This Side of Salvation

CHAPTER 32

TWENTY-EIGHT (SUCKY) DAYS TO ONE (NOT-SO-SUCKY) DAY BEFORE THE RUSH

The Rapture books my parents forced on me took my usual slate of nightmares into a whole different realm of bizarreness. They also changed the way I viewed the daytime world.

In the same way a cartoon cat would see a bird stroll by and imagine it to be a walking roasted turkey, I would look at the average person on the street and imagine them as skeletons or zombies. It was torture.

But every nonrainy night until the Rush, I went back to the ball field. I’d arrive at 2 a.m. for pitching practice, then at three o’clock Lucy and her dad would join me, and we would play. This is how I stayed in shape, kept my sanity, and felt a little less Abandoned.

On prom/Rush night, Mom and Dad didn’t come downstairs to see Mara and Sam off to the dance, so it was up to me to take pictures and pretend everything was normal.

Mara had Sam wait in the living room while she beckoned me into the kitchen. She retrieved Sam’s boutonniere from the refrigerator, along with a second plastic box, which she handed to me. “When I picked up my flowers, the florist said there was a second order for the last name Cooper. He brought these out.”

Bailey’s corsage. “Oh no, I forgot to cancel the order when I canceled the tux.”

“There’s no charge. I told them your girlfriend suddenly moved away.”

“Huh. That’s almost semitrue.”

“I know. Slick, huh?”

The cluster of roses and baby’s breath made me wonder how Bailey would’ve looked tonight, how her eyes would’ve shone in the light of the cheesy prom decorations. I wondered if she would’ve done her hair up like Mara’s, with little wisps on her cheeks and forehead, or if she would’ve worn it full and thick past her shoulders. I wondered how it would’ve looked in the pool and hot tub at Stephen Rice’s party tonight.

“I’ll give these flowers to Mom for Mother’s Day tomorrow.”

“That’s nice. Maybe it’ll help her feel better.”

“Just please be home by two thirty. I don’t want to deal with Mom and Dad by myself when they realize the Rush isn’t happening.”

“I will, promise.” She put her hand on my arm. “Take care of them tonight, but don’t let them drive you crazy. Tomorrow, disaster recovery begins.”

I hoped she was right, but I feared that tomorrow would bring a whole new catastrophe.

After Mara and Sam left, Mom and Dad miraculously materialized for a family fun night, just the three of us. Mom made pizza from scratch, cooking the sauce sweet, the way I liked it. She had me knead the dough, a satisfying task for hands that hadn’t touched a girl in forty days. While the dough rose and the sauce simmered, we played the Proverbial Wisdom board game, then finally ate the pizza while watching A Christmas Carol.

Other than the unseasonal movie choice, the evening felt abnormally normal. The calm before the shitstorm.

I dozed off in the middle of the movie, just enough to get Scrooge’s hellacious journey jumbled up in my head, so that I dreamed of a black-robed Tiny Tim standing by the grave instead of the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come.

“David.” Mom shook my shoulder. “We’re going to bed for a couple hours, so I suggest you do the same. We’ll set an alarm and wake you when it’s time.”

I looked at the clock through bleary eyes. Only eleven thirty. But thanks to my nightly jaunts to the ballpark, I’d slept terribly these last few weeks. The overdose of pizza had made my brain and body heavy.

But Dad helped me to my feet and gave me a friendly pat on the back as he steered me toward the stairs. I offered him a ghost of a smile. Tomorrow it’ll all be over, and Monday morning we’re calling a psychiatrist.

By the time I’d brushed my teeth, washed my face, and gotten in bed, I was nearly wide awake. I lay in the dark, listening to Johnny Cash’s At Folsom Prison album on my phone, thinking of where I’d be right now if I hadn’t made this bargain, until a renegade emo thought crossed my mind:

If the Rush does happen, I’ll never be alone again.

In the middle of “I Still Miss Someone,” my phone’s MP3 player paused as a message from Kane came in. He’d been texting me all evening with gossip about the other students at prom.

At SR’s party. Guess who’s here asking for you?

It could’ve been any of my teammates, or former classmates from Middle Merion Middle School, even Stephen Rice himself. I wasn’t in the mood to guess.

Who?

I’d barely hit send when the name came back.

Bailey.

Halfway out my bedroom window, dressed all in black, I was stopped by a sudden thought me.

No, it’s not worth getting caught, I told myself.

But think of the look on Bailey’s face if I bring it, myself told I.

I groaned softly and shut the window, leaving it unlocked.

The upstairs hallway was silent and dark. I had about two hours before Mom and Dad’s alarm went off. I slunk downstairs, keeping close to the wall and avoiding the floor’s creaky spots.

The corsage box was still in the back of the fridge. I grabbed the bag and went to the back door. Now that I was already out of my room, I might as well leave the house the easy way. I shut off the backyard light, then turned the handle slowly, cringing as the paper bag rustled in my hand.

The flowers. Bailey. There was something else I needed from my room. Chances were good that my parents would discover I’d sneaked out. I could be grounded for sixty years, thus making this the de facto last night of my life.

I shut the door and went back upstairs.

The condoms were in my dresser’s squeakiest drawer, of course, because I am an idiot. I held my breath as I inched it open, lifting both sides of the drawer off their rollers.

I peeled open the box and emptied its contents atop my T-shirts. I tore off two from the strip, figuring it was good to have a backup in case the first one, I don’t know, malfunctioned or I dropped it in my nervousness and it got stolen by a raccoon. Or something.

Then I quickly scanned the instructions and diagrams, thanking God for (a) my skill at cramming for tests, and (b) my circumcision. I did not need extra steps to memorize.

It wasn’t that I assumed we would have sex just because Bailey was asking Kane about me. Part of me even wondered if I was jinxing my chances by bringing condoms, the same way my mom thought bringing an umbrella to a ball game can keep it from raining. I just didn’t want to be unprepared.

I stuffed the two chosen ones in my front pocket and covered the rest under a stack of T-shirts. Finally I scribbled a quick message to my parents, on a sheet of paper ripped from my spiral biology notebook: Mom and Dad,

Had to go out for a while. Be back by 2:30. I promise I’ll be safe, so please don’t call the cops. DavidBefore leaving the note on my pillow, I squeezed “Love” and a comma in front of my name.