EVERY SINGLE CATEGORY
I knock on Mr. Cratcher’s door. “Hello?”
He answers right away.
“Adam, come in.”
I walk inside, and instead of going straight to work, Mr. Crotcher sits down at his computer and clicks on something. Music pipes through his studio monitors, so I sit down and listen, assuming a one-liner filled rant will follow.
The song finishes a few minutes later, and I remain still. It was a good song, but I’m mostly just curious as to what Mr. Crotcher’s going to say about it. His eyes are closed, but his mouth’s open like he’s about to speak.
He shifts in his seat. “‘There’s a blaze of light in every word, it doesn’t matter which you’ve heard, the holy or the broken hallelujah.’”
I don’t say anything.
“Mr. Leonard Cohen, the author of the song, is saying something to you, Adam. There’s a blaze of light in every word, both the holy and the broken.” He turns his gaze to me. “Have you thought about my question?”
The guy asks me eighty questions every morning. I can’t remember which one he’s talking about.
“What are you?” he asks, registering the forgetfulness on my face. “If you are not a fixed outcome, or a result, what are you? What is Mark?”
“Dead?” I ask honestly.
“Keep thinking about it. Think about it in terms of Mr. Cohen’s song and mathematics. Now, it’s time to start recording. We will do it in memory of Mark.”
I set up a vocal mic, and Mr. Cratcher clips a mesh screen to the front of it. I’m about to sit and start the DAW when he grabs the mic in his palm, clutching it like he’s in pain. He looks out the window again, and before I can ask him if he’s okay, he says, “I’ve changed my mind. Let’s record the last song and work toward the beginning of the album.”
I scratch my head. “Doesn’t that mean we have to decide if we want the album to be crazy at the beginning and simple at the end, or vice versa?”
Mr. Crotcher smiles his all-knowing old man smile. “I’m not sure if that will be my decision.”
What on earth does that mean?
“It’s your album, Mr. Cratcher. Why wouldn’t you make that decision?”
“Many choices come down to life and death,” he says, “and everyone has to choose it for themselves.”
I throw my fingers over my eyes and let out a low growl.
Mr. Crotcher + words = mind coma.
“A: I don’t know what that means, and B: that doesn’t answer my question.”
“How can you know it doesn’t answer your question if you don’t know what it means?”
“Gah, okay, can we just … record or something?”
“Yes, let’s do a few tests to make sure our setup is right.”
My phone rings. It’s Addy.
I pick it up and walk to the other side of the studio. “Hey, Addy.”
“Hey, are you doing okay?”
“I guess. I’m just … confused.”
“I’m sorry. Listen. I have to run back to Portland to turn in some paperwork I forgot I had to the main office. Do you want to come with me? Get your mind off things? You can bring Dez, or your new dude friends. Maybe Trey will want to come?”
“Elliot and Dez are in school and Trey is working. Do I have to see The Woman?”
“Nope, we don’t even have to go to her house.”
“Alright, can we go after I’m done with my morning internship of torture?”
“Sure thing.”
—
Addy sings along with Amelia Hunt as we drive down the highway, and I do my best to keep from thinking about all the times I came home from school to hear The Woman playing this album in the living room.
“So,” I say, trying to keep my brain busy. “How’s Brennan. Wait, Brad? Bread?”
“Brent,” she says. “He gone. No more Brent.”
“Aw, I’m sorry. Why?”
“Because he needed to die.”
I reach for the volume knob to turn it down. “For real, Addy, who broke up with who?”
“It’s whom. Do we have to get into this now?”
“Aha! See? It isn’t fun, is it?”
“I broke up with him.”
“Was it messy?”
She nods dramatically. “Totally. No, it wasn’t at all. We just weren’t into each other. Different personalities, I guess.”
“Is that what you told him? Or is that what you’re telling me?”
“What do you mean?”
“You get along with everyone, Addy. Personalities don’t exist for you. Why did you break up with him?”
She flicks me in the forehead. “Gosh, you’re an annoying little twerp. Because I was scared. He started talking about marriage, and making babies, and mortgages, and I just … flipped out.”
“Because of the divorce.”
She rolls her eyes. “Yes, because of the divorce, but that doesn’t mean you’re off the hook. You can’t just, I don’t know, do what you’ve been doing. Me being affected by the divorce isn’t an excuse.”
“I know.”
“Do ya?”
Something I haven’t ever said to anyone settles on my tongue. It brings along boatloads of feelings I’ve been ignoring in hopes they’ll go away. I hoped that if I didn’t pay attention to them, they’d stop mattering. I try to continue making them not matter, but the feelings push the words off my tongue before I can stop them, which is probably what Addy wants.
“The Woman didn’t even say good-bye to me, Addy.”
She isn’t surprised by this. She just sighs like she’s been waiting for it. “I know, Adam. I know.”
