Present,April 1987
Toby
Johnny’s back.
He’s sitting on the wooden chair by the phone in the kitchen like a sentinel standing guard when I walk in the door from school. We exchange nods, and then I begin the covert assessment to try to determine where he’s been all week.
He looks different.
His eyes are clear, the constant ruddy cheeks are gone, and his skin has color. And he’s lost weight, or more than weight, he’s lost bloat. That puffy layer is gone.
When he clears his throat, I drop my eyes and walk to unlock the padlock on my room. Throat clearing by Johnny is usually followed by something he’d rather not have to say out loud. “I quit drinking.” I stop in my tracks. More throat clearing and I keep my eyes trained on the floor because I know Johnny well enough to know if he’s being this frank, he doesn’t want eye contact of any kind. “Thought I could do it cold turkey and ended up in the hospital sicker than a dog.” More throat clearing. “Spent the last three days at my sponsor’s house trying to get my head on straight before I came back here to you guys. I joined AA,” he says as an add-on to explain the “sponsor” comment, I guess.
I chew at my thumbnail for a moment before I ask, “So this was the shit that needed to be dealt with, getting sober?” referencing the note he left for me.
“Yeah,” he says grimly, his tone laced with shame. When I look up at him, there’s remorse in his eyes. “I’ve been fucked up for so long that I don’t know if I can do this or not.” He shrugs like it’s an apology for showing weakness. “But it’s either try or eventually die. I’m trying.”
I don’t know what to say. I was prepared to come home, listen to the messages, and get to work. I wasn’t prepared for soul-baring on Johnny’s part. Communication isn’t my strong suit, especially when feelings are involved. Johnny and I don’t talk about personal stuff, the line was drawn the day I moved into his apartment and we’ve never crossed it since. I don’t want to start now.
“That’s good,” I say because my silence is awkward. This whole situation is awkward. “Does Cliff know?”
“No, I wanted to talk to you first.”
I nod but feel slotted in the middle of a strange family dynamic. Shouldn’t he talk to his nephew before he spills his guts to his employee and tenant?
“He’s still alive? And a free man?” he asks in only a half-joking tone.
I start to unlock the padlock, sensing this conversation is thankfully coming to an end. “As of this morning he was. Give Cliff a few hours and anything’s possible, though.”
Johnny’s subdued sigh is audible. “You’re right about that.”
When I set down my backpack on my sleeping bag, my gaze falls on the graduation invitation on one of my shelves. “You wouldn’t happen to know where Marilyn is these days, would you?”
His eyebrows pull together in confusion at my random change of topic. “Nope, haven’t seen her in years. Why?”
I snag the envelope off the shelf and hold it up like it explains my madness. “I need to mail her this.”
“What is it?” he asks curiously.
“My graduation announcement.” I’m going for aloof, but the resentment in my voice wins out.
He nods solemnly. “Give it to me. I’ll ask around.”
I’m reluctant to surrender it to him, but at the same time it will be a relief to get it out of my hands, so I make the decision to hand it over. I almost say thanks, but I stop myself because Johnny likes being thanked for anything about as much as I do, so I skip it.
It’s then that I notice the light isn’t flashing on the answering machine. “No messages?” I ask.
“Nope, Curtis Street called earlier and I took care of it. And Mrs. Bennett called a little while ago and said her dog needed to be walked. I didn’t remember them having a dog, but I went down to her apartment anyway.” I can see in his eyes that the severity of her decline had escaped him these past few years and he feels bad about it. Life went on in this big, old house while he was somewhere else ignoring it. “They don’t have a dog,” he says somberly. “It’s sad, isn’t it, watching her memory fade away?”
I nod because it’s beyond sad. “I’m going to start my homework.” I don’t have any homework, but I need to get away.
“Okay,” he agrees, and just like that, I have the night off.
I sit in my room all night and draw and listen to my New Order tape, only taking a break to make a couple of bologna sandwiches. And I think about Johnny and hope he doesn’t fall off the wagon. But because my faith in everything is woefully lacking, I wonder how long it will take before he does. My pessimism honestly answers my own suspicions,I give him two weeks, tops. I can’t help but agree.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Present,April 1987
