The Gravity of Nothing Read online

  “Tom?” He frowned.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Are you going to share?”

  “Anxiety and depression.” I reiterated.

  “Something more?” Tom urged.

  Everyone just stared at me and I stared back at Jeff. Finally, the black guy who had been the first to ask about bipolar sucked his teeth.

  “This rich kid doesn’t have any problems.” The first guy said again. “He’s here because living in a McMansion is just too much for him to handle.”

  “Jared.” Jeff said firmly.

  The first kid’s name was “Jared.”

  “We don’t diminish others’ feelings and problems.” Jeff added.

  “Then what the fuck is he doing here?” The girl helped Jared’s case. “I mean, we all have anxiety and depression. What else ya’ got, kid?”

  “Kid” was funny. I was probably the oldest person in the room besides Jeff, but I definitely looked the youngest.

  Jeff frowned at her but his eyes came back to me quickly. The other people in the group all stared at me, obviously wondering the same thing. I sighed and clasped my hands together in my lap. It was apparent that this group was not one that would allow me to just sit and do my time. Time I had to do thanks to my psychiatrist and mother. I couldn’t coast by and just wait until my weeks in group were up. I couldn’t just wait it out.

  “Fine.” I shrugged. “Let me tell you all a story.”

  One kid groaned, but everyone else seemed to lean in, waiting to hear “The History of Tom”—the minutiae of my life that had led me to doctor ordered group therapy. I was pretty sure that most of these kids had court-ordered group therapy, so I was an oddity. I understood their curiosity, even if I didn’t exactly appreciate it.

  “There are some things you need to know.” I started. “This isn’t a comprehensive list nor is the story complete. That’s because sometimes I lie to myself. Sometimes I forget things on purpose so it’s easier to get through the day. But, sometimes, that’s just how it is…”

  Things to know:

  Dally is dead.

  I should be dead.

  Sometimes I lie to myself.

  Anxiety and/or depression is something I deal with on a daily basis.

  Boys get molested, too.

  Guys can be the victims of sexual assault.

  I’m never nervous but I’m often anxious.

  I know the difference.

  Not all thoughts are true.

  Not all thoughts are real.

  Thoughts can be deceitful.

  Knowing all of this helps me to survive from the time I wake up in the morning until I can go back to bed at night.

  None of this stuff will help you understand who I am.

  Only one person knows who I am.

  And Dally is dead.

  Do you want to know who I am?

  I work in a convenience store because I have to live with my mother. I don’t particularly care if anyone or everyone finds out everything about me. But I don’t particularly care to share anything about myself with anyone. People, in general, are not to be trusted, nor should time be wasted on them. They’re disappointing and confusing and dishonest and insincere. Not to say that I hate people or hold a particular grudge against anyone. People are generally not bad because, usually, they’re not against you. They’re just for themselves. People don’t set out to make another person’s life miserable. Usually. Instead, they set out to make their lives better and don’t consider how their actions may impact another person’s life. That’s why I don’t get close to most of the people I know.

  I have a lot of friends. But I don’t initiate lunch dates or random text conversations or make phone calls without a purpose. Small talk is overrated for me. I see the value in it for others, but for me, it’s just a way to kill time. I’ve got plenty of other ways to kill time. I sort and I organize and I write and I do photography and write poems and think. God, I think. My brain doesn’t stop. It’s like the Energizer Bunny on a hamster wheel—if that bunny had no particular place it was going to. It just goes and goes and never gets there. That’s my brain. But I’m aware of it. I’m actually pretty self-aware, though I seem like I’m ignoring most of my flaws and not paying attention to the things around me.

  I walk. I talk. I breathe. Once a day I crawl out of bed and once a day I fall back into bed. And twice a day I pray that today will be the last day I’m forced to do either. I’m not suicidal. Not anymore. That’s not to say that I don’t think of what it would be like to just not wake up. How not sorry I would be if that were to happen. How I can’t feel any particular way about the thought of being dead. I feel a lot of things about being alive but I don’t really feel anything about being dead. A counselor told me once that that was dangerous thinking. I explained that I don’t think about wanting to be dead, I just can’t bring myself to care about whether or not I will die.

  Once upon a time, there were two boys who had lives like anyone else’s.

  Isn’t that where we all start? Once upon a time? That’s the good stuff right there. “Once upon a time” is such a great start to a story because it doesn’t tell you what came before. You don’t know the pain and heartache and joy and passion and blood and guts and tears and sorrow and happiness and lies and truths and…life…that came before. Here is a person. Here is where their “once upon a time” started. Every “once upon a time” ends with a “happily ever after”. My “once upon a time” started at summer camp and when I met my first and only best friend. My “happily ever after” ended up being a “happily never after.”

  That’s just how it is.

  Not all stories end with happily ever after.

  That’s not how life goes.

  That’s not how stories work.

  So…once upon a time…

  Two boys met on a bus.

  It was early morning.

  The sun was brilliant and bright.

  The weather was perfect.

  You know, how all “once upon a times” are.

