The Gravity of Nothing Page 6

  “Did you really stab someone?”

  I breathed smoke out of my nose heavily at the sound of the voice. Pulling my sweater more tightly around myself, I turned my head to look at Isaac. His clothes were clean like the previous time but still hung off of him like a scarecrow.

  “Fuck off.” I said calmly. “Now.”

  “No.”

  “Isaac, man.” I laughed angrily as I shook my head. “I don’t need your shit today. You and Crystal and Jared can all go fuck yourselves in the ass.”

  “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “Where the fuck were you raised that you thought what you three just did wouldn’t upset a person?” I spat.

  “I just asked if you were going to tell more of Dally’s story.” He squeaked. “I didn’t know Jared and Crystal were going to be so rude about it, man.”

  “You’re in group therapy with a bunch of crackheads…well, meth-heads…did you think they’d be experts at decorum?”

  “I only understood part of that.”

  I couldn’t help but give an amused snort.

  “But I probably understood the gist.” He shrugged.

  “Please go away.”

  “Can I have a cigarette?”

  I held the pack out without looking at him. He accepted it from me and withdrew a single cigarette again. He lit the cigarette with my lighter, stuffed it gently into the pack, and handed it back to me.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” I shoved it back into my pocket.

  “I lie sometimes, too.” He said softly.

  “Do you now?” I scoffed.

  “I only smoked meth once.” He said.

  I looked over at him, my eyebrows raised in appraisal of his emaciated body and loose clothing.

  “Anorexia.” He said, looking down, ashamed. “I developed an eating disorder when I was a senior in high school. I thought no one would find out. The meth thing—it was just once. I thought it would help me get even skinnier and stay that way—but I didn’t like how it made me feel. So, I only did it the once. But the anorexia became a full-time thing. But…smoking meth? A drug problem? That’s cool, right? That’s a guy thing to do, isn’t it? Anorexia? Worrying about your weight, your appearance? That’s a thing fags do, isn’t it?”

  “I’m a fag.” I said blandly.

  “I’m a fag, too.” He nodded.

  I nodded back. Secret brotherhood behavior, that.

  “But it’s one thing to be a fag.” He shrugged. “It’s another thing to act like a fag, right? I mean, God forbid a guy is a fag and also acts like one. That’s just double jeopardy right there. Especially if the guy played football in high school.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because I know what you mean when you say that you sometimes lie to yourself.” He said. “I’m not really all that smart. I was going to go to college on partial athletic scholarships. Not even a great college or anything. But I understand and know all about lying to yourself.”

  I just stared at him.

  “I thought I was in control, too.” He nodded slowly, smoke drifting out of his nostrils. “I just wanted to be healthy and not fat. Which was crazy because I never looked at an overweight person and thought poorly of them. I still can’t look at an overweight person and bring myself to think bad things about them. They’re just a person. But I’m a piece of shit, ya’ know? I’m the worst of the worst and the only way to change that is to be in total control of everything—especially my weight. I mean, what kind of person can’t even moderate their food intake? That’s fancy doctor talk for what I did. I severely moderated my food intake. Isn’t that fancy?”

  I chuckled bitterly.

  “I’m six foot three.” He said. “When I collapsed at home and was taken to the hospital, I weighed one-hundred-and-twelve pounds. It was…I didn’t realize at the time…um…horrifying. That’s why my hair looks like this. It’s just starting to grow back after months of therapy and being fed through a tube and being able to eat a bite of food here and there. My body is finally starting to accept that food should be given to it after I spent so long training it to reject it. I did that to myself. And I still don’t know why. And do you want to know the most fucked up thing about it?”

  “What?” I shrugged, blowing out smoke.

  “I want to do it more.” He said. “I want to feel the pain and pleasure of denying myself. To feel in control. Because I don’t. Ever.”

  I nodded.

  So…I lie to myself.” He said. “I lie to myself that eating is my new form of control. That I smoked meth and that’s what caused this shitstorm that I’m in now. Because if I admit the truth—that I was anorexic and had to be hospitalized for months and disappointed my parents and embarrassed them and cost them thousands and thousands of dollars even after insurance—then I’ll be that stupid fag who just wanted to be skinnier than anyone else. And I can’t admit that because I don’t know why I wanted that. How can you tell the truth about something if you don’t know the reason behind the truth? The sky is blue—science can explain that. Cats are afraid of dogs. Evolutionary response. I hate myself. Why? What happened that made me think that I was completely worthless and need to be in control and punish myself in one of the most sadistic ways possible? Nothing. That’s fact. It’s a confusing fucking fact. Lies are better. Lies make sense. So…that’s what we do, isn’t it? We lie so that our heads don’t explode and our hearts don’t break. I get why you lie. That’s all I wanted to say.”

  “Well, you sure went the long way about it.” I breathed out smoke.

  “And I haven’t even gotten an inch closer to my real truth, have I?”

  I turned to look up at him with a frown.

  “What’s the truth?” I asked.

  “I promise you’ll be the second person to know if I figure it out.”

  “Okay.”

