"Visiting Family"
"Can I ask you a question?" She had her arms crossed, looking intently at the ceiling of the elevator.
The motion of the lowering platform had done nothing good for the feeling in my stomach. The doors had only been closed for a few moments before another wave of nausea forced me into the corner and doubled over.
"No." It was more a groan than an answer.
"Sam." Her voice is stern. She has every right to be angry at me, I did embarrass her in front of Devin.
"No." It was more drawn out this time.
The smell of her Carly's hair still hung around, a pleasant aroma that did nothing but make me sad. And maybe a little hopeful? Seeing her again had done something. It made years of fear melt away, years of anger and confusion didn't seem to matter as much. I want to go back up, keep talking to her, actually talk to her. I want... no, it's not right. I just waltzed back into life here, I don't have the right to be her friend. I don't deserve her or her friendship, I never did. I was a horrible person then, and now... and now I'm barely a person. I need to leave. Not just here, this building, but everything. This city, these people. I need to get away. But where would I go? If I leave now, leave again, it won't change who I am. It won't make me forget what I am. I'll just end up living in a motel and eating takeout till I can't take it anymore and put a gun in my mouth. And if I do that, then what has everything been for? Why have I fought to stay alive this long if I'm just going to turn and run again? Because I ruin everything, that's why. Everything I care about ends hurt or dead. So is it worse for them see me like this or see me leave? The thought evaporates as another wave washes over me.
"You said you would answer my questions, and I'm trying to ask you a question." The tone of her voice tells me that if she was any less reserved I would get a fist in the gut. Hell, I still might.
"For fuck's sake, give it a rest. Every fucking moment of my life is hell and I just went through one of the weirdest moments, ever, and I really don't feel like dealing with your fucking questions. For once in my life I just want to disappear and not have people care." I was staring at her and it wasn't till she went wide eyed that it dawned on me I said that out loud. Great, good job. Woo hoo, go me, team jackass. "That wasn't..."
She scuffed and spun a little. I stand up, trying to look her in the eye but she just looks ahead.
"Let me guess, it wasn't true? Didn't mean a word of it?" The sarcasm was strong, matched only by the frustration.
I groan and wrap my arms around myself, doubling over as everything starts to spin. I think the whiskey wasn't the greatest idea.
"No, I meant every word. I don't want to be here. I don't want to stay, and I don't want people to know I was ever even alive. All my friends are dead and I'm stuck here trying not to slit my fucking wrists because then what did they die for? It certainly wasn't to get Noor, that sadistic asshole is still running around somewhere in Afghanistan and I lost everyone trying to find him. So, yeah, Mel, I don't want to be here, I don't want to be a fucking burden anymore and I'm still talking out loud aren't I?" I don't even look at her. Another part of me has broken down and now I can't filter my own fucking speech.
The elevator shook and thudded as it hit the garage with a ding. The doors slide open but she doesn't move. I'm not as stoic though. I fall out of the elevator and stumble away, leaning against the cold concrete before vomiting, violently. Anything I had in me landed on the ground and everything burns.
"Why does it taste like Vodka? I haven't had any Vodka."
She had left the elevator and stopped a few feet away, arms crossed and a stern look on her face. She heard what I said about Noor. And about leaving. This should be fun. Oh no, I wasn't on the other side of the country when I was wounded, chasing down a psychopath on an illegitimate black operation.
"You want to leave again?" I don't know whether she didn't hear me, or just doesn't care about what happened. Either way, it wasn't what got her attention. The frustration leaves her eyes and she softens her shoulders.
The moments tick by and I wipe my mouth on my sleeve and take a deep breath.
"Does it really matter?"
Her teeth clench before she relaxes again like she figured something out. "It does matter. Why wouldn't it matter? You just got back and you want to leave again?" She steps closer and I have to look away.
