35. Mac #2
Sage was the only person who ever made me feel like I was more. Like I had any value at all. Filling my head with possibilities I could never have.
Henry did it, too, telling me I was smart and capable. That I’m not just my father’s son. That I’m more than my parents’ sins. Pushing me to sign up for classes. To learn a new trade that would help me.
The only time Henry looked at me with true disappointment was the night he found me drunk. I drank to ease the loneliness, to tamper down the pain of knowing I’d lost Sage for good. I was ready to complete the cycle my parents started. To escape into the abyss they spent their lives chasing.
I feel that want now. Like a physical need to just lose myself. The Oxy I bought from Clint is heavy in my pockets, whispering promises of escape.
The fire marshal drones on about fire trajectory and accelerant. But I can’t focus on his words. They drift through my skull without any comprehension.
The only thought I can think is, my mom did this. My mom poured gasoline on my happiness and lit a match. She tried to take the one good thing I had. Just like Dad drove me away from it before.
I look away from the man confirming my fears to look down at Sage’s hand in mine.
Once again, my family caused his torment. He shouldn’t be standing by my side, he should be pushing me away.
He’s not gay, probably closer to bi. He could be finding a nice girl. Starting a family. Leaving this park behind him like a black smudge on his past. But instead, he’s here, holding my hand.
He deserves so much more than I could ever give him. The burnt trailer is evidence that I’m not good for him. That all I do is bring pain and suffering.
My dad attacked him, pressed a gun to his head, and was ready to take Sage out of this world. My mother took his home from him.
Guilt presses down on my chest, nausea rising up the back of my throat. I swallow it back down.
“What happens now?” Sage’s voice drags me from the endless void I’d fallen into. I look back up at the marshal who stands in front of the trailer with a grimace.
“Well,” he starts, dragging out the word, “with the witnesses, we have enough to bring Karen in for questioning.” He flashes me a sympathetic look before looking back at Sage.
I feel like the ground is about to open up and suck me down. I’d welcome it. Maybe then the guilt that chokes me would fade. Maybe then I’d be able to do what Sage deserves. Leave.
I should have stayed away. Maybe my mom would have left him alone if I hadn’t come back.
If I hadn’t gone to her that morning. Maybe she’d forget all about me, all about Sage.
And he would be happily sleeping inside his trailer right now.
None the wiser of the alternate universe where what we’ve started exists in.
I brought Karen’s wrath to his door. I might not have lit the fire, but it’s my fault nonetheless.
There are times when life plays out with perfect timing. The world shows you it’s not on your side. Doesn’t give you a second to catch your breath. Its sole purpose is to punish you.
Two cop cars pull into the park, silently approaching the trailer I grew up in. Their tires are deafening in the quiet. Sage tightens his hold on my hand, and I’m a weak piece of shit for needing it as badly as I do. For squeezing his hand just as tightly.
I stand watching. Holding the hand of a man who deserves more. Holding my breath as the cops park in front of the trailer and climb out from their cruisers.
A memory I’ve long ago locked away plays out before me. I was nine years old, a year before an angry boy changed my life. Dave had gotten into a fight at a bar, beating a man to the brink of death before he ran. Cops came to my house, banging on the door and waking me up.
Mom barged into my room, throwing the curtain that separated my space from the rest of the trailer open. She thrust her stash against my chest, my hands awkwardly grabbing it all before she let go.
She told me to hide it. To make sure the cops didn’t get ahold of it. The banging on the door continued, eating away her panicked threats.
I didn’t know what to do. I freaked, stuffing the tiny baggies into my pajama pants. In my pockets, in my underwear, anywhere I could before hiding myself in the corner of my room. Cowering behind my dresser as voices shouted by the front door.
Dave was taken away in handcuffs, my mom a blubbering mess on her knees. Crying and screaming that this was a mistake. I don’t know how Dave got out of it. But two days later, he came home. Pissed off and ready to take out his anger.
The past and present morph together. I don’t feel like the twenty-one-year-old man I am. I feel like that scared kid hiding heroin in his underwear. Sage’s hand in mine is the only thing keeping me tethered to reality.
A female officer bangs on the door, demanding Karen open up. The other officer stands back, his hands gripping the vest under his uniform. Looking bored as we all wait for Karen.
“Sheriff department, open up!” she yells, banging her fist against the door once again. The other officer comes around, looking through the dingy windows. After a few more seconds of waiting where I’m not sure if I’m breathing or not, all hell breaks loose.
The female officer is kicking in the trailer door, the cheap wood splintering under her boot. The cop speaks into the radio on his shoulder, requesting an ambulance.
Is she dead? Dread churns my stomach, mixing with the guilt. Why do I care? Why does it feel like my heart is clawing up my throat? Why am I breaking out in a cold sweat?
Karen is nothing to me. Nothing but heartbreak and hurt. So why am I suddenly so fucking scared she’s dead?
Visions of her face flash in my mind. The rare, genuine smile, the birthday she decorated for. The few good memories that I have of her. She’s my mom. She’s my mom, and she might be rotting in her trailer. My eyes start to burn.