WHAT DOES IT MATTER
This morning, to increase my happiness, I eat one Cocoa Puff at a time. I want to savor every burst of flavor alongside my Dez-induced joy before the rest of my day inevitably turns into a chaotic mess of emotions. Dad watches me in awe of my commitment to single cocoa spheres, but as I’m lifting my sixteenth puff to my mouth, my phone rings. I answer and hear sobbing. So much for puff-to-puff happiness.
“Dez?” I ask.
“It hurts so much.”
“I know.”
We sit in the “I know” for a while. Sometimes I think an “I know” with a side of silence is a better prescription than using positivity to get rid of the sadness.
Finally, Dez says, “I don’t understand the point of the hurt. It’s like a Dementor. I wish I could be Harry Potter, but not because I want to have magical powers. I just want to punch a Dementor square in the face.”
“Do you want me to laugh?”
She sniffles. “Do whatever you want. You’re not my wife.”
I stay silent, but I really want to laugh.
“I wish I could have told Mark his heart wasn’t dead,” she says.
“What do you mean?”
“I just know in my darkest times, I just need someone to tell me I’m not dead. It helps knowing that.”
“Oh, so like, if someone reminds you that you still have the ability to feel something other than numbness, it helps?”
“Right.”
“Well, I have some good news.”
“What?”
“We get to hang out tonight. That’s good, right?”
“It is. I’ll get to feel extra alive. A dose of life for me and for Mark.”
What does she mean by “I’ll get to feel extra alive”? Is she saying I make her feel that way? Or is she just saying being with a human is a way to honor Mark? I decide on the latter, because the former is less likely.
“Alright, thanks for listening. I’ve got to go to school.”
“I’ll see you tonight. Make sure you punch a few Dementors in the face today. To hell with magical patronuses. Wait, what’s the plural for patronus? Patroni? Pattis?”
Dez laughs. Good. I wanted to hear her laugh.
“See you tonight, Adam.”
—
Because I’m suspended from school and I have nothing else to do, I go with Addy to Portland after my time at Cratcher’s so she can visit two of the construction projects she manages. I don’t get out of the truck for a few reasons. 1: I’m not really into being stared at by a bunch of dudes who are really good at using saws, and 2: Addy told me I’d get in trouble if I walk around without a hardhat.
I watch her interact with the crew and the foreman. You can tell that everyone loves her. They literally all stop working and say hello. Half of them hug her like she were their own daughter. She moves in and out of the entire crew, switching back and forth between Spanish and English. She even speaks a little French to a guy with a bucket of drywall mud.
It isn’t surprising that almost every guy here looks like they’d hammer-fight someone to the death to keep her safe. Addy has always been good at seeing and hearing other people as if they were magic. As if their hurts and joys were bigger than hers. Where Dez says, “Anyone who thinks their shit is greater than mine is more lost then I am,” Addy says, “Everyone’s got their shit and it’s up to me to make them feel like they’re loved, anyway.”
That’s why Addy went with Mom. Why she expected the same thing from me with Dad.
Addy gets back into the truck and lets out a deep breath. She looks at it. Deep. Like it’s a sight she needs to remember. “Okay. This place is locked down. I got them everything they needed yesterday.”
“Do you want to come to dinner at Dez’s house with me and Dad on Saturday?”
“Oh man,” she says. She’s silent for a while but then finally says, “I have to work on Saturday. Gosh, I really want to go. I’d ask for it off, but I did just transfer states to straighten you out. I need to lay off the requests for a while.”
“Well, Dez and I will be dating soon enough,” I say. “There’ll be other times, I’m sure.”
“Papi, you sound so sure. So cocky and … confidente.”
“I’m irresistible. What’s Papi mean?”
She shrugs. “Meh. Hey, when am I going to meet all of your Knights of Vice friends?”
She could always come to the Addiction Fighters thing tonight, but do I want another family member there? It’s hard enough having my dad there. I’m afraid he’s going to start joining the welcome dirge any time now.
“Whatever you’re thinking about, the thing you don’t want me to go to, that sounds perfect. When is it?”
I groan. “At the Bothell Civic Center, tonight at eight.”
