The Less-Dead Read online

  “No worries, man. But still, that doesn’t explain anything.”

  “Yeah, I know.” He sighs and shakes his head. “God, I can be such an idiot. Okay, let’s see if I can explain this without sounding like a complete jerk. Saturday, when we met on the Drag, I was feeling pretty down. I wanted to find something, you know, to write in my book. And there you were, playing that song. You helped me out. Does that make sense?”

  “Um, yeah, I think so.”

  “And when you gave me your Kinks shirt,” he says, “I don’t know, it just meant a lot, that’s all.”

  Will looks down and gently kicks one of the grocery bags. Inside, I see a ratty old sweater; next to it, an alarm clock. It occurs to me that the bags are Will’s makeshift suitcases, and what’s inside is all he owns. I remember what Hawk said: Take care of Will.

  “Noah! Hey! Come on, we’re going to miss our bus!” It’s Carson. He’s standing near the front of the school, waving both arms over his head like a lunatic.

  “Listen,” I say to Will. “Where are you staying now?”

  “Nowhere, really. I was sleeping on Hawk’s sofa, but that got messy, and now he’s …”

  “In jail?” I say.

  “Yeah. He’ll be out soon, but even so, staying with him is complicated. My social worker’s been trying to find me a place, but so far there aren’t any takers.”

  “No takers? Dude, they can’t just leave you out on the street.”

  “True. I suppose I could drive around all night with my social worker while she begs for an empty bed, or I could fend for myself. Which is fine with me. I’ve done it before. I can do it again.”

  Of all things, a Bible verse pops into my head. I was hungry, and you gave me something to eat. I was thirsty, and you gave me something to drink. I was a stranger, and you took me in. Words from the top man himself—Jesus. One thing I know for sure is that my dad would never turn Will away. It’s against his religion.

  I reach down and grab one of Will’s bags. “Be right there, man!” I yell to Carson. “Come on, Will. Let’s go. You’re with us now.”

  The first thing we do is make a pit stop at Carson’s. The three of us are starved, and his refrigerator is always chockfull of the best food. “Let’s see what we’ve got,” Carson says, rummaging through his freezer. “Gourmet tomato-and-olive pizza, fried mozzarella sticks, chicken quesadillas … What do you guys feel like having?”

  “All three,” I say, turning on the oven. I chug down a tall glass of milk, pour one for Will, and grab a bag of chips from the pantry. Normally Carson’s mom likes to wait on us hand and foot, but she plays tennis Monday afternoons and won’t be back until six.

  I offer Will the chips. Carefully, he plucks one out like it’s made of glass, takes a bite, and chews slowly. His eyes scan the white leather sofa, plush carpeting, and big-screen TV in the adjoining room. He’s been pretty quiet since the bus ride, and I’m beginning to wonder if it was a mistake bringing him here. Carson’s house can be intimidating. “This place is amazing,” he says. “I can’t believe you live here.”

  Carson dumps the frozen contents of the boxes onto two metal trays and shoves them into the oven. “Yeah, well, the DPCP really enjoys his creature comforts. What can I say?”

  “The DP … what?”

  “DPCP. Short for Demon-Possessed Capitalist Pig. His father’s nickname,” I explain. Immediately after saying this, I wish I could take it back. Will would probably give his right arm to have a father. And I don’t think he’d mind the capitalist part either.

  Will doesn’t seem offended at all. He laughs. “Hey, that’s pretty funny.”

  “Yeah, but what makes it even funnier,” Carson says, “is that Noah’s father is the Bible Answer Guy. We’re quite a pair, huh?”

  I want to smack Carson around for bringing this up. I mean, sure, Will’s probably going to find out sooner or later about my father’s occupation, but honestly, it would be less embarrassing if my dad was our high school janitor or the neighborhood garbage man.

  “Wait a minute,” Will says. “Do you mean the Bible Answer Guy? As in, the guy on the radio?”

  “The one and only,” Carson says.

  I shove a chip into my mouth and glare at Carson.

  “Oh, man, wait till Doomsday hears this,” Will says, cracking a huge smile. “He’s gonna go nuts. He loves that guy. I mean, you know, your father. Listens to his show all the time.”

  “Who’s Doomsday?” Carson asks.

  “A friend of mine,” Will says. “You’ve seen him. He’s that old homeless dude who hangs out on the Drag—the one who preaches and wears signs like ‘Repent, for the End Is Near.’”

  “Him?”

  “Yeah. He’s kind of crazy, but he’s all right. He looks out for me. Quindlan, too. He’s the other guy, the younger one with the mangy dog. All three of us are friends. You’ll have to meet them. But, Noah, Doomsday’s gonna kiss your feet when he finds out who your dad is.”

