The Long Run, page 27
“Just him. He raised me. Him and my uncle.”
We got back into our dishwashing routine and the conversation got moving.
Brett worked in New York for years in advertising. Then he up and quit one day and became a writer. Over the past decade, he’s published three nonfiction books about illegal hunting practices in the Northeast and he loves to ski. Del thought the world of Brett. Wanted to be just like him growing up. The way he talked about his older brother made me pissed I was an only child. The pride in his voice.
“He started renovating the cabin early last year. They’ve been living up there since the funeral.”
“Who’s they?”
“Justin and the kids.”
“Who’s Justin?”
“Brett’s husband.”
I stopped drying my plate.
So much I didn’t know. So much I could’ve known. All this time I wasted, watching. Falling off the face of the earth. How much easier my life could’ve been if I just talked. Asked questions. How much easier my life could be.
As if to guide us along, we heard Sandro’s laugh boom in from the living room. It filled the silence hanging around us. And I nodded. Just enough to answer what Del already knew. He nodded back. We did what came naturally to us and said it all with a look.
“...I’d like to meet them.”
“Yeah. I’d like that too, Seb.”
I thought about one of the last things my mom said to me. It was about family. What we owe to those who know us.
Del calls me Seb. So does Lucy. This kid that I wasn’t anymore. This kid I could still be. It wasn’t too late for Seb.
Del told me he’d finish up and to go see my friends. He patted me on the shoulder and I thanked him. I think I’m gonna be thanking Del for the rest of my life.
That night, Sandro slept over. He fell asleep pretty quickly, happy to be my little spoon, but I stayed up watching him. Something I’ve been doing since I got him back. Take in his face at rest. Try to guess what he’s dreaming. I know it’s weird, but I missed him. Leave me alone.
I’ve been thinking a lot about dreams lately. What they mean and why I have them. Why some nights my memories replay. Those nights when the dreams about my mom are calm and normal, it’s like my brain is rewarding me. It lets me live in those quiet moments with my mother again. I’m helping her cook. We’re driving. She’s painting the living room and I’m reading to her. There’s always a moment where I realize that I’m dreaming but, when it’s quiet, I can stay in the dream a bit longer. We can buy ourselves more time. It’s that afterglow that’s most interesting to me. The calm moments after I realize I’m dreaming but before I wake up.
Living in a dream.
That’s what it feels like, watching Sandro and Del laugh together. Listening to Lucy and Dro argue over something pointless. Having all these people I love together and talking and laughing. All these people who love me.
I felt myself drifting. And for a second, I wondered if I’d locked my bedroom door. Something I’d always double-and triple-check before. Dro had slept over dozens of times but tonight was different. Because he wasn’t my workout buddy anymore. At least in the duplex. Sandro wasn’t my best bro to Del and Lucy.
I kissed his forehead. He smiled in his sleep.
“I love you, Sandro.”
Under my roof, I had a boyfriend.
sandro
APRIL 29
SWEET BOY
Ronny DiSario might have the tallest house I’ve ever seen. I say tallest over biggest because the base of the house is actually pretty standard. It sits on a large, empty property and just keeps going up, like a fucking hotel planted in the middle of the Orchard and a heavy wind might be able to send it toppling down.
I planted my bike in front of Chateau DiSario and walked up the driveway. The garage/recording studio door was wide-open but nobody was inside. Thousand-dollar music equipment filled the space and lined the walls. There was nothing stopping a passerby from robbing the place. Maybe rich people don’t think about stuff like that. Maybe they wouldn’t even notice.
“Care to steal anything?”
I looked to my left and Ronny was at my side. Sipping a Red Bull. I didn’t hear her approach.
“I wouldn’t know what to do with it.”
“Fence it.”
“I wouldn’t know how.”
“Google it.”
She offered me her can. I accepted because I’m a good guest. Also, because I was nervous.
“Phil here?”
“No. Why? You think we spend every waking minute together?”
“I think you try.”
