This is the Part Where You Laugh (20 page)

I wake up late and walk up the hill to the back porch. When I open the sliding glass door, the whole house smells like vomit.

“Grandma?” I run to her room.

She's in a pool of pink, the vomit chunks like wet confetti. Her voice is quiet. “I'm sorry.”

“Where's Grandpa?”

“He went to the store.”

“Okay,” I say. “It's gonna be okay.”

I help her into the bathroom. Get her robe off and turn my back. “Hold on to that rail, Grandma.”

“I've got it.”

“Don't let go. I'll close my eyes and turn on the water. You get your underwear off.”

“Thank you, sweetie.”

She steps into the bath, and I help her lower herself with my eyes still closed.

I go back to her bedroom. Strip the bed. Carry everything to the washing machine and start it. Grandpa put a plastic underlay on the bed after the last accident, so the cleanup isn't too bad. I wipe the plastic sheet. Smear bleach mixed with water to the edges. Take all of my rags to the washing machine that's almost full. Click it to warm-hot and close the lid.

After her bath, I get Grandma back in bed and turn on a rerun of
Jeopardy!
Bring her some saltine crackers and a glass of Sprite.

“Thank you, sweetie.” She nibbles on the corner of a cracker. Says, “The Kimballs' Chihuahua? The little hairless one, the one they treat like a baby?”

“Yeah?”

“It was eaten last night. Well, last evening, right before dark. Something came up out of the water and dragged it in. It had been barking at the edge of the lake for a little while, and something came up and pulled it into the water. Dragged it under and that was that.”

“They didn't find it afterward?”

“Oh no, sweetie. It was gone. And Pearl Kimball was distraught. She kept yelling, ‘My Emily! Oh my Emily!' A few of the neighbors sat with her last night, and I had Grandpa take her a note from me saying that I was sorry.”

I pat Grandma's arm. This is what I wanted from the caimans, this moment right here, but I can't enjoy it since I keep thinking about Creature, thinking about him sedated, with a tube going down his throat. I say, “Creature had surgery last night.”

“Malik? He had what?”

“He got stabbed in a basketball game.”

Grandma points at me with her finger and narrows her eyes, and for a moment I can picture what she was like when she was younger. She says, “Were you playing in this game?”

“No, Grandma, I still can't play.”

“Just what do you mean ‘he got stabbed'? Does that normally happen in basketball games?”

“No. Never. But this guy tried to kill him. This guy was some kind of gang member or something.”

“Oh my goodness.” Grandma holds her hand to her mouth. “How is he? Is he okay now?”

“He had surgery and they repaired everything. They said it went well.”

Grandma taps her book against her teeth. “Oh, his poor mother.”

“I know.”

“She must be falling apart.” Grandma takes a sip of Sprite and settles her head on her pillow. She closes her eyes.

I say, “Go to sleep now,” and touch her forehead. Then I walk out to the living room and see her pill bottle. Open it. Grab a few pills. Count them in my hand: six. I shake my head. Tell myself I don't want them. But I put five in my pocket and one in my mouth.

Natalie comes to the front door. I can't tell if the house smells like bleach or vomit. I say, “Let's go outside. Let's go sit down by the lake.”

We sit in the cut-grass. It's thigh height and seeding now.

I tell her about Creature. The stabbing. The surgery.

She says, “I'm really sorry.”

I rub my eyes. I'm so tired, and the Percocet makes me feel oddly numb, like I've stuck a syringe into the front of my brain.

Natalie opens her hands and lets the grass stems brush her palms. She says, “I told her to leave him today.”

“Your mom?”

Natalie nods.

“How'd that go?”

“They'd just had sex, so she called me a stupid little bitch.”

“Just had sex? How'd you know?”

Natalie picks the seed stem off the end of a grass stalk. Separates the seeds with her fingernails. “They were having sex in the kitchen when I came home from my workout. Right there against the counter, and I felt like maybe they should've known that I was coming home too.”

I pick up a handful of rocks, round and gray, roll them around in my hands, try to blink myself all the way awake, all the way conscious. I have this feeling like I'm writing a list of everything bad on a piece of notebook paper in my lap. Things keep coming up and I keep adding them to the list, but it's only one sheet of paper and the pen keeps breaking through the paper as I write, and I'm running out of room too.

Natalie says, “Are you okay?”

