Party (15 page)

I poke around in the bag. Going through a chick’s stuff is a bad idea, no matter what. They keep gross stuff in there. But I find the phone without much trouble and hold it up for Ashley to see.

“Thanks,” she says again.

“Yeah,” I say back. “Listen, I’m gonna—”

“Could you bring me her bag?”

I pick it up and bring it to her in the bathroom. Ashley opens it and dumps the whole thing on the floor, and starts sorting through clothes and stuff. All business now, she pulls
off Morrigan’s tank top—still damp with beer puke—and tosses it in the tub. I knew Morrigan wasn’t a … well,
big
girl, but she fills out her black bra pretty nice, I have to say.

Ashley catches me and gives my shin a kick. “Out,” she orders.

“Right, sorry,” I say, and walk out of the bathroom, closing the door most of the way. But then I stop and lean back against the bedroom wall beside the doorway. “It’s sorta weird, isn’t it?”

“What,” Ashley says from the bathroom as Morrigan moans sickly.

“Josh and her,” I say. “I mean, she wanted to sleep with him and he turned it down? That’s not natural.”

“He has his reasons,” she says, and I hear a zipper and Ashley struggling to get Morrigan changed into the cutoffs and black T-shirt that were in her bag. I want to look, just to get an idea of what Josh was passing up, but I don’t. I’m in enough trouble as it is, and I didn’t even
do
anything.

“I know,” I say, “but it’s still weird, you know?”

“Are you coming to a point any time in the near future, or are you just waiting to cop another peek?”

I grin. I like how Ashley can be honest without being a bitch. “No point,” I admit. “I just think that most girls would’ve been impressed, not pissed.”

“Yeah, well,” Ashley says, and opens the bathroom door. I turn. Morrigan is half asleep on the toilet, changed into her spare clothes. “
I
was impressed. I think she was too, in a way. I don’t think she knows
what
she wants.”

“She broke his heart, you know.”

“Yeah, I know. Ick, I need to wash my hands.”

She goes back into the bathroom to clean up.

“She should reconsider,” I say. “’Cause Josh is a good guy.”

Ashley doesn’t say anything. Maybe she can’t hear me over the faucet.

“Hey, why does Josh hang out with you guys anyway?” she calls.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“I mean I thought he hated drinking and smoking and all that.”

“I never heard him say that. He just doesn’t want to. He never tried to make us stop.”

The water stops running. “I guess that makes sense,” Ashley says. “I never heard Morry complain that he tried to make her stop, either.”

“Yeah, well, he’s cool like that, and she should have known it.” I start heading for the door. “I’m gonna get out of here.”

“Sure,” Ashley calls back. “Thanks, Ryan.”

This stops me cold.
Thanks
? “Uh … for what, exactly?”

Ashley comes out of the bathroom and shrugs. “I don’t know. For not being a jerk.”

“Oh,” I say, a bit surprised. “Yeah, sure.”

“You could’ve taken advantage of her, you know.”

“Yeah … maybe.”

“No, not maybe. Look at her. Hell,
I
could take advantage of her right now.”

“Say! That would be hot.”

Ashley manages a tired laugh. “You’re such a boy,” she says. “Okay, sicko. If you’re going to be nasty, at least give me a hand with her.”

I can’t help grinning as Ashley and I pick Morrigan up and walk her out of the bedroom. I feel bad for whoever’s party this is, because they’ve got a hell of a mess to clean up in that bedroom.

Halfway down the stairs, I realize the music has stopped. It is freaky quiet in the living room. On instinct, I slow down as we continue down the steps. Anthony Lincoln, who’d taken up most of the couch earlier when me and Bethany were on it, is blocking the hallway with his huge girth. Over his shoulder, I see a cop walking this direction.

I fight the urge to breathe into my palm and smell my breath. Dead giveaway, that. So I just stop and wait to see what happens next.

Pretty sure the party’s over.

I’
MUNNA KILL THIS TOWELHEAD BITCH
.

It only takes one hand to choke him, squeezin’ hard like when I lift. He try to stop me but he too small. His eyes are closed, but I want ’em to open, to see me doing it.

I get all lit up. Headlights.

I juke to the right and fall in some bushes to hide. This big ole red truck speed past. Too fast to see me or this kid lying near the curb.

