"And any time you feel the pain, Hey, Jude, refrain, don't carry the world upon your shoulders." The Beatles
Joe let out an oof as the air was pressed out of his lungs. He made to shove Cathy off of him, but she pounded on his still-hurting hand with hers, causing a shock of pain to go through his system. He instinctively bucked her off of him just as Frank walked into the room.
"Ow, Joe. You hurt me." Cathy pouted, rubbing her side as if the foot-and-a-half drop to the ground had actually injured her. Joe turned away from her, nursing his wounds.
Frank frowned at his brother, who had never been rough with girls. "Joe…" he said, his voice carrying a warning that made Joe bow his head and shrug his shoulder, muttering something along the lines of she started it.
Sighing, Frank tousled Joe's hair. He and Cathy had made plans to go out, but since two days before when Brent had picked a fight with Joe, his brother had been withdrawn and moody. Frank knew that he must still harbor ill feelings towards him for walking away, and he didn't blame him for that, but he wished that Joe would just punch him and get it over with. His brother was not usually one for sulking.
Plus, when Joe was quiet after getting hurt, it meant he was really hurt. Small injuries, insignificant ones, were marked by many curses and complaints, while the larger ones tended to fester and boil under the surface while Joe maintained a quiet façade that fooled no one.
"When's Biff picking you up?" The two had a long-standing engagement to spend Tuesday nights at Mr. Pizza's with Tony, taking up a back booth and playing cards or board games together. It was a night both boys looked forward to.
"Seven." Joe answered, not looking up from his latest novel. Frank checked the cover: Catch-22. What happened when you were caught between a rock and a hard place. Glancing up, a roguish grin played across his features so that he looked the like the old Joe. "Go on. I don't think I'll be beat up in…" he checked his watch, "..fourteen minutes."
"Yeah." Frank said, wrapping his arm around Cathy. "You make sure that Biff buys you a whole pie, okay? And eat it. You're getting too thin. Mom and dad will think I've been starving you."
From this perspective, Joe looked all lines and angles; his one knee bent, as ever, kept close to his chest, bruises exposed, his elbows cocked at ninety degree angles. Even the planes of his face stood out sharply. On someone else the effect might have been handsome, but on Joe the weight loss made him look drawn, tired.
Something inside of Frank made him want to cancel his plans with Cathy, who he still hadn't entirely forgiven for Joe's injuries, and go with his brother and Biff to Mr. Pizza to beat them both in Scrabble, like they had spent the last few months doing, all three boys pretending they wouldn't rather be solving mysteries, going on dates.
Instead, though, Frank smiled sadly. "See you, bro. Love you."
"Back at you." Joe answered, "Freak."
"Jerk." Frank smiled, leaving the house knowing that, this, at least, hadn't changed. Though Frank was never afraid of showing sentiment, when Joe was twelve he thought that admitting he loved his brother was a sign of weakness, and had taken to calling Frank a freak every time their mother wasn't in earshot. Soon, it turned into an endearment, as much one as bro or pal.
Cathy clutched his arm, her voice coming out low and cold, "You shouldn't let him talk to you like that. He's very rude."
Frank shook his head, explaining, "No, really, he's okay. It's just something we do."
"It's not right. You need to teach him respect." She didn't move when Frank kissed her. Sighing, he got into place behind the wheel of her car; they were leaving the van for Biff and Joe.
Inside, Joe read and tried to forget about his brother's terrible girlfriend. He wasn't upset with Frank, though he knew that his brother thought that he was, because he knew that it was Cathy's fault that he had walked away from the fight, that Cathy had somehow manipulated Brent to beat him up in the first place.
Maybe he was getting paranoid. After all, how much power could a new girl hold over the toughest kid in school? But Cathy hated him enough that she just might have had a part in the attack. And it wasn't just the physical beatings that Joe took that was wearing him thin. Cathy took every opportunity to call him a cripple, a whore, a murderer. Anything that she thought would sting she used.
But Frank loved her. He lit up every time she was around. So Joe would have to endure. He would have to deal.
"Ready to go, Joe?" Biff's call sent Joe two feet in the air and he rolled off the couch, landing awkwardly to try to avoid hitting his injured hand and leg. As it was, he still hissed in pain; his entire body was basically one big bruise. Peering over the side of the couch, fighting the instinct to help his fallen friend, Biff whistled, "that had to hurt."
Joe stuck his tongue out and closed his eyes, too tired to get back to his feet. "You've killed me, Biff. How does it make you feel?"
"Like pizza. Come on, I promised Frankie I'd buy you a pie." Joe snickered at the use of Frank's childhood nickname. Oddly, Joe hadn't been the one to bestow it, but Iola, the word coming out like Fwankie. The name had stuck until eighth grade, when Frank decided to act more grown up. Surprisingly, the memory of his dead girlfriend didn't make Joe feel guilty or want to cry, as he would have six months ago. Now, he just felt a deep sadness, almost nostalgia.
He climbed awkwardly to his feet, ignoring the pain from his right leg, now horribly black and blue, and let all of his weight fall on his left. "Okay. Can I drive?"
"Nope." Biff snagged the keys from a bowl on the counter, forgoing his motorcycle to ride with Joe. He had gotten the motorcycle so that he and Joe could go on trips together --- now there was a learning curve involved with Joe riding the bike again, plus he needed to get a new license…so many things were different.