I look at her. “Do you ever think this is too much?”

“What is?”

“Everything,” I say.

Natalie picks up a large rock, six inches across and covered in little holes. She says, “This is the part where you laugh. You just have to. When things are so shitty that there's nothing you can do, there's no other way to react.”

She throws her rock up in the air, not out but up, and it barely catches the edge of the water past our feet. Makes a loud clunk as it hits rock and water at the same time. A little bit of water splashes onto our feet.

Natalie giggles, then shakes her head. “Has it ever been easy for you?”

“Once,” I say. “For a little while. I guess not easy, but simple.”

“Here with your grandparents?”

“No, in juvie. And in the wilderness program.”

“In juvie? Really? That was better?”

“Not better. ‘Better' isn't the right word. It was just simple, if that makes any sense.”

Natalie throws another rock and it plunks. “But you have basketball now, right?”

“Yeah, basketball's good.”

“When you're not hurt.”

“Right,” I say, “when I'm not hurt.”

Natalie taps me with her elbow. “And that other thing?”

“What other thing?”

“Well,” she says, and looks at me so serious that the scar on her face twitches. “Let's be honest. I'm pretty fuckin' great.”

I laugh. “Yeah,” I say, “you're pretty great.”

But when I look back out at the water, I think about my grandma, think about her being stuck in bed. About cancer. About her not having much time left. Then I think about Creature again, in the ICU, wonder if he's ever going to fully recover, if he'll ever play basketball like he did before.

Natalie says, “I want things to be good, you know?”

“With us?”

“No, in general. But they never are.” She puts her head on my shoulder. “Travis, tell me something. Tell me something that I don't know about you.”

My face feels hot when she says that. I say, “Something you don't know?”

“Something you don't tell people. Or something you don't usually tell people.”

“Well,” I say, “my mom…” But I don't know where to go with that, don't know what to tell next. Talking about my mom feels like a big thing, like when you see a stick in the river and you pull on it and realize that it's not just a stick but a small branch poking out of the water and there's a whole tree underneath the surface, that a whole tree's stuck down there, one so huge you'll never be able to pull it up.

Natalie says, “What about your mom?”

“Well, she's…” But I hesitate again.

Natalie waits. She picks up a quarter-size rock and holds it in front of one eye like she's trying to inspect the date on a coin. She turns it one way, then the other. Lifts it up above her head and flips it out into the water, making a
plunk.

“Something you don't know…,” I say, “is that my mom shoots heroin.”

“Oh shit,” Natalie says. “I didn't think you were going to say that. I'm sorry.” She looks at me, then puts her head back on my shoulder. “I'm really sorry.”

“And she's homeless too. She lives down by the river. Sometimes under the bridge. Sometimes other places.”

“Wow,” Natalie says. “That's really sad.”

“Yeah, well, I'm sort of used to it now. It's been like that for a long time. A real long time. I wish it wasn't, but…”

Natalie says, “Nobody should have to get used to that.”

“I know.”

Natalie reaches and breaks a stem of grass. “Is that why you were so weird about the feed-the-homeless event the other day?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Sorry. I didn't get that. I just thought you were being a dick for some reason.”

“Yeah,” I say, “I should've told you.”

“Or maybe a good girlfriend can tell when something's wrong. You know?”

“So you're my girlfriend now?”

“I think so.” She looks up at me. “Am I?”

“I'd be okay with that.” I lean down and kiss her.

“You'd be okay with that? Fuck you.” She kisses me. “You'd be ecstatic. You'd be enraptured. You'd die of happiness, all right?”

“All right.”

We kiss, sitting like that. Not like we've ever kissed before. Slower.

The water's warm in front of us. There's a gust of wind and the smell of algae and rot comes over us. Natalie giggles. “That smells amazing.”

We both sit there and stare at the lake, smell the foul odor. School pops into my head. It's only a few weeks away now. I say, “It's gonna be different in the fall, you know? I hate Taft.”

“Well, maybe this year'll be better. Maybe a full season of basketball will distance you a little from last year.”

“Maybe,” I say. “I hope so.”

“And I'm not going anywhere.” Natalie leans her head on my shoulder again. “I'm staying right here.”

Creature's mom left a message on my grandparents' machine saying that Creature is out of the ICU, that he's awake now and can have visitors. I ride the bus to RiverBend.

