Breakaway (27 page)

Primo handed me a washcloth and I tried to wipe Mario's face clean, but it was no use. His vomit, a seemingly endless supply, came out orange at first, probably a mixer for the booze I smelled on him, the sour odor reminding me of the stink in Bad Habits after a busy night. After a while his vomit turned to a mottled brown, the color of shit. Finally he was just lurching and gagging but there was nothing else to come out.

I heard a sharp intake of breath over my shoulder and looked up to see Mom standing in the doorway. She had one hand over her mouth as if to hold in a sob.

“Maybe get him some milk or something,” I said to Mom. “His throat must be burning.” I said it as much to get rid of her as I did because I thought a glass of milk might actually help the situation. Mom would be thinking about Sylvia, thinking about Mario's family losing him the way we had lost my sister. Mom was better now, had started to get back into life a little bit. I didn't want this to ruin her small recovery.

Mario's breathing was a ragged wheeze, wetness still gurgling in his throat as he recovered from the vomiting. I had been like that only once before—the first time I ever touched liquor, when I was fourteen. Puked until my insides hurt and my chest and stomach muscles ached, my throat burning. I hadn't been stupid enough to drink myself to that point again.

When Mom had gone I turned on the shower, let the water run cold to pound down on Mario, rinse away the filth of the vomit that was in his hair and covered half his face. He started to shiver and shake with the cold, his lips turning purple. I left the cold water running for a little while longer, hoping he would sit up and start cussing at me.

When he was clean I turned the water to lukewarm and reached into the tub to shake him again. “Mario. Wake up, man. You don't wake up, we're taking you to the hospital. You want to go to the hospital? Get your ass thrown in rehab? Wake the fuck up.” Primo said nothing, and I wanted to apologize for the way I spoke to his son. But he seemed to understand, knew that my words came from a place of love rather than anger. He held his breath and waited silently to see if my efforts had any effect.

Mario's forehead wrinkled with a frown, the only response I could get out of him, but at least it was something, showed there was still some kind of emotion functioning within his brain.

Mom came back then with a glass of milk and set it on the side of the tub.

“I think he'll be okay. Go on and stay with his mom,” I said to her.

Mom didn't listen to me, just stood there staring at Mario, tears in her eyes.

“Go on,” I said, gently but firmly.

Somehow, between the two of us, Primo and I managed to get Mario out of the tub, dry him off, and get him into a clean pair of boxers and sweats. By then Mario seemed to be somewhat more with it. Could hold his own head up and even drank some of the milk I offered him.

Primo was still worried that we should take Mario to the hospital, but I just brushed the idea off when he asked about it. “Let's put him to bed. If he shows up like this, they'll call the cops.”

Primo murmured in agreement and I could see how conflicted he was, wanted to do right by Mario but was worried all the same what people would think of him if he rolled into the hospital with his underage son who was clearly drunk and cashed out. I wasn't even sure what Mario's drug of choice was these days.

The night had obviously taken its toll on Primo, his face haggard looking. “Go to bed,” I said. “I'll sit up with him, make sure he doesn't start puking again.”

Together we got Mario into bed and put him to rest on his side.

Primo insisted on walking Mom home and I was glad for that. I didn't want to let her go by herself.

The rest of the night I sat up in the chair and watched a movie on the small television in Mario's room. I stayed awake long enough to watch two movies, but fell asleep somewhere near the end of the second one. I woke slumped in the chair, my arms crossed over my chest and my head hanging forward. My neck was stiff and sore, but I jerked instantly awake and looked to the bed, where Mario lay in the exact same position I had left him. He was breathing deeply, his face slack, making him look like a little kid.

It was just starting to get light, the birds calling to each other, as I let myself out of the house and walked home, my shoulders hunched against the cold morning air. At home I fell into bed to try to catch some more sleep before I had to be up for school.

Mom woke me with an offered cup of coffee about fifteen minutes before the time I would have to leave.