  They were both from the same city, though they had never met. But they went to different Pre-K’s, elementary schools, and middle schools, so they wouldn’t have met until they both went to the same high school when they started their freshman year. However, both boys ended up going to the same summer camp. That’s how they ended up on the same bus.

  One boy’s name was Tom and one boy’s name was Dally. Neither was an exceptional boy. Neither got incredibly good grades, excelled at sports, ran with the most popular kids, nor did they have some artistic or creative talent that made them stand out. But they were good kids. Friendly. Affable. Quick to make a joke. Loved their lives. One was poor and one was upper-middle class. Both were dark haired and skinny, still sporting their gawky, gangly, awkward early-teen bodies.

  That’s probably why two boys became quick friends. Other than socio-economic status, they were pretty similar in their averageness. Well, that and they both thought that camp was for little kids, not the young men that they obviously were becoming. Camp was for kids in fifth, sixth, seventh grade. Not eighth graders who were in the summer before their high school careers began.

  When they locked eyes on the bus, the first two kids to board, one sitting at the back of the bus and the other seated right behind the driver, they knew they were looking at a kindred spirit. So, a boy who had been seated behind a bus driver went to the back of the bus and asked if he could sit with a boy at the back of the bus. Of course, his request was granted with an outstretched hand and a firm shake.

  Then they both laughed.

  They both knew how ridiculous it was, this serious greeting between two fourteen-year-olds. As if they were about to conduct or had just finished a business meeting.

  Of course, that was a great ice breaker.

  “Did your parents have the bright idea for camp, or did you come up with it yourself?” Dally asked Tom.

  Tom just rolled his eyes.

  “Thought so.” Dally c
huckled.

  “I mean, yeah, camp’s okay and stuff, but…I mean…it seems…”

  “Juvenile?” Dally said.

  Tom laughed.

  Juvenile.

  That was funny coming from someone of the same age. Someone old enough to start high school but too young to look down on camp goers.

  “Is this your first year?” Tom asked, more kids crowding onto the bus, going ignored by the two boys at the back of the bus.

  “Yep. Yours?”

  “Yeah. Never been before. Actually, I don’t think I’ve spent more than a night away from home at one time.”

  “Same.” Dally replied. “I mean, unless I was with my parents on vacation or something. You ever been to the Grand Canyon?”

  “Yeah. When I was a little kid.” Tom said. “We went to Greece last year. You ever been?”

  Dally frowned at Tom.

  “What?” Tom laughed.

  “You’re a rich kid, aren’t you?”

  “I mean, I don’t know…”

  “Yeah. You’re a rich kid.” Dally bumped his shoulder into Tom’s with a laugh. “I bet your family goes to all kinds of fucking awesome places. Greece. Spain. The Caribbean. Shit like that, huh?”

  “I guess.”

  “It’s cool.” Dally shrugged. “Wish my family had the money for that. That’s really awesome, man.”

  Tom blushed.

  “We’ll have all summer for you to tell me all about it.” Dally smiled warmly. “If the arts and crafts and guided hikes don’t suck the will to live out of us, that is.”

  Tom laughed loudly as the bus finished loading.

  “I’m Dally.” The boy held out his hand.

  “Tom.” The other boy replied and took the offered hand a second time. “And please don’t call me ‘Thomas’ or ‘Tommy’ or any of that crap. Please?”

  “Tom it is.” Dally replied.

  The bus ride was actually pretty quick. Well, they had to drive slightly more than one-hundred miles to get to the camp out on Lake Superior. But it felt like only minutes from the time the bus departed and then arrived at camp. The fact that only minutes seemed to have passed was incredible, considering the fact that the boys were the best of friends when the bus arrived at camp. They knew each other’s favorite music, movies, books, what they thought of girls (both weren’t into girls, but shhhhhh), and what their families were like.

  When the bus unloaded at camp, along with ten other buses that had arrived from other areas in the state, the two boys were ecstatic to find out that they could request specific bunkmates. Of course, Tom and Dally immediately went to the check-in table to announce their intention to bunk together and the request was approved. The counselor, a really nice, friendly guy named John thought it was excellent that two boys had already become fast friends.

  Because that’s what the counselors want. For kids to get along.

  It makes their jobs and lives a lot easier.

  Tom and Dally carried their duffle bags and backpacks down the trail, along with several other pairs of kids, led by another counselor, and were shown their cabin. It was small and slightly dusty and dingy, but the shutters to the screenless windows opened up wide to show the lake a hundred yards away. There was no air conditioning or heat, but there was a small room for a toilet and sink—showers were in a community area a few yards away from their cabin—and the beds were fairly comfortable and had fresh linens. So, it was good enough. Besides, both boys had a new best friend to share this first-time experience with, so there wasn’t much to complain about.

  Both boys spent the first afternoon at camp finding the dining hall for lunch, checking out the community showers to see how disgusting or not disgusting they were (spoiler alert: they were just how you’d imagine a boys’ shower would be at a summer camp, draw your own conclusions), walking to the lake, searching the woods, unpacking, having dinner in the dining hall, listening to first night speeches from counselors and camp leaders and learning what the summer would entail. It all seemed lame and boring and absolutely juvenile. But each time the boys would look at each other across the dining hall dining table, they’d smile.

