You were always a fan of the sun glare above your head. “Like a cool, bad-ass angel of destruction,” you said. “The angel that gets a blazing sword while you get a harp.”
In the living room my parents are already in their jackets, and my dad is holding his baked goods in his lap as they stare at the muted news on TV. Mom sees me first and pops up, which I know is bad on her back, especially on rainy days like today. She hides the pain and approaches me cautiously, unsure which Griffin she’s about to get.
“I’m ready,” I lie. I’m hungry, I’m drained, I’m over it all, and I’m not ready. But there’s a clock on this thing. The service is today. The burial is tomorrow. I don’t know what comes after that.
Mom reaches out to me, like I’m some toddler that’s supposed to take his first steps into her arms. It’s ridiculous. I’m a seventeen-year-old grieving his favorite person. I grab my jacket and turn for the door. “I’ll be outside.”
When we’re all settled in the car, my dad puts on the radio to fill the silence. I stare outside the window as we stop at a red light, counting pairs for some sanity: two women in jackets, sharing a blue umbrella; two old guys pushing shopping carts out of a market; four beaten-down trees in a community garden; two trash cans piled high with garbage.
The counting brings me some relief, but it’s not enough. I drop my right hand to the empty space beside me, imagining your hand on mine. Two hands.
That feels better.
HISTORY
Monday, June 9th, 2014
It’s routine after school for Theo, Wade, and me to go to the Barnes & Noble on the Upper West Side to do our homework, but classes are almost over. We browse the shelves instead. Theo was supposed to tell Wade about this new dating thing we’re trying out while he and Wade were running laps last period, but he bitched out. I’m not a fan of secrets. Secrets can turn people into liars, and my lying days are behind me.
We wander away from graphic novels and end up in the biography aisle. It is my least favorite section, but here we are because of Wade and Theo.
“I want my own memoir,” Theo says.
“Only one person can make that happen,” I say.
“I don’t have a title yet,” Theo says.
“The horror,” Wade says, rubbing his eyes again because his new contacts are bothering him. He still looks like himself for the most part—short hair, brown skin, wrinkled shirts—but I think he looks cooler with his glasses. “I’ll probably call mine Wading Through Life.”
Theo fake-yawns. “I can’t wait for that laborious read.”
Wade flips off Theo. “I’m going to get an iced tea from the café. You guys want?”
“Yeah, actually. My treat though.” I give Wade a gift card, leftover from my birthday last month.
“You sure?” Wade asks.
I nod.
Once he’s gone, I give Theo the why-didn’t-you-tell-Wade-about-us glare, but he turns away, eyes back on the bookshelves.
“How about Theo McIntyre: Zombie Pirate Slayer?” I say in the silence.
He smiles, still avoiding my gaze. “But if the zombie-pirate apocalypse doesn’t happen, it’ll get confused as a fantasy novel. I refuse for my existence to be mistaken as fiction, damn it! Maybe I should keep it simple. How about Theo: A Memoir?”
I shake my head. “You’re my favorite Theo and all, but you’re not the only one.”
He turns to me. “You know more Theos? Give me their addresses so I can put an end to this madness.” He throws out his hands, like he’s ready to karate chop any passing Theos. His fighting stance reminds me of his hipster C-3PO Halloween costume last year. He dressed in a T-shirt resembling the android’s body, with gold paint on his face and arms.
“How about C-Theo-PO ?”
“Nah. Too insignificant. Cool chapter title, maybe.” Theo raises an eyebrow and points at me. “I have your title, though. Griffin on the Left.”
Now I want to kiss him so badly. “It’s perfect.” I make sure Wade isn’t coming, and I pull Theo by his hand, leading him to the next aisle. But I don’t act on the kiss because I don’t want to rush it or feel like we’re doing it behind Wade’s back.
“We have to tell Wade, dude,” I whisper. “If you want to do it by yourself, that’s cool, but if you want to tell him together, that’s also cool. But we’re not leaving this bookstore until we do so.”
“Deal,” Theo says, squeezing my hand. “What time does the store close again? I—”
“Whoa,” Wade says.
He is standing at the end of the aisle, holding a tray of iced teas. I jerk my hand out of Theo’s. “Whoa,” he repeats, walking toward us. He’s Theo’s height, but he seems smaller, the way his shoulders sink. He shakes his head and manages a small smile. “This whole squad business was fun while it lasted.”
That’s not the reaction I was expecting. “What are you talking about?”
“How long have you two been dating? I knew this was going to happen. You guys doubt my psychic ways, but I called this last year. I just didn’t tell anyone.”
I don’t know what I was expecting. But it wasn’t this.
“You had a vision where Griffin and I were hooking up and the world was going to end?” Theo asks. His voice is weirdly high-pitched.
Wade smirks, handing me an iced tea. “Pretty much.”