That Feeling - 16. Revelations

Living with Adam again basically sucks and not only because of the suffocating feeling of his presence, like a strange ghost floating through the halls, saying things and laughing and blasting yet another music from is room. Sometimes, in the early evening the sounds of our musics mingle - the harsh sounds of Cassie's rock, the incessant beat of Adam's rap, the simple melodies of my acoustic guitar- creating something that catches in the pit of my stomach and makes me want to vomit. It's his physical presence, too, though. I’m used to rambling around the bathroom at all hours, usually wearing nothing, not having to worry about what’s in the room next to me, or the shower, or on the toilet. But now, at two, I'll stumble into the bathroom, naked except for socks, or maybe in a pair of underwear, and he's there. In the bath, steam fogging the mirrors. Or smoking a cigarette, the blue smoke curling up into the fan. I’ve been cold and bitchy toward him since he got here Friday night. I feel like that's my duty. I can't lay the past to rest like my dad or mom or Cassie. I feel like I need to do something, if only for the principal of it.

Carson says I should try to connect with him more; maybe he’s actually making an effort to get better. Maybe he can fuck off because the last thing we need is for him to make an effort and then fail. Mom and Dad seem to be happy he’s home, if not a little weary of what will happen next. I just want everything to be okay. I want everyone to be okay, including my parents, but nothing seems to go right.

“You should give him a break.” Carson tells me after school on Wednesday. We’re jogging on the Canal, the water looking cool, moving only slightly in it's rush back into the river seven miles down. The red dirt is dusty in the late fall air as we kick it up behind us. Further up the path, a couple is riding bikes, laughing back and forth between them.

“No, I shouldn’t. He should leave."

“He’s your brother.”

I stop to catch my breath, but also to gather my thoughts. I can hear the rushing water from the river, where it’s crashing over the rocks just a few hundred yards away. It's here, thousands of years ago, that Native Americans picked to settle, to make a home and a culture, only to be destroyed by us, white people, who inevitably ruin everything we touch. “He’s a drug addict.”

Carson swings around and comes back. “People can change, Caleb. Jesus.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

We continue on. It’s actually pretty outside this time of year, not too cold yet, as if it every really gets cold in mid-Georgia, but a far cry from the suppressive summer days that don't fully subside until early October. The trees, covered in Spanish moss, drape over the canal like curtains, gnats hover over the water in misshapen orbs, cranes stalk through the water and every now and then a muskrat or otter lifts its head up and looks around. On a log, turtles bask in the afternoon sun. Looking at nature, in perfect harmony - even if this is a man-made harmony, made for the preservation of fortunes at the Augusta mills, and later, to use at the Confederate Powderworks to supply the Confederate army in its efforts to sustain a way of life that still lurks in the corners of houses and in the voices of people like my grandmother - a harmony that makes me have hope for were I’m going. Because everything works out eventually, even things we don't understand.

We don’t run the whole length of the Canal, which would take us all the way Downtown, but we turn around half-way, running back towards the rapids. Carson playfully pushes me as we go, laughing at my inability to keep my balance. Back at the pavilion, we stop and stand at the overlook at the Savannah River, right at the fall line. There are a few people out there, mostly teenagers, trying the amble over the Rapids, maybe to South Carolina, maybe just to the middle where the water pools between the large rocks that cover this part of the river.

“That’s dangerous.”

Carson looks at me strangely. “You’ve never been out on the rapids?”

“I’m still alive, aren’t I? Plus, the sign clearly say not to go out there.”

She shakes her head and sits on the stone wall. Pushing back her hair, she looks around. A guy with a dog walks by and nods at her; she smiles and looks back at me, biting her lip.

“You talk to Clark?”

“No. I ignored his calls all day Saturday and now he won’t talk to me. I tried Monday at school, but he ignored me.” I really didn't want to talk to Clark. I felt bad for what I'd done on Friday, but there was nothing I could do about it now. Besides, I'm not sure he even realized until the next morning. I think a part of me did it on purpose, to push him away, God knows why.

She’s looking off, towards the Canal. “I’d be pissed too.”

“I know. I wasn’t thinking clearly.” I turn around to see what she’s looking at. Dog guy is standing at the start of the trail, stretching, his thin shorts straining against his ass, the outline of his briefs clearly visible. It's a sight, but I roll my eyes in frustration. “Perv.”

