27
Smells Like Teen Spirit
==========MARY==========
Ashley gave me a Coors Light from some guy she had to hit on to obtain. I really, truly, did appreciate her soliciting her girly charms for a warm can of beer. The burn of tobacco on my tongue made the warm beer more enjoyable with every sip.
Ashley and Bass Player, who I had since remembered was named Cody, ran off to the woods to hookup.
So, sitting alone like a loser, a few drunk girls came up to me telling me how pretty they'd always thought I was, and asked if I'd take selfies and shots with them. When one of them (I didn't have a clue who any of them were) told me that, "This shit will seriously get you so fucked up," and spun the bottle, presenting the label for me to read—Birthday Cake Vodka—the stupid thought of stupid Danny, and how he was probably celebrating his birthday at home alone with his mom, entered my mind.
I gladly accepted the offer. So, like bitches, we snapped a few selfies, tongues out, duck lips, and all, and then downed that shit. I mean, free alcohol is free alcohol, right? Plus, I needed to forget him. Birthday Cake Vodka tasted as terrible as it sounds, inarguably worse than the warm Coors, but needless to say, after a few shots of that shit, I was drunk.
After parting from my new squad of girlfriends, Simon Jenkins, my ninth-grade ex, spotted me and flagged me over to him. He was ripping bong with a group of people over at a picnic table. We met in a weird one-arm-around-me-and-one-arm-holding-the-bong hug. He offered me a hit (I declined), but then, after realizing the thought had crossed my mind to call a cab and go to Danny's to say happy birthday or something gay, I accepted. My mind cleared out into a blissful smoky haven, and I started laughing my head off.
"That's some cream shit, eh?" Simon smirked, and then wrapped his arm around my legs and started rubbing my thigh. Putting my hands on him, trying to push myself away, I made sure to charm a cigarette out of his front pocket before I left.
I walked back to my picnic table and sat by myself. Holding the cigarette that I whored my upper thigh out to get, I patted down my pockets and checked my purse for a lighter. Remembering that, because of Stupid Danny (in my completely blitzed state of mind, Stupid Danny was all I would refer to him as), I didn't smoke. Telling myself that Stupid Danny had ruined my life, I got up to search for Ashley to use her lighter. Anyone that I saw holding an orange burning ember in front of their face could've sufficed, but I was convinced only Ashley had a lighter. I was sure that Cody came fast anyways.
Wandering, getting dizzy just looking through the crowd, I decided that I wasn't high enough. So, when I smelled the dank aroma of marijuana, I completely forgot about needing Ashley. The source of the scent was easy to find thanks to the nearby circle of guys all passing a joint.
Hmm, that's funny, I thought, That guy with his 2004 styled baggy shorts and Devils jersey looks a lot like Tanner.
And little to my surprise, and much to my disappointment, it was Tanner. Standing loyally by his side were Fat Jordan and Derbs, but there was a chick wrapped under Tanner's arm that I didn't recognize. My first reaction was to feel really sorry for her; she must have had a few screws missing to be with that guy. Did people feel that way about me when I was with him? Probably.
No matter how bad my itch for more weed was, no weed from Tanner was worth it. Telling myself that I was invisible, I avoided being recognized at all costs. I mean, the last time I'd seen the fucker I spat in his face.
As I spun in the opposite direction, back to my solo picnic table, deciding that another lighter would do just fine, I heard Fat Jordan grumble behind me. "Yo, man, is that Mary?"
The long wet grass slid across my ankles as I skidded, freezing into a standstill. In a sober state of mind, I would have just kept walking, but drunk and high Mary thought that if she froze they wouldn't notice her. But it was too late. I heard Tanner and Fat Jordan mumble something, and then Tanner said:
"Where's your queer boyfriend?"
Now, I get it. One would think that in the presence of a new girlfriend (side-hoe, hookup, whatever), you would leave your ex alone. Especially if the new hoe was a major downgrade. Like, bitches be crazy, right? You'd think she'd start punching his chest when he even dared to look at me.
"Huh, Mary?" Tanner said, and then his voice took on a sudden threatening tone. "I've been meaning to fuck that kid up."