  “So…what happened to Dally?” He asked.

  “He’s dead.” I said. “I didn’t lie about that.”

  “You’re lying about something.” He shrugged. “You said so yourself.”

  “You have no idea, Isaac.”

  “So, let’s hear it.” He dropped his smoked-up cigarette and stomped it out as he looked at me expectantly.

  “Cigarettes don’t help you stay thin.” I said. “They’re not really an appetite suppressant. They just dull your taste receptors on your tongue and the rest of your mouth so food doesn’t taste as good, making food less desirable.”

  “Still works, though, doesn’t it?”

  “I wouldn’t know.” I said. “I’ve never had an eating disorder.”

  “You don’t look like you eat much.”

  “Well, I’ve always been skinny.” I shrugged. “Cigarettes didn’t affect that one way or the other.”

  “Are you going to tell more of Dally’s story when we go inside?”

  “Do you think I have a choice now?” I snorted. “After the shit I just pulled if I don’t do some really good sharing Jeff is going to tell my doctors that I’m resistant or angry or violent…or anything else that would get jotted down in my chart and used against me anytime I put a toe out of line. And trust me—I’m two toes away from committal.”

  “Seriously?”

  “It’s already happened once.”

  “That’s…that’s intense.” He whispered. “I mean, yeah, I was in the hospital due to being anorexic and needing medical help, but they didn’t keep me inpatient for my anorexia. They sent me home and I’ve been forced to come to shit like this and see doctors all the time…but I’ve never been signed over to a hospital.”

  “Yeah.” I said. “My mom’s a real peach.”

  “Why did she commit you?”

  “Because I feel nothing.” I shrugged. “I feel a lot of nothing all of the time and that scares her. And I was too out of it to really stop the committal from happening, I guess.”

  Isaac chewed at his lip and stared at me.

  “Is that t
he truth?” He asked.

  Smart kid.

  “Most of it, yeah.” I nodded.

  “What thing did you feel nothing about that scared her the most?”

  I sighed.

  “You may not be the smartest guy—as you pointed out—but you ask smart questions.” I said. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

  “Okay.” He nodded. “Want to go back inside? Get this over with? Face the jury?”

  “No choice, right?” I dropped my cigarette and stomped it out like Isaac had.

  “Right.”

  I stood from my seat on the planter and walked beside Isaac up the walkway and back into the shitty little community center. Most of the other attendees had taken their seats, except Jared. He was grabbing some of the stale donuts and a cup of coffee. Jeff was sliding into his seat as Isaac and I took the same seats we had been in before my outburst. Isaac, who I didn’t hate as much as I had, slid into his folding chair as I slid into mine. When Jared took his seat, Jeff looked at me expectantly.

  Let’s Pretend This Never Happened

  Dally and Tom made a deal the next day when the sun rose. They were awake when the sun rose because they hadn’t gone to sleep. After John left, they were both too terrified to close their eyes—both of them for very different reasons. As soon as it was clear that John was gone for the night, Dally had slid out of his bed, shuffled over to Tom’s, and slid in next to him. They wrapped our arms around each other and wept openly as they waited for light. They didn’t dare turn on the overhead light in the cabin because that would signal that they were awake and a counselor or camp leader might come check on them. That person might be John.

  “We just won’t tell anyone, right?” Dally sniffled, his voice desperate as he looked into Tom’s eyes in the growing light.

  Tom nodded.

  “It just…happened…and we can forget it, right?” Dally said.

  “I’m so scared, Dally.” Tom replied.

  “I know.” Dally shook as he held Tom more tightly against himself.

  They didn’t care if someone might enter their cabin and see them in Tom’s bed together, holding each other.

  “I’m scared, too.” Dally nodded, his forehead brushing against Tom’s with the movement. “But we’ll just act like it never happened. We won’t tell anyone. Okay? Will that be best, do you think?”

  “We should tell someone, you…”

  “No.” Dally cut Tom off. “It won’t help. Not right now. I need to think. You need to think. If we go tell someone it’ll be fucking crazy, man. You don’t even know what they might do—if they might go straight to John and tell him and then he’ll come back and—”

  “Okay, Dally.” Tom interjected and squeezed Dally tightly to himself. Tom didn’t want John to come back and be angry. “We won’t tell anyone. I promise.”

  “I’m sorry.” Dally sobbed. “I shouldn’t ask you to do that, but…”

  “It’s okay.” Tom kissed his forehead, a delicate, comforting gesture he had no idea how he had learned at that age. “We’ll just keep it our secret.”

  So, the two boys laid in bed until it was obvious that they had to leave their cabin and hit the community showers and go to breakfast. If they weren’t at breakfast, someone would come looking for them. That someone might be John. Even then, they were already under John’s thumb, but they weren’t aware at the time. It would be a very long time before they realized how far reaching John’s influence could be.

