Unspoken(80)
“How so?” I held my breath and leaned toward her as if she was going to hand me the secret solution to every problem I had.
“You’re a pretty disciplined guy. You work out a lot or you wouldn’t have the body that you do. You’re obviously very smart or you wouldn’t be here at Central. You don’t seem to be wrapped up in your appearance, given that you seem to wear the same ratty pair of jeans every time I’ve seen you and your boots, which I presume you wore in the Army.”
“Marines.”
“Whatever, it’s all the same.”
I opened my mouth to explain to her that it wasn’t all the same, but she waved her hand to forestall any further talk.
“I don’t really care about how it’s different. You wouldn’t have survived in the disciplined environment of the military without learning some self-restraint. So you have it and you’re able to use it when you want.”
“But what about my dad?”
“What about him?”
What did I want to say? I just blurted out, “He’s a bad guy.”
“So you think you’re bad, too?” I didn’t want to nod, I just looked at her.
“You can write your own story.” Lana sighed softly.
“Like in the journal?”
“No, your life story. Write your own narrative. Be your own person. You want to be the guy who lives only to fight and possibly turn into someone hooked up to a breathing tube, breaking your girl’s heart, or you want to be the guy who enjoys every day of his life? What’s the best revenge against your dad? Do you really think he feels it when you pummel someone else? Do you really think that bothers him? Wouldn’t the biggest thing that bothers him be you living well and being happy?”
I stared at her in amazement. She really was scary because yes, that would be the biggest thing I could do to bother him.
Chapter Twenty-Five
AM
“WHAT’S THAT NOISE?” ELLIE EXCLAIMED.
The blanket was over my head as I lay on the sofa. Ellie and I had splurged on pizza and milkshakes to compensate for the hearts and flowers that seemed to pervade every retail establishment, left over from last week’s Valentine’s Day. Ellie and Ryan had talked last night about her fear of attachment and then we’d all discussed the issue of the laxers. I didn’t know what to do about them, and I wished Bo would call me back, but the phone remained stubbornly silent. He’d missed class again on Wednesday. I wondered if he was going to drop out or transfer and the thought of Bo not being a part of my life seemed worse than attending a thousand parties with Clay Howard.
I pulled down the blanket at Ellie’s proclamation and listened. It sounded like an animal was dying painfully underneath our balcony.
Ellie ran to the balcony doors and wrenched them open, the snow and ice making it difficult. She was out there for a minute, nearly motionless. The dying animal sounds stopped and then started again.
The sliding door creaked as she returned. “I think you need to go out there.”
“What is it?”
“You won’t believe it unless you see it,” Ellie said. “I’m going to my room to call Ryan. Don’t disturb me.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I rose and saluted her. Dragging the blanket with me, I stepped outside and realized that it wasn’t an animal dying but someone singing. Someone singing really badly. I peeked over the railing and saw Bo and Adam sitting on the top of Bo’s car. Adam was strumming his guitar and Bo was singing into a microphone hooked up to a portable speaker. The sound emanating from Bo’s mouth distorted the lyrics, but I think I caught the words to Bruno Mars’s “When I Was Your Man.” Bo was singing that he regretted that he’d let his ego and pride get in the way of us being together.
It didn’t make sense to me. I hadn’t wanted him to leave, but I never got a chance to say so. Instead, Bo just disappeared. He didn’t come to class. He didn’t return my phone calls. But he kept on singing about all the changes he was going to make. Other doors or windows in the apartment complex opened and invectives were released.
“Shut up!”
“This isn’t the place for losers to audition for American Idol.”
“If you don’t shut the fuck up, I’m going to come down and shut your mouth for you.”
But still Bo wouldn’t stop singing. I held up my hand and both the awful singing and the guitar playing stopped. “If I let you come up, will you stop torturing my neighbors?”
“I will,” Bo said into the microphone.
“You’d better come inside then, or we’ll get kicked out.”