Beautiful Music for Ugly Children (18 page)

When I whirl around, I realize the voice in my ear is Scream, who’s standing behind me. Jason is walking toward me from the outside of the circle, baseball bat in hand. The crowd noise starts to die as people see the two of them, looking out of place and creepy in their masks.

“Stop it, guys. If you leave, there won’t be trouble.” This voice belongs to a guy I don’t know. He’s walking towards me and Scream, arms out in a
let’s keep the peace
gesture. “Please just go.”

Jason stops the guy with a raised hand. “We’re just here to talk.”

“With a baseball bat? Just go and nobody gets hurt.” Keep the Peace Guy is serious. Nobody else in the crowd has moved a muscle.

“We want a word with It, all right? We’ve told her for a long time we’d be coming to find her.” Scream reaches out and grabs my elbow, but his hand is instantly removed.

“You’ve got no business here.” It’s John. “I’m calling the cops if you don’t leave now.”

“Listen here, old fart, it’s obvious you think It’s precious.” Jason just can’t shut up. “We, on the other hand, want to help It.”

“Go crash someone else’s party.” John doesn’t want to fight, but he will, in an instant. I can see it in his face.

“You shouldn’t post your party times on public places like Facebook.”

I look to see where Paige is, and she’s next to the car-hood table. She’s safe there. Her eyes are enormous.

I point at Jason. “Thought you were coming to my house last week. We had Popsicles for you.”

Scream grabs my arm again and tries to pull me to him. “Fucking gender-bender dipshit. Get your ass over here.”

I try to rip my arm back from him. “Take off your masks, chickenshits. When you attack a man, do it with your real face.”

Jason throws his mask on the ground and it’s Paul Willard. “You stole my girlfriend, asshole. And you lied to us.”

I start to laugh. “Everybody standing here knows who I am. There’s no lying going on. And losing your girlfriend’s not my fault. You have to read her texts to find out she’s not that into you?”

“Shut up!”

“Or are you pissed she wanted a guy like me?”

Paul’s in front of me now, and I can see the effect of those words. He shoves me in the chest with the end of the bat, hard enough that my body slams into John, who’s right behind me. “Ever see
American History X
? Skinhead slams a black kid’s head on a curb.”

Scream grabs my hair. “Your turn. Right here. Right now.”

Keep the Peace Guy yells and starts toward me. “Let go of him!”

John’s pulling me away from Scream. Then I hear the bat connect.

And John goes down.

Hands restrain me, holding me back from killing Paul and Scream. At some point I realize I’m yelling but I’m not saying any words. Once the crowd clears, I can see that Paul’s on the ground. The baseball bat is next to him. Keep the Peace Guy has his foot on Paul’s throat, and there’s blood on his hands and Paul’s face.

The Scream mask is next to Paul on the ground, and next to the Scream mask is Kyle Marshall. Nobody’s got a foot on Kyle because he’s out cold.

Paige is kneeling beside John. Someone’s turned him over so he’s on his back. I break away from whoever’s got me and stumble toward them. Once I fall next to Paige, I can see the utter stillness on John’s face, like someone’s sucked out his being and left his sack of bones behind. When I concentrate on his chest, I see it rise. Barely. There’s no blood. Just an empty, barely breathing sack of bones.

“Has anybody called 911?” My brain’s so numb that I’m making sense. “An ambulance?”

Paige can’t talk because she’s weeping so hard, but she nods. She strokes John’s hair and I take his hand, watching his chest and how slow it’s moving. Nobody says a word, though I can tell people are shifting around us. But it’s my job to watch John’s chest. If I lose my focus, it won’t go up and down anymore.

Finally, finally, finally the ambulance roars up. They put John’s stillness on the gurney and sweep him away, lights blazing and sirens crying.

Then the cop cars show up, making just as much noise as the ambulance, and Keep the Peace Guy lets Paul off the ground so the cops can take him. Kyle is awake now, so he gets shoved in the cop car, too. I’m apologizing to everyone standing around, and they’re patting me on the shoulder, it’s not my fault, things will be okay, things will be just fine. All I can see in my mind’s eye is John. So still.

