Between the head and the.., p.3
Between the Head and the Hands, page 3
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. It’s fine. I’m going to take care of you. I promise.”
* * *
There was a clothes rack on wheels near the washing machine in the basement, which Michael carted over. He took his shirts out from his bag and hung them, using the rack to make a wall at the foot of the bed so it felt more like a room. Pence had gone upstairs, but he figured he’d be okay with him using the rack. There was nothing on it anyway.
He took his books out too and stood them up along a wood ledge in the unfinished wall. He placed his notepads on the ledge under it, using the wall as a bookshelf. He wished he had his posters and more of his books to make it feel like home, but he figured he could go and buy more posters on the weekend if he still felt like it.
He didn’t realize how tired he was until he laid down on the bed. He couldn’t remember falling asleep and woke up the next day. It was hard to tell the time down there. There were two tiny windows, but they were on the other side of the basement near the dryer. Enough light was coming in that he knew it was morning. Even though he didn’t have any dreams, it felt like he had slept a long time.
He reached for his phone in his pocket, but then he remembered he left it upstairs in the kitchen when they’d come in. He got out of bed to go look for it.
The sun was coming in from the bottom of the basement door as he went up the stairs. It was blinding when he opened the door, with sunlight coming in through the front window and bouncing off the ceramic floors.
“Peter?” he whispered. His voice was eaten up by the silence so he said it even louder: “Peter?”
He thought that he put his phone on the kitchen counter, but it wasn’t there. He walked all around the kitchen island looking for it.
“Peter?” he said, raising his voice to a near shout.
He tried to remember what day it was but he couldn’t. He knew it wasn’t Monday. It couldn’t be Friday—it was midweek sometime—maybe Tuesday or Wednesday. He wondered whether Pence had already gone to work. “Peter, are you home?”
The clock behind him went off with a half bell. It made him jump. The sound filled in the silence, but it got quiet again. He turned. It was eight-thirty. Pence would’ve had to be at school by now. “Peter?” he said. “Are you home?”
He’d never been in Pence’s place without him. It made it feel like he was somewhere else, like it was a different place. Everything looked the same but different; it was defined by Pence’s presence. The sofa, the big clock, everything just looked like stuff that only Pence would own.
He found his phone on the side table by the front door, but it was dead. He kept pressing at it but nothing happened, and he remembered it’d died the night before, and he forgot his charger back at his parent’s place. Pence had the same type of phone though. Michael helped him pick it not that long after they’d met. He figured Pence would have a charger around somewhere, so he started looking around in the living room and dining room. He got on his knees and checked all the wall sockets, but he couldn’t find it. He looked in the kitchen too, but there was nothing.
He went upstairs to Pence’s bedroom and stuck his head in. “Peter?” he said before going in. The bed was made and the room tidy. There was nothing on the dresser or side tables. There was no dust anywhere either. He must’ve just cleaned it, but the room still smelled like unripe bananas. The rest of the house wasn’t like that, just his bedroom, and it was so heavy he began breathing out of his mouth while he looked around for a phone charger behind the dresser, next to the bed, and on the wall by the window. He checked the bathroom off the bedroom too. That’s where he found it, plugged into a socket by the mirror. There was a plate next to it with half a joint snubbed out on it.
Michael plugged his phone in. He was sure there was going to be a message waiting for him from his mom. There was no way she didn’t message to see where he went. But when his phone turned on, there was nothing. No text or voice mail. It bugged him enough that he blocked her number on his phone. Even if she wanted to try now, she couldn’t. Whatever she had to say didn’t matter; that’s what he told himself. He blocked his dad’s number too. If they didn’t text already then they lost their chance. There weren’t going to be more chances.
He turned his phone back off to let it charge. He didn’t want to be in a situation where he didn’t have a phone again, to have to go into a gas station to use a phone. That was stupid, he thought. He hated that.
He picked up the last bit of joint left in the plate. He put it to his lips and tried to light it with the matches next to it. It was just a roach, so the flame of the match burnt his upper lip, but he still got some smoke. He inhaled, and held it in as long as he could. That’s what Pence had taught him; he said you get more high when you do that. Michael had never smoked pot before they met. Pence would have a little bit before bed every night to help him sleep. Michael would only take a drag or two, but with what was left, he was able to take four long hauls, holding them all in until he started coughing each time. It made his eyes water.
He went to sit on the toilet to take a pee and a minute later started noticing things more: the shine on the ceramic floors, the sun pouring in from the sunroof, and the grey in the granite countertops. He got up to wash his hands and ran the water. He got distracted by the sound of it. It made him smile, so he turned the water on even more. It started splashing on the counters. He’d never noticed the sound like that; there was a lot he never noticed.
He turned it off, then turned it on again. Then off and on. He started laughing at the sound it made. When he stopped doing that, turning it off for good, he admired the silence. He liked it so much he tried not to move so he wouldn’t hear a thing. He didn’t even breathe. It was quiet until he couldn’t hold his breath anymore and that got him laughing again.
