THE HAWKINS PARADOX: CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
TRIGGER WARNINGS IN TAGS
Joel
Waves smash into the cliffside, launching particles of water all the way up to my nose. I look at Miles, back down at the waves, then back to Miles again. The crystal clear decision made last night now fuzzy and unfocused as the rest of my awareness. Can’t decide if I wanted them the job, or if I feel happy to be alive for once. But Miles said feelings come and go, that includes happiness and love.
I was so touched by Miles’s willingness to help me, but in the end I’ll only add to his burdens. Now his eyes are soundly closed while the sun peeks its head over the horizon, illuminating the sky in its orange-yellow glow. I almost feel guilty not waking him up to see, but considering he hadn’t a wink of sleep the preceding night, figured I’d let him rest. That and… he sleeps so peacefully. He looks beautiful.
No, shut up. Shut up. Shut up.
The sun seems to have its own plans, when its light shines on his face his eyes slowly flutter open. “I feel like shit,” he groans.
“Mornin’ sleepyhead,” I reply softly. “That’s the hangover, you’ll feel better in a few hours.”
He pulls down my plaid overshirt I covered him with, sits up and leans against the railings to watch the sun with me. I only observe my peripheral vision, watching the sun so I don’t blush or accidentally glance at his lips.
“What happened last night?” He asks.
“You don’t remember?” I ask, crossing my fingers. Some part of me wants him to remember, but it’d make things nice and simple.
“Think I just need a minute.”
I hand him a water bottle from the bag, which he downs in no time flat. He swallows a few more pills and stretches his limbs, flinching once aware of the height we’re still at. “I can’t believe I fell asleep all the way up here. Have you been awake all night?”
“More or less, hasn’t been totally boring though.”
Miles realises I’m still playing the same music he started for me last night.
“I see why ya like it, and I think it told me a bit about you.”
“Stop, you’re gonna make me blush,” he replies with a laugh. But I still don’t look, I don’t say anything. “Shit, what time is it?” He mumbles before checking himself: 7:04. “Oh my god, I work in twenty minutes.”
“Let’s get ya’ home,” I stand shakily and open the trap door.
Neither of us say much on the walk back to Miles’s place, and I’m not sure if it’s for better or for worse. Maybe he wants to pretend it never happened, maybe he doesn’t even remember. It doesn’t matter anyway, I just hope for his sake that it meant nothing. I want to ask him everything, but I don’t want to make this harder than it already is. I make sure to at least take in the sights of downtown Matlock, Miles walking through them. Maybe its the sunrise combined with the street’s emptiness, maybe it’s because I don’t intend to see them ever again.
Once we turn past the train tracks and through a small dirt path through trees, Miles talks. “We have to tell someone about last night.”
I freeze for a moment, before I realize what he means. “What’s there to tell? I got jumped at a party an’ Aaron probably did it but but there’s no way to prove it.”
“But you’re still in danger! You’re not gonna, I dunno, get back at him? Figure out who sent him?”
“Why bother?”
Miles fumbles over his words. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Forget it. You’re okay, that's what matters.”
Miles wants to protest, evident by the way he waves his hands in frustration. We stop just short of the treeline that would reveal Miles’s house.
“You should turn back now, my dad might still be home.”
“Does he hate me or what?” I figured there was a reason he would lie about staying at Annie’s place overnight and not mine.
“He doesn’t hate anyone, he’s just paranoid. Look, can we talk later tonight?” He rubs his arm nervously. “I feel like there’s more from last night we shouldn’t ignore.”
I look into Miles’s eyes again, then off to the side. “Bye Miles.”
“Alright…” He tapers off. “Talk to you later.”
It’s so difficult watching him walk away, he doesn’t know what he’ll hear around town tomorrow. How am I just supposed to leave now and be okay with the fact that this will never be resolved? All I can do is ignore it, because pretty soon none of it will matter, and in some twisted way that fact comforts me.
Everything sucks now. People want me dead, everyone I love is suffering because of me, my life is over just as it was from its beginning. But at least by the end of today none of these problems will exist.
Thankfully, there isn’t a single car in the driveway of the house aside from my own beaten truck. I remember buying this thing as soon as I had a job, and I had so many plans for it. Annie and I were going to go for roadtrips to see concerts in other countries, we were gonna go camping way out in places we’d never seen, and it was just going to be the two of us. I told myself I’d visit the big city all the time, grab coffee and visit record shops every time I had the chance. How did those plans disappear so quickly?
