Party (16 page)

“C’mon, Mike.”

I know, bro. I know. I got your back.
But you’re gonna have to tell me sometime
.

I take out my phone and call emergency. Tell them this guy got his ass kicked, he’s probably lying in the street or someone’s yard. They ask me all kindsa questions, and I tell them the truth. My name, where I’m at, everything.

Then I hang up and sit there like a pussy. Alone in the bathroom with blood on my hands.

You done good, bro
.

“Yeah, I hope so,” I say to Mike.

I sure hope so. Because now I’m in this. Big-time.

I sit there on the john while people bang on the door wanting to come in. I just sit there, let them knock. There’s other bathrooms, this house is huge.

After a while, I step out of the bathroom and head down the hall. I don’t even know where I’m going.

“Antho?” someone says.

I turn around and it’s Ashley again. My friend. Her bro and my bro played ball together. You remember that, Mike? You and James,
Jay-maz
, tearing up the field? Ashley’s carrying Morrigan, helping her walk with this other guy’s help. I should’ve made her take the Jack back. I should have.

“Hey,” I say.

“What’s—are you okay, you look … What is it?” Ash says.

I lift my hands. Knuckles all skinned. Fists shaking. I can’t stop them.

“I fucked up,” I say. “Aw, Ash, I fucked up bad.”

Ash looks over at this dude, and he takes Morrigan in his arms. She looks almost passed out. I wish I felt that way. But I’m awake. I’m wide awake and sober and I’m scared. I sweated out the Jack beatin’ on that kid, but my stomach feels bad now, all twisted.

Ash takes my wrists in her hands. Her fingers don’t even go all the way around. Why am I so fuckin’
big?

“Anthony, look at me. What happened? Why are you bleeding, who hurt you?”

Hurt me?

Hurt
me?

I can’t help it. I fall into her, almost knock her over, push her to the wall, grabbing her in my arms. Need to hang onto something. Someone.

“I didn’t mean to,” I say into her hair. “I swear, girl. I didn’t mean to.” Goddam pussy. Some Ranger I’d be. Some fuckin’ Raider.

“Didn’t mean to what?” she says into my chest. “Antho, what happened?”

The music shuts off all the sudden. It gets real quiet. I look over Ashley’s shoulder.

Two cops are standing in the doorway looking out at everyone. All them kids.

Then they look at me.

Aw, shit, Mike.

I could take these cops out. They can’t stop me. Nobody stops me on the field, they can’t stop me now. I could push right past them and be gone, man. Just be gone.

Make it right, little bro
.

“Mike, man,” I say out loud.

I got your back. You just make it right
.

“Mike?” Ashley asks me, and she looks scared. “What about him?” She looks at me, then the cops, then me again. She looks so worried. Like she thinks I gone crazy, talkin’ about Mike like that. She’s got such pretty blue eyes. She and James and their parents, and Morrigan … they’re the only ones I told about Mike. Far as anyone else knows, he’s still out there fighting. Wanted to tell the team, tell Coach, but they just kept
hassling me about the passes, the incompletes. So I didn’t say anything.

This cop comes up to me and asks me my name. I tell him.

And it’s all quiet.

“I’m sorry,” I say to the cop.

He touches my shoulder, not all tough or anything. Just touches it.

“All right,” he says. “Let’s just go talk about it, all right?”

They lead me outside with all those kids all looking at me. I don’t even see them anymore. Not Ash, not Morrigan, not the guy holding Morrigan up. No one.

The cops take me to a cop car. There’s three cars altogether. I’m a wanted man.

I look up the street. There’s an ambulance up there, and they’re wheeling that Arab kid on a bed to the ambulance.

I hurt him bad. Real bad. On the field it’s fair play. Out here …

“You want to talk to us?” this cop goes.

“Yeah,” I say. “Okay. Am I under arrest?”

“Not just yet,” he says. “You still wanna talk to us?”

“Yeah. Okay.”

Other cops, they start clearing out the house. Kids all over the lawn and sidewalk. Some go to their cars, a lot sit down on the grass. I’m not a football star anymore. Just a star. Some of the cops start talking to kids and I see a bunch dumping out beer onto the grass.

“Tell us what happened,” this cop says. “You called nine-one-one yourself?”

“Yeah,” I say, still looking at the Arab guy.

“What happened, why’d you hit him?”

