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inane annals
Stainbombing, pt.3
by Mark Suder Massey | 26 Nov 2007, 1:41

David's face looked gray and there were tears on his cheeks. Instead of wiping his tears or covering his face, he leaned back slightly and stared at the ceiling. His face was open, unashamed. A minute passed. In the silence I heard Max opening, then closing his mouth. TayTay shifted on the couch, swallowing. My hands ached from clenching them for so long.

"I'm sorry about Mona," I said softly, unable to meet David's eyes.

Suddenly he bolted out of his recliner, slapping his thighs. "Story time's over," he said, eyes flashing. "Time to go to the principal's office."

*

On the covered patio outside the principal's office, David's face was washed out by the dim, institutional light. We stood a few feet behind him. David was looking in our direction but not at us, the stainbomb rippling in his hand.

Eyes slitted, David crossed his arms. "When Dr. Connell hears about your little warpath, you'll be scraping ten-year-old bubble gum off the basketball courts for months. I'm talking high noon, no AC, and piss warm tap water."

"Dang..." TayTay said, rubbing his scalp and forehead. "My mom's gonna be hell of pissed. Now I'll never move back to California."

Max half-heartedly kicked the concrete. "Whatever Dr. Connell does won't compare to my dad going all fascist on me."

I looked at my friends. Then I looked at David and said, "Stainbombing was my idea, my invention. Let them go, all right?"

Frowning, David shook the stainbomb. "So you're the twisted ass mastermind, huh?"

I shrugged.

"And you'd do that?" David raised one eyebrow and lowered the other. "Like, accept the responsibility, no matter the aftermath?"

"I am responsible," I said.

For a while David just looked at me. Then he nodded to himself several times and tossed the stainbomb lightly, catching it. Suddenly, his eyes flashing, David whiplashed around and side-armed the stainbomb at the principal's front door. Red paint, hamburger, and Windex exploded on the blue metal door, running down it, clumping in the window and slopping to the ground.

Max, TayTay, and I stared at one another, wide-eyed. And then David clapped, the echo loud and dry off the brick walls. "Bust home, you punk skaters!" he shouted. "'Cause next time I'll call the police."

Before David had finished his sentence, Max and TayTay were tearing across the parking lot toward Ross Road. I ran a little slower, a warm feeling of relief coursing through me like endorphins. At the edge of the parking lot I looked back. David was waving.

*

A block from my house we stopped at a foot bridge that spanned a rocky riverbed between two subdivisions. We leaned against the railing, looking into the night.

TayTay jumped, spun, and slapped Max's hair. "That was dope when the caretaker threw the stainbomb against the principal's door!"

I spoke softly, saying, "His name's David."

"I so thought he was going to call the police," Max said.

"Hey guys," I said. "This is gonna sound cheesy, and you probably don't wanna hear it. But can I tell you something? Something I haven't told anyone else?"

Max combed an eyebrow. "You secretly prefer artsy prog rock shit like Pink Floyd?"

"Nah," TayTay said, his eyes glinting. "More like Chelsea's C-cup biddies are really just B's plus tissue paper."

I shifted on the railing. "Led Zeppelin, actually. And they're real C's. But I'm being dead serious. If you don't want to hear it, that's—"

"No, it's cool," Max said. "Tell us."

TayTay's face went straight. "I wanna hear. For real."

For a while I was quiet, sucking in my cheeks. "All right," I said. "I'm just gonna say this."

Max and TayTay stepped a little closer.

"That thing about my mom and my sister being in Trinidad, it's bullshit." I looked down. "My mom lives there, yeah, but my sister is... she's—" My lips started to tremble. "She's gone. Drowned, a year ago today. I was supposed to be watching her but I went inside to fix some Orange Juliuses for us. When I came back out she was at the bottom of the pool. She was blue." Eyes watering, I fought to control my breathing. "She looked like this fucking blue angel and I couldn't believe she was dead, you know? It was like her life was still so close, like it was floating in the air right beside her. But there was no way of putting it back inside. Everything fell to shit after that. My mom blamed my dad, my dad blamed my mom, and I—I blamed myself."

When I sniffled it was the only sound. I wiped my face, then rubbed my palms on my jeans.

"Dude," Max said softly, rubbing my shoulder. "It's not your fault. Stop blaming yourself, I mean it."

TayTay threw an arm around me. "I just—dang. I can't believe you held it inside so long. You gotta let go of this shit."

After walking halfway across the bridge I turned to face them. I felt deeply embarrassed, but lighter, too. "Sorry to bawl on you guys like this."

"You know what?" Max said. "Fuck apologizing. This is the kind of shit that'll make us super tight as a crew."

TayTay grinned. "For real. What kind of friends'd we be, you couldn't tell us this?"

They walked toward me. "Thank you," I said, looking from Max to TayTay. "It—It means a lot to me you guys came over tonight." Suddenly I was smiling. "Now I think it's about time we turn my house into a saloon. Max, pick your whiskey. TayTay, call your girl."

Max and TayTay exchanged a glance. "Nah!" they said simultaneously.

"Think I'd rather just play Mortal Kombat," TayTay said, jabbing my arm.

Max was smiling with his eyes. "And drink a shit ton of Cokes."

*

I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, door locked, lights off.

"Bloody Mary," I said.

"Bloody Mary." My voice was firm and measured.

Flexing my fingers, I took several breaths. "Bloody Mary."

Thirty seconds passed. In the darkness all I heard was my own breathing. I knew, then, that ghosts are weeds of the soul, and we create them for ourselves. If you want to grow a ghost, take a seed of loss and regret and plant it in darkness and silence. In time your ghost will be as heavy and isolating and awful as mine was. And when you're ready to get on living, there's only one way to root it out. Tell someone. Tell someone about your ghost.

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