I sat drinking coffee at a little all-night coffee place until what would have been the end of my shift. Watched it rain buckets, and watched the few people who were still out walking at that hour try to deal with it. There were these really deep puddles at the corners, and they were hard to get around. The women mostly tried to chart a path around them, which involved going almost half a block out of their way. The men mostly tried to jump, but they all failed. They all landed smack in about six inches of water, soaking their pant legs and ruining their shoes.
Speaking of soaked pant legs, my jeans were still soaking wet at the bottom, where my raincoat didn't cover. They felt cold against my legs. But it had been so hot lately. I hadn't been even a little bit cold for so long. It felt good. Like something I'd been missing without even knowing it.
Right before it was time to walk home, the rain stopped on a dime. So, that was convenient. Or so I thought.
But when I got home, Carl was wide awake and in a very bad mood.
“Who was that calling your name?” he asked. Right off the bat. No hello or anything. He had been waiting a long time to ask. That much was obvious.
“I don't know what you mean.” My guts were all frozen, and it took every ounce of everything I had to try to keep my face soft. Like I wasn't scared. Like I really didn't know what he was talking about. Not like I was just pretending I didn't.
“Someone was on the street outside yelling your name.”
“When?”
“Couple hours ago.”
“Well, I was at work a couple hours ago.”
“Were you?”
“What's that supposed to mean?”
“Was it raining when you walked home?”
“No. It stopped just before I left the store.”
“Then how come your pants are still wet? You were on shift for hours. You would think they'd have started to dry out by now.”
I had one of those moments. One of those weird things where I click out of something. Or into it, as the case may be. I can never figure out which is which. I looked at him and remembered the reason I fell in love with him in the first place. But I don't really mean that in a good way. It's like, I got a flash of that love he held out to me. He really did. At one time. But now what I saw was the lack of that same thing. All this time I guess I've been thinking it's still in there somewhere. But what I clicked into is this: It doesn't matter if it's in there somewhere. He still isn't giving it to me.
I've had these little clicks before. They always click right back again.
“Oh,” I said. “That. I tried to jump a puddle coming home. But I missed and landed right in it.”
“Then your shoes will be wet on the inside. And your socks will be soaked.”
This was getting worse. This was only getting worse. Stella would say this was my consequence. Sooner or later he was going to catch me in this lie. She would tell me to hold still and face my music. But this might be too much music. This might be more music than anybody could be expected to hold still and face.
Even me.
I decided I would talk my way around it. And then run away with Tony early. Just get through tonight and then run to Tony and say, “I need help. I can't go home anymore. You have to help me.”
Now I look back and think that was something of a half-baked plan. But at the time it was the only plan I could find.
“I just splashed. That's all. I didn't soak my shoes and socks. I don't know what you're getting all suspicious about.”
“There was somebody on the street calling your name.”
“Did he say my last name? Or did he just say Maria? Because, you know, there are other girls in New York named Maria. So why would you assume this guy was calling me, when it could have been any Maria? Why do you have such a suspicious mind?”
He said something I didn't expect. Calmly, too. Which is not a good sign. He said, “How did you know it was a guy?”
My stomach went dead cold again. In between I'd somehow been managing to live in this land where everything in my body was all quiet, like it really believed I wasn't in a world of shit. But now I definitely was. And every part of me knew it.
“You said it was a guy.”
Oh, thank God. I'm smarter than I thought I was. I was actually washed up on the beach by a wave of gratitude for myself. For being so smart so fast.
“I did?”
“Yeah.”
“I did not. I said someone.”
“Not just now. When I first came in. You said some guy was calling my name.”
“I did?”
“Yeah.”
“I didn't think I did.”
“Well, you did. Now if you don't mind, I'm tired from my shift. I'm going to bed.”
He didn't say anything more about it that night.
My body went back to pretending that meant we were all okay.
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JUST AS I WAS LYING IN BED trying to go to sleep, it hit me. I couldn't go anywhere with Tony. Not now. Not in four months. Not ever.
Because, even if he was okay with two kids—and, let's face it, that is just about one of the biggest ifs on the planet—there was no way I could take C.J. away from Carl. C.J. is really more Carl's son than he is mine. He made that choice based on who he is. And on who they are to each other.
And even for Carl's sake, too. I remembered him at that steak house, telling me he couldn't live without me. In a lot of ways, that's really just bullshit. People say that all the time, but then they do. If I leave Carl, he'll learn to live without me. But C.J. Without me and C.J. That would be too much.
No. I wasn't going anywhere.
And I had made my home into a place where I couldn't afford to live any longer. I had made a bed that no one could lie in.
