sorry
I don’t know what to say. I love orange juice. I just do. Pulp, no pulp, Vitamin D enriched, twist of mango, I don’t care just give it to me. And if I drink it out of the carton sometimes, so be it. I’m not hurting anyone. Del doesn’t even drink juice, so I don’t know why he gets on my ass about it.
There we were in the kitchen, me with my carton, him with his coffee, just staring at each other. Groggy. Waiting for someone to speak. Del squinted at my cheek.
“How’s the jaw?”
I blinked a few times, trying to wake up. “Been better. But better.”
“Mm. Teeth still giving you trouble?”
I shook my head and took a swig. He eyed the juice.
“We have glasses.”
I nodded. He took a sip of his coffee.
“You look like shit.”
What a thing to say.
I can never tell what Del is trying to get out of me. Conversation? A laugh? An argument? An apology? Sure, I looked like shit. I felt like shit too but that’s not the point. What did he hope to gain from saying something like that? I thought the best way to beat his game was not to play. So, I just nodded again. He got back to his coffee, fully aware of what my nods meant.
“So. What’d you get up to last night?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“...Nothing.”
I shrugged and chugged. Del stopped trying.
I killed the rest of my carton and fell onto the living room couch. I was uncomfortably rested. I mean, I was definitely hungover, but I’d slept like a rock. Which surprised me. I’d become incredibly sober by the time I’d left the party and when I got home I thought I’d have trouble turning my brain off but nah. Lights out.
I turned over on the couch and watched the ceiling. I could hear Del puttering around in his room. He had nothing to do up there but I guess it beat being around his dick stepson. When Del decides he can’t deal with me, that’s it for the day. Suddenly, we’re just roommates. In one corner, a forty-something white guy who can build chairs out of tree stumps and recommend a good car tire. In the other, a random brown kid with bad eyebrows and shit posture. Not a thing in common except an address, a penchant for coffee, and my dead mom. Pair up of the century here.
I crushed the empty OJ carton in my hands and wondered what Del would say if I did tell him what I got up to last night. Bet that would stop the questions. But then I thought about last night and could feel the juice in my stomach start to boil.
Hot orange juice. Barf.
“Sorry...”
I didn’t want to think about the ditch. I wanted to shut off.
Del was asleep by the time I got dressed which was good. If he saw me running that early, it would’ve confirmed something for him. He’s always trying to translate my actions. Find the meaning behind the meaningless. But I didn’t feel like being translated today.
I started with a few warm-up laps at the school track. It was an odd temperature outside. The sun was out but it was still chilly and I had to adjust my breathing. I read that taking deep breaths in the cold is bad for stamina. Hurts your lungs in the long run. Read that in a running magazine Del signed me up for last Christmas. ’Cause he just knows me so well. Boy, oh, boy, do I love reading about the little bones in the human foot. I wait with bated breath for the postman to bring me this month’s edition of Running Has Taken Over Your Personality Illustrated.
I moved from my warm-up into some faster intervals. The thing about running is it either helps me think with a new clarity or it completely blocks everything out. I’m usually fine with either but I was really banking on a total eclipse of the brain today.
Not so lucky.
My hangover fog lifted and I thought about the ditch.
“Sorry...”
It felt good.
It felt really, really good. I’ll admit it.
But that’s the thing. I have to admit it. It’s something to admit. That’s why I pulled away. I mean, I pulled away for a laundry list of reasons. He came in hard. Really hard. Like he was challenging me. Half the reason I reacted that way was in defense. But then he looked so scared. Like I’d just confirmed a million conversations he’d had with himself. The guy had a very readable face and it was reading as terrified.
“Sorry...”
He looked it too. Sorry. And he started to get up. And I imagined him standing and leaving and walking home alone on that broken, hairy foot and it was all so sad. So sorry.
For a moment, I was certain. I didn’t want him to leave.
I grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him close to me. Closer than I thought I would. Could. And the feeling. He was soft. He was soft in spite of himself. He was this giant, hairy thing. This bear of a guy, all legs and shoulders. His hand was rough on my cheek and the stubble on his neck scratched my lips but he was still so soft. I didn’t think it would be like that. Not that I let myself think of stuff like that a lot. I didn’t think about it. Them. Other guys. I didn’t like to think like that. I don’t.
