CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Smashed Up
There is a good possibility that I’ve had a touch too much wine, but I don’t care. I’m of legal drinking age, and if I want to get a little happily tipsy after Thanksgiving dinner, then I will not feel guilty about it. Not now that I’ve given up the hard-alcohol binge drinking. The wine is enhancing my already good mood, and I take another sip of the chardonnay. It feels just right to be way too full and sitting on the floor of the dorm lounge wrapped in a soft shawl while Chris, who is behind me on the couch, occasionally touches my hair and rubs my shoulders.
Sabin is sitting on top of the half-cleared dinner table where we spent most of our afternoon eating and drinking, and he’s got his guitar. For the past few hours, we’ve been yelling out song requests and trying to find something that he doesn’t know. And every ten minutes or so, Chris hollers a succession of song titles, “Freebird! Cat’s in the Cradle! Yesterday! Wild World!” and doesn’t stop until I swat his leg enough to shut him up. Fortunately, we seem to be the only students left in the dorm this holiday, so no one else has had to endure our constant noise.
Zach and Eric have been snuggling nonstop all night, and it’s pretty damn sweet. They’re on the floor, and Zach is sitting in front of Eric, leaning his back into Eric’s chest. Eric has his arms wrapped protectively around Zach, and once in a while he leans down and kisses Zach’s head or shoulder. It’s f*cking adorable, and so adorable that I can’t even be jealous of what they have. As for what I have? I have a room full of people who I didn’t have a few months ago. I have more than I could have imagined.
“Well, kids.” Estelle gets up from the armchair she’s occupied for the past hour. She waves her cell around. It’s as if last night’s crying and manic praying had never happened. She looks as pulled together as ever.
“I’m headed to my history professor’s house. He’s invited people who are in town for Thanksgiving over for coffee and dessert.”
“Nooooo, don’t go!” Sabin takes a swig from his beer. “I was just about to do my rendition of ‘November Rain.’”
“In that case, I definitely gotta go.” She starts to pull on layers to face the cold.
“Fine, fine. Be that way.” He strums the guitar for a second and then lifts his head sharply as a huge grin appears. “But before you abandon us, I have a send-off!” He starts to head for the door to the hall. “Meet me out front on Blakemore Ave in five minutes.” And then he’s gone.
“Does he mean outside?” Estelle mock-whines. “Shit, it’s cold out! We’re into, like, negative numbers!”
“What’s he up to?” I ask.
“No idea. It could be anything.”
“He’s an a*shole,” Eric grumbles. “But we’re still going.” He pats Zach’s shoulders.
Zach slowly stands before reaching out his hand to pull Eric up. “And then we are going home.”
Eric looks down to hide his blush. “Everyone bundle up. Hopefully this will be fast.”
“If we’re going out there, I’m finishing this glass of wine first,” Chris says. “Fleece has nothing on alcohol when it comes to staying warm.”
I follow Chris’s suggestion and finish my wine. “Okay, okay, let’s go. The sooner we go, the sooner we can get back to doing nothing. Just as it should be.”
Soon we are all assembled on Blakemore Avenue as instructed, shivering and waiting for Sabin. Fifteen minutes go by. The cold is truly painful.
“Where is that drunk bastard?” Chris demands.
“Ha! Look who’s talking!” Eric teases. “I think we’re all a little drunk.”
“Are you drunk enough to give me your coat, because even my tits are freezing,” Estelle says. “Pretty sure my nipples could cut glass right—”
“Hey! Hey!” Eric immediately takes off his coat and hands it to her. “If you promise to never again talk about your tits, you can keep this coat forever.”
“Aw, thank you, Eric! My savior!” She throws on his coat while he sticks out his tongue.
“Wait, shhhh, listen,” Zach says with a slight slur. “Do you hear that?”