“He called me names.”

“Yeah? So he started something with you?”

“Kinda,” I say. “But I started it first.”

“How’d you start it?”

“Called him a towelhead.”

The cop doesn’t say anything for a sec. The paramedics almost got the kid to the ambulance.

“You’re Anthony Lincoln?” the cop says, like he don’t believe it. “You play for Santa Barbara High?”

“Yeah.”

“I remember watching your brother play with my boy,” he say. “He was magic.”

“He can’t play anymore. They cut off his legs.” I don’t think I ever said it like that. Just stated it. Goddam.

“Oh …” The cop scratches the back of his head. “Listen, you still got a whole other year to go in school, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you understand that what you’re describing here so far sounds an awful lot like a hate crime, and that could make things a lot worse for you?”

“I got nothing to hide.” The kid is at the ambulance. “Can I talk to him?”

“Uh, not right now,” the cop says. “Why don’t you tell me—”

I
run
.

They can’t stop me. It’s like I’m on the field again, taking
that ball all the way to the end zone. The cops shout at me to stop but I don’t, no way, not for them. I gotta do this.

I shoulder my way between two paramedics and lean over the Arab kid.

“I’m sorry,” I say, looking into his eyes. His face is busted up bad. Real bad. He only has one good eye to look at me with.

“I’m real sorry, okay, man? I didn’t mean to do it, I’m sorry.”

Hands grab me from behind, but I shrug them off. It’ll take more than one cop to drag me outta here.

The kid’s face is all swollen up. But he sorta grins, like one piece of his mouth turns up at the corner. His lips are busted and he can’t talk right. Because of me. He’s trying to say something.

“I’ll make it right,” I say, just as a bunch of cops grab me and pull me away. The cops walk me back to the squad car, and they’re yelling at me but I don’t know what they’re saying.

“He’s gonna be okay, right?” I say to them. “He’s gonna be okay?”

“He’ll live,” one of the cops says as some other one pulls my arms behind my back. Handcuffs are cold on my wrists.

“You have the right to remain silent,” this cop goes, and I tune him out. I seen enough on TV. I know my rights.

“Wait!” I hear Ashley shout.

The cops turn and kinda get in front of me, their hands out to stop her. She runs right into them like Red Rover sent her over. Like we used to play when we were all in grade school. So long ago.

“Antho!”

“S’all right,” I say. “It’s my bad.”

“I’ll call James!” she shouts. “He’ll take care of it!”

“Naw, Ash,” I say. “I got it, s’cool.”

“Antho …”

“I got it, Ash. I can take it.”

“You want me to call Mike?”

“No,” I say. “No, I’ll do it, don’t say anything, okay?”

“Miss, you need to move along,” this cop says, pointing back toward the yard. I can see that dude still hanging onto Morrigan, who’s looking around all dazed.

Ashley scowls at the cop but backs off. “You sure?” she calls to me.

One of the cops puts his hand on my head to make sure I don’t bump it going into the cop car. “I’m sure,” I call back, and then I’m in the car and the door gets shut.

There ain’t
no
room back here. I move to sit back against the door so I can kinda stretch my legs out. And it smells like ass, like the bathroom but worse. Like crime.

You done good, Antho
.

Naw, man, I think.

You gonna make it right
.

Yeah, I think. I will. Don’t know how exactly. Hate crime? Black kid beatin’ on an Arab kid. That’s like news and shit. I was on TV once, after a game. That was cool. Next time won’t be that cool.

Wait and see, little bro. Wait and see. Play it cool
.

Cool? I think.

I got your back. It might not be so bad
.

I hope so, bro.

I can see out the windshield that the Arab kid is talking to a cop. Probably telling him how bad I need to go to prison. That I don’t deserve to play ball ever again. That maybe someone should cut my legs off too for what I did.

Goddam, Mike.

I run to the Blazer, jump in, crank the engine, and tear down Beachfront. A flash of black and silver catches my eye to the right and I don’t care, I just have to GO.

Oh,
god
. I’m gonna be sick.

Ha! “God.” Right.

You hear me talking, Big Shooter? Huh? Dear Jesus: Thank you for so completely and totally fucking up my whole life, love, Josh.

How could you do this to me, God? How? You tell me.
What did I do that was so awful, huh? I was trying to do the right thing, do what you said, and this is what I get?

Well, you know what? Piss. Off.

