Ben left a note thumbtacked to Ilona’s front door. Call me when you get home. I’m waiting until midnight and then calling the police. Inconsiderate asshole.
Now that he looked at the note, he realized the last two words could be read as either an accusation or a signature. When he wrote them, he was flushed with anger and fear. Now it was just fear gnawing at his gut as he walked away from the front porch and got into his car.
When he had gotten to Ilona’s house earlier that night, Judy was on a tirade. Apparently she had discovered one of the little “presents” Ilona had bagged up and left in her purse. Ben walked in to hear something made of glass shattering against the floor. He had been on the verge of turning around and heading home when Ilona came charging down the hallway, her boots unlaced, her jacket dragging on the floor. She grabbed him by the hand and pulled him out the door behind her.
At first he walked toward his car, but Ilona gave him a look and said, “I need to walk.”
“Okay,” Ben said. “Let’s walk.” He grabbed his hat and gloves from the passenger seat, and they set out into the road where the snowplows had recently passed, leaving a flattened area of snow that squeaked against the bottoms of their boots. At the end of her street, they turned right down Walnut Street, a road that became more rural after a few blocks and eventually dead-ended in front of a foundry. There were railroad tracks that ran across the road just before the foundry, but the snow had long since covered them, leaving only an outline under the white blanket.
By the time they reached the tracks, Ilona’s anger had cooled and she was speaking, although in small fragments only. Ben didn’t push her. The snow was still falling but in small crystalline fragments that sparkled under the orange streetlight over their heads.
“Let’s go that way,” Ilona suggested, pointing down the tracks to their right.
A gust of wind blew the icy fragments into his face, blinding him momentarily. “Come on, Ilona. Let’s go get some hot chocolate or something. We can warm it up with something extra if you want.”
She looked up at him. Her blue bangs stuck out from one side of her black woolen cap that looked like something a trash collector might wear. “Where?”
“I don’t know. I’m sure Dunkin’ Donuts is open or Cumberland Farms or something. Come on.”
Ilona’s eyes hardened. “Nah,” she said. “I’m going for a walk. This dumps out behind Broadway.” She paused and looked at him critically. “It must be nice to visit crazy instead of living there.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean? Aren’t we all freaks according to you?” As soon as he said it he regretted his tone, which was less-than-sympathetic due more to the snow accumulating in the heels of his shoes than to any real annoyance with her.
She waved him along and said, “Don’t you have some luggage to go get monogrammed or something? Go on, get out of here!”
“You’re being ridiculous,” he called out. “It’s a long way to Broadway.” Ilona started walking away from him. “I’m going to get my car,” he called after her. There was no response. God, she was stubborn. He tried again. “I’ll pick you up at Broadway if you really want to walk there.” She gave him a thumbs-up without turning around. He stood and watched her as she faded into the dusky swirl of falling snow. Twice he started walking after her, and twice he turned around again. As soon as he made up his mind for good, he started jogging back to his car.
He sat in the car in the parking lot of Broadway Gardens for an hour, staring into the darkness where the tracks were, willing Ilona to come walking out of the blur that was the falling snow and the bare silhouettes of the trees. He drove around the empty lot in slow circles, his eyes watering from peering into the darkness at the edge of the light cast by the streetlights. He even got out and walked the perimeter of the shop and greenhouse, hoping to find a light on and Ilona inside. Finally, he drove back to her house. Feeling like a stalker, he crept around to the living room, where he saw Judy asleep on the couch. Ilona’s room was dark. He looked at his watch; there was no way she could have made it here before him. He left his note and drove away to wait, pissed at himself for letting her push him away with the stupid comment about the monogrammed luggage.
When his phone finally buzzed, he picked it up quickly without glancing down to see who it was. “Hello, Ben,” a formal voice said. “This is Mr. Nuson. Tyler’s father,” the voice added after a pause.
“Oh,” Ben said, “hi.”
“I’m sorry to bother you. But I was wondering if you had seen or heard from Tyler today?”
Tyler was missing? For a second Ben was completely confused. Then his thoughts snapped into place. “Um, just at school. Is something wrong?”
“I hope not. He was supposed to have dinner with us tonight, and he never showed up. I’m sure he just lost track of time, but it’s getting late and, well, I’m sure you’re aware that we’re having some weather . . .” His voice trailed off. Ben looked down at his phone. It was after ten. “I don’t suppose you know the name of that girl he’s been seeing?”
Ben felt a surge of annoyance. Mr. Nuson never knew anything about Tyler. He was at best a distant houseguest. But he managed to keep this out of his voice and say, “Megan Sewell, but I don’t know her number. Sorry,” he added.
“No, that’s something. Thank you. Well, I don’t need to keep you. I’m sure Tyler will turn up momentarily. But if you do hear from him, would you please ask him to call.” There was something in his voice that Ben had never heard before. After Mr. Nuson clicked off into silence, he realized what it was: vulnerability.
When he turned onto his street, only a few minutes later, his phone beeped again. It was a text from Tyler.
Sup?
where r u?