"Mel, I've been here for two days and I'm already fucking things up. Why do you want me here? Why is everyone so okay with me being back? I left for seven fucking years without a word and I thought I was never coming back here but look, here I am. I didn't want to come back. I should have died over there, more than once, but the universe wants to fuck with me a bit more. So here I am. But I can not figure out why I came back to open arms and warm smiles. How can you people even look at me?"
She looks at the ground, shaking her head. "Because you're family, Sam," she said it quietly, moving away and turning for the car.
So that's it then. That's how this conversation ends. With her realizing I don't want to be here, probably thinking I hate her. Why wouldn't she think that? I've never done anything to make her think anything else, but it never bothered her. She took it all in stride and kept on like I was nothing but... nothing but family. Dammit, how many times am I going to fuck up?
She was silent when I finally made it to the car. She had already buckled in and started the engine as she waited with a white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel. She doesn't bother to look at me as I fumble into the passenger seat, still woozy with that horrible taste in my mouth. She didn't say anything as I reach down and take a drink from the bottle of whiskey. It was mainly just to wash away the taste lingering, and I don't mean the vomit. It burned going down, almost a cleansing fire as I put the bottle back at my feet and let out a groan. The car began to creep forward as I let the seat back and used the coat as a blanket. If she has any real questions, anything but a fuck you, it'll have to wait till I can tell the road from the sky.
I don't know how long we drove, she never spoke and neither did I. The radio was off and the only sound was the hum of the heater blowing air. I watched as building after building passed on the darkened skyline high above the car window. After a time the buildings turned to open sky and street lamps. A bridge. Old street names and locations seep back from the bottom of my mind. He's buried in Lake view. Of course he is. I wonder how close their graves are? The sky continues to darken as we go. At some point, the car stopped and she let out a long sigh, resting her head. She's tired. Not just physically, but tired of my bullshit. Tired of my attitude.
"It's going to rain soon, we better be quick." She didn't hesitate as she climbed out the car. She didn't wait for me to stumble out, feeling half drunk and looking it as well. She just kept moving forward, kept walking away and didn't bother to look for me till she had made it inside the gates of the cemetery. "Come on, he's up this way."
It took several minutes of silent walking to get close. The sky seemed to grow darker with every step and the smell of the approaching rain grew stronger. This city is always aware, always waiting to rain at the perfect moment to ruin a day. The short grass had never fully dried from the damp morning and it made for unsure footing as she led me up a small hill. I was slow to follow, nervous and eyeing the various statues and tombstones spread around the area. I didn't come here when I had the chance, I stayed away. Not just later, but the night of the funeral as well. I was holed up in the apartment, wallowing in my own misery and I refused to even acknowledge the state I was in. That was the night everything started to come apart.
Melanie's shoulders slumped some as we crested the hill, the headstones stretching out into the distance on an ocean of grass on the cloudy day. She took a few deep breaths before sniffling, nose red from the cold air. She looked at me for a moment before nodding.
"Three places down, the plain one." She lazily pointed over to a simple grave a few meters away. "Do you want to be alone?"
I don't answer right away, unsure of what I should even say.
"Uh, yeah, I guess. This might get pathetic."
She gives a sad smile and a nod. This place, any anger or emotion left her after we entered. Maybe it's respect for the dead or some sort of sobering effect. Either way, it doesn't matter. This is hard for her too, she cared about him too. She looks over her shoulder and points with her thumb.
"Mom is over there, I think I'll go visit. Just come over when you're done." She took a few steps and turned away, leaving me to it
But what is it? What am I going to do, talk to a grave? I let it go and took the slow, sullen steps past the various graves till I reached it. His headstone a simple slab of granite, a chunk of gray sitting in the grass with a simple inscription. Carmine Puckett, August 10th, 1960- July 12th, 2013. Taken in his renaissance. It was hard to read, hard to take in as I put a hand atop his headstone and knelt down.
