“Then what is it?”
“Nothing, okay?” I snap. There’s a don’t-bother-asking-for-more-because-I’m-not-saying-anything-else tone to my words. Reid catches it and luckily drops that line of questioning.
A few minutes pass in silence as we watch Maddy playing with Braden, their almost two-year-old son. A pang of sadness fills my chest. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want that – a family, a love of my own, but it seems like that just isn’t written in my cards.
We both finish our beers and Reid leans forward in his seat. “Then if it’s not about Matt, whatever it is that’s bothering you lately, that’s making you all sorts of pissed off and angry, I just want you to know that I’m here to help.” His anger about my being late is gone. A sad look passes across his face, but he swipes it away as he scrubs a hand along his jaw. “Is it about Shane?” he asks uneasily. We’ve been rehashing the past recently so talking about him has been happening more than I’m comfortable with.
Hearinghisname feels like I’ve just been punched in the stomach. My emotions knot my throat and I grind my teeth together. Through a clenched jaw, I grit out an angry, “No.”
Reid slips into counselor mode; it’s subtle, but I notice it. “Like hell it isn’t. Have you ever talked to anyone about him, about what happened? About what happened after…” His question trails off, not wanting to gothere.
I don’t say anything. Not saying anything, I avoid making eye contact with him, afraid he might see the emotion in my eyes. I can’t say I’m surprised he sees the true cause of my problems. After all, he was the only one who went through it with me. Shaking my head, I rake a hand through my hair, beyond frustrated at this conversation.
Shane is a part of me that I keep buried. It’s easier that way.
“I think you should. It’ll help.” There’s compassion in his words, no judgment; there never has been from Reid.
“What are you some kind of expert or something?” I attempt to joke.
Reid laughs and stretches his legs out, leaning back in the chair again and interlocking his fingers behind his head. “Yeah, actually I am – got a degree and everything.” He gets serious again before casually adding, “And it’s been helping me, so maybe it could help you.”
I brush off the reference of him going to counseling, especially since I was the one who recommended it to him. Irony is a bitch like that. “I doubt it, but thanks for your professional opinion,” I spit out with more sarcasm than I initially intended.
“Fuck the professionalism, Dylan. We both know you feel guilty over what happened, maybe even more than I do and that’s saying a lot. Nevertheless, you’re miserable. You can’t move on. You drown yourself in work and make every excuse in the book to avoid any kind of relationship. I’m not getting all girly and shit on you talking about feelings and whatnot, but you need to talk this out. You need to let it go and move on.”
No matter how much I want to tell him he’s wrong, and I’m fine – that I don’t blame myself – it’d all be a fucking lie. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I do need help.
For close to a decade, I’ve done nothing but blame myself. Hell, it’s even why I chose the career I did. If I help enough kids, maybe it’ll help alleviate the guilt I feel at not being able to help the first person I ever loved.
We sit silently for a few moments, the sadness over losing Shane weighing us down. “I miss him,” I admit quietly. “I failed him and it’s my fault. I miss him so much. I just want to go back and take back all that shit I said to him. I want to take it all back and maybe, just maybe, things could be different. No amount of talking to someone will change that,” I mutter barely above a whisper, afraid that if I speak any louder, my anger will boil over.
A pained look flashes on Reid’s face, but it morphs to one of compassion before he opens his mouth. “I feel the same way but there’s no sense in letting life pass you by over something that’s never going to happen. You can’t go back in time. You can’t take your words back, but you can be happy.” Reid’s face splits into a wide smile and I hear Maddy and Braden walk up behind me.
Braden nearly jumps out of Maddy’s arms as Reid walks over to them. “He stinks and I’m off diaper duty today.” Before Reid can even protest, Maddy is walking away from us and the stench that is Braden’s diaper.
“Just think about it, Dylan,” he says quickly as he tosses Braden in the air before walking into the house to change him.
After the party, I drive home. Alone. To my empty apartment. Where Reid’s words bounce around in my head.
But so do thoughts of Shane and what could have been.
“Ma!” I called out from the bottom of the stairs, my voice cracking just a little. “I’m going out with the guys. Be back for dinner.”
“Okay, sweetie. Take your hoodie in case it gets cold.” It was the middle of summer in upstate New York; cold was not an option, but rather than getting into it with my mom, I just rolled my eyes like any seasoned sixteen year old would, as I swiped my hoodie from the hook next to the front door. After I scooped up my bat, glove, and bucket of baseballs from the front porch, I made my way down the block to the Connelys’.
Shane and Reid had been my best friends for as long as I could remember. Even though Reid was two years younger than Shane and me, I couldn’t remember a time when it hadn’t been the three of us.
The glaring July sun was beating on my back as I walked toward their house. I moved my forearm across my face as the sweat dripped down my temples. It was a freaking scorcher of a day, but that didn’t matter to us. Baseball was calling and it was our job to answer.
As I approached their front door, I overheard some kind of shrill argument. Unfortunately, this wasn’t unusual. Shane and Reid never talked about it, but their dad was always angry at something. I waited for the loud voices to subside before knocking gently on the door. Shoving my hands into my pockets, I breathed a deep sigh of relief when I heard the lighter footsteps of Mrs. Connely, Rebecca as she insisted I call her, approach the door. When she opened the door, I caught sight of Mr. Connely, no first name niceties were insisted upon in his case, storming up the stairs – beer in hand.
“Oh, hey, Dylan. Come on in. The boys are just finishing up out back. I’ll go get them for you.” Rebecca’s bright smile had grown dimmer in recent years, yet another thing the guys rarely spoke about.
Rather than walking through the house – there was something just “off” about the place – something creepy and sterile all at once that made me say, “That’s okay, Rebecca. I’ll just walk around,” as I jogged off the front porch and to the side gate.
She smiled kindly and softly clicked the door closed before retreating into the living room. I couldn’t help but notice how her shoulders slumped just a bit as she turned away from me. I was no mind reader, that was certain, but I always considered myself a people person – eager and outgoing, interested in hearing what others had to say. Reading Mrs. Connely’s sadness was becoming easier through the years, and though I knew it was none of my business, I wished, for her sake and for my best friends’, that it would just go away somehow.
“You guys ready to go play some ball? I think everyone else is already there. Let’s go.” I was practically vibrating with the pent up energy of any teenage boy on summer vacation.
