Here in this Sorrow Chapter 10

Chapter 10

The house was dark when Christian got back home. He came into the basement and dropped his bag by the entertainment center against the wall. When he turned on the light, he saw the handwritten note on top of the shelf. He picked it up, revealing a twenty-dollar bill beneath. A smile crossed his lips as he scanned it.

“Christian,” it read. “We went out to dinner. Here’s money for pizza. Do your homework. –Mom”
He picked up the twenty dollar bill and looked at it. “LOVE,” was written in giant letters with a black magic marker. He smiled and shoved it in his wallet. He crossed the room and slumped on the couch. He sat there motionless for a few minutes, half-lidded. When the telephone rang, he sat up and stared across the room for a couple seconds. On the third ring, he ran across the basement and answered it. “Duke residence,” he said.

“Hey,” Clark said. “How you feeling?”

“A little better,” Christian responded. “Want to come over for a while?”

“Sure,” Clark said.

“Want me to come get you?”

“No,” Clark responded. “I’ll walk. I’ll be right over. Want me to bring anything?”

Christian pursed his lips for a second and said, “No, just come over.” He hung up and went over to the outside door, locking it as he peered out the tiny window. He tried it once and went to the back corner of the room. Three mattresses were stacked there, covered by a thick quilt. He pulled back the quilt and lifted off the top mattress. A three-by-four foot square hole had been crudely hacked in the middle mattress. He reached in and pulled out a 12-inch length of PVC pipe, capped at both ends. A thick, waxy string hung limply from one of the caps. He turned it over in his hand, inspecting it lovingly and replaced it. He did the same with ever piece in the cache of bombs, bullet-boxes, boxes of nails, four holstered pistols and finally a pump-action shotgun. He held it by the stock, his other hand running gently up and down the length of the finely polished weapon.

“Stand up for myself?” he whispered, opening the chamber and looking inside. “I’ll fucking show them standing up for myself.” He replaced the gun in its hide-away and picked up a 9mm Baretta. He checked the chamber and pointed it at the wall. He pulled the trigger three times and smiled. “We’ll see who the real man is.”

Christian jumped when the phone rang. He replaced the gun and hastily pulled the top mattresses back in place. He got to the phone on the fourth ring.

“Duke residence,” he said politely.

“Chris?” Andy said.

Christian relaxed. “What’s going on?”

“I was just calling to make sure you were all right,” he said, his voice quivering.

Christian leaned against the table. “Yeah,” Christian said with a sigh. “I’m fine.” He chuckled. “A few bruises, but like you said, nothing worse than I’m going to get tomorrow.” He hopped on the counter and stared at his black socks. “He just hurt my pride.”

“That’s good,” Andy said. He didn’t sound convinced.

“You gonna be in the pit tomorrow?” Christian asked boisterously, looking up.

Andy laughed. “No way! There’s going to be too many metal-heads.” He paused. “I’m not going to get my ass kicked. I just want to see the band.”

Christian got up and started to pace. “You never dance,” he chided. “You always just stand in the back quietly. How come you never get into it?”

“Sorry, Chris, getting hurt just isn’t my idea of a good time. I leave that one for you.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Christian asked, feigning offense.

Andy chuckled. “Nothing.” After a few seconds, he asked, “What happened with you and Shannon today?” he asked suggestively.

Christian kicked softly at the counter with his heel. “I told you, nothing is going to happen.”

“Jeez, Chris, why don’t you just tell her how you feel?”

“I can’t,” he said forcefully.

“Why not?”

“I just can’t, okay?”

“Are you afraid of what she’ll say? Are you afraid things will get weird?”

“No, no, it’s just... things...” He trailed off, clamping his free hand over his forehead. “I have my reasons. I just can’t tell her how I feel.” He fell into the chair by the phone. “She asked me to go to California with her next semester.”

“And what did you say?”

“I told her that I’d think about it.”

There was a brief silence on Andy’s end of the line. “Chris,” he said at last. “When the girl you’re in love with asks you to move far away with her, you say ‘yes.’”