All three of them, much taller than me, stared down as though I were the one they were about to beat up. Derbs, the only true tough one in the Crew, standing next to Tanner like a pillar, flexed his long arms locked at the elbows.
The Crew had been a nuisance in my life since the tenth grade. Always causing more shit than they were worth, always too friendly to make enemies with anyone they could. Derbie picking fights with kids from different high schools (for no reason), resulting in a season of someone getting hurt, someone's windows getting smashed, so the Impala getting keyed. One battle after another. From fifteen to nineteen, and easy to bet that well into and after their twenties, these guys would not change.
"I told you, Tanner, not to talk to me."
"I don't want to talk to your retarded ass. I just have a big wad of spit for your face."
"And I'll call the police."
"How was sleeping with some rich kid for money?" Tanner said, making the Crew laugh. In his high, slimy voice, Fat Jordan mumbled, "The rich bitch."
Tanner then continued, "You thought you were all top shit, huh? Now where is he? He got what he wanted and dumped your slutty ass? Serves you right for being a gold-digging whore."
In the younger days of one born with female genitalia, promiscuous accusations may be one of the most shocking and upsetting things you can hear. Then, you grow up and realize that men are actually just too dumb to think of anything else to say.
Tanner then abruptly broke away from the Crew and stomped up right in front of me. I then lunged out to the left, trying to get away, but he bolted to stand in my way, not allowing it. Every time I dashed to break away he continued to block my path, all the while reprehending me.
"Remember, Mary, no matter what you do in life, you're trash. Worthless trash, and you'll always be trash, like your fucked up family. I can't tell you how happy I am for getting the fuck away from your life. Go admit yourself and your dad to the same mental ward, you lunatic."
My neck muscles stiffened as I looked up and stared him right in the face. An overwhelming strength that could only have come from a determined drunk mind weighed any tears down. Tanner's face flickered with a hint of weakness. Maybe even he realized that any and all emotional power he'd once held over me was gone. His habit of provoking me via my family was getting old. He wasn't deserving of my spit in his face. I would never enable him to spit back at me, no matter how badly he wanted to.
Staring him deep in the eyes, giving him nothing; not a parcel of any emotion other than deep indifference, I lifted my hand up from my waist, softly landed my fingers on his chest, and then with a gentle force, pushed him aside. Compliantly stepping back, Tanner moved out of my way, and I walked forward. A self-satisfying glory pumped through me. No one, nothing, would ever break me again. It felt good knowing that somewhere along the way I had matured; I was stronger than before.
But then while marching away, from behind me, I heard his new girlfriend sneer.
"Mary?"
I spun around. Tanner had fallen back next to Fat Jordan and Derbs, and she had walked towards me, taking it into her hands now to confront me.
"Nice eye, bitch."
Now, this hoe was hardly a threat, but that took things too far. My cool drunken confidence began to wane, stifled by a hot rising fury inside of me. I had thought my eye was now unnoticeable. How could she even tell something was wrong with my eye? What was still wrong with my eye? On the edge of either crying or going crazy, I began to tremble with a rising of hysteria. Ready to explode.
If there was any benefit of having a father who terribly insulted me from time to time, it was that I had adopted a cruel ability to scope out the hidden insecurities of just about anyone, and then shamelessly bludgeon them to tears with their ugly truth.
"You're not gonna say anything, bitch?" she said with her face cocked, prepared to counter my insulting response.
A smile turned my lips, amused with my savagery, but then my wobbling drunk eyes steadied the image of this girl, and I saw her for more than her physical misfortunes, and saw her for who she was. Another broken girl with a broken life.
With the pudge of her mid-drift hanging out of her unflattering T-shirt, and the grease in her thin, highlighted purple hair gleaming, it was clear that she was an uncanny basketcase.
And judging by her crooked nose and the scar cutting through her eyebrow, she looked as though she was no stranger to abuse.
So it made me sick with myself that her beaten-looking face was the source of humiliation I wanted to inflict upon her. That was hell, and I refused to use the fact that she had been on the receiving end of a brute hand against her.