From the back seat of the cop car, Paul yells at me. “You brought this all on yourself, fuckwad! You and your he-she-it bullshit!”

In spite of everything, I laugh. “A dude with a pussy swiped your girlfriend. How hilarious is that?”

I really must be a guy if other guys want to fight me.

An officer approaches me. “Can we talk to you … sir?” It’s the one from when John and I went to the cop shop the first time, the one who spent the whole time sneering.

“I need to get to the hospital.”

“We’ll follow you there.” The squad car drives away with Paul and Kyle in it, and the cop gets in the other one to wait for me.

I feel I like should say something to the crowd before I go. They’re around me in a wide circle.

“I … well … the Ugly Children Brigade is over. No more radio show.”

“You can’t do that!” From my left.

“No way, Gabe.” From my right.

“We won’t quit.” From behind me.

Then there are more shouts of “Don’t stop now” and one “Fine, I’ll be the DJ instead.”

Paige waves her hands around. “Don’t listen to him. He’s not talking sense right now.”

I head for John’s Cadillac, hoping the keys are in it instead of in John’s pocket, and Keep the Peace Guy meets me at the car. “I’m Jake Richmond.” He sticks out his hand and I shake it. “I’m really sorry.”

“Thanks for sticking up for me.” I’m not sure what else to say.

“Sure.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“So?” He looks at the blood on his hands. “Hope your grandpa’s okay.”

“Um … yeah. Me too.” We shake hands again. Then Paige gets in the front seat while I grab the keys from the ashtray, where I thought they’d be, and we drive John’s big boat of a Cadillac to the hospital, police car trailing us.

On the way, I look down and realize Paul’s blood is on me, from where Jake shook my hand. Then my brain shorts out, and I start to hyperventilate. Paige makes me pull over, and then the cop comes and looks in our window.

“Can’t you see he’s having a panic attack?” Paige screeches at the guy.

I try and breathe normally. “Give me a second.”

“Take your time, sir.” The cop looks less like a smartass, watching me struggle to breathe, and he goes back to his car with a few glances over his shoulder.

I get it together and get back on the road to the hospital.

“Who was Paul’s girlfriend?” A tiny voice from the corner of the front seat.

“Heather Graves.” I keep my eyes on the road.

“She texted you?”

“Yeah.”

“What the hell did those texts say if he was that mad at you?”

No way am I going to tell her.

“Fine. Don’t tell me.” Silence. “But she dumped a guy every other month.”

“Maybe so, but nobody wants the trans man to steal their girlfriend.”

She snorts. “A guy with a pussy.” Then a pause. “Were you going to go out with her?”

“I turned her down.” I reach out for her hand with my bloody one, and she takes it.

Silence. We drive.

“I hope John’s all right.” The tears are trickling down her face.

“Yeah.” That’s all I can say, or I’ll lose it.

By the time we get to the hospital, John’s been there for at least half an hour. The cops meet us at the front door, and we answer all the cops’ questions. Yes, they threatened us in the parking lot of KZUK. Yes, we reported them a few weeks ago, and so did Frank at Video Rewind when they came back to attack Paige. Yes, they threatened my family. No, they never showed up. Yes, we’ll testify in court. All I can think about is John’s stillness.

When we finally get inside the emergency room, no one will tell us anything because we’re not his next of kin. I can’t think what else to do, so I call my parents, and they come and convince the doctors that we’re the closest thing he has to family. Finally a doctor leads us into a little room. Paige comes, too, because the doctors think she’s my sister. My mom’s patting Paige on the back, and my dad’s got his hand on my shoulder. Nobody sits down.

The doctor has a name card clipped to her scrubs that says
DR. ANDERSON
. She consults her clipboard. “Your neighbor is John Burrows?”

“Right.” My dad’s taken over, and I’m so glad.

“Mr. Burrows is under serious sedation while his brain swelling goes down. He took quite a blow. Do you know what he was hit with?” Dr. Anderson looks at Dad, and Dad looks at me.

