Rumble

  is where to find forgiveness. What

  she can’t tell me is how to move on.

  Yes, I resent all three of them

  for finding forward motion. But

  more, I hate them for not carrying

  me along. And while, thanks to Martha,

  I understand the psychology, I’m not

  looking for ways to forgive them.

  So, Yeah

  Short week or no, it’s a crap

  four days till the weekend rolls

  around again. The few bright spots

  I found all revolved around the girl

  who loves me (she promises), but

  who I can’t quite accept as mine.

  I’m not sure what it is. Not looks.

  Alexa is striking. Not intellect.

  She’s smart, but not in a show-offy

  kind of way. More like she understands

  every off-the-wall reference you throw

  at her. Definitely not the sex. That one

  night was incredible, on many levels.

  I crave that kind of intimacy

  again, although maybe I’m afraid

  of it, too. Because if love sans sex

  could eclipse me so completely,

  then annihilate me when it’s taken

  away, imagine the sheer power of love

  coupled with passion, raw exchanges

  of energy. A give-and-take of life force.

  Scary, and Anyway

  I’ve got some healing

  to do—hard seeing Hayden

  every day but not being

  able to talk to her, or touch

  her, or inhale her perfume.

  Alexa understands that,

  but she’s also insistent

  about walking next to me

  if we share a hallway, or

  sitting with me at lunch

  if I hang out on campus.

  They say puppies are good

  for mending broken hearts,

  she joked once. Woof, woof.

  You can pet me if you want.

  The only other person

  I’ve talked to is Marshall,

  but he’s so wrapped up in

  his new girlfriend, Holly,

  about all he was good for

  was a semi-impersonal,

  There’s a better one out

  there, man. Go get her.

  By Saturday

  I still have no desire to go get

  anyone or do much of anything.

  But I can’t lie around the house,

  feeling sorry for myself and trying

  to avoid my computer. I mostly

  managed it last week, but every

  now and again, curiosity tugged

  me over to that screen, and Hayden’s

  posts. Believe it or not, she found

  a way to blame God for the breakup.

  Status update: single. God spoke

  to my heart and told me I’ve been

  distracted. My relationship with

  Matt weakened my dedication

  to the Lord, and made me forget

  what he expects of me. I’ve been selfish!

  Selfish? Duh. But I seriously doubt

  she’d see things that way without

  some outside counseling. Considering

  the rest of her confession, I have no

  doubt who’s been playing therapist.

  Hayden hears God when Judah speaks.

  Can’t Stay Here

  Obsessing about it. Might as well

  go out to the range, see if Uncle

  Jessie could use some help.

  I didn’t ask for pay last week and

  I won’t ask this week, either. But

  maybe it could work into a summer

  job. I’ve been lucky up till now.

  Mom didn’t want me to work.

  Concentrate on school, she insisted.

  So she might have saved up a nest

  egg. But all I’ve got in the bank

  is birthday money and allowance.

  On a whim, and a strange one, I pick

  up the phone and call Alexa. “Hey.

  Did I wake you? Good. Just wondering

  if you want to work on your shooting.

  I’m headed that way. Only caveat

  is we might be tied up most of the day.”

  She jumps at the chance, and the half

  of me who’s scared warns the happy

  half that I might have just made a mistake.

  Turns Out

  She’s nothing but great

  company.

  We talk about school,

  past, present, and,

  perhaps, future.

  She’s set on the media

  arts program at Lane

  Community College.

  I tell her I have no clue

  where I’ll be post-summer.

  I mention my parents’

  implosion, omitting

  the ugly “whys.”

  She says her parents

  would rather fight

  to the death

  than admit defeat.

  We gossip about people

  we know, including

  Marshall and Holly,

  an unlikely pair,

  but seeming very happy

  enmeshed in coupledom.

  We avoid the subject

  of Hayden and her posse.

  But then Lainie comes up,

  which reminds me of Vince,

  and I think maybe Alexa

  could offer me advice.

  I give her the main talking

  points. “I was positive

  it was his fault, and now

  I totally feel like an asshole,

  you know? Do you think

  I should try to apologize,

  or just leave it alone?”

  She’s so quiet I can almost

  hear her brain working.

  Finally, she says, If you get

  the chance to try and make

  something right, you should

  take it. What’s the worst

  that could happen?

  “He could dislocate my jaw?”

  Or he might be relieved

  that you finally know the truth.

  File That Under

  “Things I Never Even Considered.”

  Perspective is an amazing thing.

