Solitary: A Novel (18 page)

It's November, and winter is still approaching.

The week crawls by.

Jocelyn remains a stranger despite several attempts to speak with her.

Every day repeats the same track listing.

There's side one, since this obviously must be a record I found in my uncle's cabin:

1. "SNIP OF FOOLS" BY DOVES FOR THE BUS RIDE)

2. "LOSING TOUCH" BY THE KILLERS FOR EVERYTHING BEFORE SECOND 'PERIOD)

3. `SOMETNING" BY THE PEATLES FOR ENGLISH CLASS

4: "DID You EVER & Do You STILL" BY SEAN TORRENT FOR AFTER ENGLISH)

5. "SHUT YOUR EYES" BY SNOW PATROL THE NEXT COUPLE OF HOURS

6. "SHOT IN THE BACK OF THE HEAD" BY MOBY FOR LUNCH WITH NEWTBECAUSE HE SORTA REMINDS ME OF MOBY)

Then side two:

7 "INVISIBLE SUN" BY THE POLICE AFTER LUNCH

6. `PEARTLESS" BY KANYE WEST AMERICAN HISTORY)

q. "LAST GOODBYE" (JEFF PUCKLEY) TRYING TO TALK AFTER HISTORY

10. " DRIVEAWAY" BY GREAT NORTHERN FOR THE BUS RIDE AFTER SCHOOL

11. "GO [T ALONE" BY BECK GETTING NOME)

12. "UNTIL THE NIGHT IS OVER" BY M63 FOR EVERYTHING AFTER SUNSET

She's built a wall, and there's no ladder around to climb up over it.

I had one chance, and I blew it.

The week is a blur.

A nightmarish blur.

The worst thing in the world is the silence. The stares, the secrets, the solitude.

I'd rather be chased by a rabid dog in the middle of the night than ignored and left alone.

At least Mom gets a job as a hostess at the local family restaurant in town.

At least I have Newt to eat my food at lunch and swap witty comments with at the locker.

I'm stranded and marooned like Robinson Crusoe. The rest of the school is made of savages. Newt is my Friday.

The guys back at the old school would laugh if they could hear me. But then again, so would anybody else. That's okay. My thoughts are sealed up. There's nobody to listen to them anyway.

As Friday begins to fade away, I am approached by Ray the Politician. That's what I'm starting to call him, at least to myself. My friends and I used to always have names for other kids. Perhaps this is payback.

My name is Loser, and I'm wearing it proudly.

"Hey, Chris, here's that program I told you about," he says, handing me a colored flyer from his church.

"Thanks."

What else can I say?

"There are two services on Sunday. You guys should check it out."

"Sure."

At this point I'm willing to try anything.

"Just stop, please, for a sec."

I'm blocking her way and making a fool of myself. If she goes around me, that's fine. I'm not going to tackle her.

"I just want to talk."

It's Friday, and she's headed out toward the parking lot. I know I'm dangerously close to missing my bus, but there are worse things that can happen.

Like having her leave me in complete confusion all weekend long.

"What do you want?"

"What'd I do?"

The porcelain doll face looks down.

"Jocelyn, please, look at me."

"What?"

"I'm sorry."

"What are you sorry for?"

"For-for everything."

She rolls her eyes.

Again, I'm not getting it. I'm not getting this.

"Please, just-just hear me out, okay?"

She remains there as students pass by, every one of them looking at us like we're a car wreck in the middle of the interstate.

"Look-this is my third week here, okay. And I don't know all the rules and the ins and outs and all that. I just know that I think you're really amazing. And really special. And I just-I'd like to show you that not all guys are complete morons, and I thought-I thought I was doing the right thing, but I didn't mean to hurt you or do anything that you didn't want-"

"Just shut up."

"What?"

"Just stop. Stop talking. Okay? Just stop."

"Then what-I just wanted you to know."

"I know, I get it, okay? I get it. I got it last weekend and I still get it, okay?"

My mind tries to put the puzzle pieces in order. I'm not connecting, not computing.

And then, for a brief second, just a tiny sliver of a moment ...

There it is, once again.

I see it.

Its there, and I know its there.

"Jocelyn," I start to say.

But her eyes start to give her away and she shakes her head, says no, then rushes away.

I sigh.

I stand in the hallway that's now empty.

The bell rings, signaling that the buses have left.

I'm on my own.

I stand there for a long time, wondering what I did wrong, wondering what I should and shouldn't have said.

I have all weekend to think about it.

I hold the church flyer in my hand, wondering if this is a good time to bring it up.

