~*~
Jesse is miserable. He stays out all night and disappears for days at a time. He’s constantly high or drunk, and he’s lost his third job. Dave and I watch helplessly as he slips away from us. It’s weeks of dragging him home from back alleys when he calls, covered in his own vomit and sobbing, only to watch him sneak out again the next night.
We threaten to send Dave’s dad out to get him next time, and that seems to work. We don’t hear from him for a while.
Four days before he is supposed to begin college, he meets us at a diner, smiling and seeming content. Both Dave and I are relieved that we have our friend back. He seems ready to attend school, even if it is at a state college. The tuition is low, and the Buchanan’s are letting him room there, if he gets his shit together.
“I love you guys, you know?” Jesse says, grasping each of our hands, then returning to his meal and chewing deliberately.
He appears happy, and I can’t figure out why that feels wrong somehow. Maybe because I’ve watched his smile for nearly two years, and I have every part of it memorized. It just looks…wrong. “Okay, Jess, we love you too.” Dave laughs.
“Yeah, man, glad to have you back,” I say. “You need any money for books or whatever?”
“Nope. I got everything covered. I figured it all out. I’m going to make my dad pay.”
“What? How?” Dave and I ask in unison. I can’t speak for Dave, but I’m worried that Jesse’s about to kick his dad’s ass. Or worse, kill him.
“Seriously, don’t stress about it.” He laughs. “I just wanted to tell you that you don’t have to worry anymore. I got it covered.” He drops a twenty on the table. His hand has a new tattoo. The skin is red around the blue lettering. I squint at the $20 and silently question where the money came from. Maybe he’s blackmailing his dad? “Lunch is on me. I gotta go.” Before either of us can voice the thousands of questions, Jesse’s out the door.
“What the fuck?” I ask, and pull the money over. “Think he’s dealin?”
“Dunno, maybe. Maybe it’s time I got dad involved? I think we have to quit covering for him.” Dave scratches his head and pushes his plate away.
~*~
—Come over. Now—
I read the text from Dave and dart a glance at my father across the dinner table. He’s looking over some stock portfolio or case file or anything except talking to me. Shocker.
—Can’t. Dinner—
—Now! Important. Now! 911—
It’s got to be about Jesse. It’s always 911 about Jesse. I sigh and type back.
—Will try—
Scooting my chair out, I attempt to make as little noise as possible. No one lifts their head. And by no one, I mean my father. My mother hasn’t returned from her European vacation. Not for two years. My clean getaway to the garage isn’t so surprising.
My father bought me the BMW for my sixteenth birthday. He wasn’t around when I got the keys, just left them by the door with a note that read ‘drive safely’. Not even a happy birthday. The asshole. Every time I use it to visit Jesse and Dave I get an extra thrill. It’s because of this car that I can so easily defy both him and my grandfather.
—On my way— I type gleefully, expecting to have an adventurous night of Search For Jesse.
~*~
The only emergency is Dave. When I get to his house, I have to let myself in. It isn’t hard to find him, I just follow the rage. He is seething unintelligible words, skin so red he appears sunburned. He has transformed Jesse’s side of the room into a disaster of epic proportions. The drawers are pulled out of the dresser, clothes strewn, feathers still drifting down from ravaged pillows. Even the mattresses are pulled off the twin bed.
“He’s dead,” Dave screams, “Fucker. Asshole. Hung himself on the tree in his father’s front yard.”
“What?” Where Dave is rage, I am devastation. I slide down the wall and grip both sides of my head.
~*~
After the funeral, Dave never talked about Jesse again. For six months after Jesse’s death, Dave didn’t talk to me at all. By that time I had become the model heterosexual and was well on my way to becoming the model son, too. In large part due to meeting Angelica.
My friendship with Dave tentatively picked up when I tried out and made the baseball team. When it was clear neither of us were going to bring up our dead friend, the mood shifted and we became more comfortable. There were always pieces missing, though. A movie we’d watch in which one of us would pause, expecting Jesse to mutter about dubbing. The odd refusal to go to the homecoming dance, where Jesse had been crowned in previous years. We skipped football games and pep rallies. Once Dave dropped a cd down the side of my car seat and pulled up a sketching pencil that Jesse had left there. Before Dave could throw it out the window, I grabbed it and stuck it in the console. We didn’t talk about that either.