  They were now best friends.

  They could endure camp.

  Because they had each other.

  Two boys met in their cabin after dinner and stayed up late into the wee hours telling ghost stories and talking about things boys that age talk about but shouldn’t. Of course, tell that to any boy that age and they’ll just ignore you. Taboo subjects such as masturbation and penis size and sex and porn are just bound to come up. Regardless of sexual orientation, discussing these things with another boy at that age is titillating. But, also, fairly chaste in the case of the two boys. They both went to bed with erections, but they went to their own beds and stayed there.

  Because they were just best friends.

  This “once upon a time” doesn’t start with an epic love story.

  And it doesn’t end with one.

  Just in case you had any hopes or thought this was a story of allusions.

  This story is straight forward.

  I lie to myself, but I won’t lie to all of you. At least, not too much.

  Two boys met on a bus. Two boys quickly became best friends. Two boys arrived at camp. Two boys spent the first day familiarizing themselves with the camp. Two boys went to their cabin that night and had an inappropriate conversation late into the night—one of many over that summer—but they always went to their own beds. They never touched each other in a way that was sexual or inappropriate.

  They were just the very best of friends during camp.

  Period.

  And that is important to this story.

  Because best friends depend on each other. They protect each other. They walk through fire together. When one is in danger, the other is supposed to jump in and fight, help the other survive. But…sometimes…flight wins over fight. And then one friend feels guilty and the other feels nothing. But they remain friends. Because they still went through it together. They both carry the same memories and trauma. And no one will understand one friend like the other.

  I guess, if I were to say what this story is really about, besides the very best of summer friendships, it would be about guilt. And anxiety. And depression. And survival. Not everyone survives a “once upon a time.” The villain has to be vanquished at the end so that the hero can get their “happily ever after”. Sometimes, though, the villain wins and the hero gets a happily never after. If the hero even survives. Or if there ever was a hero to begin with. Not all stories have a hero and villain. Sometimes a story just has a villain and two people in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  So, these two boys slept peacefully that first night, dreaming peaceful, happy dreams about having made a new best friend so easily. A very good friendship that would carry on through camp and into high school. If that first day of camp did anything for the boys, it let them know that they weren’t alone, and they wouldn’t be alone when they walked into high school as new freshmen. There’s something incredibly comforting about that. To know that one is not alone. To feel that one will never be alone again.

  Anyway, two boys woke up the next morning, ready to become the kings of camp. Of course, these were average boys, so that was never going to happen. But they felt like they were kings because, again, they had each other. That’s what really good friendship does. It makes a person feel like they can accomplish anything because, even if you fail, it doesn’t…

  “Oh. My. Fucking. God.” Jared groaned. “Just tell a fucking story like a normal person.”

  Jeff’s head snapped to the side to give Jared a look of disapproval.

  “Fine.” I shrugged.

  “Do we really have to go to swim lessons?” Dally asked Tom over breakfast in the dining hall the next morning.

  “I guess.” Tom shrugged.

  “I already know how to fuckin’ swim.”

  Tom grinned widely at his friend’s profanity.

&nb
sp; “We should just go hike or go swimming on our own or…anything but that shit.” Dally suggested. “What do you say?”

  “Are you trying to be a rebel?”

  “Maybe.” Dally shrugged. “I mean, we’re at summer camp, man. It’s our summer vacation. We don’t need structure and schedules and shit. Let’s go do something that’s actually fun.”

  “I guess.” Tom agreed. “I mean, I know how to swim, too. So…why not?”

  After breakfast that second day at camp, the two boys veered away from the group as they were led towards the lake, towards their organized and scheduled fun. Tom and Dally walked far enough away, past the trail, through the woods, and to a small beach that they found away from the camp. Instead of structured swimming lessons, they stripped down and skinny dipped for the first time in their lives.

  Again, it wasn’t salacious or sexual, it was just two friends being rebels and emboldening each other to do something against the grain. To help each other believe that they were not good kids from decent families and just be different than they normally were, if even for just a moment. Tom and Dally cemented their friendship in those few hours together, naked and vulnerable and trusting. And when it was time to meet back up with their group, they were dressed and slipped back in unnoticed as their group walked the trail back to camp. They exchanged impish winks and grins as they marched with the other boys away from the lake once again.

  At lunch, the boys talked and shared more about themselves with each other, animatedly carrying on their conversation. They were so involved in their conversation that they didn’t notice that they were the last two boys left in the dining hall. When they did notice, they didn’t care. They continued to talk over their empty trays and cups. It wasn’t until one of the camp leaders, an old guy—well, old to them, he couldn’t have been older than mid-twenties, but to two fourteen-year-olds, he seemed ancient at the time—slid into the bench next to Tom. Both boys glanced at each other, wondering if they had done something wrong by staying so long in the dining hall.