I watched him make himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and realized that was the extent of his ability to feed himself. He didn’t even line up the bread when he smooshed the pieces together. Like a toddler left without supervision.
When he noticed me standing in the doorway, he said “hey” as if I hadn’t screamed at him for nothing earlier that day. As if I hadn’t done anything other than walk into the kitchen. I said hey back. Then nothing. For a few seconds, I stood there, completely aware of how crazy I looked. Completely unnerved by how normal Paul looked with his untucked shirt and half-assed sandwich.
He sliced it diagonally and handed me half on a napkin. I accepted and we ate in silence. When I was done, I pulled his letter out of my pocket and slid it across the counter toward him.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
I’d meant to say I’m sorry about earlier, but I decided on an all-encompassing sorry instead. I’m sorry I’m crazy. Sorry I yelled at you. Sorry no one taught you how to make a sandwich. I’m sorry this isn’t easier.
He considered me for a moment, then let out a breath and smiled.
“It’s okay, Adam.”
And for a minute, I felt like it was. He squeezed my shoulder and went to bed.
I realized my mom was right. Meals should mean something. Even Paul’s crappy PB&J.
JUNE 19, 2013
I wasn’t in the room when she was born. Paul made my excuses because he’s a good guy, and Mom was too distracted to notice who was in the room anyway. For a while I sat in the waiting room with the she-beast, Paul’s mom.
She told anyone who would listen that she was waiting for her first grandbaby, like a nice old lady. They’d smile, offer their congratulations and say how sweet that was, and walk away. Then, when nobody was looking, she’d throw an ugly glare in my direction that was supposed to make me feel bad for being alive. But it didn’t. I just smiled at her.
“Can you hear them?” I whispered.
“Hear who?” she said, looking around to make sure no one was listening.
“The angels. They’re singing again. And they are so beautiful. Can’t you see them?” Then I gave her my best creepy psycho face. Like Nicolas Cage in basically every movie he’s ever done.
She didn’t say a word after that. It was the first time I was happy to be crazy.
—
I was wrong, by the way. Other babies are ugly, shapeless masses of flesh. But not her.
Paul put her in my arms right away. Beautiful, tiny, and pink.
She was screaming her head off when Paul gave her to me, but the second I looked at her, she just knew. She knew exactly who I was. And it didn’t matter so much that the room smelled weird or that Paul’s mom was looking anxiously from the baby and back to her son and miming that someone should get her the hell away from me. We were together, and there was something awesome about that. Being her big brother, I mean. It’s funny how quickly you can love a person.
Paul’s mom proclaimed that she looked just like Paul, and I was in a good mood, so I didn’t call her a moron.
Maya showed up a few hours later to see her. She didn’t want to hold her, but she didn’t seem repulsed, either. High praise. She put her finger into the tiny fist and smiled.
“What’s her name?”
“Sabrina,” I said. Maya liked that. It was just the right amount of lovely, the kind of name she could grow into. I didn’t really want to think about her growing into it, because it was unsettling, the thought of her becoming a little girl. It meant she would become a woman someday, too. And maybe things would change. I wanted to remember the way she was looking at me in that moment.
Dwight came by and brought Sabrina a giant teddy bear with a pink tutu. He held her for twenty minutes straight, talking to her the whole time until she needed a diaper change, and then he handed her back to my mom. He didn’t look grossed out about it, though. He was in awe, and I didn’t blame him.
My hallucinations visited, too, which was kind of annoying, but they didn’t mean any harm. They just sort of hung out behind my mom’s bed and made faces at the baby. She couldn’t see them, but I didn’t want to spoil their fun. I wasn’t really in the mood to ruin anyone’s good time. I was too tired to do that.
I thought my visions might change after the new drug, but they didn’t. The only one that still seemed different was Rebecca. She jerked around a lot, and whenever someone shut a window or opened a door, she hid behind whatever she was closest to. When the baby started crying, she dropped to the floor and covered her ears.
I wanted to reach out and say something to her, maybe tell her to not be afraid, but everyone was in the room, and whatever drug I was on at the moment seemed to be doing the trick. I knew I shouldn’t speak to her, but I still felt guilty watching her fall to the ground. She looked so lonely.
—
Ian showed up at my house today.
I thought he might come eventually. Everyone knew he was the one who’d played the video at the prom, so he was probably getting pressure to do something.
When I saw him standing at the door, I wanted to hit him. Even though it had already been a month since it happened, I was still angry. I wanted to squash his pathetic little face in my hands and shove him over my porch railing, but part of me thought he might not be real.
“Yes?” I said.
“I came to apologize,” Ian said, holding a paper bag in his hand and shifting uncomfortably. It was the first time I’d ever seen him uncomfortable, but I had a strong feeling he wasn’t a hallucination.
“Okay,” I said.
“Okay?” he asked.
“I mean go ahead,” I said. He grimaced. “Are you?” I asked.
“Am I what?”
“Sorry.”
“Why the hell else would I be here?”
I looked out at the car on the curb and the woman behind the front seat. “Did she make you come?” I asked, indicating the woman who was obviously his mom.
“No. I just don’t have a license yet,” Ian said. I didn’t want my face to show surprise at this piece of information. I didn’t ask why because I didn’t really want to have anything in common with him.
“So, why exactly are you here?” I asked again, pretending I hadn’t heard him the first time.
“To apologize,” he said breathlessly. He looked really uncomfortable now, and I took a certain degree of satisfaction in watching him squirm.
“Yeah, you haven’t done that yet,” I said, leaning against the doorframe and looking out onto the street.
“Look, I was just trying to get you back,” Ian said. “I didn’t know about the drugs you were on. I didn’t know about any of that.”
“But you knew what I had? My ‘condition’?”
He nodded.
“And you thought it would be funny to broadcast my breakdown to the whole school?” I asked. My voice was surprisingly calm, given my initial desire to hurt him.
“No, it’s not like that—” he started to say.
“And my stepdad isn’t pressing charges against you. I told him to drop it. So if you’re here because you’re worried about that—”
“That’s not why I’m here,” Ian said, cutting me off this time but not meeting my eyes.