This story wouldn't have seen the light of day without the prodding of the charming LaRascasse. He challenged me to write it. I'd just like it on record that all of what follows is his fault.
* * * * *
collision
—
n
1. a violent impact of moving objects; crash
2. the conflict of opposed ideas, wishes, attitudes, etc.:
a collision of interests
3.
physics
an event in which two or more bodies or particles come together with a resulting change of direction and, normally, energy
...And nothing can ever be the same.
* * * * *
Brett lined the nails of his index fingers on either end of the zit and squeezed inward, pressing into his cheekbone. At the same moment the pain got too much and he was about to give up, the little pale pit broke free of the skin and splatted against the mirror.
Brett stared at it, changing his focus from the glop to the image of his face and back. He knew he had to squeeze out the pus some more until the blood came out so that it would be clean and not fester, but he couldn't be bothered.
The whole situation disgusted him. Being eighteen and still having an oily face disgusted him. His whole life disgusted him. He felt like smashing his fist into the mirror, but he knew he wouldn't do it. His fucking impotence disgusted him.
The apathy was a sham. Everyone thought he didn't feel. Didn't feel? Like water off a fuck-up's back? Sometimes all he could do to control the rage when required to sit in English Lit was to imagine ripping Mr. Egbert's head off at his neck and watching the blood spurt up into the air. In bursts, as his heart pumped its dying beats. And then he'd be sent to the principal's office and wouldn't mind it, for once.
He lined the fingers up around the crater and squeezed again. The pale butter-colored fluid seeped out, followed by a pinpoint of blood. There. That was enough. He wiped the remains of the zit off his face and the mirror, holding his fingers under the water for a while. Then he splashed water on his face, looking one last time into the mirror at the ravaged site. The bruise wouldn't fade for a while.
He smelled coffee as he pulled his t-shirt over his head. That meant his mother was in the kitchen, probably in the process of making his omelet and toast. He would go downstairs, sit in his chair, shovel some of the food she had laid on his plate into his mouth while hearing the same lecture he had heard for the last, oh
thousand
years, about how he didn't eat enough to keep up his strength and he would fall behind if he didn't build up energy, breakfast was the most important-meal-of-the-day, growing-boys-should-eat-to-keep-up-their-drive-and-be-athletic... and on and on and on.
Brett finished dressing, went downstairs, sat at his place on the table and ate half the omelet and two pieces of buttered toast while the din that was his mother's voice danced around his head. He pushed back his chair and walked out mid-tirade, the haranguing receding with every step he took, but staying in his head in unformed sentences all the way to the door -- until he stepped out and was pleasantly surprised by the perfect summer day. A summer's day in late April, a blessing.
The sun hit his bare arms and Brett turned his face up, closing his eyes, quietly worshiping the warmth. He walked like that until he stumbled at the end of the driveway.
That was the exact moment he decided he wouldn't go to school that day. Why waste such a perfect day?
His bike's front tire was still knocked out from the fall he took earlier this week, and of course he hadn't saved up enough to have a car, so going anywhere far was out of the question. He decided to head to the beach. That wasn't far.
"Brett! Wait!"
He stopped the lazy stride he had fallen into and stood still, letting his shoulders droop and waiting for the voice to catch up to him.
"Hey, do you want a ride to school?"
He turned to look back at Jody. She was just standing at the open door and shouting to him instead of coming up.
"Um, no, that's fine," he half-mumbled.
"What? I didn't hear you."
He hadn't raised his voice enough. "Nah, I'm fine. Don't want a ride," he tried again and started back into his long-limbed gait.
"Wait!"
He heard pattering down the stairs and then Jody's voice was nearer.
"Hey, could I, like, talk to you?"
Brett wondered. Jody hadn't really talked to him about anything of consequence for years now. Since she had moved away to go to college. And not even before that really. They hadn't been that close to share confidences anyway. So to seek him out like this now... he wondered what it could be about. Was she in trouble of some kind? Wanting help but unable to talk to the parents? Wouldn't know until she told him.
"Sure," he muttered, and waited.
"Uh, well, we could talk in the car. I mean, wouldn't you be late for school?"
He shrugged. Why was she so intent about the ride? Seriously.
"All right, I'll get the car keys." She ran back light-footed into the house.
