Drinking Games, Confucius, and Pool Lounging

[[Help!! I am desperate with this piece. Its for my nonfiction class and is due in two weeks--the workshop section tore it apart and I've greatly revamped it, but now feel like it's been butchered--any advice would be GREATLY appreciated! Thanks! LO]]

The backyard shimmered in the heat, an unstable mirage. Sitting by the pool, the plastic lawn chair stuck to the back of my legs, to my arms. Sweat gathered at my hairline, threatening to spill over and run into my eyes. Even with my sunglasses, I developed a squint from staring up at the sky into the harsh sunlight.

The rusty washer rotated in little quarter-turns, packing down the dusty lawn, and the dryer kept up a constant thump-thump, thump-thump. It was laundry day. What day was that? I couldn’t remember. Tinny music sounded from the neighbor’s yard, and I could hear the muted growling of traffic, but it all seemed so much further away than just the other side of the fence. The water of the pool sparkled in the sun, reflecting the top of the enormous palm tree that hovered over me.

At home, my friends and I would climb the cliffs at the lake, laughing and coated with fine red dust. At the top we would work up the courage to sprint off the edge. I would have several abortive attempts before I catapulted through the air. The water stayed frigid all the way into August and stole the air right out of my lungs, but we splashed each other, messing around until our toes grew numb. Then we would spread our blankets and lay, scorching in the sun, all lined up in a row.

Here, at my brother’s house, even though the water in the pool had been baked through, warm and inviting, I only dipped my feet, barely wetting my toes. Once in a while I scooped up a handful of water and let it dribble down my face, down my stomach, watching it gather and pool in my belly button.

My legs flashed in the light; my belly felt warm from the sun. I crossed my arms over my chest, folded up my legs. I felt too exposed. My swimsuit, cute and perky in the middle of a line of sunbathers at home, seemed awkward, like an obscenity, even in Phoenix’s sea of half-dressed citizens.

Holding onto my toes, I gazed around the yard. It looked much like the inside of the house, littered with scraps of broken furniture and machinery, almost as dirty. I shook my head. The house—and the yard—had to be packed, cleaned, and vacated within a couple of weeks. So far, there was a total of five half-full boxes scattered around the house. Once in a while my brother or Kevin or, less often, Rob, would pass by one of them and drop a few things in; a can opener, ping-pong paddles, maybe a pot or a pan. Then they’d reward themselves for their effort by cracking open a beer or going for a swim. Meanwhile my sandals still stuck to the tiled floors, egg yolks still hardened on the refrigerator shelf, and Confucius still scuttled around the bathroom. It was maddening. I was supposedly there to help, to organize, to instruct them in cleaning, but I was overwhelmed by the task. I spent a lot of time by the pool.

Before I left Wyoming, I sat in my room, day after day. I would sit on my bed and stare at the ceiling or out the window. I didn’t talk much, I didn’t eat much. I didn’t go to work or out to dinner or to the movies. I didn’t stay out too late, I didn’t watch T.V. I didn’t read or argue or laugh. Sometimes I didn’t even change into or out of my pajamas.

At night, in my dreams, that same face would be everywhere, staring out at me with hostile eyes and that friendly, disarming smile. My mother would turn from the window in the kitchen, her hands soapy from the dishes in the sink, and his face would be where hers should have been. He would be there, in the review mirror, when I looked at the car behind me. Sitting at a table in some restaurant, I looked up from the menu to order and there he would be, smiling down at me. I would scream until my throat gave out, raw and sore, until I couldn’t scream anymore, but no one ever came, no one seemed to hear. I would wake up, over and over again, trembling and sweating, waiting for the tears to come, but they never did.

In the daytime I tuned everyone out, let them talk to me, talk at me, their words washing over me but never quite penetrating. I wouldn’t let anyone touch me except for the dog. I kept her sitting next to me, right on the bed, and my mother didn’t say a word. My hands moved restlessly over her wiry fur, and when they stopped she would scramble into my lap. She was an old dog, a Schnauzer, taller and fatter than she was supposed to be, and she would push her entire weight up against my chest, so hard that she trembled every time my heart beat. We were sitting like that, pressed together, when my mother walked into my room one morning. I didn’t listen to her, just watched her mouth working, until I realized she was talking about my brother.