“A baseball bat.” I can barely say it.

“That kind of trauma will throw anyone for a loop, but given Mr. Burrows’ age, he may not recover.”

The words fall on the tile floor like stones.

“Ever?” My dad sounds just as shocked as I feel.

“You need to know the seriousness of his injury.” Dr. Anderson reads her clipboard again. “Mr. Burrows is in good health otherwise, so he may surprise us, but some people who sustain these kinds of injuries remain in a vegetative state for the rest of their lives.”

“I … I see.” My dad is calm.

I am not. “For real? He might not wake up?”

Dr. Anderson looks me square in the eye. “Correct.”

My whole body would scream if it could. “John will prove you wrong, I know it. He’s strong. He’ll come back.” Paige has her arm around my shoulders, and my dad is right next to me. I’m not sure they know they’re keeping me from falling down.

Flip flip flip through a few more sheets of paper. “He’s in ICU for now, until we determine when we can bring him out of sedation. Room 5525. If one of you would like to visit, you’re welcome to. But only for five minutes an hour.” She attempts to smile. “I wish I had better news.”

Dad shakes her hand. “Thanks for your time.” Dr. Anderson leaves.

“We have to call Patrick and Margaret.”

“Who are they?” Dad turns to me.

“His kids.”

My mom is shocked, almost angry. “You know where his kids are?”

“He told me a few weeks ago. They’re in Chicago and Seattle.”

“Maybe they’re in his phone.” Paige points toward the nurse’s station. “Go find it.”

I ask a nurse about John’s personal things, and she says they’re right here, are we the next of kin? I say yes, and she gives me a white plastic bag. Inside are John’s clothes, his reading glasses, and his cell phone. When I open the contacts list, there are four numbers: me, my house, Patrick, and Margaret.

I hand the bag to Mom. “Would you take this to John’s house? The spare key’s under the bust of Elvis on the porch.” She nods.

“Do you want me to call them?” Dad holds out his hand for the phone.

“I’ll do it.”

He looks between me and Paige. “Are you two going to stay for a while?”

I nod at him but then look at Paige. “You can go if you want.”

She shakes her head. “I’m staying with you.”

“We’ll see you in the morning—I guess it is morning—we’ll see you when you get home.” My mom hugs each of us, then follows my dad to the elevator.

I find a nurse again and ask where 5525 is. She points down the hall. “Only one visitor for five minutes every hour.” The crabby look she gives me says she means it.

In room 5525, there are two beds, and one is empty. The other one is full of a person who looks like John but is also empty. When I look down at him, there’s no laughter, no jokes, no Southern accent. No music. I touch his hand, and he’s cold.

It’s all my fault. Me and my weirdness.

I stare at him as hard as I can, willing him to wake up, but then I remember he can’t because he’s in a coma so his brain will heal. The crabby nurse comes to the door, sliding her finger across her throat to tell me I’m cut off for the next 55 minutes, and I back out of the room, willing him to wake up in spite of the medication. He’s that powerful. I know it.

Paige is on a bench by the nurse’s station. “How does he look?”

“Like a corpse.” I sit down next to her. “It’s my fault.”

“It’s Paul and Kyle’s fault.”

“What if John never wakes up?”

“He will. He’s strong.” She leans on me, and I let her. We sit that way for a little while.

“Do you think they’d let me spend the night here?”

“I have no idea.” She’s moved away from me and leaned back on the wall, looking as tired as I feel. Her makeup is streaked down her face and there’s blood on her skirt from where she helped Jake clean off his hands. But she is still, eternally, beautiful.

I find a nurse again, this time a very kind young one, and she gives me a disposable toothbrush and points me down the hall to a family sleeping room with a pullout couch. I go back to Paige and tell her where I’m going. She says she’ll see me tomorrow. Big hug in the hall. It’s all I can do to brush my teeth, and I’m gone the instant my head hits the pillow.

At some point during the night I wake up. It takes me a second to remember where I am, and sadness sweeps across me like a thunderstorm. Then I realize there’s someone in bed with me, and an arm is draped across my stomach. Then I feel something across my face, and I realize it’s hair. Paige’s hair.