“What, I’m just enjoying the view.”

“Not one you can’t get at the gym.”

“What? You can’t get a dog at the gym.”

“He’s way too old for you. Besides, you have Grey.”

“He isn’t too old. Like 28 at the oldest. And yeah, well, that’s not official or anything, so…”

“Slut.”

“Bitch.”

We laugh and cross the footpath over the canal back to the main park.

“Don’t give up on Adam. People can change, just remember that, okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll try.”

Later that night I’m lying in bed, preparing for a little personal time when my bathroom door opens slowly. It’s dark, but I know it’s Adam, who else could it be? He comes in without a sound, sliding across the carpeted floor, barely breathing. He lies in bed with me. The air from the room seeps under the covers; thank God I'm wearing underwear. His skeletal body barely makes a dent in my bed and maybe that's good, like he's not even here, ruining an otherwise decent night. He’s cleaned up since Friday, but he still smells like stale cigarette smoke and musty clothes. I freeze, because what the hell is he doing? He lays there for a while, quiet, and I think maybe he’s fallen asleep, or died, and I want to push him out of the bed and kick him.

“Do you hate me?” The question takes me off guard. It's barely a whisper, but it feels like he's shouting at me, accusing me of some Biblical crime I don't yet comprehend. "Do you hate me" sounds more like "do you hate yourself" even if I know that's stupid. But I also want to say yes; I want to scream yes and punch him in the stomach and let him know how he’s screwed everything up. How when he showed up that first time, strung out on meth, begging for money, Mom cried for a week and Dad wouldn't talk at dinner and how it was all his fault, all of it. I want to hurt him and I want him to feel like shit. But I don’t. I can't. Something in me catches and I lay there, still, hoping he'll think I'm asleep and leave.

“No.” It slips out of my mouth and I’m not sure if I even say it. Immediately I want to bring it back, make him suffer. It's like I've given him a gift, a forgiveness I don't really feel.

We’re silent for a while. “I’m sorry. For not being the big brother you deserve. Cassie told me about everything.”

I wonder what everything is. I went through a lot of shit, but it all turned out okay. I'm okay, or at least on the road to okay. I want to be mad at Cassie and at him and at everything, even myself for all the years I've wasted hiding, but I’m not. “It’s…whatever.”

“It’s weird. That you’re gay. Well, not that you’re gay. That's cool, or whatever, just, I never thought you would be. I...I don't know.”

“Yeah, I get what you're saying.”

“So, you’re like really into guys? Only, like not girls at all?"

“Yeah, only guys.”

“That’s cool, I mean weird as fuck, but cool, I guess. I've got a fag brother. Huh. Sorry, you probably don't like that word, right?" I shrug my shoulders and grunt something unintelligible. What's the point of explaining what's okay? This is Adam, he'll be high tomorrow and won't remember anything anyway. "I mean, I’ve sucked guys off before. I mean, not because I’m in to that sort of thing, right, but you’ll do dumb things when you’re desperate." He pauses, "I’ve done lots of dumb things.”

I imagine Adam in an alley somewhere in East Boundary or down 7th Street or some other hole in the wall sucking some random guy's dick for meth or heroin or whatever it was he was doing at the time. When I imagine it, his eyes are closed and he’s pretending he’s somewhere else like The Bahamas, because he once told me that that was his favorite place in the world. That image makes me want to cry, but I don’t. I make myself steely and try to still hate him, even if I want to curl up beside his body like I used to when I was a kid and feel all the pain and anger and hurt that he has, that I've never understood, and make it go away.

“Does that freak you out?”

“A little.”

“I’m going to get better. I have to.”

I suddenly feel brave, all this pretending to hate him when I really just want to hug him is confusing me. “What makes this time different?”

He’s silent again, and finally says, “I’m going to be a dad.”

I sit up, because what the fuck? “What?”

“Yeah, this girl I was seeing, Valeria, she’s pregnant.”

“She’s pregnant?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re going to be a dad?”

“Yeah.”

He sounded excited, but I wasn’t sure. “Shit.” I lay back down, staring at the ceiling. How can Adam be a dad when he can barely take care of himself? He doesn't have a job or any money or any sense of responsibility.

“I know. I’m not in a place to be a dad. But I want to be. I’m going to go to rehab. I have to get clean, Caleb. I have to be a good dad.”