“That’s not it,” Christian mumbled.

“What’s not it? You like her, she wants you to come live with her, what’s the problem?” He paused, but started talking before Christian could respond. “Chris, how long have I known you? Ten years? Longer than any of your other friends? I think if anyone is close enough to tell you this, it’s me. You’re being stupid.”

Christian shook his head. “There’s a lot of stuff going on that I can’t even tell you about.”

“You can tell me anything...”

“I can’t tell you this. You’ll find out soon enough, but I can’t tell you.”

Andy hesitated . “Chris?” he asked in a quivering voice. “What’s going on?”

“Don’t worry. Everything is going to be fine, but I can’t tell you what’s going on. Just trust me on this one.”

“Everything is going to be alright?” he asked skeptically.

“I promise,” Christian said, squeezing his eyes closed. “Everything is going to be better than before.”

“All right.” Another short pause. “Are you taking a lot of cash tomorrow?”

Christian chuckled. “I’ve saved every penny for the last month. I’m going to buy everything they have to sell.”

Andy laughed. “I’m just taking forty bucks. I figure I’ll just get a shirt or something. I know Clark and Shannon are going to do the same. I swear, Monday morning, we’re going to be the Misfits brigade.”

“A gang, even,” Christian grumbled.

Andy chuckled. “Yeah. Mr. Henry is going to love it.”

“I don’t know how you can handle being in a class with that fucker,” Christian said, squeezing his eyes closed and banging his heels against the counter.

“It isn’t easy,” Andy grumbled. “The guy is always going on about how I should bring the three of you up to my level and everything. It’s annoying.” He paused again. “Oh...,” he said, half into the phone. “I’ve got to run, Chris, my mom needs to make a call. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Oh, wait,” Christian said. “I’m going to school late on Friday. I won’t be able to give you a ride in.”

“Okay. See ya’.”

“Bye.” Christian hung up the phone and sat on the counter for several minutes until the doorbell rang. He hopped off the counter and went out to the basement door. When he opened it, Clark was leaning against the screen door with his mouth pressed against the wire mesh. “What’s going on?” Christian asked. “You know, bugs walk all over that thing, and I used to sit down here and smash flies through it.” When Clark didn’t respond, Christian opened the screen, making Clark fall inside.

“I got in a fight with my mom,” he said as he passed Christian. He walked ahead of Christian into the finished basement and sat down in one of the chairs. “I cannot wait to go to college. I think I’m going to see if I can move down to Florida as soon as we are out of school.”

Christian sat in the chair across from him, where a nylon guitar case leaned against it. Christian picked it up and pulled out the black guitar covered in Misfits stickers. “I’ve been writing a song for Shannon,” he said, pulling a pick out of the pocket of the case. “I’m going to record it tonight and leave it for her.”

“You’re finally going to let her know how you feel?” Clark said proudly. “It’s about time.” He pointed at the instrument and said, “Play it for me, Let me hear what you will be using to woo her into your arms.”

“No!” Christian exclaimed. “It’s too personal,” he said.

“How will you know if it’s going to work?” Clark asked. “Play the song for me. If I fall madly in love with you, you know it’ll work.” He shrugged. “And if it doesn’t work on Shannon, you’ll at least have me.” He smiled lustfully. “And you know that I’ll put out.”

“Yeah,” Christian said. “That’s exactly what I need.” He smiled. “With all the slutty girls you’ve been with, you probably have every disease in the book.”

“Protection, my good man,” Clark said, jabbing his finger at the ceiling. “Besides, I think Angela has made me get on the straight and narrow. She may make an honest man of me after all.”

“Are you suggesting...” Christian let the question linger unsaid in the air.

“Who knows,” Clark responded. “She has mentioned going away with me when I leave. You got any root beer?” Clark asked, pointing to the miniature refrigerator by the bar.

“Yeah,” he said. “I think there’s some.”

“Any real beer?” Clark asked as he was getting up.

“Like my dad would trust me with real beer,” Christian said as he strummed lightly on the guitar.