Deciding that I would not give her the satisfaction of making any comeback at all, I walked away. Name-calling and taunting erupted behind me. Derbs might have even said, "Go kill yourself."
I didn't give them the satisfaction of turning back around.
Seconds later, I spotted Ashley at last. When she saw me walking towards her, she waved a finger up to Cody as if to say one second, and then stumbled a bit on her way toward me.
"Mary, what just happened with Tanner?"
"Nothing," I said, suppressing the muck of emotion in my gut. Waiting for the vodka to drown it out.
"You know, Tanner really wants to get back with you. Cody was telling me that you're all he talks about."
"That's great."
Ashley didn't seem recognize my indifference—or disgust, for that matter.
"Yeah, everyone was wondering where've you been all summer?"
Stupid Danny and his stupid ugly face came back to me as I nodded. "Just working a lot. Really. Nothing special."
"That's good Mary..." I could hear in her voice that her thoughts were really not all that concerned with where I'd been. "Okay, I've got to tell you something, but you have to promise you won't tell anyone."
Ashley usually had something she had to tell me that I couldn't tell anyone. This was really nothing new.
"Yeah, sure. What's up, Ash?"
I assumed she'd cheated on Cody. Cheating on boyfriends was also nothing new for Ashley. She looked left then right, before leaning in close to me. "I'm three weeks late."
The meaning and impact of the sentence had taken a three solid seconds before I registered what it meant.
"Oh my God... do you think you're—"
"I don't know." She looked down to the ground. Somewhere in the close distance some guys started chanting, "Drink! Drink! Drink!"
Ashley managed to say, "Just—" before her voice trembled and then took on an irritating whine. "Just I've been so busy and tight on money and, like, I don't even know why I said anything. It's probably nothing." She reached for a cigarette and lit it. "So, yeah, just forget I said anything."
I asked to borrow the lighter and Ashley handed it over. Just as I lit the cigarette, ready to discuss the dilemma further, someone shouted her name. She turned to me, saying, "Can you hold this for me?" Pressing a pint of vodka into my hands. "I'll be right back." And ran off.
===========DANNY==========
My spot-on prediction came true, unfortunately; the van turned down the side street that dipped into the Winston Woods Park. Undoubtedly, Mary was going to attend some variation of a Bush Party. I cringed at the idea.
To double make sure that I wasn't just following Mary and a group of strangers into the woods, I checked my newsfeed. All my suspicions were verified:
@_____TotsMichael
gonna get fucking bucked tn! Everyone cum to winnys wood
@itssSsarah_xx
aha @ _____TotsMichael ur such an idiot #cum
I parked my Mustang in the farthest, most secluded corner of the parking lot, mainly to separate myself from the potential misfortune of having some drunk jackass piss on the soft top. Sitting in my car with the engine off, an old familiar type of social anxiety kept me from letting go of my tight grip on the wheel. What did I even hope to see? Getting out of the car was sending my heart on a suicide mission. Finally, my restless curiosity got the better of me, and when I finally wandered out of the car, I was shocked to see that beyond the front gates of the park, it was pitch black.
Isn't it too early in the night for the swimming pool lights to be off?
Further down the mud and gravel lot, loitering by the green sign with Winston Woods mounted on in gold lettering, I saw some kids I recognized from high school doing God only knows what. Apparently, anything that could be associated with clear thinking did not have a parking spot that night; rationality kept on rolling down the highway because I decided to ask these bums, smoking or snorting or something, how to get to the bush party.
I had never before attended a Winston Woods bush party, believe it or not. Those frolics in the woods late at night, fueled by the stimulation of drugs and alcohol, was the epicenter of fun for the majority of kids that went to high school in Gilmore Park—other than the action at the McDonald's, of course.
So, I asked those bums how to get to the party, and none of them were intellectually adequate enough to give me a solid answer.
"You wanna go to your vagina."
"Then take a left at the dog park, and then go back right, and then go back left, and then go back right and then up the butt. Take the stairs."
The whole squadron of comedians laughed. Ah, boys. Good chuckles we had once shared, but your stupidity just made me hate you all that much more. I might be able to appreciate a good roast or some clever trolling, but that didn't make any sense.
