sandro

DECEMBER 14

BASH THE FLASH

Bash has never stepped foot inside my home. This was on purpose. The last time I had a friend over was Drew Udell in the sixth grade. We weren’t really friends, but he was fun and we teamed up for a history project. Within an hour of Drew’s stepmom dropping him off, GJ threw up on our book bags, my shirtless dad came through screaming at his phone, and Raph pushed me into a wall for playing his GTA save file. Drew’s stepmom was back before I had time to defrost the pizza bagels I’d bought for the event.

The problem with tidying up my house is everyone reads into it. “Who you trying to impress?” I didn’t want to show my hand with all my cleaning and primping. I didn’t want them to smell that desperation on me. How badly I wanted the dinner to go well. Because we’ve shared a lot, me and Bash. But we weren’t prepared for something like this.

It was almost seven and I was searching everywhere to find Lexi’s Binky. She was screaming like I’d just poured salt in her eyes and no one had any clue where she’d left it. I was running around when I got a text from Ronny.

So tempting but so not the time, Ron.

I scanned the upstairs for Binky because Tina recently developed a habit of stealing random objects and letting them marinate in the bathtub. I hollered down the hall for assistance but Gio was at work and Raph was too busy “sending emails” in his room to help. I found the pacifier in the half-full tub along with my shot put and the spare van keys when I got another text.

Wow, Veronica, not now. I grabbed some towels and cleaned the bathwater off Tina’s contraband with one hand, texting with the other.

I rolled my eyes and gave myself a once-over in the mirror. I was plucking the odd nose hairs when I felt another text buzz on my thigh. Jesus, Ronny, take the hint.

Fuck. Bash. I ran face-first into the closed bathroom door then rushed to the stairs. Bash was just standing in the open doorway, looking in from the porch. I jumped down the stairs, almost falling, and dragged him in.

“Sorry. The door was wide-open.”

“Of course it fucking was.”

“Is someone fighting?”

There was indistinct yelling coming from somewhere in the kitchen area. Definitely Ma but the male voice could’ve been Gio, Dad, or Raph. “Probably.”

“I brought this.”

Bash offered me one of those Yankee Candles I always stop to sniff at Target. All the smells of White Winter Wonderland in one glass jar. “...Why?”

“You said your ma like candles. My mom said you always bring—”

“Leave it outside.” I took it out of his hands and placed it on the porch. He looked confused. “It’s too much, man.”

“Uh, it’s a candle.”

“It’s too considerate. They’ll think something’s up.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“It’s sweet but... I just wanna be safe.”

Bash nodded and I finally took a moment to look at him in the nice navy polo he bought for this. God, he looked good. It wasn’t fair. Bash was wasted on my family. He could tell I was ogling him and smiled. I wanted to tell him how sorry I was that this night was about to happen when, from the depths of hell, Ma screamed.

“Is he here?! SANDRO!?”

I cocked my head skyward and screamed back. “YEAH!”

“WELL?! How long’s he been here?! Bring him IN!!”

Bash chuckled. I’m glad he found it funny then. He wouldn’t soon. I could already feel my heart rate rising. Something that hadn’t happened since October. The weight room. I had to stay calm tonight or this house was gonna burn down.

I tried breathing and Bash rested a hand on my shoulder. “Hey. It’ll be fun. Or, at least, fine. We’ll—”

I moved away from his touch. There were just too many ways my family could fuck this up for me. I didn’t need to hand them their shot. He nodded. He got it.

“Okay. We just gotta get through one—”

My mom screamed my name again from the kitchen and I gave up.

The meal was chicken parm, a staple in the Miceli home that Ma could and has made in her sleep. To her credit, my mother knows how to make something as basic as discounted deli chicken and bread crumbs into something impressive. She’s always been good with presentation stuff like that.

It wasn’t that a dinner at the Miceli table was a surefire recipe for disaster. If that were the case, I would’ve told Ma that Bash had moved to Paris or got drafted or something simple. Anything to keep him from facing this particular firing squad. But the Miceli dinner table could be a fun night of all right pasta and good conversation if nothing went wrong. If we could keep things civil and light. If we could be a respectable Italian family, like my cousins down the shore or any other branch of our family tree. If we could just be easy for one fucking night, Bash would be okay. We could be okay.

I made sure to sit across from Bash so I could keep an eye on him. Gauge how he looked through the ordeal. Ma hadn’t even sat down yet and Gio and Raph were already halfway through shoving their plates down their gullets. Ma slapped the table and they stopped. I watched them settle and wondered which Miceli might ruin this night.

Luckily, GJ and Tina ate earlier so they were locked away in the TV room and out of the running. My dad was slammed with work and holed up in his office which most nights I would find rude but felt like a gift from above tonight. If, by the grace of God, he could stay in there the whole time, I’d really only have to worry about my brothers. Ma can be careless and sometimes hurtful, but a guest is a guest.

