Chapters 21 to 23

Chapter 21

The next morning Billy was in the back room at Food Town loading gallons of milk on to his cart. He left home early that morning in order to avoid Justine. He had half-expected to come downstairs and find her still sitting on the couch like a spaced-out victim from some teen horror movie. As much as he wanted to avoid her, though, he wished he knew the name of the boy who stood her up. There had to be a reason he didn’t show up. Hadn’t he called her only a couple hours earlier? There must have been some sort of misunderstanding. If not, Billy would love to give him a piece of his mind.

He was almost ready to wheel the cart out front when Mitchell and Margaret came crashing through the swinging double doors. Margaret appeared frantic.

“There he is!” shouted Mitchell.

Margaret rushed over to him. She was nearly hyperventilating.
“We found you. Thank God,” she gasped. Her manner scared Billy. Margaret was usually so self-composed. He tightened his grip on the milk cart and waited for the bomb to fall. It had to be bad news

“Billy,” Margaret panted, “you’ve got to come quickly.”

“What is it?”

“It’s your sister.”

“My sister?” Instantly, he wanted to pick up one of the gallons of milk and hurl it against the wall. Then he stopped. ‘But how can that be?’ he thought. Wasn’t she at camp?

“What about my sister?” he asked.

“She’s fighting with some boys. She’s swinging a broken bottle or something. It’s scary. You’ve got to come! It’s like she’s possessed”

“Where is she?” he asked, still in a half-daze. “She’s supposed to be at camp.”

“She’s over by the Quickcheck. Come on!” she said. “We’ve got to hurry. Somebody is going to get hurt.”

“I’ve got to tell Mr. Graves,” said Billy.

“Forget that! Come with me now!” insisted Margaret.

“I’ll tell him,” said Mitchell. “Go on ahead.” He, too, looked shaken.
“OK,” said Billy. “Look, Mitchell, put the cart back in the refrigerator, OK?”

“OK.”

“Will you come already?” Margaret shrieked.

She ran through the swinging doors, with Billy close behind. This whole summer was going to hell. One calamity after the other. Billy was sure that Margaret was overreacting. She had never seen Justine having a fit before. It was probably the usual screaming and flailing about. Clearly, last night must have set her off. Thinking about that, though, made Billy feel a little guilty about being annoyed. Her life was hell. He should cut her a break. They ran down the dairy aisle and made their way to the front door.

“Where’s the fire?” yelled Florence.

“Ask Mitchell,” said Billy, backpedaling. Then he followed Margaret out of the building and up the street towards Quickcheck.

The heat was searing. Billy started to sweat instantaneously and had to half-shield his eyes from the sun. There was a red light at the corner, which elicited a curse from Margaret.

“Come on!” she said, waiting for the traffic to clear. There was a break in the cars. Margaret grabbed Billy’s arm and yelled, “Let’s go!” They ran across the street. Billy heard a tire screech and someone honk at them but he didn’t bother looking. The flashing red lights of the patrol car in front of the Quickcheck absorbed all of his attention.

‘Jesus,’ thought Billy, ‘maybe this is serious.’

“Oh, thank God,” said Margaret, obviously relieved.

“Thank God?” asked Billy.

They stopped running but still walked briskly the last half-block until they reached the parking lot. Lieutenant Stephenson was speaking with a group of three teenage boys while another officer – who could’ve been a teenager himself, thought Billy – was putting Justine into the patrol car. She was handcuffed, and her face was streaked with dirt. Her bicycle lay on its side near the curb. She allowed herself to be put in the backseat without any kind of struggle but she never took her glare off of the three boys. Two of them withered under it, but the third was defiant. Billy recognized him. His name was Joe Bennet. He was on the tennis team, Billy thought. One of the other boys looked familiar but Billy didn’t know his name. The third boy was totally unfamiliar. Joe was very agitated, but was reveling in the attention of the crowd. The other two were more embarrassed than anything else.

Joe was rambling on excitedly and gesturing towards Justine. As Billy approached, Joe pointed towards him and sneered. “That’s the psycho’s brother,” he shouted. Lieutenant Stephenson said something sternly to Joe who appeared pissed off, and then came over to Billy.

