Spinning Out

Chapter 34

ELIJAH

"What's the matter?" I ask. Bryant hasn't been able to answer me the last two times I have asked it. I wait, watching as my best friend crumbles in the passenger seat. "Is something broken?"

I don't know what it means that he can't keep doing this. Does he mean the drinking? The fighting? School? This city?

"Just tell me," I urge.

His face is in his hands and his body shakes with the force of his crying. I haven't seen him like this since his dog died when we were in second grade.

He wipes at his eyes and tries to pull himself together. I give him a minute. He struggles to even look in my direction. Instead, he stares out the window. He clears his throat.

"I'm in trouble," he tells me.

I open the glove box and retrieve some napkins for him It's the best I can do. He chuckles but uses them to wipe his face. The levity doesn't last long.

"Tell me all about it," say.

I'm expecting him to tell me about some debt he owes from the pool game, or maybe the pride he lost while being beaten in a dark alley.

"I can't stop drinking," he confesses. Following the words comes a long, lengthy release of breath. It's as if it has taken him everything to keep those words inside.

I have thought about this moment for many days, but now that we are here I don't know what to say. If I agree too emphatically, he might feel like I'm against him. But I refuse to enable his behavior any longer. I've been reading about addiction online. I've watched countless experts talk about it and yet, I don't know how to fix this. It isn't like watching a Youtube video on restoring a car or fixing a transmission.

"Ok," I tell him. I know, not my most brilliant work.

"I'm serious," he says. This time his head turns in my direction. "It's out of control. I'm sick."

"Ok," I tell him again. "We'll figure it out."

"I've been trying to, man," he says. His throat squeezing the last of his words and making them tight.

"I know," I say. I believe him.

He uses the napkins again to blot his bloody lip and catch the dripping from his nose.

"You don't know all of it," he says.

"So tell me," I say.

"I'll show you," he answers.

I'm confused. What will he show me?

"Remember Lacey?" he asks. His eyes still flit from the side window to the front. He won't look at me.

"Pink car girl. Of course I remember. You really like her, right?" I ask.

"I do," he says with a slow nod. Another sob escapes from his throat. "But I fucked it up."

I met her only a few times. She came at a time when I was busy working with my dad and trying to finish up my last few classes. Guilt hits my gut hard. I should have been paying more attention. I don't even know what's happened between them. "It can't be that bad," I assure him.

"Things in my life seem to get worse and worse," he says. He clears his throat again, a laugh without humor shakes him.

"Tell me what happened."

"We had been talking for a few weeks. She hangs with the club," he starts. "I was drinking one day. Nothing too hard, but I wasn't thinking. I hooked up with this other girl," he confesses. "It was dumb. I didn't even like her. I was just drinking and having fun and---fuck."

"She won't accept your apology? I ask.

"She won't even take my calls."

"There are other girls," I say in a weak attempt to comfort him.

"That's not all," he says. This time he looks me in the eye. "I was with the other girl at a take-over a few days later. I mean, it was a week of some really bad decisions." He cries again. This time all I can do is put my hand on his back.

"It's going to be ok," I tell him.

"It's not," he answers very seriously. "I wasn't drunk I promise," he cries. "But it doesn't matter because I'm a horrible fucking person anyway."

"You aren't making sense. What are you talking about?" I ask. He's starting to really worry me. How did I not know about any of this? Is this why he's been hiding out here?

"Do you remember the storage place where my grandparents store the boat?" he ask.

I nod. I can't find words for any of this. I feel like I'm watching a movie of my life instead of being here in real time.

"Go there," he tells me. His head falls back to rest on the car seat. His shoulders slump. "I have something you have to see."

We don't speak another word until we get there. Bryant spends the driving staring out the window, discreetly wiping tears as they fall. He reminds me of a little boy. I'm not a stranger to seeing him bumped and bruised. We've been in our share of fights together, but it is in this moment I realize he's been in a fight I know nothing about.

"Twenty-three," he tells me.

I punch in 1-2-3-4 and the gate opens. Crazy how easy it is to get into this place. I snake the car around through the lot slowly until we reach the 23rd stall. My headlights beam at the bright orange door. Bryant takes a large deep breath. His hand falls to the door handle and slowly pulls it open.

"Promise you won't stop being my friend," he says. I've never seen him this distraught. I nod my head. "Ok," he says. He makes his way over to the lock and twists in the combo. The lock falls into his hand. He sways a bit on his feet. I watch him in the bright light as he looks down at the lock and then the handle.

"I'm really sorry," he says.

I want to ask him what for, but I have a feeling the answer is on the other side of that door and I can't get in there fast enough. I step forward, reaching for the handle and sliding the door up on its rails. Inside his a car with a cheap cover over it. I'm confused. I look to Bryant and he motions for me to help him take it off.

The cover is rolled over the top of the var, exposing the back bumper of Bryant's BMW. I look at him with question, but his eyes are cast down, so much shame on his face. We continue to move the cover. We've done this so many times in the past. Covering and uncovering cars, it's always been a part of my life because of my dad's business and because of that, Bryant is very good at it also. But this isn't one of those moments. This feels bad and deep inside I know it's because whatever he's about to show me is going to change our lives forever. It has too. You can feel it in the air.

The cover finally slips from the front bumper and I can see the scrapes and damage to his driver's side front end.

"I think I hurt people really bad," he says. "They might even be dead."