Galaxy rm
Soccer field? Ben was sure he’d read it wrong or autocorrect had mangled the message.
can u come?
His heart jumped in his chest. b there in 5
The Galaxy Room was what they called the little press box above the bleachers at the soccer field. It was a small unheated space where the game’s announcer could sit and give the commentary on the game. They could blast music over the sound system when they were warming up, so they had all been in there at one time or another. They called it the Galaxy Room because someone had painted the ceiling black and affixed it with glow-in-the-dark planets and stars. Ben didn’t know how Tyler had gotten hold of the key—the idea of him being there was weirder than weird. But he had asked for Ben to come, not Megan or anybody else.
He left the car on while he ran into his house. He explained briefly to his parents where he was going, mumbling something about Tyler having problems, going missing, and calling him. He paused long enough to acknowledge the look of genuine concern on his parents’ faces and to appreciate their trust when they cautioned him only about driving slowly on the snowy roads. There was no mention of curfew or annoyance at tying up the use of the car.
He went to Cumberland Farms for a bag of Cheetos and a couple of grape sodas. He wasn’t sure if he was buying them for Tyler or to assure himself that no absence or awkwardness could change the foundation of their friendship. Still, he checked his phone every few minutes for a message from Ilona, and in the back of his mind there was a creeping question: what if they both needed him at the same time?
Ben looked around for the Saab, but there were no other cars in the third lot near the soccer field. The field was quiet and cold, and coming in from the parking lot it was completely pristine: not a single footstep marred the expanse of white snow, which meant Tyler had been in the Galaxy Room for a while. By himself. What the hell was going on?
He opened the door slowly at the top of the stairs. The room inside was dark except for a small light over the sound system. Tyler was sitting in the chair overlooking the field, his head in his hands. Ben closed the door quietly behind him. He shook the bag of Cheetos slightly, and Tyler turned at the sound. His face was tear-streaked, and he made no attempt to hide it. It reminded Ben of the time in sixth grade when Tyler got hurt while they were skiing. It was icy and they were going full-on down a black diamond. Tyler hit a patch of ice and skidded off the trail into a patch of trees. Ben, going more cautiously behind him, was able to stop and follow his trail. Tyler was holding his arm, which was bent at an unnatural angle, and sobbing, “It hurts!” He remembered the way he said it—the pain in his voice as if no one in the world had ever been hurt like this before.
It was the same look Tyler had now as he stared up at Ben. Helpless and lost. Ben glanced around the small room. Tyler’s backpack was in the corner, along with some balled-up sandwich crusts and a bag of chips, probably from the cafeteria. “What’s going on?” Ben asked softly. But Tyler just held up his hands, palms up, like everything that was bothering him was there—this weight that was invisible, even as it was crushing him. So Ben sat down in the chair next to him. He opened one of the grape sodas and pushed it over toward Tyler. He opened the other soda and the bag of Cheetos and popped a couple in his mouth. He wasn’t even hungry, but he didn’t know what else to do. He wanted to tell Tyler that he wasn’t going anywhere. That he was there for whatever this was and however long it took. But then he thought that Tyler must have known that was true or he wouldn’t have called.
After several long minutes of silence, Tyler took a swig of grape soda. They looked out at the field blanketed in white, the soft mounds of the bleachers like a layered wedding cake. “We should have won States,” Tyler said. “If we had won States, then I would have stayed up. I wouldn’t be down here. I wouldn’t be failing school or thinking about ways to off myself all the time.” His voice cracked.
Ben felt these last words like a kick in the gut. Was he serious? Would anyone ever joke about such a thing? Even though he couldn’t quite contemplate the full meaning of the words—the idea of a bloodied, battered, lifeless Tyler—he could hear the pain and self-loathing in his voice. He felt a fat, helpless tear forming in the corner of his eye.
“I don’t understand,” Ben said weakly. “Why? I mean, you’ll do better next semester. You hardly ever have to study anyway.” But he knew even as he said it that he was pulling on the wrong thread—this was not the one that would cause the knotted ball of string that was Tyler to unravel into something that was clear and made sense.
“But I don’t care. I just don’t care about any of it. I mean, I never used to care much. I just wanted to do okay and go to BU, and I thought everything else would kind of figure itself out after that. But I don’t even care about that anymore. I wake up in the morning, and all I can think about is how easy it would be to hang myself in the closet. Easier than getting dressed. Easier than taking a shower and getting clean and putting on my fucking happy face so the rest of the world can think I’m okay. Because once I did that, it would all be over.”
Ben didn’t interrupt. Tyler’s pain was visceral, almost palpable in hot waves coming off him. He wanted to put a hand on his shoulder or on his back, but he felt that Tyler was burning and untouchable. “What is it?” Ben said cautiously. “What is it that you want to have over?”
Tyler looked up at him, his face contorted. “You know,” he said. “You were there. I did it to you, too.” Tyler was staring at him, and his expression begged for understanding. Ben searched his brain, desperate for the key that would unlock his own memory.