I sped up. I got faster. Hugged my turns tighter.
I didn’t want to think about Sandro Miceli. ’Cause what’s the point? I’m gonna start kissing guys now? Is that what my senior year’s gonna be? Is that what I learned this summer? No.
I sped up and my breathing got heavier.
I’m not. I don’t.
I heard Matty’s laugh and I picked up my speed. I was breathing so fast and the cold hurt. I fixed my face and broke into a full sprint. Zooming. Burning. Blind. I saw Matty carving FAG into Jackson Pasternak’s locker. I felt him carve FAG into my forehead.
I could barely bring myself to stop in time to puke. All over the track. So orange.
“Sorry...”
There’s nothing wrong with it but I’m not that guy. I have the receipts. If I were like that, if I were that way, then I had a lot of girls to explain myself to. I’ve had girlfriends since the second fucking grade. I’ve felt things for girls that almost killed me I felt them so hard. That was real, I wasn’t just faking that shit. So, unless you can wake up one day and just stop liking girls, then no. I’m not.
And I felt like I should tell Sandro that. It felt like something he should know. No hard feelings, guy. I don’t care that you are, if you are, but I’m not built that way. My bad.
I couldn’t stop staring at my puke. Such a waste of orange juice. My jaw hurt like a motherfucker. Usually, I can walk off a punch but my Cinnaminson fight was taking its time to become old news and throwing up sent the throbbing into overtime. I looked around to make sure no one saw me. Nope. I was alone. No one on the track. No one in the stands. No one to give me shit. No one to ask if I was okay. No one.
I wanted to tell Sandro he shouldn’t be sorry. That I wasn’t sorry. That it was okay. It was kind of nice.
So, I did.
It’s no wonder Sandro’s foot didn’t heal right, because the Miceli’s live in the middle of nowhere. They’ve got one of the only houses on the Moorestown farmlands and, even with all my shortcuts, it still took me forty-five minutes to get out there. But it’s a beautiful area. All fields. Jersey gets a bad rap but that’s all North Jersey’s doing. South Jersey’s the real Garden State. Moorestown’s farmland is all corn and tomato fields. But what makes it special, to me at least, is how close it is to the highway. The fields bleed into the Sticks and right on the other side is I-95. You can be surrounded by all this nature and still hear the echoes of speeding cars. It sounds like the ocean. I passed my mom’s favorite field on the run over. It’s this stripped field I go to when I want to feel close to her. She loved the echoes. The ocean.
Her field is about five minutes from the Miceli’s farmhouse. I was worried I’d show up all panting and disoriented but the Miceli driveway was long enough for an adequate cool-down stroll. I knocked on the door then realized how wild I looked. My shirt was drenched in sweat and there were gross orange specks around my collar. I was also suddenly aware that I forgot to put on deodorant. Not my best self. I’m sure I looked like a maniac to the child who opened the door. He was super small, only looking smaller in what was clearly a grown man’s Dragon Ball Z shirt.
“Sup, lil’ man. Your brother home?”
The kid just stared at me. Not threatened. Not scared. Not even confused. Just mildly bored. “I don’t have a brother.”
“Sandro?”
“He’s my uncle. And he’s not here.”
“Okay... Know where he went?”
The kid shook his head. He was not trying to help me.
“I’m Bash. I go to school with Sandro.”
The child considered me for a moment. Well, not me. My shirt.
“I’m GJ. You got barf on you.”
And he closed the door. Welp. I tried. I was thinking about the quickest route home when I heard Sandro’s voice again.
“I’m sorry.”
The second sorry. Right on that driveway, by that rusted, red mailbox. After he got out of Birdie. After I said nothing the entire drive. The entire walk through the Sticks. After I kissed him back then made him feel sorry for it. I had an idea where I could find him. Somewhere important to him. That he brought me to. That I ruined. I looked down the long driveway and got my breath back.
My feet were killing me and I had to take my shirt off. I was not ready for all the hungover running but any long-distance training is a win in my book. Square Field looked like it hit rock bottom. I made a deal with God that if I didn’t die from the day’s cardio, I would come back with some trash bags and thick rubber gloves to clean it up.