“I’m irresistible,” she says, starting the truck and turning Amelia Hunt’s “Ain’t No Man Worth Your Soul” up.
I shrug. “Meh.”
—
I’m in my room staring at my computer, waiting for dad and Addy to get ready for Addiction Fighters when my cell phone rings. It’s Dez.
“Hey,” I say, but for once she doesn’t respond, but I hear someone else talking.
“Why do you insist on going to this meeting?” a man says.
“Because I need it. I need a place that feels safe.”
Dez. Did she butt dial me?
“You should be studying. You should be working. You should be applying to colleges. Instead you’re going to this … AA thing. Don’t you know how that looks?” “Oh, well sorry for not making you look like perfect rich people to your friends. What a big problem in the scheme of the world. Totally wish I could be different.” Dez says this with intense sarcasm. Dripping. Soaking wet.
“I do, too. Your brothers were never like this. They’re off working hard while you’re here barely making it through school.”
“Dad, I’ve literally got one B since I started high school,” Dez says calmly. Dryly. As though this conversation happens every night and she’s done having “feeling” about it.
“That was the first B to ever walk through the front doors.”
Dez falls silent. I want to stand up for her. I want to fight for her. To tell her that she’s enough, but I’ve been butt dialed and I’m an addict. What good would that be coming from me?
“You’re a Coulter. It’s time you stop being a disappointment to the family and focus on school. Focus on your future.”
“What about who I am right now?”
Mr. Coulter scoffs. “When you go to jail, don’t call us. Pay your own bail.”
A door slams and a millisecond later, Dez stars sobbing.
“Dez?” I say, but she doesn’t hear me.
I hang up and call back.
No answer.
—
Dez stands at the Addiction Fighter’s podium. Any sign of the fight with her dad has disappeared. Her cool blue eyes are more piercing than I remember. She’s wearing a dress covered with yellow flowers. A black belt wraps around her waist. She looks like summer in the beginning of November. She’s making buds of heat bloom in my chest.
“I’m not going to spill my guts this week,” she says. “A lot of people have talked about Mark already, so I’m just going to quote the first line of Alias Grace by Margaret Atwood.” She lifts her chin and gets that nature-filled tone in her voice. “Out of the gravel, there are peonies growing.”
How can Mr. Coulter not see this part of her? How can Mr. Coulter call her a disappointment?
She steps off the podium without saying anything else and, for a good three minutes, no one else takes the stand. Half the room gets it, and the other half knows there’s something to get. I think about saying the explanation out loud, but I only have it in formula form, and formulas never work as well when spoken.
Death/darkness = gravel.
Peonies = life/light.
Death < light.
Though sometimes,
Death/darkness feels > than life/light.
All of that makes formulaic sense, but how can you believe light is greater than death when death feels greater?
Trey leans into my ear. “I just realized something,” he says.
“What?”
“Dez Coulter is so freaking hot.”
—
The meeting lets out and, as long as Dez’s here, I’m determined to stay longer than Trey. I refuse to leave him alone with Dez. I like her. I’ve never actually “liked” a girl, and I’m not about to give him room to practice his mojo.
“It was really nice to meet you, Elliot,” Addy says as Elliot leaves. A few minutes later, Dad leaves. Even Doug Bunson leaves. Then it’s me, Addy, Mr. Crotcher, Trey, and Dez.
We talk about funny things we’ve seen on the Internet for a few minutes, but the discussion ends when Mr. Crotcher yawns. His boredom makes sense, because the conversation isn’t philosophical, and I don’t even think he’s seen the Internet, let alone the things on it.
“You better get to bed, Adam,” he says. “We’re starting on the guitar tracks for the next song in the morning.”
Dez cocks her head and looks at me. Curious at what Mr. Crotcher means. Trey comes over to hug us.
“Mr. Cratcher’s my ride,” he says, leaning toward my ear. “Also, your sister, man? I feel like I’m in love.”
Suddenly I feel like a middle schooler, ready to throw fists at a friend because the girl I have a crush on registered on his all-females-accepted hotness scale, when in reality he’s digging Addy. I realize how tense I am and roll my neck to try and relax. I hug him back, but not without some solid man pats. I like Trey, but I’m not sure if I want a sex addict emotionally involved with my sister, so I just say, “It happens.”