“The basement. The haunted house.” Tyler’s voice cracked again, his face a mask of shame.
Ben’s cheeks flushed with the memory. That was it? That was what was torturing Tyler? He began to smile and then swallowed the smile in case Tyler thought he was being mocked. But Tyler didn’t notice.
“But that wasn’t anything,” Ben said softly. “We were just screwing around.”
Tyler looked at him incredulously, almost scornfully. “How can you say that?”
“Because it wasn’t a big deal.” At least not the way Ben remembered it—just something they used to do that first lonely year of middle school. There was this elaborately constructed haunted house that Scott the Manny had built in the basement, made from two or three generations of broken furniture in the basement. One of them would hide behind a battered sofa or chair and jump out at the other as he walked through. They would wrestle on the mattresses in the basement. Sometimes Tyler would press his hand over Ben’s mouth and pretend to make out with him by tonguing the back of his own hand. They would talk about the girls in their class. And there in the dark, side by side, they would jerk off.
Sometimes Scott would start down the stairs; in the middle of the game they would see his Samba soccer flats and his hairy calves waiting to tell them to go play outside or eat the snack he had prepared. And that was pretty much it. If he knew what they were doing, he never said anything directly, but he always seemed a little amused when they emerged from the basement red-faced and sweaty.
Ben hadn’t thought about it much at all since they graduated to actual girls. It had probably only been a few months that this had gone on at all, and he figured it was just a thing boys did, like the famed circle jerks that everyone who went away to summer camp talked about. He was going to say this to Tyler, but when he saw the look on Tyler’s face he couldn’t speak.
“That wasn’t completely fucked up to you?” Tyler practically hissed the words at Ben.
“No. I mean, that’s what you do. That’s what kids do. That’s what I always thought.”
“That didn’t completely mess up your head?” Ben shook his head again. “Because I can’t get over it. I mean, I did that to you. What kind of a pervert makes up a game like that? And I made you do it.”
“No,” Ben said suddenly and firmly, more sure of anything than he’d been all night. “No, you didn’t.” And just like that, he placed a hand on Tyler’s back. It wasn’t burning like he’d imagined, just shaking with the force of his ragged breaths, like the thumping rumble of a clothes dryer turning over a pair of sneakers inside. He left his hand there until Tyler’s breaths slowed and eased.
“I always thought that somehow you must hate me. And sometimes I even hated you because you acted like you didn’t. I thought you were just messing with me, waiting to get me back some day.”
“You really thought that?” This admission was somehow even more shocking. All through high school he had imagined that Tyler felt some degree of pity for him and that this was what caused Tyler to drag their friendship on even after he had rocketed to popularity.
“No,” Tyler said, “not most of the time. But sometimes.”
“Well, that’s not going to happen,” Ben said. “Not from me.”
Tyler stood up and pressed his head against the glass separating them from the snow and the bleachers. His breath made an opaque ring in front of his mouth. He stared out into the night.
“So that’s it?” Ben said. “That’s what’s been bothering you?”
Tyler turned his head so he was looking at Ben. His cheek pressed against the glass still. He looked tired and weak. He shrugged ever so slightly. “Mostly.”
“Well, what else is there?” Ben said and immediately regretted the sound of his voice. It was too demanding. He would scare Tyler off.
He was right. Tyler sighed. “I’m actually really tired. You think you could give me a ride to my car?”
Ben was caught off guard. A door that was closed for so long had opened, and now he felt afraid that if he let it close, Tyler might never allow it to open again. But what choice did he have? “Sure, yeah. I mean, if that’s what you want to do.”
“I just want to go home,” Tyler said. And the exhaustion on his face, the shadows beneath his eyes, and hair that hung flat in his eyes proved it was true.
They pulled the door to the Galaxy Room shut behind them, and Tyler followed Ben down the stairs. Ben noticed his footprints from before, which were almost filled in, making it look like someone in soft slippers had padded through the snow.
In the car, they both shook a bit while the heater blew gusts of cold, stale air on them. “Were your parents pissed about you taking the car out tonight?” Tyler asked. It was clear he was trying to get the conversation onto more normal ground.
“Actually, I was out already.” Though it seemed like days or even weeks ago.
“Doing what?” Tyler asked between his chattering teeth.
“I went for a walk with Ilona.”
“In the snow?”
“Yeah.”
“Hey,” Tyler said suddenly.
“Yeah?”
“You think I could hang out with you guys sometime?”
“Sure. Whenever.” It seemed possible, suddenly. He felt closer to Tyler now than he had in a long time, and he couldn’t help but think of Ilona and her theory of the flawed freakishness of the universe.
“Cool.”
Tyler’s house was dark when he dropped him off, but the door was unlocked. When he finally got home to his own house, he opened his parents’ bedroom door a crack to tell them he was home safely.
“Tyler okay?” his dad asked.
“Yeah,” Ben said. He smiled as his father gave a sleepy wave.
Brushing his teeth in the bathroom, his phone buzzed in his pocket. There was a text from an unknown number. Two words.
Sorry Ilona.