The unmistakable sound of a guitar echoes around us. We all look up and down the snowy street, but Sabin is nowhere to be found. It is only when he starts yodeling that we collectively realize he is on the roof of the dorm. I look up and cringe. This is not a square, concrete, sterile dorm building from the 1950s, but rather an old architectural wonder, with dramatically steep eaves that project far past the edge of the building, an archaic slate roof, and several balconies. It usually strikes me as beautiful, with the snow-covered peaks and dips. Tonight, with Sabin on top, it just looks dangerous. For the moment, he is safely stationed on a flat area near the third story, but he is eyeing the steep eaves just below him.
“Oh shit,” I murmur. “Oh shit.”
“What’s that in his hand?” Eric asks.
I squint. “I think it’s a tray from the cafeteria.”
“Oh my God.” Chris rushes from the sidewalk up the few steps that lead to the dorm’s wide walkway. “Sabe? What the f*ck are you doing?” he calls up to the roof. “This. … Dude, this is not a good idea. Whatever you’re about to do? No. No way, man.”
Sabin yanks the guitar strap from around his neck. “Catch!”
It is not a particularly small miracle that Chris manages to catch the poorly thrown instrument. “Estelle, take this.” Chris holds the guitar out without looking away from his brother. “Seriously, Sabin, get the hell back inside.”
“I’m going traying! It’s going to rock.”
“What the f*ck is traying?” I ask no one in particular. Nobody says anything. “WHAT THE F*ck IS TRAYING?”
“I assume he’s going to sit on that goddamn lunch tray and sled off the roof,” Zach says in disbelief.
“No, he is not!” Chris yells.
“Yes, I am, too!” Sabin hollers drunkenly. “Come on up! Come with me! It’ll be awesome!”
“No, it’s not going to be awesome. You’re going to hurt yourself.” Chris is over-enunciating. “Very, very badly. Irreparably.”
This is true. Below Sabin are areas of ground that are either frozen solid or unforgiving concrete. Flying off the roof would certainly send him to the emergency room, if not the morgue.
“Shut your face and get up here, Chris. Don’t be such a p-ssy!”
“I’m a p-ssy because I don’t want to die? Get the hell off there, Sabin!”
“I’m not going to die.” He looks pointedly at us and holds his hands out by his side. “I can’t die. Estelle’s precious Jesus won’t let me die!” Sabin walks to the edge and peers over as if thoughtfully assessing his chances. As if he is actually calculating the angles and speed ratios and has decided that there is some possibility that he might not shatter every bone in his body upon landing. “Totally do-able.”
“No, Sabin, no! Back up! Back up!” Chris and I are screaming now. Zach and Eric seem too shocked to say anything, and Estelle has launched into incomprehensible praying.
Sabin slaps the tray against the snowy shingles. “Pray, Stellie! Pray to the power of that sweet baby Jesus, and I’ll be just fine!”
Estelle stops praying for a moment to yell, “Stop it, Sabin!”
“C’mon, ‘Stelle! Our father who art in heaven.” Sabin squats down and adjusts the direction of the tray. “Hallowed be thy f*cking name!”
He is about to crawl onto the slippery roof when I scream. “Wait! Wait! I’m coming! Don’t go yet!”
Chris whips around and storms toward me. “What the hell, Blythe? You’re sure as f*ck not going up there.”
“If we don’t stop him now, he’s going to break his neck. I just bought us a few minutes. Come with me.”
“Okay. And then what?”
“Well, f*ck, Chris, I haven’t thought that far ahead. Let’s go!”
We run up flights of stairs until we reach the third floor.
“This way,” I tell Chris. “He must have climbed from the balcony that’s off the upper lounge.”
The lounge is dark, and we’re lucky that neither of us trips over the furniture in our hurry to reach Sabin. The old French doors to the balcony are open and we run out. The area is enclosed by only a thin, not particularly sturdy-looking iron railing, and Chris tosses the bistro table that’s there behind us into the lounge so that we can both stand. To my left is the small flat area where Sabin is standing. The sloped roof in front of him—his Goddamn runway—looks perilously steep. I take a second to catch my breath so that I can try and deal with Sabin in a relaxed-sounding manner.