“Billy Rogers, isn’t it? You’re Justine’s brother.”

Of course he knew Justine. All the cops in town knew Justine. They had brought her home a half-dozen times in the past few years after various episodes. They probably had her picture taped to their dashboards, for all Billy knew.

“Yeah,” said Billy. The eyes of the people gathering around the edges of the parking lot pressed in on him. A few people were looking out through the Quickcheck’s windows. A dog stood barking by the side of the building, its leash wrapped around the base of a payphone. Justine sat motionless in the car.

Margaret planted herself behind Billy. He could hear her breathing. She didn’t know that he’d been through this before, but this was the first time Justine had ever been handcuffed. And though she had scratched people before, she had never threatened them with a weapon. Billy felt a piece of glass crunch under his sneaker when he shifted his weight. It made him sick.

“Why don’t you call your parents,” said the lieutenant, “and tell them to meet us down at the station?” His voice was surprisingly soft.

“What happened?” asked Billy.

“We’ll talk about it down at the station. Don’t worry. Nobody was hurt.”

“Good thing!” shouted Joe, who had been eavesdropping.

Lt. Stephenson strode over to Joe, with his hand on his holster.

“Listen, son. I know you were scared but settle down.”

“Damn right I was scared. She’s a loony. Didn’t I tell you, Marty? Didn’t I tell you she was a nut?”

Billy recognized the younger boy now. It was Joe’s brother, Bobby. He was in Justine’s grade. But who was the third boy?

“This guy actually had a date with her!” said Joe, referring to the third boy with his thumb. “Do you believe that? It’s a good thing he told us before he went out with her. We filled him in. She’s probably a fucking vampire or something. She would’ve bit his head off.”

Lt. Stephenson plunged his finger into Joe’s chest.

“Clean up the language, pal, or I’m taking you in!” he snapped.

Joe backed off. “Yeah, well,” he said, shuffling a little, his voice not so loud. He huddled with his companions. “Let’s go,” he said. After walking a few steps, he faced the lieutenant. “We’re telling out parents,” he said. “They’re going to sue, or something. You’ll see. That girl is unbalanced.”

The three boys started walking away. Up until now Marty -- the third boy -- had consciously averted his eyes from Billy. As he left he gave Billy a quick glance only to find him standing perfectly still, oozing anger. Marty sheepishly looked away and followed Joe and his brother down a side street. Lt. Stephenson re-joined his partner in the patrol car. As they drove out of the lot, Billy stared at Justine in the backseat, small and deflated. The crowd began to disperse.

“What’s going on?” whispered Margaret. “Do you know them?”

“I’ll tell you later,” said Billy. “Now you tell me, what happened?”

Margaret backed up a step, collected herself, and held out her arms like she was re-creating the scene.

“I was walking down the street when I heard yelling,” she said.

“Yeah?”

The words poured out of Margaret like bullets from a machine gun. “I came over and I saw your sister wielding this broken bottle – like in a Western movie or something. She had all three of those guys cowering in the corner. She was screaming at them. I mean, she was out of control but she was totally in control, you know? On one level it was impressive, but it was terrifying, too. She was scary. I hate to say it, but she looked, like, crazy.”

Billy exhaled. Justine obviously had played hooky from camp. She had spent the morning prowling the street searching for Marty. Unfortunately for both of them, she had found him.

“This mom, she, like, pulled her kid into her car and sped off,” continued Margaret. “A few people were standing around frozen. I guess someone called the police, thank God. I ran for you. I knew you were right down the street.”

“What was she shouting?”

“Something like, ‘You think I’m crazy? I’ll show you crazy.’ Something like, ‘So I’m not good enough for you?’ Something like that.” She was practically hyperventilating.

Billy leaned against a car in the lot and ran his hands through his hair. She had never used a weapon before. And she was so stone-faced in the cop car.

“Do you know what’s going on?” asked Margaret, finally slowing down. “Is she all right? I know something is up with her, right? Shari said you told her that Justine has emotional problems.”

