32. Thirty-Two
Thirty-Two
Cole
It changes who you are, on a molecular level, when the people genetically engineered to love you just…
don’t. Nobody teaches you what to do with that.
Or warns you what it will feel like when you first realize that other parents love their children properly, not in the fucked-up ways that Toni’s father did, just the regular old, run of the mill, tuck you in at night and make you soup when you're sick love.
It wasn’t an excuse. Nothing could excuse my actions or change the undeserved damage I’d inflicted on a girl I had always loved.
But it was a reason. I hadn’t seen or heard from my mother in more than a decade.
And it was old news, to me or anyone who’d ever met the guy, that Carl Michaels was a piece of crap.
But I knew what love was supposed to be.
There were always three tiny flickers of it inside my heart.
Only, somewhere along the way, I lost them, or maybe I pushed them away and, in their absence, those flickers of light went out. Because, without them, their care, their warmth, their love, rage was the only thing I had to fill the vacuum where all that love had been.
Regret’s a motherfucker.
Yesterday, when they left me behind, I lay in the dirt knowing that I was exactly the monster they labelled me as.
The day had been hot and still. With no breeze, the trees hung limp all around me and in the quiet they left behind, the sounds from across camp carried easily.
My body was heavy as I dragged myself behind the largest of the boulders.
It had been a long time since I’d used these rocks as a hiding place.
I was so much taller and broader now than I’d been at sixteen but the largest of the rocks was just big enough to still hide me, especially as I held my knees to my chest.
My jaw ached and my chest hurt, but that shit didn’t bother me.
What did was the slimy, heavy, sick feeling of anger.
What her own brother had done to her, the scar–fuck, all of it was unthinkable.
But I was still angry at her. Even after seeing what her brother had done, even knowing my own part in every shitty thing that had happened to her since last summer, I still wanted her to hurt as much as I did when she left us, when she left me, confirming that I was a special kind of fucked up.
The last time I’d sat in this spot, I’d grappled with the same anger and a different kind of shame.
Unlike last time though, I didn’t cry, and no one came to find me.
Because this time, I was a grown man, punishing people for my own sins, not to mention those of my mother and father.
A legacy of abandonment, cruelty and weak-ass excuses that led me here.
That I’d perpetuated. I stayed at Throw for a long time.
My knees were stiff from sitting by the time I heard the first sounds of Abbi’s loud voice over the mic.
Her announcements were a reminder that I had responsibilities this afternoon that I couldn’t ignore.
Those responsibilities came after lunch.
With the end of summer just days away, I was busy making plans with Abbi for the final campfire and end of summer celebrations.
For campers, that included section campfires, followed by a larger all-camp gathering at The Point.
Before that, there were camper awards and a special end of summer buffet dinner served by the program staff and any staff who weren’t cabin leaders.
Each year, those serving the meal dressed up as the different characters that had been featured in the various theme days throughout the summer as a way for the kids to relive some of the excitement.
I still had my Julius Caesar toga hung up inside my cabin for just that reason.
But, this afternoon, I would be going around to each of the boys’ cabins with my sign-up sheet in hand.
Every cabin would get a chance to sign up to perform at one, or both, of the campfires.
The youngest boys were usually too shy or too nervous to perform at either.
We’d been the same at their age. Even Brennon, with all his experience joining his parents on red carpets, was still too nervous of his singing voice to consider performing in front of a crowd at age eight.
Xavi would never. Even when we were older, and Brennon and I would play guitar and sing together, Xav always refused to join us on any kind of stage.
And Toni, well, she was always enthusiastic, but self-aware enough to know that live performance wasn’t for her, so the two of them would remain in the crowd while Bren and I sang.
They always stood up to cheer for us, whooping so loudly over the rest of the applause–especially Toni–that we’d end up smiling all the way back to our seats beside them afterwards.
It was a form of torture, really, playing out all my damn memories of them.
And every cabin I stopped at, reminded me of us at all those different ages.
