The Mass, page 22
“Really? Now you’re going to try to compare what I went through to what you’re going through? I was shot, Daniel! They had to rip me open and remove splintered bones out of my thigh. I guarantee if you had to feel any ounce of the pain I went through, you’d be begging for a drink or pill, anything to numb it out.”
“You could have gone to therapy.”
“Well, fuck, so could you! But you chose to reach out to a stranger online. You chose to get away with me. I didn’t force you. Every decision you have made has been for yourself. You may think you’re doing your town this big favor by taking on the burden of Wesley and your sick coach, but you’re just making everything worse.”
“I’m making everything worse? Things were fine until you decided to sneak off to buy alcohol. Rather than tell me how you really felt about all this, you chose to run away.”
She takes a deep breath and no longer shouts. “I was doing you a favor. You were just too caught up in your guilt to see.”
We’re in my driveway now. I don’t know whether to cry, scream, or sit in silence until I calm down. I’m hurt by what she said, but to be fair, can I blame her for wanting to get away from a broken town she has no place in? Can I be angry with her for not wanting to deal with my trauma when she has her own problems to contend with? Why the hell did I criticize her so much? And to compare my suffering to hers? I am selfish.
But before I can apologize, she opens the bottle of Jack. “Don’t!” I yell, trying to grab it from her.
As though anticipating my reaction, she storms out of the car and leaps onto the grass. I halt when she empties the bottle, every last drop. I stand three feet away, watching in disbelief. Why is she pouring it all out? To prove something?
To prove she was telling the truth the first time I asked her.
With deadpan eyes, she smashes the empty bottle against a tree, shattering the glass until it’s no longer recognizable except for the smell. She winces and opens her hand. Crimson liquid seeps from her palm.
“Maya…”
“Don’t come near me.” She squeezes her hand into a fist, allowing the blood to spill.
“You’re bleeding.”
“We all bleed, Daniel. Some of us more than others.”
What is that supposed to mean? Those words sound far too morbid to unfold from Maya. Why is she putting herself through more pain? To show me she can handle it better than I can? Or just to show me how vulnerable we all are?
I take a deep breath and open my arms. “Please, let me help you.”
She closes her eyes and nods her head once. I remove my shirt and wrap it around her hand. She doesn’t muster a sound, but her body shakes. I guide her into the house and down to the basement, where the carpet is so old a drop of blood wouldn’t make much of a difference in its color. In the bathroom, I run cold water over her hand. It’s not that deep of a cut, but her silence and resilience are a bit concerning. No tears. No signs of distress or pain. I wonder what she was like when she got shot in the leg. Did she scream? Did she cry? Did she feel anything? Or was it complete shock? I think of what she said earlier about the doctors having to remove pieces of bone from her body. It’s one thing to break a bone, but to have it shatter? I should be thankful I never had to go through that. But I wish Colebrook had. He lucked out; the bullet went straight through muscle, dodging all bones and joints.
“Do you want to go to the ER?” I ask as I wrap the wound in gauze and a bandage.
“What for?” she asks.
“In case you need stitches.”
She shakes her head. “I just want to go to bed.”
Despite having our own rooms, we’ve been inseparable in terms of actual sleep. She pushes me back when I try to get into bed with her. I don’t argue, don’t say anything. I know I messed up and need to make things right, but now is not the time.
As I clean up the broken glass outside, I plan out tomorrow morning in my head. I’ll make her breakfast and then drive straight to the police station. I’ll confess I found the photos so Maya doesn’t have to be involved, and then I’ll sit back and let the police handle the investigation.
More importantly, I’ll make the day about her. I’ll let go of my sorrows and worries and be present with her. I’ll show her that I still care. That I love her. Now and forever.
But as I lie awake in bed, I have an awful feeling that my plan won’t work out. Because I’m not sure I have the confidence to hand over my guilt to a bunch of officers who have no idea what I’m going through. If I bail, I will lose Maya forever. Because the Daniel she met in Fantasy Land will be gone, and in its place will be the villain Daniel who lets murderers and pedophiles win.
Part Four: Love
Maya
When I couldn’t get out of bed on my own, Grams would help me. She would hand me my crutches, put my socks on for me, and even braid my hair. When I couldn’t walk straight after getting too drunk at a club, Dawn would rescue me, put me to bed, and leave a glass of water on my nightstand. When I got caught drinking at sixteen and had to go to court, Grams vouched for me, promising the judge I would attend counseling and stay sober. When my aunt and uncle fought to take custody, Dawn stood up for me and told them to back off.
Countless acts of kindness, and I’ve done nothing for them in return. But they don’t expect much from me. I once asked Grams why she put up with my crap, day after day, and it was a one-word answer.
Love.
When I look at Daniel, I see the beginnings of a dark and endless road. I’m not sure if anyone else sees what I see, considering how well he masks his pain. At least I made it clear I was suffering through my umpteen acts of underage indulgences. I didn’t realize how much I suffered until I met Daniel, until the wounds reopened and I allowed myself to feel again.