Billy was tired. He was also a little annoyed that Shari had spoken to Margaret about Justine. He hadn’t told her not to, but it still felt like a bit of a violation. Right now, though, it wasn’t that important. Anyway, Margaret had tried to help so he felt he owed her some kind of explanation.

“Yeah, she always had problems, ever since she was a little kid. She loses control sometimes. She’s been hospitalized before. But kids are cruel to her, and that makes it worse. She’s never hurt anybody. Well, I mean, seriously.”

“She was hospitalized? For what?”

“I don’t know. It’s difficult to explain. I’m sorry, Margaret, I can’t talk about it right now. I have to call my parents. If Justine didn’t show up at camp, they probably got a call from the counselors and my mom’s out looking for her.”

“But who were those boys?”

“The tall one – Marty, I guess – he’s new in town. He didn’t know her and he asked her out on a date. I suppose he met Joe that day, and Joe filled him in. He stood her up last night. She waited for hours. He didn’t even call.”

“The coward.”

“It crushed her. Like I said, she’s never had any friends. She loses it a lot and it puts people off. She must have found Marty, learned what happened, and then tried to get even.”

Margaret was very excited and way too into the whole scene, from Billy’s point of view. He was dying to leave her and get off by himself.

“Well, she really lost it this time,” said Margaret.

“Look, Margaret.” Billy started fishing in his pockets for change. Margaret stood in front of him, as if awaiting instructions. She seemed a lot younger, somehow. “I’ve got to call my parents.”

“Sure. Do you want me to tell your boss what happened?”

Billy didn’t relish the idea of Margaret relating this whole story to his co-workers, but he supposed it was necessary. Besides, there must have been a hundred witnesses.

“Yeah, that’d be great.”

The people down at Foodtown would be gossiping about this one for weeks. He’d start to get a reputation, he was sure. The boy who had all the emergencies.

“Wow, you are so together. You know? I’m really impressed,” said Margaret.

“Right,” said Billy. He was surprised that it meant so little to him.

“Well, see you later,” said Margaret, but she just stood there.

Billy walked over to the payphone. He could feel the eyes of the few remaining passers-by upon him.

‘Mind your own damn business,’ he thought.

**********************************************************

“You can come in now,” said the officer -- the same one who had put Justine in the patrol car.

“You wait here,” said Carol to Billy.

Billy sat down on a chair and started leafing through a magazine as his mother was led back into the holding area. A woman officer with wide hips and a short haircut offered him a donut. He wasn’t hungry. He threw down the magazine -- he hadn’t even registered its name – and walked over to the mug shots on the “Most Wanted” wall. He imagined Justine’s face on that wall. A front shot and a profile. He hair and eyes wild, and her jaw set firmly. Wanted: for inflicting familial emotional stress in the first degree. Billy went back to his seat. His father would be here soon. He hoped it wouldn’t kill him.

Poor Justine. When Billy saw Marty he wanted to rip his eyes out. He could only imagine how she felt. But it was Joe who was the real culprit. What gave him the right to warn Marty about his sister? Let the guy make up his own mind. What did she ever do to him?

Billy pictured his sister sitting lifeless on the couch in that ridiculous get-up, all dressed to kill. It was such a big deal to her. He couldn’t imagine a life without friends, without an escape from his house. Yeah, his sister was nuts but if people would only be kind to her, she wouldn’t be so bad.

Billy leaned his head back and examined the cracks in the ceiling. She was sure to be put on medication now. Maybe that was a good thing. At least she wouldn’t flip out in the hallway at school – his school, no less. Needless to say, if this had happened during the school year it would’ve been the talk of Fairfield High. As it was, he probably had an enemy in Joe Bennet for the rest of the year.

Billy saw his father pause at the glass door leading into the station, then brace himself, and walk on through. He was gaunt. Billy couldn’t help thinking about his heart beating inside his chest. Justine would kill him yet.

“Billy, there you are,” said Frank. “Where’s your mother?”

Billy rose to meet him. “In the back with Justine,” he said. “They’re both OK.”

“Did you see what happened? Your mom told me you were there.”

