Preppy: The Life and Death of Samuel Clearwater 2(2)

A fucking miracle.

So much for closure.





CHAPTER TWO


DRE

I stood on Mirna's driveway and inhaled deeply, taking in all the smells that I'd missed over the past few years. The salty water from the Gulf of Mexico in the not too far distance, the oranges from the dozen or so groves one town over, and the mouth-watering scent of bar-b-que that I could practically taste in the air from a nearby roadside pit.

All the smells of Logan's Beach.

All the smells of home.

But it felt off. Like the sky shouldn't have been so blue. There shouldn't have been any picture perfect white fluffy clouds floating across it either. It felt wrong that stoplights still changed from red to green and back again, and that kids on rusted bikes chased the ice cream truck down the street, the broken speakers playing a haunting version of a typically upbeat tune.

Don't even get me started on the fucking church bells.

The funny thing about life is that even though something entirely earth-shattering rocks you to your core, something that shakes you off your access, the world around you somehow doesn't feel the impact.

Or it doesn't give a shit.

Meanwhile, there I stood, out in the blazing sunlight, on the most beautiful mid-summer day, waiting to be hit by the meteor that killed the dinosaurs. I was on edge, twitching like it hadn't been years since I gave into my heroin cravings. I loved everything about Logan's Beach but couldn't bring myself to enjoy it. Almost like I felt guilty that I could smell these amazing things while Preppy couldn't. Not now in that bed and probably not from wherever he'd been for the last year.

I had to put an end to my thoughts before they got ahead of me. Closing my eyes tightly, I shook off the thousands of bad things running through my mind.

Two little kids chose that moment to zip down the street laughing like rabid hyenas. One was on a bike, towing the other who was sitting on a skateboard. They reminded me of how much fun I used to have with my stepsister when I was younger.

I gave them my best mental middle finger.

Not because they deserved it off course, but because I had no idea how to put one foot in front of the other, and they were having the time of their lives.

Maybe I should hang out with them.



       
         
       
        

I guess it was a good thing the world went on, because if it paused to match what was going around inside of me, it would've looked a lot less like blue sky and bicycles, and a lot more like zombie and apocalypse.

Focus, Dre, I chastised myself. You have to focus. For dad.

"Hey, Dre, are you in there?" Brandon asked, waving his hand an inch in front of my face. "You totally zoned out on me."

I slapped it away, and he laughed. "Sorry, I'm a little preoccupied."

"We don't have to do this today," Brandon said. "It sounded like what happened was rough. Anyone would be struggling right now; you don't have to..."

"No, I need to do this. I need to do something to occupy my mind, or I'll go crazy wondering about..." I paused, bouncing from foot to foot.

"Him," Brandon finished for me. He always knew what I was about to say and never let me get away with my instinct to keep things bottled up inside. "You're wondering where you go from here, right? Now that he's alive?" There was no judgment in his voice. Only concern.

I shook my head. "No, I mean, Yes?"

Brandon rolled his eyes and turned me by the shoulders to face him. He waved his fingers in a 'hit me with it' motion, and I knew he meant for me to continue because it was what he always did when I was stubborn with my words. I took a deep breath. "I thought that yes, I don't know where to go from here, but the truth is that I don't know if he's going to recover just yet, the doctors don't even know. So a part of me doesn't want to think of him as alive just yet because it could all change again..." my voice cracked, and my eyes fell to the gravel.

"Hey, look up here," Brandon said, taking my chin and directing my gaze back up at him. "Keep going."

"And even if he does..." I cleared my throat. "Survive? It doesn't change anything. He still drove me away. He still said things and did things to purposely hurt me, because he didn't want me."

"But he did want you. He wrote you that letter, and that was years after you left."

"Yes, but that was still a year ago now. And Preppy's been through god knows what life-changing situation. And even if all of that wasn't a factor, there is still one gigantic reason why we both know it wouldn't end with roses and sunshine, so can we please get back to talking about the house now?" I asked. Smiling in a ridiculously awkward way that exposed both my upper and lower teeth and made my face look like it got caught in a wind tunnel.