I’m still shocked. “And Val-“

“Valeria.”

“Yeah, what about her?”

“I don’t know. She’s with her parents in Waynesboro.”

“Waynesboro?”

“Yeah, I was hanging around there, I don’t know. Like I said, I’ve been dumb”

“Is she, you know, an addict?”

“Yeah, I mean…Yes.” I could tell he wanted to rationalize, to make excuses or hide the truth, like he always did, but he didn't. He said it and I was surprised.

“She’s stopping though, right. For the baby.”

“I hope.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. My drug-addict brother was going to have a baby with a drug-addict woman who lived in fucking Waynesboro. I couldn’t even believe what I was hearing.

“But I’m going to rehab, and I’m going to get better. And then I’m going to get a job and maybe go back to school. And if Valeria won’t get better, then I’ll take the baby. I’ll take it and raise it because I have to be a good dad. Every baby deserves a good dad.”

I suddenly feel something, that feeling like a tingling in my stomach. “We have a good dad.”

He looks at me and I feel incredibly happy. I feel like things might be okay, because he has a reason and we have a good dad and everything is meant to work out, even if sometimes things seem hopeless. “Yeah, just like ours.”

The next day at school, Clark passes me coolly in the hallway before lunch, his eyes briefly glancing at me, and then squinting, as if he just ate a lemon. I try to smile, even gesture for him to stop, to talk. He mouths something, but he's gone before I realize what and I wonder what I've done. I'm a shit friend and I feel bad. I don't know how to make it up to him.

At lunch, I tell everyone what Adam told me last night, about having a baby. Sara laughs, never looking at me, her face in a compact, but Carson seems sympathetic.

“See, Caleb. Change.”

“I just hope it’s for good.”

Jake, his mouth full of a chicken and bread, says, “I ca’ uh-mah-in A-um a’ uh ah.”

“Ah-ah-ah, Jesus, Jake. Swallow, then speak, it isn't hard. Who raised you? Apes?,” snaps Carson. Sara rolls her eyes as she reapplies her mascara, her mouth open, but silent.

Jake glares at Carson as he swallows, then, “I said, 'I can’t imagine Adam as a dad.' He’ll probably give it meth to keep it quiet or something."

Carson rolls her eyes, and I wonder what her problem is with Jake, because she's been rolling her eyes and glaring at him all week. I told her about him coming to pick me up Friday, not that that should warrant any hostility, but this is Carson. I don’t think she knows anything about any other activities that have happened between us, such as kissing or drunken blow jobs or the fact that I might have a thing for him, Knox a distant memory sitting only three tables over, his hand somewhere under the table, touching Avery. I’m not sure she knows anything about Jake, his escapades and such, but even if she did, she shouldn't be angry about it. It doesn't concern her.

Sara puts away her mascara and starts applying lip gloss, “I remember him when he was younger; he was super hot. How old is he now?”

“God, Sara, he’s my brother. And he’s a drug addict.”

“I’ve been with a drug addict before, it was kinda hot, when he showered and brushed his teeth. Sex on acid is a fucking trip. So, how old is he?”

I shake my head at her, because she's only saying it to mess with me. “Twenty.”

“See, perfect age.”

Carson rolls her eyes again as she eats her Greek yogurt. “You guys are so immature. This is a serious thing. Adam is going through a lot right now, which means Caleb is going to need us to be there for him,” she glares at Jake, “ Right Caleb?”

I wasn’t sure about that glare. What it meant or how to interpret it and frankly I wasn’t sure I could even if I wanted to. “Yeah, sure.”

After the lunch bell, Jake grabs my arm and says he needs to talk to me about something, so we walk back to class outside, where there are less people to eavesdrop.

“Have you said anything to Carson, about, you know?”

“What? Our non-relationship?”

“Yeah, exactly.”

“Don’t worry. I haven’t said a word.”

“To anyone?”

I think of Cassie and I wince. “Nope, not a soul." I wasn't sure if Cassie had a soul, so maybe I wasn't lying.

“She’s just being so passive aggressive lately. Like she’s punishing me for something and I should just know what. I feel like she knows.”

“Stop being so paranoid.”

“You –you- are going to tell me to stop being paranoid? King of overthinking, who almost had a mental breakdown just like a month ago, about this very thing.”

I chuckle. “Shut up.”