I toss my bike onto its side in the front yard and wiggle the locked handle, but no one ever bothers to lock up the back. The only crime in this town is committed by me, so why bother keeping our own things locked up?
The inside of my childhood home looks so much different than normal, because the things I normally walk past without a second glance all tell a story. The kitchen table our family would share long ago, now left in disarray, every inch covered by unopened bills, wilted roses and two report cards. One for Ruby and one for me, one opened, one closed.
Around the corner is the bathroom door, still cracked at the top from the time Ruby and I fought over the Wii years ago. We were arguing over that thing constantly, until Mom agreed that I’d get an hour, and she’d get an hour. Ruby didn’t care for that rule though, and kept playing since no adults were around. So I ripped the thing from its plugs while she was playing and hid it in the bathroom. We waged war on either side of the door until I inevitably smashed it. We were both in major shit. I wonder why I can remember negative memories like that so vividly, and why they don’t feel so negative anymore. Of course there’s the living room down the hallway, which I haven’t set foot in in months or years. There was a time as kids where the entire family would watch the new episode of some cartoon every Friday night. It was so long ago, but I can still feel what it was like to be in my mother’s arms. A comforting feeling that boils rage in me today.
Why do I hold onto these memories when people will throw them out the window over pointless things? What’s the point of enjoying anything when it’’ll be ruined by idiotic beliefs? Why do I need to suffer because some book said it didn’t like me for things I can’t control?
These happy memories are nothing when covered by an enormous shadow, the fresh memory of scorn. Of mom throwing my things into the back yard while dad watched. I was so scared of what they would say, but they didn’t say a thing. Mom took my key and pointed at the door, she couldn’t even look me in the eye, couldn’t spare me a single word.
“So what the hell was all that for huh?!” I scream to no one. “What’s the point of holding me, saying you love me if some stupid fuckin’ book can take it all away?”
My hands fall, my muscles relax a little, and I walk up the stairs, pushing all of these pointless thoughts out of my head. But they won’t stop. I may not have control over anything anymore, but at least I can choose to stop these thoughts forever.
Why should I stay if I’m miserable, if I just make lives worse by being here? I couldn’t even help the one person I care most about in the entire world, I dragged him into my bullshit and he got hurt. Even before all that, what did I ever once do that helped him?
“Why did I have to be gay? WHY ME?!”
I open my bedroom door, and pray there’s some weed left in my grinder. Scraping out the excess into my pipe, I finally light the thing but find no solace in smoke. My heart only pounds faster, accelerates these catastrophic thoughts. It’s not like I need to feel out of my body for this, because in the last two days nothing has felt real. It’s only habit at this point.
Once the weed is gone, I stand and search the rubble for my wallet. I take out a crumpled sheet of paper covered in scribblings, smoothing it out and laying on my desk. A half-assed note, even by my standard of writing. It was written months ago, kept hidden just in case an animal attacked and I didn’t have it in me to run.
In the end, the kids in school who tell me that I’m weak, they were all right. Annie would take me aside after class some days of ninth grade, and she would tell me that those assholes don’t know what they’re talking about, that they’re a bunch of idiots and the two of us were all we needed. I scratch my wrist and open the drawer on my nightstand, taking a small plastic bottle and placing it carefully on top. How fucked up is it that they were actually right? I’m sorry Annie, but you were wrong, and you’re better off without me. After all I’m the reason she became a criminal in the first place. I came into her life and made her worse, just as Miles will if I don’t stop myself.
Carefully, I lay down on my bed. Crouching in any capacity still strains my bones. My lungs feel like collapsing on themselves. I was dealt a shit hand, and I wish words could describe how unfair it feels.
I should feel lucky to have a roof over my head, a sister and friends who are alive and well, but knowing that makes me feel even worse. I told myself for so long that I couldn’t feel bad, that I didn’t have reason to hurt myself or want to die because I already have everything I need. I’m fortunate compared to many others, but it doesn’t make me feel better. I don’t know why I can’t just live with these feelings like others.
So I sit and stare at the bottle in my hand, at the thin silvery scars on my arm and the fresh red ones. It bothers me that I don‘t have any capacity to cry anymore.
Instead of laying on my bed, I curl up into a small ball on the floor in a pile of laundry. An hour passes, I continue to think for the entire time. Despite the fact that I haven’t slept since the rumour, I still can’t sleep. The bottle is in my hand, and though I’ve opened it a few times and weighed its contents, that’s as far as it's gone. I’m so weak that I can’t even do this one thing right. Just unscrew the lid, pour the pills into my hand, toss them into my mouth and swallow. Four actions and it’s done, but I can’t. Every time I think about trying to move my arms they feel weighed down by anchors deep into the ocean. I wish I could just fall into that dark ocean and fall asleep, if I meant I didn’t have to do this.