“No, I got there after the cops.”

“Did she hurt anybody? Did she hurt herself?”

“Nah. She just scared the hell out of them.”

Frank nodded. He was lost in his own thoughts. Billy thought maybe he should offer him a glass of water or tell him to sit down.

“Why don’t you go on home,” said his Dad. “There’s nothing you can do here.”

“Yeah,” said Billy. Part of him felt as if he should stay, but he was relieved at the excuse to get out of there. “See ya, Dad,” he said. “If you need me, call.” That was stupid. What could he do?

Billy left the police station and headed home. It was a long walk, but he needed it.


Chapter 22

The police released Justine to her parents’ custody and said they wouldn’t press charges if Justine made an appointment with the University Mental Health Clinic, which of course the Rogers had fully intended to do, anyway. The next day, Carol stayed home from work and visited Dr. Chow with Justine. He spoke with her for awhile and prescribed tranquilizers. Justine still had two more days of camp, which Dr. Chow felt would be doable if she were medicated and the camp was notified. After that, Carol would take vacation time until school started.

As expected, Billy was grilled at Food Town the next day. He made it apparent that it was not an issue he wished to discuss, and people backed off. Margaret came by to learn more about what happened and the aftermath, but Billy said there was nothing to say. Thankfully, she didn’t press him.

On the walk home from work he counted the days until summer was over. Two days until the weekend, then one more week at Food Town. Then it was just the Labor Day weekend, followed by Tuesday was the first day of school. Shari would return this weekend, but he’d only be able to see her at Food Town until school began. She’d probably want to talk about Justine, too, but then what else was there? Justine dominated everything.

That night at dinner, however, he received a pleasant surprise.

“Billy,” said his father. “Your mother and I have been talking.” He cut his baked chicken as he spoke. “Could you pass the ketchup?”

Billy handed it to him, hanging on every word.

“Thanks. As I was saying, your mother and I have been talking and we’ve come to the decision that maybe one week of being grounded is enough.”

Billy was almost afraid to speak. He actually felt light-headed. Could it be true? He didn’t want to spoil the dream if it was a dream, or blow it by saying something stupid.

“Gee,” said his mother. “I expected more of a reaction.”

“No!” he spluttered. “I mean, thanks. That’s great. Thank you.”

“Slow down,” said his dad. “But if you ever leave town again without our permission we won’t be so easygoing.”

“No. Absolutely. I’m really sorry about that. I didn’t know what I was thinking,” said Billy.

‘Shut up,’ he said to himself. ‘Let it go.’

Justine, indifferent to the whole exchange, rose from the table, the napkin on her lap dropping to the floor. Whatever Dr. Chow had put her on was clearly industrial strength. She was a walking zombie. Dr. Chow claimed it was only a mild dose, but it didn’t appear that way to Billy. Seeing Justine like that kept reminding him of the image of her sitting stone-like on the couch. But at least it meant a respite from the craziness. And now he was liberated.

“So, can I go out tonight?” he asked.

“No,” said his Dad. “But as of Saturday morning you are a free man.”

Carol picked up the napkin her daughter had dropped, and called after her.

“Where are you going, Justine?”

“To my room.”

“Are you going to listen to your music?”

Carol was trying to sound cheerful, but it sounded fake to Billy. As if Justine could actually be cheerful doped up the way she was. And how would these pills help her in the long run anyway? Some day she’d have to come off them, wouldn’t she? What then?

“I want to lie down,” she said.

They heard her door close. Frank and Carol exchanged glances. Frank went back to eating.

“Well, it has been a trying couple of days,” said Carol. “I don’t blame her for wanting to take a nap.”

They ate in silence for awhile, but soon heard the sounds of Carly Simon emanating softly from Justine’s room. That reassured Carol, who said, “Well, she’s not actually sleeping after all. She just needs to be by herself.”

Frank put down his fork, with some chicken still on it, making a hollow clinking sound on the plate. With his elbows on the table, he was carefully considering his next words.

“I know she needs it now, Carol, but this can’t be the solution.”