“He’s moving in a couple of weeks, him and his roommates. You know how he is about moving, he’ll just throw everything in a box and leave a mess,” she said. This was true; organization and planning and labeling were skills that completely evaded my brother. “He really could use your help, just to motivate him a little.” I raised my eyebrows at my mother and looked down at myself. I still wore the clothes I put on the day before. She flushed, but would not be deterred. “He asked me if you would come.” She had saved her best weapon for last. I could feel her leaning forward, almost imperceptibly, waiting for a response. I pet the dog, once, twice. She turned her furry head and looked up at me. I stared back.

“Ok,” I said quietly.

Three days later my plane touched down in Phoenix.
With the sun beating on my shoulders, my hands wrapped around my toes, I thought that maybe my mother had underestimated the situation.

* * *

The house must have been beautiful once. It had delicate arched doorways and patterned tiles that cooled the entire house, even deep into summer. A ping-pong table, dusty and leaning haphazardly to one side, dominated the large, spacious kitchen. White plastic chairs were scattered around a card table huddled in one corner. Someone had stenciled waves, curliques, sunbursts, all trailing up and down the cupboards, around the sink, the paint now flaking away in patches. Cheerful pilfered traffic signs adorned the hallway, and the NO STANDING sign hid a gaping hole in the wall, just about the size of an angry fist.

Between the thin layer of mold creeping up the window and the seascape shower curtain, the bathroom was lit dimly green. It felt like being underwater. As I set my toothbrush in the holder that first day, and hung my towel on the rack, something crawled over my bare foot. I closed my eyes and shrieked, not brave enough to shake the thing off, not brave enough to look at it.

The door burst open, banging against the wall, and my brother and his two roommates peered in. The four of us looked at each other, and then down at my foot.

A tiny lizard stared back at us, eyes bulging.

“Its just Confucius,” Rob snorted and turned away.

“We thought it was a scorpion,” Kevin explained. “Geckos eat scorpions.” He shuffled back to his room.

Eric bent down and flicked gently at the gecko. It took off, scampered across the floor, and disappeared under the toilet. I looked at him.

“You have a gecko named Confucius living in your house?”

“Just in the bathroom,” My brother yawned, his mind already back on the interrupted ballgame.

“Do they really eat scorpions?” He shrugged.

“We’ve never had one. Don’t worry, Confucius can’t hurt you.” He started to shut the door.

“Why name it Confucius?” I asked. He paused.

“Why not?” He shut the door.

After lining up my shampoo and conditioner, I hung my clothes in the closet, lining them up neatly and methodically, killing time. The house was quiet. Tentatively I made my way to the back door, peeking in every room as I passed. As I walked into the backyard, Eric jumped up like he had been waiting.

“Let’s go to the K.” He led me to the fence gate, Kevin and Rob trailing behind. As I passed into the alley I stumbled, nearly falling, and grabbed at the heavy wooden door. A long sliver embedded itself in my thumb, and a tiny pool of blood welled up, spilling down my finger like a tear. I put my thumb in my mouth and sucked at the splinter, tasting the blood’s salty tang.

I followed my brother along blindly, walking close to the edge of the sidewalk. I kept my head down, studying Rob and Kevin with sidelong glances. Rob seemed to glitter in the sun with his golden tan, the light reflecting off of his carefully bleached hair. He looked like someone in a toothpaste ad, glossy and impossibly groomed, and reminded me of the guys I knew in high school, carefully put together and posing self-consciously. He talked too much and laughed at the jokes he made, his teeth bright and straight. His sleeve brushed up against my arm, and I shivered, stepping away off the edge of the curb, eliminating the danger of being touched again.

Kevin smiled vaguely at Rob’s comments but kept quiet. I liked him more, I decided, because he probably wouldn’t be any trouble. He had been my brother’s roommate all through school and they could have been twins, shaggy-headed and self-contained. They both laughed with Rob, but with a rueful shaking of their heads.

“The K” turned out to be a common enough looking convenience store a half-block from the house. Even though it was a short walk I had been scorched by the sun. When my foot slipped out of my flip-flop, there was a faint, whiter V left against the pale skin. I’d never had a sandal tan before, but this concentrated sunshine had given me one in under five minutes.

