JUST A CONSUMER
It’s been a day since Miss Hunt told us Mr. Cratcher “probably” has the album. Two since Mr. Crowell told us he’d look for the song. Christmas is in three days, and we’re supposed to be going home in two. That was the deal.
We don’t play Capola.
We don’t talk.
We don’t do anything.
We’re eating breakfast on the patio in silence, each person’s frustration and hurt rubbing off on the other. Addy walks onto the porch, fresh from sleep. She takes a good, silent look at all of us and then sighs.
“Okay, everyone, I hate to be that girl, but think it’s time to leave.”
Trey nods. “I agree. It’s not defeat if we keep fighting, but I think in order to fight, we have to leave.”
“We can’t leave yet. We have two more days,” Dez says. “Besides, if Mr. Crowell finds the song, we have to be here.”
“No, we don’t,” I say. “We have technology. He can just email it to us.”
“It’s going to be on an 8-track or something, Adam. He can’t just email it to us.”
I rub my temples. “Then he can mail it to us. I want to get out of here. I feel like shit.”
“I’m sure we can work something out with him, Dez,” Addy says, taking a new tone: a firm, unmoving, non-joking tone. She sounds like The Woman. “We’ve got his phone number. It’ll be alright.”
“Yeah,” Elliot says. “I’ve been feeling my triggers. It’s time to go. I’ve come way to far to be pulled back.”
“Guys, Addy,” Dez moans, “we can’t go yet. We haven’t even gotten one song. We can’t just give up. We still have an album to find. There’s still a killer on the loose.”
“I’d rather give up than wallow in our collective filth,” Elliot says. “We’ve just been sitting here staring at each other getting depressed. We can do that anywhere.”
“Everyone feels bad,” Addy says. “I think it won’t be a big deal if we cut it off at the chase now.”
“Dad could tell I was off,” I say. “When I called him this morning, he told me to start thinking about coming home.”
Dez shrugs. “Parents don’t understand this kind of stuff.”
That’s it? It’s that simple for her? Outside of that, she’s still hell bent on finding a murderer? After the millions of warnings we’ve all given her? After all our conversations? She still doesn’t listen. She doesn’t even try. I look at her, but before I can say anything, Addy crosses her arms.
“Dez, we should head home today. As the unofficial chaperone, I won’t take no for an answer.”
Dez stares at flame coming out of the propane heater. “I’m not going to go. I don’t want to go home. You guys can just leave me here.”
“Dez, seriously?” Elliot asks.
“Elliot, seriously. You guys have good things to go home to. I go home, everything goes back to the way it was. I want the album. I’m going to stay.”
“So, I’m not a good thing to go home to?” I ask.
“Adam, cut it,” Addy says.
Dez rolls her eyes. “That’s not what I mean.”
I shake my head. “It’s not like I’d be surprised if it was.”
“Adam,” Addy warns again.
“What the hell does that mean?” Dez asks. “What’s gotten into you? You’ve been a bitch-fest for the last few days.”
Addy knows she’s lost control, so she doesn’t step in.
“That’s because you were right and I finally realized it.”
“What are you talking about?” Dez asks.
“The expiration date. Not being able to love. All that bucket’a’bull.”
Her anger melts, her eyes close, and she folds into a slump in the Hamana. She’s hurt, but what else did she expect?
“Adam …” Dez starts.
Elliot stands. “I’m going to go pack.”
Trey follows him. I should go with them. They feel an eruption coming and are smart enough to get out of its path. Addy, however, just stands there, watching us.
“Dez, I finally agree with you. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“No, it isn’t.”
“What do you mean, ‘no’?” I feel my patience drain out of me and seep into the ground. She never even tried to believe anything else. She just said I wasn’t a good thing to go back to. After all this, I’m still good enough to fight for. To change for.
“Dez,” I say, “I can’t even look at you without hearing you saying good-bye to me. You’re doing it right now. You’re choosing exactly what you want. Finding a murderer over me because you’re done with me. We’ve consumed each other, and now it feels like we’re just scraping the plate.”
She sits up in the Hamana. “I want the old Adam back, the one that believed we could last.”
“Why?” I ask. “What good did he do? Sure, he made everything feel more romantic, but that was just gold plating, right? We never actually had a chance.”
“He made me believe that we could believe we had a chance.”
“Yeah, well, you never stuck around to see if we could have a chance, so.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“You always leave when things don’t match with your opinion. Does the word fine sound familiar? Since I’ve met you, you haven’t even tried to be something else. You don’t let yourself get dirty, and when you do, it’s a clean kind of dirty. A dirty that’s manageable and not risky. As long as you can come out on top, as long as you don’t have to do something that pushes you out of your comfort zone or gives you the responsibility of doing actual changing, you’re okay with yourself. You haven’t even tried to believe anything other than what you believe. You’ve made up your mind, and everyone else has to bend to your every damn whim. The porch. Sleeping in a tent. Bumper stickering the SUV. Semi-dating me. Everything is a thing with you, Dez. No wonder why nothing can last for you. Nothing is good enough. You’re exactly like you’re parents.”
As soon as I say the last line, I regret it. But I know it’s true. She’s never let us just be. She never lets anything just be.
“How is this my fault?” she asks, getting out of the Hamana. “How the hell is this my fault?”
