Saturday is dependably the best day of the week. Today has the added bonus of it being the Fourth of July. I’m a total sucker for a holiday, especially one that falls on a weekend and promotes explosions. I check out my window to see if the weather will cooperate with the lighting of fireworks and barbeque grills. Sunny and clear. Perfect. I open my window to let some fresh air in and consider how I’m gonna kill the next ten hours until the gunpowder gets ignited. There’s always another book.
The Outsiders is my favorite of Kyle’s books so far. Way better than the movie. But the best part about reading is getting to know my brother a little bit better. Slipping into Kyle’s room, pulling books from his shelf until a cover speaks to me—it’s almost like he’s speaking to me. “Read this one, you little shit. You might learn something about how to talk to a girl.”
In just about every book I flip through, I find sentences that Kyle underlined. Always with a red pen. Strings of words that were meaningful to him. I’ve become a collector of these gems and write them all in a notebook. Twenty-four, so far. When I look at them on the page, I get a sense of what was going on inside his head. That he felt kind of alone. That maybe he didn’t feel as cool as I thought he was. He struggled.
Just like me.
Because I second-guess everything, there is also the chance that he just liked the words. Underscored with red and kept forever. Like taking a picture of a sunset over the ocean. Either way, I feel like I’m getting to know him better than I ever had before, especially when I find his handwriting on the edges of the yellowed pages.
On page 26 of The Outsiders, in the top margin, Kyle wrote the solitary word, “Loneliness.” His red marks dug reckless and deep into the page. I reread the section over and over, and I don’t think the theme in this part of the story was about feeling lonely. He was.
On page 172, he wrote the word, “Confused,” and underlined it three times. The stressed depression of the lines is visible for four more pages. I feel like there was some serious anger behind this mini-journal entry. Everything was so blurred and painful for him after the accident. All the words his brain wouldn’t let him remember. There was no shortage of confusion. I wonder if he wrote that word before, or after.
At the beginning of Chapter 11, he circled the first word, “I.” That one totally confused me, but not nearly as much as the little treasure he left me on page 59. He underlined the sentence, “The fight for self-preservation had hardened him against caring.” A messy arrow stretched to this sentence form the handwritten words, “Mind Riot.” This choppy sentence flipped a switch in my brain and kept me up extra late for a couple of nights. I filled an entire page of my notebook with his two words and studied them. I knew there had to be some deeper meaning. I mean, besides being a cool name for a band. The more days that I spent with Andy at the Manor, the more the dots slowly began to connect.
I’m still trying to understand a lot of this, but I think maybe that’s how Kyle felt toward the end. How you try to make friends with the darkness. Maybe you try to negotiate with it to feel like you’re in control for a while. And then one day, the darkness just takes over. A mutiny of your own mind. Love, grief, and regret revolted in my brain, leaving me trapped in my bedroom for a month. I guess maybe it’s still there, waiting to pounce if I let my guard down. For Andy, that riot is still silently raging. For Kyle . . . in the end, the fight hardened him against caring and we lost him.
Maybe I’ll read The Outsiders one more time today.
I tuck Ponyboy and Sodapop’s story under my arm and grab two frozen waffles from the freezer. No toaster necessary. I’ve been eating them cold since I was little. Each bite of my blueberry-dotted breakfast thaws in my mouth as I wander in the direction of the bus stop. It’s an hour trip to Cleveland Heights and the greatest record store on the planet. That’ll work. Totally worth the trip. I’ve been surrounded by people at work all week. I figure it’ll be nice to do something on my own.
Three chapters later, I step off the bus at Mayfield and Coventry. I would have read way more, but a woman who smelled like stuffed cabbage felt the need to talk to me. I now know way too much about her granddaughter’s play-based preschool and the knee pain involved with rheumatoid arthritis. She was kind of sweet, so I smiled and nodded for three bus stops. I walk past two bookstores and a vintage clothing shop. Every door I pass smells like incense . . . and coffee. I fight the urge to get some tea because I figure I can’t bring the cup into the record store with me.