Inside, the guys scattered in different directions, looking around and searching eagerly, as if they expected to find hidden gems nestled between the snack cakes and beef jerky. A creaking wooden ceiling fan rotated lazily, and the lights were dim to ward off the heat. Behind the counter a tiny woman with ten thousand wrinkles fanned herself energetically with a newspaper. The bright, electric-blue garment wrapped around her could have been a dress or a bathrobe or a bed sheet.

I watched the other three rummaging through the racks of hats and sunglasses and cigarette lighters, their expressions delighted. It was as if they had found the bargain of a lifetime with every cheap plastic knick-knack crowded on the shelves. Kevin emerged from the aisles wearing a pair of sequined, red, white and blue sunglasses. The lenses were star shaped and the tag dangled down his cheek. Rob joined us, nibbling an Eskimo Pie, and Eric handed me a soda. As we left the store, Kevin let out a deep sigh.

“I love that place,” he said. Eric nodded and Rob mumbled, his mouth full. I stared at the three of them, feeling bewildered and out of touch. We started walking, and the sun pressed down with palpable force, warming my face and my shoulders and my toes. I let my eyes lose their focus and the sound of their voices rushed past me. I felt disconnected, separated from the world, safe and secure and alone. I could feel the sun from the inside out, my stiff joints and tense muscles relaxing, and I just walked, trying my hardest not to think or feel anything.

That first night Eric and I went to the movies. When we were little, my brother and I could occupy ourselves for hours. We crafted bombs out of silly putty and stealthily stolen stereo wire, planting them on the walls and then running for our lives. They left big oily stains on the wallpaper after my mother peeled them off, but her scolding lacked conviction. When she asked us what we were doing with them, my brother answered, “Making putty bombs,” wide-eyed and sincere. She had to turn away hastily, trying to hide her laugh behind her hand. We built forts with the massive living room cushions and pelted each other with stuffed animals, or told scary stories after it got dark. We would build complex miniature golf courses, and played Crash Bandicoot or Mario Kart for hours. We constructed Lego villages and broke out the garage door window playing forbidden games of handball. We screeched at each other, fought, cried, ran to Mom, and started all over again. But now we didn’t know what to do, what to play, so we scheduled activities. We went to the movies.

Standing in line, with so many people crowded around made me fight against the panic rising up in my throat. I held my breath, standing perfectly still, careful not to let anyone come to close, making sure I didn’t bump into the person standing in front of me. Even though I had money carefully stockpiled in my checking account, I let Eric pay and made him get me popcorn and soda and candy, even though I wouldn’t finish it all. The boy behind the counter handed me the soda, and I took it from him gingerly, making sure my fingers didn’t brush against his. In doing so I slopped some of the sticky soda onto the counter, almost dropping the cup. The boy shot me an irritated scowl and Eric looked at me sharply. I pretended not to notice.

The movie was a spy film, with lots of explosions and car chases and fruit carts getting knocked over. I didn’t really pay attention, but Eric laughed and made sarcastic remarks and we both stuffed our faces with fistfuls of buttery popcorn. It reminded me of afternoons in the summer movie program, when my mother would finally tire of us picking at each other and drop us off at the movies for a few hours of quiet.

When we got back to the house, I felt more drained than I had all summer. “The heat,” Eric said. He stood there, nodding at his own sagacity, his expression troubled. He looked so much like our grandfather, nodding away to himself like that, his eyebrows drawn together and his eyes drooping a little at the corners.

“Where do I sleep?” I asked. He looked around like the thought had only just now occurred to him.

“The couch, I guess…” He made it sound like a question. I walked into his room, pulled a pillow and blanket off his bed, and settled down on the couch.

“Did you lock the door?” I asked.

“Yeah, its bolted.”

“Both of them?” My voice sounded small, even to me.

“Both of them,” he said. Heading towards his room, he paused at the light switch. He turned and looked at me for a moment. He cleared his throat. “You ok?” His voice was husky.

“Yeah,” I tried to say more but the words stuck in my throat. I turned my face towards the wall.