  Sometimes it takes distance to find

  it, and when you’re not used to

  looking very far beyond your invented

  walls, it might take a fresh pair of eyes.

  Speaking of eyes, when we go

  through the office, Uncle Jessie turns

  his away from his customer long

  enough to notice who’s with me.

  He smiles and winks, and I shrug.

  If it makes him happy, I’m happy.

  The indoor range is hopping today,

  almost every lane in use. We wait

  a half hour until one clears, and I

  spend that time reminding Alexa

  of the basics, and hammering her

  on safety, shooting this close to others.

  When she’s all set up, I watch her

  for a few minutes. Her innate ability

  is impressive. I tell her to stay as long

  as she likes, I’m going to see if Uncle

  Jessie needs any help, and I leave her

  to her own devices. She’ll be fine.

  It’s Been Almost a Week

  Since I left Uncle Jessie

  sweating under a sofa throw.

  He should look better and

  I suppose he does, but only

  marginally. “Still got that bug?”

  He’s sitting in an office chair,

  and I don’t think he wants to

  get up unless he has to. Don’t

  know what’s wrong with me.

  Just getting old, I gue
ss.

  “This may be an off-the-wall

  suggestion, but have you seen

  a doctor? They get paid to tell

  people what’s wrong with them.”

  Screw that. I’d have to go all

  the way into Eugene. No time

  for that. Not for a couple little

  ass aches I can fix with aspirin.

  “Well, keep it in mind. And

  if you need someone to watch

  the place, I can take a day off

  school. And while I’ve got you

  on that subject, let’s talk about

  employment. Spring break’s

  coming up, and summer’s not

  far behind. You said something

  about an employee, and I could

  use a job. I know the ropes—”

  Hey. I didn’t pay you for last

  week, did I? Goddamn if I’m not

  getting senile, too. He pushes

  down on the armrest to stand,

  wincing in pain with the effort.

  “Sit. I don’t need pay for helping

  out for a couple of hours. But if

  you hire me, you can toss a few

  bucks my way. The Department

  of Labor frowns on slavery.”

  Smart-ass. I think we can work

  something out. Especially if you

  bring that girlfriend to work

  with you every once in a while.

  I don’t correct him. She may

  not be my actual girlfriend, but

  she’s the closest thing I’ve got,

  and that’s good enough for now.

  It’s Close to Six

  By the time I drop off Alexa

  and make it home. It was a good day.

  I got a job—will work weekends

  and holidays, paid, for my uncle.

  I made a decision to apologize

  to Vince, damn the consequences.

  That was encouraged by the girl

  I’m starting to like a whole lot.

  Why did I have to lose my heart

  to Hayden, and when will I get it

  back to give away again? Why is life

  so damn complicated? Dad’s car

  is gone, but when I go inside the house,

  I hear someone moving around

  down the hall in one of the bedrooms.

  I exit quietly, go to my truck, retrieve

  the Glock. Hoping the intruder

  isn’t a better shot, I move stealthily

  toward the noise, which is coming

  from Luke’s room. I hold the gun

  in front of me, release the safety.

  One. Two. Three. I rush through

  the door. “Stop what you’re doing,

  or I will shoot. Do. Not. Move.”

  The woman screams, but freezes.

  It’s Lorelei. When I lower the gun,

  I notice my hands are shaking.

  “What are you doing in here?”

  But once I get the chance to study

  the room, it becomes obvious.

  Sorry I freaked you out. I’m just

  packing up your brother’s stuff.

  “No you’re not. You have no right.

  In fact, get the fuck out right now.”

  Listen. Your dad and I discussed

  this and he told me to go ahead.

  Adrenaline

  And more than a weak shot

  of anger have skyrocketed

  my heart rate. “My dad? Why?

  And where is he?” Before

  she can answer, it hits me full-bore.

  “I could have shot you,

  you know. Somebody else

  with his finger on this trigger,

  you might be dead. What the fuck

  were you thinking?

  What the fuck was Dad thinking?

  Why would he leave you alone

  here? And why are you messing

  with Luke’s stuff?”

  I lift the Glock and her eyes

  go wide. “Don’t be ridiculous.

  I’m putting the safety on.”

  Take a deep breath, okay?

  You’re hyperventilating.

  Your dad should have told

  you already. . . .

  Déjà vu.

  Apparently

  Lorelei is moving in.

  Her husband got their house.

  She’s been living in an apartment.

  She and Dad feel ready to cohabitate.

  Luke’s room is a shrine.