“Frank, we all need to catch our breath, OK? Billy, do you want some more corn?”

“Sure.”

He was ravenous. The thought of freedom gave him an enormous appetite. He wolfed down three more ears and a bowl full of applesauce and then excused himself from the table. Shari would be home on Saturday. Maybe there was a little bit of justice in the world after all.

**************************************************************

“Mr. Graves?” said Billy, tentatively. He hated having to speak to Mr. Graves, especially when he was the one who initiated the conversation.

“Yes, Billy, what is it?”

“I’m sorry to bother you, but…”

“Is there a problem?”

“No, sir. I only wanted to let you know that I have to leave early today. My mother’s got a dentist’s appointment. Root canal or something. And she doesn’t want my sister to be home by herself. Graves nodded. “I wished you had told me this earlier,” he said. “When do you have to leave?”

“Two o’clock.”

His boss furrowed his eyebrows and clucked his tongue, but then said, “A man’s got to do what a man’s got to do. But make sure you are fully stocked before you leave.”
“Yes, sir,” said Billy. He hurried back to the dairy section.

The day flew by. Billy worked like a man possessed. He stocked. He scrubbed. He was even the first on the scene for several breakages. He spoke with Florence for the first time in days, and helped Mitchell with his coconut display. It was part of a tropical fruit promotion. They had gotten weird fruits like papayas and mangos for the first time. Some kind of gourmet store had opened in Pohasset and Food Town was feeling the need to compete.

Billy was so engrossed in his work that he was stunned when he checked the time to see that it was nearly a quarter after two. ‘For cryin’ out loud,’ he thought. ‘Just what I need, to be late.’

He ran over to the time clock, punched out, and sped out the door. If he ran the whole way home, he’d only be a few minutes late. The heat and humidity were their usual oppressive selves, so he rapidly became drenched. But each step was a step towards the weekend, a frisbee-filled, Shari-filled, party-filled -- and not a parent filled or Justine-filled – weekend. His pace was fast and his heart was light. He arrived home out of breath and found his mother on the porch holding her purse and her car keys. He scanned her face for any sign of annoyance or anger but thankfully found none.

“Oh good! There you are,” she said. “I was just starting to get worried.”

“Sorry.”

“No problem. I can make it in plenty of time. I left Justine listening to her music. I don’t think she’ll be any problem. Here’s a few dollars. If you want to walk her down to the Quickcheck for a Slurpee later, she’d probably like that. You know how much she loves Slurpees.”

“Yeah, maybe,” said Billy, although there was a fat chance he’d actually do that. Return to the scene of the crime? What if he ran into Margaret or worse, Joe or Marty? What if the person working behind the counter recognized them?

“Goodbye, hon.”

“Bye, Mom.”

Billy waited for his mother to pull out of the driveway and then raided the refrigerator.

“I feel disgusting,” he mumbled, pulling his wet shirt away from his body. He heard the music from behind Justine’s door, but decided to leave well enough alone as far as she was concerned , and after stuffing his face, he hopped into the shower.
He stood under the shower for what felt like ages. The hot pressure of the water felt great on his body. He let it beat down on his neck and back, all the while singing along to the sounds of Springsteen and the E Street Band that were playing inside his head.

All day, you keep it locked on the inside,
But tonight, you’re gonna break on through to the outside,
And it’ll be right,
And it’ll be right,
And it’ll be TONIGHT!

‘Well, maybe not tonight,’ he thought. ‘But tomorrow. Definitely tomorrow.’

The water started getting cool, so he turned it off, stepped out of the shower, and wrapped a towel around himself. He gathered up his dirty clothes and went out into the hallway. Justine’s music had stopped.

‘She’s probably deciding which dopey Carly Simon album to play next,’ he thought. ‘Will she ever get tired of that junk?’ He ran upstairs and got dressed in his cut-offs and a Rolling Stones concert T-shirt. Now that, he thought tracing the outline of the giant lips on the front of his shirt, had been one of the best nights of his life. He, Kyle, and Rooster had competed for weeks afterwards on who could do the best Mick Jagger impersonation, strutting across Kyle’s basement with protruding lips, one hand on their hip, and one holding an empty Coke bottle that doubled as a microphone. The only bad part was needing Kyle’s parents to drive them to the arena. But this year, they had licenses.

