Bernard’s voice interrupted my thoughts. “The next day you introduced me to Tommy and Rick and Donald,” he said, “and we spent the day playing in the tree house in Tommy’s yard. If it hadn’t been for you, Alan, I don’t know if I’d have had any friends at all. Probably not.”
I wanted to let the emotion go, but I kept it bound and under control. He was letting me off the hook for some reason, praising me while he’d torn the others to shreds, and fond reminiscence had again given way to morbid uneasiness and confusion.
“I probably should’ve just mentioned that day,” Bernard continued, “and let you tell the story, Alan. You were always so good at telling stories. As long as I can remember all you ever wanted to do was write.”
When he mentioned my writing I knew I’d been wrong. He wasn’t going to spare me after all.
“You were always scribbling in those little notebooks you used to carry around. Man, some of those stories were really good. You had a natural talent for it, no question about it. My favorite was the one you wrote—oh, I want to say it was around fourth, fifth grade, somewhere in there—about the jet and the UFO. Remember that one? The UFO stopped time and altered it or something and took everyone onboard away then replaced them, only they didn’t remember any of it. Then they realized there was twenty minutes no one could account for, the exact amount of time radio communication had been cut off—shit, that was so good. Just like on The Twilight Zone or an episode of The Outer Limits on TV. All that talent at such a young age, what a shame that just like Rick and Donald you threw it away.”
“Fuck this,” Donald said suddenly. “Shut it off.”
“Let it go,” I said.
Neither of us moved.
“What the hell happened, Alan?” Bernard asked in a nearly tender tone. “You were going to be Steinbeck, man. What was it all the teachers said? If only that Chance kid would show up for school and stay out of trouble and study and use his talents… yeah, if only. But you knew better—and you really did.” Brief, ironic laughter. “You were so cool back then, God I idolized you. It was like you knew who you were and what you wanted and how your life would be, and you didn’t need all the bullshit at school and all the stupid social crap. You always walked your own path, man, and I respected the hell out of you for that.
“I never would’ve guessed you’d fucking blow it by getting married instead. Christ, man, you were going to New York, you were going to write and live in Greenwich Village and hang with artists and date hippie chicks and write great novels and be the coolest guy since Kerouac or James Dean or… Tell me, man, was Toni worth it? Was she? She’s a great gal—I always liked her—but like I said before, when you’re lying in bed at night, alone with God, and you ask yourself that question—and you know you do—what answer echoes through your mind?
“Toni’s a small town girl. Always was, always will be. She wasn’t cut out for all that. She was thinking more along the lines of a nice little house with the picket fence, the two-point-five kids, the dog and a Volvo in the driveway. Nothing wrong with that, but it was never you, was it, Alan? You gave up all you wanted because you knew she could never be a part of the world you’d envisioned and dreamed of creating for yourself your entire fucking life.” Bernard’s volume had increased again, and he stopped and drew a series of deep breaths before continuing. “The only way you two could be together was for you to give up what you wanted and stay here. Get a job, make a life. A life? In Potter’s Cove? Fuck, good luck. How’s that security guard position working out? Making more than minimum wage yet? Never did get that house, or the babies or the picket fence or the Volvo. Shit, you didn’t even get the dog, so what the hell was the point? Do you resent Toni now, all these years later? Every time you look in the mirror and see you’re another year older, a few pounds heavier, a bit more miserable than the year before. Every time you put that uniform on and spend the shift wondering what if instead of doing one of the few things that made you happy, that made you who you were, do you resent her then? And does she resent you, too, Alan? She never realized you really weren’t that good at anything but writing, did she? Bet she realizes it now. Bet she realizes she should’ve picked someone else to spend her life with. But it’s the way it is, and it’s easier than tearing it down and starting over, right?
“Do you ever go through your old stories? Shit, do you even still have them? Do you ever think about what might have been?”
As he paused I could almost see him smiling, lying on the cot in that basement, the recorder in hand, just inches from his lips.
“Why is he doing this?” Donald asked. “Why? What the hell did he do that was so wonderful with his goddamn life? What right does he have to—”
“And what about me?” Bernard said, as if in response. “Yeah, what about me. Christ, we’re all a bunch of stereotypes and we don’t even realize it. But you know what? Most people are, fellas. Most of us have no idea how fucked up we really are, much less those around us, and even given the chance, we’re not sure we want to know. You know, the day Tommy was killed I saw him coming down the staircase at school. He was headed for the exit and the bus, and I was going the other way. We saw each other and smiled then I gave him a playful punch in the arm and told him I’d see him later. Well, I didn’t see him later. The next fucking time I saw him he was in a casket. What I’d really wanted to do when I saw him was just smile, maybe even give him a hug, tell him thank you for being my friend. But, hey, men don’t do shit like that. So here’s a punch in the arm instead and a too cool ‘Seeya later’ mumble. Bunch of goddamn hypocrites, all of us. Hell, I’m as guilty as the rest of you—some might say more so—but I never had the potential you guys did. I couldn’t play sports; I wasn’t tough or good-looking or highly intelligent or talented. All I could do was talk. Always been a decent talker; that’s why sales worked out for me for so long. It was a safe place to hide for a while… but the truth always catches up to us, fellas. None of us can hold out forever. Eventually truth finds all of us and forces us into the light, whether we want to be there or not. Reality’s a bitch, ain’t it? Scary shit, man.
“Almost as scary as being ignored. Not that you guys would know anything about that, you’ve all spent your lives scratching and clawing at the edge of the cliffs you’re hanging off of to make certain of that. That’s what the rebel routine with you was all about, Alan, and it was even one of the reasons why you stepped in and tried to defend me from the Berringer twins that day. Even taking a beating was somehow preferable to being ignored. But, Christ, I’d have given my balls to be ignored just once. To be left the fuck alone by bullies and kids giving me a hard time and girls laughing at me for this or that. Not you guys, though. Our lives may be complete dog shit, but please God, just don’t let us be ignored. Anything but that.
“Rick, that’s why you still dress like a high school kid and go to the gym and try to act like you’re eighteen instead of thirty-eight. Donald, it’s why you drink yourself into oblivion, and Alan, it’s why you stay with Toni and endure. Without all of the window dressing you’d all just fade away, and that’s what terrifies you. I know, because I did it. I faded; I took the fall just to see what was down in that pit, and guess what, fellas? There is something down there in the dark.