Chris, however, is too pissed off. And scared. “Sabin, man! Get the f*ck back over here!”
“There you are!” Sabin turns our way and holds out the tray, which holds what’s left of a six-pack. The cans and plastic rings are covered in the snow that has started to fall. “Beverage, anyone?”
“I think we’ve all had enough,” Chris says. “Especially you. Stop screwing around. It’s time to come inside.”
Sabin just looks past Chris. “Coming, my Blythe?”
I step in front of Chris. My whole body is shivering. “Sabin. Look at me. This is dumb.”
He ignores me and throws the beer our way. We let it fly and it lands on the floor of the balcony. “Then I’ll go without you.” He plants the tray onto the landing and sits down, his legs hanging over onto the icy roof.
“This isn’t f*cking funny. Please, Sabin.”
“Don’t you worry, B. Zach and Eric are going to catch me. See?” He points to the lawn just in front of where we are.
Zach and Eric are holding up a mattress by balancing it on their heads. Or not so much balancing it as they are reeling back and forth while trying to balance it. But the effort is there. Estelle has turned her back, clearly unable to watch.
“Oh God.” Chris sounds desperate.
“Sabin, please. Come back inside with me,” I plead.
“If you’re not coming, I’m flying solo.” Sabin inches the tray forward.
“You’re going to die!” Chris’s voice breaks.
“Don’t be so dramatic. I can live through anything. Watch.”
“Wait.” I throw my legs over the railing and stand a foot away from my stupid, stupid drunk friend.
“No, Blythe!” Chris grabs the back of my jacket and keeps me from going forward. “Don’t you dare. Do you understand me? Don’t you f*cking dare.”
I turn to him. “I’m fine. Trust me.”
“He’ll pull you down with him. No.”
I remove his grasp on my coat, but he holds my hand tightly in his. “Trust me,” I say again. I slowly move out onto the third-story rooftop. I sit down next to him, my right hand still being nearly crushed by Chris’s as he leans over the railing. He won’t let me go; I know that. “Let’s just talk for a second, Sabe. If you still want to tray off here, we will. But first we talk. Deal?”
“Alrighty, B.” He puts his arm around me and drops his head onto my shoulder. I’m pretty sure that Chris is on the verge of breaking my hand. God, Sabin is so drunk. I smell beer, for sure, but something else. Bourbon, maybe? I didn’t even see him drink that.
“Here’s the thing, Sabe. I’m really cold, and I really want to go inside. And I really, really don’t want to sled off the roof.”
“Tray. Tray off the roof,” he corrects me.
“I really don’t want to tray off the roof,” I say matter-of-factly.
“I do,” he says.
“I don’t want to, sweetheart. I really, really believe that you’re going to get smashed up, and if you make me go with you, I’m going to get smashed up also.”
“Well, that would suck,” he says. “You just got all happy again, didn’t you?”
“I did. And I’m not going to be happy if I’m all smashed up.”
He sighs into me. “I don’t want that either. It’s just that …”
“What?”
“Sometimes I get so tired. You understand that, don’t you?”
“I do. I understand that very well. But right now, we’re going to get up and go inside.” I nudge his head up so that he can see me smiling at him. I whisper, “I need you, Sabin. I just found you, so you can’t do this. I need you to stick around for me.”
He nods and whispers back, “You’re my best friend.”
“I’ve never asked you to do anything before, but I’m asking now. Come inside with me so that we don’t end up in the emergency room. Or the morgue. I know that you don’t want to hurt me.”
“Never.” He laughs a little. “I’m not Chris.”
“Christopher isn’t hurting me.”
“You sure?”
I nod. “I’m sure. Now let’s go.” I tug on Chris’s hand and he pulls me up. Sabin scoots back and follows me over the railing and back to the safety of the upper-level lounge. The room is freezing from the balcony door being open, and I shut it firmly and lock it while Chris turns on the lights.
