The Brink of Destruction

Thanksgiving is supposed to be one of those ultra-hyped holidays that never turns out like you imagine. Usually the family is arguing, or someone drinks too much or doesn't show up at all, or the turkey burns to a crisp and your mom ends up crying in the bedroom with the door closed. You work your ass off trying to live up to the amazing image you see in the magazines, and it ends up turning to shit.

If there's an exact opposite to that, today was that day. Well, at least it started out that way.
Despite my warnings, my mom had gotten up early to put the turkey in the oven (tented safely inside a well-oiled brown paper bag, according to family tradition), and once she was up, she couldn't sleep until she'd finished most everything else. All that was left to do when we got there was the deviled eggs and iced tea, which took about ten minutes.

While the tantalizing aroma of the roasting bird crept into every corner of the house, she shooed us outside, so we wandered up to the barn to meet the horses. Tre and Criss were already calling dibs on riding my Appaloosa, Scamper, and Mike bravely put his claim on the chestnut, Meg, not knowing that she was a harpy from hell. Wynn wanted to pet the Shetland pony, Pepper, so I found her a brush and curry comb, which guaranteed that he'd fall in love with her. That left Thunder, the big black gelding that had been my dad's favorite for the five years we'd had him. He looked intimidating--he was seventeen hands, and quite broad through the withers, but he was the biggest cream puff in the world.

"Looks kind of like Delilah, doesn't he?" Billie asked, a wistful smile playing on his lips.

"Yeah, just a little bigger. But he's got the same soft heart," I answered. "Want to ride?"

He thought about it for a moment, then shook his head. "Sounds like fun, but I think I'd like to see your old room. You know, look at the picture albums, see what you looked like when you were a baby and all."

See, this is what you dread about bringing your boyfriend home. I knew if he asked my mother, she'd be all too happy to oblige, embarrassing me to death in the process. But I knew he wouldn't take no for an answer, either.

"Okay," I sighed, "but if you laugh, I swear to God I'll never speak to you again."

"Do I look like I'd laugh at you?" he asked, all surprise and fake indignation.

"Fuck yes!" I exclaimed. "May I remind you about your smartass remark yesterday about inbreeding in the Appalachian mountains?"

"Right, maybe that was a little out of line. But this is different--it's personal."

"Just remember you've got a past, too, and I can always ask Mike if I need ammunition!" I warned him.

After I'd saddled Meg and Scamper, and made sure Mike was comfortable enough to handle the old bitch without getting thrown off on his head, Billie and I walked back down to the house, hand in hand.

"It smells so good up here," he said, taking a deep breath. "What is it?"

"It's called oxygen," I laughed. "You're used to smog, and there's not much of it up here."

"No, I mean, there's something else, like sort of a clean smell."

"It's probably the spearmint--that's it growing at the edge of the creek. See the stuff with the pointy, saw-toothed leaves?"

He squinted in concentration. "Yeah, I see it. You mean that's real mint, like in gum and toothpaste and stuff?"

"Yep, same stuff. There's also peppermint--it looks about the same, but the stems are purple. See it over there?" I pointed across the creek to an outcropping of white quartz.

"Wow, this is just the coolest place I've ever been," he sighed. "No wonder you want to come back here to live."

When I didn't answer right away, he nudged me with his elbow. "You do still want to come back, don't you? You know, open your revolutionary medical clinic that tells the insurance companies to go fuck themselves?"

He had such a way with words. "Yeah, that was the plan," I nodded.

"Was?" He sounded as if he wasn't sure he'd heard right.

"Yeah, I'm still thinking about it. I guess I'm not really sure anymore what I want to do, you know? I just know that I'd like to try living for while without someone always telling me what to do."

We kept walking for a moment, saying nothing. His head was bowed, deep in thought.
Finally he broke the silence. "I'm just wondering what would make you give up on doing something that amazing, something that would really make a difference to people. I think if I had the smarts to do that, I'd fight anybody that got in my way." His green eyes pierced right into my mind unflinchingly.

"I haven't exactly given up," I said. "But I never thought about doing anything else, and now I just want to step back and see if it still feels right."

"You gotta do what makes you happy," he agreed. "The last thing you want is to spend your whole life getting up and going to a job where you're miserable. I'll probably be broke half my life, but at least I won't be a corporate zombie."