Brett sighed. What
was
that? What was wrong with her? Why would she offer to give him a ride? And now he was supposed to endure a ride with his sister? And
talk
to her? And, dammit, was he supposed to go to school now? Fuck, fuck, fuck. Fucking best laid plans of fucking mice. He was worse than fucking vermin. Caged, frustrated, running around on his fucking wheel. He felt every muscle in his body bunch up with the surge of frustration he was feeling and his body lifted itself up an inch or so from the habitual hunch, and then a second later, let go to settle back down. He let out an annoyed breath and started thinking about how to go with her and still avoid going to school.
The car stopped beside him and Jody called out. "Come on!"
He folded himself into the car, resigned. Jody barely waited until he arranged his legs in the confining space meant for tiny people before moving away. Why did she like this stupid yellow Beetle?
He leisurely shut the door as the car picked up speed.
"Hey, you want to get the seatbelt?"
He rolled his eyes and reached for the buckle. He would have done it without instruction if she had waited till a second after he was done closing the door. What was the fucking matter with her? Why was she so nervous?
"So, uh, well, how're you doing then?"
Oh, so smooth, he thought. God, just drive the fucking car and get to the school. It takes twelve minutes. Shut up for twelve minutes, okay?
"How am I doing about what?" he said out loud.
"Just generally, you know? Life, school, everything. Friends. I don't know...."
"Yeah, fine." Why did she ask if she didn't know?
"So... how are your grades?"
Oh, fuck. Was she serious? Was she going to start about that then?
He turned around to face her, actually turned his upper body around and pulled up a knee to rest it on the seat. "How do you think they are, Jody?"
She stopped to think. Regroup. Something.
"Well. I...just... you know..."
"What?"
"Hey, don't get mad at
me
, okay? Mom's just worried about you and she asked me if I could, you know, talk to you or something. Because, maybe we're the same age I guess and she thought I could relate or something. I don't know...."
Brett clenched his jaw and simply stared at her.
"Listen, I just want to help, okay? That is, if you need help or something. I mean, this is your final year of school and, well, if you'd like help..." she trailed off as she realized she was repeating herself.
"No." With that definitive syllable, he turned back in his seat. He didn't intend to say what he said next, but he felt goaded into it and it rushed out. "Actually, would you mind dropping me off at the beach?"
"What? Why? Don't you have school?"
His mouth curved up in amusement as he took in her confusion. To Jody, missing a day of school was just inconceivable. She was the angel of the family. He didn't answer her, just waited to see if she would take the turn to the beach instead of going on straight for the school at the next intersection.
She hesitated as she approached the turn off, started to say something, and then stopped abruptly and took the turn.
Brett turned away from her and raised an eyebrow. He hadn't believed she would do it.
They didn't talk until they arrived and she turned into the parking lot. It was empty at this time of the morning. Jody pulled into a space somewhere in the middle and cut the ignition. She licked her lips.
Brett saw her do it from in the periphery of his vision. He wondered whether to get out of the car and walk away or stay and try to wind her up again. The beach gambit had failed terribly. Maybe he would count up the seconds until he could make her swear at him?
He waited.
"Listen." She paused and closed her eyes, took a deep breath. "Brett. Look, I'm really not trying to lecture you here, okay? But Mom is concerned about your grades... and you."
He didn't say anything.
"It's your last year of school," she continued. "I just thought that you would, you know, pull yourself together and get a little motivated or something. I mean, it's not like you can't do it if you don't try, Brett. We both know you're smart."
He let the silence build. Making her swear changed into seeing whether she deviated from 'The Lecture.'
Suddenly, she burst out, "Oh, fuck! Why am I even doing this?"
He would have jumped if his brain hadn't instantly stabilized his body in the split second after her outburst. And then he exulted. 'Fuck' and deviation at the same time! He would have grinned if he felt like displaying emotion in his sister's presence. His sister who was scrabbling at the keys now.
"Get out," she said, biting at the words. "I don't care if you destroy your life. Unfeeling, selfish asshole! What's your problem? Why don't you..."
"Hey! What's
your
problem? If you just stop being the prissy bitch for a minute and try to look without the self-righteous...," he stopped in mid-sentence and took a breath. It didn't matter. "Forget it," he muttered as he reached for the door.
"No, what?" Jody grabbed at his sleeve and yanked him back, trying to make him face her. "What? I want to hear this."
"No, Jody, you don't."
His calm denial fazed her.
"Brett...." She took a deep breath. "God, Brett, why are you doing this?"
