To Dream

by Michelle Wilder
 
This is a companion piece to No How, No Way. It tells the story of Bobby Johanson, the boy who killed himself.
Life has many paths, and I always wonder.

To sleep, perchance... To Dream

 

----

Uncle Claude was arguing with my dad again.

Dad was hardly ever home, or hardly ever when I was at least, and whenever Uncle Claude was here I didn't even get to see him anyway.

For brothers, they couldn't have been more un-alike. Claude was more like my mom, or they were best friends, anyway, and sorta spoke the same language, really, and Dad... well, Dad's a fireman, and all business and like this ghost, sometimes, just a voice on the phone for weeks at a time.

As far as I was concerned, anyway. We never talked. I love him and all that, but we don't talk.

Anyway, Uncle Claude was on again about gay rights and I just got out. I knew Mom would put in her two bits on his side about every ten minutes, just enough to make Dad go ballistic. And Dad would basically be saying any group that wants special privileges, et cetera....

He never seemed to listen, just argued whatever he'd heard on the tube or around the station house or something.

And as soon as I came in the back door and heard them, I got out.

----

There's a brick wall at the edge of the park, bordering on the canal. It's about ten feet tall in one spot, too tall to climb but you can get there by climbing off the branches of the elm that's there. It's a really private spot, and I can see our house and the street, and see when Uncle Claude leaves.

It makes me want to cry or something when they argue, hearing what Dad says.

So much that I can't be there.

----

It was probably a family supper or something, but he didn't leave until around eight. I didn't dare go back until about nine, after I saw Mom leave the kitchen. I snuck in Jan's window and then went to my room and logged in.

I didn't like being hungry, and I hated the sneaking around, but I couldn't face Dad.

----

Once I heard the house quiet down, I knew it'd just be a few minutes, and sure enough, Mom tapped on my door and then poked her head in.

"Oh, you're home!" She looked really sad. "We had pork chops for supper, were you here? I checked...."

"No Mom, I just got in. Sorry I missed it." I was too, but didn't want to show. I loved Mom's pork chops.

She did that face and came in and sat on my bed. I turned more from my computer.

"Bobby, I'm worried about you. You never smile anymore." She looked all over my face, like I was showing or something, but I wasn't.

"I'm okay, Mom, really."

I wasn't, really, but I couldn't tell her, and there was nothing she could do anyways. So I was as alright as I could be. Almost not a lie.

And if I told her, she'd tell Dad, and then it'd all be over, anyway.

Sometimes I thought I could tell Uncle Claude, but then I'd catch him and Mom kinda...I dunno... like, conspiring, like they were always thinking the same things, and then they... well, I just knew if I told him, Mom'd know in a day, max.

And what would telling do, anyway? Make everyone argue more.

----

In two weeks, I was gonna be in university. State, in residence, in my own little room, and away from Mom and Dad and everyone.

I didn't know if it'd be like the movies or whatever, like a big party and everything and no privacy, but the time we went to see, the rooms looked... private.

If they were, maybe... maybe I could stand it. Maybe.

----

I could swear my suitcase had been moved.

If Mom had seen, then... then I was dead.

But she didn't... but she didn't say anything before, when she came in, before I found it, if there was really anything different. But if she saw, if she looked, then I was dead.

----

Today Dad got home about seven-thirty, so he was home for his four-day, unless he was called back, like usually happened. His car was so different than he was, a little Fiat Spider he's kept up since he was in high school. It looked like a toy next to Mom's van. Even from the park you could see it was mint.

It was so unlike him.

----

On the other side of the wall, the other direction from home, you could see the swimming pool. Four months ago, right when it was just opened for the year, my friend Phil dove in and broke his neck and drowned. I look at the pool a lot, but I've never been back there since.

He wasn't my best friend or anything. I guess I didn't have a best friend, not since grade school, but he was one of my only ones.

He told me once, last spring, before, that Dad, my dad, asked him about me, if I had friends, and who they were and stuff like that. Spying on me stuff. Phil even said that.

Phil was the kind of guy who just seemed to always do whatever he was told, y'know? And he said that he told Dad that he didn't think I had any friends, really.

He said Dad looked all serious, and almost dangerous, but Phil thought all adults were that way. He said that was really all Dad asked, but it seemed like it was important or something.

Then he died.

He really was almost my best friend, 'cause I didn't have anyone to talk to anymore.

And Dad didn't have anyone to ask.

----

I know, absolutely *know* that someone's been in my stuff. And it has to be Mom because she's the one who's home and... Jan's away, and....

Dad would've... I dunno. Looked at me that way. Like I was the biggest disappointment he's ever had, probably.

Mom'll tell Uncle Claude. And then Dad'll find out the first time they have an argument.

----

In a week, I'll be at State, in my own room, and nobody checking up on me.

I just have to survive one more week. Lie and smile and not let Dad talk to me alone.

I moved all my good stuff to the garage, and threw out everything I haven't worn in... well, some of it, never. But my nice stuff is safe, I think.

I have such a load of crap, for just a few nice outfits.

----

Two big boxes for clothes and stuff and my suitcase and my computer and boom box and a bunch of small boxes and the suit bag and I'll put the dress in behind my suit and nobody will look there and all the rest under my peripherals and I can say I'll set it up after they leave.

Mom'll look in the suitcase, and want to help with unpacking my clothes and organizing. And Dad'll carry the heavy stuff and not look. I'll give him the monitor and my TV. I'll carry the printer and cable box. And my stuff.

----

Mom knows, for sure. She's been looking at me weird all week. At least Dad hasn't been home.

I got my stuff from the garage last night and hung the dress and pinned it up to hide it better. It's right inside my suit jacket.

