Chapter 2

I cried. When didn’t I cry?

Who was going to hold my chin up because that’s all I did?

No one.

None of my friends.

And none of Jaye’s friends.

* * * *

There were other lyrics I read:

“Go away and don’t look back.

When the underside of love bites you.

When you feel a stampede.

You can run like a girl.

Because you’re given permission.

And who doesn’t want permission?

So run as far as you can.

Away from here.

Blinded by the day’s light.

Somewhere in the blurred distance.”

* * * *

Vixen mewed. Vixen cleaned herself. Vixen wanted to sing one of Jaye’s songs, but she was a fucking cat, and I knew cats couldn’t sing.

Fuck me.

Fuck the world.

Now I knew what pain was.

Really.

Seriously.

* * * *

Instructions: stand still and try not to breathe; take in the darkness within the apartment; consume it all; use your five senses, man. If something catches fire, would I run? Would I? I wasn’t really sure. But if I did run, I knew I could run like a girl. Honestly.

* * * *

As promised, Z took me to breakfast. I had eggs and toast. And he didn’t even say anything to me when I ordered a blueberry pancake with extra butter. That was Jaye’s favorite for breakfast, wasn’t it? I think. No, I know.

No one joined us for breakfast. Not Cane, Bill, or Marty. Z said they were all suffering from hangovers. “We had a celebration of sorts.”

“What kind of celebration?” I shouldn’t have asked. Shame on me. What the fuck was I thinking?

“Jaye’s first escape from death.”

“The head-bashing, right?”

“That be it.” Z pointed his fork at me and said, “We tried to call you. We wanted you there, but you bogarted us.”

“I hate when you use that word incorrectly.”

“Whatever. You know what I mean.”

I didn’t bogartthem, although most of the time I did. I took thirty milligrams of cyclobenzaprine and was knocked out cold in twenty minutes. Then I visited a place called La-La Land, far away from my Cane, Bill, Marty, and Z. Nothing and no one was going to wake me up. Z didn’t know that I had sometimes taken the drug. None of my friends did. It was none of their business. But a guy who sees a shrink twice a week has secrets, right? Isn’t it mandatory?

“Talk to me about Jaye,” he said.

“You’re not my therapist.”

“Anyone can be a shrink.”

“You’re wrong. That’s incorrect. You’re not sensitive.”

“I am sensitive, particularly about you.”

“You care about my cock. I know you want it in your mouth or up your ass.”

“That’s beside the point and you know it.”

But did I? Did I?

* * * *

They had celebrated Jaye’s survival from a brutal car accident three years ago. It happened near Lake Erie in West End on Bettenheim Road. Jaye wasn’t drinking. The other driver was. An S-curve weaved between the limestone mountains. It was dusk: purple-red out, no wind, and very little light in the valley. Jaye was driving to my apartment. We were supposed to go to the county fair. We never made it. He kept saying he wanted to share a fountain cake with me: hot oil, sweet dough, and powdered sugar. We were going to eat one there and bring one back to our apartment. The other driver hit him head-on. Jaye flew through the windshield and cracked his head open, broke his left leg, had three ribs snap in half, and two black eyes. He lived. He wasn’t supposed to, but he did. He did. He did.

And then he wrote, “Run Like a Girl.”

* * * *

Viewpoint: Z knew that I had fallen in love with Jaye before I did. He had a mental list of things Jaye and I were going to accomplish together: You’ll get married. You’ll live by the lake. You’ll adopt a Chinese boy. You’ll be the modern fairy tale between two princes. Jaye will write a book of poetry. You’ll be wealthy. You’ll play Happy Ever After.

It didn’t happen Z’s way. Part of it did, but not all of it.

Maybe he was just as stunned as I was.

Maybe not.

* * * *

“Jaye, are you in here?” I asked, sitting on the edge of his made bed. “Tell me if you’re in here, man. I want to know.”

Music was playing again inside his room. Always Lady Gaga. “Government Hooker” that time. The volume was low, almost inaudible, but still on. Nothing else ever happened in his bedroom. Nothing was ever missing. There were no movements. No breathing. No noise except for the radio in the corner.