A string of bells jingles when I open the door to Renegade Records. I look around and feel completely cheated. Everyone is holding a cup of coffee. Even the girl with purple hair who’s working here. I check out the posters and used CDs for a while. I’m not even really shopping. Just kind of killing time. They’re playing some kind of Bob Marley reggae music. It’s super loud and blends perfectly with the strawberry incense that hazes the air.
I wander over to the rock album bins and find the R section. I flip through ’til I find something interesting. Redd Kross. I’ve been deeply in love with this band for a few months. I find two of their records. Born Innocent and Neurotica. I flip over Neurotica and read the list of song titles.
“‘Peach Kelli Pop’ is an awesome song. You should totally buy that record.”
I turn around. It’s Karen! Dana’s with her. “Oh! Hey. I don’t really have a record player to listen to it on.” Karen’s hair is really shiny and straight. She’s wearing a new pair of glasses. They make her face look tiny. Cute. “Nice glasses.”
She takes the record from me. “Nice shirt.”
I look down. Shit! I’m ninety-nine percent sure it’s the same shirt I wore to her party. It might even still smell like burning scarecrow. Time to change the subject. “I should totally get a record player. Where do you even buy one around here?”
Karen points to the wall next to us. At the display of several record players. I’m a total idiot, with the shirt to match. She giggles, “You mean like these, or like a really good one?”
A chance to redeem myself. “For sure! I mean, these are total crap turntables.” Realizing I don’t know anything about record players and there’s a really good chance that she does, I change the subject again. “You guys wanna grab some tea?”
Dana’s face contorts. Like I just asked her if she wanted to share a can of sardines. “Tea? Tea is for grandparents. Perkatory is like right around the corner. They have the greatest coffee creation on the planet.”
Karen answers for me. “Salem thinks coffee is made from cat pee.”
Dana pushes harder. “Oh my God! You cannot leave here today without trying a Brewed Awakening! You like chocolate, right? You’ll love it!”
Not a chance. “Call me grandpa, but I’m sticking with tea.”
Karen grabs my hand and pulls me toward the door. “She’s not gonna take no for an answer. First one’s my treat.”
She’s holding my hand.
We wait for almost ten minutes for a chubby bald guy wearing a pair of giant red sunglasses to make us three Brewed Awakenings. A giant cup filled with chocolate, vanilla, espresso, and whipped cream dusted with graham cracker crust. I’m warming up to this experience. Even if the guy seems to be moving in slow motion. Dana promises it’s worth the wait and that you can’t rush perfection. I quietly nickname our barista the Sloth Boy. He may have heard me, so we question if he spit in our cups when we’re back out on the sidewalk. The girls stare at me, waiting for me to take my first sip. What the hell. One cup’s not gonna kill me, and Karen did pay for it.
I take a sip. “Holy shit! This is delicious.” The girls laugh and sip their own. “This is coffee?” I take another sip of the divine ambrosia. “Why didn’t anyone tell me about this sooner?”
Dana pats me on the shoulder. “You’re hooked now, Grandpa.”
I walk them back to Karen’s car. They have a barbeque to make an appearance at. I’m invited, but I think I’ll pass.
Karen’s hand brushes against mine. An accident, this time. I think. “Let us at least give you a ride home.”
It would be way quicker. And there would be less cabbage ladies to smell. I sip my coffee. It’s really good. “Um, thanks, but I have to make a few stops on my way. I’ll see you guys tonight at the fireworks?”
Karen blows a stray piece of hair away from her glasses and climbs into the car. “You’d better!” Her eyes smile at me as she rolls down her window. “And don’t drink that too fast. It might make you a little loopy.”
If loopy means boundless energy, then I think we landed in Loopyland three sips ago. “I’ll be careful.”
I can hardly focus on my book. The bus rumbles, and I replay her words, over and over. Trying to remember exactly the way she said it and the exact way she was looking at me.
“You’d better.”
Just two words, but with so much potential meaning. Totally flirting with me, right? Maybe it was just a figure of speech? Girls talk like that. I don’t know. I guess I’ll see what happens later.