When I get to Creature's room, the door is propped open. Coach is next to the bed, talking to Creature, and three of our teammates stand at the foot of the bed. All three of them are bigs on the team, two power forwards and the starting center, and they make the room feel too small.

I talk quietly. “What's up, guys?”

One of the bigs, our center, whispers, “Hey, PG. How's your summer been?”

“Good,” I say, “good,” since we're not close friends. I don't want to explain anything. Then I point at Creature and shake my head.

One of the forwards whispers, “I know. Crazy, huh? Were you there?”

“Yeah,” I say. “It was one of the weirdest things I've ever seen.”

“No doubt. And it was in the middle of the game, huh?”

“Yeah.”

Creature says, “Wait, what's this voice I hear?” He tilts his head so he can see me between two of the bigs. “T, baby. Come over here.” His voice is dry and weak, like he's been eating sheets of sandpaper.

I step up next to his bed, opposite Coach. Say, “How you feeling, Creat?”

“Not too bad, considering.”

It's good to see that tube out of his mouth.

Coach says, “Listen here, Creature. You take care of yourself. You hear me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You've got a big season coming. It's important. And you'll be strong by then. So rest up as much as you can right now. Now's the time to get healthy and strong, okay?”

“Yes, sir. I will.”

Coach grips Creature's forearm and gives it a little squeeze. “Okay, I'll let you two talk now, but then you go back to sleep, all right?” He pats Creature on the shoulder.

“Okay,” Creature says.

Coach points at me. “And we need to have another meeting sometime soon, got it?”

“Yes, sir. Got it.”

Coach goes to the door. The bigs follow him. One of the bigs says, “Recover quick so we can pound on you in the paint, right?”

Creature says, “Can't pound on something this fast.”

The big flips Creature off as they all leave the room.

After they're gone, I sit down in the plastic chair next to his bed. Say, “Creat, I'm sorry this happened to you.”

“Don't worry about me. I'm all right.”

I shake my head. Look above me at the syringe and needle box on the wall with the red
BIOHAZARD
sign. “The police are on it. They talked to all of us. Got descriptions, and said they'd be in contact with the Portland police too.”

Creature shakes his head. “They won't find him, T.”

“You don't think so?”

“As the great poet Chris Rock once said: ‘If you wanna get away with murder, shoot somebody in the head and put a demo tape in their pocket.' ” Creature smiles at the old joke.

I say, “So you're a rapper now?”

“No, baby. But to cops, black people are black people.”

“Never know,” I say. “They might find him.”

Creature adjusts himself. Looks uncomfortable. “How are your ribs, T?”

“A little better. Still sore, but better.”

I point at his stomach. “How does that feel?”

He pulls the gown back, reveals the line of staples, a small clear tube draining something from the bottom of the incision. “It's not the most pleasant thing I've ever felt in my entire life.”

We both laugh, but Creature stops short, puts his hand to his bandage and breathes deep. Closes his eyes.

I say, “Hospital rooms make me nervous.” I stand up and walk to the table. Pick up the TV card. “They've got ESPN2 here, and it's Summer League week. I saw an ad when I was watching baseball with my grandpa.”

“Baseball?” Creature turns his head and pretends to spit on the floor.

“Exactly.” I pick up the remote.

“Is basketball on?”

“Games all day. We could see if they're still running.” I click the power button, flip to ESPN2, and find a game. “Who is this? Let's see…Cleveland and Orlando. At least we can see Kyrie Irving.”

Creature says, “The metronome of his left-hand dribbling, the quick beat of his crossover.”

The game's at the start of the second half and we sit and watch. Don't talk. A nurse wearing a panda shirt comes in once to check on Creature and do something with his IV, but she doesn't kick me out. Kyrie goes for 23 and 8 before they pull him halfway through the fourth.

Creature says, “He looks good. Controlling the game, and he's a serial killer in the pick-and-roll.”

“Tough to guard.”

The nurse comes in again. “I'm sorry,” she says. “I wanted to let you two watch until the end, but it's time for rest now. Malik, you've had visitors for more than two hours.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

She says, “I'm going to give you some pain medication now and it'll help you go right to sleep.”

Creature smiles at her.

I stand up and get out of the nurse's way. “Take care of yourself. Okay, Creat?”

“Back at you, baby.” He lifts his fist off the bedsheet and I lean forward to tap it.