Chapter 50: Storm Warnings

February 21, 1981

The first of the two tournaments between Valentines and Spring Break was here. Bellaire. A school that was significant to me in an unusual way.

My best friend in High School the first time around, Dave Mayrink, should have gone to Bellaire. But he didn’t; he went to a magnet school instead, a magnet school set in a poor neighborhood and mostly serving those kids. Each day he had a 45-minute bus ride each way — which he hated — so he could go hang out with the other magnet school engineering nerds. In the end, he went to a great college and did well. But then so did I, without the magnet program, the grueling bus ride, the feeling of being a few suburban nerds in a great sea of poor inner-city kids with nothing in common. A school in which the general student population ostracized even the few inner-city minority nerds who got into the magnet program.

I wondered if he’d made the same choice this go-round. I guessed that he had. Most things were the same, outside my immediate circle.

At the time, I was a little jealous of him. Now, I thought he and his parents had made a poor decision.

His house was just a few miles away. He was probably a few miles away all the time I was Bellaire, except while at D&D. Which I imagined he still did. Part of me wanted to go say hi. But our paths had diverged — my choice — and that was that.

The tournament itself was great. I made it to semis this time, just missing the cut on breaking to finals. Cammie got first, beating Ted. I don’t think anyone congratulated her more than he did. Janet and Lizzie were on fire, winning every round. And we got another finals — and another state qualifier — when Kenzie made it to the finals, losing what I heard was a narrow decision. I didn’t get to watch, and I’m not the best judge of LD, anyway.

February 22, 1981

The phone rang around 11am, just after church. Angie’s ring. I let it go and went back to my homework. Mom and Dad were out in the yard, doing something.

Angie’s voice filtered through the wall. I couldn’t make out the words. But she was angry. That I got.

And then she wasn’t. The tone shifted. Mollifying? Pleading?

No part of this was good.

The first of the big, fat, hard raindrops were spattering down, just a prologue of what was to come.

Just before noon, it rang again. This time it was my ring. I answered.

“Steve?”

“Candice! How are you?”

“Um ... OK.” She didn’t sound sure. “I. Um ... they said I could talk to you. Again. And tell you. I ... uh ... I would’ve called sooner, but I ... I tried to run away. It was dumb. You can’t. But I had a bad day and was hoping there’d be a road. And cars. But there wasn’t. Just a fence.”

“I don’t know what to say. The world would be a lesser place without you, Candice.”

She hesitated. I could hear her breathing as she gathered herself. “I think that, sometimes. And all the things I want to do. But then the blackness rises and I think about how horrible I am. And I know I’m not, Steve. I know I’m not. I do. But sometimes I can’t convince myself of that.”

“I’m praying for you, Candice. I guess it doesn’t help, since you know I don’t know what I believe that way. But I believe in something and someone. And I believe they’re merciful and want us to be happy. Want you to be happy. And they know that you’ve never been horrible.”

“It helps, Steve. It does. I...” Another long pause. I heard a voice, she said “No, it’s OK.” Then she was back. “I thought you were deluded, for a long time. That you were fooling yourself. And in the black moments, I still do. But, now, most of the time, I think that, if the people that knew me the best in the world think I’m good, maybe I should listen to them. And that’s you and Angie. So it helps. Um ... I only have a bit longer. Can you hand the phone to Angie?”

She didn’t know about the storm that was developing here, and she shouldn’t have to deal with any part of that. “Give me a second.” I set the phone down, walked to Angie’s room. No answer. I opened the door a bit.

Once she saw it was me and not Mom or Dad, she glared. “Go. The. Fuck. Away.”

“Angie, it’s Candice, on the phone. She wants to talk. Just ... I know we’re having trouble. But she doesn’t deserve any of our issues.”

“I’ll be a good girl,” she said with a bit of a sneer. “Now, go away.”

I went back and listened for a second. Angie sounded upbeat. Good. I set the handset down carefully in the receiver. Girl talk. I hope it helped.

I pondered that first phone call. It matched what I’d seen of Angie and Max at the Valentines dance and at school. Him controlling, physical; her placating, mollifying, submissive. Angie was none of those things with anyone else. She hadn’t had a hint of that with Dan. Was this some Sharon behavior she was following? God knows Sharon was a terrible role model.

I didn’t buy it, not all the way at least, but it was the only theory I had that made any sense. Otherwise, this was just out of character for Angie, and I couldn’t make the pieces fit together. I wondered if she needed counseling, too. She’d mentioned seeing a therapist before, in the sense of having not really done it. Maybe she needed Dr. Stanton, or someone else, for herself? Maybe that would help. Who in the world could blame her for having issues after what she’d been through?

Most of the group had returned. Jimmy and Connie brought the mood down just a little more when they announced they were ‘taking a break’ for a while. I still thought they might make it. They didn’t say they were breaking up and, however they might struggle, it didn’t seem like either had given up on things.

Everyone asked after Angie. I did my best to be honest and say as little as possible.

February 26, 1981

Angie was wearing long sleeves to school. OK, so it’s February, she’s a girl, and girls get cold. But Angie didn’t wear long sleeves much at all. She wore jackets she could take off.

I kept a careful eye on her all day. She was using her left arm as little as possible, even when the movements were awkward.

I had a very bad feeling.

At home I timed it so Mom and Dad were deep in a TV show. I went into Angie’s room without knocking.

“Get out!”

