CHAPTER 3 - CASEY
I was walking through the halls of my high school, my arms outstretched on either side of me. My fingertips could just barely graze along the cool metal of the row of lockers to my right. On the opposite wall was a big glass case, constantly polished and re-polished to hide the evidence of fingerprints and nose prints pressed against the panes. Inside the glass case was an impressive collection of trophies in shades of bronze, silver, and gold. They were varying heights and levels of prestige, the little figurines on top of them stretched into poses of youthful athleticism. A soccer player with his cleats colliding with a checkered ball. A swimmer in a diving position. I smiled as my eyes clocked a trophy with a bumble bee on top of it—meant to illustrate the winner of a spelling bee.
One of the trophies bore my name: Casey Harlowe. It was a football trophy, given to the “most valuable player.” It still gave my heart a little jump to see my name spelled out in gold lettering there. I was the most valuable. I could hardly believe it.
Especially because I had never felt particularly valuable before, not even when I was helping my team win the championship. Not even when my mother hugged me and told me what a fantastic son I was. Not even when my high school boyfriend, Todd, told me he thought he was falling in love with me, that he wanted to tell the whole world about us. Whenever good things happened in my life, I tended to downplay them, imagine that it was all an elaborate setup to make me feel good about myself. I just couldn’t imagine a world in which I mattered the way people told me I did. I was always striving, always pushing to be better than I was before. Always hoping to meet some new goal, some lofty dream. I shifted the goal posts so many times I could no longer remember what I had set out to do in the first place. It was all about being the best I could be, now and forever. Selfless and tough, independent and strong.
I moved on along the hallway, confused as to why my footsteps seemed to echo endlessly as I walked across the sticky linoleum. It was not the best school in the state, but it was a safe, quiet suburban high school. A place where the football team was the star of the town. And I, the quarterback, was the apple of everyone’s eye.
Except perhaps for the one person whose opinion mattered to me above all others. His approval was the furthest, most unreachable goal post I had ever set for myself.
My father.
Sure, he came to my games whenever he was free from work. He cheered me on with a solemn expression and a fierce dedication in his eyes that were so similar to my own. He even sat next to my mother in the stands, the two of them putting their divorce aside in order to cheerlead for me, as if our household had never split in half. Like things were exactly as they imagined they would be when I was young, back before they decided they didn’t belong together and went their separate ways. I didn’t hold it against them, of course. They both deserved happiness, even if they couldn’t find that happiness in each other, in the house with me. And besides, I was nearly an adult now, right? I didn’t need my daddy around. I had outgrown that, hadn’t I?
And yet, I thought to myself as I roamed the oddly empty halls of my high school in a daze, I still got a hard lump in my throat when I thought too hard about the divorce. It was silly. It was dumb. I should have been over it a long time ago.
Somewhere across the campus of my high school, I could now hear the distant, faint chants of the cheerleaders. “Go, team! Go, team! Knock ‘em dead, Pirates!”
I smiled softly to myself. Being out on the football field felt like coming home. It was a place where I could leave my worries in the locker room and just run. I could dart through oncoming opponents and zigzag across the field with a football tucked tightly against my side, letting the cries of the crowd egg me on. And when I reached the end zone, I could throw my arms up in triumph, spinning slowly as my teammates rushed over and lifted me up into the air in a mass of sweaty, excitable strength.
Good memories. The kind of good memories that would carry me around and keep my head up even in the darkest days. Somehow, right now, I knew I was dreaming. And still I could feel the swell of pride in my chest as though this were real life. I might as well be out on the field right now surrounded by my teammates, the sensation was that profound.
I dreamed about high school a lot. I didn’t know why, but it didn’t matter. As long as it wasn’t a nightmare, who cared? Maybe it was embarrassing that in my brightest dreams I revisited the “glory days” or whatever, but I didn’t mind.
I kept walking, rounding the corner and stepping into a big auditorium, the double doors magically held open for me. I looked around the massive room with its big wooden stage and stadium seating. And then suddenly a blaring, insistent noise came bellowing out of the speaker system. An alarm, beeping at top volume.
