What am I fucking doing?
He drops his fist, and Mom rushes out of the garage with Michael.
Dad shares an empty look with him, whispers something incoherent under his breath. It sounds vaguely astonished.
The ancient light hums overhead. Jay can hear his blood swimming through his temples. For some reason, a memory breaks the silence.
Jay and Michael sleeping over at their grandma’s house while Mom helps Dad work out some alcohol-shaped problems. It’s summer, and they share an air mattress in a room with no AC, both of them in hate with everything. Jay is twelve, Michael is sixteen. Out of nowhere, Michael says, “No one really asks to get into drugs, y’know? The serious shit, I mean. But what else is there? What the fuck else is my life? Like, sometimes I lie in bed and think, ‘Where the fuck am I gonna be in ten years?’ And there’s nothing, man. There’s like, a picture of you and Mom and Dad, and I’m not there, and I don’t even…” He chokes. “I didn’t fucking ask to be like this. I don’t even know why I’m fucking telling you. You don’t get it.” He pulls Jay close, regardless, and says, “Fuckin’ love you, though.”
Under the heat of the garage’s light, Jay puts his head in his hands and tries to cry, but nothing comes.
“This is fucked up.” Dad takes a few shaky steps and stands beside Jay, wreathed in beer stink. His hand, heavy as an anvil, finds Jay’s shoulder. “But it isn’t your fault, y’know?”
Jay almost appreciates the malformed love warming Dad’s hazy eyes. He almost recognizes a younger Dad, who only lives in family photos, these days.
“Let’s go inside, alright? I’ll…” Dad searches for the right word. “I’ll get you a beer. Let’s get drunk. Forget this ever happened.”
A beer. What else? “Sure. Okay. Go grab one for me. I’ll be in in a sec.”
Dad smacks Jay on the back and disappears into the house.
The light bulb’s hum sounds like a wail, now.
Jay has lost something essential. A nameless thing. It will never come back.
But he’s gained something, too, even if he can’t enjoy it for himself. His family is reunited. Michael, Mom, and Dad. It’s impossible to say if they’ll be alright, if things will be good, now. But he knows they deserve each other, and that’s enough for now.
Jay lifts the garage door and mounts his bike, fallen in the front yard. The seat is firm and sure under his rear. The handlebars’ grips dig pleasantly into his palm. He isn’t sure what he’s doing, but he rolls down the driveway and into the street. He pedals to the edge of town. Two towns over. Further, to somewhere better.