Like flipping through a damn photo album of the time before I became such a raging dickhead.
Made worse when I knocked on the next cabin door, only to realize who I’d find inside.
The boy who opened the door, Eli, was a longtime camper.
I’d even been his cabin leader once upon a time, back when he was just a tiny eight-year-old, too.
Back then, he’d reminded me of Xavier, largely because of the glasses he’d worn.
Sometime in recent years he’d either grown out of them or switched to contacts, which also just reminded me of Xav.
“Hey Cole,” he greeted, stepping back from the door so I could follow him inside, “What’s up?”
I didn’t answer right away because on the bottom bunk, at the very back of the cabin, was a very swollen-jawed Mitchell Greer.
He looked even worse than when Xavier had kicked his ass last summer.
It looked like he’d broken his damn jaw, and yellow-brown bruises covered his neck and face.
Now, I kicked myself for not hearing my friends out.
I didn’t have the whole story, but I had enough to know that whatever happened, however Toni had wound up with a word carved into her fucking chest, the asshole looking back at me was involved.
After everything I’d learned about this creep weeks ago, after everything Michele told me, I was so fucking stubborn, so stuck clinging to my own denial.
God, I was a fucking dumbass. Worse than that, I was the kind of dumbass who hurt people, throwing around my words and fists like they didn’t mean shit, then ignoring anyone who made me feel anything I was even the slightest bit uncomfortable with.
Lashing out at them like a bear caught in a trap.
I barely acknowledged the kids as they gave me their names, instead, handing over my clipboard and pen and letting them add themselves to my list. I was too busy glaring at Mitchell, wishing I could go back in time and agree to help.
Another shovel of regret, heaped on top of the pile of shit I hated about myself.
Back outside, I still had more cabins to visit, but with no one around to see, I dropped the sign-up sheet and with my free hands I clapped my fists against my forehead over and over again, cursing myself, “Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!” Each hit stung my already bruised face, and I was glad for it, because I’d earned every single one of Xav’s punches earlier today.
When I finally wrapped up my visits to the last cabin, the rest hour was up and all across the boy’s line, kids were flooding out of their cabins, ready to head out to whatever free program they wanted.
While everyone else rushed around, I found myself longing for my days as a cabin leader.
It was hard to think about yourself when you needed to get a bunch of twelve-year olds out the door.
With sign-ups done for the closing campfire, I had nowhere to be and nothing to do.
I tried going back to my cabin. Just the sight of the little steps reminded me of finding Brennon waiting there for me.
I barreled past that thought and practically crash landed on my bed. All this shit, yeah, I’d sleep it off.
Not so much. I slept. But it was a fucking nightmare.
One that started with me back in that old truck with Carl.
Getting my ass screamed at, all because my mom was too much of a bitch to stick around.
Then zoomed forward to me beating up some kid at school for calling my dad a drunk.
He was. Still is. That kid had been absolutely right.
But I was raised in the Carl Michaels school of problem-solving, which meant showing no weakness.
Even now, part of me equated strength with physical violence, though, rationally, I knew now that resilience, understanding, and compassion were more important and more valuable signs of strength.
The nightmare flashed forward one last time.
To the day we buried Nick in the woods. I could still feel the weight of the shovel in my hands.
It was as if those callouses had never faded.
His blood-soaked face was still staring back at me when I woke up.
Sweat dampened my sheets, which sat in a tangled mess at the end of my bed.
I glanced at the battery-powered alarm clock I kept beside the bed.
It was nearly eight o’clock. On cue, my stomach growled; I’d slept through dinner.
And I definitely still had shit I needed to do today.
I was supposed to meet Abbi to finalize the campfire lineup after dinner.
That was long gone. I was also supposed to be making camper awards.
Each section head and program head made their own unique set of awards each summer to give out to the winning kids like special trophies.
Last year, mine had been medals I made out of cardboard and ribbon.
This year, I had no fucking clue what I was going to do.