So I nodded, thanking them, and followed the noise and the smell of campfire into the forest. From the path I chose to follow, I got a good solid view of the pool. The tall fence had been taken down, and a mountain of dirt filled the base of what was once my chlorine-steeped oasis. They were digging the pool out. Later I learned that the city could no longer afford to run it.
The path that the pioneers of woodland partying before me had carved was impossibly rigid and nonsensical; I almost had my eyes clawed out by a vicious low-hanging branch, and stubbed my toes more than once on an unsuspected burst of root.
Jared Piotrowski and Danielle Hartmann, the high school sweethearts, happened to be roving through the same path and let me tag along on their trek through the dense shrubbery.
Jared and Danielle first started inboxing each other in seventh grade and started dating in eighth. They attended every formal, junior prom, and senior prom together. It was nauseating.
Jared Piotrowski and I talked a bit as we walked; he and Danielle were both enrolled at Gilmore Park Community College. He was taking sports management, Danielle nursing. At last, we made it to the core of the party, said Bye, and parted ways.
I found myself standing in a small outlet in the forest, the gap in the trees just wide enough to host a bunch of drunks.
The cacophony of a hundred voices completely drowned out the crackling of the trashcan-raging fire in the center of the clearing, which had become the focal point for socializing. And other than the trashcan fire, the only other light came from the random bright flashes of cellphones, which almost always went accompanied with the high-pitched squealing of a girl as she recognized somebody she knew.
Come on, Becky, seeing Sarah isn't that exciting.
I waded through the dark clusters of people passing all around me. Every face either concealed by the night, or illuminated by the flickering orange flames, looking for Mary among them. Mindy Coleman meekly muttered, "Hey," when she turned around after my excited, but false, Mary recognition. It would've been easier if Mary had pink hair or something. A few feet away from me, a group began chanting as some jackass did a keg-stand or something else that apparently demanded the praise of united singsong like that.
Sauntering into clumps of people, intentionally goofy-footed to pass off my intrusions as drunkness, I kept my eyes open for Mary. Kids younger than me gave me looks that heavily implied, "Danny? That freak who wore band-tees and played guitar by himself outside the cafeteria? What's he doing here?"
With each step I lost some height. Over the summer I'd grown so tall.
Everyone was having fun. Everyone was drunk, if not stoned too. All I felt, though, was that I was being dragged back to a time I never wanted to go back to. Back to high school. Back to being all by myself. I had assumed the whole point of graduating was so I never had to see these stupid people ever again.
Cue the record scratch:
Wait... what? What am I even bothered about? I'm onstage—yeah—at the Troubadour at 9081 N Santa Monica Blvd in West Hollywood, California. Playing lead guitar for, the, um, the Electric Soul Revue, strumming a funk-inspired rift along the treble strings as the three-piece horn section lifts their instruments to shine in the stage-lights, responding to my music. Big Bobby Lewie suddenly steals the show to beat out a bongo-drum solo. The crowd goes wild.
Next, my bandmates, my friends, and I are out after having drinks, raving about how we killed the set. Some girls recognize me and say Hi. All three of them walk away with my number. The lights in the valley cascade up the hills and touch the night. Everyone is a dreamer. Everyone is an artist. Everyone came from a town full of losers. And even if you never hit the big-time stride, knowing, just knowing, that your night's unfolding on a street that a song has been written about, knowing that that bold, cut-out lettered sign—Hollywood—is peaking out somewhere, just obscured from your sight by the hills, means that you won. You won because you got out of your shitty small town called Gilmore Park or whatever place first came to your mind.
So what was I doing being bogged down and depressed by the lowbrow losers of New Jersey?
But wait! I thought. I have nothing to fear. I'm here, drunk, and I'm actually having a lot of fun. I smoked weed too, and I'm numb and out of my mind. I'm stumbling from one group to another, and everyone's really excited to see me.
Hey, Danny! Where have you been all summer, man?
I started spinning my head around on my neck, making myself dizzy, making myself so high. And—like I'd been doing my entire life—I found myself hiding my insecurity behind my imagination.