I take a shower and change my shirt as soon as I get home. I choose a clean one that I know I haven’t worn in a while. I clean my room, because I’m not sure what to do with all my energy. My heart is still pounding from that coffee. I’ve never been more awake. It feels pretty awesome.
Jace shows up before my hair dries. He spent the day News Bombing. His excitement tells me there was a pretty big explosion.
He sticks his phone in front of my face. “My friend from the television station just emailed this to me. It’s not edited on my end yet, but . . . check. This. Out.” He sings the last word of his sentence.
An Action Seven newscaster is doing a story on tonight’s fireworks show downtown. The gentle waves of Lake Erie is her serene backdrop. Hay-colored sun shimmers off the vast expanse of water. A sailboat glides peacefully by.
I pull the phone closer to my face. “No way! How did you get on that boat?”
“A News Bomber never reveals his secrets.”
I scroll back and watch again. “Awesome! That explains why you’re wearing a captain’s hat!”
“Don’t you love it on me? I’ll tell you the whole story later, when we meet up with the girls. Oh! Forgot to tell you. I think I saw your mom on one of those big jet boats. She waved at me.”
Nothing about this surprises me. “She wasn’t driving it, was she?”
Jace’s jaw drops. “Oh my God! Another thing I forgot to tell you! Grey’s shitty new band is playing at Mayfield park this afternoon. Before the fireworks.”
“Shut up! They’ll get to play in front of hundreds of people. We’re not going near there, right?”
“No way! Not even close! Karen and the girls will meet us at Maple Highlands Park. They’ll have a blanket and snacks. I’m bringing this!” Jace pulls an oversized flask from his jacket. “You want a sip?”
Gross. “Tempting, but I’ll pass.”
The park is less than a mile from my house, so we decide to walk. The sun is starting to set. A slight chill settles in the air. I can almost smell the gunpowder. Every telephone pole we pass has a poster stapled to it advertising the Chesterland High School performance of the musical, Grease. Jace jokes that it will be so bad it will be epically good and insists we’re going. We went to see their version of West Side Story last year. The kid playing A-Rab fell off the stage during the Officer Krupke number, so yeah. I’m in.
The park is packed. Families having picnics everywhere. Frisbees are being tossed around. Kites dance in the sky past clouds of smoke rising from portable grills. The dinging of a bell, announcing the arrival of the ice cream man, pulls at my attention. I’m instantly craving an orange Pushup.
After a series of texts, we find the girls. Two blankets and an impressive offering of food is spread out. Chips, cookies, bread, cheese, and two kinds of pie. A stack of plastic dishes and forks are piled on an old-school picnic basket. Dana must have been in charge of the catering.
Karen hugs Jace, steps on a bag of chips, and smiles when she sees me. “Hey, Salem. How’s that coffee feeling?”
Both of my thumbs shoot up. “So good! My toes are oddly numb, but I’m ready to walk all the way back for another one.”
She laughs. “I think you just like Sloth Boy.”
“Well, he is pretty foxy with those sunglasses. Inside.”
Karen laughs and Jace mocks her with an eye roll, then takes a swig from his flask. “Inside Sloth Boy joke? Whatever! No need to include me.”
Now he knows how I feel for ninety percent of their conversations. My turn to catch him up to speed. “I ran into these two in Coventry today. I guess while you were sailing past the stadium. They got me hooked on some coffee milkshake thing. So good!”
Jace’s eyes light up. “You went to Perkatory? Our tea drinker is growing up.” He high-fives Dana, then Karen. “Nice job, girls!” He passes around the vodka and adjusts his new nautical hat, no doubt hoping someone will notice. When no one does, he clears his throat and points at it.
Dana lifts her round, apple-cheeked face from an impressive bowl of strawberries and whipped cream. “What’s with the lid, Skipper?”
Jace straightens up. He loves to tell stories about the making of his videos. “Well, you are looking at the official first mate of—are you ready for this? A forty-one foot Sea Ray yacht named, BALZ OUT. I know. The jokes write themselves.”
There’s skeptical laughter. Karen shakes her head, confused. “What are you talking about?”