The kid moves. Pulls his head up. Rubs his throat, tryin’ to breathe. It sounds gross. Wheezin’. He roll over and just lay there all breathing hard and coughing.

I almost killed him.

Tss. Whatever. He’s done. Just gotta wait till those two kids go back inside. What they doing out here anyway? That dude look mad, hunkered down like that. That girl—shit, that’s Ashley. I can’t let her see me out here like this. She might tell my—

They stand there talking. Finally they go back inside. I get up and run back to the house.

My knuckles are busted up good. I head for the bathroom. I open the door and the bathroom smell like ass.

I wash my hands. Knuckles hurt. Head hurts.

I touch my head in the back. Comes back bloody. Like my knuckles.

My fingers cramp. Won’t be catching a ball any time soon. They might be busted.

You better go check on that boy
.

I know who that is. Shut up. You ain’t really here.

You tellin’ me to shut up, little man?

I squeeze my eyes shut tight. Feel like the drunk is draining out of me.

I can still hand you your ass
.

The hell you buggin’ me for?

’Cause you mighta killed that boy
.

So what, Mike? He had it coming.

You started that shit, son
.

“They started it,” I say out loud. “Don’t tell me who started somethin’, bro. They started that shit and that’s why you’re—”

That ain’t why, bro
.

I gotta get my bro out my head. I open my eyes and keep washing my hands. They hurt bad.

You remember last time we all talked on the phone?
Before I came home?

“Yeah,” I say.

What did I say to you?

My head aches. Like I got tackled. Except I did the tackle this time.

Go on, Antho. What did I say to you?

I remember. Mike couldn’t call much, so it was cool when he did. We talked about the Raiders. Fuckin’ RAID-AHS! Shit season as always. But we talked about them anyway. I’d play for them one day, I told him. You should’ve too, I told him after he joined up.

“No can do, brother,” Mike said. “Got business to do.”

Never made no damn sense. Why did he have to join the Army? “Why, bro?” I asked him when he was packing his bag last year.

“Somebody got to, Antho.”

“Yeah, but why you, bro? We’re in a good place here.”

“Somebody got to, little man. Got to set this shit straight, you know? A whole lotta guys died so we could be in a good place, know what I’m sayin’?”

I didn’t like the sound of that. While he was packing, I asked him when he was coming back.

“It’s only four years,” he said.

“That’s a long time,” I told him. “What about football?”

“It’s all right,” he said. “You’ll be okay. You take care of Mama. You the big man in the house now.”

I tried. Tried real hard. Played ball hard. Kept my grades
up and everything. ’Cause Mike told me to. ’Cause Private First Class Michael A. Lincoln told me to.

What did I say on the phone that last time, Antho?

I remember. I told him to kill some towelheads for me. And Mike got all up in my face about it.

“Don’t ever say that, Antho!” he yelled at me. “Don’t you ever go say that.”

“How come?”

“’Cause you say that shit and what I’m doin’ over here don’t mean jack. You know what I’m sayin’?”

I didn’t. He was there to kill bad guys. That’s what I thought. Except that isn’t what he said that day on the phone.

But I just said, “Yeah, okay,” and then we hung up.

That was the last time I talked to my bro before he came home. I was having a perfect season till then. Because of me we started losing.

It wasn’t right. I couldn’t be out there playing when Mike was home again after just a year. Couldn’t run and catch when Mike was home in a wheelchair, home learning how to do things left-handed.

If I was there right now, I’d serve you your ass one-handed
.

“But you’re not,” I say out loud, looking at my face in the mirror. “You can’t even walk, bro.
You got no fuckin’ legs.”

That boy might be worse off. Then what you gonna do?

“He ain’t dead,” I say. If I’d finished choking him out like I was planning, then yeah.

You don’t know that
.

“You hear what he said? You hear what he call me?”

I heard what you called him, dummy
.

I got nothing to say to that. He’s right. My older bro, he’s right all the time. Right about everything except being in the Army. Fuck your Purple fuckin’ Heart, Mike. I don’t want it.

I know what you want, bro
.

“What’s that?” I say.

You wanna go back. To before I got fucked up.
What you did out there ain’t how to do it
.

