Walking Disaster

I’d only experienced once before in my life, but this felt more real. Losing Abby wasn’t a story I remembered from early
childhood—it was in my face, debilitating me like a sickness, robbing me of my senses and physically, excruciatingly painful.
    My mother’s words echoed in my ear. Abby was the girl I had to fight for, and I went down fighting. None of it was ever going to be enough.
    A red Dodge Intrepid pulled up next to my bike. I didn’t have to look up to see who it was.
    Trenton killed the engine, resting an arm out of the open window. “Hey.”
    “Hey,” I said, wiping my eyes with my jacket sleeve.
    “Rough night?”
    “Yeah,” I nodded, staring at the Harley’s fuel tank.
    “I just got off work. I need a fuckin’ drink. Ride with me to the Dutch.”
    I took a long, faltering breath. Trenton, like Dad and the rest of my brothers, always knew how to handle me. We both knew I shouldn’t drive in my condition.
    “Yeah.”
    “Yeah?” Trenton said with a small, surprised smile.
    I swung my leg backward over the seat, and then walked around to the passenger side of Trenton’s car. The heat from the vents made my skin burn, and for the first time that night I felt
how biting cold the air was, and recognized that I didn’t have nearly enough clothes on for the temperature.
    “Shepley called you?”
    “Yep.” He backed out from the parking space and slowly weaved through the lot, finding the street at a turtle’s pace. He looked over at me. “I guess a guy named French
called his girl? Said you and Abby were fighting outside the cafeteria.”
    “We weren’t fighting. I was just . . . trying to get her back.”
    Trenton nodded once, pulling into the street. “That’s what I figured.”
    We didn’t speak again until we took our stools at the bar of the Dutch. The crowd was rough, but Bill, the owner and bartender, knew Dad well from when we were kids, and most of the
regulars watched us grow up.
    “Good to see you boys. It’s been a while,” Bill said, wiping down the counter before setting a beer and a shot on the bar in front of each of us.
    “Hey, Bill,” Trenton said, immediately tossing back his shot.
    “You feeling okay, Travis?” Bill asked.
    Trenton answered for me. “He’ll feel better after a few rounds.”
    I was grateful. In that moment, if I spoke, I might have broken down.
    Trenton continued buying me whiskey until my teeth were numb and I was on the verge of passing out. I must have done so sometime between the bar and the apartment, because I woke up the next
morning on the couch in my clothes, unsure of how in the hell I got there.
    Shepley closed the door, and I heard the familiar sound of America’s Honda rev up and pull away.
    I sat up and closed one eye. “Did you guys have a good night.”
    “Yeah. Did you?”
    “I guess so. Did you hear me come in?”
    “Yeah, Trent carried your ass upstairs and threw you on the couch. You were laughing, so I’d say it was a successful night.”
    “Trent can be a dick, but he’s a good brother.”
    “That he is. You hungry?”
    “Fuck no,” I groaned.
    “Alrighty, then. I’m gonna make me some cereal.”
    I sat on the couch, going over the night before in my mind. The last hours were hazy, but when I backed up to the moment I saw Abby on campus, I winced.
    “I told Mare we had plans today. I thought we’d go to the lumber place to replace your creaky ass door.”
    “You don’t have to babysit me, Shep.”
    “I’m not. We’re leaving in half an hour. Wash the stank off you, first,” he said, sitting in the recliner with his bowl of Mini Wheats. “And then we’re going
to come home and study. Finals.”
    “Fuck,” I said with a sigh.
    “I’ll order pizza for lunch, and we can just eat leftovers for dinner.”
    “Thanksgiving is coming up, remember? I’ll be eating pizza three meals a day for two days straight. No, thank you.”
    “Okay, Chinese, then.”
    “You’re micromanaging,” I said.
    “I know. Trust me, it helps.”
    I nodded slowly, hoping he was right.
    THE DAYS PASSED SLOWLY. BUT STAYING UP LATE TO study with Shepley, and sometimes America, helped to shorten the sleepless nights. Trenton promised not
to tell Dad or the rest of the Maddox boys about Abby until after Thanksgiving, but I still dreaded it, knowing I’d already told them all she would come. They would ask about her, and then
see right through me when I lied.
    After my last class on Friday, I called Shepley.