Twenty #2
We cross the red bridge over the Willamette River and pass by the downtown buildings that gleam in the midday sun.
We park and walk away from the city center, along small streets covered in dry leaves that crunch under our feet.
Eventually, we find ourselves in front of his old high school.
Thomas tells me about all the trouble he made and the teachers he got into scrapes with.
Then we come to a large open lot that local kids used as a meeting place.
They came every weekend to work on their bikes, fixing them up and improvising small neighborhood races.
From there, Thomas takes me to an empty and neglected basketball court with cracks all over the asphalt and a rusty hoop without a net. There’s a miraculously still-inflated ball abandoned under a cement bench. Thomas grabs it and starts dribbling with his right hand.
“Me and some of the guys used to spend whole afternoons here.” He tosses the ball at the hoop, sinking it on the first attempt with impressive ease. The ball returns to him in two bounces. “He always came along…my brother…”
Another dribble.
Another basket.
“He’d sit right there.” He points to the bench in front of us.
“And he’d cheer for me.” His voice breaks a little bit, as though he can see the boy sitting there now.
His eyes grow moist. “He believed in me,” he continues.
“He was probably the only person who did. The only person who was truly convinced that there was a future in this thing that came so easily to me. He was so sure that, sooner or later, someone was going to notice my potential, and then I’d be rich and famous, and he’d spend the rest of his life in the lap of luxury thanks to me and my success.
In the end, he was partly right. Someone did notice me.
But I have yet to become rich and famous.
” A bitter shadow of a smile curls his lips while he struggles to tear his gaze away from that bench.
“He said that?” I ask, taking his hand and entwining our fingers before resting my head against his chest. Thomas nods. “It’s not a bad plan. He clearly knew his stuff,” I answer tenderly.
He cocks his head to the side and observes me for a long moment. I’m forced to tilt my face up to look him in the eyes.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Just he…he would have liked you. A lot. The whole book thing and the good manners…” He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear before sliding his fingers down my neck.
“He would have been so into you. He used to scold me every time he heard me swear. Not to mention all the incredibly boring books he was always trying to convince me to read.”
I swallow thickly as I feel my heart fluttering and my eyes stinging. Thomas cups my cheeks with his big hands and gently rubs my cheekbones with his thumbs, wiping away the tears I didn’t realize I’d shed. “Don’t cry, Ness.”
I shake my head. “I–I’m not crying,” I lie, sniffling.
“It’s…it’s just that…I’m so full of sadness for you, for everything you’ve had to go through.
For what you lost, the suffering you’ve been forced to endure every single day of your life.
I wish so much that it wasn’t like this for you.
You don’t know what I would give to ease your heart and offer you some peace or relief.
You have no idea what I would give, Thomas, to let you experience happiness—real happiness.
I want that more than anything in the world. ”
He looks at me, his eyes now cloudy with coldness. “I don’t want you to feel that way. I’ve learned to live with it. I had to.”
I take his hands in mine and give them a tight squeeze. “Sure, but what did it cost you?”
He doesn’t answer because we both know what the answer is. It cost him everything. His innocence. His humanity. His childhood. Everything has been infected with feelings of guilt and sorrow that will never go away. Never. Because pain changes you forever.
We are both silent for a few moments, then Thomas steps back, frowning. He kicks the ball with a dull thud, brushes past me, and says, “I’m hungry; let’s get out of here.”
I just stand there, dazed and staring into space.
Only now do I realize that I’ve unwittingly upset him again.
I just can’t bring myself to accept there’s a part of Thomas that will always be broken.
Doomed. That his unhappiness was twisted by his father’s monstrous nature, and that, now, he will be forced to spend the rest of his life haunted by his regrets.
We walk silently, turning onto a narrow street that heads slightly uphill. Thomas’s phone rings several times, but he keeps rejecting the calls. He walks beside me with a determined stride and lowered eyes, though he still holds my hand.
“Where are we going?”
“To eat.”
I take a quick glance down at my outfit, hoping I don’t look too sloppy with my turtleneck sweater, black skinny jeans, and the ever-present white Converse on my feet.
“Oh. I thought that Leila and your mother were waiting to have lunch with us.”
