Jumping Off Swings (13 page)

I cut the lights in case any cops are cruising the area, but leave the key in so we can blast the heat and music. We drink and listen for a while. Josh finishes his beer and unrolls the window to throw the can.

“Put it on the floor,” I say. “I’ll take care of it.”

He gives me a surprised look and instead of throwing the can out, shakes it so the last drips fall onto the ground outside before he tosses the can on the floor, like that’s what he planned to do all along. He cracks open another and takes a long drink, then leans back into his seat.

“So, have you talked to her lately?” he asks. He never says her name.

“Not really,” I tell him. “She doesn’t talk to me much. Just to my mom and Corinne.”

“Is she, you know, OK?”

He won’t face me when he asks.

I shake my head. “She seems to be, I guess.”

Sometimes, after Corinne and Ellie leave the house, my mom tells me stuff she notices about the baby. Like that the baby’s kicking now. But when Ellie’s over, no one says a word about what’s happening.

Corinne told me that Ellie’s plan is to give the baby up for adoption. But my mom said only like one percent of mothers actually go through with it. The ones who do must go crazy not knowing where the baby is or if it’s happy and stuff. My own dad at least knows where I am if he ever
does
decide to see me again. He was my mom’s best friend, and when she decided she wanted to have a baby, he donated his sperm. I guess I get the not knowing thing a little, since I have a half brother and sister I’ve never met. Still, when it’s your own baby — I don’t know. I’m sure it’s a million times worse. I mean, if Ellie decides not to keep the baby, I bet every time she even sees a baby, she’ll wonder if it’s hers. And as the baby grows up, she’ll know how old it would be, and she’ll see little kids and wonder if one of them is hers. At least, I would. I wonder if Josh will, too.

Josh sighs and finishes his beer. I’ve never seen him drink this fast.

“I saw what happened to her locker.”

He’s watching out the window again, so I can’t see his face. He holds his beer sort of resting on his left thigh. His hand is shaking.

“It sucks, you know? Just because you get pregnant doesn’t mean you screwed around with everyone. So she did it with a few guys. So what?”

I take a long drink of what’s left of my own beer, which is flat and warm now. I don’t know what to say. It’s not like his stupid strutting around in the locker room helped her case any.

“Everything is just so fucked up,” he says. “I’m going to be a father — but not a father — at the same time. And Ellie’s walking around with —” He chokes up but covers it by taking another drink. “It’s just so fucked up.”

I nod and watch the darkness out my window. “Yeah,” I tell him. “It is.”

We don’t look at each other again. We stare out our own windows. I don’t know how much time goes by. I can tell he’s crying, because I hear the sniffs. I turn up the music so he doesn’t have to worry about me hearing — and I don’t have to listen.

As the music blasts between us, I wonder if my dad ever cried about leaving me. If he ever wonders how I’m doing, beyond the yearly updates my mom sends him on my birthday. I wonder if he ever thinks of me beyond that one day a year my mom forces him to remember.

I’m pretty sure I know the answer.

“W
HERE’VE YOU BEEN?
”

He’s waiting by the door in the dark of the living room. His breath tells me he’s had his usual six-pack. The TV light casts a glow over his face as a scene changes on the screen. He looks like the guy from
The Shining,
but I’m smart enough not to tell him that.

I try to step back a little. Whatever I say is going to piss him off, so I don’t answer. It’s only a matter of time before he starts the lecture. I can hear it already.
You keep it up and you’ll end up a sorry-ass loser like me. Is that what you want?

No, Dad.

My head is spinning and I can hardly stand up, and I really just want to go to bed and pass out. But here it comes . . .

“You think I don’t notice when you take beer from the fridge?”

The damn dog is standing next to him, breathing at me. “Hey, Rosie girl,” I say, hoping that if I’m nice to her he won’t notice I’m ignoring his question.

“You going to answer me or what?”

Guess not.