Joe nodded, catching up with Biff, glancing once at the cane propped by the stairs. He had considered using it tonight, when the only people he'd be around were Biff and Tony, but had decided against it. Cathy had done this to him. He couldn't give her the satisfaction of knowing he was in that much pain.
Suddenly, the ground lurched, then fell away entirely, and Joe grabbed onto Biff's arm, trying to steady himself, gasping. A wave of dizziness came and passed in a second, but it was enough to leave Joe panting, wondering.
"Hey, man, are you sure you're alright? We could just stay here. Tony could run us over a few pies." Biff was worried about Joe, worried that he was pushing himself too much, that he wasn't letting his body recuperate. Most of all, he was worried that his friend was disappearing before his eyes. The hand on his arm was feather-light, translucent.
Shaking his head, Joe shouldered the door open, carefully stepping down the stairs. It was getting colder; he didn't know what he would do when winter and ice came. "No, let's go out." Turning around to face Biff, still silhouetted in the door, he said, sighing, "I'm fine, Biff. This is how we roll." He chuckled, lifting himself into the passenger seat of the van and ignoring another wave of nausea. He'd visited his doctor that morning, who'd upped his pain meds again. He'd been expecting these side effects.
Leaning back, Joe knew he'd never be able to finish two slices of pizza, let alone a pie. Sorry, Frank. He thought, closing his eyes to will the dizziness away. He knew that Biff, Chet, Frank, and Tony all thought he was withering away. Joe thought so too, sometimes, when he looked at the mirror or the scale and noticed the lost weight, mostly in muscle. He always sighed at this realization, forcing himself to remain upbeat. If he hadn't gotten shot, he'd never have found reading, or figured out that he liked history. Books were the best thing to come out of the accident.
Biff started up the car, glancing at Joe as he did. "You're sure you're up for this?" Biff was worried, for good reason. Twice on an outing with his best friend, Joe had collapsed, cursing, during short walks, leaving Biff to carry or drag him over to a bench or the car, waiting for him to regain his strength. It was an embarrassing cycle that had repeated itself less and less as Joe recuperated, but there was always the possibility.
"I'm seventeen and hungry, of course I'm up for this. Mom." Biff ignored the slight and stared at him for only another few seconds before starting the car and talking about the latest crime-based television show. Smiling, Joe listened and replied, getting more animated by the minute, despite his increasing headache.
At Mr. Pizza, the two argued over which game to play, and finally narrowed it down to Scrabble and Clue. "You cheat at Clue!" Biff exclaimed, already taking out Scrabble, the only game he could win at. Joe had good words but no strategy with placing them.
"Ha!" Biff cried happily, laying out his tiles on the board. Joe examined them and groaned, calling Tony over to be judge.
"I don't think em is a word!" Joe said, pointing at the word little which was placed right above Biff's latest victory, midgets. Tony glanced at the board and coughed, informing Joe that em was how you spelled the letter 'M'.
"So that's…triple word score, plus fifty points because I used all seven letters…134 points, Joey. Which I think is more than your current score." Biff laughed at Joe's expression, taking another slice of pizza.
"I knew we should have played Clue." Joe complained, staring at his own mess of tiles I-P-G-C-R-O-Z. His head was pounding and his stomach was so queasy he'd only been able to choke down a single slice of pizza, and that was only because Biff was staring at him, hoping he'd eat.
It was Biff and Tony who ate most of the pie. Tony, though he was both bussing tables and working the cash register, had time to surreptitiously point out words to Joe and steal tiles from Biff. Mr. Pizza was short-staffed and, though Tony was aiming for CalSci or even MIT, his father was urging him into 'the family business.' Apparently, Mr. Prito claimed that pizza was in every Italian's blood.
"Science is in my blood." Tony complained to the boys, sitting next to Joe and putting his feet up on Biff's chair. "And pizza's in his. He has the money. So we just cut a deal…I bus tables for the rest of the year and he'll let me manage the books and Mr. Pizza 2 next year. I get half the earnings, and can go to whatever school I want." Tony sighed, rubbing his face. "I am just so sick of pizza."
"I can help you there, mate." Biff said, polishing off either his fifth or sixth slice.
Tony forced a smile on his face. "So, where's Frank tonight? He can whip even Biff's ass at Scrabble." Tony would know; he'd been beaten at Scrabble many times by his best friend.
"He's still going out with that Cathy girl." Biff said, shaking his head. "Man, I don't know what it is about her, but she gives me the creeps."
Joe perked up at this, staring intensely at Biff. Could his friend finally be catching on?
"Yeah. I know she's new and everything, but I heard she steered Frank right away from the fight Tuesday." Tony said, shaking his head. "You okay from that, by the way? I heard you were AWOL from school."
"Yeah, got a trip to the doctors and got to spend the rest of the day at the library because I don't have my own ride." Joe said. "But I'm fine." Joe shook his head, which had begun to buzz. Again his insides lurched. "Except the doc upped my pain meds again, and I think they're…" a wave of nausea, and Joe shuddered, sputtered, making Tony and Biff eye him warily.
"Joe, man, you don't look good." Biff was already standing, palms flat against the table. Tony, right next to Joe, was peering at his face, suddenly completely white.
Joe gave another violent cough, spitting blood all over Tony's white apron. "What the---" Tony began, even as Biff shouted for someone to call 9-1-1.
"Guys…?" Joe said, his eyes beginning to flutter shut. "Where's Frank?" Then he collapsed, sending the Scrabble tiles flying, spelling out the word crip or, if you read it differently, RIP.
Rest in Peace.
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