I turn on my stereo. Loud. Mike Ness is singing. He has bad, bad luck.

No fucking shit! Tell me about it.

Thirteen’s my lucky number
, he says.
To you it means stay inside
.

I try to turn it off with my fist. The volume knob pops off, my knuckles burn bloody, but the music keeps playing.

I’ve definitely messed up my hand. Hey, that’s what I get, huh, God? That’s what I get for taking your GODDAM NAME IN VAIN.

I jerk the wheel to take a corner. Too fast. The tires skid, but I maintain control. The Blazer shudders underneath me. Reminds me of being in the tailgunner seat with Morrigan, making
her
shudder, and—

Ryan.

Ry-o.

Best buddy, old chum, old pal. What the hell are you doing to me? Like it wasn’t bad enough, you just couldn’t keep it in your pants, could you? God. FUCK.

Just trying to do the right thing, God, just trying to get it right, do what you said. Thought you’d pay me back a little there, Big Guy. Someday. It would be worth it, just like I told Morrigan.

Guess not, huh? No. Guess not.

What did I do?

Go on! Let’s hear it, let’s hear my … what do you call it … the LITANY of my SINS. Go ahead, I’m ready. Because clearly I did something wrong. FUCKING CUSSING? Tell me. I’m all ears, God. You just lay it on. Ha! Go ahead, it’s the only
laying
I’ll be doing, right? Huh? Yeah.

I can’t get the picture out of my head. Ryan, naked, Morrigan, reaching.

Fuck you, cocksmoker. Fuck both of you. You moved in on my girl.

Sorry. EX-GIRLFRIEND, right? Right.

The song ends, and the Dropkick Murphys comes on. Al Barr tells me that
somewhere it all went wrong, and your plan just fell apart
.

You think?

My phone rings. I ignore it till it stops, then turn the power off. I don’t care who it is, I don’t want to talk to them. Period.

Little help here, God? No? Didn’t think so. Thanks for nothing, buddy. THANK YOU FOR FUCKING NOTHING.

Oh, sorry. Did I offend you, Big Guy?

“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!”

Good, okay, now my fingers are fucked up and my throat’s sore along with them. Awesome. This is some night, yes sir, some night, all right.

I’m just going to go ahead and smoke now, Jesus. Why not? Long, slow death. Oh, yeah. Nice and slow, plenty of time to
NOT have sex. No sir, not me. I’m better than them. That’s what this is about, isn’t it? I am better than they are, and I guess that’s my big old sin, isn’t it?

How could you let her do this to me, man? Please tell me. I’m sorry if I pissed you off, I’m sorry if you’re mad at me, just tell me, why did you do this to me? Why did you let Ryan move in on her like that?

It’s not fair.

There, I said it. You heard me. It’s not fair, and you know it. So why?

“God,
please …
” It comes out before I can stop it.

Oh, whatever, you nancy.
He’s
not listening,
he
doesn’t care. If he cared, he wouldn’t have done this.

“Why …?”

Shut up! Who knows, who cares. It’s over. Done, dead, deceased. Get over it.

Find someone else. This summer, next year, whenever. Find someone else and go to town.
Shag
her, baby, yeah.

I love her, and—

So what. It doesn’t matter. If this is love, no thanks. I’m out.

Ryan, you bastard. How could you do this? All these years and you just piss on it. Great job, my friend. I should fucking end you.

So what do you want me to do, God? Forgive her? Is that my Big Lesson? Because I’m pretty sure that is
not
going to happen. Not now, not ever. Why should I?

Why should I.

This whole night, it hurts. My chest hurts, God. Hey, how about a nice heart attack, just for good measure? Wouldn’t that be just hysterical? HAHAHAHA!

Yeah, ha-ha.

Biggest party of the year, and this is how it ends. Swell.

It doesn’t matter, nothing matters.

Nothing. I tried, and I failed. Wait, no. No I didn’t. I did what you said to do, to wait. I didn’t do anything wrong!

“YOU HEAR ME?!”

“I!

“DID!

“NOTHING!

“WRO—”

I take a sharp turn. Too fast. Gravel crunches and spurts under the tires. The Blazer shudders again and throws me against the door. Fishtailing now, sliding an arc back and forth across some street I don’t even know. I slam the brakes. Wrong choice. Don’t slam the brakes during a fishtail, that’s the rule.