“Change of plans.”
My eyes widen. “In the sense that you don’t want to go there anymore?”
“In the sense that I don’t want to go there right now.”
“Shouldn’t you at least give them a heads-up?” I ask in a soft voice.
He turns irritably to me. “I already did.”
I don’t insist; I don’t want to push him. I just follow him and pray that his bad mood can be assuaged by a hot meal.
We arrive in front of a pub famous, apparently, for its gigantic sandwiches. I stop to check the day’s menu, written on a blackboard at the entrance.
“I recommend the roast chicken one. Joseph’s food is unsurpassed,” Thomas informs me.
“Okay then, I’ll go for the roast chicken sandwich.”
As we enter, we are greeted by the smell of ancient wood.
The carpet under our feet is patterned in red and green geometrical shapes.
The walls are claret colored, and the furnishings are vaguely Irish in style.
The room is packed; waiters rush from one side of the place to the other, each holding more plates than seems humanly possible.
Maybe I should consider getting some private lessons from them?
We look for a free table and, spotting one, sit down.
Thomas seems at ease here, which reassures me. But we don’t even have time to open the menus before a loud sound explodes through the room, making us both whirl around.
“Well, I’ll be damned!” A plump woman in her fifties with her graying hair pulled into a bun comes toward us, both her mouth and eyes wide open.
She’s wearing a black uniform, complete with a sauce- and oil-stained white apron over it.
As soon as she reaches us, she attacks Thomas, wrapping him in a bone-crushing hug as she ruffles his hair. Strangely, he lets her do it.
“Big fella, this is a surprise!”
“Hey, Miranda,” he says, fixing his hair a little bit awkwardly. This is a completely new sight for me.
I put the menu down, lean my elbows on the table, and enjoy the scene before me. I give Thomas a mischievous grin, which he responds to immediately with a look that says, Not a single word.
“I’m just passing through. I didn’t know you were working here,” he continues, turning to Miranda.
“Is that your polite way of telling me to get out of your hair?” she whispers teasingly, putting one hand on her hip and using the other to pat Thomas’s shoulder.
“No, of course not. It’s just that the last time we saw each other, you were a cocktail waitress at Star’s Motel; what happened in the meantime?”
“Ah, the usual stuff, son. Gerald had a little problem with the tax man and, less than a week later, we found ourselves out on our asses. That sweetheart Nolan put in a good word for me with Joseph, so now I’m here.
Fortunately, Gerald got hired on as a garbage collector.
Not so bad, eh?” She grins ironically, and then, when she turns in my direction, she gives a little gasp. “And who might this lovely lady be?”
“Vanessa. It’s nice to meet you.” I smile at her, holding out my hand.
“A beautiful name for a beautiful girl.” She winks at me. “So tell me, are you two here…together?” she asks slyly, nudging Thomas’s shoulder.
I give him an uncertain look, waiting for him to say something but ready, in my heart, to be disappointed. To my enormous relief, that doesn’t happen. With his eyes on mine and his hand stroking his stubbly chin, Thomas nods decisively.
“You don’t say…” Miranda exclaims, incredulous.
“I take it you finally got your head on straight.” Then, she turns to me.
“Do you know, I’ve known this boy since he was six years old?
I watched him grow up alongside my son, the two of them getting into all sorts of things together.
” She takes Thomas’s cheek between her thumb and forefinger, pinching it as though he were still a little kid.
“That reminds me, does Ryan know you’re here? ”
He shakes his head, folds his arms over his chest, and slides down in his chair a bit, spreading his legs slightly. “Not unless my big-mouth sister told him.”
“Come by and see him if you can. I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you again. He won’t say it, but he misses you. We can all see it” she admits with an air of melancholy and a concerned look on her face.
“I will.” He smiles gratefully at her, covering her hand on his shoulder with his own.
“You heard about your old man, didn’t you?” Miranda finally asks him.
Thomas stiffens, and his jaw tightens. He nods, with a darkened downward gaze.
She sighs, tightening her grip on his shoulder. “I’m glad to see you here. Finally back home, with your people… The neighborhood wasn’t the same without you, big fella. You never should have left.”