“Goodnight, then.” He switched off the light, went in his room and closed the door. I laid there in the darkness, staring blankly, for a long time.

* * *

Despite my predictions, over the days the number of packed boxes grew, although I never really witnessed it happening. I just looked around one day and realized that more of the house had been packed than what remained.

On a Thursday- or maybe it was a Tuesday -Eric had to take off for the afternoon for a final. This surprised me, as I never saw him doing any type of schoolwork, or go to class at any time. But I guessed that he knew what he was doing. So Rob and I would be at the house all afternoon. That was fine by me, and I stretched out by the pool and drifted off, slightly sleeping, until a cool shadow fell across my face.

I shrank back, nearly tipping over my chair, but it was only Rob.

“You’re gonna get scorched if you lay there much longer,” his head just blocked out the sun, a halo of light surrounding him. “Get some clothes on, we’re going out real quick.”

I tried to rub the sleep from my eyes, confused and a little apprehensive.

“Where are we going?” I hadn’t moved yet. Rob looked at me, curious.

“The stereo store. Eric said to take you. Hurry up.”

I hoisted myself out of the chair and went to put on some clothes. At least I would be able to ride in Rob’s car. Bright red and low-slung, when it glittered in the sun I was always tempted to bite at it, thinking of candied apples. The windows were tinted a deep black, a necessity in Tempe, Rob explained. I wondered how Rob maintained its pristine condition when my brother’s dusty white truck had its window broken out three different times.

Gazing out the window as we sped along, I still felt befuddled by my nap in the sun. The air conditioner blew across my legs, bringing up goose bumps. I tilted the vents away from me.

“What’s wrong with your stereo?” I asked, breaking the silence. Rob glance at me sideways and grinned. His teeth were so white against his tan they hurt my eyes. He flicked on the stereo, and music abruptly filled the car. My seat shook in time to the bass line, and I could feel my eardrums quivering. Looking to stop the assault, I reached for the volume button. Rob slapped my hand away. He turned off the music and laughed.

“The volume button’s stuck. If you turn it down any more it won’t go back up.” I rolled my eyes and turned back to the window.

Twenty minutes of driving took us deep into Phoenix, a part I hadn’t been to before. We pulled up, tires screeching, in front of a small building. A small sign leaned against the bars over the windows, reading “Stereo Repiar”. I raised my eyebrows.

“I think I’ll wait,” I said. He shrugged and rolled down the windows, taking the keys.
I looked around as he disappeared. The stereo store stood in the shadow of a two-pump gas station. Rob had parked close enough to the storefront that I could see peeling posters, layered one on top of each other, pink and yellow and neon green. I tried to decipher the ones in Spanish but quickly gave up. Complex graffiti sprawled across the side of the building.

A car, its paint faded in patches, sat at one of the gas pumps. Two men perched on the hood. They both wore baseball hats and sleeveless shirts, talking animatedly and passing a brown bag-encased bottle back and forth.

The inside of the car grew cruelly hot. My sunglasses slipped down my nose and I shoved them back up with my finger, watching the two men intently out of the corner of my eye. The minutes crept by slowly, and Rob still didn’t appear. I jiggled my foot and picked at my nails until the cuticles were raw. Around me the air became thicker and heavy, and I struggled to take each breath. What was taking so long? I wiped at my forehead, but the back of my hand was just as wet and sticky.

A third man slouched out of the gas station, joining the other two. The new man stared over at me, or, more likely, at the car, and the other two turned to see, craning their necks. One of them hopped down off the car hood and started towards me.

I gasped for breath, fumbling for the handle of the door. Carefully not looking at the men I was sure were closing in behind me, I hurried to the front of the store, pushed open the door, and stepped inside.

The interior was dimly lit, and it took my eyes a few seconds to adjust. I leaned back against the door, my heart pounding in my ears. After taking a few deep calming breaths, I looked around. A few light bulbs illuminated long tables running the length of the room, piled with wires and speakers and electrical-looking odds and ends. The lights left the edges of the room in shadows, though, and it looked as if there should have been cobwebs dangling in the corners. Clouds of smoke hung in the air. Rob turned to look at me, trying to hide the joint he passed off to the man behind the counter little too slowly.