He went back downstairs and started flipping through Pence’s CDs but got distracted by the sunlight coming in through the sliding door in the back. It was brighter than he’d ever seen the sun. With a CD in his hand, he went to the door and looked out into the lawn. There was a big forest past the yard that seemed to go on forever. He put his hand flat over his eyes like a visor and took a good look at the forest. It was a proper forest of mainly maple and white pine. The leaves on the maple had already turned, and most of them had fallen to the ground. Michael thought how that was probably how forests had looked thousands of years ago; it was how everything would look if people hadn’t cut them all down.
Michael unlocked the sliding door and stepped out onto the grass in his socks. He thought of putting on some shoes but also thought it was kind of funny to walk on grass in his socks and liked how it felt against the bottom of his feet, kind of tickly. The grass was soaked from the storm the night before, wetting his socks, but it made him smile. He kept walking out, farther into the yard all the way to the forest. Seeing it up close made him wonder how far the forest went. He couldn’t see anything on the other side but more trees.
He put his hand up and touched the trunk of the tree closest to him, planting his fingers in the ridges of the bark so it was between his knuckles. He closed his eyes to really feel it; he’d never touched one like that before.
He stepped out onto the forest floor. It was rougher and drier than the lawn; he could feel twigs breaking under his feet. It didn’t hurt, but he had to move slowly. He wanted to see if he could get to the other side of the forest so he moved between trees, over large rocks and tree trunks that had toppled. Birds whistled and the wind swooshed through the pine needles above his head. The sun could barely make it through the forest because of the thickness of it, but when it did, getting in his eyes, it’d twinkle.
He found a small clearing in the middle of the forest that was right in the sun. He didn’t know how long he was walking for—maybe twenty minutes—but he’d gone in deep. There was a tree stump so he sat down and took his socks off. He squeezed the water out of them and placed them on the dirt in the sun so they could dry. There was still lots of forest in front of him and all around—all he could see was trees. Pence’s place was at the city limits, so he figured there really was no end to it. He didn’t need to go any farther though; he was happy finding this spot. He sat out there for an hour listening to the birds. It made him smile, and he didn’t think he would smile like that again, not after yesterday.
* * *
He walked back barefoot with his socks in his hand and used them to swat away any spiderwebs near his face. He walked even slower than before; he wished he wasn’t going back to Pence’s place. He didn’t mind the basement. It was nice that he let him stay there, really nice—he still felt bad about how he’d ghosted him before—but he wanted his own place where he didn’t owe anybody anything. He didn’t know how to get a place of his own. He’d never looked into it, but he wasn’t sure how long he could stay at Pence’s. Maybe just a couple months until he finished the semester. It was going to go by quickly; it made the most sense to wait until the semester was over because there was already a lot going on. He just had to get through the semester, then he’d figure something out. He didn’t need his own place. He could get a roommate. He wouldn’t mind a roommate as long as he had his own room, so he wouldn’t owe anybody anything.
* * *
He thought it’d be nice if he had dinner ready when Pence came back from work. He figured it was the least he could do for letting him stay in the basement for nothing, so when he got back to the house, he went through the fridge to see what he could make. He found veggies and chicken breasts. He thought maybe a stir fry would be good. Pence had taught him how to make it; he’d taught him to make lots of things, but that was probably the easiest considering what he was able to find in the fridge. He started chopping the chicken and veggies and warmed up the wok with a bit of oil in it. Once it was cooked, he got a plate of crackers with cheddar on top ready and put it in the microwave. It sat in there for a couple of hours; when he saw Pence pull into the driveway he pressed the start button and put the wok back on the stove to reheat the food.
“I could get used to this,” Pence said. “It smells great.”
“I made dinner.”
“I could tell. Thank you.” He smiled. Michael wanted him to be happy and to know that he was grateful for letting him stay. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“I couldn’t find any wine.”
“I keep them over here,” Pence said, reaching into the side pantry. “Did you get my texts?”
“What texts?”
“I wanted to treat you to dinner.”
“I made dinner though.”
“I texted before I knew you made dinner.”
Michael remembered that he’d blocked his phone number, that he hadn’t unblocked it after they stopped talking before. He knew that was why, that he forgot to unblock him. “I haven’t checked my phone today,” he said. “You probably did. I just didn’t check it.”
“I can treat you to dinner another day,” he said. “This looks delicious.”
“I used whatever I could find,” Michael said.
“Look, you’ve been through a lot. It’s going to take some time.”
“What is?”
“Everything. You’ve been through a lot, but time will make it better. I promise.”
“Okay,” Michael said.
“Look at me,” Pence said. “I mean it. It will get better. It will. I promise.”
* * *
Michael thought he could go back to class the next day. His first one was at ten, but when he woke up he didn’t have it in him to pack up his bag with textbooks and try to figure out how to get to the university on the city bus. Pence had always driven him to his place, so he didn’t know how to get around from there on his own. There was a bus stop down the street, but he’d never taken it, so Michael decided to skip the rest of the school week and start new on Monday. He thought the time off would be good, and he could figure out how the city buses worked between now and then.