An incredibly hot blast of air made me look up. Wrapped up in my make-belief parade, I'd wandered a little too closely to the fire. Any closer and my face would've melted off. The underside of the branches glowed in the firelight and the bark of the trees took on an orange tone. My eyes followed the shadows striking intermittingly against the tree-trunks until they fell off permanently into the glade.
Deciding that this was probably a total lost cause, that Mary at any given moment might be off getting taken advantage of in the woods, or, in the act of unorchestrated timing, she had left and we'd missed each other, I took a seat at a vacant picnic table next to the motionless body of Mitch Jergens lying on the grass.
I then watched as some guy I didn't recognize stumbled out of his huddle, spin the cap off a bottle, chug the whole thing, and then, without any hesitation, without any thoughts in his mind, whip the empty bottle into the thick of the woods.
And that was it for me.
What the hell am I doing?
I flat-palmed a mosquito that'd begun making love to my arm. I flicked the little bugger's corpse off of me and decided to leave the party.
This isn't my life, my world, anymore. I have California to go to. California. Mom. Oh shit. Mom! What was I thinking? What have I done? Was I throwing my future away for some girl who wants this to be her life? I offered Mary California. She didn't want to go, Danny. Accept that. Okay? She doesn't want what you want. Accept that and move on. But, No. I love Mary. And my house. Can't we keep the house? Can't we move, but keep the house? Come back and visit when we need to? Need to.
Walking away from the center of the party, with my head down between my hands, my wrists crushing the sides of my scalp, I looked up for a second to watch where I was going and saw Mary. Standing by herself.
"Mary!" I unthinkingly hollered her name and then staggered, about to run, but then stopped myself.
Mary looked over at me.
Her eyes then widened in that way they did when they pushed back the night. "Danny!" she cried and then ran to meet me. Throwing her arms around me Mary gushed, "Oh my God! You're here! You're here! I'm so happy that you're here! Happy birthday!"
A startled shock rang through my body. In the second Mary hugged me, I was mistrusting. If I touched her back, the spell would break. But then I felt the softness of her cheek against my neck, and breathed in the smell of her Beach Baby perfume. Irritation over what else she smelled like quickly came and went. Gentle acceptance besieged me. I was too happy to be holding her again. My hands fell uncertainly against her back, trying to remember how to hold her right.
"I've missed you," she whispered, the wetness of her lips moved on my ears.
My palm ran up across her shoulders, rolling over the straps of her tanktop, and then found a resting place on the back of her neck. I closed my eyes, and the world shut out. In a realm absent of sight, we were alone. A white aura blanketed us. Things were finally back to the way they ought to be, her and me. That was the last time, for a very long time to come, that the world felt right.
I peeked my eyes open and looked at the triangles of my elbows pointing out. The lightness of Mary's body fell suddenly heavy, requiring an energy I didn't have to hold her up. From over by the black mass of bodies, the flames of the trashcan-fire licked up high over the brim as the douche in the orange tanktop splashed kerosene in. That's right. She came with him. The waves of revelations pushed our bodies apart. We stared at each other. Not in a contest, no. Trying to figure out what had changed.
Not a word. Not a gesture. Nothing. Nothing but her lips bending to a frown, the quivering before crying.
Mary then reached into her purse and pulled out a bottle of vodka, taking a long, guzzling swig. And then ripping the bottle from her mouth, she pursed her wet lips, wincing as the taste barreled through her. A sudden paranoia crept over me, Does she only care I'm here because she's drunk?
I asked her, "How much have you drank?"
"I duntno?" she said irritably. "What do you care?"
"I am asking because I care?"
Then in a gesture of pure spite, Mary tipped the bottom of the bottle skyward again and chugged back an even larger amount. "Oh fuck," she groaned, wrapping her hands around her waist. I lunged back as her face twisted in a sour expression fighting back the impulse to vomit. She recovered a second later, and then looked up at me. "Stop judging the way I live my life. You've always judged me. You tried to change me so much, Danny."
"I never tried to change shit? Live however you want to."