Paige is in bed with me.

So I go back to sleep, sadness pushed aside for one peaceful, wonder-filled moment. What if it’s a dream? If it is, I want it to last as long as possible.

Elvis is the New Elvis
because Duh, There’s Only One Elvis

Saturday. I wake up at eight, and Paige is gone. Maybe I really did dream it. I’m not going to ask.

Saturday noon. John’s still knocked out. A different doctor tells me they un-sedate him a little every twelve hours, to check the brain swelling, but he’ll be knocked out until Monday at the earliest. Then they’ll bring him out of his drug coma and see what happens. I call Paige and leave a message on her phone.

Saturday afternoon. I call John’s kids. Patrick tells me his father died in 1974, how dare I bother him now, and where did I get this number? I tell him from his father’s cell phone. Margaret tells me she’ll be there on Sunday, and then she asks me to forgive Patrick for being rude. He’d already called her to tell her what happened.

Saturday night. Paige asks if I want her at the hospital, but I say no. It’s my job to watch over him. Only me. This is my fault.

I go home to take a shower and change my clothes. Then I’m back, in John’s room for five minutes every hour. At midnight the nurse kicks me out when I ask her for another disposable toothbrush.

I haven’t looked at the Facebook page for the UCB. I don’t even want to know.

Sunday morning.

“Are you reading that book or staring at it?”

“Staring at it.” Holy crap. “Who told you I was here?”

“I guessed.” Heather sits down next to me on the bench by the nurse’s station. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“I didn’t know Paul was coming after you.”

“I didn’t figure you did.”

Nobody says anything for a while.

“Are you still interested?”

I look at the side of her face, because she’s staring into the nurse’s station, watching them type all their notes about who needs what pills and who’s getting better. Or worse. Or not moving at all.

“I can’t right now.”

She sighs. “Paige is better for you, anyway.”

“The jury’s still out on that one.”

She smiles at me. “I’d just dump you in the end.”

“You don’t know that.” Now it’s my turn to smile.

She kisses me, ever so softly, and gets up. “No, I don’t.” Then she’s gone, around the corner of the nurse’s station and down the hall.

I don’t even pretend to read my book. I just stare after her.

Sunday afternoon. Margaret comes.

She’s nice, but very distant. She tells the doctors she’s his daughter, yes, but they’ve not been close for many, many years.

It’s almost shocking how much she looks like John. Same features, same body shape, same laugh. I know because she laughed when I told her she looked like John. Maybe that was the wrong thing to say.

After she talks to Dr. Anderson, she finds me on my bench.

“So you’re Dad’s neighbor?” Her eyes are kind, but she’s guarded.

“Right. His … student, I guess. He got me a radio show.”

She smiles. “Radio always was his first love. How did he get hurt?”

“He was with me. Meeting my fans.”

“You have fans?” This surprises her. “I don’t get the connection between meeting fans and getting hurt.”

“It’s a long story.”

“Try me.” She doesn’t seem mad that it’s my fault.

“Well … there are people who don’t like me. And they came by when I was meeting the Ugly Children Brigade and they accidentally hit your dad instead of me.”

“Ugly Children Brigade? They wanted to hit you?”

“Another long story.”

She considers what I’ve said, then looks at me like she hasn’t quite seen me up to this point. “Well, I’m sure he was doing what he loves, which is talking to people and talking about music, so if he doesn’t recover, at least he was happy when he got hurt.” She pauses. “It’s strange to see him after all this time, especially when he doesn’t know I’m here. We send cards at Christmas, but that’s all.” She looks at me again, really looks. “His cards always mention his smart, funny neighbor who loves music. And that can only be you. I don’t see anyone else visiting him every hour.” She smiles. “I can come back in a couple weeks. Will you call me every day? Let me know how he is?”

“Sure. Of course.”

She stands up and looks at the clock over the nurse’s station. “I’m going to check on him before I go. Good thing flights between Chicago and Minneapolis are cheap.” She shakes my hand. “I’m glad he has someone to see his good side.”

