The Brink of Destruction

The elevator doors whooshed open, and I stepped off, guitar case in hand. As usual, Spongebob's meth-fueled, hyper kinetic smile greeted me from across the hall. I wanted to kick him in his spongy balls.

My heart just was not in this today, much as I hated to admit it.

I'd left Billie at home, slightly less miserable than he'd been when he first woke up that morning. Mike came back about eleven and brought orange juice, earning a "gag me" face from Billie that Mike gracefully ignored. The joking and teasing between them seemed a little strained, and even though I wasn't feeling enthusiastic about going up to see the kids, it was a relief to get out and away from the tension. As much as they needed each other right now, I hoped Billie would be able to see how much Mike cared about him, and apologize for taking his anger out on his best friend.

You know, kids are just incredible. I had just settled into my chair when they started drifting in, their little bodies like so many ghosts in their white gowns. There hadn't been time to plan anything specific; I was going to play it by ear and hope for the best. As the kids sat down around me, or wheeled their chairs up close, I felt a warm hand on my arm and turned to see Petey, the shy little boy with the beautiful brown eyes.

"Miss Genny, I was so happy this morning because you were coming. You make my heart smile," he whispered in my ear. His little arms wrapped around my neck suddenly and fiercely.

Carefully, avoiding the IV port in his chest, I pulled him into a hug. His bones were hard under the skin, with little flesh to cover them, and his strength was surprising for a boy so frail. But for that moment, he was my life preserver, and I was clinging to him to keep my heart above water. He had so little to look forward to, and yet he was filling me up with love and affection, thawing the ice that had formed over the last unbearable hours.

"Mine too, Petey. You make me feel like sunshine." He let go of me, and then laid his hand over my heart, like a blessing, and I swear I could feel warmth sinking right into my skin.

The rest of the hour was a joy.

*************************

Before I went back to the dorm, I checked my mailbox. Besides the inevitable Domino's coupons (which seemed to come every few days), there was a letter from the pre-med dean and one with no return address, postmarked from home. I was too tired to read them standing at the post office, so with the fatigue seeping into my bones as I walked, I went back to the dorm to take a nap and work on my Lit paper. Wynn was at work, so it would be a good time to catch a few Z's.

The letter from the dean's office was one I'd kind of been expecting. It was written in a stern, authoritarian tone, cautioning me that my GPA as of midterms had not been up to standards, and that I was jeopardizing my scholarships. Yeah yeah yeah, yadda yadda yadda. Like I didn't know already.

Sliding a finger under the flap of the other envelope, I expected to find a note from my dad, who rarely wrote but was all formal when he did. Too funny. But the handwriting caught my eye right away, and I laid it aside and closed my eyes. I didn't need this right now. But to ignore it would just be a distraction, so...

It was from Dustin.

"Dear Genny," he began. "Things ended badly when I saw you at home last time, and I've wished ever since then that I had handled things differently. You said some things that it was hard for me to hear, but I've been thinking about it a lot.

"You're right, you have changed. You've opened up and embraced a lot of things that have made you a happier person. You've let yourself experience things that you'd never done before. But then, you've always been braver than me, and more confident. That's what I admire about you. It's what I love about you."

Love, he said. Not loved, past tense.

"You're right about something else, too. I need to be willing to change. I don't want to be the same person my entire life, never changing or growing. I do believe, with all my heart, that we can have a good life together. But it doesn't have to be planned out the way we thought it did. Maybe it's best to let life just happen sometimes, let unexpected things be a challenge instead of an obstacle.

"I guess what I'm asking is if you'll give me another chance. Not on my terms--on yours. I want to learn how to make you happy again, if you'll show me. I won't ever be perfect, but I promise you I can make you happy.

"If I don't hear from you, I'll know you made your choice, and I wish you and Billie every happiness.

"All my love,

Dustin"

What the fudge-striped fuck was I supposed to do with that?

Guilt is the thing I hate more than anything. It's like mold that grows over everything, making it gross and stinky. Guilt takes the joy out of everything you do, and you can't reason with it or piss it off. It just hangs there, like a dead duck around your neck.

I felt so goddamned guilty. His timing was unbelievable. If I ignored him, then I'd be hurting him by not even acknowledging his letter. If I responded, even to say no, then I'd feel obligated to tell Billie about it, and he'd worry about it when he didn't need anything else to worry about.

Why couldn't he just find some nice girl who wanted to be a librarian and leave me alone?

As soon as I turned my Lit paper in on Monday, I hurried back to the dorm to change clothes. Luckily, I owned a black dress that wasn't too old, and Billie had borrowed a suit from Tre that was a little baggy, but at least the length was right.