"That is... so fucking stupid. Please don't tell me you wrote that." It made me laugh, but I don't know why. July, it was almost his birthday. "Probably turning forty-nine again, right? Never got older than that. And where was I? Not just then, but before? I was avoiding you, just like I was avoiding everyone else. Then I left you that same stupid message I left Mel and disappeared into the night. And where was I when you got out of prison? God, I was probably at fucking work. And when you died? Well, I was on my way to learning the things you wanted to stay away from. I was gone and you got fucking killed." My fingers clench and I tap a fist against the granite. I wasn't there. I was wasn't here. I can feel it welling up behind my eyes, the tears and the shaking. Everything I fight back, everything I try to keep buried pulled loose at the sight of his grave.
"Dammit, why did I leave? Fuck... why did you have to try and be the good guy? If you just walked away or called the cops you'd be here. I'd still have you to help me. And god damn do I need your help again." I didn't even notice when I fell to my knees or when the first tear slipped down my cheek. "I don't know what to do, Carmine. I fucked everything up. Not just here, but everything. I..." What do I even say? Where do I start? Do I start at the beginning? "I don't even know how to talk you and you're just a pile of bones with some granite. I guess... I guess I should just let it flow, huh. Just take it in stride and get it over with. Like that fucking band-aid. So what's first? I guess I should work my back. You never did like long stories, no matter how corny you were." I tap my knuckles against the headstone a few more times, looking at the other graves.
"I bet the others are sitting deep in Arlington by now. They earned it. I wish I could have been there, see them off. It would have been the least I could do. God, it was John, Bruce, and Kirk. If you wanted to know their names. I wish they could have met you. Wish they could have seen where I got it all from. Heh, I think you would have liked Bruce. Big guy, always ready for a fight and to fix whatever he broke. He was a lot like you, all stupid jokes and rearing for action. Yeah, you would have liked him. Then there was John. You wouldn't have gotten along. It was a miracle we could even sit in the same room, let alone be friends. He was really spiritual, real laid back. He was Navajo, actually. Grew up on tall tales and football." I didn't hide the falter in my voice or stop the slow progression of tears.
"And Kirk, god, you wouldn't have even looked at him twice. He could probably kill you with a chopstick but he didn't look it. He just wanted to get the job done and go home. But he could raise hell if he needed to. I guess that's what he did when he was captured. Probably went down biting and screaming. Probably why..." The image sits in the distance, a burning beacon to haunt me at my lowest. "Yeah, he must have been trouble because they wanted to burn him alive. I mean, they did. They lit him on fire. He was burning and screaming and I couldn't save him, but I couldn't just let it happen. So I... dear god I killed him. I can still hear him screaming right before the silence. Right before I put two rounds in his chest. I guess I thought it was better to kill him myself, have him die by my hands instead of theirs. I don't know if it was the right thing to do. I don't... god, I shot him. I killed my friend, my fucking brother because I couldn't save him. And Bruce... I had him die in my arms. I wasn't quick enough, I lost focus and they got him. I had the chance to save him and I fucked that up too." I clamp my eyes shut, trying to keep the tide back, rocking slightly. Thunder booms above and the first of the rain starts. Small droplets landing on my shoulders and the grass.
"I fuck everything up. Even John's death was my fault. We were so close to getting out of that fucking city, so close to making it. But it couldn't be that easy, not for me. It was split second, heat of the moment thing. It was him or... or a guy I used to know. I don't know if it was because I knew he had a family or because he took the fall for me once, but I pushed him away and let John get torn apart by a grenade." I pull up my sleeve and look at the edges of the bandages wrapped all the way up. The scarred flesh still pokes out in spots, a reminder of what's there. "It's not like I got away clean. I'll always have this. Always have a reminder. Never forget, right? Couldn't even save my friends, my brothers. Just another case of me fucking up, just like always." The tears had won the battle, slipping down my cheeks as I let my head rest on the granite, lost in the rain.