Ever since the incident the other night when I found my mother in the laundry room passed out in her evening dress-there's an Oprah show for you right there-Mom's been acting different. She's been trying harder, acting sweeter, acting more like a mother should act. That and the job she's gotten have made things temporarily better. Even having to call her to pick me up from school yesterday after I missed the bus turned out to be no big deal. We ended up driving outside of Solitary (driving for what seemed to be half an hour) to grab a bite at McDonald's.

I've been waiting today to ask her.

I know she's going to be leaving soon to go to her new job. It's close to eleven in the morning.

The brochure seems to burn in my hand.

Maybe that's because the whole church issue is ultimately what did it for Mom and Dad.

Some relationships go south because of an affair or because the love is not there or because of some other big issue. But the thing that did it for my mom and dad ultimately was this.

The church-faith-God thing.

I chose to side with my mother.

But now I'm beginning to think again.

I don't know what to think. All I know is that Mom's not doing great and I could use a friend or two.

So what if I have to hear some preaching about God and heaven and all that?

It won't bother me.

I certainly heard enough of it living with Dad.

You say God is love and God loves us, but what about you, Pop? What about you?

I shove the thought away and go downstairs.

I smell something that's unfamiliar in this house.

Perfume.

Mom is in the bedroom getting ready.

"Can I come in?"

"Yeah, sure. Just finishing up."

I go inside the small room that certainly doesn't resemble the "master bedroom" it's supposed to be. I sit on a stiff bed that buckles in the middle. It lets out a groan when I relax on it.

"You look pretty," I tell her.

She does. She's wearing some casual pants and a light white sweater. I'm sure she'll be the most glamorous hostess that restaurant's ever had greeting customers.

"Thanks."

"I got a question about tomorrow."

"Yeah?"

She's putting on an earring, so she's not looking at me.

Get it out. Justget it out, Chris.

"Well, a guy came up to me at school-a guy named Ray Spencer. Really cool guy. A senior. He was the one who had the party."

"Uh-huh."

"Anyway, he was asking me about going to his church tomorrow."

Mom stares at me as if the bed swallowed me up inside it.

"And?"

I can already hear her tone. It's defensive, the kind that can't help coming out.

"Well, it's just-I don't know. I thought it might be good to go."

"And why is that?"

"Mom, relax."

"No, Chris, you relax."

"I'm relaxed."

But not really and you probably know it, don't you?

"Why do you want to go to church?"

"Mom-this has nothing to do with Dad."

"Okay."

"It's just a guy-look-he just seems really cool, and he seems like he's being nice."

"What's he trying to do? `Witness' or something? Save your soul?"

"Easy."

"Chris, please."

"I just thought we might-"

"No, no," Mom says. "We're not going to do anything. I'm not stepping foot in a church."

"I'm just thinking it might be good to meet some other guys."

"You're free to go if you want."

"What do you want me to do? Walk there?"

I can see it on her face. She's not going to go, and she's probably not going to even take me.

"It's fine," I say.

Mom looks at me. "Chris, come on."

"No, it's cool."

"Don't do this to me, not now."

"Okay."

"Look, if you really want to go, I'll drive you there. Deal?"

"Yeah, that's fine."

"Chris."

"It's fine. It's cool."

"Where's this coming from?"

Its coming from the fact that I had to choose between the second coming of Moses or you, and I chose you. But that meant I suddenly have no friends and no life. So this is coming from me wanting to actually have a life.

"Nowhere," I say.

"I gotta go."

"Okay, sure."

"We'll talk later."

"Yeah, that's fine."

There's always later.

New Beginnings Church is difficult to find, even with the small map on the brochure. The tiny drawing doesn't include the miles of dense woods surrounding this area. Twice Mom and I drive by the road we're supposed to turn down. We eventually find Heartland Trail and head down the dirt road through hilly terrain until we reach a cleared area at the top of a flat hill that reveals a large white building with a dagger of a steeple.

It's a lot bigger than I thought it would be. Mom drives to the front of the building where there is a sidewalk circling the entrance. We see a family of four walking through the glass doors.

I feel the urge to ask Mom again, but I won't. It's enough that she drove me here.

"Want me to be here a little after noon?"

"Maybe I can find a ride home," I say, feeling guilty for asking her to make two trips out here for me.

"Well-if you can't, just call me. I don't mind picking you back up

"A cell phone would be nice. Or you could just stay."

She lets out a yeah, right kind of laugh. I glance at her. She's strong and she's stubborn, and there's no way anybody is getting her through those doors.