I was on my way to the ditch, wondering if I could find it without Sandro’s lead, when I caught him. He was on the trail and dirty. Sweaty too. Like he’d just wrestled a deer in the woods. He was definitely hungover. Not that I was one to talk.
“YO!”
He froze at the sound of my voice. When he saw me, he hugged his crutches. Like I was planning on taking them. That sucked. I felt like an intruder.
When I finally caught up to him, I had all the things I wanted to say in my head but I couldn’t catch my breath. Christ, I was beat.
“Damn. Sorry. One sec.”
I doubled over and took a second while Sandro considered his escape route. I don’t know what he had to worry about. He could tear me in half, even if I hadn’t just run a half-marathon. Dude was big. I’ve seen him fuck up a shot put with a strength he could easily use to launch my skull into orbit. If I made this guy angry, I had a lot more to worry about than him trying to kiss me.
So, I eased in. “Went to your house. Your nephew seems like a real dick.”
I guess I meant it as a joke but, fuck, did Sandro’s face get hard. “Why?”
“Probably how he was raised?”
“Why were you at my house?”
It came out cold. He did not want me there. At his house or in his face.
Okay. No jokes. Just say what you went there to say.
But I couldn’t. We just stood there. My breath started to steady and I noticed he couldn’t stop shifting his weight.
“...Did you walk here?”
He didn’t answer. So, yes.
“I think it’s fucked that your parents make you walk everywhere on that foot.”
I had no business saying that.
“They don’t make me.”
“But they know you won’t say shit, right?”
I didn’t plan on saying all that. He just stared at me. Like he was waiting for me to excuse him. Why couldn’t I just say what I came here to say? That he didn’t do anything wrong. That was all. Just those five words then he could go. And I could go. And it could be over.
Just five words: You didn’t do anything wrong.
Sandro looked at his feet. His hands. The sky. Anywhere but me. I didn’t realize I’d spoken the words aloud. They just fell out. Like last night. Then I couldn’t keep them in. “Yeah. I just wanted to tell you that. And that I’m sorry. That you’re sorry. You shouldn’t have said that. I shouldn’t have... I’m just not...” I shook my head. “I’m not.”
I couldn’t say the word. It sounded like an insult. Another language. A word I knew but never said out loud. And I felt like an asshole just thinking it.
Sandro wouldn’t look at me, his eyes glued to the sky. The sun. Like he was checking if it was still there. “Okay.” And maybe he was talking to the sun when he said it. “...I am.”
Sandro kept his eyes on the sky and I knew that I’d just heard something special. That it was the first time he’d told somebody. Because he nodded a little, after. Nodded to the sun. Like he wanted to make sure they were on the same page. Like he wanted to make sure he was sure. He was though. He was sure.
I nodded too.
“Oh... Okay.”
That’s all I could say. I think he expected as much, because he turned his gaze to the ground and went on his way. Got on his crutches and continued down the trail. And I thought I should let him go. I said what I wanted to say and he must have too. I could go.
So why was I following him?
“Where are you going?”
“I gotta get my Lit books.”
I laughed. Only one Lit teacher required you to get books before school starts. I knew ’cause I was three books deep into her reading list. “Ms. Morgan’s Lit? Same.”
He laughed back. First time he cracked a smile all day. But it wasn’t the same smile from last night. It was more of an Of course laugh. I didn’t like that.
“Awesome. I hope we get paired up for projects and shit. Become best bros. Sandro and the Flash. Blowin’ off class, sleeping in the library, fighting in the locker room. Fuck, man, it’s gonna be fuckin’ sick, bro.”
“Sandro.” He stopped where he stood and finally made real eye contact with me. I could feel his anger. All that frustration in his voice.
“I don’t know you, dude. I don’t. We go to the same parties, we’ve been in some classes, but we don’t know each other like that. To me, you’re just that loud track asshole who talks shit and fights at meets. So don’t come to my house and don’t talk about my fucking family. You don’t know shit about me.”
I could see the red pour into his cheeks. I’d never seen that happen to anyone before. He started off again and I should’ve let him go. The guy could get angry. I didn’t know that. And I didn’t know where I got the balls to say it.
“I know something, yeah?”
That stopped him cold. He turned and looked at me like I was the biggest piece of shit on earth.
“Fuck you.”
