February

Part I

February 2, 2006, 12:15

I watched the smoke swirl through the air, weaving in and around itself as I leaned back against the hard brick wall. The air remained stagnant and chill, as if it were waiting for a sign to move forward. Children beamed as they ran out of the nearby Blockbuster; collections of used discs clutched between their hands as they excitedly waved them around at each other, ready to make the most out of their Saturday vacation. I glanced down at my watch as I took one last drag of the dart held loosely between my thumb and index finger. A quarter past noon. She would be coming to meet me soon.

“Hey, do you have a light?” I turned and observed the young teenage boy making his way towards me. I threw the burning butt to the ground and put it out with a light stomp. I stared at the boy. Light brown hair, green hopeful eyes, and a charming smile. I glanced behind him and noticed three other boys that looked close to his age silently watching us, the same innocence radiating off their faces as the one standing in front of me.

“No sorry, I just used my last match.” I replied, hinting I wanted to be left alone. I watched as the light in his eyes dimmed as he began to walk away. “Also, I wouldn’t catch the habit if I were you, especially at your age.” I called out after him. I watched him turn around and deliver a curt nod before running off to join his friends, who appeared to be equally disappointed.

“Still giving out life advice to people after all these years?” a melodic voice asked. I turned towards the small alleyway and watched as she calmly approached me with no hesitation or fear. She looked put together. Her light brown hair had grown out since I last saw her, falling just past her shoulders. She seemed happy. “I didn’t think you were coming” I replied, trying to meet her olive eyes but not being able to muster up the courage to do so. “Of course I came, I dropped everything as soon as you sent me that message – I was so happy to hear from you Carter” she rambled, throwing her arms around my torso and squeezing me into a hug I didn’t know I needed until now. I looked at her as she pulled away, wiping a few stray tears away from her eyes. “You look a lot better. Healthy.” I said, my voice strained. She smiled shyly, and looked away, “Do you wanna take a walk around Lincoln for a bit, I’d really like to catch up” she beamed, extending her hand for my taking.

I sighed, taking a step back, “Listen Gen, I didn’t come back to do this, I just wanted to know if you could help me figure out what Tate’s been up to, he hasn’t been answering my calls or messages” I responded colder than I intended, remembering my last interaction with Genesis before I left Chicago.

Her demeanour visibly fell. I noticed that she was clutching onto her pendant as if it were a lifeline. I knew Genesis like the back of my hand, and she only held onto her necklace when she was upset about something. “Yeah, of course, sorry” She replied, barely looking at me anymore. I watched as she took out an old leather bounded book, flipped to a blank page and scribbled down a few lines. “This is his new address, his family moved there after Ronny died.” She said as she ripped the page out and handed it to me. I glanced at the page, then looked back to the girl I had known since middle school, “Thanks Gen, I’m really sorry to be so forward, but I didn’t know who else to contact” I sighed, feeling as regretful as the first time I walked away. I gave her a quick hug and turned to walk away.

“He’s not the same anymore Carter.” I heard her call out. I turned and watched as her eyes grew sadder, if even possible. “He’s not the same boy from the football team with that big goofy grin, Ronny’s death changed him.” She continued. I didn’t know how to respond, so I turned back and kept walking, away from Genesis, and away from all the guilt I felt looking into her eyes.

February 2, 2006, 13:32

2650, N Orchard St.

I reread the address written down for nearly the seventh time as I fidgeted on the rigid metro chair, travelling through the city that I had called home for nearly 17 years. I watched as the city raced in front of my eyes through the blurred metro windows covered in fingerprint stains and dust. I wondered if one of the prints belonged to myself, or Genesis, or even Tate. Perhaps a younger version of myself had once sat in this very seat, and pondered about the miniscule problems in his life, pressing an oiled finger to the glass so that he could feel like he had left some type of mark on the world. It had been a while since I felt the need to pursue any type of legacy.

“Could I sit down please.” A tired voice pushed me away from my wandering thoughts. I looked up at the older woman in front of me, immediately noticing her large protruding stomach, and that I happened to be taking up two seats by mistake.

