ANDREW WAS HALFWAY TO HIS house before he realized he’d left his sweatshirt at John’s apartment. He cursed as he stumbled to the ground, where he stayed for a few minutes and tried not to puke. Slowly, he stood up. The sidewalk wavered beneath him. He cautiously took a step forward, then another one. He felt a prickling on the back of his neck and looked up. Someone was staring at him from across the street. He wondered why. He took another step, then realized he was walking on his tiptoes. His arms were raised to his sides for balance, as if he were walking on a tightrope.
“I am so wasted,” Andrew whispered.
“No shit,” said the man across the street. He looked none too sober himself.
“I guess I wasn’t whispering then!” Andrew yelled. Andrew felt extremely clever when he said it. The man snorted. Andrew walked on, trying to appear nonchalant and in control. A police car drove slowly by, and Andrew kept his eyes on the ground and his hands in his pockets, his default physical position. He’d maintained this stance virtually his entire high school career. A defense position, he thought, like a Tai Chi–type thing.
The walk home took an hour; at least it felt as though it did. At some point he stopped and pissed behind some bushes. When he reached his house, he sat on the steps and stared at the stars. If he stared at them long enough, they swam and zoomed before his eyes like a magnificent light show. A magnificent light show. He thought of David and frowned. The door opened behind him.
“Andrew?”
It was Laura.
“What are you doing here?” Andrew said, his heart racing.
“I live here.”
Andrew looked up and down the street. He’d walked to Laura’s house. For a moment he was so embarrassed, he thought he’d die on the spot. Then a drunken careless confidence took over.
“Look at this munificent light show. Brought to you by our Creator Himself!” Andrew said. He waved both arms toward the sky.
“Shhh. Are you drunk?”
Without looking, Andrew reached behind and pulled her over to him. She stumbled, but he caught her and gently placed her next to him on the porch steps.
She rubbed her leg and grimaced. “I scraped my shin.”
“Watch the lights.”
“You are so drunk. And you smell like pot.”
“And yet my reflexes are still intact,” Andrew said, and then he burped.
“Andrew, go home,” Laura hissed.
“I was just hanging out with John,” he said.
“Oh?” she said slowly.
“We didn’t go fishing. I can tell you that much.”
“What did you do?”
“What do you think we did?” He looked over at her. She was wearing some kind of filmy pink nightgown. “You’re beautiful.”
“Where’s John now?”
“And you apparently know what pot smells like.”
“Look, Andrew, just go home. We’ll talk in the morning, okay?”
“We’ll talk now!” Andrew said.
“Shhh. If my parents wake up, we’re both dead.” She crossed her arms over her chest and shivered.
“Take my sweatshirt.”
“You don’t have one.”
“Are you dating Matt?”
“No.”
“But you did?”
“Why are you interested in this?”
“Really, Laura? Really? You have nooooooo idea.”
Laura frowned and looked away.
“How ’bout John? Oops! Maybe not, eh?”
“Andrew, please,” Laura said. She grasped his arm and looked at him intently, her eyes pleading.
“Does everyone know? That’s it, isn’t it? Everyone actually knows that John is—”
“Stop, stop,” she said, putting her hands over his mouth. He kissed her fingers. “Go home,” she whispered. “We’ll talk tomorrow, okay? I promise.” She stood up and kissed his forehead.
Andrew stood up. “The promises of Laura Lettel,” he muttered as he walked away.
This time he managed to get to his house. Instead of going inside he made his way to the backyard and collapsed. He thought about Laura in that ridiculous pink nightgown. Who actually dressed like that? It was as though Laura were trying to be a fantasy dream girl. Oh God, what nonsense. What was he thinking? Where was his Bible? In the absence of Marcia, who usually had all the answers, he needed to consult something else, some weighty text. He patted his pockets. He must have left it at John’s apartment. In the sweatshirt.
The wet grass was seeping into his clothes and moistening his back. It was cold but oddly soothing. Like a gentle cool kiss from the earth. Like that kid whose heart froze when he ate too much Turkish delight. What was that from again? Some book from his childhood. He’d loved that book. He wondered if he’d forget everything that he loved as he grew up. If as an adult, forty years from now, he’d forget Marcia and Sara. If memories of them would come to him only when he was drunk. The thought made him choke up, and he had to blink back tears that pooled into his eyes. Then he felt like a fool for crying.
The backyard was his brother’s domain. Andrew hadn’t really spent time here for years. All Brian’s sporting equipment was stored in a special shed, built for that purpose. Brian had spent hours and hours out here tossing the ball around or kicking the ball around or bouncing the ball around. Andrew used to watch him. And then he stopped watching him. That was it. No story, no grand showdown. He used to be interested in his older brother, and then he wasn’t. Brian had never been interested in him. Or maybe he had. Maybe when he was a baby and Brian was three, Andrew had been a source of fascination or amusement. And then one day he wasn’t. They were like two would-be strangers peering at each other in the dark. Who is that? Oh, it’s you.
“It’s me,” Andrew said to the stars.