Sabin stumbles across the room and lies down on the coffee table while Chris and I collapse onto the couch. Chris takes off my iced-up coat and pulls me in, rubbing my arms and shoulders with his hands, trying to stop my shivering. He has to be just as cold as I am, but he is taking care of me nonetheless.
“That was really dumb, Blythe. But thank you,” Chris says. “I don’t think he would have listened to me.”
“I can hear you!” Sabin shouts from the table.
Zach, Eric, and Estelle fly into the room.
“He’s alive!” Eric exclaims. He hiccups while he and Zach grab a seat on the floor.
“Stupid as all hell, but still alive,” Estelle confirms. “Now I’m definitely leaving.” Even after the drama, Estelle looks perfect, her red dress draping over her body beautifully as she makes her way around the room, kissing each of us good-bye on the cheek. She has shifted from panic prayer mode to typically confident Estelle mode so quickly, it’s mind-boggling. She gets to Sabin. “I love you. Stop being such a dick.”
“Let me walk you?” Eric offers.
“I don’t think Zach is letting you out of his sight for ten minutes,” she says.
“That’s right.” Zach tilts his head for a quick kiss from Eric. “But we’ll both walk you. You can’t go alone.”
“I’m fine on my own. My professor is only a block away.”
“Stellie, don’t go!” Sabin lies back flat on the table and talks to her with his head hanging upside down. “Stay just a little longer!”
“Nope. It’s time. See you later, my loves!” Estelle adjusts her giant shoulder bag and steps into the hall, calling to us as she leaves. “I adore you all, even the crazy ones. More than I love turkeys!”
“More than you love vibrators?” Sabin yells after her.
“Ha! No. Never!” she hollers back.
Chris groans. “Jesus, Sabin, shut up!” He takes my feet into his lap and pulls my shoes off so that he can rub my frozen feet.
Sabin giggles. “More than you love Jesus?” he asks loudly. “And his virgin mommy? Bet she had to use a vibrator all the damn time, huh?”
Estelle appears in the doorway. “F*ck you. Watch your f*cking mouth.” She isn’t laughing anymore. “Seriously, f*ck you, Sabin.”
“Suck it up, sis. Pray to God, and maybe I’ll find religion, too. Then we can crawl into confession together. A family that repents together, stays together. Right?”
“I do pray for you,” she says softly. “For all of you.”
“Well, don’t!” he snaps. “Keep me out of that horseshit. You’re so out of your mind.”
“Sabe, leave her alone,” Eric says.
“Oh, what the f*ck, Eric? Why should I leave her alone? I can’t pick on my sister once in a while? Of course I can. I can do whatever I want.” His voice is louder now. “Especially when it comes to all that f*cking ‘Jesus loves me’ bullshit.”
I can feel Chris’s legs stiffen under my legs, and his hand tightens just a bit on my foot. The tone in the room has shifted. I glance at Zach. We are both in the same position as non-family members, and his discomfort is as palpable as mine must be. Chris is watching Sabin—waiting—but he doesn’t say anything, not even when Sabin launches into a particularly sarcastic delivery of “Jesus Loves the Little Children.” His singing is obnoxious and embarrassing, for him and for Estelle.
“Sabin, you better shut your mouth,” Eric warns. The only reason he hasn’t gotten up is because Zach has a firm grip on his shoulder. “That’s enough.”
“It’s not enough,” Sabin spits out. He gets up and cracks open one of the beer cans that he’s carried in from the balcony. I hadn’t even noticed that he’d taken them inside. He downs half the can of beer and returns to his spot on the table.
We are all quiet while we prepare. It’s the eye of the storm, and I am aware that it’s going to get worse.
“Ask Blythe if I’m right. She’s got to live with that religious nut. Blythe, tell ’em! You don’t believe in that shit. Come on, Stellie’s a little bonkers, right?”