“Rob,” I turned the question into a demand. “The car-” I didn’t know how to finish.

“Yeah,” He fished the keys out of his pocket. “I’m done here. See you next week, man.” He tapped on the counter emphatically, once, twice, and we left.

Outside there was no trace of the three men. Rob’s car still sat in the same place, pristine and glistening in the sunlight. As we pulled out of the parking lot, I turned to him.

“Didn’t the guy want to see the stereo?” I didn’t really care to hear his excuses.

“They were too busy. Had to make an appointment.” The lie spilled out of him effortlessly. It reminded me of my friends at home.

Letting the steering wheel slide smoothly through his hands, he waited for me to say more. His eyes shone, dark and luminous, and I turned away, staring out the window. I let out a squeak of surprise. There, on the entrance ramp to the highway, stood a huge gecko, built into the patterned brick. It looked so much like Confucius, eyes bulging, that I laughed delightedly. Rob looked at me in surprise.

“Oh, yeah, they have all sorts of things like that around here. People used to use them, like the Anasazi, the cliff dwellers, you know, in their jewelry and stuff.” He merged and wove through traffic with panache.

“Yeah, I know about them. They were for protection,” I answered.

“Really? Huh. How’d you know that?”

“I did a report once,” I answered. For the rest of the drive I was silent.

When we pulled up to the house, Eric’s truck filled the driveway, and Rob grumbled about parking on the street. Eric looked up at me as we walked in. A faint line appeared between his eyebrows.

“What have you been doing?” He looked from me to Rob and back again. I could almost feel Rob holding his breath. He let me answer.

“We went to the stereo store.” The line hovered there on his forehead, demanding reassurance.

“Its fine.” I could lie easy, too. I flopped down next to him on the couch, and his face smoothed out. Rob grinned at me and walked straight through the house, out the back door.

* * *

Erin called me one afternoon. Girls possess the unique ability for such caring, tender cruelty. Their concern, like a paper cut, is superficial, but can sting for days. She called, she explained, because everyone was just so worried.

“It was so sudden, we didn’t even know you were leaving, and then it was just, like, you were gone. No one even knew you were leaving.”

Translation: You can’t leave without telling us.

“Yeah, well, it was pretty last minute,” I clamp my lips together, hard, to keep apologies, explanations, from leaking out.

She didn’t understand, she just didn’t get it. She never would. Everything that had happened was just so far outside of her experiences with the world. That’s what I decided, that’s how I explain it now. They needed someone to blame, otherwise it could happen to anyone—it could even happen to them. So they let the story leak, one by one. I could imagine the conversations: told only in confidence, of course—you musn’t tell anyone, but guess what happened—or what she says happened…whispers and gossip and shared secrets over lunch, until everyone heard, my mother and my father and finally even my brother, in far away Arizona. But oh, we were just trying to help, don’t you know—I didn’t want to hear any more, from anyone.

I could tell she didn’t know what to say, was trying to figure out how to make it go away and be all better, so she poured the light, airy gossip over me. Jen got a haircut, it was just wretched, what was she thinking? Owen’s parents bought him a new car—another one. That makes two this year. Lauren and Amy made a bet to see who could go the longest without shaving their legs, and it was disgusting, just gross, and Michelle—

Erin broke off with a sound that could be a gasp, or a sigh, or a grunt. She obviously felt my hostility from hundreds of miles, over the telephone lines.

I suddenly felt that we were not the only ones listening. I could see them, crowded around the phone; the vultures, hoping for a juicy bit. Or maybe I was just too paranoid. I wanted to scream at her, make her sorry, make her understand how it feels to have everyone whispering behind their hands about to, to look at you with that pitying, judging, blaming expression in their eyes.

“I have to go now. My brother’s calling me.” A blatant lie. Let her deny it.

“Well, listen, I hope you know that I would never listen to Michelle, you know how she is, I’m sure by the time you get back things will be fine, and I mean—well, you know I believe you, but really, I mean, you never even really told me what actually happened…I mean, like, all of it, you know, and it would probably help, like, talking about it or whatever, and then I would know…” Erin blathered on stupidly, pointlessly, trying to reduce this to another funny story that we could laugh about someday. I could feel my throat tightening, burning. I transferred the phone to my other hand, wiping my sweaty palm on my tank top. It left a damp mark.