Ronny shrugged. “He’s with his boyfriend. But he’s coming over after if you wanted to scream at us as a pair.”
“Ronny—”
“Only, I’ve got a headache brewing so if you could just wait for my Advil to kick in—”
“Ron.”
She picked up a stray lacrosse stick and cradled it about her studio. “You were very clear, Sandro. You’re a special little boy and we’re awful, terrible influences. Message received. I don’t think we need to relitigate.”
“I came to apologize. It’s really...really overdue.”
“Super. I don’t want it. So, where does that leave us?” Ronny tossed her ball in the air and caught it with finesse. “Seriously. What’s the point? Best-case scenario, you apologize, I say ‘no sweat,’ and we skip into the sunset. Then what?”
“I don’t... I don’t know.”
“Exactly. It’s almost May, Sandro. We’re just about done here. Whatever you came here for, I promise you it’s not worth the trouble.” Ronny chucked the ball into the lawn. She flung the lacrosse stick out with it and plopped down at Phil’s drum set.
I shook my head. “That’s... I don’t like that.”
“That’s life, big boy. We’re all just trying to get to the end of it.”
Ronny DiSario had a habit of speaking like a song lyric. But I’d be lying if I hadn’t thought those exact words, not too long ago. Before senior year started, I was determined to army-crawl my way to graduation. Just keep my head down, keep my grades up, and get to the end. Keep this town at arm’s distance because what had this town done for me lately?
But if I kept limping down that path, I never would’ve knocked on that truck window at the stop sign. I never would’ve fallen in love with this boy who changed me. I’d changed. It wasn’t too late for that. It was never too late to try.
“Can I be real with you, Ronny?”
Her sigh echoed in the empty garage. “If you must?”
That made me smile. But it faded quick. “I don’t know how to make friends.” I leaned on Ronny’s mixing table. “People always tell me, ‘Oh, you? You’re so fun, you’re so funny, you must have a lot of friends.’ But every time someone says something like that, there’s just this asshole in my head screaming, Hey, fucker, why’d you never learn how to make friends?! Why can’t you...why can’t you keep a friend?”
I took a breath. “High school’s almost over and I never made any fucking friends.” Ronny put the drumsticks down. I shook my head. “I just... I don’t know what someone would get out of me. I don’t know what I bring to the table that would make someone say, ‘Yeah, him. Yeah, Miceli’s worth seeing again.’”
I thought of Bash on my roof. All those things he told me. That I was good. That I deserved the world. A boy who saw me. A friend who proved me wrong.
“But I wanna try.” I looked at Ronny. “I don’t care if it’s just a summer. Or if it’s just about the music or if we won’t be friends for long. But I want to be your fucking friend, Ronny. You and Phil, I want to be your friend. I want to talk about guitar and records and the intricacies of Avril Lavigne’s career. I want our shitty sort-of band back. This is worth the trouble to me. Apologizing to you isn’t pointless to me, man. You guys are worth the trouble.”
Ronny just stared at me. I thought I’d stuck some sort of landing there but her silence was making me question it. But eventually she nodded. “Hell of an apology.”
“Yeah. Well. No one in my family ever apologizes for shit so... I’m self-taught.”
“It was good. Very thorough.” She smiled. “It’ll be fun to watch you repeat it for Philly.”
I laughed and shrugged. “He can get the abridged version.”
Ronny stood up and walked around Phil’s drum set. Before I could question it, she shook my hand.
“I knew you were a good guy, Miceli.”
“That’s the rumor, huh?”
She smiled and punched me. I looked around the expensive studio. The Killers’ Hot Fuss was playing softly. “Jenny Was a Friend of Mine.”
I pointed at the speaker. “You finished your demo?”
“No help from you, but yes. NYU said it was impressively competent.”
“High praise.” I sat on the arm of the ratty old couch Ronny kept in there. Maybe the only thing in that garage that cost under 1K. “Could I listen?”
“To my demo?”