“How's Mario?” she asked.

“Okay,” I said as I rubbed the sleep out of my face. “He'll live.”

“I've never seen anyone that drunk before,” she said as she tugged nervously at her hair. “Or was it something else?”

I shrugged. “Probably a combination. He's been screwing up a lot lately. I don't know what he's using.”

“But you—?” she started to say, but I cut her off.

“No. I don't use anything. I barely drink. I hated the way Chris was as much as you did,” I said, looking at my coffee instead of her.

She seemed relieved by what I'd said. “That's good. It's good that you think that way. I never could get Chris to … Well, anyway, I'm glad you feel that way. Because I worry, you know.”

I nodded, though I didn't really know, not like I should know. That she thought about me. Worried about me.

“I love you, Jason,” she said. “You have to take care of yourself. I couldn't stand to lose you too.” She started to cry. But this time it was okay. Like maybe she was crying for both of us, for me, not just for Syl.

“I know, Ma,” I said, and pulled her into a hug. I was going to be late for school. Again. “But you have to take care of yourself too. It's not like I have anyone else either.”

“I know,” she whispered as she wiped her face with the back of her hand. “I know.”

I didn't really want to leave her then, but she had to get to work and I was beyond late now. Seeing Mario that way had freaked her out, but maybe it was a good thing. Like waking from a bad dream and, with some relief, finding the world still as you'd left it.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Friday after the last bell of the school day I hurried out to the parking lot so I was waiting when Raine got to her car. As she walked across the gravel lot hugging two books to her chest, her backpack full and hanging from both shoulders, I was leaning against her car. I had considered that she might come out walking with one of her friends but was grateful to see she was alone.

Though we had seen each other that week during school, neither one of us had brought up the past Saturday night or our conversation at Bad Habits. I could see from the way she looked at me that she was waiting for me to say something, her unspoken impatience with me hanging between us every time I saw her.

“You bumming a ride?” she asked when she was close enough to speak without raising her voice.

“Maybe,” I said as I shut the paperback book I had been trying to read for class while I waited and tucked it into the back pocket of my jeans. “What are you doing tonight?”

She shrugged. “There's a party going on at some guy's house who graduated last year. I told Cheryl I might meet her there. Why?”

“You want to go to 9:30 Club. See a show?”

“What show?” she asked.

“It's a secret,” I said. “But I don't want you to get your hopes up. It's not Miley Cyrus.”

“It's not One Direction, is it?” she asked as she threw her backpack in the backseat. “I know you love your boy bands.”

“I guess you'll just have to come if you want to find out,” I said as I leaned my arms on the roof of the car and spoke to her over the top.

“I have the power of the interwebs right in my hand,” she said as she held up her phone. “I can just look up who's playing at 9:30 tonight.”

“You have no sense of adventure,” I said with mock disdain.

“And you are super irritating,” she said. “But I suppose I'll go.”

 

 

We caught the Yellow Line train at Pentagon City so we wouldn't have to change trains to get to U Street. The train was crowded with late commuters and people, like us, headed into town for the evening. Raine and I stood in the middle of the train car, between the sliding doors that opened on both sides of the train.

“What are you thinking about?” Raine asked me.

“I don't know,” I said, caught off guard by her question since I had been thinking about her in that way. I could think of a hundred lies to tell her that would make her roll her eyes at me, another hundred that would make her blush, but I let them all go. I gave her the only answer I could give her that I knew would stop her from asking anything else. “Sylvia,” I said. I pushed off from the wall as the train slowed in approach of our stop. “I was thinking about Sylvia.”

At the U Street station we walked toward the Vermont Avenue exit and headed north. It was only a few blocks to the 9:30 Club and there were crowds of people heading in the same direction we were walking.