Finally, I pick up the bottle and unscrew the cap before a sudden ringing blares from across the bed. I reach over to shut the thing off, but the name stops me. A goofy photo of Miles smiling with a mouthful of ramen fills the screen.
“Hey?” My voice croaks into the speaker.
“Hey! I’m sorry, I didn’t wake you did I?”
“Can’t sleep. What’s up?” I wipe my face and try to act normal.
“Uh, ok, I only have a few seconds to talk, but I just wanted to ask you how your face was doing?”
“Aren’t you working?”
“Yeah, I was pretty late though, Michael’s pissed.”
“You called just to check on me, even though you’re already in deep shit?”
“It’s no biggie, promise. I just wanted to make sure you’re icing your face, it’ll bring down the swelling.” In the background of the call, someone shouts. “Miles! We need you at the register!”
“In a minute!” He calls back.
“Yeah, I can do that. But why’d you really call?” I quickly supress my sniffling face.
“I’m just worried about you is all. Last night was really weird and I think we’re both a little messed up. Please take care of yourself, we’ll talk it out tonight now that I’m sober. Okay?”
“Yeah, okay. I’ll see you later.” In fear of bursting open over the phone, I hang up before he can say goodbye. The call ends and I cry into my pillow over the music that Miles showed me. All day I could hardly cry. Why does one phone call change that?
Some things Miles said the night before pop into my head. Laying on my bed with sore red eyes, word after word comes back. He’s been through so much more than I have, but still stays strong. Could I place this pain on someone who has been through enough?
But I can’t live holding this pain inside me.
I don’t deserve a friend like Miles, not in the slightest.
But last night.
He was just drunk.
But he’s shown me time and time again he cares for me.
But I can’t have that, I can’t have any of that. Sooner or later the paradox will come for me, and it will come for him too.
Am I ignoring the truth to make giving up easier?
Is the truth something I deserve?
So many contradictions clouding my mind, veiling that stupid song that I could never play. Thought after thought after thought with nowhere to go. I love Miles, but his advice was so stupid. You can’t just write about your feelings to make them go away.
But then I think about him ranting all night, expressing his deep love for everything around him, climbing that tower with me and the way he kissed me all the way at the top. While going through the most painful time in his life he still somehow finds the good in it all. If he could learn to do it who says I couldn’t too?
I need to decide what’s stupider: trying something stupid, or let it all go without even trying. If it doesn’t work I can do what I meant to do tomorrow, or the day after.
For the first time in hours I pick myself up from the floor, I place the pill bottle back in my drawer and the note in my wallet. The idea of keeping this up for another day is exhausting, but if I’m with Miles I can handle it. I won’t think about that deep dark life waiting for me, instead I’ll wait. And while I wait, I will take out my notepad and write.
***
A few hours later and I’m still jotting down whatever pops into my mind. It’s incoherent, lazy, just an overall wreck. But it’s something. It’s as though a few of these buzzing thoughts have become something else. Not something beautiful like Miles’s paintings, but something. I began writing about why I wanted to end my life, but every train of thought would lead to the same feeling, the same person. Unrelated sentences starting with Something about this, something about that. They aren’t much, but every now and then a nice rhyme pops out, or a memory that makes me feel something again. Something about a night sky, something about fields where Toby used to run, something about Miles and how my foot is thumping to see him after work.
But there’s still so much to be done before I create anything real. There’s still melodies to write, chords to organize, vocal practice. God this was a dumb idea.
But oddly enough, a few notes peek through the buzzing thoughts. With a small positive thought escaping, I jot it onto paper before it disappears forever. It isn’t the instant fix I wanted it to be, but it isn’t nothing, as I expected. It’s a start.
Ruby clears her throat, I jump. “Shit, how long were you standing there?” Her handmade purse is thrown over an oversized tie-dye shirt, mouth hung open at my appearance. She steps in, picks up a shirt off the ground and tosses it at my bare chest, waiting patiently as I dress myself. Then, before I can ask a thing about what she thinks of me, she wraps her arms around me in a tight hug. “It’s gonna be okay,” she says. After hours of focus the tears make their return. “C’mon, we’re goin’ for a ride,” she says.