“How do I do it then?” I wish I was still drunk.

By bein’ a man, bro. Be a man
.

I was a man. I kicked that bitch’s ass.

That ain’t what I mean and you know it
.

“You’re a soldier,” I say. “You’re a warrior, bro. The hell you want me to do?”

I ain’t callin’ people names. You know better
.

“They almost killed you,” I say. My face feels all hot. Damn, I don’t wanna be all cryin’ in here.

That boy didn’t
.

“Shut up, Mike.”

He shuts up, wherever he’s at. But he says one more thing.

Make it right, little bro
.

I flush the john just to have some noise. Get Mike out my head. I rub a bunch of water all over my face.

It’s been a few months now and I still can hardly look at him. I hate how Mama looks, like parts of her body were torn off, too. I love my mama, and I don’t care who knows it. She did good. Raised us up right. Moved us outta L.A., made us go out for teams. Mike was a QB back in the day, working on a
scholarship to UCLA. Then he went and joined the Army. Kicked ass there too, just like he did on the field. Went to Ranger school. My bro was a badass. Right up till he got damn near killed.

Mama never should’ve let him go. But no one was stopping Mike once he made up his mind. All it got him was blown up.

Army said he prob’ly saved a bunch of his buddies. Gave him a Purple Heart and everything. Like that matters now. He was an athlete before he was a soldier, and he’ll never catch a ball again, not for real, not with only one good hand. He’ll never run again. Never play pro ball.

But that was my brother. Always trying to do the right thing.

Always trying. Already he was calling people around town, YMCAs and kids’ clubs and stuff, looking for a way to help kids who can’t walk learn how to play games or whatever.

I never hear him complain. He still thinks he did the right thing by joining up.

Aw, shit.

What the hell did I do?

It’s that skater dude’s fault! I was just watching TV, minding my own damn business. Dude sits next to me and he’s all like, “You were a great receiver, bro. Should get a scholarship. Didn’t your brother get one?”

Yeah. Mike was supposed to go to UCLA. He might still go, but it won’t be on any football scholarship.

We were watching TV and it was like I couldn’t even hear the music playing in the room. Didn’t care about the dancing going on. Just wanted to get drunk. To forget.

The news came on, and it talked about how these soldiers got killed. That just reminded me of my bro. How close he came.

“You know what?” I said to this skater dude.

“What?” he said.

“I wish I could kill some fuckin’ towelheads,” I said.

“Yeah, man,” he said. “They’re weird ’n’ shit. Can’t even drink beer.”

“Oh yeah?” I said.

And he nodded and said, “Yeah, I asked this dude tonight and he was all like, ‘No way.’”

“What dude?” I said.

“This pizza dude workin’ on State,” he say. “Maybe he’s coming here tonight.”

“I’d kick his ass,” I said.

But I didn’t mean it. I never kicked anyone’s ass
off
th
e
field. Big black mother in Santa fuckin’ Barbara, yeah, right. That would be bad. Plus I got football. Take out my aggression. Till Mike came home. Then I couldn’t catch a cold, let alone a pass.

The skater just laughed and slapped my shoulder like we were friends. We’re not. But I don’t do anything, I just watched the news and kept drinking Morrigan’s Jack that she gave me earlier.

But then that guy did show up. And the skater was all like, “Hey, man, that’s him. I don’t believe he showed up ’n’ shit.”

I looked over at this Arab guy and it’s like I can see him killing Mike. Killing my bro. Setting up a bomb on the side of the road.

I got up and went over to him and the skater tried to stop me. He was all like, “Dude, whatcha doin’, don’t start nothin’, he goes to our school, he cool,” but it’s like I couldn’t stop myself. I went over there and bumped into him and hoped he’d start a fight ’cause I wanted to beat his ass for what he did to Mike.

“Well, there you go,” I say to Mike as I sit on the john lid. “You seen that? All I did was bump his ass and he went off on me.”

You didn’t have to get up, little man
.

“You would’ve got up,” I say.

No I wouldn’t. You know that
.

He’s right. He wouldn’t’ve.

“God damn, Mike,” I say. My head hurts like hell.

Do the right thing, bro
.

“Naw way, man.”

Then you live with it. And you tell Mama.
Then you come tell me. To my face
.