"You always take shit so seriously. If I want to drink and have a cigarette now and then, it's not a big fucking deal. Stop acting like you're so perfect." Mary chugged back even more of the bottle.
"I'm not acting like—what? You're being an idiot. You know what—fine. Do whatever you want. To me, this isn't even you. You were different with me."
I had only spun around and took half a step away before Mary started again.
"See! You fucking liar, you don't care about me. You never cared about me. You fucking hurt me!"
"Jesus Christ, Mary! What the hell do you want me to say? If all the time with me you were secretly just wishing to drink and get fucking high and smoke cigarettes, that's fine with me! Okay? Sorry for wasting your summer."
"I'm not saying that's what I wanted."
"Then what the hell are you trying to say?"
"That you fucking put your hands on me! You almost hit me! Remember that? Stop acting so fucking righteous. Ever wonder why I never called you?"
"What? I never almost hit you? My God. I'm sorry for grabbing you, but, almost hit you? That's just bullshit."
But before Mary had a chance to reply, a sudden piercing scream cut off our argument.
"Max!" a girl cried. "Get the fuck away from me. We don't have anything."
Jolting my head towards the direction of the scream, I saw Max frantically scuttling around the girl we'd stolen the street sign for. Roxanne.
"But I got that street sign for you! Like you wanted!"
"Max!" I shouted. "Hey, Max!" I then looked at Mary. The tone of her eyes changed, as if understanding. Kicking back my feet, I dashed toward him, closing the gap between us. Hoping to distract Max before he caused a scene that to an onlooker would have certainly looked like sexual harassment.
Running, I yelled, "Let her go!" and grabbed him by the arm. His drawstring backpack swung around his body, hitting my thigh as I struggled to hold him back.
"You're a slut, Roxanne! A stupid slut!" he screamed, and then shoved his free fingers under my grip to wrench himself away.
Whipping my other hand around I trapped his arms at his sides. "Max! Calm the fuck down!" As I forcibly held Max from behind, Roxanne and I caught eyes; her expression was petrified, as if she were afraid of me too. I was swamped with embarrassment. Here we were, two losers who had grown up to be bigger losers, desperately pleading after uninterested girls at the same party.
"Get your fucking hands off me, Danny!" Max snapped, throwing his weight forward and breaking away. The six-pack of beer hooked in his fingers swung around. "What do you even care? You're with her." He jerked his head in Mary's direction. "Why would you care about anything else?" Spit shot from his lips as he continued to yell. "I was there for you for years and then she comes along, and that's enough to leave me homeless and move her in with you?"
"Move her in? How—what are you talking about?"
"Oh, don't fuck with me, Danny. You've got this big empty house all to yourself, and you're going to move in some fucking broad and not me, your brother?"
"Max, I don't know what the hell you're talking about."
"Shut the fuck up, Danny. You have the fucking nerve to use my shit in the beach house and leave your white fucking cum stains everywhere, and can't even help me out?"
Lowering my voice, I did my best to sound calm. "Max, don't start." Knowing he was out of his mind. We were a couple of outsiders dragging our drama into a party meant for everyone else, all of who still seemed to be having fun, oblivious to the rising feud between myself and the two people who mattered the most to me. Coming from Mary's direction, I felt a penetrating beam of tension. Knowing she was standing still, momentarily suspended from our argument. I worried that if the battle with Max dragged on too long, I would lose her.
"Why?" Max then shouted in my face, clearly having no intention of matching the tone I'd set. He staggered so close toward me that his forehead grazed mine.
Quickly stealing a glance at Mary, I said to Max, "Let's talk about this someplace else." And took a step back.
"Is it 'cause Mary's here?" He lurched back in my face. "She's gonna be moving in with you, so why does that matter? Can't she see you be a bitch?"
The circling of Max's torso seemed to wrap and bind my ability to think. The veins under his wrists thickened as his fists grew red.
Irritated by my lack of response, Max said, "Huh, Danny? Come on, do something about this."
And slapped my face, cutting my mouth on my teeth.
"Come on, Danny, care a little bit!" He then hit me again and again.
From the background, Mary came charging up, pushing her arms between us, "Max! Stop!"
