The Long Run, page 24
I didn’t feel so talkative anymore so I kind of stormed off. He was probably joking, but that was an obnoxious sort of joke. He knows what Rutgers means to me. I don’t like jokes like that. He should know that.
I got to my room and slammed the door. Probably a bit much but I wanted him to know that I was pissed.
I regretted it right away. ’Cause there it was.
There, on my bed. All neat and situated, propped up on my pillow. The envelope. The big envelope. I picked it up. Felt the weight in my hands. I traced my finger along the scarlet R stamped on the seal.
I got it. I fucking got it.
I almost fell down the stairs on my way back to the kitchen. Del had two glasses of whiskey at the ready. I could hear some spill on the tile floor when I bear-hugged him, but I didn’t care.
’Cause I got into Rutgers.
People started getting their letters last week. Ronny DiSario got into NYU. Ant Lewis got a full ride to Auburn. I heard Matty got into Vanderbilt, which makes no sense but good for him, I guess.
We cooked a big dinner that night to celebrate. Jambalaya. My mom’s go-to comfort food. We even got kind of drunk. Something I never would’ve thought was possible with Del. It was fun. It was really, really fun.
Later, still a little buzzed, I found my way onto some message boards and saw Northwestern’s letters hadn’t gone out yet. Before going to bed, I rubbed my beads and said some prayers. Added that letter to my prayer list. It was a short list, nothing too official. But he was all over it.
The next morning, I found out Lucy got into UCLA. The art program. Her first choice. She told me the news after jumping me.
I was running some laps at the track, nothing too stressful, and I was feeling pretty good. I didn’t even feel the need to listen to music. I liked my thoughts that day. Rutgers. Mom. Running. A future.
I didn’t see her coming.
I was rounding a bend when she came at me. Stomped clear across the track and shoved me into the grass. I fell right on my ass. Rolled a bit with it. I’m lucky I wasn’t sprinting because Lucy could derail a train if she was mad enough.
And she was mad enough.
“What is your FUCKING problem?!”
“Lucy, what the—”
“What the hell happened?”
It was still pretty early and I was three kinds of unprepared for all she was throwing at me. I managed to get up and assume a steady, hard-to-knock-over stance. “The hell are you—”
“What happened with Sandro?”
My brain deflated and I felt my face go pale. “What do you mean?”
“I found his giant ass crying in the Sticks.”
I had to look away, so I tried my feet. Like maybe I was inspecting my laces or something. “What does that have to do with—”
“Stop. Stop it.”
Lucy shook her head.
“I barely saw you all summer, Seb. Fine. You’re you, you like your space, I gave you it. I broke up with you, but I gave you it. You start hanging out with some guy we barely know and, surprise, I start seeing you again. Not as often but at least you were looking like you again. I didn’t press. I was just happy to see you smiling again.”
She got closer.
“Then Del tells me you’re out running for hours every night. No one on the team sees you anymore. Matty won’t even say your fucking name. I watched Sandro Miceli cry in the woods for almost an hour and he wouldn’t tell me why.”
Her voice was so serious then. Not angry, not upset. Just worried. Lucy was scared. “You tell me. I’m tired of this, Seb, just tell me what’s fucking happening with you. If you aren’t okay...”
I wanted to look at her. She knows what it means when I can’t look at her. “Sebastian. Look at me.”
I’ve always been shit at saying no to Luce. But I didn’t want her seeing me like that. I wanted to go home. She touched my cheek and I could feel a tear between our skin. Tears. I don’t know when they started.
“...I don’t know what to do, Luce.”
Lucy and I were really bored the afternoon we decided to start dating. We’d just played tennis at Zelley Park, something we only did when we were a very specific kind of very bored, and ended up at the school track. We must’ve sat on those bleachers for hours just talking about nothing. Eventually, like it always did, that nothing turned to something. Then everything. And we came to the decision that finding someone you can talk to like that, anywhere on that range of nothing to everything, must be love. Maybe even better than love. Rarer.