"Fine, but this isn't over, we're still going to talk about it," Brandon said, pinching my cheek to turn my face back to normal. 

"Promise?" I asked, sarcastically.

"Smart ass," he mumbled. Brandon tipped his chin to the house. "You know, your dad didn't ask you to do this," he pointed out. "And I'm pretty sure he'd be pissed if he found out."

"Well then, we won't tell him now will we?"

"I thought part of your NA thing was no lies."

"It's not like I'm telling him I'm taking his car for a ride to the mall when in reality I'm planning to trade it to a chop-shop for a day's worth of dope. It's not like I'm even lying; I'm simply omitting the truth for his benefit, not to his detriment."

"Whatever lets you sleep at night," Brandon said, rolling his eyes dramatically. He pushed the sleeves of his button-down shirt up his forearms arms. "Be sure to run it by your sponsor, Andrea. I think she'll have something to say about the logic you've concocted on that one."

"You leave Edna out of this," I jokingly warned, wagging my finger at him.

I shielded my eyes from the sun as I turned from Brandon to look up lovingly up at someone else I love. Someone much older, showing a lot more wear-and-tear.

Mirna's house.

And because Preppy stuck to his word, MY house.

My heart skipped a beat like I was on a first date. Immediately, I spotted the lines on the front porch post where my grandfather used to mark my height as a kid, and the crooked light on the side of the house that became that way when I was testing out an archery set my grandma had gotten me for my birthday one year. I even loved the way all the trees in the front of the house leaned to the left, the result of a hurricane that hit the summer I was nine. My old friend was in need of some repair, having sat neglected for a few years, but she was still beautiful to me. She always would be.

Even if she won't be mine for much longer.

The step on the porch, the one I'd fixed before, was warped again. This time it was the other side curving upwards in a wing-like position as if it was about to take flight. The roof had lost a lot of shingles, leaving blotchy patches of faded tar paper peeking out from underneath.

The entire house was like another character in the story of my life.

An important one.

All through rehab, getting my GED, going to the local community college, I'd always had this idea. A plan to move to Logan's Beach permanently after I graduated. I'd fix up the house and make it a place I could be proud of in a town that I could never quite shake.

For better or worse, Logan's Beach was a part of me.

A place where my life almost ended, and where it almost just began.

However, if I'd learned anything about life post-rehab, it's that plans change, and you must learn to adapt. First order of adjusting: Sell the house to help dad.

"You've always talked about how much you love this place," Brandon said with his nose wrinkled as he looked it over, like he couldn't understand the appeal in a shaggy old cottage on a forgotten road in the middle of a little town with two street lights and three stop signs.

"I do love this place," I argued. "But I love my dad more. Selling it is the least I can do for him."

"Dre, it's not your fault that his business isn't doing great," Brandon pointed out. "He owns a bookstore when the world has shifted to buying books online through Bookazon dot com."

"I know, but it IS my fault he took out a second mortgage to send me to rehab and a personal loan to send me to school. He brought Mirna up to live by us in a facility that cost a lot more and took on all of her expenses because I wanted to be close to her in her final days. It's because of me that he's swimming in debt. I may not be the reason his business is failing, but I AM the reason he's losing his house," I said choking up when I thought about all the pain my addiction and my lies and my lack of giving a shit had caused him through the years.



       
         
       
        

Brandon raised an eyebrow at me and tucked his thumbs into his belt. He glanced at the house then back to me. Looking confused and out of place. Sweat stains formed around the collar of his white dress shirt, the material too thick for the wet heat of Southern Florida. The humidity caused his usually tame dark hair to jut out from his head at every available angle. His overly tanned skin stood out against his crisp white dress shirt which he pulled from the waistband of his pants, fanning it up and down to trap air underneath. If I watched him much longer, I was pretty sure he was going to melt right there on the driveway.