He laughs. “It sure does! Alright, see you at the Knights of Vice tomorrow.” He turns to Addy. “I know we’ve just met, but I feel like I need to tell you, you are the most …” He pauses. I can’t tell if he’s just well-practiced or if he’s genuine, which might mean he’s well-practiced. “Lively and beautiful girl I’ve ever met. You even speak Spanish!” He turns to me and laughs. “Eres mi chica de los sueños.”
Addy just stands there eating it up. I’m not sure if she likes Trey, but I know she loves the attention.
“Gracias,” she says. “Eres como … la playa.”
Trey bows a little and then runs to catch up with Mr. Crotcher. Before he gets to the door, though, he stops, turns around, and looks at Addy for second.
“See you, Trey!” Dez yells.
I wave.
He walks out the door, and, Addy, Dez, and I start laughing.
“Did you just tell him he was like the beach?” I ask.
Addy smiles and nods. “Si. He was very sweet, though. Alright, I know Dad’s going to want to talk about the meeting when we walk through the door, so I need to make a few work calls before we go home.” She winks at me. “Give me a few minutes.”
Addy walks outside and disappears, and in a beautiful moment provided by Addy Hawthorne, Dez and I are finally alone. Like, actually physically together. Not connected by invisible data and unsightly cell towers.
“You butt dialed me today,” I say.
Before she can answer, a janitor pops out of a door at the far end of the lobby, fumbling with a big ring of keys. When he looks up, he sees Dez and me, he says, “Sorry, kids, I’ve got to lock up.”
“Not a problem, sir,” Dez says. She turns on her heel, nodding for me to follow her.
We walk over to a bench outside of the civic center and sit.
“What evils did you set your ears upon?”
“The fight with your dad.”
She nods.
“Does that happen a lot?”
“Daily,” she says softly. “He can’t wait to tell me how much of a disappointment I am. It gets him out of bed in the morning.”
“You’re enough,” I say. “You’re not a disappointment. You’re …” I lose track of what I want to say because I realize how much my words fall short. Dez has heard her dad’s disappointment for years. How do I, someone she met a few weeks ago, tell her he’s wrong and have her believe it?
She takes advantage of the silence and moves on. “Any conquering ideas?” .
“What if we played in a video game tournament?” I ask.
She pulls a flask out of her jacket. “I’m horrible at them, but I can train.” She tips the flask back and the why of addiction suddenly becomes so real to me as I watch her attempts to bury all the years of hearing “you aren’t enough.”
“You know what’s weird?” she says between sips. “I feel like you and I have been friends for years, but how long have we known each other? A few weeks, tops? And I’ve only like, actually seen you four times.”
“Do I look like you remember?” I ask.
“You’re a lot cuter than I remember, but that could just be the alcohol talking.”
“How can I help you stop?” I ask her, pointing at the flask. The question surprises both of us.
“Give me something else to hold. Like a magic rock that keeps me from thinking about the lack of buzz going through my brain.”
My heart’s beating so hard it could be used as renewable energy. I pull the flask out of her hand. She looks at me as though I’ve slapped her.
I probably shouldn’t do this.
I really shouldn’t do this.
Yeah. I’m going to do this.
I grab her hand and intertwine my fingers with hers. I wait for the backlash, for her to scream. To protest in some way.
“Or that,” she says quietly. “Or you could do that.”
“Hand is greater than magic rock,” I say, feeling a holy blaze crawl up my arm. “That’s my formula for you.”
She forms her other hand into a peace sign, turns it sideways, and puts it next to our intertwined hands. “We’re greater than flask.” She stares at our meshed fingers for a few seconds, then says, “Isn’t this illegal?”
I raise an eyebrow. “What?”
“Feeling so much like for someone you’ve known for such a short time?”
“That’s everyone else’s problem,” I say, and she recognizes her own words immediately.
She smiles. “Now we’re each other’s problem. I mean, we’re both messed up, right? So what does it matter?”
I nod. “What does it matter.”