales through his nose and faces the water. "Look, I can only speak for myself. But if your dad was hardcore into drugs, whether you were good enough or not—it had nothing to do with it. It's not about that, Jill."
"Then explain it to me? Please? The only drug I've ever tried is pot, and all it did was make me lazy and giggly. It definitely didn't make me act like my dad did."
"Yeah, pot's different." His eyes dance across the sky, like he's searching for the right words, before they land on me. "Don't you ever wish you could forget everything for a while? Imagine no fear. No responsibility."
I try to picture it. A life where I'm not worried sick about Mom or Nolan or Colleen. A life where I don't care about what happens at Dee's and I'm able to just fuck off for days at a time like Dad did.
"I can't," I say. "My responsibilities might suck sometimes, but they're part of what make me who I am."
"Not everyone's like you. Not everyone has that... drive. Truth is, everything's just better when I'm stoned. When I'm sober I'm anxious and tired and sad all at once—either that or I feel nothing at all, which is almost worse. But when I'm stoned, I'm pretty much invincible. Then the comedown is one of the worst experiences in life but I always get through it knowing I'll be able to get fucked up again soon. Then my sober times are a hundred times worse, and I do more to chase that feeling of being on top of the world again, and it just keeps... going on and on and on. Sometimes, I swear I can't feel anything unless I'm high."
I don't know what to say to that, so I hold onto my feet and ponder what it'd be like to chase an artificial happiness. After a lengthy silence, I ask, "Then why'd you decide to quit this time?"
"My uncle OD'd and died last month."
"Oh, I'm so sorry, Blue..."
"Don't be. I barely knew him. Wasn't even invited to his funeral. But it was just a reminder, you know? It was what I needed. Life's too damn short."
That makes me smile. "Good for you."
Wanting to lighten the mood, I go grab his guitar and bring it back over. I hold it out to him by the neck, and Carson blinks at it.
"Come on, play me a song," I urge.
He smiles—all dimples and eyes crinkled—and shakes his head. "How about you play me one?"
"No, you hear me sing at work all the time. I want to hear you."
Breathing out an, "Okay then," Carson takes it. He sits cross-legged and positions the guitar on his lap. I sit across to him and watch like he's giving me my own private concert. I've heard Carson sing at parties before, but never one-on-one. He's good, though. I remember that much.
There's an elated twinge in my chest as his fingers slap across the strings. The chord erupts through the night. Once he tunes it a little more, he adjusts the capo and plays the intro to The Man Who Sold the World. In Nirvana's style, not the original by David Bowie. Then he starts singing in a Kurt Cobain drawl, and the grittiness of his voice is like the crackling of a flame; all-consuming and destructively beautiful. I can't look away. The stars above us fade; the forest disappears; the sound of the water ebbs.
It isn't until Carson finishes the song that I realize my skin is tingling.
"That was incredible," I tell him, and I swear he blushes.
He opens his mouth to respond when Val's voice sounds in the distance. She shouts at the sky as loud as she can, then yells something like, "Fuck you, Jacobi!"
Carson and I laugh before we chase after her.