Ruby drives us down the gravel road past all the houses and trees until we reach the highway. From there we continue for more than an hour and a half with little talk. Rows of suburban neighborhoods surround the fields, growing into massive skyscrapers far away. New Matlock makes the beach seem like a puddle next to an ocean. Eventually we make for the nearest fast-food parking lot, where Ruby turns to me. “So, what happened to you?”
“Oh, this,” gesturing vaguely to my face. “I-” Throwing around excuses is second nature at this point, only this time I stop myself. “Miles an’ I got beat up at Annie’s party last night.”
Ruby’s lip twitches, a hint of our angry heritage peering through. “Joel, I heard some rumours floatin’ around. Now I’m gonna just assume rumours are rumours, but know this. If there were ever anything you needed to tell me, you can. You and I have been together since the day we were born, and there’s nothing that could ever make me turn my back on you. Got it?”
The words slip right out of my mouth without a thought. “I’m gay.”
Suddenly my eyes are welling up. A surge of emotions unexpectedly courses through me. Ruby pulls me close and just says, “It’s okay, it’s okay.” Why do I feel so much shame for who I am? Why does it feel so conflicting to reveal a secret I’ve wanted to get off my chest for years?
But Ruby’s small touch of acceptance peers through all the embarrassment, all the anger and shame. Just one small glimmer of hope in what feels like an endless night.
“Tried talkin’ with mom and dad, just ended up a fight. I won’t forgive them for how they’re treating you. These ways of thinking can’t be tolerated anymore, ‘cause then shit like this happens!” She gestures back to my face.
“I thought you were religious like them?”
“I’m a christian, not an idiot. You’re still my little brother. Even if you’re gay, or if you were a murderer for all I care. I love you no matter what.”
I wipe my moistening eyes. “By five fuckin’ minutes.” Ruby hugs me.
Despite my parents lack of empathy, the anonymous group of people who hate my guts and the mixed way I feel about myself, Ruby’s acceptance fills me with warmth. A part of me can’t help but imagine a scenario where Ruby came to tell me this and found a body instead.
“So, here’s the plan.” Ruby digs into her colourful crochet purse for her wallet then unfolds a slip of paper scribbled with numbers. “I figure it should only take a year or two to gather enough cash to move out. I’m looking at part-time positions, but you’ll have to pick up more hours after grad if you wanna keep your smoking habits. There’s still utensils to buy, furniture, and whatever else. But we’ll make it work.”
“Are you for real?”
“I convinced them to let you sleep there for now, but we can’t stay in that home forever. So what’s gonna happen is that you an’ I are gonna work like crazy, then we’re gonna move into the city. We can figure our lives out in a place where we’re both accepted and loved. ‘Case you an’ I both know mom and dad won’t ever give that to us.”
“You aren’t kidding.”
“Nope.” Ruby shakes her head with pride.
“I’d hold you back.”
“From what? Haven’t ya noticed I’ve no clue what I’m doing either? We can figure it out together, somewhere else.”
“You’re a shit roommate already though,” I laugh.
“I’m not exactly a fan of livin’ with your nasty butt,” she replies. I lean my head into hers and whisper, “Why would you do all this for me? After what I’ve done?”
Ruby wraps her arm around my shoulder, “‘Cause as much as our parents will try an’ make you think otherwise, you deserve to be happy. Mom’s curse is bullshit, okay? I love you.”
It seems I made the right decision to stand up from the floor today. Ruby takes me into the drive through and buys us a celebratory feast that I devour in minutes. I almost forgot I hadn’t eaten in days. When our wrappers are crumpled into balls Ruby eyes me strangely. “Hey… so,” she begins, twiddling her thumbs.
I eye her suspiciously. “What is it?”
“Ah- nevermind.”
“No, you’re not doin’ that to me now.”
“What?”
“Don’t ‘never mind’ me, spit it out.”
“Fine, you asked for this.” She grabs a few fries from my bag even though she didn’t order any for herself. “Okay, what kind of boys are you into?”
“Nevermind, I shouldn’t have asked.”
“Too late, you wanted this.”
“I’m not answerin’ that.”
“You can’t expect me to not be curious, for christ sake I thought you were into girls for the last eighteen years. That’s kind of a big deal.”
“No, it’s not. You never asked what girls I was into before.”
“But now there’s common ground. C’mon, you have to have a type.”
The truth is, I’ve never had a type. I’ve spent so much time ashamed of myself that I never gave it much thought. That isn’t a very interesting answer though, so I say, “Gun to your head, I still wouldn't tell ya.” Then I pull out my phone to try and avoid the conversation.
“Okay, dork. I’ll get my answers eventually.”I type and send a message: “Meet me at the lighthouse at nine.”