Never Eighteen (14 page)

"It's your dime."

We become quiet as the sun descends toward the other side of the globe. A sea of color bleeds into the sky, as if a rainbow has just spilled out over it. Yellows, oranges, pinks, and blues intermingle, fuse together, a surreal painting that only God himself could have created. As the sun plunges farther down below the horizon the colors dissolve into each other, until finally all is gray. Stars poke through the atmosphere, a prelude to the falling night.

We drive close to downtown, to the best burger joint in all of Tacoma. Frisko Freeze has been a landmark here for as long as I remember, though I know for a fact that my parents and grandparents frequented it as well. A classic drive-in, order at the window, eat it in your car kind of place. Everything but the roller skates.

We find a parking spot, and together approach the order window.

"Can I take your order?" It's Scott McPhee. From up close, he looks like shit. His once athletic body now sports a beer belly, his once shortly cropped hair now hangs down to his shoulders, matted and greasy. His clothes are filthy. He looks well beyond his twenty years by at least ten.

"Hey, Scott," I say.

"Hey, Austin, what's up?"

"Just getting some grub. How've you been?"

"Not bad. Surviving, you know."

"Yeah, I know."

Kaylee and I each order a cheeseburger and fries, banana shake.

We're quiet as we eat. I look over at Kaylee and she seems lost in thought, kind of mournful. She's staring out the windshield into nothing, eating almost mechanically. I want to ask her what she's thinking about but decide against it. Those thoughts are probably best left unspoken.

When I finish, I lie back in my seat, close my eyes, and just sit until I hear Kaylee slurping up the remains of her shake. I open my eyes back up. "You ready?" she asks. I remain quiet. Something, or rather someone, catches my eye. Scott McPhee is leaving work. He doesn't drive; he walks, head down, already lighting a cigarette. I watch as he strolls slowly down the street into the dark. His black pants and navy blue Frisko Freeze sweatshirt eventually blend in with the night and he turns invisible.

"I want to go see Scott."

"Why?"

"I want to know what happened to him," I answer.

"What happened to him? He's a drunk, that's what happened to him. What more do you need to know? He had his shit together too. What a waste," Kaylee says.

"Yeah, well, that's the point. What makes someone like Scott drown himself in alcohol?"

"Well, I guess we're going to find out, or you are, since you won't tell me anything about your little visits," Kaylee says, driving down the street to Scott McPhee's apartment.

"Sorry, it's just, I mean, I've been talking to these people about really personal stuff. The secrets are theirs, not mine to tell."

We arrive at the apartment building Scott moved into after he graduated. From the looks of it, I would guess it's about ten floors. Kaylee drops me off out front, then leaves to find parking. A group of twenty-somethings smoke in the doorway. Inside, the lobby looks nice enough, but there's an unclean feel and smell that gives away what this place really is: a refuge for the outcasts, the aimless, and the hopeless. The couches and chairs in the lobby are covered in mysterious stains, and I can almost taste the film left behind by cigarette smoke residue. The place is in desperate need of a paint job, a steam clean, and more than likely pest control.

Approaching the elevators, I see one has a sign on it stating that it isn't working again, sorry for the inconvenience. I'm happy the other is in working order, as I'm not sure I could make it up six flights of steps to Scott's apartment. I hit the up button and wait. I enter the elevator, which smells like a combination of cigarette smoke, Lysol, and dog. I've only been to Scott's place one other time. He came to one of the soccer games my sophomore year. I wasn't playing; I was watching. We sat together, and he invited me and some of the team over to hang out.

Number 612. I approach the door and knock. Nothing. I knock again. It takes a while, and I'm about to give up, but finally I hear noise inside, a bump, a clatter, something crash to the floor, then a voice say, "Shit!"

Finally, the door opens and before seeing who it is Scott yells, "What do you want?"

"Hey, Scott, what's up?" I ask.

Scott squints his eyes as if his eyesight isn't so good, although I'm sure it's whatever he's drinking that's causing the blurring effects.

"Austin?" he says.

"Yeah," I answer.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

The question makes me feel awkward. "I thought maybe we could shoot the shit," I say.

"Now? I'm, uh, watching a movie right now. Can you come back another time?" he asks.

I peer inside; the TV isn't even on. I look at him gravely. "Scott, I'm not sure I'll be able to come back another time—ya know what I mean?"

He has a moment of clarity. "Oh, yeah, right, well, sure. Okay, come in, I guess." He steps back and allows me to enter.

The apartment is tiny and filthy. Clothes are flung everywhere—doors, chairs, the floor. Dust has settled on tables and shelves. The place is scattered with cans and bottles of just about every kind of booze you can think of: beer, wine, tequila, whiskey, and a few things I don't recognize by sight. Strangely enough, there's not a food wrapper or box in sight, as if he survives on alcohol alone, or maybe he eats every meal at Frisko.

He clears a chair of clothing and other clutter and offers it to me. I cringe, but sit anyway. He heads to the fridge and grabs a beer. "You want anything, Austin?"

I decline, and Scott comes into the living room and sits on the couch. "So, what's up? What's going on?"

"That's what I've been wondering. What's been going on with you?"

"What's been going on? Look around you. This is pretty much what's been going on."

"I mean, what happened to you?" I ask.

"What? You don't think I'm living the life of a king?" The sarcasm doesn't suit him.

"No, I don't. You're so different. You used to be someone I admired, your persistence, your determination, your goals. I just wanted to know what made all that change for you."

"What changed, huh? Well, I'll tell you. Life kicked me in the balls and I never got back up. That about sums it up."

"How exactly did life kick you in the balls? What happened?"