“That’s fucked up,” Clark said as he twisted the cap off his root beer. “You’re practically straight-edge, don’t drink, don’t even smoke cigarettes, let alone anything else, and your dad still won’t leave anything in the house?”

“My dad is a freak. He’s convinced that if I look the way I do, I must be on drugs.” He strummed the guitar harder. “He sneaks in my room and searches it sometimes. He doesn’t think I know, but I noticed things moved around. You’d think he would trust me a little more, seeing as he’s never found anything.”

“I’m surprised he leaves you alone in the store,” Clark said as he sat back down.

“Working with guns is good and wholesome. It’s supposed to build character. He’s always telling me about him and his father going out and shooting guns. He wants so badly for us to bond like that.” He put the guitar back in its case and zipped it up. “He gets so furious when I tell him I support gun control.” He got up and got a root beer out of the refrigerator and sat back down. “He always tells me, ‘Guns don’t kill people, people kill people.’”

Clark snorted. “There aren’t many school massacres with knives.”

“Yeah,” Christian said, his voice detached. He twisted the cap off his root beer and sipped it. “My dad just doesn’t understand, that’s all.” He drank half the soda and said. “If he heard I got beat up, he would blame me for it. He would tell me I should try and fit in better, and things like that.”

“Just like Mr. Henry,” Clark commented.

“My dad would love that guy.”

“Well, that’s great. My parents hate me, your parents hate you, Shannon’s parents hate her, and Andy’s parents hate all of us.”

“My mom doesn’t hate me,” Christian said. “She just likes the TV more.” Outside, a car pulled up and car doors were slammed. Christian closed his eyes and sighed. “Sounds like my parents are home,” he said.

The door opened and Christian’s father came in, followed by his mother. Christian’s father looked at Clark with distaste and turned his blazing eyes on Christian. “What the hell, Christian?” he demanded. He put a Styrofoam meal container on the entertainment center. “You said you couldn’t work because you have homework, but now you are just hanging out with your friends?”

“It’s all right,” Christian said, turning the chair to face his parents. “I finished it before Clark got here.”

“You had that little?” his father asked. “Then you could have worked!” He scowled, inhaling and exhaling through his nose several times before saying, “I need you to work tomorrow.”

“I’d better go,” Clark said. He got out of the chair and hurried past Christian’s parents and out the door.

Christian’s eyes widened and his jaw dropped open. “I can’t!” he yelled, paying no notice to Clark’s departure. “I’m going to that show, I’ve been planning it for weeks!” He leaned forward, glaring hatefully at his father. “You know I can’t work tomorrow!”

His mother walked between them and went upstairs.

“Well, I needed you to work tonight, but you couldn’t be bothered. I had to call Richard to have him cover for you. Now, you can cover for him tomorrow.”

“He’s going to have to work for me again,” Christian snapped defiantly. “I’m going to the show right after school. I’m not going to work.”

His father slammed his fist down on the entertainment center. “Christian, it’s time you learned some god-damned responsibilities! You need to understand that life isn’t just fun and games. You can’t go skipping out on work every time there is some silly concert you want to go to.”

“It’s not silly...”

“You have to work to get by in life. You need to learn that! You can see this band again, sometime when it’s convenient. You’re eighteen years old now. You’re going to be out of school in a month, it’s time you started acting like it.”

“I’m not working tomorrow!” Christian yelled on the verge of tears. “Don’t even expect to see me there!”

His father jabbed a stubby finger at him. “If you aren’t there, you will have hell to pay, you got that, mister?”

“Fine,” Christian snapped. “Just leave me alone.”

His father stared at him for nearly a minute and then stomped upstairs.

Christian sat in the chair for a few minutes. A single tear rolled down his cheek, hung suspended on his chin and plummeted to the lap of his cargo pants. He got up and stumbled to the back of the room, collapsing on the stack of mattresses. In a few minutes, he was sobbing freely. He shoved his face tightly into the pillow. After about ten minutes, his sobs lightened, fading steadily until they stopped altogether.