“Thanks Erin, I really have to go. I’ll call you.”

“Ok, well, you should,” she paused, waiting for more, but nothing came. “I’ll see you when you get home.”

Translation: You can’t run forever. I hung up the phone.

Out in the living room the guys were sprawled out in front of the T.V. watching baseball. Their laziness, their casual lethargy irritated me. I yanked open the cupboard under the sink. It banged against the wall with a sharp thwack. I rummaged through the bottles until I found an all-purpose cleaner. It had never been opened. I set it on the counter, fetched my toothbrush from the bathroom, pulled out one of the white plastic chairs and slammed it down next to the stove.

I sat down and studied it. Pizza sauce, petrified egg, macaroni noodles, and something that looked like crunchy peanut butter crusted over the surface. The burners were a brittle black, and gummy fingerprints coated the control knobs. Armed with a roll of paper towels and my toothbrush, I drenched the whole thing with cleaner and started scrubbing furiously.

I jammed the paper towel into the corners where the dirt stuck. I dumped the removable burners into the sink to soak, and wore away at the stains with the toothbrush. Worry, worry, worry, pick, pick, pick, bit by bit I ground down the dirt and mess. A little at a time, a bit here and there, the shiny silver of the stove began to show through.

At one point Kevin approached, said something about baking a pizza, but I snarled at him so fiercely he backed away and poured himself a bowl of cereal instead.

The knobs were the hardest. I finally went at them with a toothpick, gouging the dirt out of the tiny grooves with relish.

The light in the kitchen faded until it was too dim to see, and the bottle of cleaner emptied. I sat back, rubbing at my eyes with my wrist. Eric padded barefoot into the kitchen and turned on the light, and the stove glinted and sparkled, an oasis of order and cleanliness. He pulled a soda out of the refrigerator, closed the door and leaned against it.

“Stove’s clean,” he observed. I stared at him. “You look like a banshee.” I looked down at my toothbrush. The bristles were mashed flat, half of them missing.

“I need a new toothbrush,” I ran my finger against them, and a few more fell off. He waited.

“Erin called.” I hunched my shoulders, kept my voice steady. I wondered if it was time, now, for “the talk”. Everyone felt like they had to have it with me, as if I hadn’t had it with myself over and over again. As if I didn’t know what had happened and what I needed and how to make it all better. Better—I almost laughed at the idea.

“What a bitch,” he took a sip of soda, slurping loudly. “Let’s go to the K. I bet they have toothbrushes.” He straightened up and went off to look for his shoes.

I leaned back in my chair and stared at the stove. I felt drained, blank, exhausted, but not an empty blank. I felt accomplished. Like I had set out to do something, and done it well. Even if it was only cleaning a dirty old stove.

I stretched, and my back crackled, all the way up my spine. I stood up, found my shoes, and helped Eric find his too. A trip to the K sounded good.

As we shambled back from the K, Eric told me that we were going to get drunk. It was their poker night, he said, but they hardly ever played poker, just the regular games.

“Regular games?” I repeated.

“Yeah,” he answered. “Don’t worry, you’ll like it.”

When we got back to the house, he took off with Rob. Just around the corner, he reassured me. They came back laden with boxes and bottles and two large, husky friends whose names I never caught.

I curled up at the far end of the couch for a while, sipping at a beer. I laughed at their jokes and watched their games, all of which had terribly complex rules, penalties, and counter-penalties, and involved much jumping up and down. I had hardly ever drank before, and I was surprised that each time I took a swig a little feeling of relief washed over me. I relaxed, little by little, as the noise level in the kitchen escalated. Before too long Eric looked over at me.

“Get in on this one, man,” he shouted, pronouncing each word carefully. “It’s easy, I’ll help you.” Rob kicked a chair towards me, and everyone shifted position, shoving each other and grumbling good naturedly. I shook my head at first, grinning, but let myself be convinced.

After what felt like a very short time, I stood in the bathroom, talking to Confucius. He stared at me from eye level, perched on the wall, refusing to move.