We fell into line behind a large crowd of people at the club entrance and waited to get to the security checkpoint. Ahmed was there, checking IDs and tickets of the people waiting in line, beside him Darian, the other security guy who worked weekends. They both worked construction jobs during the week so their already intimidating size, over six feet tall, was compounded by their muscular builds and strong, thick hands.

Raine saw the name of the band over the ticket booth and drew in a sharp breath. “I love Thievery Corporation,” she said in a whisper.

“It's not Hannah Montana,” I said casually, not letting on how pleased I was that she loved the surprise I was able to give her, “but they're a pretty good band.”

“I think I might pee myself,” she said.

And then we were standing in front of Darian and Ahmed.

“Oh shit,” Darian said when he saw me. “Did you know about this?” he asked Ahmed.

“I did,” Ahmed said. “He asked me if it was all right.”

“How you doing, Jaz?” Darian asked as his face split into an easy smile. “Man, you got big. I do think I'd have trouble kicking your ass now.”

“Hey, Darian. Ahmed,” I said by way of greeting. “This is my friend Raine.”

“Mm-hm,” Ahmed said as he waved us to the side so he could check the IDs of the next people in line. “She's too pretty for you.”

“He said ‘friend,'” Darian said. “He just told you he already knows she's too pretty for him.”

I knew I was going to have to withstand a certain amount of teasing when I showed up. It was the cost of admission. Maybe I'll admit that I liked showing up with a girl as pretty as Raine on my arm. Even if she wasn't really my girlfriend, Darian and Ahmed didn't know that, and I didn't correct their assumption about it.

Ahmed got in the last word, though his concentration had already turned to checking the ID of the next person in line. “You stay out of trouble, Jaz, or I'll turn you over my knee. You hear?”

“You hear that, boy?” Darian asked as his grin widened, his voice so deep, you could feel the vibration of it through the air between us. “You gonna get spanked.” He slapped the back of his hand against his palm as he said this but was laughing, which I took for a good sign.

“Hey, thanks, guys,” I said as I put my hands on Raine's shoulders and steered her toward the door. “Next time I go out with a girl I'll just bring you guys along to seal the deal, yeah?”

Darian and Ahmed broke up at my comment, their laughs high pitched and almost girlish. They were so preoccupied with their joke at my expense they didn't pay any attention as we walked past them and into the club.

 

 

There were two opening bands that played short sets. Neither of the bands were ones I had heard of, local acts who were riding the coattails of Thievery Corporation fame. Thievery was a D.C. band, started out of Eighteenth Street Lounge, a club near Dupont Circle. They had a huge following but would still play a venue like 9:30 because it was a D.C. institution—like the Smithsonian museums or Ben's Chili Bowl.

I was still feeling a little nervous around Raine but once the headliners came on, we melted into the crush of people near the stage and I forgot to worry about it.

It was impossible to keep from bumping into people or getting your feet stepped on with everyone crowding the dance floor, but I loved it. I loved the energy of the people around us and it felt good to dance. We were caught up in the movement of the crowd, and even though other dancers would bounce off us and sometimes a drunk person would stagger and force the crowd to shift, it was like we were all together in the same happy place.

I stayed right next to Raine and used my size to carve out a space for us, but we danced with the same energy and enthusiasm as everyone else. She was totally into it and I could hear her singing along to the songs.

I was breathless and tired at the end of their first set and we retreated with everyone else, to get a drink and use the bathroom during the break. Raine and I separated while she waited in the long line to use the women's bathroom.

When I got back upstairs with our drinks Raine was standing against the wall outside the bathrooms. For that brief moment before she noticed me, when I could watch her face without her knowing I was watching, I could see her uncertainty, her feeling of self-consciousness about standing there alone. As guys walked by, they took notice of her, the way guys can't help but take notice when a beautiful girl is in their midst. With her hands clasped in front of her, her shoulders slightly hunched, she tried to make herself smaller than her tall frame would allow.

As I got close to her she finally noticed me, and her face beamed with such genuine gladness to see me that my heart did a stutter step in my chest.