I ignored her, went over, and scooted up her sleeve. Yes, without asking. She had a big angry bruise high on her forearm. Purple. Ugly. And the feelings it gave me were uglier. And angrier.

“Get. The. Fuck. Out. Now. Steve!” She growled, fire in her eyes.

I stepped back towards the door.

“We promised to always have each other’s back and to not hold back or sugar-coat it when something needed to be said. Something needs to be said. Max is bad news, Angie. You’re going to make some excuse, I can see it. You hit it with the door. You fell off your bike.

“That’s a punch. Or two. Or three. And I’m sure I know who.

“We promised, Ang. I won’t back off on this. You need to hear it from someone that loves you. This is fucked up. Get away from him. If you hate me right now, get advice from someone you trust.

“I love you and I’m never going to stop loving you, even if you try to make me.”

Her eyes were on fire, and her face was red. The thing is, I thought it might be more shame than anger. But there was a lot of anger, too. If she’d smacked me now, I’d be risking another concussion.

“Get. The. Fuck. Out. Now!”

I left.

The wind was ramping up; fat raindrops were everywhere. I wondered how we’d weather this one and just how much devastation it would cause.

February 28, 1981

We rode to Doctor Stanton’s, sitting up against the doors. Together, but apart. Something that had never happened before. Something Mom couldn’t help but notice.

This was the end of Angie’s grounding. I’m sure Mom and Dad wanted to extend it, given the waves of cold flowing off my sister, but they would keep their side of the grounding bargain. She was doing her best to keep things normal around them, and it was probably working. They knew something was wrong, but not how much. And I didn’t feel I could tell them, at least not yet. Things were perilous. I knew what I knew, guessed what I guessed. And I’d be watching; if Angie was doing something away from me, I’d have to try to know where and when and what. Not always easy, but Max could only go so far at school.

I could and would forgive Angie almost anything short of trying to kill me. But some words stay with you always once they escape one’s lips. And some actions can be forgiven but never forgotten. I could tell Angie I disapproved. Warn her. But pulling Mom and Dad into it all the way? She might never let that go. And if you reversed it? I probably couldn’t either.

Once there, we waited. They called Angie first. I was glad of that; I thought it was more likely that Angie’s session would go well if she went first. After she left, Mom raised the question.

“You’ve been unusually quiet the past few weeks, and Angie’s been almost mute. Oh, not literally. She’ll chatter away about classes, grades, and whatever game we’re playing. But it’s been weeks since I heard her mention any of your friends. Her friends. And you two are never talking to each other, just around each other. I’m worried, honey.”

I nodded. “Max.”

“Yes. What can we do, son?”

I shook my head. “If you’d liked a boy when you were fourteen and everyone was telling you not to see him... ?”

Mom blushed. I was not expecting that!

“I’d have been a good girl and told my parents I wouldn’t see him. And then I’d have snuck around school and seen him, anyway. I get it, honey.”

I reached over and touched her arm. “There’s a story there, Mom. I’d like to hear it. Angie might, too. When we’re back to where we can share things like that. One day, hopefully soon.”

“You kids don’t want to hear my stories from those pre-historic days!”

“People are people, mom. Things change; I know you went to school in a very different time. But that doesn’t mean the people weren’t just like people today. And just knowing our Mom better would be nice.”

“Maybe.” She squeezed my hand a little. “You’re growing up a lot. I thought, at first, maybe too soon. But now?” Head shaking, she went on, “Your sister is growing up too soon, with this Max character. It’s lucky you’re where you can help her.”

“If I can. I’ll do everything I can.”

“I know you will.”

I hesitated. “This is meddling, and she’d hate me for meddling right now. I don’t think it’s time, yet. But, if this keeps up, maybe she needs to see Dr. Stanton or someone like her, for herself. She’s got to have some issues left over from Sharon; maybe this is related to that. Maybe not. I just think ... well, consider it. If things get worse, or maybe just if they don’t get better.”

“That’s a good thought. I’d been thinking something like that, but not so clearly. We’ll watch and see. Maybe this will blow over.”

“I hope it will.”

Angie came out after her hour, smiling, with a little hug for Doctor Stanton. It looked like it’d gone well. I was glad; I’d worried it wouldn’t.

“Steve? Come on in.”

I got up and headed in, giving Angie a slight smile which she returned with a glare. Mom couldn’t have seen the glare, but Doctor Stanton could. And I didn’t see any surprise there.

I took a seat in the same chair, while she sat in ‘her’ chair. Smiled. Folder and notepad ready.

“I’m glad you could come by. I’ll tell you up front, I asked Angie if she’d come back again. I find you both fascinating. I’m not your therapist, obviously. Or hers. Perhaps I should be. In any case, we should talk about the reason you’re officially here first. You received a call from Candice?”

“Last Sunday, yes.”

“I’m sure you know she’s closely monitored.”

I nodded. “Yeah. I figure nothing we say is at all private. And shouldn’t be.”

“Right. So, what’s your impression?”

“That she’s struggling quite a bit. I think she was very honest in the call. I didn’t get any feeling of being manipulated or played. It’s the same struggle that made her want to kill herself. That feeling, what she called the blackness, attacks her and makes her feel like it’d be better to just not have to hurt anymore. But it felt like she’s having longer periods of fighting it and finding the good inside herself.”

“I hope they’re longer.” She tapped her pen, considering. “What do you think about her saying that you and Angie knew her better than anyone?”