Billy went back downstairs. It was almost time for re-runs of Green Acres on channel eleven. On the way to the basement, though, he noticed that there was still no music coming from Justine’s room.

‘She probably fell asleep,’ he thought. ‘She’s half-asleep on her medication, anyway.”

He went into the kitchen and pulled a bag of Chips Ahoy down from the cabinet and grabbed a handful. He paused, though. Maybe he should check on her. At least turn her stereo off. She had the old kind that didn’t have an automatic arm return. He put his cookies on the table and quietly leaned up against her door.

“Justine?” he said softly. He didn’t want to wake her but he didn’t want to barge in, either. “Justine?” He knocked lightly and after getting no answer tried again, this time a little harder. “Justine?”

‘She must be asleep,’ he thought.

He cracked the door open. The only thing he heard was the faint hiss of the stereo. The record was over. She had obviously nodded off while listening to the music. He’d go in, reset the arm, and shut the stereo. He carefully opened the door enough for him to slip in the room and tip-toed over to the record player. There was Justine, splayed out on the carpet, lying on her stomach. ‘Geez,’ he thought. ‘She conked out on the floor.’ He dealt with the stereo, and then knelt down beside her and shook her shoulder.

“Hey, Justine. Wake up. Why don’t you get into bed?”

She didn’t budge.

“Hey, Justine? Man, you are out,” he said.

He tried to roll her over but she was dead weight.

“Justine?”

Something was wrong. With some effort, he flipped her over, tugging on her as he did so, but still she didn’t wake up.

“Justine!” he shouted.

His whole body went cold. It couldn’t be! His mind went into a whirl. Suddenly his eyes focused on the medicine bottle lying near the corner of the bed. It was empty.

“Oh my God!” he yelled. He wanted to flee the room but it was as if his legs were stuck in cement. His mind was in a haze. He couldn’t hold a coherent thought in his head. The world was fast and in slow motion at the same time. All he could do was stare at her. Gawk at her. But it wasn’t her. It was a lump of meat. Flesh. She was dead! Jesus fucking Christ! Dead!

It took all his strength to contain his panic. His hands flew up to the sides of his head and he pulled down on his hair. Some of it actually came out in his hands. His breathing was fast and shallow. He wanted to vomit.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, somehow, a voice told him to make sure she really was dead. With courage fueled by adrenaline he slowly put his hand on her neck. It was cold and clammy. He jerked it back in horror, but then forced himself to do it again. Yes! He could feel it. It was faint, but it was a pulse. He put his hand over her mouth. With concentration, he could feel her breath on his palm. He shook her with all his strength. Her arms flopped like a doll’s.

“Justine! Justine! Wake up! What did you do? Justine?”

It was no use. She was slipping away right in front of him.

“An ambulance! Get an ambulance!” he told himself. He hurried into the kitchen, banging his knee on the doorframe. “Shit!” he said, grabbing it. He yanked down the receiver and dialed the police. His mom had put a sticker on the phone with emergency numbers. If not, he didn’t know if he would’ve had the clarity of mind to figure out what number to call.

He must have spoken with someone, and he must have given his address, because somehow he found himself being pulled off of Justine’s body by one of the ambulance crew.

“Shaking her won’t help,” said the EMT. “Let us near her.”

Two other emergency medical technicians put Justine on a stretcher while the one who had pulled Billy away placed on oxygen mask over her face. They whisked her out to the ambulance.

“Are you coming, too?” one of them asked.

Billy shook his head no. They closed the ambulance door and drove off, sirens blaring. Billy stood alone on his front porch.




Chapter 23

“Damn her!” Billy cried. “To hell with you, Justine! To God damned hell with you!”

His body burned with energy. He strode around the house from one room to the next, walking so quickly he ran into the walls. Tears streamed down his face; his hands were clenched so hard his fingers ached.

“God fucking damn her!”