It comes rushing out before I stop to think. “I thought you hated him.”

“No.” Now her smile is sad. “He might not have been the best dad, but he’s always been a good guy.” She turns and walks down the hall toward 5525. “Thanks again, Liz.” To John, I was still Liz at Christmas time.

The grouchy nurse is behind the desk, and I see her look at the clock when Margaret enters the room. She may give Margaret three minutes if she’s lucky.

Paige, Heather, Paul Willard, Margaret: people don’t do what you think they’re going to do. Maybe everyone has a B side, or a C side. Or an R side. Maybe all of them.

Monday noon. I call Paige. “They’re un-sedating him this afternoon.”

“Do you want me to be there with you?”

“Yes please.” I’ve crumbled. I need her.

“I’ll be there at 3:30.”

I call Margaret, so she knows.

At 3:45, Dr. Anderson comes to talk to us at my bench. “We’ve discontinued the sedatives. If he’s going to wake up, he’ll do it in the next week.”

My hand is crushing Paige’s. “What if he doesn’t?”

“If he doesn’t wake up within a week, well … we’ll have to decide what’s next.” She gives us a sympathetic look and heads down the hall.

Paige squeezes my hand, then lets it go. “Are you ready for tonight?”

“What the hell is tonight?”

“The Vibe?”

“That’s tomorrow.”

“Look.” Paige points at the nurse’s station. “Today’s the twelfth.”

“Tomorrow is the twelfth.” I squint in the direction of the calendar.

“If you don’t get your ass in the car, you’re going to be late and blow it altogether.”

“You’re full of shit.” I get up to go look, just to be able to prove my point.

“NO I’M NOT.” Paige is yelling and pointing, and at least three nurses have poked their heads out of patient rooms to see what’s going on.

But there it is, in big red numbers on the calendar: Monday July 12.

“This isn’t happening.” I’m so loud a nurse tells me to shush. I need to stay. I can’t go.

John would be furious if I didn’t go.

I grab Paige’s arm. “Can you stay here and be here with him, just in case he wakes up?”

“Can I go home and get my book?”

“I don’t care, but hurry, and you have to call me every hour after your five minutes. Leave a message if I don’t answer.” I hug her quick.

“You’re welcome. Don’t forget your lucky clothes.”

“Gotta stop at home and pick up my CD anyway. Call me!” And I sprint for the parking lot.

I bust my ass getting home, changing, and getting on the road. My guilt keeps me company on the drive. I shouldn’t have left the hospital. I shouldn’t have let him get me a show. I shouldn’t have flirted with Heather. I should have stayed Liz. I should have mowed his lawn more often. I should have bought him more birthday gifts. I should have told him what he means to me.

Summer Mondays in the Cities is deep in downtown Minneapolis, of course, but the rush hour traffic is going out of town instead of coming in so the drive isn’t too slow. Paige calls twice to tell me there’s no change. She was supposed to be with me. John too. They’re not supposed to be in a crap-ass hospital.

The first thing I see when I get to Loring Park is a huge banner that says
SUMMER MONDAYS IN THE CITIES
, strung between light towers over a stage. There are parking spots close to the stage, and one of them has my name on a sign in front of it:
THE VIBE 89.1, GABE WILLIAMS
. It feels really strange, but cool, to have a parking space with my name on it, because otherwise I’d have to park six blocks away. When I get out, I’m met by a cute girl in the same Stones T-shirt I bought at Target, plus purple Chucks to complete her roadie outfit. She doesn’t toss her hair. Instead she introduces me to Sheldon, the program director of the Vibe, and Thad, the station manager, who tells me my time, 11:30 to midnight, which fits my late-night preferences. They point at a tent where the other four contestants are waiting. Snacks and water are there, they say.

I wade through the crowd, and one guy spills his beer on me. Another woman stares. Like, stares. Then she realizes what she’s doing and blushes, then whispers, “Sorry.” Maybe I’m not Gabe enough, but there’s no way to fix it now.