Ma started pouring everyone wine. “Red okay, Sebastian?”

Bash had remained perfectly still in his seat thus far, only speaking when spoken to. Smart strategy. He gave me a look and I nodded, ever so slightly.

“Yes. Thank you, Mrs. Miceli.”

“Please, call me Claudia, sweetheart.” She all but emptied the bottle into his glass. Bash drank enough to keep it from spilling over and smiled his polite approval. Ma sat down and served herself salad. “And I am so, so sorry about my husband. We usually eat as a family but he told us to start without him. Just wrapping up a call in his study.”

Gio swallowed a burp. “Our study.”

Everyone but Bash stifled a groan. Gio’s got this stick up his ass about Pop’s repairs business being “their business” now that he’s got his roofing license. Ma pointed Gio to their study. “Then go check on him.”

Gio grumbled and got up. Bash took another sip of wine and smiled at Ma. “Thank you for having me. The chicken’s really good.”

“Glad we could finally get you here! It’s the least we could do with all the gas you’re wasting coming out to the edge of town.”

Wasting.

Raph sucked up a noodle and pointed Bash’s way. “The Cinnaminson Trials are coming up soon, yeah? Winter Trials? How’s Coach feeling?”

Bash looked confused. I never should’ve told Raph about the running.

“Raph used to be long-distance captain.”

“No shit.”

Bash caught himself and apologized to Ma for swearing.

“Why? People curse.”

“Yeah, I was captain junior and senior year.”

I mumbled to no one that Raph’s senior year was a decade ago. But if the men in my family like to dwell on anything more than my shortcomings, it’s their glory days.

“I still keep up with Bianco. Heard all about you.”

“Oh. All good things, I hope.”

“Yeah. You’ve made a real name for yourself, Bash the Flash.”

I’d doubled down on my suspicions that Raph would be the one to ruin dinner when my dad and Gio stormed in, vying for the belt. As is custom, Pop was winning whatever they were arguing about.

“It doesn’t matter who he knows, we can’t work with that Greek piece of shit.” Ma and I took a long sip of wine as Pop zeroed in on the new face at his table. “Who the fuck are you?”

Bash had been doing really well up to that point. He’d complimented the chicken, drank a little but not too much wine, knew all the words to our grace. He even stood up to shake my dad’s hand, one of those pointlessly classy acts that go a long way with guys like Gio Sr.

Then he opened his mouth.

“Hey. Hi. My name’s—I’m Bash. My name is Bash. Sebastian. Villeda. I know your son. Him.”

Bash pointed at me and I could read the What the fuck am I doing? in his eyes. He was nervous. He’s shit with words when he’s nervous. That was not good. Everyone sat down and Bash drank a bit more wine.

Ma refilled his only half-drunk glass. “This is the boy who’s been driving your injured son around every day.”

“Which, again, is really no—”

“Why y’gotta say it like that? You could drive him around.”

“You could too.”

“So could Raph.”

“So could Gio!”

“Fuck you, I work.”

“We all work, Gio! Watch your mouth.”

I couldn’t tell who was saying what because I was very focused on cutting my pasta into tinier and tinier pieces. Anything to not be at that table. My dad cleared his throat loudly. Gross throat-clearing is essentially my dad’s catchphrase. It’s a disgusting byproduct of years of smoking cigars that he uses to control conversations. “Where you going to college, Sebastian?”

Odd question.

“Uh, Rutgers. Hopefully.”

Raph smiled, practically drooling over what he could add to this conversation. “On a sprinting scholarship, I bet. This kid’s crazy fast. Pop was a sprinter too. At Moorestown.”

Bash smiled. “Yeah? Sandro never mentioned.”

Thanks for the shout-out, pal. I never mentioned this to Bash because why would I? I do field because they did track. I play guitar because they played football. I don’t talk about their pasts because it’s all they ever do. So, I just shrugged.

My dad snorted. “Dro’s just pissed he can’t run for shit. What’s your four hundred?”

“Just broke fifty.”

“Fuck off.”

Bash nodded, seeming grateful that his speed was making up for his weird introduction. “Forty-nine, six. For real.”

My dad slapped the table. Hard. It shook the wineglasses. “Forty-nine!? Damn!”

Ma winced at Pop’s language. “What, is that good?”

My brothers nodded along, impressed because Dad was impressed.

“Good? Bianco’s gotta be wiping your ass for you.”

“Yeah, yeah. He’s a fan.”

I watched Bash laugh and take a drink. Something was off. Raph patted him on the back, very chummy. Like a brother. My dad spoke with a mouth full of chicken. “Keep that pace and you got your pick of schools. Why slum it at Rutgers?”