Not even me.
I thought about Stella. How she said I was pitching a tent on a river. I think, lying there in bed, still feeling the imprint of the cold where my wet jeans legs had been, I really got it for the first time. Really understood why I frustrate people so much with what I create.
I had only two choices, that I could see. And they were both completely impossible.
I never got to sleep that night. Just lay there and felt the current of the river. Sweeping my tent downstream.
I slept. It was amazing. I slept like the dead. Like I hadn't slept in weeks. Which was more or less true.
It was after one-thirty in the afternoon when I finally stumbled into the kitchen. My father wasn't there. I mean, not in the kitchen. But of course he joined me soon enough.
“Well,” he said. “If it isn't Rip van Winkle.”
I wasn't in the mood for a fight. I was happy. Blissfully happy. I just had to be careful not to show it. “I needed it, though.”
“I guess it's partly my fault. I'm sorry I had music on so late.”
“That's okay. I'm sorry I yelled at you.”
He gave me a funny look. Wondering why I was being so nice, I think. So calm. I held my breath briefly, but the moment seemed to blow by. Close call. I'd almost let on that I was feeling good.
Just before he left the kitchen he said, “We have a doctor's appointment for you. Today at four.”
“Today? That's awfully fast.”
“Well, I was on his list for a cancelation. Just be grateful I got one.”
“Okay, well, I better run right after breakfast then.”
In a funny sort of way I almost liked the idea. I'd be out running around all day. Sebastian's busy day, I said to myself, like a children's story. I should have more busy days.
I made up my mind about something. Suddenly and completely. I was going to insist that my father stay out in the waiting room while I saw the doctor. And then I was going to tell the doctor the truth. And let the chips fall where they may.
I WENT FOR A FULL, LONG RUN, even though I knew it would cut way into my time with Delilah. Because I'd missed too many runs lately. And I missed my running when I missed it. I really wanted it back.
I ran past the video store and stopped in my tracks. I walked inside, puffing. There was a different clerk that day, a girl no older than me and the place smelled like smoke. She looked up at me. Like she'd been bored before I got there, and I hadn't really solved that problem.
I said, “Do you know which movie has the scene with Fred Astaire dancing on the walls and the ceiling?”
She just blinked at me. I thought, Why did I even ask?
Then she called out, “Hey. Fred.” An older guy came out from behind a curtain. “This guy wants—”
“I heard ‘im.”
But he just walked up and down a couple of aisles, like he didn't care much about what he'd heard. So I turned to leave. Figured I'd poke around online and see if I could locate it.
Then I heard Fred say, “Hey. Don't ya want this?”
I turned around. He was holding a copy of Royal Wedding on DVD.
“Yeah,” I said. “Thanks. Can I get a two- or three-day rental?” Because I had a doctor's appointment. But I didn't tell him that, because I was smart enough to know he didn't care.
“All our rentals are five days.”
So I rented Royal Wedding, and ran it home to Delilah. To tell her two pieces of good news. The little news, that I'd found the movie where Fred Astaire dances on the wall. And the big news. That Maria and I were going to run away together. I hoped she'd be happy for me.
SHE WAS, for the most part.
At first she seemed a little … like she had a doubt she wasn't sharing with me.
“When?” she asked. “Right away?”
“No, in four months. When I'm eighteen. That way I have time to make a plan.”
Then she took a big deep breath and seemed happier with the news.
“I should've known you'd use your head,” she said. “I shouldn't've doubted you. I think you're smart to get out of that house the split second you can do it without him being able to call you a runaway. And to think you're going off with that girl you love by your side. Oh, honey, I'm just so happy for you! And so proud of you for being so brave.”
“Don't call me brave yet,” I said. “I haven't done it yet. I think I'll have to get braver between now and then.”
“It was brave just to ask her.”
I thought about that for a minute, and it was true. I was brave to ask.
“I brought you something,” I said, and handed her the rented copy of the movie. “I found the one where Fred Astaire dances on the walls and the ceiling.”
“You're amazing,” she said. “And I got something for you, too. A little present.” She hobbled off into her bedroom and came back out with a small paperback book. “Maybe your father doesn't think you ought to read about love, but I think you should. So there.”
It was Romeo and Juliet.
“What a nice present,” I said.
“Oh, child, that ain't nothing. Want to put that movie on?”
“I can't today. My father is taking me to the doctor today.”
She raised one eyebrow. “You sick?”
“No, I feel fine.”
“Whew. For a minute there I thought you really might get sick missing a few days running. So … do I even want to ask?”