"I don't think you're going to have to worry about being broke, Billie. You've got something special with the band, some kind of spark that people really connect with. It's amazing."

He dipped his head almost bashfully, a grin of pleasure spreading across his face. "You think so?"

"I know so."

"Kind of like you with the kids at the cancer center, huh?"

I hadn't really thought of it that way, but he was right. I did feel a special connection with them, one that nourished my soul like nothing else I'd ever done. It was personal, the way medicine sometimes isn't, and I really thrived on the contact, painful though it could be.

"How'd you get to be so wise?" I asked. "For a brat, you sure have a lot of depth!"

I expected his typical wisecrack, some off the cuff remark for laughs. He surprised me.
"I'm a brat because I'm pissed off at a lot of things, not because I don't care. Maybe I care too much, and that's why I can't stand all the bullshit I see going on. People ripping each other off, stabbing each other in the back, treating each other like dirt for the stupidest reasons. Then I see you going up there every week, putting your heart out there for those little guys, and I know it takes a lot out of you. But the thing is, you keep going back."

We were heading up the stairs now, and the familiar creaking of the wood treads took me back to a time when decisions like the ones I was facing now seemed light years away. Was life ever really as simple as it had seemed then?

I turned the doorknob, and for the first time in two months, was surrounded by all the things that had made this room my home for so many years. The pale blue carpet was freshly vacuumed, sunny yellow curtains pulled back to reveal a sweeping view of the valley, and the patchwork quilt was spread with loving symmetry over the bed. My dolls were put away, but a few choice stuffed animals still stood guard on the pillow, and someone (are you listening, Mom?) had proudly lined up my debate trophies along the top of the bookshelf.

"It's cute," Billie said wryly, deliberately understating the obvious. "No, I mean it," he said when I glared at him. "It looks like a good place for a young girl to sit and dream about some nice young man to take her away and live happily ever after."

Were we back to the snottiness again? I wasn't sure.

"Well, what did you expect--razor wire and bloody fabric on the walls?" I retorted. "In case you hadn't noticed, this place isn't exactly a hotbed of punk culture."

"No!" The look of mock horror on his face dripped sarcasm. "You mean I might not fit in? Oh God, whatever will I do?" But he was grinning, and I knew he meant no harm. He was just being the same jackass he always was. So I did what I always do, too--I ignored him.

"So what else did you want to see?" I flopped cross-legged onto the bed and leaned back against the giant Paddington bear my dad had won for me at the state fair two years ago.

"Hmmm... Got any high school yearbooks?" he said, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

"I might, if you ask nicely. But may I remind you what happens if you laugh at me?"

"Yeah, I know, you won't speak to me. I won't laugh!"

I wasn't so sure. It's not as if I were hardcore when he met me, but I really was pretty plain vanilla growing up. What alternative was there? People in this area were easygoing, friendly folks. They waved when they saw you, called before they visited, cooked dinner for you when you were sick, and never asked you to return the weed eater you borrowed six months ago. Rebellion was out of place because there just wasn't much to rebel against.

I pulled a couple of the red and blue books off the shelf. "Color me skeptical," I said dryly, "but go ahead and knock yourself out if you must."

He sat beside me on the bed, the books open on his lap, leafing slowly through my memories and scanning the pages for my face.

"Honor Society, huh?" he mused. "Drama Club, Student Council, Newspaper Editor. What the fuck's a 'Beta Club'? Something you knock fish over the head with?"

I grabbed the book away from him and slammed it back into its niche on the bookshelf.

"What? Oh, come on, you know it was funny!"

"Yeah, yeah--whatever." He was funny, but it was making me really uncomfortable having him examine all the details of the life I'd led before. It was like being under a microscope, and I knew it must all seem pathetic and ridiculous to him.

When I looked up, his face had grown serious. "You're not taking me seriously, are you?" he asked. "You know I'm just an ass, you can't listen to anything I say."

I felt twelve years old again, somehow. "Well, I do listen. That's the problem. And right now I just...I just feel kind of lame and stupid."

He took my hands in his and looked intently into my face. "Why, Gen? Is it because you had a good childhood? Hell, that's not something you should be ashamed of! Besides, what makes you think I'm making fun of you? Maybe I'm just jealous that I didn't get to grow up in a family like this. But I can tell you one thing, I'm sure as hell glad I'm here right now!"

