Zach hadn’t seen the Wheelers since sitting behind them at the funeral last winter. He’d focused on their hair, hers fluffed up on top and ruler straight along the base of her neck, his a thin ring stretching from one red ear to the other. Brown then, white now. He gave them a friendly little wave after the host seated them, and when they acted like they didn’t see him he picked up his guitar and angled the case expertly across the sidewalk (Coin Collecting: Explain how coins give us a deeper understanding of the world around us). He began playing Matthew’s favorite song, Smells Like Teen Spirit, and they suddenly got very interested in their menus.
It was only ten o’clock on a Tuesday morning and when the server brought them wine he knew they’d seen him. Matthew, was that kid, every class had one, who was terrified to paddle a canoe down the Nantahala but by God made Eagle first. The kind voted “Best Boy” Senior year, the kind awarded the Morehead scholarship at Carolina, the kind who used his dad’s handgun to shoot himself in the mouth that first Christmas break home, doing it in the tub to keep things from getting ‘too messy.’
Still. The louder he played the more they avoided eye contact and something had to give. He handed the guitar to Lily, who was hungover and propped up against a fire hydrant. He gently moved her over a few feet (Fire Safety: Learn how firemen keep people safe). She smiled, her sweet freckled breasts barely contained within her macrame bikini top, and his heart tripped like it did the first time he saw her. She’d gotten him through Matthew, through dropping out, through the shit with his parents. All of it.
Zach? Mrs. Wheeler stared at him, her hair a cloud of cotton candy barely covering her pink scalp. He imagined all of Matthew’s stuff from UNC – his banged up laptop, the American flag he hung over his bed, the lacrosse stick he’d retaped dozens of times – stacked on the plaid bedspread in his room. Or maybe they hauled it all to Goodwill, who knew with the Wheelers.
Ran into your parents at Sunday School, Mr. Wheeler said, his eyes hidden behind clip-on sunglasses. They mentioned you left Appalachian State last semester? Something slippery and hot slid around inside Zach’s skull, the heavy, familiar edge of a panic attack. Breathing deeply, he tried to focus on Mr. Wheeler who was grabbing at a fat fly buzzing lazily around their wine glasses.
Lily appeared at the table, sleepy and red-cheeked. He introduced everyone and when Lily told them she was sorry about Matthew Mrs. Wheeler began coughing, violently, bits of pimento cheese and water cracker littering the table. Mr. Wheeler continued his battle with the fly, ignoring Mrs. Wheeler as if choking was something she did on a regular basis.
The coughing continued, so Zach tucked his dreads down the back of his hoody (First Aid: Learn how to assess a medical emergency until help arrives), and circled his arms around her waist. Mr. Wheeler lost interest in the fly and sprang to his feet, pushing Zach aside and yelling for “a doctor in the house.” You and those damn braids, he hissed. Living hand to mouth on the streets of Asheville, for God’s sake, after all your parents have done for you!
Hand to mouth? Is that what Mom and Dad were telling people? Jesus. Mr. Wheeler began whacking Mrs. Wheeler’s back and Zach realized the white hair was most certainly a product of grief, but perhaps also anger, like the “squandering of advantages” anger that simmered in the bellies of his own parents.
Just as a lady stepped up to dislodge the cracker and cheese from Mrs. Wheeler’s throat, Zach’s panic attack broke loose. Lily grabbed a cloth napkin, dipped it into a water glass, and spread it across his face. The lady helped him into a chair and when she asked if the Wheelers were his parents Mr. Wheeler quickly said, God no. She was a nurse, and suggested a trip to the hospital to get everyone checked out. Mr. Wheeler insisted Urgent Care would be fine and minutes later they were all in the Wheelers’ Buick, Mr. Wheeler and Lily in the front, Zach and Mrs. Wheeler in the back.
Doesn’t App State have a good music program? Mrs. Wheeler asked him, hoarsely. Is that why you went there instead of Duke? He nodded, exhausted, and remembered the campout when Matthew confided his dream to be a drummer in a band like Nirvana. He made Zach swear he wouldn’t tell because everyone assumed he’d be a patent attorney like his father.
She asked if was true he was living on the streets and he said no, they actually lived in a nice truck camper (Camping: Make a checklist of gear needed). You really should call your parents more often, she rasped, as though he was still a little boy in the Scout troop. As though her choking episode and his panic attack hadn’t happened. As though Matthew was still alive and in the car with them headed somewhere fun, like the beach.
Of all the merit badges Zach earned, photography was his favorite and when he first studied it he didn’t know he’d think about it every single day. He turned away from Mrs. Wheeler, closed his eyes, and pictured for the millionth time (Photography: Select several images, good and bad, that tell your story) green canvas tents, roaring campfires, tin bowls of beef stew. Dad calling Flemings to cancel their dinner reservation after he told them he was going to App State instead of Duke. The tattered Boy Scout manual in his guitar case. Matthew’s note on the toilet next to the tub. And Lily’s slender but strong hands, one of which he was now holding in a death grip between her seat and the door.