Scott lets out a weighted sigh. "Everything was going great. I got that full-ride scholarship from UP. Jeanie was going to go there with me." Jeanie was Scott's girlfriend, a cute little blond cheerleader. "She was so excited. God, some days I really miss her. She was so hot, and her rack! Man, she looked good on my arm." He drifts away momentarily. "The pressure was too much, the pressure to perform, to work, to get good grades. My parents harped on me nonstop. I lost it."

"Pressure? You lost it under pressure? No. No way. Not the Scott I know. You lived for pressure. You were made for pressure."

"Nope. It was too much."

"So then what?" I ask, not believing a word he's saying.

"Senior year I started drinking a lot. It got out of control. Jeanie broke up with me, my grades dropped, and I lost my scholarship. So here I am, living the big life in this crappy apartment, working at Frisko, barely getting by."

"I don't believe you," I say simply.

"You don't believe me? What's not to believe?" I can tell he's nervous, which tips me off that there's more to his story.

"Come on, Scott. Cut the shit. There's got to be more to it than that. I know you better than that. You were at your best under pressure."

His eyes shift; he stands up, paces. "There's nothing more, that's it," he says, now sweating, shaking.

"Yes, there is. What happened?"

"Nothing happened, Austin. Sometimes shit happens. That's all."

"Yeah, sometimes shit happens. I get that, but you were always above the shit in the world. Stop lying to me. Stop lying to yourself. I don't know why you're trying to make yourself believe the tale you're spinning, but it doesn't fly, not at all. Not with me."

"You don't want to know, believe me."

"Yes, I do. Come on, Scott. Level with me."

"No," he says harshly.

"This is bullshit and you know it."

"Drop it, Austin, seriously." He's agitated.

"No! Tell me what happened!" I'm yelling now. I'm not sure why.

"I mean it, Austin."

"Goddamn it Scott, what the fuck happened to you! Why'd you quit? You had it all. I wanted to be just like you."

Scott clasps his hands on top of his head. He paces, back and forth across the tiny living room. He sits down on the couch, buries his face in his hands, and cries, hard and heavy. I've never seen a grown man cry like this before. I never want to see it again. "Scott?" I approach, and lay what I hope is a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"You don't want to be like me. Oh, Austin, I'm sorry. I fucked up. I didn't know what to do," he cries. "I was scared."

"What to do about what?" I ask.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." He continues to cry, tears, snot, and drool dripping down his face.

"Scott, talk to me. What happened?"

He takes a deep breath, sits up, and says, "I can't. You should go. I need you to go."

I don't know what to do. Do I stay and try and comfort him some more, or leave? I say, "Scott?"

"Please just go, Austin."

"Okay. I'll go. But I want you to know that you've meant a lot to me. You motivated me to do my best, and I hoped that maybe by seeing how you influenced me, that would help to motivate you."

"You can't help me, man. I'm cursed." He picks up his bottle and takes a swig.

I leave Scott sitting on the couch with a beer in his hand, regretful, tormented, and crying over some secret that changed the outcome of his life, a secret he's unwilling to share, one that may haunt him forever.

Kaylee is waiting for me at the curb when I exit the building. I slide into the car next to her.

"So, what happened?" she asks.

"I don't know. He broke down, but then he clammed up. I guess some people's demons are too strong to expel."

"Do you want to go home now?"

"No," I say. "Not yet."

"Okay, so what now?"

"
Superbad.
"

Kaylee sits up in her seat and exclaims, "Seriously? You're in the mood to watch
Superbad
?"

"Well, not really, but I need a laugh."

"I can't believe we're going to watch it again."

"What do you mean?" I ask, not believing she could even question my request.

"We've seen it a million times," she says.

"Come on. I am McLovin," I say, quoting the movie.

"Sounds like a sexy hamburger," Kaylee says. She's in. She rolls her eyes, and my heart skips a beat. Shifting Scarlet into drive, she heads to her house.

We pop some popcorn, even though we're both still full from dinner, but it's tradition. We settle into the couch and Kaylee pushes Play on the DVD remote. I watch Kaylee more than I watch the movie. She laughs at the same scenes, the party, home ec class, the dick pics. The scene with the cops in the store is her favorite. She knows every line by heart, and nearly rolls on the floor when McLovin shows off his fake ID.

"Want me to take you home?" Kaylee asks once the movie ends.

"No, it's a nice night. You want to go for a walk?"

"Okay." We grab our coats and a blanket, and head out the door. We both know where we're going without saying a word. Mason Middle School. We love lying in the middle of the field on a clear night, looking up to the stars, imagining worlds beyond this one.

We find our spot, Kaylee lays the blanket on the cold turf and we lie down. My moment was not going to get any more perfect than this. It was time, my last chance; I have to fight my tongue, and fight my nerves, and tell Kaylee how I feel about her. Finally. Now.

I prop myself up on one arm, peer down into her beautiful face. "Kaylee," I say, relieved that my voice hasn't failed me yet again.

"Yeah?" she says, not having taken her eyes off the night sky.

"I need to tell you something," I say. My mouth is trying to procrastinate, but I fight to get the words out.

"What is it?" she says now returning my gaze.

I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and blurt it out. "I love you, Kaylee." My mouth won't stop now that it's begun. "I've always loved you, ever since the day we met on the playground. You've been on my mind constantly ever since, every day, every waking hour, and sometimes when I'm not awake." I reopen my eyes, one at a time, afraid of what her reaction might be.

It appears to be one of fear and shock. "No, Austin."

"You can't say no. I'm not asking for anything. I just wanted to tell you, before, well..." I say.