We were back on those bleachers when I told her about me.
“I don’t know when I knew. I mean... I’m still not exactly sure what I know but... I know. I thought it might pass or whatever but...” We sat close. Like the stadium was full and cold and we were the only things keeping each other warm. “I don’t think it will.”
She nodded, taking all of it in, but I really needed her to say something. I needed to fill the silence. “When’d you find out?”
“Halloween? Maybe a little after. Del said you didn’t go to Maine and... I think I’d already known.”
“What do you... How do you feel about it?”
“I mean... I’ve known you my whole life. And I’ve known all the yous. Seb. Bash. Bash the Flash. That one summer you tried going by Bastian.” Ugh. Not my best summer. The only movie I wanted to watch was The NeverEnding Story III and I didn’t know any better. I groaned. Lucy smiled. “Now... I just know you better. And you know you better. That’s good.”
“You’re not mad?”
“What? Why would... No. This doesn’t change anything for me.” She took my hand. Looked me in the eye. Really made sure I understood. “You’re still who you’ve always been to me, Seb.”
Her voice and her hands. They were the first things I thought of when I thought about Luce. I loved her for their softness. “And, shit, if you had trouble making your mind up before...”
And I loved her for that. For knowing me. As hard as it was for me sometimes. Lucy knew me enough to give me shit. To care about my weaknesses. That’s why I could never lose her. Never cut her out. Even if I wanted to fall off the face of the earth, Lucy would know where I jumped. She would know how to find me.
That’s the difference.
“I keep thinking about Matty.”
“Whoa.”
“No. Not like... Something Matty said. After Sandro, I just stopped talking to him. Like I didn’t need him anymore. And, yeah, Matty’s a dick but...it’s not a good way to treat people.” I gripped her hand. Looked her in the eye. It was my turn to be understood. “You know me, Lucy. I haven’t let a lot of people know me like you do. But you know me. Del knows me. All these parts of me, even the weak ones. And that...it scares me.” I wiped my eye. I didn’t want to cry for this. “Because you love me. You and Del love me. And when you look at me sometimes, I just feel so guilty.”
There was no use fighting the tears. They were polite enough to not mess with my speaking, so I let them run. I needed to hear myself say it. “Because of how I am. How I’ve been. How disappointed she’d be in me. If she could look at me, she’d be so ashamed.”
“Seb...”
“I just disappoint people. I let them get close then I punish them for it. Like Del. Like...like Sandro. And I did the same thing to you and... I’m sorry. About everything. About not trying with you or fighting for you or... I’m sorry.”
Lucy watched me with those eyes. So much like my mom’s. Not green. Not like an island. Not how they looked at me. How they saw me.
“Seb... Are you fucking crazy?” Despite myself, I smiled a bit. Lucy laughed. “You’re right. I like to look at you. Always have, even when we were little. Wanna know why?”
I did. She wiped my cheek.
“Because you see everything. You might not talk well, but you see so much, Seb. You see me. You see Del. Sandro. We just want to know what you’re looking at.” She rubbed my head. My curls. She liked my hair long. “She loved you. She loved every part of you. We all love you. Every part.”
I leaned into her touch and she spoke softer. “’Cause we see you too, dumbass.”
I smiled. I smiled and I hugged her.
But it wasn’t over. The smile faded. “I don’t know how to fix this, Luce.”
I said it into her hair. I could feel her nod. “Well, what do you...” She trailed off and gave me a look.
“...What?”
“I can’t keep asking you what you want, Seb. Don’t make me that person for you.”
I nodded. Stood. Paced. “We only have a few more months. I don’t want to waste them. I don’t want him hating me.”
“Then tell him that.”
“He doesn’t wanna see me. If he wanted to see me...”
I thought about Sandro leaving me on the ground that night. How mad I made him. How guilty. How horribly I fucked things up for him and how easily it came to me.
“He doesn’t want to talk to me anymore. He wants space.”
