Adam Silvera - More Happy Than Not

That shuts them up.

Shuts me up too because I now understand why they threw away all his stuff. They always knew better.

“You messed up,” Eric says. But his voice softens, and there’s something different in his eyes. It’s sympathy. He turns to Mom, rapping his knuckles against the wall with his free hand, his other hand still gripping me. Our father rapped his knuckles against the wall like that once when he was pissed we wouldn’t go downstairs to get him a slice of pizza from Yolanda’s. Then he punched a hole in it. I feel something like hope, just because of the fact I remembered. “You should’ve never signed off on that procedure,” he says to Mom.

Mom looks back and forth between us, like she’s just been outed for a crime. “I was trying to save your brother—”

“No,” Eric snaps. “This is about you and losing control of your family. You treated Aaron like he would’ve been helpless without this procedure and look where that’s landed him!”

I wrench myself free of Eric’s grasp. Maybe he has cracked. Maybe he had some things he wanted to forget too. Maybe he wasn’t quite right in the head either after our father committed suicide in the same bathtub where he bathed us.

In this moment, I know Eric is not going to grow up to be like our father. He loves us. He should’ve been paid the same attention from not only our mom, but from me, too. I never asked him how he was doing.

Mom catches herself in the grimy hallway mirror. Maybe she’s really seeing herself now. She’s lost so much weight these past few months, maybe twenty or thirty pounds. Eric leans back against the wall and slides down, “This isn’t about me being jealous of you, Aaron. Maybe I am a little bit. But I agree that we’re better off without him.”

I’m tempted to reach down and take his hand, but I don’t.

He looks up at me.

“Remember when we had trouble beating the last few levels of Zelda? We pooled our allowances and bought the walk-through guide to help us out.” He softly adds, “You should’ve asked for help before cheating.”

Sometimes pain is so unmanageable that the idea of spending another day with it seems impossible. Other times pain acts as a compass to help you get through the messier tunnels of growing up. But the pain can only help you find happiness if you can remember it.

“Do we still have anything that belonged to Dad?” I ask. And then the box is in my hand. It’s not even half full, just a couple of old sweaters and track sneakers. Eric opens the door for me without a fight, and he and Mom both follow me to the garbage chute down the hall. I cling to every detail. This will make for a memory. And despite everything, I can’t help but hesitate when I think back to the days where my father wasn’t a monster. Then I turn the box over and everything thumps down the chute until it’s quiet.

In school I once read about gypsies and how they grieved for loved ones by covering all the mirrors in their caravan for as long as they needed. Sometimes days, sometimes weeks, sometimes months, and in rare cases, years. As of now, we’re done covering the mirrors. Together we’ve searched the apartment for any last scrap of him we don’t want.

Eric puts on his sneakers after we get back inside the apartment. Without looking at me, he says, “If it’s worth anything to you, I’m sorry for everything I ever said.” I want to thank him for swallowing his pride, but he quickly adds, “So where are we going?”

“What?”

“You said you have shit to do, right? Mom’s not going to let you go alone.”

I don’t remember saying that, but I do have shit to do. I have four people to see, four goodbyes to make. I keep my head low and let my brother follow me out so I can strike names off this bucket list of mine.

It’s a dead giveaway where we can find Brendan; we spot his client go into the staircase. I want to see Brendan first, not because he lives closest to me, not because I’ve known him the longest, but because he needs to see the damage he’s done. I’m about to go into the staircase when Eric stops me.

“I shouldn’t have let you have sex with Genevieve,” he whispers.

I’m so confused that I almost laugh. “That had nothing to do with you.”

“I knew the truth. That’s enough to put me at fault if you got her pregnant. I didn’t stop you because I thought your life was going to be easier when you weren’t gay. It didn’t matter to me if you unknowingly led someone on.”

And then Eric is pacing from wall to wall in the lobby.

“That had nothing to do with you,” I say, and immediately after I say it, I can’t get aboard the train of thought that brought me to those words. “I don’t know what’s going on.”

“It’s okay,” Eric says. He recaps the conversation. “It’s crazy how you still turned out to be gay. You must really like that dude you kept hanging out with.”

Now this is so awkward I actually do want to forget it. “I have to go take care of this,” I mumble. “Wait here for me.”

I hand him the comics I want to give Collin and run into the staircase before he can protest. I don’t hear Brendan or that girl Nate running off so I keep jogging down. Brendan looks like he’s seeing a pissed-off ghost when I turn the corner. I swing at him and he ducks, which is fine because I was really hoping to kick him in the balls, which I do.

He crumples to the floor. Nate picks up the weed and runs away. No doubt she lost a dealer after stealing, but she won’t give a shit while she’s high today.

Brendan holds his crotch, his manhood, and groans. “I had that coming.”

I almost have sympathy pains for him because getting hit in the balls sucks hard. Almost. “You fuckers fucked up my fucking brain!” I shout, ready to pounce on him all over again. “Major fucking memory loss and there’s a chance I’m going to fucking forget this fucking conversation but I’ll never fucking forget how my fucking friend almost fucking killed me because he fucking hated me.”

No matter how many times I say it out loud or to myself, I can never wrap my head around the fact that Brendan could’ve gone to jail forever for killing me.

Maybe it’s okay to forget. I’ll never play cards in his hallway again whenever it’s snowing outside or too chaotic to hang out in his house. I’ll never throw popcorn at his grandfather while he’s snoring in front of the TV again. I’ll never sleep over again and kick at the top bunk where he almost got this girl Simone pregnant before he learned the magic of condoms. I’ll never sit at his computer with him and write crude customer reviews on insane products, like a banana slicer and dog-shaped dog whistles. I’ll never leave his sneakers outside the window so his room won’t smell like feet.

“I don’t hate you,” Brendan says. “I just don’t understand why you’re being gay.”

“I can’t change that,” I say. Except for that time I could, and even then, I still kind of couldn’t.

He sits up and rests his elbow on his knee. “You chose that Thomas kid over us. We’re your blood, not him or anyone else.”

“Maybe that’s true. But I never knew. And I’m basically a toy without batteries because of you guys.”

“Your boys will take care of you, A.”

“Even if I’m gay?” I say the word out loud, about myself, because even though I never chose this, I can choose to accept it before it’s too late.

Brendan says nothing. I have my answer. I head back up the stairs and hope one day Brendan will find his happy ending. I really do want this for my very confused, former sort of best friend.