His hand found its way to my cheek, and he pulled my face toward him, and into a deep, sweet kiss. He brushed the hair away from my eyes, and lowered his lids again as his mouth covered mine.

"I love you, Genny. I love who you are, who you were, and who you're becoming. I don't know what you see in me, or how the hell I got lucky enough to be with you, but I do know that you're the one thing that's ever made me stop being angry long enough to feel happy. So don't you ever let me catch you feeling embarrassed about anything that made you the
incredible woman you are."

Downstairs, I heard the doorbell, and the unmistakable squeals of joy from my mom. It had to be Rae, just getting back from Vanderbilt. She'd had her L4's right up until late yesterday afternoon, and had to be ragged from the drive.

Billie's eyes were curious. "Want to go meet my sister?" I asked.

Rae's voice drifted up the stairwell as we made our way down to greet her. She was a ball of energy, prattling away non-stop while she was hanging up her coat and digging a bottle of wine out of her bag to give our parents. She had always done everything in fast-forward, and even though she must have been exhausted from the drive, today was no exception. Mom and Dad stood watching her in amusement, waiting for her to catch her breath and slow down.

"Hey little sister!" she interrupted herself when she saw me. She flung her arms open wide for a hug. "I missed you so much! How's college?"

I knew it would be the first thing she asked. Rae was stellar in school, and though our competition was friendly, it was something we never seemed to grow out of. It was also the one thing I didn't want to discuss with her--or with my parents, for that matter.

"It's okay. Hard, but okay." I decided vagueness was the best tactic. "How about law school?"
"Never a dull moment," she shrugged as she tucked her gloves into the coat pockets and closed the closet door. "And who do we have here?" she asked, spotting Billie as he hoisted her bag to carry it upstairs. Quickly, as if picking up on her tempo, he set it down and held out his hand. She took it gingerly, as if she were a little afraid of him.

"Nice to meet you, Rae. I'm Billie Joe. Armstrong. I'm Genny's..."

"Boyfriend?" she finished for him, her voice rising dramatically. "You've been keeping some secrets, sis! How did I not know about this?"

There's a lot you don't know about, I thought, but held my tongue. "Just busy, you know how it is. Meeting some new people. I brought my roommate and a few other friends, too. They should be back from riding soon--you'll like them."

"You've turned into quite the social butterfly, haven't you?" she smiled. It was ironic, in a way. She had always been top of her class, had excelled at everything she tried to do, but her social life had suffered for it. There had been few friends for her during high school, and only one or two brief relationships. She didn't seem unhappy, exactly, but she was well aware that her intensity had cost her some of the things that most young people take for granted.

"So how long have you two been dating? Is it serious?" she asked curiously, her eyebrows lifting just a bit too much. Behind her, Billie rolled his eyes.

My dad's steady hand took her elbow and steered her toward the kitchen. "Come on, honey, let's have a cup of coffee to knock the chill off before we sit down to dinner." As they turned away, he looked back over his shoulder at me.

"Decaf," he mouthed silently.

**********

Three hours later, the living room was strewn with semi-comatose bodies, stuffed to the brim with a feast of epic proportions. Mom and Dad were asleep in the recliners, and the rest of us had stretched out on sofas and the floor to watch the football game. Billie lay propped up against a pillow beside the couch, my head nestled on his chest and arms wrapped around him. I was content as a cat, all but purring.

It was nearing halftime when the doorbell rang. Rae was closest to the hall. "I'll get it," she volunteered, lifting herself off the couch with some effort.

I barely raised my head from Billie's chest to acknowledge her. His rhythmic breathing was so relaxing, and even the occasional outburst as he, Mike and Tre yelled at the television didn't disturb me. I was completely at peace.

I was already drifting back into a pleasant dream when I felt a hand on my arm.

"Gen, there's someone here to see you. Can you come to the door for a minute?" Rae whispered. She looked uncomfortable, and glanced at Billie before looking back toward me. He was completely absorbed in the game.

"Sure," I said thickly, pushing myself up off the floor. She followed me through the kitchen, and stopped before we reached the front door.

"Gen, it's Dustin. He said you knew he'd be coming by. Were you expecting him?" Her voice was hushed, and there was confusion in her face.

"No, I don't know what he's talking about," I said. "The last time I heard from him, he wrote me and asked if we could give it one more try, but I never answered his letter."

"Does he know about Billie?"