“Of course, I’m so sorry” I rushed to get up, allowing her to sit next to the window. I returned to the seat next to her and quietly observed her demeanour. She looked to be around thirty years old. The dark swamps under her eyes indicated that she was tired, and I noticed that her hands were covered with worn bandages, with blistered red skin peeking out from under the edges. “It’s the cold.” She voiced, as she caught me staring. “It makes my skin quite dry and itchy.” She sighed as she rubbed her hands together.

“No, I—” immediately feeling bad for making her feel uncomfortable. “It’s okay, people tend to stare, I’m used to it.” She said, giving me a warm smile. I leaned back into the chair, feeling guilty for the interaction. “How far along are you?” I asked, trying to change the direction of the conversation and nodding towards her stomach.

“I’m actually two weeks overdue.” She sighed, her forehead creasing in worry.

“Oh, then it’s due any day now, you must be excited.” I replied with a small smile, not quite sure how to comfort her. “I’ve been excited for nearly 10 months now.” She laughed, lightening the mood slightly. “Do you live nearby?” She asked.

“No, actually—” just as I was about to respond I watched her close her eyes tightly and clutch her stomach in pain. “Something’s wrong.” she breathed, panting heavily, and reaching to grab my hand tightly with her free one.

“Are you okay, should I call someone, I can—” I asked, quickly taking my phone out. “No! No, I need to get off this train now. Please, please get me off this train.” She exclaimed, breathing faster and faster. I could feel the sweat dripping through the cotton bandages tied around her hand. I immediately got up to look for help, still clutching onto her shaking palm, sighing in relief when I noticed the next stop was in sight. “Don’t, worry, the next stop is nearly a minute away.” I sighed looking back at her. It was then that I saw the dark red stain seeping through the grey spandex of her pants, trailing down her leg. I felt her hand drop as she began to sob violently, shaking in her seat, and clutching onto her stomach as if her holding it would mend the wound.

It was at this moment that several people began to run up to offer the woman assistance, and comfort. “Don’t worry sweetheart, we’re going to get you to a hospital very soon.” An old African American lady whispered to her, softly caressing her tousled hair. I heard a middle-aged man on the phone next to me, “Yes, an ambulance, she seems to be in her mid-30’s and pregnant.”

I silently begged myself to stay put, and not move a muscle. To ensure that this woman made it to a hospital, or into the hands of a paramedic at the very least. But as I watched the scene unfold before me, and the pain echoing through her screams, I was overwhelmed by my vices. The train came to a stop, and I shoved my way through the doors, and down the terminal, battling any guilt with my faith in the kindness of strangers.

February 2, 2006, 15:02

“Carter? What are you doing here, when did you get back to Chicago?”

I stood rigid as Tate’s mother inquired about my visit, immediately opening the screen and engulfing me into a maternal hug. Would she be proud of me if she realized the type of man I had grown into? The type that couldn’t even provide comfort to a distressed stranger on a metro.

“Hey Mrs. J, it’s really nice to see you, I just got back last week actually.” I smiled as she pulled away from me. “You know I always tell you to call me Laura, right?” she grinned, crossing her hands in front of her, as she always did when she wanted to scold me or Tate. “It’s always going to be Mrs. Jennison to me” I laughed, earning a light slap to my shoulder. “Please, come in, Tate should be home from practice any minute now.” She pressed, stepping into the house, and leading me through into the kitchen. I glanced at the plethora of photo frames trailing down the hallway, most of them containing Tate, Ronny, and myself.

“So, how’s your mother doing these days?” Mrs. Jennison asked me as she placed a hot cup of coffee in front of me and sat in the chair on the other side of the kitchen table. The same table that Tate and I had made for our 10th grade woodshop final project. I peeked to the corner and noticed our initials still engraved into the wood. “She’s been good you know, finally settled in with Frank and his family in New York, sends her regards to me and dad every now and then.” I said, trying to mask my disappointment.