Lucy groaned. “Boys and space. Y’all think it’s this big gift. You know what happens after you leave everyone alone?” Lucy stood up too and shook the pins out of her legs. “He didn’t want to talk to me either. But he asked about you. Asked if you got into Rutgers. ’Cause it’s important to him.”
Lucy did a surprisingly good impression of Sandro. It made me happy. Not the impression but the idea of Sandro asking about me. Wondering about my future. Still thinking about me.
I smiled. Lucy cocked her head. “Huh. Your smile’s different.”
No. It wasn’t. It was just real. It felt real. I couldn’t smile small when I thought about Sandro. I hugged Lucy tight and wondered how many times I’ve hugged her. Smelled paint in her hair. Felt her hug me back. “I really didn’t deserve you, Luce.”
She pulled back and made her “no one deserves me” look. “Yeah. You really didn’t.”
She rested her head on my chest and laughed when she said it. “But you might deserve Sandro’s goofy ass.”
I smiled big and kissed her forehead. Hell fucking yeah, I might.
sandro
MARCH 18
A PEARL, STRUCK BY LIGHTNING
I didn’t know where we were driving. I don’t think he did either. We’d done the errands, we’d done the burgers, there was nothing left for Gio Sr. and his boy Sandro to do on this earth. We never spend more than an hour alone together and for good reason. We have nothing to talk about. Nothing in common except a wife/mother who insisted that I stop moping around the house and we have a boys’ day together.
We were driving along the edges of the Sticks and I thought he might take me to the woods and put one in my skull Sopranos-style. What took you so long, Pop? It had been a long day and none of his forced efforts to strike up a conversation were working. To be fair, my dad’s idea of conversation is telling me a never-ending allegory about cacti in the desert to teach me fiscal responsibility or something.
“Y’know, clients, the good clients, they figure, ‘Hey, we’ve got a crew that works for us, that works for us cheap, that won’t fuck us over at the end of the day.’ So they keep us on. It’s about reliability. Consistency, Sandro. That’s why we get the work these out-of-staters try scooping up. We show up, we do good work. Every day. Consistency. It’s about finding out what kind of man you are and bringing that man to the table. Being that man every day.”
Some invisible hand tugged on my collar, trying to get me to point out his inconsistency. Get angry about his hypocrisy. Make him look at the scar on my eyebrow. Instead, I watched the Sticks. Wondered what I might see if I stared hard enough.
“I just want you to be a good man, Sandro. I understand what you’re going through. Your brothers all went through the same thing. We were all seventeen. We were all stupid. We all...”
We all liked boys. He wouldn’t understand. We all kissed boys. He would kill me. We all hurt boys. I’d disgust him. If he knew me, if he cared to know me, I would disgust him. So, maybe it’s better this way.
“Is it that girl? The DiSario girl? Is that why you’re...” I kept my eyes on the woods and crawled back into myself. “I just want you to be a good man, Sandro. Just...grow up.”
We turned the corner for home pretty soon after that and I went back to bed. I could hear Ma grill my dad beneath my floorboards about our big day. I smothered myself with a pillow so I wouldn’t hear what Dad had to say about me. Hear Ma not defend me. Hear them come to terms with the fact that they were dealt three defective, unhelpful, angry boys.
When I grow up, I’m going to make sure my kids have soundproof walls. Soundproof floors. Roofs with railings. And when I get angry or sad, I’ll tell them why I’m crying. I won’t hide myself from them. I’ll tell them I love them and I’ll make sure they know everything about me. If I can’t give them silence, at least I can give them peace.
I think I’m gonna be a good dad. Maybe everyone thinks that though. Lately, I’ve got it in my head that some parents can be amazing at parts of parenting. But only those parts, you know? Like, Ma is wonderful with kids. She puts Lexi and Tina first, no matter what. She lets GJ do his own thing, but she’ll still move heaven and earth for him when he needs her. That’s how she was with me once. When my problems were as easy as crusts on PB&Js and stomach bugs. Before all the noise. Maybe some parents aren’t ready for all that noise. Maybe she just didn’t know what to do with it.