  But they showered in silence, the last two to leave the community showers, then changed in their cabin and, exhausted in every way, went to breakfast. John was seated at the camp leaders’ table like always and would glance at the boys every once in a while, but not in a lingering, conspicuous way. Tom and Dally ate in silence, their heads down, not even speaking to each other, let alone anyone else for the entire meal. However, through some unspoken way, they both knew to eat quickly and not be the last two to leave the dining hall again. John would have them alone if they did.

  For the rest of the day, the boys were on eggshells. They never ventured from the activities and other boys and counselors, always making sure that they were not alone. They walked with the other boys or a counselor anywhere they went, they kept the schedule created for them by the counselors, and didn’t deviate a bit from it. When the evening campfire and sing-a-long came and hotdogs and marshmallows were roasted, both of the boys had already begun to settle into the routine of keeping their secret and pretending it had never happened. Though tired, they were able to laugh when jokes were told, eat their food, and be somewhat social.

  When they went back to their cabin that night, making sure to walk with other boys, they were on eggshells again. Once inside, Tom felt his fear grow and Dally was so nervous that he couldn’t stand still. Together, they closed and latched all of the windows, not caring if that would keep any cool breezes out. Then, maybe through sheer brilliance, Dally got Tom to help him move his bed in front of the door, a barrier if John tried to come back. That night, both of them slept on the bed as it rested against the door.

  Every time the wind blew or a board creaked or a cricket chirped or a twig broke, both boys startled awake. But John never came to the cabin to try and pry the door open and do what he had done the night before. This went on for two weeks before both of the boys started to feel safe again. Not that they felt entirely safe, but they began to suspect that John was afraid to try the same thing again with the same boy—or with any boy for that matter. He had gotten lucky picking the target he had selected. That secret would be taken to the grave if he just kept his head down.

  But that’s the thing, isn’t it?

  Getting away with something once just emboldens a person.

  Makes their next efforts even more brazen.

  After a few weeks of absolutely nothing happening, other than standard camp activities, Tom and Dally began to believe that they were once again safe. They struck up their previous routine. Ditching swim practices to go swim at Long Beach nude, not joining in on crafts and other boring, scheduled activities that the counselors loved to schedule. They stopped pushing the bed in front of the door, though they continued to sleep in the same bed and never opened the cabin windows at night. For a week, following their initial routine, and nothing bad happening, John never returning, it almost was like it had never happened. Almost like it could be totally forgotten.

  And when a victim forgets how brutally they were victimized—allows themselves to believe that it will never happen again. It does. And John was not so discreet about it. The next time John attacked that boy, he did it at Long Beach. When the boys had run out of the water, laughing, screaming, just being boys, they found John by that tree, smoking his cigarette, standing in the way of the pile of clothes the boys had left. One boy was frozen in fear, just like the first time, while the other boy whimpered and cried as John did what John was prone to do. A boy was assaulted for the second time while another boy was, once again, too afraid to protect his friend. Too afraid to run for help. So, one boy was forced to stand there, nude, refused his clothing, as one boy was thrown to the ground and assaulted. John took out his frustration and anger at the boys having avoided him for so long. And it was brutal. For both boys.

  I sat back in my chair and swallowed hard. Story time was over. I had shared enough about myself and Dally. And John. Everyone in the circle was staring at me, wide-eyed and gape-mouthed, on the edge of their seats. I had nothing else to tell them. I was tired. That wasn’t a lie.

  “Tom?” Jeff spoke softly.

  “Is group over?” I asked.

  He just frowned at me.

  “Is that why you have anxiety and depression?” Crystal asked suddenly. “Because you were too scared to help Dally so you feel like it’s all your fault because you didn’t go get another counselor or pick up a rock and bash John’s brains in?”

  “Yeah, man.” Jared nodded. “If I was standing there and someone did that to my boy, I’d have fucki
n’ stabbed that motherfucker until he was dead.”

  “None of us is perfect. Is group over?” I asked again.

  Jeff frowned deeply but nodded at me.

  I rose from my seat and walked through the circle towards the door again. Isaac rose quickly as I passed. I pulled my cigarettes out of my pocket and threw them at his feet.

  “Don’t follow me.” I warned him.

  I’m Not There

  “Sometimes I think about camp.” Dally said to me as we sat in swings next to each other at the playground. “Not all of it’s bad.”

  “It wasn’t all bad.” I agreed.

  “At least I was with you.” He said. “So, even if things were…bad…at least I had you, man.”

  I looked over at him, my head turning slowly. Our eyes settled on each other’s and breathless moments of understanding passed between us. Trauma does weird things to a friendship. Any relationship really. It brings two people closer while driving a wedge between them at the same time. Both people reaching out over an expanse, wanting to hold each other, but also afraid of saying or doing the wrong thing. It’s a delicate, intricate dance two people perform with each other after a traumatic series of events like those performed by a man like John.

  “It’s been three years…” I trailed off.

  “I know. It seems like yesterday.”

  “It feels like a lifetime ago for me.”

  “I’m glad you have that luxury.” Dally sneered.

  I felt my whole body deflate in the swing, my feet dragging limply in the dirt beneath me as I swayed.

  “I’ll never forgive him.” Dally snarled.

  “I won’t either.”