I say nothing. This is not the Sabin I know, and I don’t recognize the surly, nasty attitude that he’s throwing out. Although I’m angry, I’m also worried about him. I know that it’s just the alcohol talking, or mostly it is, but it’s breaking my heart to watch him like this. Estelle hasn’t moved from her spot by the doorway, and she looks equally crushed, incapable of defending herself right now.
Sabin looks at me. “You’re taking their side on this, too?” he demands.
“Don’t answer that,” Chris says.
“Oh, now you’re speaking for Blythe? That’s f*cking rich!”
“I’m not speaking for Blythe. I’m telling you to shut the f*ck up and lay off.” I can tell how much effort it takes, but he softens his voice as he continues talking. “Sabe. Pull your shit together. You’ve put us through enough tonight.”
Sabin slides off the table and grabs another beer. Then he grabs my arm and pulls me from the couch. I wish more than anything that he would pass out because I don’t like who he is now. This is not my friend. This is a drunk, belligerent, disrespectful version of my friend, but I let him take me from my place with Chris because I don’t want to do anything to antagonize him further.
“C’mon, B. Tell me that you agree with me. You think Estelle is deluded, right? I mean, there are no guardian angels floating around us, no saints, no all-powerful God. No magical being living in the sky.” He wraps an arm around my waist and crushes me against him. Now I’m getting pissed. His hold is too tight, and he’s hurting me. I know he doesn’t know what he’s doing, but it doesn’t make me any less angry.
I make a sound as he crushes my rib cage, and I push back against him. “Knock it off.”
Chris is on his feet in an instant with a firm grasp on Sabin’s upper arm. I can see that his arm is flexed, but his expression and voice remain calm. “Let her go, Sabe.”
With his free hand, Sabin waves the can in the air. “No magical people in the sky, but there are, however, sinners. Right, everyone?”
“Sabin.” Chris is visibly struggling to keep his cool, but he does it. “Get your f*cking hands off Blythe. Now.” I’ve never seen Chris like this, with so much rage under the surface. I know he adores his brother, but the cold way he’s looking at Sabin right now wrecks me. “I’m warning you.”
“Oh, I get it, I get it!” Sabin pulls me in harder. “You’re not going to f*ck her, but you’ll talk for her? p-ssy.”
It feels like it happens out of nowhere. Sabin shoves his mouth roughly against mine, and his tongue gets halfway down my throat before Chris rips him off me. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. I am recovering from the caustic taste of beer and bourbon and foolishness as Chris drags Sabin by a fistful of shirt across the room. Chris backs his brother against the wall and holds him there firmly.
Sabin’s eyes are red. “There you go, Chris. Let me have it. You know you want to.” Chris now has both hands twisted up into Sabin’s shirt, and while Sabin may have the size advantage, Chris has the strength advantage. And the clear fury.
“Don’t! Chris, please, don’t!” As pissed off as I am at Sabin, he’s just drunk, and I don’t want Chris hurting him.
“Blythe, I’m not going to hurt him. I want him to calm the f*ck down. Now.”
Sabin just won’t stop, though. “I’m just sayin’, Chris. You’ve f*cked plenty of other girls, but not Blythe? So what the f*ck’s that about, huh? You too good for her? That it?”
The room is dead silent as Chris pulls him forward slightly and then pushes him back against the wall so hard that his head bounces once. I wince at the audible thud, but know as I watch Chris stare into Sabin’s eyes that he won’t really hurt his brother. Despite the hold he’s got on him, Chris shows incredible self-control as he puts his face right to Sabin’s and says just loudly enough that I can hear, “No, you stupid f*ck. She’s too good for me.”
I can barely breathe. Nobody moves; nobody speaks.
A few minutes pass while Chris continues to hold Sabin against the wall. “Sabe? Can this be over now?”
Finally Sabin’s body deflates, and he sinks against the wall. He puts a hand on the back of Chris’s head. “I’m sorry, man. I’m so sorry. I’m just drunk. I love you.”
I see the tension in Chris’s shoulders and arms lessen, but he doesn’t let him go yet. “I love you, too. Don’t be so careless with your life. Or with ours.” Chris pats Sabin on the cheek. “Now apologize to Blythe for being a stupid douche bag.”
