Downpour
I was wrong. In the morning, I feel absolutely no need to apologize at all. I find that fits in quite well with the way that Kate obviously feels no need to speak to me at all. We’ve settled into a routine well enough for the past few months that I’ve been mostly at home, so speech is hardly even necessary anyway. It’s amazing the way we manage to get through half the week without a single word.
I wish it were normal for a husband and wife not to speak at all, because I think we could really make our marriage work this way. How sad is that?
The silence gets to me after a few days, though, because it seems my life is full of nothing but silence lately. At the office, Taylor barely speaks to me. He communicates with me mostly in subtle and confusing flirtations that leave me dying for more, but terrified to ask. So I don’t speak a word.
The only person who still talks to me – really talks to me – is Carrick.
And god, does he talk. Thursday morning he rolls into the office just before lunch, his arms loaded down with boxes of Mexican takeout and a huge smile on his face. Words start flowing from his mouth as soon as he’s across the threshold, and not even the lunch he’s gulping down slows their flow. It’s this strange mixture of mindless chatter and random deep thoughts, some musical and some not, that only he can manage to follow. I feel like I’m dangling from a rope, scrambling for purchase on the side of a cliff, while he’s already at the top.
After we finish lunch, he convinces me to go in the studio with him and try to lay down a drum track for this song he’s been working on. I haven’t been able to follow his train of thought about the song at all, but I find there’s really nothing I can do but follow him. Anything to get away from the way Taylor thinks I don’t see him staring at me.
For a moment, as I follow Carrick down the hallway, I wonder if somehow, the tables have turned between me and Taylor. But that makes no sense, and I discard the thought just as quickly.
“Let me just go in the booth and turn on the track, and then I’ll let you go to town, alright?”
I stare blankly back at him. “I think you trust me far too much.”
“I don’t think you trust yourself enough,” he replies cryptically, leaving me standing alone in the studio.
I watch him walk out, my eyes noticing the strange little spring in his step. I don’t know what’s got him so… so… I can’t even describe it. But I like it. God knows I need some pep in my life, and if Carrick’s going to be the one to supply it, I’m not going to complain. With that thought in mind, and his words still ringing in my ears, I walk over to my drums and sit down, grabbing the set of sticks already waiting on top of the snare.
He turns on the playback as soon as I’m comfortably seated on the drum throne. He’s played me this song before, so it doesn’t take long for me to find the groove and start playing something I think will sound pretty awesome on the track. It’s not a real, physical thing, but it feels good to still have my music to lose myself in when everything else is going wrong. The music is an even more dependable thing in my life than Carrick. And combining the two? Heavenly.
The track ends far too soon, and I lean into the mic to ask Carrick how that sounded. He doesn’t reply.
Confused and a little worried, I set down my sticks and head to the control booth to see what’s going on. I push the door open and see Carrick huddled over the desk, his dark hair flopping over his eyes but still not quite obscuring the look of concentration on his face. He glances up at me slowly and sheepishly, and I see the dime bag and rolling papers laid out in front of him.
“Really, Carrick? In the office?”
He shrugs, grinning slightly. “I know you’re not implying there’s a bad time to smoke up.”
On one hand, I can’t really find it in myself to argue with that. On the other hand, I know it’s a horrible idea to smoke up at the office. I shift my weight back and forth from one foot to the other, trying to decide which part of my conscience to follow.
“Come on,” he says, a little more gently. “You need this. I’ll even roll you another to take home, for hard times. You know how good I roll.”
It’s true; I do know how good he rolls. It’s a skill I’ve never quite mastered, instead amassing a nice collection of bowls to make up for it. My resolve weakens as I watch him run his tongue along the joint to seal it. “Alright. Let’s go out in the alley.”
He grins. It’s that wide, easy grin of his that always puts me at ease. Without another word, he’s scooped up the evidence of his drug habit and stuffed it back into his pocket, the joint tucked safely behind his ear. He stands up and walks toward me. “Lead the way, then.”
There’s a tiny, private alley behind our office and I’d be lying completely if I said I hadn’t made use of it before. We tuck ourselves into the corner, making sure no one can see us from the street, and Carrick lights the joint. He’s right. It’s exactly what I needed.
