Katie McGarry - Say You'll Remember Me

Two hundred and fifty dollars. It’s still a kick in the gut.

Axle pulls into our neighborhood, and lights flash behind us as Dominic follows us in his car. Holiday’s asleep in the cramped back seat of Axle’s aging truck, and Dominic drove Kellen.

Me and Axle, we’ve been quiet. There’s not much to say. The whole world now thinks I robbed a convenience store at gunpoint. Won’t be long until someone does an internet search and discovers the trigger was pulled, the shot missed and that kept me from being charged with manslaughter.

“They painted you as a hero,” Axle says in a hushed voice. We pass box after box of the same house that are all stained yellow by the streetlight. It’s ten, and the night got darker once we turned down our street. “That’s what people are going to remember. You swooped in and helped the governor’s daughter when no one else would. That’s something to be proud of.”

Maybe. But I caught the expression on Elle’s face after I made the announcement. She wasn’t thinking about heroes anymore. She was thinking about a masked guy high on drugs waving a gun in someone’s face.

I glance back at my sister, and I take comfort that she’s in my life again. Holiday—the girl with the big heart and even bigger voice. Just like her namesake, Billie Holiday. “You want me to carry in Holiday?”

“She’s not six anymore,” Axle says as he coasts into the driveway. “She can walk.”

But she doesn’t look like she just turned sixteen. In her sleep, she reminds me of huge eyes, huge hugs, hours of coloring pages and her begging me to let her paint my nails pink.

There was a girl in the program, younger than Holiday, but she also had big eyes. During the day, she had an attitude a mile long, but at night she’d become terrified of the dark. First few nights, she didn’t sleep, and that made the hike the next day hell for her, especially carrying a pack that was a fourth of her body weight.

She was falling behind, she was getting down and with each new level of spiral she hit, her mouth got nastier. On the fifth day, she tripped. Mud in her hair, a tear in her athletic pants, blood on her knee and something in me shifted when her bottom lip trembled. I understood how she felt. Sometimes the weight of my problems and my pack was almost too much to bear.

I heard that she had never cried during her stay in detention, and five days into the woods, she was being cut off at her knees. I thought of Holiday then, and before this girl had a chance to break, I walked over to her, grabbed her pack and offered her a hand to stand back up. She took it and lost the attitude as she walk alongside me. After that, a lot of the younger people on the trip followed me like I was the Pied Piper.

“You’re right. Holiday can walk,” I say, “but I’ll take her in.”

“I’ll get her. Why’d you tell everyone? Your records are sealed. Only reason I agreed to this circus was because they promised no one would know what you were convicted of.”

Cracking of pleather in the back seat and Holiday’s groggy lids open, but her face remains pillowed by her hands.

There are some people you don’t say no to, not without there being consequences. The governor asked me to tell as a “personal favor.” He said it like it meant he would owe me, but I don’t believe that for a second. I rub the governor the wrong way, and he has the power to send me to prison. People like him don’t owe anyone; they own. Telling Axle that won’t make him feel better, so I lie. “Seemed like the right thing to do.”

Axle kills the engine and shakes his head at the wheel.

Dominic and Kellen lean against the back of his run-down 1980-something junker that’s put together with gray tape. Their dad doesn’t leave for his third shift job until ten thirty. Neither of them will enter the house until he’s gone.

I glance over at my front stoop, and my heart stops. “Holy hell, he came.”

Axle’s head rotates to the house so fast that I place a hand on his arm to calm him down. “It’s not Dad. It’s Marcus.”

My brother’s chest deflates, and I’m out the door. Marcus was my breath of sanity in the program. My cell mate. My fellow outdoor warrior. The guy who had my back. My friend. While some followed me around, I followed him.

Marcus rises to his feet, a six-foot-two towering black man, and his smile pushes the darkness of my neighborhood away. He’s barely seventeen, and due to a messed-up situation, he’s a year behind me at school, but it doesn’t matter. I call him a man because that’s what he is. Both of us offer our hands for a shake, but pull in for a hug. A hard hug with pats to the back.

“You said I could stop by anytime. Hope you meant it.”

“I’m glad you’re here.” I step back and take him in. It’s only been a few days, but seeing him here feels like a lifetime has passed since I saw him last. He looks a bit different with his hair shaved close to his scalp, and I had no idea his ears were pierced. Fake diamonds are now in both lobes. Marcus is the same height as me, but has the build of Dominic.

“How’s home?” I ask.

The smile fades. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

I nod because I get it. “How bad?”

“Bad.” His somber expression jacks me in the head hard. Marcus is as rough-edged as they come, but this year broke him down, built him back up and I know he’s just as scared as I am of screwing the second chance up.

“Mom’s moved up in the world,” he says. “Went from dating a dealer to a gangbanger. Hanging at home isn’t healthy for my probation.”

When the plea deal was offered to Marcus after he stole three BMWs in a single night, then crashed one of them while high, his mom promised the program she had changed her life. Guess she did change, just not how Marcus needs. I understand having a crap mom. Marcus, unfortunately, doesn’t have an older brother who gives a damn like I do so I told him he could borrow mine.

I owe Marcus my life. His friendship kept me sane during this past year. His friendship kept me from losing my mind. His friendship, even in the darkest moments, gave me hope.

Slamming of car doors and Axle automatically has his hand extended to Marcus. They haven’t met, but I talked about Marcus in letters and emails. I don’t make connections easily, so that makes Marcus welcomed.

“I’m Axle.”

“Marcus. Things were hot at home, and I needed some place that was cool. Drix said I could crash when needed.”

Axle shrugs like it’s nothing to find a stranger on his doorstep. “Air conditioner is broke most days, and I can’t promise it’ll be quiet, but our home is your home.”

Marcus tilts his head to the house. “Mind if I use the bathroom? Bus broke down on the way here. It would have been faster to walk.”

Axle goes to unlock the door, and my eyes land on the guitar-shaped material case next to a backpack. “You really weren’t messing with me, were you?”

Marcus grins again. “I’m full of it, Drix, but music isn’t something I lie about.”

The light flips on in the living room, and Marcus meets my eyes. “Thought about what you said last week about making plans. If you try for that youth performing arts program, I will, too. Let’s get in and show those rich pricks how to play.”

He picks up his pack, and I lift his guitar. “Is the program going to help you apply?”

Marcus shakes his head. “They told me they’d help me get into a trade school, though. As I said, let’s show those rich pricks that talent beats money.”

Gotta get the audition first, but I keep that to myself. Marcus has a shred of hope, and that can’t be easy after getting out of the program to find no home fire burning. “Meet me in the garage. I want to know if all this self-hype you’ve been rattling about for a year is real.”