“Sorry, Dad.” Shit. What was the first question? I’m totally buzzed, and maybe that will be a good thing if he’s going to start telling me what a screwup I’m turning into.

“Uh, I was with Caleb. Hanging out.”

“Yuh. Hanging out with a twelve-pack.”

“Well, yeah. I borrowed a few. I’ll pay you back.”

“You think that’s what I care about right now?” He rubs his hand on his chin that way he does when he’s thinking. His rough hand drags across his stubble, making a quiet scraping noise.

“Come over here.” He flicks the floor lamp on next to the couch and sits down. Jesus, he looks like shit. He’s still wearing his work shirt, all grease-stained, with his company name embroidered on the pocket:
HAL’S DETAIL.
Dave always jokes about what his “detail” has to do with anything. Ever since the third grade, Dave has been able to make any word sound dirty.

My dad thumps the space on the couch next to him with his big hand. For the first time since I can remember, I sit beside him. I try not to smell all the smells coming off him. The stale alcohol, the grease, the hamburger he ate for dinner.

“I’ve been talking to Mikey.”

“Yeah?” I’m a little relieved. His conversations with Mike focus on washed-up ’90s bands, football, beer, and who had the cooler car in high school.

“Yeah,” he says, all serious.

“What?”

“He told me you got yourself into some trouble with a girl.”

Oh, shit.

I lean way back into the couch and take a deep breath.

He shifts next to me and shakes his head.

“So it’s true.” He leans closer to me and looks at me like I’m the biggest idiot in the world. “Damn it, Josh! I thought you knew better. Didn’t I tell you to always wear a condom no matter what?”

“I did, Dad. I swear! But I think it fell off while I was — you know. I don’t know how it happened. I
was
trying to be careful!”

He looks me in the eye for a minute. I stare back so he sees I’m telling the truth. The whites of his eyes are bloodshot. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days. I blink my own eyes and wonder if they look the same.

How the hell did he end up such a pitiful mess? Doesn’t my mom notice what’s happening? I mean, she’s a nurse, for Christ’s sake. Doesn’t she care that her family is a fucking wreck?

I press my head against the back of the couch and try to hold down the need to puke.

“Look, bud. This is serious shit.”

Like I don’t know that.

He shifts on the couch again. The man suddenly can’t get comfortable on the thing he spends half his life on.

“Just be glad the girl’s taking care of things without involving you. At least that’s what Mike heard. Is it true?”

I nod.

“Good. Take it from me: a kid’s the last thing you need in your life at your age.” He reaches for his beer on the coffee table. He takes a long drink before he puts the can down again.

As I listen to him swallow, I think about what he just said.

“What do you mean,
take it from you
?” I ask.

“Huh? Oh, nothing.”

“No, not nothing. You said it like it happened to you.”

He picks up his can again and drinks in long, slow gulps.

“What did you mean, Dad? Did this happen to you, too?”

He lowers his beer and rests it on his belly so he can look inside it. Like there’s some answer in there that will save him from my question. “Not exactly like this.”

But I’ve already figured it out.

I’m the answer.

I’m the reason my mom married my father.

I knew my parents were really young when they got married, but I thought it was because they were in love. Not because they had to. Not because of me.

“That makes sense,” I say. “That’s just perfect. The only reason you and Mom got married is because of me. I was a fuckup from the day I was born.”

“Watch your language,” he says. “And don’t you believe that for a second.”

He puts his beer back down and rubs his hands on his thighs. “Your mother loved me. Don’t ask me why, but the crazy girl actually
wanted
to marry me. You were just a good excuse.”

Loved.
Past tense. But he smiles at the memory.

“Back then I was working in a regular band, a
real
band, and your mom’d come to all our sets. Never missed a show. But —” He trails off.

“What?”

“Eh. Life happens. I needed a steadier job to support you two.” He tips his head back and closes his eyes.

“So you gave up your dream because of
me
?”