“She left. No explanation. No, ‘I’m sorry.’ Nothing. She was supposed to be one of the few people who loved me so hard I could trust her with everything, but she just disappeared.”
The next thing I’m about to say, I’ve thought about since Addy literally left me on the curb. I know she wanted the best for everyone. That it wasn’t just a normal abandoning, but intention wasn’t enough.
“And you—” My throat closes up. The dark of Deception Pass reminds me that I’m alone. That Addy is gone. My Gollum brain is screaming. “You followed her.”
As soon as I say it, I feel a giant gate lift in my chest. “You left me with a dad who only cared about getting her back. You left me, too. Everyone left me for The Woman.”
Addy’s face goes flat. “I didn’t leave you. We talked about it and agreed that Mom needed me and Dad needed you.”
“But I needed you. I wasn’t strong. I was so lost and hurt, and you wanted me to be this wise guide for Dad, but I needed a wise guide for me and you left.”
“Damn it, Adam! You never told me that!” she yells, slamming her fist on the horn. “You just … stopped. Everything. Why didn’t you say you needed me before I left? Why didn’t you say that while we were sitting on the curb? Why did you just agree to me going with Mom if you were just going to get angry at me? If you knew you needed someone to be there?”
“I don’t know! I was in middle school. How could I have known that?”
We’re silent for a good five miles, but I know it won’t last. With her, it never lasts. It’s why I love her so much.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I wasn’t trying to abandon you. I just … thought you were okay. You’re always so well-spoken and smart and I thought me leaving was what we’d both decided.”
“I mean, I don’t know. We’re both at fault, I guess. I just needed to say it. Get it out of my head.”
“I understand, but I’m still sorry. I just feel like I’m part of the problem, you know? I’m sorry.”
I nod. “I know. I forgive you.”
“So what’s next for us, Adam? What’s next for a couple of kids like us? All messed up and nowhere to go.”
I laugh. “I don’t know about you, but I’m going to date Dez Coulter and make it through my suspension without killing Mr. Cratcher.”
“Ooooh, goodie. Honey child, I like her.”
“Yeah, I do, too. A lot. A lot. A lot. I like her with all of the ‘a lots’ available for use in the English language.”
“How many ‘a lots’ equal love?”
“I wish I knew. You know what I do know, though?”
“Nothing,” she says. “You’re a punk-ass kid who knows nothing.”
I point at the highway sign. “There’s a Jimmy John’s at the next exit.”
She swerves into the next lane but gets back into the one we were in only a few seconds later. “Sorry, squirrel in the road.”
“Addy, you may find this dramatic, but if you don’t feed me, I’m literally going to die.”
“You know what else is a cause of literal death?” she asks, changing lanes again and getting on the exit ramp. “Actual death. And if you abuse the word literally again, that’s what will happen to you.”
—
It’s one o’clock in the morning.
I’m staring at the computer again. My knee’s bouncing like I’m in withdrawal. This echoes what I’ve been thinking, what everyone’s been saying.
I, Adam Hawthorne, am addicted to porn.
I need it to make me think less, to make me feel less, to numb me. After Addy and I got back from Portland, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Mark’s death, about how his vice led him around like a dog on a leash.
Everything’s an incredible heaviness.
I swing the laptop screen up and type in my favorite porn site URL. My heart’s throbbing, my junk metaphysically itching. A page of thumbnails explodes onto the screen, and I feel the adrenaline surge through my veins. Suddenly, all I can think about is her, and her, and her, too.
My phone rings. I’m sure it’s Dez. I know it’s Dez—she’s the only one who would call me this late, but I can’t right now. I don’t need humans. I need Glitter. Someone who doesn’t make me think about anything except how hot she is and raw sex.
The phone stops ringing.
I make a playlist.
—
I feel horrible when I randomly snap out of sleep at 3:00. I look at my computer like he betrayed me. Did he? Why do I feel so miserable? Death still hangs over me, but I don’t know if it’s because I suddenly see mine on the horizon or if I’m still hurting over Mark’s. Maybe it’s both. Either way, I want to feel better. One minute awake and I need relief. So I give it to myself.
Relief courtesy of Stacy and Daniela and Avery and Harmony and Lane and Mattie and Linn and Ashley and Lacy and Siphora and Jessica and Unnamed Girl and Bored Housewife and Hot Schoolgirl and Neighbor’s Sister and Hesitant Teen Thinking She Was At A Modeling Agency Interview and and and and and and and and and and and and and and and and and
—
It doesn’t work.
I feel the same amount of hollow. Possibly even more. This feeling always hangs in the air like cigarette smoke after I finish, but I was always able to write it off and ignore it. Why now? What’s wrong?
I need real sex? Maybe I need a different category or something. Something more intense. Harder. So, for the next two hours, I search through Every. Single. Category.