"And what do I get for all that? A pat on the back, a bottle of pills and an order to keep my mouth shut. And they sent me back here. I guess they were trying to do me a favor but they don't know, couldn't know. Been here a fucking day and I've already been arrested. Some guys talking shit about you. But it isn't even a surprise. I got tossed in jail and everyone just kept smiling at me as they let me out. Nobody cares that I'm so fucked at this point. It's like they can't see me, the real me. They just see the friend they lost years ago. They don't remember how it was, how I actually was. They just keep waiting for me. Waiting for Sam to come back, Sam the fuck up, Sam the criminal. And here I am, all that and more. I can barely sit in the same room with them and they just keep trying to help me. What do they see when they look at me? Some broken down thing that needs help? Because they sure as shit don't see me. The real me, the killer, the monster. I've done things, Carmine, things that would make even you shudder. But they don't see that." I held back a sob and looked over the inscription again. Any walls I had left, anything keeping me held together, had come undone. The confessional had taken its toll. Crying and holding back the worst of it.
"I don't know what I'm doing. Sitting here crying because I've lost my mind. I miss you, old man, I really do. So does Mel, I think. I don't know what she's thinking, trying to help me. She's going to keep trying until it breaks her and I don't know why. I remember what you told me, I do. I should always look out for her, keep her safe. It was easy when I was a kid. Just hide the bruises when she came home, keep all the dirty secrets about mom hidden in the dark so she could be happy. I just had to let her keep thinking that mom wasn't an abusive alcoholic that went from guy to guy. But what am I supposed to do when the best thing to do is just leave? I mean, I got tossed in jail on my first night back and she had to borrow money from Carly to bail me out. She just did it. Sure, she's pissed, but it didn't stop her from swallowing her pride and asking for help to get me out. I'm not worth it, not worth the money or the trouble. And Carly, God. She probably didn't hesitate to help. Didn't think twice. Always ready to help me out, help anyone. I remember when I was young and you didn't understand why I hung around her like we were glued together. Neither did I, not till later. You were right though when you called her my guardian angel. You were right about a lot of things. Maybe you saw it before I did, maybe it was obvious to you. But it took me years to figure out that I was in love with her." I didn't feel the laugh coming, the broken sound of someone losing it.
"That's only the second time I have ever said that out loud. I spent years trying to keep it pushed down, blocked off. And it almost worked, I had it together for awhile. But getting blown up, seeing everyone I cared about die in front of me, it changed things. And being back here... I knew it was going to be hard but I could never have imagined what it would be like to see her again. She was supposed to hate me, supposed to move on and forget me. Well, one out of three isn't enough. She moved on, found someone that can love her and the first thing I did was try to start a fight. But that's just who I am I guess. I could have moved on, tried to get past it, but I just couldn't. And seeing her again, seeing her look at me the way she used to and smile, to be happy to see me... it just started it all over again. I will never get away from it, away from her. There's a lot of things I'm never going to be able to get away from, and she's the only one I want to stay with. The only one I can't have." The rain had picked up, soaking my shirt and the ground around me. It took a lot of strength to push myself to my feet step away from the headstone.
"I don't know what to do anymore and I wish you were here to help, tell me what to do. But you can't, so I guess I'm just going to have to keep going on my own." The inscription had darkened in the rain, barely visible. "So I guess this goodbye. I miss you, Carmine, I really do. But you rest, you earned that. After everything that's happened, you deserve some peace. Goodbye for now, old man. I'm sure I'll be with you soon enough." I had to strain to pull myself away, to turn away start to leave only to stop dead.
Melanie is just standing there, huddled up in her coat and staring at me. How much did she hear? When did she walk up? Anger bubbles, but I don't know if it's at her or myself. She doesn't move, doesn't speak. She just stares at me with that same look she used to give me when we were kids. A look that tells me how sad I must look to her, how pathetic I am. A look that says, I feel sorry for you.