“No, Joshy,” he says, sitting up. He puts his large oven mitt of a hand on my thigh and squeezes in a firm way. It feels so weird to have him touch me. Like this. Like he’s hanging on to me. “No. You never believe that, you hear me? Sometimes you have to set priorities. You and your mom were more important to me than being some B-list rocker. Let’s face it. I was never gonna be the next Eric Clapton.”

“But you’ll never know now. And it’s all my fault!”

“Don’t be stupid. What, it’s your fault you were born? Last time I checked, I don’t think you had much choice in the matter.”

I press my lips together and force myself not to lose it in front of my old man. He can say whatever he wants, but I’ll always be the reason his dreams didn’t come true. Maybe the reason he and my mom are so miserable.

“Josh,” he says, squeezing my leg even tighter. “You listen to me. Don’t go down that road. I can tell you’re sitting there blaming yourself for something you had no control over. Look at me. I wouldn’t change how things happened. You understand?”

I can’t look at him. “OK, Dad,” I say.

“I’ll break the news to your mom,” he says quietly. “Better she hears it from me than one of her gossipy friends at work.”

I nod. Figures the one thing that gets them to say two words to each other is my colossal screwup.

“Now go sleep it off, son. That’s not gonna feel good in the morning.”

He takes his hand away and leans back into the couch. As big as he is, the couch seems to swallow him. My thigh feels cold where his hand was, and I wish he’d grab hold again.

When I get to my room, I shut the door and lean against it, staring into the dark. The room spins around me. I make it to my bed and try to hold on until the spins wear off. As my eyes adjust to the dark, I watch my desk seem to rise up in front of me over and over again. I shut my eyes, but then I feel like I’m going to fall off the bed.

Shit.

Shit!

This is it.

This is my life.

I should have known. All one big fucking mistake.

I picture my mom helping me ride my bike when I was little. That way she smiled at me. Was that a fake? Was she pretending so she could hide the truth about how miserable she was, trapped in this crappy marriage all because of me? Or did she really love my dad once, like he said?

There’s a photo album with my baby pictures in it. Pictures of me with my mom holding me. Playing with me. She was always smiling. Not those fake smile-for-the-camera smiles, but smiling
at me.
I never wondered before who took those pictures, but it must have been my dad. He must have seen her being happy through that little window in the camera.

I can’t remember many pictures of my dad. Just a few from parties with him in the background, a beer can in his hand, of course. And the one of him playing his guitar for me in the living room. I was standing in a playpen with pajamas on, listening. I used to stare at the photo all the time and try to remember what the music sounded like, but I never managed to. It was probably the last time he ever played for me.

I close my eyes again and fight the spinning. But even with my eyes closed, I feel the room turning and twisting in the dark.

I wake up to someone knocking on my door. The clock next to my bed says 1:24 a.m.

“Josh?” The door creaks open quietly. My mom peeks her head in. The light from the hall shines in my eyes.

“Hey,” I say. As I wake up, I feel a headache settle into my brain and pound on my skull. My eyes feel like they’re going to explode out of my head.

“Sorry to wake you, honey. I had a long night and — I wanted to check in with you. We keep missing each other, seems like.”

She steps into my dark room.

I pull myself up on my elbow. Her face is splotchy, the way it gets when she cries.

“Dad told you, didn’t he?”

She nods.

I let my head fall back onto my pillow.

“Oh, Josh.”

I wish I knew what to say.

“Honey.” She puts her hand on my arm. I’m sure I smell like stale beer. Like my dad. I try to hold in my breath and breathe into my chest.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I —” But what else is there?

“I know, honey,” she says. She leans forward and kisses my forehead. She hasn’t done that in so long. She’s still wearing her nurse’s uniform. She smells like old people and disinfectant. I can’t even remember the last time we had more than a one-minute conversation with me running late for school or her rushing off to work or the soup kitchen or anywhere else but here. This is one hell of a way to reunite.