Max then spun around and drove his hands into Mary's chest, screaming "SHUT UP SLUT!" as she splashed onto the ground.
The commotion from the rest of the party instantly died. Our outsider affair became public. We were fully clothed, yet naked under the stares of a hundred pairs of eyes; exposed to a thousand soundless judgments. Slowly, the crowd retreated further away. The air around us was infected.
Sliding back her arms to lean up on her elbows, Mary stared at me from the ground.
Right away I knew any redemption between us was dead; Max's hands may as well should've been mine. And aside from the death of our relationship, Mary certainly wasn't looking to be ostracized by her peers as one of us outsiders. But she would recover.
Max, on the other hand, looked mortified. With his jaw dropped open, it was easy for me to see what was racing through his mind. Throughout high school, he'd made vain clutches at popularity in the hopes of being widely accepted. Though, for whatever reason, be it the details of his home life that had leaked out, or the transparency of his degraded, second-hand clothes, it never happened. He never got the girls he liked, never properly belonged to any group of friends, or went to anyone's house without their parents wondering where he came from. So, all in that silent second, that had lasted only a heartbeat before murmurs arose, I could see in Max's face that he believed he'd lost it all.
Dropping the case of beer Max ran into the forest. I screamed after him. But it was Mary who yelled, "Danny! Go!"
Flinching, then following her advice, I sprinted off into the thick of the forest after Max. I tore through the trees after him and ran full-on into the ravine that opened beneath me like a chasm into the underworld.
The night transformed the forest into an unforgiving, thorn-ridden slaughterhouse. Neither of us were ever the athletic type, but I was gaining ground. Focusing my attention on how Max maneuvered through the shapeless woods, I didn't notice the massive root about to collide with my foot.
Tumbling towards the ground, I flung my forearms before my face and scraped through the undergrowth and got plastered in mud. The muck overflowed between my fingers as I forced the ground back, then getting up on my feet, regained my stride. Max wasn't much further ahead.
Immediately almost falling again, I saved myself by latching and ripping my hands on the thorny stems of the thicket. Then in my bouncing, jagged sight, I watched Max brutally wipeout and heard the terrible crack of the fallen branches snapping beneath his weight. He howled in great pain and then got up and kept running.
I could only barely see the outline of the trees and thorn bushes ahead before I dashed between them. Having to decide in split-seconds how to wrap myself around the limbs that twisted from the dark earth. My chest burned. My breaths drew in shallower. But I couldn't stop because Max wasn't slowing down.
We came upon another decline of the ravine. Ahead, I watched Max plummet onto the leaf-shrouded floor and slide down the slope, caking his jeans in mud. I shimmied my steps, fighting to keep my balance, but then the broad side of my foot rolled beneath me on a plot of mud. I cried in pain. Max got up after sliding down the hill on his butt, and charged on. And so I kept on running after him, terrified for my ankle with every step.
The ravine ended abruptly in a deep ditch with a running stream that I watched Max leap. Save his fall by latching onto a thin tree. And then launch himself upwards to begin climbing the opposite slope. Following the same strategy, I leaped over the ditch and started the climb.
Back on the flat ground, the forest gave way to a chalky surface housing a railway bed of gray and white stones.
Then, still running strong ahead, Max jammed his foot into a half-hollowed block of wood. From out of his bag a black object struck through the air as he fell face first. Landing a few feet in front of his body skidding across the rocks.
Mid-sprint, I slid to a sudden stop. My breath came out in bursts. Max pushed himself up and jumped onto the tracks to nab the black object that I, in one split-second saw, and determined to be a gun.
"Max!" I wheezed, horror dawning on me. "What's that?"
He shoved the gun back into his bag. "I hate you, Danny," he said. His forearms chalky and bleeding.
"Why do you have a gun?" I yelled. I could have collapsed. I didn't know the thumping in my head from the grumble of the approaching train. "MAX! Why do you have a gun?"
First, he twitched, and it seemed as if he was going to refuse to answer, but then, unpredictably, he snapped.
"You have everything so perfect!" He screamed, dropping his posture on the outburst. "You have—" he stomped his foot "—No idea what I'm going through!"
