This Is My Brain, Trying

WILL

“Is that about… Is our landlord gonna kick us out?” Alan asks in the silence after Jocelyn leaves. There’s a resignation to his tone that unsettles me. He’s too young to be so weary.

“I’m not sure,” I say. I’m too much in shock—a tape measure, for heaven’s sake—to come up with anything more reassuring.

“I don’t wanna move,” he says, but he’s not whining; it’s more like he’s stating a fact. “I’ve got friends, and now I’m getting better grades. I don’t wanna have to start all over again. What if other schools don’t do all the stuff you made them do for me?”

“If you get an IEP they would have to,” I say. “It’s the law.”

Alan still looks skeptical, and I don’t blame him. I’ve lived in the same house for all sixteen years of my life, and even the thought of leaving for college makes my throat tighten.

“Plus, it’s not written in stone yet. We’ve been trying.…” I shake my head, and it’s like I knock loose my thoughts, because all of a sudden, the mental hand-wringing starts. How could I have been so complacent as to think that we were succeeding? I didn’t try hard enough. I should have made more calls, more visits, really pounded the pavement as if my life depended on it. Because it did, my life with Jocelyn depended on it. And now it might all be ruined.

Stupid, stupid. I’m always so stupid.

Maybe their landlord could be convinced to make more favorable terms on the lease, or we could make a GoFundMe to cover the shortfall in rent. We could make the restaurant a co-op, like the Utica Bookstore did when it almost went under a year ago.

I need to call Rebecca Ross. Or, maybe, her boss.

“Do you know your landlord’s name?” I ask Alan.

He screws up his face. “I think it starts with a ‘B’ and ends in an ‘er’?”

“I’ll ask your sister.” If I ever get to talk to Jocelyn again, that is. I feel bereft. Panicky on her behalf. “Do you talk to her much?”

Alan gives me his “my tutor’s really smart but also kind of a dumbass” look. “I talk to her every day.”

“No, I mean… does she confide in you?”

Alan screws his face up. “You mean, talk talk?”

I nod.

“Not really. I’m her younger brother, not her BFF.”

“Priya,” I say. Of course. “That’s who she confides in?”

“I guess.” Alan shrugs. “My mom’s always yelling at Jocelyn for spending too much time on the phone at night.”

It’s not that hard to do some investigative work. The restaurant and the apartment upstairs share the same line, and there were those two weeks when Jocelyn was grounded when she lost cell phone privileges, so I’m able to easily find a number that I assume is Priya’s.

I actually type out what I’m going to say and practice it a couple of times into the voice-recording app on my computer. I can’t risk underselling my argument—or overselling it, either.

After I finally key the number in, I flip my phone over four times vertically and three times horizontally before making the call.

Five seconds in, five seconds out.

With each ring, my lungs feel tighter, even as I berate myself. This is ridiculous. Priya’s cool. But she’s also Jocelyn’s best friend. What did Jocelyn tell Priya about me? I check my watch. Pulse: 125.

“Hello?” Her voice has that expansive sound, as if she’s outside. I can hear the staticky blow of her breaths. I figure she’s walking somewhere.

“Priya, this is Will. You remember, from the Boilermaker? I’m calling because I’m worried about Jocelyn.”

“Um, hold on for a second.” The sound is muffled for a moment, and there’s the sound of walking as if she’s pulling herself away from a group. “How so?”

“Has she seemed different to you in the past few weeks?”

“A little stressed, maybe. There’s a lot going on with the restaurant, with her application.…” Her sentence trails off a little, and I wonder if she’s holding off from adding on, “with you.”

I take a shuddery breath. “I don’t know. I feel like she’s not eating as well, and I know she’s always tired. And she doesn’t seem as interested in things she used to enjoy.”

Priya hums. All of a sudden, I want to take everything back. It feels presumptive to suggest that I’ve known her long enough to know what she’s always enjoyed. “Do you think she’s been down lately?” I ask, doing that thing that my sister hates, using euphemisms for sadness. “Just say depressed,” Grace would say. “Ask if she’s depressed.”

There’s a moment of silence as Priya thinks. “It’s hard to tell. I mean, yeah, that’s just the type of person she is. Melancholic, you know? Sarcastic, gallows humor. I wouldn’t trust her so much if she didn’t always see the worst in people.”

“That’s funny,” I say, trying to fit this in with the small interactions I had with Priya. “You seemed really positive at the Expo?”

“Meh, that’s different. I can be positive for other people. So can Jocelyn, at least for the people she really cares about.”

I nod to myself, then forget that Priya can’t see me. “Yeah, she’s hardest on herself. Sometimes I just wish she’d cut herself a break.”

Grace’s voice in my head whispers, Pot, kettle.

“I guess I haven’t seen her quite as much with how busy the restaurant’s been,” Priya admits reluctantly. Her voices tinges with concern. “You definitely see her more than I do. So you really think she’s depressed?”

“I don’t know, I can’t be one hundred percent sure.…” Despite everything, when confronted by the word, my instinct is to pull back. Hedge, and protect Jocelyn from the baggage that label brings. “I just want it to be on your radar, that’s all. Because the way that she’s been acting since the interview, it doesn’t seem like it went that well.”

Priya swears under her breath. Suddenly, I feel like a jerk, dragging her into all this. Now I’ve got her worried, too. I need to shift gears.

“So the reason I called was, I was trying to think of things we could do together to maybe cheer Jocelyn up a bit. She showed me some of your video clips, I think there’s a lot of potential for a longer piece, something to put on the A-Plus website and Yelp page, maybe even Facebook. But I don’t have the greatest video-editing software.”

“Anything you think will help. I’ll try to give her a call, too. I haven’t heard from her since yesterday. My family’s going away this weekend, but I’m free to tool around with the video tonight if you want.”

“Sure, I can come after I close up the restaurant. Do you want to meet at a café or something?”

“Well, my best editing software is desktop based,” she explains. “Do you mind coming to my house?”

Priya gives me her address, and I tell her I’ll forward the e-mail I sent Jocelyn with the clips I thought were most promising. For the first time all day, I don’t feel like I’m sliding slowly down a steep cliff. I’ve found purchase. I’m barely holding on, but I have a plan.

Jocelyn never comes back after going off to find her father. The last contact I had with her was a terse response to my e-mail, sent right after she left.

Thanks. I’ll look over them tomorrow.

It’s not what I want, but it’s a lifeline. I swear to myself that I won’t let it go.