“He's worried because I'm not sleeping. So he wants the doctor to prescribe sleeping pills for me.” I could see Delilah chew that over for a minute. “But don't worry. I'm going to tell the doctor the truth.”
“You think he'll help you? Or you think he'll tell your father everything and get you in a world of hot water?”
“I don't know,” I said. “I'm not even sure I care at this point. I'm just tired of making up lies to get to do what everybody else has been doing all their lives. I'm just going to tell the truth and let the chips fall where they may.”
I heard a long rush of air come out of her. “ Vaya con Dios, mi hijo,” she said.
“I didn't know you spoke Spanish.”
“Yeah, and now you heard just about all the Spanish I speak.”
“What does it mean?”
“It means, Go with God, child.”
“In other words, I need all the blessing I can get.”
“El correcto,” she said.
I WAS SO HAPPY, and so relaxed, and so set on dropping all the deception and living my life that I made a weird mistake. I walked into the apartment with the book in my hand. It never even occurred to me to hide it under my shirt.
My father homed in on it immediately. “What is that?” he asked.
I had been caught red-handed. We could both tell by the way I looked down at it. I was almost tempted to shuffle it away under my shirt. A weird response under the circumstances. Like he hadn't totally seen it already. “It's a book,” I said.
“It's obviously not a book I want you to read. Or I would have assigned it. You will give it to me.”
“No,” I said. “I won't.”
Lately I had learned something new about my father. And yet it wasn't until now, this third time I openly defied him, that I consciously realized what I had learned. All my life I'd backed down to him, because he was so much bigger and stronger. Because he held all the cards, and because he could make my life hell. And I'd always assumed if I stood up to him, he'd flatten me. But now I was standing up to him, and he wasn't flattening me. I thought about the awful previous night, yelling at him to turn off the music. He did what I asked, and apologized. Twice. I read in a book once that all bullies are really cowards. I hoped it was true, and that I could depend on what I'd just discovered.
“I'll show it to you,” I said. “So you can see what I'm reading. And that it isn't something I should have to hide. But it belongs to me. And I won't let you take it away.”
I walked up to him, as tall and calm as I could be, and held out the book. But, truthfully, I felt a little shaky inside.
“Romeo and Juliet,” he said. “I didn't figure you'd read Shakespeare on your own.”
“Maybe you should have more faith in me.”
And then I closed myself in my room with the book. I opened the front cover, and discovered that Delilah had written a little inscription to me. It said, “For Romeo. Don't be afraid to love. Or, if you have to, be afraid but do it anyway. Your friend, Delilah.”
Only then did I realize the bullet I had dodged by not letting him confiscate my present. I felt like something had shifted between us. All these years I'd been afraid of my father. And I'm not going to say I suddenly wasn't. Of course I still was. How could I not be after all this time? But now my father was also a little bit afraid of me.
I WALKED TO THE SUBWAY with my father, watching him every step of the way. Well, maybe with him is the wrong word. I was a couple of steps behind and maybe an arm's length away. I was thinking about how long it had been since I'd gone out on the street with him. A long time. Not since I'd started going out on my own at night. Not since a different time, when I was somebody else. And it seemed as though he'd been somebody else then, too. But maybe not. Maybe he wasn't changing at all. Maybe it was only the way I was seeing him that changed.
“Sebastian,” he said. “Don't walk behind me.”
I caught up about one step. “Why not?”
“You're not a second-class citizen, you know.”
“I never thought I was.”
“Well, just stay close to me.”
“Why?”
“I don't want anything to happen to you.”
“It's not a war zone, Father.”
“That's what you think,” he said.
But suddenly it hit me that I knew this city, this world, better than he did. At least, I had more recent experience with it. I caught all the way up to him, and walked by his side. I glanced over at his face. He had his brow furrowed, and the frown lines made him look older. And scared. He looked scared. I wondered if he was really scared for me, or really more for himself. Or, worst of all, if he barely knew the difference anymore. If he had lost track of where he ended and I began. He walked fast, and I had to readjust my pace, because I was used to walking slowly for Delilah. He kept his gaze trained down, toward the sidewalk, at all times.
I looked up at all the people going by. Into the faces of the businessmen on their cell phones, the young, fashionably dressed women. I smelled the sewer as we walked over the grates, and the puffs of cigarette smoke that drifted back to us on the wind.
“Filthy habit,” my father said. “Stop looking at people.”
“Why?”
“They'll think you're looking for trouble.”
“So how come I'm not getting any?”
He never answered. But the whole rest of the way to the doctor's, he didn't tell me again that I was moving through the world incorrectly. So I guess that's progress.
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