Page 130 of Backslide
“College,” she says, forcing the expected smile.
“Wow! That’s so exciting,” the woman sighs. “But it’s hard to leave home behind.”
Home,yes. And her parents. Even her brother. But that isn’t all she’s leaving behind. She has also abandoned innocence. Hope. Stranded faith, trust. Deserted impulsivity, familiarity.
Childhood.
She has already left it all behind. Like so many stuffed animals. Like Hairball.
“Are you going to miss anyone in particular?” the woman asks.
Nellie nods. “Yes,” she says. “My cat.”
At home, Noah feels her leave, physically. Even though he hasn’t seen her in months. Feels her board the plane. Teeter down the runway, ears popping as she ascends—up, up, and definitelyaway.
At home, everything looks the same. Noah lies in bed, stares up at his ceiling. There are the same posters—Mariano Rivera, Derek Jeter, Dave Winfield.The Low End Theory. Ready to Die. Nirvana’sNevermind. The same cracks in the moldings. Same smell of garlic sautéing in the pan as his mom cooks dinner—Thursday is sausage and peppers night.
But nothing is the same. And nothing is okay.
His crutches lean against his desk, one threatening to fall. His knee is bandaged. His pre-op appointment is tomorrow.
His future has turned from gold to dust. But that is not what’s worst.
What’s worst is that he’s mad. But he can’t tell at whom.
He is mad at his knee. At the grade-three tear in his ACL. That’s for sure. At the kid who hit the fly ball that sent him running and sliding into second. He is mad at his dad—because he isalways mad at his dad. He is mad at his mom for trying to make him feel better, and at his sister for saying, “Your life isn’t over.” For wondering aloud what happened with Nell.
It’s none of her business.
He is crazy mad at Nell, too. More so now than when they first stopped speaking.
Of course he is. For abandoning him, for leaving him. For not understanding that his life imploded. For expecting him to be the same even though everything had changed. For forcing him into corners where he made bad decisions—which he otherwise clearly would not have made.
And he’s mad at her family because he suspects, on some level, that they never thought he measured up. Never thought he was smart or driven enough. And no doubt theydefinitelyurged her to get as far away from his ass as possible.
Mad at her dad because they were close and—now what? Now Noah is just erased from the picture?
But, if he is truly honest, which he would rather not be, he is most angry at himself. Becausewhat has he done?
What. Has. He. Done.
Another wave of nausea overtakes him.
He places his palms on either side of his head, squeezes, like he might fix his brain. Stop thinking all the thoughts.
His beeper buzzes. He picks it up. Calls the number back.
“D,” he says. “What’s up?”
“Come over, bro,” Damien says. “We’re playingStreet Fighter.”
“I don’t know,” Noah says.
“Yo! Forget that girl already! She’s old news.”
“It’s not that easy.”
“Noah,” Damien snaps. “Don’t be a pussy.”
