Alice slowed down her crying and smiled at me.
“Kurt, you’re too nice. I’m not a saint, you know. I’ve done some stupid, messed up stuff in my life.”
“I know,” I told her. “But it’s not like my motives were entirely pure.”
“What do you mean?”
I stared at my shoes, swallowed hard and said, “Well, I did want to help you with your math, that’s true. But I don’t think I would have done it if I hadn’t thought you were so beautiful.”
Alice didn’t say anything for what seemed like an unfairly long amount of time. Then she asked me, “So … if I got attacked by a mountain lion and my face was all gross and disfigured, and, like, ripped to shreds, you wouldn’t have helped me with my math homework?” I think maybe she was trying not to laugh.
“Truth?” I said, digging around for the courage to look at her. “In the beginning, no. I wouldn’t have. But now you could go out and get mauled by twenty mountain lions, and I would still want to help you. I would still want to be your friend. You’re a great person, Alice. You’re not just beautiful.”
Alice smiled her wide smile. The crooked incisor smile.
“Well I guess we’ve both, like, evolved or whatever.” She chuckled and then stood up with a long exhale and a stretch of her arms. “I’m sorry, but this conversation calls for shitty beer.”
I nodded in agreement and took the cold can of Lone Star that Alice handed me from the refrigerator. She popped her can open and took a sip.
“I’m so glad you want to be my friend,” she laughed. “Even though I’ve had seven abortions and slept with the principal and plotted to have Brandon Fitzsimmons murdered by Mafia hit men before killing him with my dirty texting, right?” Alice rolled her eyes. It was the first time she’d ever said his name out loud in front of me, and suddenly, I knew it was time. It had to be now or never.
“Alice, about Brandon Fitzsimmons,” I said, and I took another sip of beer in an effort not to lose courage. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you. Something I think you’d like to know.”
Josh
We had our worst season in a really long time. It just sucked. We won that first game against Dominion. Maybe they let us win because they felt sorry for us because of Brandon. I don’t know. But we lost almost every game after that except for the one against Pikesville, and I don’t even think that counts because that town is so small they barely have enough guys to make up a team.
Coach Hendricks was always bringing up Brandon in the locker room. At least in the beginning of the season when we still had a chance. He’d say things like, “Brandon would have wanted us to go and give it our all!” or “Let’s win this one for Brandon!” Whatever. It pissed me off. Because really, Coach Hendricks just wanted us to win. He was upset Brandon was dead because Brandon was the best quarterback Healy had had in a million years. But he wasn’t upset Brandon was dead because of anything else about Brandon. And so it really bugged me the way he kept bringing him up all the time. I figured if Brandon could see what was going on from heaven, it would piss him off, too.
I sort of want to believe in heaven. I think about it whenever Reverend Simmons talks about it at church on Sunday. I want to believe I’ll see Brandon again, and in heaven we can pass footballs all day and drink good beer for free and just chill. I guess for a little while, I had heaven on earth because that’s what Brandon and I did most of the time, just hang out. Drinking, chilling. Whatever. We didn’t even pay for the beer because we stole it from our parents.
But if you want to know the truth, I have this feeling down in my gut that there is no heaven. My gut just tells me it doesn’t make sense. How could there be a heaven for me and not for every little fly I swat or squirrel I’ve accidentally run over? But it makes me feel really weird thinking about death just being it, the end. So whenever the idea of no heaven comes into my head, I just sort of try and push it out of there.
I try not to think about that stuff too much.
And the truth is, even if there is a heaven, I don’t think I’ll get in. Because even more than trying not to think about Brandon and heaven, what I really try not to think about is what actually happened the day of the accident. The day after the Homecoming Game. I’ve never told anyone about it, and it’s a weird feeling to know I never will. Never.
We were drinking beers on Brandon’s roof. Some hair of the dog, I guess, and I was drinking double everything that Brandon was putting down. Brandon had three, maybe four beers if you want to know the truth, so he was pretty buzzed when his mom asked us to run to the store for her to get her some diapers for Brandon’s little sister. That’s why the cops said his blood alcohol was probably the cause of the accident. But I’d seen Brandon drive after drinking way more than that. He drove drunk all the time. It’s just a Healy thing, I guess. It was hot out, and the inside of Brandon’s truck was like a million degrees. Brandon stripped his shirt off when we got inside and cranked open the windows.
“AC’s broke again,” he said.
My head was loopy from the beer. I knew my eyes were looking at Brandon’s chest for too long. I’d seen Brandon’s chest more times than I could count. In the locker room. When he stayed over at my house. Swimming at Healy Pool North. I looked one last time as we were getting in the truck and then I told myself to stop looking.
I was pretty lit and feeling good, and it sounds stupid when I say it now, but as we pulled out of Brandon’s front yard I just thought about us winning the Homecoming Game and everybody loving us and thinking how great we were. It was like I was high on us being us. Me and Brandon. Brandon and me.
“We’re kings of this town, man,” I said as Brandon picked up speed. The trees were blobs of green. The oncoming traffic was flashes of color. Red truck. Blue car. White van. The air coming in the windows was coming in so fast it was like it was cutting into our faces. But it felt good.
“Hell, yeah, we’re kings of this town,” Brandon said, and it was so cool to be just the two of us, alone together. I mean, I was Brandon’s best friend, but people were always trying to get near him. I guess what I mean is that sometimes it was nice when it was just the two of us all by ourselves. Like that moment in the truck. It felt perfect.
But then Brandon took out his phone.
“I think this king needs a queen,” he said. His eyes kept darting between the phone and the road.