  Everything in it is a reminder.

  No one can move on like this.

  Luke would want us to stop grieving.

  Lorelei needs an office.

  She’s a medical transcriptionist.

  She works from home, so, yippee!

  She’ll be here most of the time.

  Dad went into Eugene.

  To get more packing boxes.

  To buy paint, rollers, and brushes.

  He should be back any minute.

  Lorelei can’t stand mauve.

  My Good Day

  Disintegrates like dry manure.

  She has already boxed most

  of the clothes from Luke’s closet.

  But the bed is intact, still made

  up with the same sheets it had

  on the day he died. The clock

  on the wall blows its whistle.

  Six o’clock. “Will you leave

  the rest until tomorrow? I want

  to sleep in here tonight.” I need

  to say a final goodbye whether

  or not any specter of him is here.

  She actually lowers her eyes,

  a renegade wolf seeking her place

  in a new pack. Of course. Did

  you have dinner? I can fix you

  something. I’m a decent cook.

  Your dad bought groceries.

  “Yeah, I know. I happen to live

  here.” At least, for the time being.

  “Look, Lorelei—”

  Call me Lori. Everyone does.

  Lorelei is such a mouthful.

  Three syllables are a mouthful.

  “Please don’t interrupt me.

  I’m going to tell you the truth,

  Lorelei. I think your relationship

  with Dad is contemptible. I know

  the whole story, or at least enough

  of it to understand your reasons,

  so no use arguing them. I’d like

  to say I feel this way because

  my mom and I are close, but that

  isn’t the truth. Nor can I say moral

  bankruptcy doesn’t run in this

  family. But I am highly offended

  that my father decided to move

  you in here so soon after Mom left,

  and completely pissed that you chose

  to make your first official act

  as woman of the house erasing

  my brother’s presence completely.”

  She Opens Her Mouth

  Wisely closes it again.

  We have nothing to say

  to each other right now.

  “I’m going to make myself

  a sandwich. I’ll eat in here. Alone.”

  First I return the Glock

  to the safety of its lockbox,

  then I go slap peanut butter

  and jam on a slice of bread.

  Grab a couple of beers,

  which slims a six-pack

  to four. Screw it. Maybe Dad

  will think Lorelei is a lush.

  If not, whatever. He owes me.

  The sandwich goes down

  in four short bites, a can of brew

  in three long swallows.

  My stomach is full, the rest

  of me hollow. I sit on Luke’s bed,

  watching Batman Forever

  on my laptop. Val Kilmer

  a
s the sad, dark superhero.

  Like me, minus the superhero.

  About the Time

  Batman and Robin reach Claw

  Island, I hear a very loud voice

  at the far end of the house.

  It’s so loud, in fact, that it rises

  above the noise of the movie.

  I take it Dad’s home. I brace

  for confrontation in:

  Three. Two. One.

  Bam! The door slams against

  the wall. What the hell got into

  you? I bought you that gun for

  target practice, not to go running

  around playing vigilante. You

  could have killed Lori!

  “Uh, yeah, Dad, that’s what

  I told her. On the bright side,

  I didn’t shoot. She isn’t dead.

  And things are looking up for Batman.”

  He crosses the room in two long

  strides. Turn that fucking thing

  off. This is a serious matter,

  smart-ass. Where’s the Glock?

  I shut down the laptop. Stand,

  to feel less vulnerable. “I’m not

  giving up the gun, Dad. I think

  my reaction was totally reasonable,

  considering I came home to what

  I thought was an intruder.”

  You realize an actual intruder

  might have had his own gun?

  Or might have taken yours away

  from you and used it himself?

  Barring all that, how would

  you feel if you actually shot

  and killed someone, either

  purposely or by accident?

  “Excellent questions, Dad, and

  I promise to think them over.

  But they would be moot if only

  you would’ve bothered to communicate

  the fact that you were moving

  your girlfriend into my home.

  Not to mention sanctioning

  turning this room into her office.”

  Better that than a shrine.

  Tension Bleeds

  From his shoulders and neck

  and he starts to turn away.

  Confrontation over? What if

  I don’t want it to be?

  It’s time to move on.

  I notice Lorelei standing just

  across the threshold. “You certainly

  don’t seem to have a problem

  with that, Dad. You moved on before

  this room became a shrine.”

  He starts to turn back, but Lorelei

  gestures for him to really, truly move

  on. He goes over, kisses her softly.

  The door is still open when she says,

  It’s a lot to drop in his lap