Ma motioned for him to close his mouth and chew. “Sebastian, Rutgers is a great school. And it’s so close, you could practically commute.”

I felt an invisible kick in the shin. This again. “Ma.”

“What?”

My dad leaned in closer to Bash. “Sandro’s ma here wants him to go to Rutgers so he’ll stay close.”

“It would just be so helpful.”

I couldn’t keep having this conversation. “I’m going to Northwestern.”

Raph chuckled. “Like you’re getting into Northwestern.”

“Fuck you, fat ass.”

Ma slapped the table and we quieted down. Raph kicked me like a fucking asshole but I swallowed the hit. I’d made a career out of swallowing dinner table kicks from my brothers.

Gio reached for the wine bottle and cleared his throat, I assume trying to copy my dad. “You date Lucy Jordan, yeah? Her brother and me go back.”

“Oh, shit. Yeah, Perry’s awesome. Taught me how to dunk.”

“Guess who taught him?” Gio tipped his glass and patted himself on the back. Bash laughed.

I hated this. This obvious bonding my brothers were trying to do. I considered just getting drunk. Ma smiled at Bash, happy to find a segue out of our usual sports talk. “Cutie, you have a girlfriend? How long have you two been together?”

“Oh. We, uh, no, we actually broke up. But I’ve known her my whole life. Neighbors.”

“Aww, that’s too bad. Nothing like a high school romance.”

My dad laughed. “Speaking of romances, give us the dirt on lover boy over here.” Bash went still. My dad punched me in the arm which, of everything that annoyed me about him, was probably the one thing I truly despised. “Sneaking out every other night to see his little gal pal. You know Veronica? The DiSarios are good people.”

“Oh. Uh...yeah. I know Ron.”

Pop smiled over his wine. “Look, we all did it at your age. Snuck out. Kept secrets. Every man should have a secret fling or two. Get it out of his system before settling down.”

Ma toasted her husband. “Very romantic, G.”

My parents both took sips and Pop’s hand clamped onto the back of my neck. Another laugh I didn’t like. Another touch I didn’t ask for. “How ’bout it then, Flash? Sandro got a secret friend he’s too afraid to bring home?”

I bit my cheek. I tasted blood. Bash looked for my cue but it was a lose-lose. He could blow up my lie and make me look like an ass or continue my lie and make me look like a coward. There were no good answers at this table.

So, Bash shook his head. “Nope. Definitely, no. No secrets.”

He just shouldn’t have answered. Or I should’ve prepped him more. You never answer bait like that. That’s how they get you.

Raph chuckled. “Definitely.”

“No, I mean—”

“Dro can’t keep a secret worth dick.”

My brothers laughed at Bash. I watched him struggle to find the right words. Land whatever case he felt a need to make for me. He was trying to speak through his nerves. To get back control.

“I just meant that some guys don’t do that. Girlfriends. Some guys are...you know. Late bloomers.”

The table burst out laughing. Everyone but Bash and I found that hilarious. Pop patted Bash on the back, just eating up this fresh voice at his dinner table. Raph touched my cheek and I swatted his hand away.

“Late bloomer. Kid’s had a mustache since he was eight.”

Ma reached over and put her hand on my face. “My hairy baby. I remember, every other Sunday, I had to trap him in the bathroom and wax that dirt off his mouth.”

Everyone laughed again. Wave after wave of well-meaning, shit-eating laughs. Bash smiled, happy the focus moved off our secrets. “Aaaah. So, he was born hairy?”

“Please. The doctors thought I’d given birth to a monkey.”

Ma tickled my lip and I pulled away. She made the ticking sound she makes when I’m not being a good sport. “Aww. Don’t get angry, baby, we’re just having fun. He get this pissy with you, Sebastian?”

Raph all but raised his glass in a toast to Bash. “Please. Bash the Flash don’t take that shit. I heard you once knocked a kid out cold for stepping in your lane. In the middle of a race.”

Pop smiled in appreciation of the stranger he already preferred to his actual son. “Amazing.”

Bash finished his glass and laughed. Not his machine gun. His booming laugh. His flashy one. “Nah, hey, come on now. It was after the race. And this dude was full-on LIVING in my lane. I had to fucking leapfrog over him just to pass.”

My family laughed with Bash the Flash. My dad had to catch his breath, he was laughing so hard. The Flash could really work a room. I just watched him go as all the voices blurred together.

“That’s a fucking sprinter for you. Knocked him out cold?”

“One hit, floored his ass.”

“You box?”

“When I need to, y’know?”

“Atta-fucking-boy.”

“We bought a group pass to this boxing gym in Lenola.”

“You could take Dro’s spot. He never comes with us.”

This is what they do. They take everything good in my life and make it theirs. I don’t get to be Sandro. At this table, we’re just The Micelis. And I’m the worst one.

I tried speaking. “I have a broken foot.”

