CRY
I walk into Mr. Cratcher’s living room and sit in the first available seat I see, which just so happens to be next to Mr. Cratcher. I can’t help but stare at the guy. After finding out about all the BS he’s been through, I hate myself for calling him Mr. Crotcher. Even though I realize I’ve stopped doing that at some point in time, I still feel like a jerk.
Great.
More guilt.
My phone vibrates. I know it’s Addy.
That was incredibly mean, and stupid if you actually want to go to Nashville.
I don’t answer.
“Well, everyone,” Mr. Cratcher says. There’s a strange look on his face I can’t figure out. I know Trey and Elliot see it, too, because they keep looking at him as if he’s turning into an elk. “Before we start, I want to make sure you guys know why you are together …”
Elliot, Trey, and I look at each other.
Our look = WTF?
“Humans are made to be together,” Mr. Cratcher says. “Throughout your lives, isolation will be your greatest enemy.”
I think of my Deception Pass dreams. Being alone in the Puget Sound. The crushing darkness.
“Despite what culture says, all humans are weak. Men are not exempt from this. Everybody has their own share of pain. You three have already seen death and will certainly see more. To survive the heaviness of the world, you need to experience it with others. If you can do that, you teach each other to see the beauty in chaos. That is why you’ve come together. Why you drive here every Monday and Friday night. You need each other to live. Don’t ever forget that.”
The silence in the room is daunting. It’s like his statement is a final warning to us.
“Now,” he says, “who’s going to share first?”
Me. I am. I need to. Otherwise I may turn into a black hole.
“I prided myself on feeling nothing, like, a month or so ago, but right now, it seems like I feel everything. There are so many things to think about, questions to ask, so much hurt, everywhere, all the time. I feel like I’m going to be swallowed whole by everything, not just porn. I don’t know how to make any of it stop or where I start. The only times I find relief are in moments when I’m with Dez, and the other night, when we were all together at the diner.”
I pause.
“I felt that, too,” Elliot says.
“Yeah,” Trey adds.
Their confessions shock me. We were all feeling the same thing.
I continue. “There are these moments where, like, I see hope in her face, well, in everyone, like, it’s a part of who we are. Even though everyone is as messed up as me, they’re a hallelujah. I love those moments, and I want to believe they aren’t limited to a few seconds a day. I want those kinds of moments for hours. I just don’t know how to get them. I keep trying to figure out how it happened with us at the diner because maybe then I could do it again.”
I don’t know what else to say, so I just stare at the other guys, hoping someone will say something that will make me stop whining like a toddler.
Adam Hawthorne, toddler, looking for a parent with backpack leash.
Elliot shakes his head like I said something he can’t believe. “That was fucking beautiful, brother. You were just a hallelujah to me.”
Trey smiles. “Maybe all it takes is just telling each other the truth, man.”
Mr. Cratcher shifts in his seat. A tear slides off his cheek and disappears into the carpet. He looks in pain, but as usual, I can’t tell what kind it is.
“Excuse me, boys,” he says, lifting himself off the chair with a substantial effort involved.
“I’ve never thought about it before,” Trey says. “Being together is a way of seeing beauty. Man, all this stuff seems like it’s over my head, but it kind of lessens the idea of addiction, you know?”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“It’s like, deciding to see a thing as pretty cheapens addiction. Like, if I saw a chick with huge boobs.” He holds his hands in front of him to show how huge he’s thinking. “I’d normally want to do her, right? Well, if you think about the beauty of her, the … whatever you said, the hallelujah, it makes banging seem less like just a thing and more like love.”
Both Elliot and I laugh.
“And you want to date my sister?” I say.
“You were almost there, Trey,” Elliot says. “Almost.”
Trey laughs, too. “Maybe I’ll get it eventually if I keep hanging with you guys.”
Suddenly, there’s a crash somewhere in the house.
Trey, Elliot, and I look at each other.
“Mr. Cratcher!” I stand and run into the kitchen with the guys right behind me.
Through an empty doorframe, by the refrigerator, I see Mr. Cratcher, collapsed on the floor in the bathroom.
No.
Mr. Cratcher = my first blaze of light.
Mr. Cratcher = wisdom and hope.
Mr. Cratcher cannot = death.
Mark already = death.
I don’t need any more = death.
Dear God, please let Mr. Cratcher not = death.
—
Elliot, Trey, my dad, Addy, and I sit in the waiting room in Seattle’s Overlake Hospital waiting for some word about what’s going on.
I called Dez. After I told her what happened, we were silent for ten minutes before she said, “I’m on my way.”
He knew. Mr. Cratcher knew. That’s why he gave us that speech before we started the Knights of Vice. He felt this coming. I think back to all the times I asked him questions about the album and his response was, “I’m not sure if that will be my decision.”
He either knew he was dying or he felt it coming.
Suddenly, I know that whatever the doctor says will ruin us.
The elevator dings. I look and see Dez behind the doors as they slide open. I stand to go to her just as a doctor turns into the waiting room.
“Are you friends and family of Colin Cratcher?” he asks. None of us say yes, but the look of dread that washes over our faces must answer for us.
“Did he ever speak to any of you about his lung cancer?”
More silence.
“I suspected as much. Mr. Cratcher was a frequent patient here. We’ve known about his cancer for at least a year now. Around Halloween, fluid started building in his lungs. We pumped them, and after some observation, released him. Before he left, he told me, ‘This will be the last time I’ll see you. Thanks for all you’ve done.’ I personally thought he would have shown up in this state much sooner. With all that said, we’ve drained his lungs again, and he’s starting to recover. However, regardless of his recovery, he only has about two weeks left. Three weeks max. You can visit him in a few hours, but I’m sorry to tell you he will not be communicative.”
I can tell the doctor’s done this before. He has a formula for it. A deep look in my eyes when he says specific words, but not long enough to be uncomfortable. He uses a gentle, but brutal, honesty. His tone is perfectly honed and shaped in rooms filled with awkward silence.
“I’m sorry I have to give you this news. I have to check on my other patients, but if you have any questions, just head over to the nurses’ station and have them page me. I’ll do the best I can to answer them. Again, I’m very sorry.”
The doctor waits a few seconds before walking away, and his absence reveals Dez. She stands with a hand over her mouth. I walk over to her and pull her into me. The hurtful kind of pain explodes, and the only thing either of us can think to do is cry.