“Yeah. Till Phil gets here.”
“I mean, it’s only a few songs. Philly’s gonna be at his boy’s for a while. They...take their time.”
I smiled and shrugged. “Then we’ll just have to hang out till he gets here.”
Ronny rolled her eyes and grabbed the remote. “Fine. But if you think it’s bad, I need you to lie to me.”
“Oh. You just want me to stroke your ego?”
“Keep up, Miceli. That’s what friends are for.”
I laughed and joined Ronny on the couch. I passed her the remote and got a little closer. Sort of dropped my voice, like anyone in the Orchard could be eavesdropping.
“Wait. So, Phil has a boyfriend?”
Ronny tapped the remote to her lips.
“Mm. Inner circle shit. Top secret, very lock and key.”
“Come on. Someone from school? One of the theatre guys?”
“I’m not snitching, you gossipy bitch.”
“Ron. Are there other gay kids in Moorestown?”
I had this silly, scandalized smile on my face. Ronny just scoffed at it.
“Miceli. There’s a lot more going on in our school than track and field. Where have you been?”
All I could do was laugh. Sort of intrigued. Sort of amazed.
“Out of the loop, I guess.”
Ronny snorted and elbowed me. She pressed Play and we rested our heads back on the cushions, staring at the cement ceiling together as my bassline shook through the garage. I sounded good. We all did. We sounded like a band. The piano. My bass. Phil’s drums. Ronny’s voice. Everything. All the time.
After an afternoon of jamming with my friends, Bash and I squeezed in an evening workout. I spent an hour practicing my throwing form, now that field season is up and running, while some hot asshole ran laps around me. We tired ourselves out until the sun set then blew each other in Birdie as a reward. Incentives are key in maintaining a worthwhile fitness routine.
Plus, I didn’t hate that it gave me an excellent excuse to be somewhere that wasn’t my house. Since Bash and I got back together, I’d been going to his, going to field practice, and pretty much just coming home to sleep. It’s an unspoken arrangement that works for everyone. Ma hasn’t said a word to me since the college letter blowup and the rest are busy enduring Raph’s new baby. I don’t want to be there and they’ve made it clear the feeling is mutual. If they weren’t going to bother, why should I?
After our evening workout (and some exemplary mouth stuff), I sat on my roof and watched the sun set over Moorestown. My house is far from the neighborhoods but some nights I can see the little lights in the distance. The baseball field, Zelley Park, the cul-de-sacs, and the streetlamps. Whenever I see those lights, it makes me think about living in the city. Somewhere not so small. I think I’d do well there. I’m ready for it. Despite being in the middle of fucking nowhere, this farmhouse has prepared me for city life. The noises, the smells, getting mugged, I’m used to all that shit. My house never sleeps.
It was three in the morning when I heard footsteps on my stairs. Ronny had given me a copy of her demo so I was in my room listening to it for the hundredth time and reading. Daniel: Last Forever. I thought it might deserve another shot. The steps creaked and I put the book down, annoyed and bracing myself for the intrusion. Instead, a knock. It might’ve been the first time someone knocked on my door.
I sat up in bed. “...GJ?”
But it wasn’t my nephew. Ma pushed through my door with a laundry crate. She looked busy. Or as busy as someone could look at three in the morning. “Dirty clothes. Doing a load.”
Sentences. Incomplete but sentences, nonetheless. I was surprised. Ma never comes up to my room. Too many stairs. But there she was.
“It’s three in the morning.”
“Yeah. Newborns are a bitch.”
She pointed to a stain on her shoulder. Spit-up. Raph’s newborn Angelo was a fat little volcano. He’d tagged me earlier that day.
“You gotta wear the bib things.”
Ma shook the laundry crate, surely full of soiled shoulder bibs. She almost smiled and looked around my room. It was not clean. I didn’t tend to have company to clean for. She put the crate down and sat on the edge of my bed. That was weird, hasn’t happened since I was a little kid.
“Cold in here.”