“Well, gather ’round for an incredible story of a boy, a dream, and our majestic Lake Erie.” He scoots closer to the girls. “I went downtown on a News Bomber mission near those fancy new apartments by the water. I was strolling along the docks, just killing time and planning my on-camera assault, when I met the nicest couple sharing a morning cigarette and their second or third Bloody Mary. All on the back of their glorious boat.”
Dana looks unimpressed. “And you stole the guy’s hat and ran away?”
Jace’s eyes narrow. “Ah, no interruptions. Could you please distract yourself with another bucket of fruit?” She flips a spoonful of cream on his shirt. He cleans it off with his finger, licks it, and continues. “Their names are George and Sandra Balz. Seriously. Spelled B-A-L-Z.” For proof, he pulls George’s business card from his pocket and reads. “He’s the Senior Producer of Arena Projects for the Cleveland Cavaliers.” The card gets tossed to Karen. “She’s the director of an animal rescue called Critter Care, or something cute like that. I don’t know what a Senior Blah-Blah-Blah Guy does, but guess who has two courtside tickets to the Cavs opening game in October?”
There are gasps, demands for a ticket, and laughter all around our blanket. I smile politely, happy to let one of the girls be his guest. I just want to hear where this story goes from here. No twist in his plot would be too outrageous. Like the imaginable part of the story where they traveled to the surface of the moon for brunch. It took forever for us to get there, but the views were amazing! Nothing would surprise me.
He continues, “Sandra is the sweetest soul. I’m seriously considering fostering a baby raccoon named Elphaba, but that’s a whole other story. So anyway, I convinced Mr. and Mrs. Balz to take me out for a little morning excursion on the lake, where I may or may not have created the single best news camera-bomb video ever. You be the judge.”
He hands them his phone and presses play. “I’m calling this one, Balz Out with the Bomber.”
Everyone is beyond impressed, taking turns watching it over and over, trying on the first mate’s cap. A heated game of Rock-Paper-Scissors settles who will be joining Jace at the Rocket Mortgage Field House for some NBA opening-day action. Dana isn’t the biggest sports fan, but is thrilled she will finally be able to try the barbeque pork burrito at Banditos. Karen loses gracefully and has a hundred questions about Elphaba.
There’s no shortage of laughter and snacking as the last of the sun dips behind the evergreens. Then the food gets pushed aside and we lie down on the blankets.
The first blast lights up the sky. Burning purple streamers, ripping through the darkness. I feel the back of Karen’s hand touch mine. OMG! Is she touching my hand again? Not intentional, I’m sure. Maybe she thinks it’s Jace’s hand?
I look over at her. She seems interested, but only in the fireworks. I pull my hand away.
It happens again.
This time, I leave my hand where it is. No way this is an accident. Is she cold? Her hand feels warm enough. Soft. Maybe I’m cold, and she thinks my fingers feel like icicles. Like wet salamanders. Like I’m some kind of cold-blooded sweat freak. Did I remember to put on deodorant?
Those thoughts fade away over the next few blasts. Vivid patterns against the black backdrop. Color pouring down onto our hands.
For a moment, I forget why they’re exploding.
There’s only this intoxicating sensation of her skin against mine. I can feel it through my whole body. I prefer the darkness between blasts. It makes what we’re doing seem more private. What I’m feeling, especially in my jeans, less embarrassing.
She must be liking this, too. My hand touching hers. She must like it, or she’d pull her hand away. Our fingers kind of dance together for the entire fireworks show. I never look over at her.
My heart pounds. I’m sure everyone can hear it. If anyone asks, I can blame it on the explosions.
The grand finale thunders. Her hand slips away so she can applaud with the rest of the crowd. The sparkling sky is replaced by way-too-bright park lights.
We sit up and everything seems normal. Dana eats more cookies. The last drop of vodka gets swallowed by Jace. Karen kicks us off the blankets so she can fold them. Like the hand-fling thing never happened.
There’s this little look she shoots me when we say goodnight, but I don’t know what it means or what, exactly, happened. I guess I liked it, or I would have taken my hand away. Of course, I liked it.
I just don’t know if I like it now.