I’d been sitting on my Rutgers letter for that very reason. I knew how she’d react. And it’s not like there aren’t plenty of great apartments at Rutgers. I’m sure there are loads of sweet, funny, fosterable dogs and I’m sure I could make some real friends. But it’s not my future. Rutgers would mean commuting from home. Errands and odd jobs on the weekends and living with one foot in my past. I saw it happen to Gio and he couldn’t even last a year. It’s not what I want. Hence my stalling.
I was burning through His Garden in the van, out of sight and in full stall mode. In the lucky few times it wasn’t in use, I found the van to be a suitable place to read. I’d just finished my favorite chapter so far (Anna, the only nice daughter, finds out she’s pregnant with her own set of triplets and rips her billionaire father a new one at the family psychiatrist’s funeral) when I decided to take a break for a bit. Digest the literary drama. I didn’t have it in me to go to the Sticks so I settled for walking up and down my driveway. It’s long enough to merit exit ramps and always makes for prime pacing material.
About halfway up my driveway, I thought about my band. Everything All the Time. It was a good name. And it lasted maybe a month. Shame. I felt some lingering guilt about how I talked to Ronny and Phil that day in the parking lot. I just didn’t know how to be a good communicator lately, much less a good friend, and it’s not like they bring out the positive in a situation. We just weren’t a fit. Guess I’m too emotional for the emo crowd. I know they were just checking in on me but they should’ve just let me be. Honestly, I’m surprised I didn’t blow up on them harder.
And I’m actually shocked I didn’t pop off on my dad during our “boys’ day.” Because it was coming. I could feel it. The noise. Since that day in the Sticks, that day Lucy let me cry, I felt awake again. I was all sobbed out. My noise was back and I felt like I was going to fucking explode.
I decided to stop at the mailbox. See if my second-grade pen pal ever got back to me, or perhaps I received a love letter from one of my many suitors fighting overseas. Despite feeling guilty any time I got within fifty feet of it, I’d been super on top of the mailbox since the Rutgers letter came. I’m lucky GJ found it before Ma because I really didn’t want to have that conversation. I wasn’t in the right headspace for the big college fight.
But fate doesn’t give a shit about your headspace.
The envelope fell out of the mailbox, straight to the ground. Hit the dirt with a comically loud THUNK. Like a drunk passing out in the snow.
NORTHWESTERN
“Oh, fuck.”
I knew I wouldn’t have the balls to show Ma the Rutgers letter, right headspace or not, if I didn’t come with ammunition. And even then, it was going to be a battle. I had to come correct. So, before the war, I just let myself walk up and down the driveway. Rocks in my bare feet. Reading the only letter I cared about again and again.
Again and again and again and again.
Dear Sandro.
Congratulations.
Considerable academic achievements.
Impressive character.
Dear Sandro.
Congratulations.
Dear Sandro.
Congratulations.
Congratulations.
I couldn’t tell you the last time I felt tears coming and cheered them on.
The years you spend here will be among the most memorable of your life.
I did it. I made it.
I fucking did it. Northwestern.
Congratulations.
I read my letter again at the kitchen table. Held on to that feeling. Let that hope harden my resolve. Ma was making meatballs with the kids at the counter, rereading the Rutgers letter. Her letter. She hadn’t put it down since I gave it to her.
“Model student. That’s so nice of them to say. I mean, I’m sure it’s in all the letters but it’s still a very nice thought. I think we can give you the van once your dad pays off the new one. And if Raph doesn’t find a gig by then.”
She had one hand on the paper, the other stirring a sauce. Always moving. Pop was having work friends over for dinner so my achievement had come at an inconvenient time. I don’t think she actually looked my way after I gave her the news.
“That way you could come back some weekends. But only if we need you. Don’t need you flunking out.”
GJ combined three meatballs into a Mega-Ball. “Like Gio?”
Ma chuckled. “Just like your father. Smaller balls, they won’t cook.”