I woke up with a start, feeling sweaty and cramped, like I had been tossing and turning all night. I opened my eyes with a groan and reached out to smack the off button on the alarm clock next to my head. Ah, blissful silence, I thought to myself as I sat up in bed. I rubbed my eyes and yawned, feeling the bright light of dawn streaming in through the window to warm my bed. Across the room on the little kitchenette counter, my time-censored coffee machine started percolating. I stretched my limbs and slid out of bed, padding sleepily into the tiny bathroom to turn on the shower.
I stripped off my t-shirt and boxers, trying pointedly to ignore my reflection in the bathroom mirror. But I glanced over anyway, and as usual, the sight of the pale, jagged scar along my left cheek and jaw gave me a little rush of disdain. I hated it. If not for the scar, I might have been a fairly good-looking guy: sandy blonde hair with the occasional fleck of light gray, sky blue eyes, perpetual stubble along my jaw. I had a powerful frame from years of sports, working out, and of course, being a firefighter. But that scar… I knew that when people looked at me, that was all they saw now. It was about two and a half inches long, and still ever so slightly shiny, like new skin. My mother assured me it was barely noticeable, and my coworkers at the station just told me it looked badass. But I couldn’t believe any of them. I had never really been super confident about my looks anyway, and this scar had just about decimated what little self-esteem I’d built up over the years.
Luckily, in my line of work, nobody really gave a shit what you looked like as long as you were able-bodied, courageous, and a hard worker. Which was why I had thrown myself even more deeply into my job ever since the incident that gave me the scar. As long as I kept my head down and did my work, I could avoid the awkward discomfort of having to dodge people’s judgmental stares and questions. It was just easier this way, even if it was lonely sometimes. Loneliness I could deal with, but pity? That was unbearable for me.
I stepped into the shower and sighed with relief at the sensation of the hot stream of water. I soaped up with one of the many handmade soap bars my mother sent me. She often made her own bathing goods and cosmetic products, experimenting with new essential oils and herbs in the little crafts and utility room I helped build in her house. She’s a nurse, working long shifts at our small, country health clinic, and she loves to make things in her spare time. I supposed maybe I inherited my love of building and baking things from her. This particular soap bar smelled of orange peel and grapefruit, a fresh, zingy scent that woke up my senses. I made a mental note to call and compliment her on it. That would really make her day.
After my shower, I put on my usual plaid flannel shirt over a white tee tucked into my blue jeans. I slipped on my gigantic work boots, poured a thermos of coffee, snagged a home-baked granola bar, and headed downstairs to my truck. As soon as I started up the engine, the radio started blasting an old country song—one that I recalled hearing over and over again as a kid. As I turned down the volume and pulled the truck out onto the road, I wracked my brain to remember why I hated the song so much. Then it hit me: it was one of my dad’s favorites. And for all I knew, maybe it still was. Not that he and I talked often enough these days for me to have any real idea what he’s into anymore. Ever since I came out as gay in my senior year of high school, only months after he and Ma divorced, the dynamic between us had been tense. He’d never been an especially warm and fuzzy kind of father to begin with.
I turned off the country song and drove along in silence. I was looking forward to another long, hard twenty-four-hour shift at the station. Nothing cleared one’s mind quite like hard work. I wondered what kind of shift it would be: a quiet one? A hectic one? It was impossible to tell, although I was fairly certain that tonight would be a full moon, and sometimes that did seem to affect how bizarre the shift was. Some people might have dismissed it as just pure superstition, but I was not exactly a gullible guy, and even I saw some truth in the belief. We often got the weirdest emergency calls during the full moon, and my mom experienced the same trend in her full moon shifts at the clinic. I may not have believed in astrology, but you can bet your ass I believed the full moon made people act like idiots somehow.
Speaking of my mother, as I was driving, my phone started ringing and I knew without having to look that it was her. She was the only one who still called me all the time. Maybe that was a sad thing to admit, but I didn’t mind. I kind of hated talking on the phone, but for my mom, I would suck it up. I connected my phone to Bluetooth and answered.
“Hey Ma,” I said.
