Yet I couldn’t leave. True, I couldn’t stand cohabitating with the living dead too much longer, but what to do about my regrettable oath not to leave my mother under any circumstances? Certainly while she was decaying so unpleasantly, it seemed impossible.
There was nothing I could do to help her condition or ease her physical suffering in any way, but I was very aware that my presence in the house gave my mother considerable peace of mind. Jasper, do you know the burden of being able to make someone happy by your mere presence? No, probably not. Well, my mother was always visibly affected by her sons- the light in her eyes was unmistakable, every time either Terry or I entered a room. What a heavy load for us! We felt we had to enter said room or else be held responsible for her sadness. What a drag! Of course, when someone needs you to the point that your very existence acts as a sort of life support, it’s actually not bad for your self-esteem. But then, Jasper, do you know what it’s like to see that same loved one deteriorate before your very eyes? Have you ever tried to recognize someone across the street in a heavy rain? It became like that. Her body became too thin to support life. And with her approaching death came the approaching death of that need for me. But it wouldn’t go quietly. Not by a long shot. The course of her life had produced two things: me and Terry, and Terry had not only slipped through her fingers long ago, he was now languishing indefinitely just out of her reach. That left me. Out of her two boys, whom she once said she wished to “pin to her skin so as never to lose them,” I was the only one left, the only thing that gave her any meaning. I wasn’t going to abandon her, no matter how revolting the notion that I was only waiting in that dusty house for her to expire.
Besides, I was broke. I couldn’t go anywhere.
Then a letter delivered by courier complicated matters. It was from Stanley.
Dear Martin,
Well! What a shit storm!
The book is out of print, out of the stores, out of circulation. The state is suing me, the bastards. You’re in the clear, though, for about five minutes. If I were you, I’d make myself scarce for a while. Go overseas, Martin. I’ve been listening very carefully to these clowns. They’re not done yet. They will come after you. I told you not to put your damn name on the book! Now they’ve got you for harboring a known fugitive and correcting his syntax. But you’ve got a little breathing time left. The cops don’t know the first thing about publishing. They’re looking for a way to beat the defense that the whole thing was done by mail. Plus, how about this for a kick, they don’t want to know about Harry. They slap me in the face every time I mention his name. They refuse to believe that Terry didn’t write the book. I guess they figure it gives the case a bigger profile. No wonder the world’s a mess. How can you trust anyone to act decent when all they want is to push you out of the way so they can get to the spotlight? Oh well.
Honestly, Martin, listen to me on this one. GET OUT OF THE COUNTRY. They’re coming for you with a briefcase full of bullshit charges.
I’m giving you everything from the initial sales. Don’t think I’m being generous. The truth is, there’s no point in me holding on to it, the courts are going to take it all anyway. But I know how much you put into it. I know how much it meant to you. Plus, I want to thank you for the ride of my life. We did something! We made some noise! I felt for the first time that I was involved in something meaningful. For that, I thank you.
Enclosed is a check for $15,000. Take it and go. They’re coming for you, Martin. They’re coming soon.
Warm regards,
Stanley
I shook the manila envelope until something nice fell out. The check. There it was: $15,000. Not a huge amount of money, but by the standards of a man who was in the habit of recycling old cigarettes, it was considerable.
So that was that. I was leaving. The hell with my unbreakable bond- I was breaking it. I didn’t think I’d be doing my mother any good rotting in jail next to her other rotting son. Besides, jail was Terry’s thing. I wouldn’t last one shower.
I hadn’t even been up to see him since he’d been in. That may sound strange, after all the fretting and running around I did after him, but to tell you the truth, I was sick to death of everything to do with Terry Dean. The public accolades had got to me in the end. And now there wasn’t anything more I could do for him. I needed a breather. I had, however, received a note, and I remember thinking it was the first time I’d seen his handwriting.
Dear Marty,
What’s this shit about a book? No one will shut up about it. If you get a sec, straighten that out, will you? I don’t want to be known as a writer. I want to be known as a vigilante who liberated sport from the dirty hands of corruption. Not for scribbling some stupid book.
Prison- blah. Still, I can see our house from up here. The warden treats me well on account of me being a kind of celebrity and he lent me his binoculars the other day, and guess what I saw? Dad looking at me through a pair of binoculars! Weird!
Anyway, don’t forget to get the hell out of town and do something with your life. Politics, mate. I reckon that’s for you. You’re the only one with brains in this whole silly circus.
Love,
Terry
P.S. Come up and see me sometime.
I started packing immediately. I dug out an old brown suitcase and threw a few clothes into it, then looked around my bedroom for memorabilia, but stopped when I remembered that the purpose of memorabilia is to trigger memory. Fuck that. I didn’t want to be lugging my memories all over the place. They were too heavy.
“What are you doing?” my mother asked. I spun around, shamefaced, as if she’d caught me masturbating.
“I’m going,” I said.
“Where?”
“I don’t know. Maybe Paris,” I said, surprising myself. “I’m going to track down Caroline Potts and ask her to marry me.”
She didn’t say anything to that, just swayed back and forth on her feet.
“Lunch in half an hour.”
“OK,” I said, and when she was gone, the gaping mouth of my open suitcase looked up at me accusingly.
After a silent lunch, I made my final journey up the hill to say goodbye to Terry. It was the hottest day of summer, so hot you could fry bacon on a leaf. The wind was hot too, and it felt like I was walking into a hair dryer. Sweat ran into my eyes. As I passed through the gates, the blistered hands of nostalgia gave my heart a good squeeze and I realized you miss shit times as well as good times, because at the end of the day what you’re really missing is just time itself.
The guard wouldn’t let me in.
“No visitors. Terry’s in solitary confinement,” he said.
“Why?”
“Fighting.”
“Well, how long is he going to be in there for?”
“I dunno. A month?”
“A month! In solitary confinement! Is that legal?”
“I dunno.”
Christ! I couldn’t wait a month just to say goodbye. I was terrified of putting the brakes on my momentum.
“Well, can you tell him his brother came to say goodbye?”
“But his brother hasn’t been here.”
“I’m his brother.”
“Oh. And what’s the message?”
“Tell him I’ve gone overseas.”
“But now you’re back, eh. How long have you been away?”
“I don’t know. A couple of years maybe. But when you tell him, put it in the future tense, OK?”
“Why?”
“Private joke.”
“All right. I’ll say his brother is going overseas for a couple of years,” he said, winking at me.
“Perfect,” I said, and turning away from the prison, I made the steep descent down the treeless hill and took in a full, unobscured view of our town. Nice town. Nice little town.
Fuck you, nice little town.
I hope you burn.
I walked through the streets, entertaining various revenge fantasies of returning one day rich and successful, but I quickly got over that idea. In truth, all I ever wanted was for everyone to like me, and coming back to a place rich and successful never won anyone any hearts.