I am in awe of how well Chris has maintained his composure through this, and how he’s diffused such a volatile situation. Estelle, Zach, and Eric are frozen still near the door, as if moving a muscle might create a new problem.
Sabin rolls his head my way. “Blythe …”
He doesn’t need to say anything to me. While what has just transpired has scared me to some degree, I know that the other side of rage is sadness, and that he’s feeling something incredibly sad tonight. I don’t know what it’s about. But I do know that Chris went easy on Sabin and that there has to be more to this story. So while I’m pissed at Sabin, I mostly feel worried and protective of him. Besides, the absolute remorse on Sabin’s face says it all. I know how it feels when I’m not myself, when everything that I’ve pushed down gets twisted and crazy and resurfaces in the most destructive way possible. I can give Sabin more than leeway because I know him, and I know his heart. “It’s okay.”
“No,” he says, sounding more sober than he has all night. “No, it’s not. I’m a prick.”
“You are. But it’s going to be okay. You went into the deep end of the ocean. I know what that’s like. But now we’re both back.” I cross the room to be by Sabin’s side. I’m not afraid; I am just sad. “Let him go, Chris.”
Chris looks at me for a moment and then at Sabin. “Are you done?” he asks softly. “Did you get it all out?”
“Yeah.”
Chris continues to keep his voice level, almost like a parent talking to a misbehaving child. “If I let you go, and you make one wrong move, I’ll have to—”
Sabin throws his hands up in surrender. “I swear to God.”
“How about you not mention God again for a few minutes?” he says, a touch of a smile on his lips. When Chris releases him and backs off to stand with the others near the door, I wrap my arms around Sabin’s shoulders and hug him. I hold him tightly.
“Don’t hug me,” he says, his arms resting at his side. “I’m a bastard.”
“You’re not a bastard. Look, I know what it’s like to want to lash out. I’ve been there.”
Sabin shrugs.
“So hug me back,” I say.
And then he hugs me back, and he feels like Sabin again. He feels like part of me.
I hear Chris talking softly to Estelle, and I look up from Sabin’s embrace. “It’s over,” I hear him say. “Please don’t be upset. Everything is fine; no one got hurt. No one was going to get hurt. I wasn’t going to let that happen. Do you hear me?”
She looks blankly at him, but her eyes are rimmed with tears.
Chris keeps talking. “I wasn’t going to hit him. You know that, right? I would never do that.”
I turn Sabin so that he can see Estelle’s broken expression. “Go tell her it’s over. But just let her have her God. I don’t care if you don’t like it. It’s important to her. Let her have what she needs. Estelle never pushes her beliefs on you. She never tells you that you’re going to hell for not believing in God.”
“I know.”
Sabin is worn out. I can see it in the way he moves to her. She brushes past Chris and flies into Sabin’s arms. “I’m so sorry. This is my fault, Sabe.”
“Never. You didn’t cause this. I’m so sorry, baby girl. With everything that I am—although that may not seem like much now—but with everything that I am, I promise this will never happen again.” Estelle nearly disappears in his big arms. “You keep your faith. Always. I won’t ever try to shoot it down again. On my life.”
“I’m tired now.” She has wilted into him, and he has found the strength to hold her up. “I want to go to sleep. You’ll stay with me?”
“Anything you want.”
“Chris, too. Everyone.”
“Of course,” Chris says.
The six of us leave the battle scene and start to cross the hall into my and Estelle’s room.
“So,” Eric says in an inappropriately casual voice, “we may need to discuss your mattress situation, Chris.”
Chris stops in his tracks. “What?”
“It might be a little … damp.”
“Possibly frozen,” Zach adds.
Chris just shakes his head.
Eric staggers ahead into the room, dragging Zach behind him. “Hey, next time ask someone else to catch the roof surfer.”
“Trayer!” Sabin yells. “The word is trayer!”