He went upstairs to an empty house again. He assumed that Pence had already left for work; it was as quiet as it was before, but it wasn’t sunny outside. The house looked dim and felt hollow without anybody there. “Peter?” he shouted. “Are you here?” He knew he wouldn’t be, but he still called his name again when he went into the kitchen: “Peter?”
Pence had left some coffee for Michael, so he poured some into a travel mug and took it over to the sliding door in the back to get a look at the sky. The clouds were dark and heavy, piling up on each other. It looked cold too, with the branches of the trees in the back being pushed in the direction of the wind every few seconds. He wasn’t sure if it was going to rain today. It looked like it could’ve, but he didn’t know where his phone was to check the weather to be sure.
He grabbed his shoes and one of Pence’s jackets, which was hanging by the front door, deciding to go out for a quick walk before it rained. He stepped outside and looked up at the sky again, begging whoever it was up there that was making things happen not to let it rain, at least not until he was done his walk.
He went toward the forest in the back. It didn’t feel as nice as before, without the sun or without having smoked something, but at least he had his shoes on so he could go even farther into the forest if he wanted to.
When he got to the end of the yard, he stepped between the trees into the forest. It felt like entering a different country: the air was darker and there were dried leaves crunching under his feet, drier than the day before. There were no birds, just the sound of whatever it was that was cracking under his heels.
He was trying to find the clearing from yesterday, but without the sun, the forest seemed all the same. Twenty minutes in, he started to wonder whether he’d gone the wrong way and passed it altogether. Or maybe he needed to go farther. He tried to remember how long he’d walked before, but he had been high, so it was hard to tell. Everywhere he turned looked like everywhere he’d just been; any distinctness was lost without the sun’s light.
He kept going deeper and got completely turned around. The forest was getting thicker with trees doubling and tripling, spinning around him. He thought of turning back, but he didn’t know where back was, so he kept moving his feet, hoping for the best.
He eventually found the clearing from yesterday. “Fuck you,” he said to the clearing, but he said it with love. “Fuck you, you motherfucker.” He smiled and sat on the tree stump to finish his coffee. He rubbed the stump with his left hand like it was a beloved pet. It was a good spot; he couldn’t explain the feeling it gave him except that he liked it and it felt like it was where he needed to be. It was somewhere just for him, a place nobody knew about but him. He wasn’t going to tell anybody about it either, not even Pence. He felt he deserved something of his own.
Once he finished the coffee, he decided to tidy the area around the stump. He cleared away all the branches and sticks around it and kicked away the dried leaves. He tore a branch off a maple tree close by that had a few leaves on it and used it to sweep the ground of twigs and stones and soon it looked like something out of a fairy tale. He thought that maybe he’d look up how to make a fire pit because it’d be a nice spot for it. He could come out here when he wanted to be on his own and get a good fire going. His dad used to take him camping as a kid, and he always loved it when they’d get the fire going, the way it smelled. The clearing was big enough for one, so he thought that maybe tomorrow he’d do that.
The sun found its way out through a break in the clouds. It was like it came out of nowhere, blinding him a bit. He looked up, closed his eyes, and smiled because of how the heat felt on his face. The clearing looked even nicer in the sun with the way the light detailed everything, giving it life. The birds started singing with the sun out; it made Michael wonder if that was a thing, whether birds are more likely to sing in the sun.
He sat on the stump and felt proud of how he’d tidied the place, making it his own. The only thing he was thinking now was that he wished he had more coffee. If he had coffee it would have been perfect—he wouldn’t need anything else. He considered going and making some more, but it took so long to get there, and it’d take just as long to get back. And who knows, it might be raining by then because the clouds around the sun were still heavy. He decided to just enjoy it while it lasted, whether we had more coffee or not.
He started thinking about how free he was. He hadn’t thought of it until just then but before, living at home, he couldn’t do what he wanted. His mom had to know about everything he did. If he went out, she’d be asking where to, always. Even if it was just to the library, she wanted to know. He couldn’t go out late at night either without asking her and saying where he was going. When he was out she’d call his cell to make sure he was all right and remind him of when he said he’d come home. That was all done; he could do what he wanted now.
He didn’t need to keep any more secrets about himself—he was free in that way too. Being kicked out the way he was gave him this feeling in his stomach that was still there; it was heavy and made him feel sick, but he wasn’t going to get hung up on it. It seemed like a small price to pay to be free. So what if he felt a little sick?
* * *
Michael made more coffee when he got back to Pence’s and had a bagel with peanut butter. It was the only thing he could find to eat. The fridge was empty and so were most of the cupboards, so he thought later he would try to figure out how to take the bus and go get some groceries. Pence was probably too busy with work to go get it himself, and he thought it’d be a nice thing to do.
After breakfast, he took his coffee to the living room and turned the TV on. He lay on the sofa and started playing around with the hookup app on his phone.