“No one knows. But you. And the guys I’ve been with.”

“How many of those?”

“I’d rather not say.”

“Any of them could have told her.”

“And out themselves?”

“For getting a blowjob, probably while they were drunk, not eloping to New York. Besides it’s Carson, she has this supernatural way of sucking information out of people.”

“Or maybe Sara told her. I know she’s been with a few of the guys. What if they know we’re friends and wanted a threesome? Oh my God. That would actually be kind of hot."

“Now you’re being ridiculous.”

We’ve made it to the door of our building, and he opens it and waves me through. “Let’s hang out this weekend, okay?”

“Yeah, come over to my house on Saturday? Adam may still be there, but otherwise, it’ll be fine. We can watch a movie or play video games or something as equally unstimulating.”

“I'd rather do some stimulating, if you know what I mean.” I blush and he smiles a huge grin, and I wonder why I keep telling myself he’s off limits.

After school - the long day grueling in the face of other, seemingly more important problems - I wait for Carson at her car. She's being weird about Jake and I need to know why, if anything is ever going to be good for any of us. When she appears, Sara's walking with her, but quickly gives me a wave and breaks off in another direction, to her car or the embrace of another sometimes lover.

She curtsies when she gets close enough, her long hair blowing in the afternoon wind, "What a pleasant surprise, Prince Caleb."

"Shut up." I don’t know how to do banter when I’m on a mission. I can’t be subtle; I feel like I just have to blurt it out.

"Fine, be a bitch."

I take a breath. "I need to talk to you about something."

"Uh oh, like a I-have-spinach-in-my-teeth something or Mondo-did-a-bad-dye-job something? Because I’m meeting Grey for coffee, as much as I love our little bonding seshs."

"I have no idea what the fuck that means. But this is more like a ‘what the hell is up with you and Jake’ something."

She opens the back door, piling her bags in the back seat. "Oh. That's, um, nothing." She’s says nothing like it’s something, maybe like its everything. Her hair is blowing in her face and she grabs it, pulling it back with her hand. It glitters bright red in the sun.

"It's obviously something."

"Okay, it might be something, but it's not important." She’s opened the driver’s side door but hasn’t got all the way in, her foot resting on the car.

"If it’s nothing, then why be so bitchy toward him?"

"It's just," she's biting her bottom lip, which is what she does when she's deciding whether or not to tell me something, "I'm trying to protect you."

"From Jake? He's our friend." She's being deferential, which means she's unsure, which means I have the upperhand. I hate this game we play, I thought we’d put it behind us.

"I've just heard some things, okay. Things that I'm not sure about."

"Like what?"

"Nothing, okay." She’s irritated now, her voice sharper than before.

"Well, then who did you hear ‘nothing’ from?"

"No one okay, why's it so fucking important to you anyway?"

"Fuck, Carson, just tell me!"

She gets in her car and cranks it, but I get in the passenger's seat only a second later. She’s messing with the radio, but only to distract herself. "I heard Jake's a player, okay. Girls, guys, it doesn't matter, anything with a big enough hole to stick his dick in. And you'd be the perfect target for him. I think so, anyway."

I take a deep breath. "Who told you that?" It isn't new information necessarily, but I want to know who told her. I feel like the puzzle I was close to completing just got added too, the barn enlarged and the kitten turned into a cat. I’m not sure if I want to continue though; do I want to keep working at it or dismantle and pack it a way?

"Is that really important?" The way she says it, like she's speaking to a small child, makes me angry.

"Yeah, it is. It fucking is, okay."

She has her head in her hands now, her elbows on the steering wheel. She’s quiet for a while, and then takes a breath. "Knox, okay, Knox told me. A while ago, when things were still weird with all of us. He said Jake had told him some stuff that - stuff he wasn’t even sure about, but he told me. We were all meant to be friends, Caleb. He was worried. I know he’s...whatever, but that doesn’t mean he lied about Jake."

I feel the rug slipping from beneath me, but not because I am losing it, I actually think I have it. Because it was like some mystery hovering over my head, this huge cloud covering the answer to the puzzle and only patches have been shown. I had thought I had all the pieces, but I didn't, and here they are, trying to fit themselves together.

I get out of the car without saying anything more, while Carson keeps saying my name. I’m not angry or upset or anxious or anything. I just need to think; to put the pieces together more fully and completely.

I just need to go home.