"Everyone has shit they have to go through."
"What could you possibly have to go through that's so bad?" Max shouted.
"Stop."
"Huh?" He lunged towards me. "Tell me, Danny!" He shoved me. I staggered backwards.
"I wasn't born with a future," he said, shoving me again. "I'm not going to school—" He pushed me once more. "I have no job—no money!" Then wounding his arms up, Max screamed, "No family!" as he drove his hands into me with the entire weight of his body. My legs kicked in the fight against gravity, but then I dropped my foot on a sharp stone and fell back. I threw my arms behind me to take the impact of the landing.
"Do you have any idea what it's like not having a family?"
"DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT IT'S LIKE LOSING ONE?"
Only my faint echo answered my words. Soon, everything was silent, except for the muted rumble of the forthcoming train. "Okay, man?" I said, cutting the stillness. "I'm trying. I'm really fucking trying."
The stones beneath our feet started shivering.
"Then how do you always have your shit together?" Max's aggression retreated to a desperate inquisition. The stones shook like moments before an earthquake.
"Because," I began, "I was sad and lonely, for way too long." I dropped my arms. "And crying doesn't change a thing."
The lights from the train began washing Max out. We were too close to the tracks.
"Move," I said, and took a step aside, assuming he would follow my lead. Instead, he stepped inside of the track, straddling the rail.
"No," he answered.
"Max, you're going to get fucking hit. Max! Move!"
He smirked.
"MAX! MOVE!"
I couldn't see anything but the blackness of his pupils. The train blasted its horn in a haunting clamorous mourn as it roared towards us. Max closed his eyes.
In just one second, the world perished into a white washing light and a boy standing on the tracks and the scream of a train and the blink of an eye between life and death. Without thinking, I dashed forward and tackled him to the ground, away from the tracks.
A jagged stone pierced my leg as we rolled atop the railway bed. And before coming to a stop, I had to throw my elbow out of the way of Max's stomach, crashing it against the ground with an impact that shattered through my arm.
Fighting through the jackhammering in my elbow, I kept Max pinned down to the rocks. The force of the charging train racked the air. I cowered my head into my chest in fear. Not believing that those tracks could contain such vehemence.
A moment later, the train passed, leaving a trail of absence behind. The crickets were loud again.
I crawled backward off of Max. I reached for where I was certain the stone had cut through my jeans. No blood, thankfully. Back on my feet, I watched Max lift himself up. Coming to sit on his knees, he rested his hands on his thighs, and then spread his bloodied and mottled forearms apart.
With his head hung, Max said, "God damn. I wish I could've pushed you into that train, Danny."
Through a heavy breath, I asked, "Would've that made everything better?" He didn't respond. "Tell me, Max," I gasped. "Would have that made everything better?
Still no response.
"Yeah? Max? Yeah? When I'm the one trying to fucking help you? Just push me into a fucking train? Would've that made you happy?" I continued lashing out. "I'm sick of always trying to fucking help you through your shit! I was gonna stay behind and not go to California for you! But figure your own shit out for now on! Alright, Max? Then that way you won't have to blame me anymore! Okay, Max? C'mon answer me. Okay, Max? OKAY MAX?"
He stood up.
"SHUT UP! Shut up! Shut up! SHUT UP!" he yelled, scraping the top of his lungs, sobering my hot temper cold.
Then like a child in a tantrum, Max yanked off his shoe and threw it. Making a thud upon hitting the ground. Saliva slung out from the sides of his mouth as he turned and then screamed into the black.
After, he collapsed to the ground, landing on his knees. The tears streaming from his eyes cut through the dried mud on his face.
I stood there and stared at the once charismatic and energetic kid I'd grown up with, and felt sunk as I looked piteously upon the broken, deeply troubled, and lost orphan I now saw before me. I walked in the direction of Max's shoe, trying to figure out what was worse: having a widowed parent, an abusive parent, or no parents at all. I saw the shoe in the grass. Knelt down to pick it up. And then walked back towards him.
"Come on," I said, crouching down beside him, holding my hand out. "The ground's cold. Come on."