He thought his eyeballs would pop out from the pressure in his skull. It was like being on speed, or something. It was all he could do to hold himself together. He paced. He swore. He made quick jabs in the air with his fists. First a right, then a left, then an uppercut. He whirled about and went into Justine’s room, hurling stuffed animals everywhere, kicking the bed.

“You son of a bitch!” he screamed at the top of his lungs.

He pounded the door and then gave it a sharp kick and punched it full on, splintering the wood and cutting a gash across his knuckles.

“Yeah, well fuck you!”

He grabbed a teddy bear and starting twisting it and yanking at it, desperately trying to tear off a limb or a head or anything. He couldn’t and it only added to his efforts and his frustration.

“Stupid God damn bear!”

A vision of her cold, nearly lifeless body appeared on the floor in front of him. He hurled the bear at it, and fought against crying.

“Fuck you!”

Billy ran from the room tugging at his hair. He didn’t know which way to turn. It was as if he was in some awful fun house maze with mirrors and fake doors and a big, eerie looking clown laughing at him. It was Justine. She had white paint on and thick red lips and a stupid clown nose and darkly made-up eyes and a hideous grin. She was laughing a mechanical laugh.

“Yuk. Yuk. Yuk. Bye-bye Billy”, she said. “Yuk. Yuk. Yuk. You’re next!”
“Well, fuck you!” he screamed.

She was dead. No, she wasn’t dead. He had thought she was dead. And she just lay there waiting for him to find her. How dare she? OK, she was sad. OK, she had been stood up, humiliated. OK, she had no friends. But she was thirteen, for God’s sake. Ending it is better? How could it be better? And how could she let him find her? And what about their mom and dad? They’d have to live with that. Didn’t she realize that? Didn’t she care about them? Didn’t she think about anybody but her own damned self?

He had thought she was dead. Just a lump of flesh on the floor. And he was alone with her. Alone with her dead, dead body.

“Yuk. Yuk. Yuk, Billy-boy.”

“Shut up!”

Suddenly he was violently ill. He ran into the bathroom and heaved into the toilet. His gut wrenched like a corkscrew was being driven through it. The bathroom seemed small. Too small.

‘Like a coffin?’ he thought.

“Damn!” he yelled at himself. “You’re sick!”

He was afraid. He was so afraid. The room spun. The walls expanded and contracted like they were breathing, and he couldn’t find the door. “Let me out!” he screamed. He collapsed in the corner, sobbing. His heart sounded like a railway car careening down the tracks.

“Please, God. Please, God. Please, God,” he muttered quickly underneath his breath. “I don’t want to die. Please, God. Please, God.” Then all at once he stopped muttering and screamed, “Shit! Damn you! Damn you, Justine!” By force of will he leapt up and sprang from the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

“I can’t believe her,” he said. “I can’t believe that spoiled, selfish, self-centered little bitch.”

He leaned against the kitchen counter in order to catch his breath. As he grew a little calmer, he noticed the searing pain across his knuckles where he had gashed himself.

‘The hell with it,’ he thought.

He had to get out of the house, away from her room, that floor, and those stupid Carly Simon albums. He exited through the front door and started walking at a rapid pace towards downtown. He didn’t know if he wanted to run into anyone. He’d leave that to fate. He would just walk. Walk. Yeah, he would just walk downtown where there were other people. People doing things. His heart actually slowed and his breathing became steadier.

“Damn her,” he said, but this time he said it softly, his energy almost spent. He couldn’t imagine things being so bad that you’d want to snuff yourself out. How could you give up life, however horrible? And were things for her really that bad? She wasn’t a junkie. She wasn’t homeless. She didn’t even live in a stupid tent. There were other kids without friends. And wasn’t that situation her own fault anyway? She acted so crazy, like she wanted to push people away. Was she sick or not? He didn’t know. Wasn’t she merely a spoiled brat? But she tried to kill herself. Kill herself.

“Damn her!” he yelled.

A woman pushing a stroller on the opposite side of the street gave him a worried look and pulled the blanket up over her little girl. ‘She probably thinks I’m a wild man,’ he thought, ‘Well, forget them.’ He kept moving, but now conscious of the scowl on his face.