Bash refilled his wine. Didn’t even look at me when he said it. “You could box on that foot.” Look at me, Bash. “I once medaled in relay with a broken arm.”

Raph and Gio made impressed grunts.

“Bash the fucking Flash.”

Bash the fucking Flash.

“That’s not the same thing.”

Pop and Gio turned on me. Offended I’d come for their new best friend.

“It’s impressive, Sandro.”

“More than you could do.”

My jaw clenched. “I’m hurt.”

They laughed.

“Whose fault is that?”

“Yeah, the two of us are on roofs every day and we’ve never fallen off.”

Bash chuckled. “Well, y’all are prolly not sleeping on them.”

He took a long drink.

No.

Everyone turned to him. Ma put her glass down. “...What?”

Then the eyes were on me. I could feel them turn. But I didn’t look at them. I just stared at Bash and wondered if he understood what he’d said.

“Sandro, you were sleeping on the roof when you fell?”

Bash the fucking Flash. My dad cleared his throat just to scoff. “You fucking idiot.”

Bash got it then. “Wait.”

But it was too late. Their voices piled onto me.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Why were you sleeping on the goddamn roof, Sandro?!”

“Fucking idiot.”

“I had to take off work for you.”

“Just a fucking idiot.”

“The doctor’s bills alone—”

“And you got the fucking balls to complain—”

“And we’re supposed to be chauffeuring your ass—”

“Dumb fuck.”

“Dumb fucking—”

“Fucking dumb—”

“Always so goddamn—”

It rose and rose, and I could feel that scratching in my heart. I couldn’t see. My face was on fire and I could feel tears burning up my throat. Then Pop slammed his fork against his plate, silencing the voices. I saw Bash jump before I glued my eyes to my lap.

I needed to leave. Or something was going to happen. My ears were scalding. Popping. Then my dad’s voice. The disappointed anger. “I took you to the ER in the middle of the goddamn night because you fell asleep?! On the fucking—” His hand slapped the table. Glasses rang. “LOOK AT ME when I am TALKING TO YOU.”

I did. I looked him in the eyes. And I knew he could see it in me. That I was about to cry. Break. Crumble under all the emotions he didn’t like me having. He was fuming. I could see the red pouring into his face. I’d never seen that happen before. “...Un-fucking-believable.”

He tossed his napkin down and stomped out. Gio followed. I was back to my lap. It was almost over. I could hear Ma apologize to Bash. Say it’s not usually like this. That my family isn’t always like this. Then she was gone too. Then silence.

“Sandro.”

Did he want me to look at him? Is that what Bash the Flash wanted?

I didn’t think it would be him. I knew it would end like this but I never would’ve guessed that he’d be the reason. I should’ve. The signs were there. All the data. I should’ve known. How disappointing. How fucking disappointing.

The last thing I heard before the front door slammed behind me was Raph. “Classic Sandro.”

My crutches never worked on all the loose gravel in my driveway so I threw them down and walked. I was breathing fast. So fucking fast it hurt. The air was cold but if I could just get to the Sticks. I didn’t even need the Sticks, if I could just get away. I just needed to go. I needed to be alone. I could hear him running down the driveway.

“Sandro! DRO!”

He was fast but his footsteps were unsteady in the gravel. They stopped behind me and he put his hand on my wrist. The balls to think I wanted his hands on me.

“Don’t touch me.”

I ripped my arm away from him and walked faster. I passed our mailbox and slipped on some gravel. I could barely see in the dark. I could barely see at all. But Bash wouldn’t stop.

“Sandro, you need to talk to—”

He grabbed me by the shoulder. His grip was tight and desperate and wouldn’t let go. He wouldn’t let me go.

“Dro, you need to calm—”

“DON’T FUCKING TOUCH ME.”

I pushed Bash off of me. Not hard but not soft either. Then it was just sounds. Gravel slipping under a dress shoe. A gasp. The crack of metal on bone. A cry. His back knocking against the ground. His head knocking against the stones. Panting. Breathing.

It was hard to see in the dark. But what I understood was Bash had tripped. A push, then a trip, then my mailbox. And when my eyes adjusted to the night, I could see that Bash’s eyebrow had split open. Clipped on some part of that old, rusted thing. His blood looked black in the dark and it ran down his cheek. Into his mouth. Onto his new navy polo.

“Sandro.”

He just looked up at me. The moon on his face. His beautiful face. He didn’t even try to stop the bleeding. Like it hadn’t sunk in yet. What just happened. What I just did.

“Sandro.”

I covered my mouth. What did I do? What the fuck did I do?

“Sandro?”

I was backing away. I couldn’t see where I was going but I couldn’t stop. He should have left me alone. Everyone. I needed to be left alone.

“Sandro...wait.”

I shook my head. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

I turned away and I left Bash alone.