Abandoning Daniel in his time of need wouldn’t be atypical of me. But doing something in secret to push him out of his guilt? If I am capable of love, this may be the only way to show it.
Nearly all police stations have an online option where a person can anonymously report a crime or send in evidence. I don’t know if Daniel knows this, but I don’t wake him to find out. Without hesitation, I send a short message with the photos attached.
These photos were found inside Hank Colebrook’s dresser drawer. There are about 30 photos in total.
That’s all they need to know.
Then I quietly pack my things and leave town for good.
****
I’m only ten miles away when my phone rings. I left when it was dark, but Daniel wakes early to run. Of course, he would check on me first and find my bed empty.
I left a note this time. Much longer than the one he left me in the hotel room. I could have waited for him to wake up, to talk this out face to face, but it would have ended with us naked in bed together, and we can’t keep relying on sex to “fix” all our problems. As much as I enjoy Daniel, I need a break from him. I have to go home and face my own truth. I’m hoping my absence will allow him to move on. If you love someone, you’ll let them go, right? Or did some loser make that saying to cover up why he couldn’t keep a girlfriend?
Daniel continues to call.
I turn the radio on.
It’s just me and the open road now.
Daniel
I knew she was going to leave. And yet, I didn’t do much to stop it other than call her eight times and leave a bunch of voicemails.
In my boxers, I sit on the front porch with Samantha. The sky is dark blue with streaks of orange across the horizon. I don’t want this day to begin. Or the next. Instead, I want to go back and relive other days. I want to climb Mount Doom with Maya. I want to eat pizza with my teammates. I want to take Jojo for a walk. I want my mother to hold me. I want to witness my parents kiss and hold hands.
For all the bad that’s happened, there has been a lot of good. Yet, when I reflect on the good memories, I feel anger and despair. What if there’s no happiness in my future? What if I’m condemned to be miserable for the rest of my life?
Is this what depression is like? Just a never-ending feeling of menacing doom?
I scroll through the photos Maya sent to me yesterday afternoon. Why am I not more disgusted? My coach is a sick man. What’s worse, he’s gotten away with his crimes for years, and it had to take a mass shooting for just part of his secret life to be revealed. I hold the key to unlocking the rest. Maybe I’m hesitant to go to the police because it’ll put me in the spotlight again. Not only will I be known as the one who got away but also as the one who discovered the morbid truth about his football coach.
The front door opens, startling me from my thoughts.
Dad steps out in his blue bathrobe. “You might want to put on some clothes before you go running,” he says.
“Not today.” Even if I wanted to run, I destroyed my legs yesterday and need a day to recover.
He looks at the driveway. “Where’s Maya?”
“She went back home.”
“Oh.” Dad sits next to me. Samantha rests her chin on his lap, and he pets her. “Was Maya planning on leaving today?”
“Not really. But I didn’t expect her to stay here forever.”
Dad nods his head. “It takes a certain kind of person to want to live in a small town. Maya seems like the kind of girl who wants a life bigger than this.”
“I can’t give her that.”
“Not when you don’t know what kind of life you want for yourself.”
“My life is pretty planned out for the next four years. College and football. If I do well in both, then the next part of my life will go smoothly.”
“You can’t count on life to go smoothly, even when you have everything planned out. You need to be flexible. I wanted your mom to stay with us, for us to be a family, but it didn’t happen. She left, and I had to adjust my attitude and my way of life.”
“But you didn’t even try to get her back.”
“I did try. For years, we struggled and fought. We held on as long as we could, but in the end, she chose to leave. I could have followed her, packed us all up, and taken you to Puerto Rico. But I had made my own life here, and it wasn’t something I wanted to give up. You see, I’m happy living here. I’ve always been happy here. Everything about this town makes me happy, from the cows to the ice cream shop. I love that I know every single person who brings their animal into my office. I love receiving Christmas cards every year. I love the parades and fireworks. I love everything.”
If only he knew about Coach Colebrook’s secret life. Would he still love everything?
“You have no concerns or issues with this town?” I ask. “No one has ever rubbed you the wrong way?”
“Every town has its eggs, but in terms of legit concerns, I’ve only ever had one. Whether or not this town makes you happy.”
That is a legit concern. But one I know the answer to.
“It used to make me happy.”
“And it doesn’t anymore. That’s okay. A bad thing happened here. You don’t have to come up with a reason to stay. You don’t owe it to me. And you don’t owe it to anyone else in this town. I know you still have a month or so before you leave for school, but if you wanted to leave right now, I wouldn’t try to stop you.”
“Where would I go?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“Dad…” Maybe I should finally tell him some of the truth. “Maya isn’t well.”
“Neither are you.” He puts his hand on my shoulder. I think of Coach Colebrook, squeezing my shoulder. How many times did I let him do that? Why don’t I have the guts to go to his house right now and kick his teeth in?
“There’s so much you don’t know,” I finally say, trying not to tense up, but it’s useless. I can’t hold back in front of my dad. “And I don’t know how much to tell you or how much to keep inside. But it hurts.” My throat tightens, and my eyes burn with the onset of tears. “It’s like a mass growing inside my chest. And I don’t know how to make it go away. I feel so hopeless right now. And I miss Maya. I don’t care how crazy she is or how many problems she has. I freaking love that girl.”