"I told him last time I was home," I said, and all the spit was drying up in my mouth, making little clicking sounds when I talked. "What could he want?"

"Better go find out," she said, eyes soft with concern. She turned back to the living room. "I'll try to keep things peaceful in there."

I opened the door slowly, not sure what to expect. He stood with his back toward me, looking out toward the river. Hearing the squeak of the hinges, he turned around, and I saw he was holding a single red rose.

"Hi, Genny," he said, holding the flower out to me and looking almost shy. "I just wanted to speak to you for a minute. Am I interrupting your dinner?"

I was trying hard to comprehend what was going on, and part of my brain still wasn't even awake yet. "No, we're all done. I'd ask you in, but there's nowhere to sit." It sounded a little ruder than I'd meant it to.

He looked at his shoes uncomfortably, then back up at me. "That's okay, I won't keep you long. Did you have a lot of company for Thanksgiving?"

"Actually, I brought some friends from school. My roommate, Wynn, and some others." I wasn't volunteering more information than he needed to know.

Dustin wasn't a stupid guy. "Is Billie with you, too?"

"Yes, he's here," I said warily. I didn't want to pave the way for anything we'd all regret, but I wouldn't lie to him, either.

He let it digest for a moment. "So...wow. Must be serious then, if you brought him home to meet your mom and dad. That's--that's good, I guess."

"Well, we'd all been planning to take a trip together. Tre wanted to see the mountains, so it worked out well." I wasn't sure why I was trying to soften the blow for him, or if it would even make any difference. Should I offer to introduce him to everyone? I thought of Billie, and decided against it.

He leaned against the porch railing, hands behind him. "Genny, as long as he makes you happy, then I'm happy for you. I just want the best for you--I hope you get into the med school you want, and set up your clinic, and set the world on fire. You'll make a difference in a lot of people's lives."

Where had I heard all this before? It was almost like he and Billie had been conspiring together.

I should have just thanked him, but sometimes my mouth takes over when my brain nods off. "I don't know, Dustin. I'm kind of rethinking some things, trying to decide if that's still what I want to do."

He looked shocked. "You mean, the clinic?"

"No," my big mouth blabbered on, "I mean med school, the whole thing. The pressure's just so intense, and for the first time in, like, years I've gotten a taste of what it's like to live the way I want to. It's been...amazing. Like I can breathe again."

He kicked at the edge of the step with the toe of his sneaker. "Is that what he does for you? Makes you feel free, I mean?" He looked up at me beneath the fringe of brown bangs, eyes soft and vulnerable. He wasn't hiding the fact that he was still in pain, and I knew I had nothing to offer him to ease it.

"He understands me, Dustin. He is me. All the things I held back, not just from you, but from everyone, even myself--he knew they were there from the first time he met me. I don't have to pretend with him."

The barb went deep, and I regretted it as soon as I'd said it. "Is that what you were doing when you were with me?" he asked. "Pretending?"

Damn. Why couldn't I just shut up?

"No, Dustin. I really did care about you, and I honestly thought I wanted to be with you for the rest of my life. But there's so much I was missing, and didn't even know it. I just don't want to get old without ever being young. Billie has that same hunger, that same fire. That's why we understand each other."

"Do you love him?" he asked, still looking at the steps. Still, he needed to plunge the knife deeper into his flesh. Maybe he had to hear it to make it real.

"Yes, I do." Such simple words, for such an incredible emotion. "He loves me, too."

When he lifted his head, his eyes were lifeless, somehow. It was as if they were windows, and behind them was all the sadness that had ever been. Still, a faint smile lifted the corners of his mouth.

"Well, then I guess that's all there is to say, isn't it?" He pushed away from the railing and slowly made his way down the steps. "But I won't forget you, Genny. I can't. As much as he's a part of you, you're a part of me."

He didn't ask for a hug, or even try to touch me. But at the bottom of the steps, he turned and looked at me one last time. I lowered my eyes, feeling ashamed of how I'd hurt him.

"Be happy, Genny. And always know there's someone who loves you."

What could I say to that? All I could do was stand and wave as he got into his car and backed out of the driveway. My mind was churning with guilt and relief, a strange combination.

I turned around, the rose dangling like a tattered memory from my fingertips, and reached for the doorknob.

There stood Billie on the other side of the glass, arms crossed, his green eyes stormy. How long he'd been standing there, I had no idea.