What would this do to his parents? To his father’s heart?

‘Oh, shit,’ he thought. ‘They must be at the hospital.’

His dad must’ve been called by the police. The police would’ve tracked down his mom at the dentist. They were probably with her right at that moment

He had to get there. It would take him over an hour to reach the hospital by foot, even at the speed he was walking. He made a right on to Central Avenue and headed in that direction. The time went by in a blur. He vaguely remembered nearly getting hit by a bus when he crossed over Route 12 to get into Pohasset. And he thought maybe somebody had yelled at him, but he wasn’t sure. When he got to the hospital he went straight into the emergency room and rushed up to the reception desk.

“Can I help you young man?” asked the unit clerk. She was a black woman with light skin and a fair-sized Afro. She was probably only a few years older than Billy.

“Yeah, my sister, Justine Rogers, was brought in here awhile ago? Is she OK? Are her parents here?”

“Why don’t you have a seat in the waiting area,” said the woman, “and I’ll find out. We have lots of patients, you know.” She was leafing through a stack of folders with multi-colored tabs.

“Just tell me,” said Billy leaning over the counter, his voice rising. “Is she alive?”

The woman stopped what she was doing and put her hand on top of Billy’s. The tone in her voice got a little less business-like. “Have a seat, OK? I’ll find out.”

Then she went into through the swinging doors to where the patients were. Billy surveyed the waiting area. There were a several handfuls of people, some nursing injured limbs, a few shivering and coughing into handkerchiefs. Some seemed scared or nervous but most appeared mainly tired and annoyed. A man checked his watch. Billy didn’t even think about joining them. He stayed up at the counter, trying to get a peek into the back room.

‘What is taking her so long,’ he thought. He started fidgeting with a cup of paper clips on the counter.

“Young man, young man,” said one of the older nurses. “Leave that alone and take a seat.” Her gray hair was pulled back tight. On top of it was pinned one of those old-fashioned nursing hats.

“I just want to find out how my sister is doing,” Billy pleaded.

“Leave the desk alone,’ she said sternly. “Have you talked to the unit clerk? She’s the woman in the blue coat.”

“Yes, she said she would check, but…”

“Then have a seat.” The nurse dismissed him, picked up a folder and walked briskly into the back room. Some doctor was paged over the loudspeaker.

Billy reluctantly went over to the waiting area and perched on the edge of the chair nearest to the front desk. He sat hunched over with his toes tapping on the floor.

‘Maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if she died,’ he thought. ‘I mean, if she was really that miserable. Everyone would be sad but in the end life would be easier for everybody.’

“Oh, you stupid heartless moron,” he said aloud. He quickly looked around, aware that he could be overheard. Nobody seemed to pay him any attention. “You moron,” he said again. How could he think something like that? Maybe he was the selfish monster, not Justine. He just wanted to know. Was she alive or not? That wasn’t such a hard question.

“Mr. Rogers?” said a soft but firm voice.

Billy reacted with a delay. He wasn’t used to being called Mr. Rogers.
“That’s me!” he said, bouncing up from the chair and hurrying over to the desk. It was the unit clerk.

“Justine is resting comfortably. She’s going to be OK. They’ll be moving her to a room upstairs for observation. You could see her then.”

“What room?”

“You can find out at the information desk in probably another hour or so. Why don’t you go upstairs to the main waiting area and get a drink at the coffee shop.”

“So she’s alive.”

He noticed he was sweating, and even felt a little chilled by the air conditioning.

“Yes, she’s going to be fine.” The unit clerk smiled.

“Are my parents here?” asked Billy.

“Yes, they’re speaking with the doctors. I’ll tell them you’re waiting for them upstairs. Now, I have to get back to work.”

She was alive. He sat back down on the chair. His body felt like a block of lead. He could hardly imagine being able to stand up again. She was alive. ‘Thank God,’ he thought. But mostly he was relieved that he was relieved. That he wasn’t disappointed. He hadn’t been sure how he would react.

‘That little bitch of a sister,’ he thought.