“Hi, sweetheart! How’s your morning? Did you hear about that boating accident out on Lake Mead? Apparently, a bunch of dumb teenagers tipped their canoe early this morning while they were fishing. I bet you anything they were drinking!” she chirped brightly. I smiled. I could always count on my mother to have all the hot gossip. Who needed to watch the news when you had a nosy, bored mom to keep you updated?
“That sounds pretty bad. Are they all okay?” I asked her.
“Oh, yes. My coworker, Nikki, told me all three teens were brought into the clinic after the Fish and Wildlife officers rescued them. They were awfully cold from being in that chilly water, but otherwise they’re fine. I wish I’d been on duty, though. I would’ve given them a little talk about responsibility and safety,” she huffed. “You know, I’m so glad you weren’t silly like that when you were a teenager.”
“Yeah, I was pretty boring,” I chuckled.
“Boring? Oh, no! Not boring. Just very responsible. Very smart. You’ve always had a good head on your shoulders. Ever since you were a tot,” she gloated. I rolled my eyes.
“Thanks, Ma. By the way, I used that citrus-y soap you gave me this morning.”
“Did you?” she gasped, clearly ecstatic. “Was it alright?”
“It was wonderful. Very nice scent,” I complimented her. I could almost hear her smiling through the phone.
“Good, good! I used a lot of that orange oil I got from the apothecary shop downtown. Should keep you smelling nice all day long. In fact, maybe it’ll attract some handsome young man who will ask you on a date or something,” she said pointedly.
I took a deep breath, exasperated. “Ma, I’m not looking for a date,” I said.
“I know, I know, you’re busy and everything. But wouldn’t you like to have a special someone to relax with on your days off?” she pushed.
“I’m not exactly the world’s most eligible bachelor,” I told her. “I work too much. I don’t go out. And with this damn scar on my cheek, nobody would even look at me twice.”
She clucked her tongue. “Oh, sweetie. That scar doesn’t take away from how handsome you are. Not one bit. In fact, you should wear it as a badge of honor. If you hadn’t rushed into that burning house, that little girl wouldn’t be singing in the school choir nowadays. She came to my neighborhood trick-or-treating last year, remember? She’s doing so well, and it’s all thanks to you, Casey.”
“I don’t get special accolades for doing my job,” I said gently. “I did exactly what anyone else would’ve done in my position.”
Ma snorted as though I’d said something truly ridiculous. “Nonsense. You’re the bravest man at that station, hands down. You know, I worry about you, dear. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I am so proud of you and the work you do. But every time you run into a burning building, I just think… oh, what if the worst happens?”
“I know, Ma. I know,” I sighed. “But I’m cautious. I swear.”
“Good. You better be. You men and your dangerous jobs,” she teased. “Always got to be saving lives and making a difference in the community.”
“Oh, as if you don’t make a difference as a nurse,” I said, smiling warmly. I decided to really brighten her day, and added, “You know, you’re more of a hero than I am.”
She giggled and murmured, “Oh, stop it.” I knew she was just tickled pink.
By now, I was about to pull into the parking lot of the fire station. I was about to tell my mom goodbye when she suddenly asked, a little stiffly, “So, honey… have you talked to your father lately? You know, just to check in and all that.”
I parked the truck and tried to keep my composure. “No. I haven’t. But he’s a busy guy, like I am. He’d call me if he wanted to talk,” I said shortly.
“Well, you know he’s a little stubborn, but I’m sure he’d love to hear from you,” she suggested, albeit half-heartedly.
My parents were divorced, but they were still on pretty good terms. Their split was mutual and about as civil as could be. They didn’t hate each other by any means, but they didn’t work well together, either. Still, my mother was dead set on my maintaining a good relationship with him. I was not the sort of guy to go chasing after anyone’s affections or approval, though. If he wanted me in his life, he’d put me there. It was simple as that, even if my mom didn’t agree.
“Sure, Ma. I’ll give him a call sometime,” I promised vaguely. “Listen, I’m at the station now. I have to go.”
“Oh. Alright then, sweetie. Be careful today. I love you,” she said.
“Love you, too,” I said quickly, and hung up. I heaved a sigh. I couldn’t wait to clock in and start working—anything to distract myself.