“Then perhaps the way to let that mass go is through love.”
I shake my head and wipe my nose against my forearm. “I don’t know how to help her. I can’t even help myself. I don’t even have the courage to…” Sirens in the distance compel me to stand. “I wonder what that is.”
“That’s an ambulance siren,” Dad says, since I don’t know the difference between the three.
Closing my eyes, I try to imagine where they’re going. In such a small town, everyone finds out by the end of the day, if not sooner, especially if a person got hurt or died. Log onto Facebook, and someone will have posted the news.
I don’t want to find out that way. It’s easier to disconnect from something when you read about it online. Like #thoughtsandprayers. But if you witness it for yourself, it’s a part of you forever.
****
The doorbell rings an hour later. I’m dressed at least, but I could use a shower before I head to work with Dad. The sheriff is at the door with his hat off, which means he’s here to deliver bad news. My dad holds Samantha by the collar. She barks only a few times before settling down.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” the sheriff says, keeping close to the doorway, “but I felt it was my personal obligation to let you know that Hank Colebrook died by suicide earlier this morning. Before that, we received an anonymous message with some shocking evidence against Colebrook. When we arrived at his house to investigate, Colebrook locked himself in his bedroom and shot himself in the head.”
I don’t know how to process anything said. What anonymous message? Who else would know except for…?
Maya.
The sheriff continues without delay. “I know this may come as a shock to you both, but Hank Colebrook may have committed many crimes against his athletes over his coaching career. The investigation is still underway, but we will be releasing a public statement later this evening.” He clears his throat with a gentle a-hem before speaking again. “Daniel, were you at all aware or suspicious of your coach’s behavior?”
I try to speak, but I’m lost for words. I can’t even swallow, let alone get out much air. Do I need a lawyer for this?
Dad steps in for me. “This is a lot for him to handle right now,” Dad says.
“I understand, but Daniel is the only one left that could shed some light on this matter.”
I’m the only one left. There it is again.
Can I be alone and still be strong? Can I find a way to rise?
“I believe Coach Colebrook did something to Wesley Dover,” I say, loud and bold. “I believe whatever he did to Wesley caused Wesley to retaliate against the team when we won states this year. I hope you find the answers to that.”
“We will, son, we will. But what makes you suspect he did something to Wesley?”
I swallow the growing lump in my throat. The sheriff doesn’t know half of what I know, but I’m sure once Colebrook’s house is thoroughly searched, he’ll know more. But for now, I go with what Maya suggested earlier. That I only share what I want to share.
“It’s the way he squeezes shoulders.”
****
The sheriff’s statement causes an uproar among the parents. Now they have to wonder if any of their dead sons were photographed (or worse) by their coach. Everyone threatens to sue the school, the principal, the athletic department, even the marching band director. Anyone who ever worked alongside Colebrook is a target. But not me. For once, I am left alone.
In addition to the thirty photos found in Colebrook’s bedroom, numerous videos are discovered in his basement. The police don’t have the authority to release the children’s names in the photos or videos. Still, the revelation is enough to motivate past victims of Colebrook to speak up. The first is a boy from California who never even knew Colebrook but knew the deceased Matthew Sanders. The boy reveals that Matthew was molested by Colebrook during his sophomore year of high school. Matthew never told anyone because he was afraid he’d be labeled a homosexual and banned from the team, which was complete bullshit fueled by Colebrook who always made a boy question his sexuality before abusing him. In actuality, Colebrook had issues with his own orientation, likely triggered by military trauma.
I wait patiently for the news of Wesley. For anyone to speak up for him. For more evidence to be found against Colebrook. But Colebrook must have done away with all his footage of Wesley. Maybe the only photo left is the one of Wesley smiling at his teammates. This is how I want to remember Wesley. As a happy, innocent young man, full of potential. But I know deep down, his story bears a fate similar to Matthew’s and many other boys who were too ashamed or scared to speak up. And that is why I must forgive Wesley for what he did.
But I will never forgive Coach Colebrook. He can rot in hell.
****
Two days go by without a sound from Maya. When I’m not staring at my phone or laptop, waiting for more news, I lie awake in bed, stroking my fingers against the unwashed sheets. When the loneliness becomes unbearable, I call and leave another message, begging to hear her voice again.
Finally, after one louder-than-usual call, my dad barges into my room without knocking and slams my keys on my desk. “Get your ass up, and go after her! There’s nothing left for you to do here besides wallowing up like a dead leaf.”
“Dad, I can’t just–”
“Yes, you can. Maya came to you. Now it’s your turn to go to her.”
“I didn’t ask her to come here.”
“But you were glad that she did.”
“Yes, I was. I was ... happy.”
When I saw her lying in the backyard with Samantha barking in her face, my whole body filled with warmth. Just like it did when I first laid eyes on her in Fantasy Land, her hair long and wild, the sun shining across her face. And all the moments in between. The feel of her skin against mine, our hearts in sync, sharing memories I’ll never let go of.