“It’s not your fault, or anything against you, you know,” I blinked blearily. “I just don’t like having people in the bathroom with me. Or lizards.” Confucius stayed glued to the wall, eyes bulging indifferently. “I don’t want you to fall in my hair or something,” I looked around for something to poke at him with, and grabbed up my comb. But he gripped the wall directly above the toilet, and I didn’t want him to fall in and drown. “Eric!” I called. There was a clatter, a bang, and cursing from the other room.

“What?” He yelled back.

“Confucius is staring at me.”

“Tell him to fuck off,” he called. Everyone laughed. I turned back to the staring little lizard, rocking back and forth on my feet. This was ridiculous. I had to pee, and I had to pee now. I drew my eyebrows together fiercely.

“You get down from there right now,” I stamped my foot. To my surprise, it worked. Confucius, shaken loose from his perch fell to the ground, bounced once, and took off running. I watched him rush across the floor, his little limbs pumping frantically. I remembered running like that before, playing tee-ball. I couldn’t have been much more than four or five, and the bases looked impossibly far away from each other. I ran until I thought my heart would explode, right out of my chest. As Confucius slipped under the crack between the toilet and the floor, I felt a sudden rush of tenderness for him.

When I returned to the table, the game was still in full swing, and I picked up right where I left off. Rob threw down a four.

“Jimminy Cricket,” he said. saluting me before taking a drink. I saluted back.

“Jimminy Cricket,” I took a healthy swallow. Eric laid down two fours and crowed like a rooster before taking a sip.

I studied my hand. Nothing.

“Draw,” I paused.

“You have to say it!” Kevin slopped some of his drink onto the front of his shirt. I hung my head and mumbled.

“I can’t hear you,” Eric taunted. I raised my head.

“Angela Lansbury is a flaming hottie,” I recited the words. It seemed like the funniest thing in the world. Everyone howled, and Rob pounded at the table. Kevin threw down an ace. I jumped up, spun around three times and yelled out, “Banana hammock!” before falling back down into my chair. The others did the same, except for Kevin, who had halted in the midst of his third turn. He wobbled dangerously.

“Bama...banamba…hambick,” he slurred. He collapsed into his chair, which tipped over onto its side, spilling him out onto the floor. He made no move to get up.

By tactic consent, this ended our night. The two strangers dragged Kevin off to bed and then departed, taking Rob with them. I curled up on the couch and fell asleep before Eric even left the room.

When I awoke hours later the darkness pressed up against me, severe and unrelieved. I clutched at my pillow even though it was drenched. Shivering uncontrollably, my body heaved with sobs. Holding the sodden mass against my face, I tried to stifle the sounds tearing out of my throat. They scared me. They sounded so foreign, so completely unlike any sound I ever made before, frightened and hurt and animalistic. I heard a door open and I pressed myself up against the back of the couch, searching for escape. Then he was there, stinking of stale beer and dirty linen, gripping my arms, holding me steady. For the first time in months, I felt the soothing warmth of another person. He hugged me, restraining me, and absorbed my shivering against his chest. I cried and whimpered. I could only choke out one distorted word.

“Why?” I wailed, over and over again. He sniffled and when he answered his voice was unsteady.

“I don’t know,” he said, tightening his grip. “I don’t know.” I cried harder, gasping, choking. I cried and snotted all down the front of his shirt and mine. We sat there for what felt like hours, although the darkness in the room never lightened. I cried like a colicky baby, wearing myself out until I fell asleep.

* * *

The big attempt at serious cleaning was squeezed in the morning of the move. Kevin pulled out the refrigerator and mopped the kitchen floors. Rob trotted back and forth through the house, making trips out to the dumpster. Eric gathered up bright yellow gloves and an armful of cleaning products and carried them to the bathroom, complaining the entire time. I assumed my advisory role, making sure to tell him every time he missed a spot. I had done enough preliminary cleaning, I decided, not to take part in this mad dash to finish. Settling down on the floor, I sat helpfully just outside the bathroom door.

Eric wrestled down the shower curtain. It was stiff with soap scum and mold, so stiff that it stood on its own, leaning against the wall, after he took it off the hooks. I shook my head at it in disgust. He laughed at me and told me I would be more understanding when I had a place of my own. I doubted it.