Once I make it to the tent, I grab a bottle of water and mentally go over the order of the songs on my CD—Elvis Costello, Rancid, Flo Rida, ZZ Top, and Wall of Voodoo, plus my secret weapon—and think about the scripts I’ve written out, over and over again, getting ready for this moment. Then I see John stretched out on the ground, still as midnight. The other contestants milling around in the tent have all brought wives or girlfriends—except for the girl contestant, who brought an old dude who looks a lot like Iggy Pop—and they try to chat me up, so I make polite conversation. If they’re checking me out, they’re doing it on the sly. Nobody acts like I could be anybody but someone named Gabe.

Their small talk is different than most people’s. One of them knows Prince personally, and one of them used to tour with Green Day as a roadie, and did I know that Billie Joe Armstrong’s wife Adrienne went to college in Maxfield? Yes, I did, but please don’t talk to me, because I’m too busy thinking about my almost-dead friend while I try to remember what I’m supposed to say between ZZ Top and Wall of Voodoo.

By the time we get to eleven o’clock, the crowd is huge. Every time a new contestant’s left the tent to go on, I’ve gone out to listen, and every time I realize I’m better than the person on stage, better a thousand times over. The crowd doesn’t much care—they’re there to have fun and dance. In between contestants, the Vibe plays other music, and there’s a tech guy who makes the lights do funky things while each contestant is on, so the crowd likes that. But Sheldon and Thad care—they’re watching closer than close.

The second contestant played Donna Summer, and someone in the crowd hollered “Disco died a million years ago!” The third contestant played LL Cool J, and someone yelled, “Boring!” I wonder what they’re going to holler at me.

Since seven, Paige has called three more times to say nothing’s changed. Now my brain is full of furious and terrified static.

When it’s finally 11:30, I step on the stage and mumble “Hi, I’m Gabe” into the mic. Then I proceed to suck. Suck like a fancy vacuum, in fact. My voice has no punch, and everything I say sounds hollow and dumb. People dance, but everyone used up their energy on the first four contestants. One person yells “ZZ Top! Woo!” and one person yells “Flo Rida sucks!” but that’s about it. It’s late, it’s almost Tuesday, and people have to work tomorrow.

When I put on my secret song, which is “Soul Finger” by the Bar-Kays, made famous again by its inclusion on the
Superbad
soundtrack, the crowd perks up. They all shout “soul finger!” every time it comes up in the song while they groove around in front of the stage. It’s the only time I feel sort of normal.

I can do this: on the air, in a park, wherever. But music’s about emotion, and I can’t scream “soul finger” when my heart feels dead.

When I’m done, my stomach hurts because I was so horrible. I know I’ve pissed the guest spot down my leg when Sheldon shakes my hand and says “Beautiful Music for Ugly Children is really pretty good, but that was … well, we’d expected more from you.” Thad smiles like someone’s died, and it’s possible someone has, but I don’t say that. I shake their hands, tell them I’m sorry, and get in my car after I’ve swiped the
THE VIBE 89.1, GABE WILLIAMS
sign from the parking spot. I’ll put it in my scrapbook.

By the time I’m halfway home, I can’t do it anymore. I pull over and let the tears destroy me. Half an hour later, I can finally see again.

When I get back to the hospital, it’s three a.m. Paige is asleep on my bench, phone in her hand. When I shake her shoulder, she starts. “You dumbshit! Why haven’t you answered your phone?”

“My phone hasn’t rung.”

“Yes it has! Look at it!”

When I check it, there are three missed calls and five texts. I’d put it on silent right before I went on the air and forgot to change it. I call my voicemail.

Paige swats my phone away from my ear. “I’m right here, fool. He woke up!”

“He did?”

“He asked for you.”

My brain’s on fire. “Were you there? He asked for me?”

“How the hell do you think I know he woke up? I went in for my five minutes and was talking to him about your Vibe show, that it was tonight, and he opened his eyes and mumbled ‘Where’s Gabe?’ At least that’s what I thought he said. Then he passed out.”

I’m crying again. “How long until we can go in?”

She checks the clock. “Ten minutes. How did it go, by the way?”