Wynn and Mike had gone to pick up Tre, so Billie met me outside Canterbury. As soon as I slid in beside him, he reached over and grabbed my hand tight, staring stoically ahead.

"We're going to get through this together," I said, squeezing his hand in return. "I'll be right beside you." He nodded, still not looking at me, and pulled away from the curb. Usually he drove fast--faster than I would have liked, anyway--but today he was in no hurry to get where we were going.

The church was full, and a line of people spilled out the front door and down the sidewalk. Cars were parked all along the street, on both sides. He looked at me nervously, chewing his lip. As much as he hated crowds, this was a nightmare for him.

He spotted Mike's head towering above the crowd, and we picked our way around the edge of the parking lot until we found him. Wynn gently hugged Billie, then me, and Tre and Mike slung supportive arms around his shoulders. Whatever had passed between Billie and Mike was history, and as always, their friendship had weathered the storm.

From inside the sanctuary, we heard organ music begin to play, and the crowd slowly made its way inside.

"They've reserved a pew in front for us, Bill," Mike said. "If you want, there's a side door we can go in by. Angelina's already in there."

Billie's eyes darted back and forth nervously from the church to his friend's face. I saw a dot of blood on his lip and realized he'd chewed through the skin. His hand clutched mine so tightly it felt as if the bones would break.

"Mike, I don't think I can do this," he said, his breathing coming quick and shallow. "I don't want to see him this way. I don't think I'll ever be able to get it out of my head."

Mike glanced over at me, his mouth tightening. His eyes were so full of sadness it broke my heart to look at him.

"Bill, you don't have to go in if you don't feel like you can. Bat knows you came as far as you could, and he would understand."

"But if I don't go I'll feel like I deserted him. I wasn't there for him when he was dying, and now..." He was having trouble breathing now, pulling at his tie, his face glistening with sweat even though the day was cool.

I turned and took his face in my hands. "Billie, forget all this. Just look at me."

He lifted his eyes to mine.

"There's no one else right now, just you and me. I'm not going to leave you, and you can do whatever you feel is right for you. If you want to say your goodbyes to him somewhere besides here, then that's fine. No one's going to force you." I was talking so softly I wondered if he could even hear me. But he must have, because he took a deep breath, pushed his shoulders back, and slid his arm around my waist.

"Okay," he said, with a tone of resignation. "I'm ready."

As we took our seats, the singer had just begun "Ave Maria," in a voice as pure and sweet as an angel's. There must have been hundreds of flower arrangements across the width of the old church, and a spray of red roses blanketed the bottom half of the casket. Bat's snowy hair lay shining against the gray satin pillow, his weathered hands folded across his chest in peaceful repose. He looked so handsome in his charcoal gray suit, a white rosebud pinned to his lapel, and it occurred to me how dashing he must have been as a young man.

The service was just as he would have wanted it, full of hope, and light, and even some bittersweet laughter as stories about him were shared. It made me feel as if he were still there somehow, and gave me comfort I didn't expect to find. Kind of like Petey's hug.

The church had prepared a potluck dinner in the meeting hall downstairs, and had extended an invitation to everyone who attended the service. There's one thing church ladies in the south do better than anyone, and that's cooking for a bereaved crowd. They put love into everything, and it shows. Tre was already smiling, anticipating the inevitable chocolate meringue pie.

"Do you want to stay for dinner?" I asked Billie, wondering if he needed some space. I wasn't sure how long he could keep up the brave face in front of all these people.

"Not really," he said quietly. "You?"

"Me neither," I said, though my stomach was growling. "You want to go back to your house?"

He thought for a minute. "I wanna get out of these fucking clothes, is what I want."

I had to smile at him. "Then let's do it," I said, taking his hand.

As soon as he'd changed into his Misfits tee shirt and Dickies, he seemed to lose the tension he'd been carrying all morning. There was still a weight on his shoulders, you could see it plainly. But he didn't have that trapped expression he'd had before, avoiding all the eyes.

"I haven't been in a church since my dad died," he said. "I don't think I'll ever go again."

"Do you believe in God?" I asked, not knowing why I even wanted to know.

"Fuck God," he said. "Fucker takes away everyone I love."

I'm most definitely not religious. Probably agnostic, at best. But I'd been raised in a fairly mainstream Methodist family, and we did the church on Sunday thing for as long as I lived at home. I guess I'd never really stopped to question it. But something in me winced at the venom in his voice. He was at war with something he saw as cruel and vengeful, a cheat and a liar. He'd been hurt, and it was God's fault.

"I'm gonna get drunk now," he said. "You want to join me?"

I closed my eyes and let the full impact of the last few days sink in. I was exhausted, physically and emotionally, and it felt as if I were hanging on only by the thinnest of threads.

"Fuck, yes," I said. "Anything but bourbon."