Catch Me (Synacky)

Chapter Eighteen: Zacky

I wrote this list in my notebook the next day.

Things I do Not understand

1.       Sighing

2.       Winking

3.       The word “fuck”

4.       Most idioms

5.       Metaphors (not similes)

6.       Facial expressions in rapid succession

7.       Raising eyebrows

I drew a large question mark next to these things, because they all tended to confuse me. Sighing was difficult, because it could either mean relieved or angry or disappointed or many other things. Winking just confused me in general. Fuck was a nice sounding word, I loved the short, succinct way it fell from my lips. I loved the fact it wasn’t allowed to be spoken, it was a forbidden word, and I got a thrill from uttering it. But I did not understand it. Fuck was a word Dad yelled when he was angry with Mum, or when he stubbed his toe. Fuck was a word Brian whispered when he was pleased, when we played guitar together, when we finished a kiss. Fuck was a verb, noun, and adjective. It completely confused me. Idioms, metaphors, everything else on the list, they’re all self-explanatory.

When I showed this to Dr. Brooks, he pointed to number three. “If you don’t understand this, perhaps you should try to cut it out of your vocabulary.”

“But I like it.” I replied, “Some things, you like even though you don’t understand. Like the aurora borealis.”

We talked about Mum in individual therapy that day. I’ll share a memory that I have of Mum.

Mum was wild. It was a good wild, a healthy wild, but it sometimes frightened me because of her unpredictability. She liked to be spontaneous, and do exciting things. She and Dad were opposites in this way. Dad was quiet, like me, and he had a calm nature and he did not anger very easily, but Mum was loud and quick tempered, but she loved me and I knew she did because she told me so and when I was young she’d read dystopian stories to me so I could imagine what it would be like if I were the only one left on the earth, and it would be wonderful and peaceful and I would not be scared because I would be prepared.

Mum drank tea every morning, and she had brown hair and brown eyes and she wore glasses sometimes and her hands always moved when she talked, and she paced when she was on the phone. But I embarrassed her and made her upset because sometimes when we went out together and something upset me I would rock or groan or hit someone and she would get angry with me and tug my hand and say, “Zacky, stop being obstinate and get up, we have to go!”

The memory I will share is when I was 12 years, 7 months and 4 days old and it was on summer vacation and we were visiting the beach. This was exactly one week before the big fights began.

I was building a small manor in the sand, complete with a moat and huts for the peasants to live in and a wall surrounding it to keep invaders away. I did not like to swim because I did not like to take my clothes off, but Mum was in the water, and Dad was reading a book near me. My pet was with him on the towel so it wouldn’t get sandy.

And Mum came out of the water and said, “Why don’t you come on in, boys?”

I said I did not want to because the ocean was dangerous and filled with sharks and jellyfish and moray eels, and she laughed. “There aren’t any of those in this ocean. Look at all the people swimming! They’re fine!”

And I knew this was false because 1) “this ocean” was the Pacific Ocean and there are many sharks and jellyfish and moray eels in the Pacific Ocean and 2) The people that were swimming were putting themselves at risk, and they were not fine, they were just stupid and oblivious.

I did not say this to Mum, however. She coaxed me into holding her hand and putting my feet in the water. And Dad came too, and I held each of their hands and walked in between them and we walked down the beach and I was happy.

And Mum touched my shoulder and said, “Tag! You’re it!” and I do not like to play child’s games, but we did play tag, Mum, Dad and I and I did have a good time. And Mum hugged me and Dad hugged us both and I felt very warm and nice inside.

That is the memory.

I asked Dr. Brooks if he thought Mum was alive and he said, “There’s a very good possibility that she is.”

And I asked, “Do you think she’ll come for me?”

He sighed, “I don’t know about that one, Zacky. Sometimes when adults leave…”

He didn’t finish, and I didn’t need him to. I knew why Mum left.

The fights got too bad. Mum and Dad yelled at each other every time they were in the same room. And I hated it, I despised it. When they yelled at each other I hid in tight spaces and groaned and ran through scales. Dad would say, “You’re never here! Where do you go, Jacklyn? What could be more important to you than us?”

And Mum would shout, “I can't handle it, okay? I can't handle him! It’s too much for me, and I can’t take it!”

My brain is like a computer. It has a history, and if I want to remember what happened a certain day, I can search back to that time and I will have the complete day intact and I can fast forward throughout the day to get to the exact event I’m looking for. I can remember each of Mum and Dad’s fights, and where I hid and some of what they said (not all because I was groaning some of the time and could not hear the full conversations).

I notice everything.

Like today, I noticed that Dr. Brooks was wearing two different brands of socks, because one was black and the other was a different shade of black (which means that neither of his socks were truly black). His glasses were pushed slightly farther up the bridge of his nose than they were when we last met, and his collar was rumpled, but his shirt had been pressed, and his belt buckle was hooked into the fourth hole.

I noticed many other things too, but I’m not going to name them all.

But this is part of the reason why I get such a thrill kissing Brian. I notice it all, ever slight movement his mouth makes, the taste of his breath, the feeling of his hands on me, the pressure of his fingers, how his eyes look when they slowly slide closed. I took it all in and relished it.

For this reason, I would make a very good detective. I could see everything, discover clues, close the case quickly and efficiently. Though, I don’t want to be a detective. I would like to be a performer, a musician, however, the crowds, the loud, the lights, it would all prove to be too much of me.

I will probably end up being a bagging boy at a supermarket. Statistically, that is the case.

I told this to Dr. Brooks, and he smiled. “Don’t say that, Zacky. You’re a genius. Maybe you’ll become a great mathematician one day.” Then he said, “Maybe you and Brian together.”

And I scoffed for the first time I have ever scoffed before. Because Brian is in remedial math, and there’s no use dreaming. People dream to make up lies about what they wish they had accomplished, who they wish they were. And that is a nothing but a waste of time.

Dad used to dream. He’d say, “One day, Zacky, I’ll have put away enough money so we can move out of this rat trap and into a nice, three bedroom house with an in ground pool. And you can have a turtle and a dog and it’ll all be perfect.” Then he’d reach for another can of beer.

Look where those dreams got him.