“And how have you been Carter? It’s been nearly four years since I last saw you. You seem different, more peaceful.” She voiced, looking at me with that sparkle of hope that hadn’t wavered from her eyes since I was a child. I sighed, lying back in the kitchen chair that let out a loud squeaking noise, almost as if it were about to break from underneath me.

Just as I was about to answer I heard a loud slam, and heavy footsteps leading from the living room to the staircase. “Tate! Honey, is that you?” Mrs. Jennison called out, standing in her spot. There was no response.

I didn’t realize it until then, but my palms had begun to feel sweaty, almost as if I had been living through tainted memories for the past three hours, and that I was due to wake up any second back in my bedroom in Detroit, and this would have all been a bad dream. The truth is I had lied to Genesis. Tate hadn’t been ignoring my calls or messages, in fact, I hadn’t spoken to Tate since I left Chicago four years ago. As soon as I heard about his brother’s accident through Facebook, I knew I had to come back and see him; make sure he was okay, and maybe remember the guy I used to be, back when we were best friends.

“Carter, just give me one second, I’ll go tell Tate that you’re here, I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to see you.” Tate’s mother assured, rushing out of the kitchen and up the stairs. I don’t know what came over me in that moment, but every bone in my body was telling me to run back outside and hail a cab back to my father’s flat—and to definitely avoid the metro. Just as I was about to stand up and walk out the front door my foot bumped into an old ratty baseball glove that must’ve fallen off the entry table when Tate had walked in. I noticed a worn-out baseball a few feet away. As I picked it up, I realized that this was the first baseball me and Tate had ever owned. Back in the 5th grade, we were both playing outside in the field behind my old house, and we found the loose ball, and decided to claim it as our own. We played steal for nearly all of high school after that, and even in minor city leagues.

“Carter. What are you doing here?” a heavy voice called out from the staircase behind me. I turned around immediately, the baseball still in my hand.

Tate Jennison had not physically aged a day since the 12th grade, aside from the minor stubble, and pronounced eye bags. He was still the same brown-eyed kid that I remember building mud castles with back in preschool. While he looked the same, I heeded Genesis’ warning, and realized that his glowing smile, and lighthearted demeanour were nowhere to be found.

“Hey Tate.” I stammered, trying to gather my thoughts, “It’s been awhile.” I said, shoving my hands deeper into my pocket, and rocking back and forth slightly against my feet.

February 16, 2002, 15:15

“You can’t just leave Carter! People are depending on you man.” Tate exclaimed as I rambled to empty my belongings into the navy fabric suitcase – the only one I had ever owned considering I hadn’t left Chicago my whole life and hadn’t really planned on doing so.

“Tate I just can’t be here right now, it’s better if I go.” I sighed, grabbing any and every piece of clothing from my closet. I paused to glance back at him as he stood rigid at my bedroom doorway, his forehead creased with worry and sweat, clearly having run here from baseball practice. “Honestly, we don’t have time for this, your dad is freaking out downstairs, he called the coach and dragged me out of practice to come talk to you because he thinks you’re in some kind of trouble. Talk to me man.” Tate said as he closed my suitcase and sat down at my desk. I took a long breath, “You’re right we don’t have time for this, I have to get my shit ready before the train comes in 2 hours.” I opened the suitcase and resumed adding to the mess.

“Train to where Carter! It’s half-way through the year, we still have to take our SATs, apply to colleges, the season hasn’t even finished. What about Vanderbilt man!” He stood up, yelling over me as I continued packing. “Tate don’t be dramatic; I just need to leave for a while man.” I looked up at him, stopping any emotion from surfacing on my face. I turned away from him and looked around my desk area for my Jan sport bag.

“Does this have anything to do with Jackson’s party? You know that there was nothing you could’ve done right, even Jackie’s parents said she had depression and a bunch of other shit years back.” He pressed. “This isn’t about the party; it isn’t about anything okay?” I retorted, getting more irritated with each passing minute.