The rest of the day passes by quickly. Or maybe slowly. It’s tough to say, when my perception of everything is blurred and skewed. But that’s the way I like it. I’m sure the other guys suspect that something’s up, by the way Carrick and I keep giggling at nothing, but I don’t care and evidently they don’t care enough to ask.
When we all leave the office for the day, I find that I only barely dread the drive home to Kate. All my worries and fears are dulled, though my high is beginning to wear off slightly. Her car isn’t in the driveway, though. There’s a note on the kitchen counter, telling me that she’s helping Natalie with wedding decorations and won’t be home to cook dinner. I’m a little surprised that she even bothered to leave the note. Maybe she’s ready to call a truce on this fight. I suppose I’ll find out when she gets home, but for now, I’m just happy to have the house to myself.
I take advantage of that privacy in the only way I know how – a microwave dinner and a video game marathon. By the early evening, though, when the sun is just beginning to set, I realize that the lone joint I smoked with Carrick is long gone from my system and that sinking feeling of dread is taking me over again.
I’ve got to do something about it. Luckily, I’ve got the other joint that he rolled just for me.
I dig it out of my pocket and rummage around in the kitchen drawers for a lighter. I’m pretty sure Kate threw out all my lighters a while back – thank god she hasn’t found the box where I keep all my pipes – but I still manage to find one that might have just enough juice left to get this joint going.
With the lighter in hand, I make my way to the backyard and stretch out on the deck. The sky has this weird hue to it like maybe it’s going to rain soon, and I hope I’ll have time to get this thing smoked before it does.
I take my time and savor the joint, not knowing when I’ll ever have a chance to smoke like this in my own backyard again. By the time I’ve finished it, I’m stretched out completely on the deck, my back against the boards, staring up at the sky. It still isn’t raining, but I wouldn’t care if it was.
After I’ve laid there for a while, I feel a shadow descend over me. I don’t have to look up to know it’s Kate.
“You’re stoned.”
“You’re observant.”
She crosses her arms and from below, it looks really strange. I pull myself up slowly, my head spinning. Head on, Kate looks more terrifying than strange. She stares me down, unflinching even in the face of my sarcasm. “So now you’re not just hanging out with him, you’re bringing that shit home?”
Kate rarely curses; when she does, it’s a really good barometer for judging the level of her anger. I knew the silence would pass eventually, but I had hoped it wouldn’t bring with it this kind of anger. Before I can even reply, the sky opens up and begins to pour down on us. Kate seems so resolute that I almost think the rain isn’t going to stop her from staring through me, but in seconds we’re both dashing for the door.
As soon as the door is shut behind us, though, she begins again. “Answer me, Zac. Is his friendship more important to you than us? Than our marriage?”
“That’s not even fair to ask,” I reply. It’s exactly the wrong answer, but it’s also exactly how I feel.
Kate gasps. “You can’t even answer me. You’d chose him and the drugs over us, wouldn’t you?”
And I can’t answer her. Before he moved to Tulsa, I would still have been torn by a question like that, but it would have been easier to say I would choose her. Now, though, I’m not so sure. I hang my head, not willing to say the words, but knowing that she will get her answer from my body language and my silence.
With a low growl, she walks away, leaving me standing by the sliding door and staring out at the downpour. Something has changed – something that I know Kate and I won’t be able to fix, even if I do stick around for the evening. My silent admission has caused a shift in our marriage that we won’t be able to come back from.
My head still hanging low, I shuffle to the living room and grab my pillow and blanket from the couch that I’ve called home for a few days. It’s not like I really have a plan for what I’m going to do next. My legs carry me out to my truck as though they have a mind of their own. Without a second thought, I’m pulling out of the driveway and heading toward his house.
It’s really coming down now, and I can barely see the lines on the road. It’s like something is just pulling me toward him, though, guiding me easily through the storm. I park my car on the street out front and grab my pillow and blanket from the passenger seat. As I walk toward the door, I start to worry that he isn’t there, but I think I can see the living room light through the blinds.
With my pillow still tucked under my arm, I knock on the door. I rock back and forth nervously as I wait for a reply. In seconds, the door swings open to reveal Carrick, his brow furrowed with concern.
“Zac, what are you doing?”
I bite my lip, realizing how pathetic I must look. “C-can I spend the night?”
Carrick doesn’t say a word, just steps to the side and lets me in. I don’t know why I even doubted that he would be there for me.