I put the rest in bags in the printer box, under it with the CDs and all, and they're hidden. I'm leaving my computer hooked up 'til Saturday.

----

Phil told me once that he thought that he smiled just so nobody would be mad at him, as if a smile would do that. He knew it didn't make sense, he said, but he still did it, and he thought he was crazy sometimes. And other times, sometimes, he thought all the people who always seemed so serious were the crazy ones, 'cause they had to work to even enjoy the things they liked.

I thought of my Dad.

I thought of how I didn't have any friends because I always lied.

Who I was. What I liked.

I hated what I liked.

----

Two days after Phil's funeral, I saw him walking on the street. When I looked closer, there wasn't anyone there that even looked like Phil.

I think of that a lot. Like, does that mean I was... that I'm crazy? Or just that we see what we really want to, like we can make up things so hard that they are almost real? Like dreams coming true?

Or that Phil really was there, a ghost.

If I died, would I be a ghost?

Would Mom and Dad see me, even once, like I did Phil?

Would I look like a girl?

Would they even know me?

----

Uncle Claude is coming with us to State, to visit and help me move, I guess. It'll probably end up being a huge fight, is what will probably happen.

----

Dad drove, and I sat up front with him so Mom and Uncle Claude could talk in the back.

We hardly said anything, Dad and I, but they talked nonstop in the back. I hardly listened, but at least whatever they were yakking didn't make Dad mad. Or at least he never said. I hardly looked at him, or anyone, so he might've.

----

I saw a show once about firemen and the things they did that were so dangerous. Not just the fires, like burns or buildings collapsing, but fumes, and the stress, the worry, and the adrenaline rush they were on so often, and even the weird hours.

It said that they hung out together partly because nobody else could even understand them.

What their lives were really like.

----

I looked at Dad, driving, like a hundred thousand other drivers, like everyone on the highway. He looked so much the same as everyone, but could he really not talk to us, like say what he really thought was important?

Was he the same as me, that way?

----

State looks almost like a little downtown all by itself, with big buildings and apartments and lawns and all.... Like it wasn't even part of another city.

Driving up to the main gates, Dad had almost looked angry, like he was arguing, but Uncle Claude was smiling and Mom was reading part of the school calendar out loud, about the rec facilities and stuff, so that wasn't it.

But he did look mad. And he never even looked right when he steered that way, like he was avoiding me, like I wasn't even there.

----

My room was on the third floor and looked south, which the residence guy said was good, 'cause the heat was spotty in the fall when they were just turning it on. It only took the four of us a few trips to bring all of my stuff up. I put the box with my stuff under the desk and said I'd set it all up later, that it'd take hours.

----

Mom said how about dinner and Uncle Claude said he could eat a horse and Dad said we'd catch up.

I figured he'd be giving me the 'do your work and don't goof off and don't drink too much and don't do drugs and don't loan stuff out or borrow stuff and be your own man and call your mother' talk.

----

He sat on the desk chair and waved at my new bed that Mom had already made up so it looked better than my one at home.

Dad is a strong man. He's been a fireman for eighteen years, and never really been hurt, partly because he's so strong he can take the bad things that happen, like falls and the muscle-tearing stuff. And because he says he's been lucky.

I thought that then. That he was so strong. And lucky.

And that I was the worst thing that had ever, ever happened to him.

And I wondered if Mom had told him yet.

My box of stuff was right under him, where I could see it.

----

"Claude and your mother have been on me all month to... talk. With you."

He twisted his hands and I could almost hear it, like wood straining, he was pressing so hard. "They...." He looked at me.

"I know it must seem like they should've been the ones to get married, instead of me and Bek, but....

"When we were in high school, we were always together. Us and Jerry Klein." He looked like that should mean something to me. I guess it didn't, 'cause he kept talking.

I was trying to figure out how it was anything.

"One day, I found Jerry and your uncle kissing. They were in our room, sitting on the floor, and kissing... like... like two little kids."

I must have....

I was sure he could see. He just glanced at me, then back at his hands. But he looked.

"I... I drove Jerry... away. I made his life...." He sighed. I've never heard Dad make that sound. Like hopeless.

"I wasn't rough or anything, and I never told anyone, but I made it so he wasn't welcome any more. And I ruined my... what we had, Claude and me, and even a bit of what I had with your mother." He looked up, then, and talked to me, not just talked.

"They forgave me, I guess. Your mother and my brother are the two most forgiving people in the world."

He kept looking at me, seeing me while I turned red from just the... how hard it was.

"Bobby, I know what you have packed away. We both do, and your uncle. And it doesn't matter, as long as you're happy."

I blinked, like I was hypnotized. He blinked too.

"I almost screwed up half my life feeling like my brother betrayed me and all he did was be a good friend to me and your mother and help out a nice guy that I thought was a pervert and all he... was... was gay." He looked down again, and clenched and unclenched his hands.

"Jerry lives in New York now, and Claude visits him.... I haven't even seen him in twenty years, sticking to my guns and..." He looked at me.

"He was my best friend. I never said a civil word to my best friend again, because of a... kiss. Do you understand how stupid that was?"

I thought of Phil. He woulda been my best friend. I felt my eyes fill up and saw him again in the street, that time. That time I didn't get to say anything to him.

He hadn't seen me. He hadn't even looked. Then he was gone.

"I screwed up my whole life over being a big man, being macho and strong and straight and one of the guys."

I had to look. What he meant. That he... he was a great fireman. He was decorated. He was gonna be a captain someday.

I know Mom loves him. Uncle Claude and... he comes over, even if they argue....

Who was Dad angry at?

"Come here?"

He had his arms open.

----

End