But I didn’t mean it like that. I meant it as a connection. That I knew. That it was okay that I knew. That’s how he saw me though. The kind of guy who would fuck with him. Who would hold something like this over someone. I hated that he saw me like that. Like Matty.
“I’m the only one, right? That knows?”
But, to Sandro, I was someone to hate. The guy had a very readable face and, right then, right there, that was all I could read. Hate.
He threw his crutches to the ground and came at me. Ready to knock me under the ground. There was so much anger on his face. Well. Not anger. Not exactly. He looked tired. Weary. Miserable. I could hear it in his voice. “I swear to God, you try fucking with me, I’ll—”
So, I did what made sense to me. I took his face and kissed him.
Whiplash.
Our teeth hit and I could feel the shock in his face. The muscles relaxed for just a second then he shoved me. Hard. I almost fell over. He took some steps back and glared at me. Like I’d tricked him. And it was my turn to say it. “I’m sorry.”
I think it was the first time Sandro really heard me all day.
“...That’s not okay.”
“I know.”
“You don’t get to—You are or you’re not.”
“It isn’t that—”
“Are you?”
I wasn’t. I really wasn’t. I just didn’t know what I was doing. I shrugged like an idiot. A tired, confused idiot. That annoyed him. Or maybe it just confused him.
He took a breather. “So... I mean, what the fuck, Bash?”
I shook my head. Because I didn’t know what my fucking problem was. I didn’t know what was wrong with me. It made no sense to kiss him right there. It made no sense to come find him like this. To say all this shit. None of it made sense to me. It just felt like the right thing to do. Because of last night. Not just the kiss. Everything. What was so different about that night?
“I don’t—I’ve always had this... I don’t know. I don’t get it. Just... I liked last night. I liked talking to you. I could just talk to you.”
There was just something different about the guy. He was funny and he didn’t need to be mean to do it. When he asked me about myself, it didn’t feel like a test I’d fail. I didn’t have to try to impress him or act like someone else. On that trail, I realized how pathetic I was. How much of my pain was my fault. I was terrified of what people might think of me, what I might say, so I stopped speaking. Let Matty speak for me. Let someone else take over. Bash the Flash. What a fucking joke.
I could feel that heat behind my eyes. I felt stupid.
“I’m not myself with people anymore. And I know I’m not and it fucking sucks and I hear it and I want to tell myself to shut the fuck up and stop but last night...yeah. I liked talking to you. I just want to keep talking to you, man.”
I watched him soften. He started looking like the guy from last night again. “Then why’d you kiss me?”
“I don’t—”
“You wanna keep talking? Talk to me.”
I let myself breathe.
Okay.
“...Because you were angry. And you looked scared and it was my fault.”
Sandro waited for me. Like he knew there was more. I guess I knew it too. I took one more moment because there was no unsaying it.
“’Cause you looked a lot like me. And... I don’t know. I just... I wanted to help. I just... I wanted to.”
He nodded. Right answer, I guess. “There. You wanted to.”
“Yeah. I wanted to.”
We just watched each other. Letting it sit. Sandro wiped his mouth. “You taste like barf. And oranges.”
I laughed. “I threw up. On the track.”
“Oh. Same. Not on the track, but same.”
“Nice. I didn’t taste it.”
“Mouthwash.”
“Tight.”
We laughed. Like it was all okay. Like last night wasn’t the end of the world. Like we weren’t terrified of what that meant.
I dabbed some sweat off my shoulders and put my gross shirt back on. “Okay. Sorry, but I gotta eat something. I am literally empty right now.”
“Star athlete. Left it all on the field.”
That made me chuckle. I pointed down the trail. Back to civilization. “Seriously though. Wanna grab food?”
“Oh. Food with me?”
“Sure.”
Sandro rocked on his crutches, considering the offer. “I don’t know. I should probably get to the library. Gotta get my books before noon or I’m fucked.”
“There’s a Burger Town by the library, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“My truck’s on the way. Lemme drive you. Two birds.”
Sandro almost looked surprised. “Yeah? You don’t mind?”
“No sweat, man. It’s hot out here. I can drive you.”
And the way Sandro smiled. I think that’s how I knew it was true. That I wanted it. That I wasn’t sorry. That I’d drive that kid anywhere he asked me to.
Because what a fucking smile.