Star Witness

13

JESSE

April slips away, a blur of Tom and sitting half-asleep through each school day. Parties and lean and music and lines of powder and hangovers. Kisa, Alice, weed, nar-anon. Trying not to think about my mom or Nico. Tom's pills, and any others I can get.

Life sucks without Nico. Every time I need more pills, which is every few days, I pretty much have to come up with a new plan. My existence is an endless quest to stave off sickness and sobriety. I can't always get there in time; I am throwing up a lot lately. Life moves, almost, without me, or more regardless of me, just moves, and I am in it, not moving, but carried along all the same.

And, when I wash up on May's shores, there is a sneak attack: Mother's Day.

I've been so focused on making money and finding drugs that it slipped my mind until I saw some jewelry commercial about it, watching television with Tom and Josie. Now it hasn't left my mind.

It isn't like we ever celebrated Mother's Day when she was alive. I don't think she thought of herself, exactly, as a mother. She seemed to consider Elise and I strange extensions of herself more than children, things that just appeared one day; the good memories I have of her are closer to friendship than being nurtured. I don't blame her. She was young, and she didn't ask for us, and that was just how she was. Her attention darted only to the shiniest places. I spent my whole childhood trying to be an interesting thing to her.

My mind is made up to avoid the whole thing, but I should know by now there's no hiding from Tomás.

He comes by after school, announces himself with a knock on my window in his particular rhythm. I open it for him.

"SOS," he says, climbing in. "They're after me." This is a joke. He alarmed me the first time he made it. I can't always tell when people are joking.

"What're you doing here?" I ask.

He sways, feigning infatuation. "I love when boys say that to me."

"Whatever."

"Whatever indeed. Permission to be sincere for two minutes?"

"No."

"You seemed kind of down today. So I wanted to check on you." He drops onto my bed, mattress bouncing him. "How come you use earbuds when you're alone? Never mind. Distracted. Is everything okay? Well, you don't have to talk. Just know, I'm here."

I pause. Then hear myself say, "Mother's Day is soon."

"Oh."

I nod.

"I'm sorry," Tom offers, tilting his head. "She's back in Illinois? Are you close?"

My stomach turns. "I really can't talk about it."

He's quiet for a long moment, probably thinking of the right thing to say. I see it when something comes to him; he perks up and turns to me, settles his hands over mine. "Hey," he says. "My moms are having this party. I mean, we go all out, since there's two of them. You should come. You can come. If you want somewhere to go. It shouldn't be too crowded--a little family, and my moms' lame old gay friends. We'll swim. It'll be fun."

I blink. "Really?"

"Of course really! Hey, it's a volunteer position--save me from boredom."

I'm helpless against a smile. "How can you tell when I'm down, anyway?"

"I don't mean to send you running for the hills, but you're not as unknowable as you think." He leans back on his hands, glows. This is the only way to describe the way he looks sometimes, the thing he does, where he's not smiling, but he is, and that light beams out of him. "You always listen to me when I talk," he says. "I can tell something is going on when you're not listening to me."