“It’s an attic.”
“Mm.”
Ronny’s cover of “For You” by the Used played on my speaker. Ronny added it to her demo because I said I’d always loved it. I didn’t tell her I only loved it so much because the lyrics sounded like Bash. Her singing was the only sound in the room for what felt like minutes.
“This is pretty. Radio?”
I shook my head. Ma just nodded. I could’ve told her about the song. The singer. Who was playing guitar in the background. But I felt no responsibility to carry this conversation for her. If she had something to say to me, I didn’t need to help her say it. But even with my mother’s silence, I heard her voice in my head. Those words that drift back in when things get too silent. I was back in the van. A kid. A crying, sick kid.
“No more.”
And I could feel that wall building back up in me. I was sick and she yelled at me. I broke my foot and she ignored me. When I needed her, she was too busy for me. Who was she to sit on my bed? Interrupt my reading?
“So. Sebastian’s back. That’s nice. Been a while since he came around. Were you two fighting?”
Who was she to talk to me about Bash? I let my face go blank. I didn’t want to talk to her.
She nodded. “Okay. But things are good now? You boys doing anything fun for your birthday? Eighteen. That’s a...”
I flipped through my book. It was just a prop, just to show her that I wasn’t going to do this with her, but I caught a note. I’d written it in the margin toward the end.
b a lighthouse
I’d drawn a crappy little sketch of a lighthouse shining its beacon over the ocean, lighting up lost boats on dangerous waters.
“Sandro, please.” Ma’s hand was on my knee. I hadn’t noticed. “I... I had an awful thought. And I couldn’t stand it.”
Her voice sounded angry. Not at me though. She took my hand and looked at me. Her thumb rubbed my knuckle. “I know you, baby. I do. I’ve known you your whole life and...and I know when you’re not telling me something. I know we don’t... We haven’t been so... I know what you’re not telling me, Dro, and—”
She was starting and stopping, trying to say it right. “And I always wanted to give you your space. And your time. I wanted to let you tell me when you were... But after what you said in the kitchen—”
Her voice caught. She was getting upset, but she still held that anger. “Sandro, do you think I’d make fun of you? If you told me?”
“Ma.”
She looked at me like a mother. Like my mother. Like who she is for Tina and GJ and Lexi. Now Angelo. Fierce. Protective.
She pointed downstairs. “You think I’d let any of those fuckers make fun of you? For that? For who you are?”
Ma knew. Ma’s known. How long has she known? I couldn’t stop my eyes from filling up. I wished I could be angry then, but I was just embarrassed.
“Yes.”
I didn’t mean to say it. I didn’t mean to speak. I wanted to put my hand on my mouth but my brain wasn’t letting me move.
“Yes. I think you’d let them make fun of me.”
Ma started to cry and I couldn’t move. I didn’t want to make her cry but she needed to know. “How could...how could you think that, Sandro?”
“How could I not?” A tear ran down my cheek. “When it’s them and it’s me, you choose them. You always choose them.”
“They’re your family. We’re your family, Dro. Your brothers and your father, we all love you so much.”
I laughed. “How could I know that, Ma? How could I?”
“Sandro.”
“No. No.” I fought through the tears choking in my throat. “If I’m not solving a problem for you, you don’t see me. The last time I told you I love you, you asked me what was wrong. You never say it. You don’t show it, no one shows it, I can’t—”
My face got all tight and I tried to shake it away. “I can’t see it. I can’t. I shouldn’t have to look so hard to find love in this fucking house.” I felt his book in my hand. Our song in my room. “I’m so tired of looking for it, Ma.”
She just stared at her lap. For a second, I thought she was about to get up and leave. Find another chore that wouldn’t make her talk. The music played over our silence. Ronny’s stripped-down rendition of “I Wish I Was the Moon” by Neko Case.
Ma nodded. “That’s why Northwestern. That’s why you want to go so far.” I didn’t know what to say. She shook her head. “You know, Rutgers is a fine school.”