“If you would have just … thought for one second we could have survived. If you could have just helped me fight, just let go of the need for perfection, we wouldn’t be here right now.”
“Oh, God,” she says, snarling. “You’re the one who’s decided to give up. I told you I wanted to believe we could be something. You’re the one who’s saying we’re over.”
“But you never believed we could actually be different! You believed in the idea from a distance, always waiting for it to go to hell. You never let us be normal. Everything was always this giant problem. Well, here you go, Dez. You believed this explosion into existence. Addicts can never be greater than love; we just consume.”
She covers her eyes, but I still see her tears falling down her cheeks.
I get out of the Hamana and walk toward the back door. “I’m going to pack.”
“Fuck you, Adam Hawthorne. Fuck you and me.”
I catch her eyes, her watery, beautiful eyes, and the last thing I say to her is, “Fine.”
—
An hour later, Addy’s in the driver’s seat, talking on the phone with the Coulters about leaving Dez there, and I’m watching the exhaust steaming in the cold in the rearview mirror. I look around the car for the cable that plugs Elliot’s iPod into the stereo. I sift through the napkins in the glove box and then open the center console. There’s a pile of Dez’s CDs leaning against the console wall. I slide them back, and instead of finding an audio cable, I find a transparent orange bottle of pills. I pull them out and flip the bottle over. NELLANNE COULTER is written on the front. Underneath her name: PERCOCET.
I slam my fist on the dashboard a million times. A new rage fills me. One that’s pushing at my lips. Pushing me out of the SUV.
“Hey!” Addy yells, “Cut it out.”
I pull on the door handle, and Addy goes to grab my arm.
“Adam Darren Hawthorne,” she yells, “you need to calm down.”
I jump out of the SUV and go around to the back of the patio. Dez is still sitting in the Hamana, crying.
“You lied to me. You told me that there weren’t any more.”
She cries harder but doesn’t answer.
“God, Dez. See? This is exactly my point. You don’t talk about shit. You just throw your fears on other people so you don’t have to deal with them yourself. You’re educated enough to make it sound like you’re being honest, but in the end, you don’t want to come out of hiding. The reason you can’t believe in us is because you don’t want to. You’d rather be safe than sorry. You’d rather feel like some giant issue was standing in the way of us than try to be normal. Well I’m sick of being the only one willing to risk myself.”
“Adam, please stop!” She springs out of the Hammock. “Please. Just please stop. I can explain.”
“I don’t want an explanation! I want you.”
She kisses me. My heart breaks all over again, but I kiss her back, knowing once this is over, it’s over. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t want. I can’t dream. I can’t ask questions. I can’t care.
Should have never explored outside the cave when darkness hides open graves. Gollum!
You’re right. And now I hurt so damn much.
Follow me, Masters. I shows you the way, I does.
Dez takes her lips off mine, but she doesn’t let go of me. I break her grasp, swallow, and turn my back to her.
“Adam …”
I can’t care. I can’t care. To survive in this world, I can’t care.
“Adam, please don’t leave me.”
I walk toward the SUV. I slide back into the driver’s seat, buckle my seatbelt, and start the car.
“Are you done with your hissy toddler fit, now?” Addy asks.
“Guess you shouldn’t have quit your job,” I say. “What did you even do when you said you were busy when you weren’t working? Why did you lie to me?”
Addy turns in her seat. Lost as to what to say.
“What were you doing, Addy?” I ask.
She looks out the window. “I was in Portland. Being with Mom because she thought me leaving her to help you meant I hated her. Just like you did.”
“Well, you should’ve just stayed there.”
“How dare you. How dare you say that?”
“What good did it do?” I say. “What does it matter if you’re here or not? Things are just always going to suck.”
Get rid of all of them, masters. It’s best.
Addy stares at me, and then she gets out of the car and goes around the house to the back porch.
“Dude, what the hell, man?” Trey says. “Why would you say that? What’s wrong with you?”
“It’s none of your business, Trey.”
“It is when you treat my girlfriend like crap.”
I turn in my seat. “I don’t want to hear anything about your girlfriend, so just shut the hell up.”
Hurt washes over Trey’s face, and before he can say anything. Elliot swings the trunk open and throws his bags haphazardly onto ours.
Addy gets back into the SUV, but she doesn’t look at me. “The Coulters said to let her stay and that’s what she wants to do. I can’t make her come, so if anyone else has any other ideas, speak them. Otherwise, we have to leave her here. I’m not letting any of you stay another minute.”
No one says anything.
“Alright,” she says, wiping a tear from her cheek. “We’re leaving then.”
Elliot climbs into the backseat and says, “So much for teaching each other how to see beauty in the chaos.”
Luckily, those are the last words spoken in the SUV, which smells like Dez Coulter.
I don’t care.
—
Everyone wants Top 40 on the radio on the way back. I’m sure they’re all doing it to piss me off. I don’t care. I’ve tried caring the last three months, and I feel worse now than when I started. Here are my conclusions from my brief experiment in thinking:
Care = pain.
Love = non-existence.
Thinking = the painful kind of pain.
The only reason we’re aware of the beautiful kind of pain is because we like to think there’s an alternative to the painful kind. For once, something has one definition.
Pain = the painful kind.
Porn = cycle of pain that makes you numb.
Porn > pain.
So, what if I’m just a consumer?