He walked over to me and stood straight in front of me, searching my eyes. “You look like a fucking ghost Carter; did you start taking that crap again?” He said, holding my forearm tightly, “This isn’t you, what’s going on?” I shook him off, and returned to my closet to find my spare duffle bag, “Tate just drop it, I’m fine.”

“What about Gen?” he voiced from behind me. “She needs you, and so does your dad, you’re all he’s got.” He said; his words masked in disappointment.

“I don’t need you to tell me what I’m leaving behind Tate. I can’t explain it right now, but I just need to get away from this house and this place as soon as possible.” I said, stopping and staring straight at him. “Just stop dragging me down like you’ve been doing my whole life.” I added, not meaning a single word. He went silent, hurt sitting on his brows. Tate had never been able to hide his emotions well; he was a book held constantly open.

“Fine, my bad. Go ruin your life, and the lives of everyone around you, but if you come back, don’t expect me to welcome you with open arms.” He muttered, turning around and walking out the door.

February 2, 2006, 15:32

The air seemed to have been sucked out of the room. Maybe it was because I had been holding my breath since Tate walked down the stairs, but it felt like there was no oxygen left. Tate sat across from me on the green striped fabric couch his mother had purchased from a local yard sale back when we were still in high school. We sat in silence as Mrs. Jennison fixed us all some lunch; insisting that I stay for the meal. Frankly, I was too embarrassed to say no.

I had been having an intense stare off with my feet for the past five minutes. I could feel Tate looking at me, expecting me to say something, but I found myself unable to speak. I had come all this way to see him, and I couldn’t even come up with two words to say to him – It was pathetic.

“Not that I don’t enjoy sitting here, and doing nothing, but is there a reason that you’re here Carter?” Tate sighed; irritation sweeping across his face as I looked up at him. “I haven’t seen or heard from you in four years.” He voiced.

“Tate, I—” I began to stammer, “You know what, I don’t even wanna hear it, how dare you?" he said, cutting me off. "How dare you come here, talk to my mother, talk to me, when you didn’t even show up at the hospital when Ronny’s accident happened. Where the fuck were you huh?” He exclaimed, growing angrier with each passing second. “You abandoned everyone! Genesis had fucking cancer, Ronny’s dead, and you? You couldn’t even stick around, all you had to do was be there, and you couldn’t even fucking manage that!” He yelled, as he stood up, approaching me. “Tate please” I stood up, meeting his eye, “I fucked up. Is that what you want to hear? I can’t take any of it back, I fucking wish I could, but I can’t.” I pleaded. “I came back to see you, I had to. I know I wasn’t there and I have to live with that for rest of my pathetic life, but I had to make sure you were okay.”

“I don’t wanna hear anything from you Carter.” his voice broke, “I want you to leave, and take your regret somewhere where I don’t have to fucking see it.” he voiced as he turned and receded up the stairs.

I stood there in the living room; each breathe escaping my mouth shallower than the last – I knew what this was. If I stayed here any longer, I would break. I turned toward the door, panicking now. As I opened it, I heard a faint voice asking what happened, telling me to stay for the food that was almost ready, telling me everything would be okay.

I didn’t listen.

February 16, 2002, 18:15

“Hey Carter, this is Gen. I know this isn’t my usual number, but they said it’s going to take at least a week to repair my Nokia screen. Can you believe that? I’ve never been the most tech savvy, but I feel as though a screen can just be replaced in a day or so you know. Take the broken one off, and put on the new one right where the old one belonged. I guess even the smallest breaks take time.

Anyways, I’m just rambling. They’re taking me into my surgery soon, something about an adrenal tumor removal – I still don’t really understand what that is, but my mom’s been crying all morning so I guess I should be scared? I don’t know, how you can you be scared of something you don’t understand? Or maybe those are the things that you should be most scared of. Either way, I just – I haven’t seen you since Jackson’s party, and Tate keeps saying you’re swamped with work when he comes to visit. So, I guess I’m just calling to make sure you’re okay – I miss you Carter, call me back when you get this.”