I watched delightedly as he poured the blue stuff in the toilet and scrubbed at it with a brush, nearly ripping it off the wall with his zeal.

“I can’t do it right. Will you show me how?” He sounded pitiful, but I refused to be convinced. Confucius crawled out from underneath the toilet and scuttled up the wall in alarm. We both watched Eric work, thoroughly enjoying ourselves. He scrubbed at the bath tiles with a brush, spritzed the mirror, and scraped at the grime on the window, griping and moaning the entire time. I wondered how much longer he would keep going, and rolled my eyes when he gave up mopping at the stained floor.

“This stuff is stinging my eyes,” he said, blinking ostentatiously. “I need a drink. I’m going to the K real quick.” He stripped off his gloves and threw them on the floor. I looked at Confucius. His eyes bulged even more than usual.

“What a baby,” I said. He seemed to agree.

I lay down, stretched out on the pleasantly cool tiles. My mother had called several days before, full of questions and demands. She signed me up for classes at the college, she said, forging my signature. I could change the classes she had chosen if I wanted, but they started next week so I had to come home. She threw this statement down like a challenge, and sounded surprised when I accepted it without much argument. The move would be done, so where else was I supposed to go? She said that Eric would drive me home, as far as Denver, where she would pick me up. After a few minutes I handed the phone over to Eric and laughed at his expression. I could hear her voice, buzzing like an irritated fly trapped against a window, but I couldn’t make out her words.

It might not be so bad, I thought drowsily, my head spinning with cleaning fumes. Classes starting next week…that meant Erin and Michelle and Lauren would be gone already, starting their exciting new lives with exciting new dorm rooms in exciting new towns, far away from me. I thought of them with contempt, unable to touch me anymore, tormenting someone else with their touching concern. And new people, maybe, new people I had never seen before…I watched Confucius creeping down the wall as I fell asleep.

I don’t remember, of course, Eric finally coming back from his trip to the K and trying to wake me up, but I know it happened. I know he dragged me out into the fresh air of the backyard before I finally woke up, coughing and choking, my throat burning. I brushed away their worries, sitting sickly in the lawn chair, my head spinning, but I really didn’t need the concern. I felt—something. I felt better. I marveled at the thought, and sat sipping at a soda, watching the guys loading boxes.

The boxes and stacks of furniture dwindled as they were stacked in the moving truck, an immense and frustrating puzzle. Eric’s boxes, despite my efforts, were overflowing and jam-packed with random odds and ends, unlabeled and a guaranteed headache. When the truck was ready, it took off in the direction of the new apartment, on the third-floor of a new building, gleaming, quiet, decorated in beige and white. I wondered, the first time I saw it, how long they would last in such a place.

Even though it was late in the day, we still started out on our trip home. I think that my passing out on the floor scared my brother, reminded him of my vulnerability. He wanted to get me home, his attitude suggested, before I performed any other idiotic and potentially fatal stunt. So we took off. Maybe he just didn’t want to have to help unload the moving truck.

On our way out of Phoenix, we were caught in a traffic jam. There was an eight car pileup, and it stalled traffic in all directions. As we inched closer to the accident, I could see glass on the pavement, like a glistening carpet snaking up to the twisted chunks of metal. We barely moved for hours, and I watched the woman in the car in front of us crawl up onto her car’s roof and sun herself in the scorching heat. I melted into a puddle, gasping and straining for each breath, staring listlessly at the dark tire marks against the darker road. Eric fiddled incessantly with the radio, searching for the latest baseball scores. My head still felt fuzzy from the mustard gas-like combination of cleaning products I had breathed in so deeply.

As we crept out of the valley, cars stretched out in front of us and behind. I closed my eyes, feeling the sun beat in through the window and the truck humming under me, and for some reason I thought of Confucius in the empty, echoing house. I wondered if he had been affected by the chemicals. Could geckos be gassed? Would he have been able to escape? I felt tears coming but refused to let them fall, holding them back, hot against my eyelids. I thought of him, trapped and alone and afraid, struggling to take a breath. I pictured him trying to run, his limbs working frantically, his sides pumping furiously, fighting for air.