  I snort and shake my head.

  “What?” Will says, smiling. “You don’t believe me?”

  “No, it’s not that. I just don’t like religious fanatics. I have to live with one.”

  “So you’re a heathen?” Will teases.

  “Maybe. Yeah.”

  “Well, from what I’ve heard, your dad doesn’t seem so bad. Like once, he answered a question about the prodigal son, and I thought he was right on. Of course, he probably thinks all gays and abortionists and Muslims are going to hell—”

  “Exactly,” I say.

  Will shrugs. “Hey, I’m sure Doomsday believes that stuff too. I try not to hold it against him. Honestly, I think they’re all brainwashed.”

  “Yeah, they’re brainwashed,” I say. “But still, people have to think for themselves. I mean, I’ve heard that shit all my life, but I don’t agree with it.”

  Will studies me. “So you’re cool with gay people?”

  “Sure, why not?”

  Carson glances back and forth between the two of us. There’s a strange look on his face. He clears his throat. “Hey, Will, when are you gonna introduce us to Doomsday and Quindlan? I’ve always wanted to meet some crazy street people.”

  Will laughs. I join in.

  “I’m serious!” Carson protests. “It’s like this whole other subculture that I know nothing about. I mean, how could I, living here?”

  “He’s got a point,” I say.

  “Well, if I were you, Carson,” Will says, “I’d be careful around Doomsday. He saw you on the Drag when you were supposed to be witnessing to the lost, but instead you were staring at that cute girl’s ass.”

  Carson’s mouth falls open. “Oh, come on! It was that obvious?”

  “Yep,” Will says. “In fact, you were Doomsday’s inspiration. He preached a wicked sermon on the sins of lust and fornication.”

  “Carson’s specialties,” I add. “Well, the lust part. He’s still working on fornication.”

  “Har-har, very funny.”

  After we eat, Will insists on washing the dishes. I pluck a dishrag from the counter and begin to dry. When we’re done, Will says, “Hey, Carson, do I have time to take a shower before your folks get home? It’s been a while.” He takes a whiff of his armpit. “Jeez, I stink.”

  “Oh, sure, man. Go ahead. The bathroom’s right down the hall.” When Will’s halfway there, Carson says, “Hey, wait, toss me your clothes. We’ll wash them along with your other stuff.”

  Will hesitates for a moment, glances at me, then pulls off his Kinks shirt and tosses it to Carson. His cheeks are pink. Strangely, he looks embarrassed. “Thanks,” he says. “Clean clothes would be great.” He strips down; hands Carson his jeans, his boxers and a pair of socks; and walks silently, bare-assed, to the bathroom.

  “There are plenty of towels in there,” Carson calls. “And soap, shampoo, everything you need.” Without looking back, Will raises a hand, walks into the bathroom, and shuts the door.

  Carson and I head to
the laundry room and dump Will’s clothes, along with the contents of Will’s grocery bags, into the washing machine. Carson is unusually quiet. Finally he says, “So, Will’s gay, huh?”

  “What? No.” I measure out the detergent and pour it into the running water.

  Carson stares at me for a while and shakes his head. “You’re really dense, Noah. I mean, haven’t you noticed the way he looks at you?”

  “Shut up. And no, I haven’t.”

  “Well, for me, everything just came together. Will felt weird stripping down in front of you. I could tell.”

  “So? Maybe he’s shy, self-conscious.”

  “Shy? Come on, Noah. Put the pieces together. Will approached you on the Drag. You told him you liked poetry. You dug his Robert Frost tattoo. You played him a Lead Belly song. You gave him your Kinks shirt, for godsakes. He’s still wearing it. Are you that blind? The dude’s got a crush on you.”

  I shake my head. “You’re freaking nuts, Carson, you know that?”

  “Am I?”

  Suddenly I feel light-headed, off balance. I think about the poem Will wrote about me. How he reacted when I asked him why so much depended upon me. I walk to the living room and plop onto the sofa. A few minutes later, Carson joins me.

  “I didn’t know you were homophobic,” Carson says.

  “I’m not.”

  “Well, you seem a little freaked.”

  “Wouldn’t you be?”

  Carson laughs. “I don’t think so. Look, Noah, it’s no big deal. Will knows you’re straight. It’s obvious. You’re a baseball player, an ex-jock. You exude testosterone.”

  I roll my eyes. “You are seriously pissing me off.”

  “And besides, you told him about Aubrey. He knows you’re hopelessly in love with her. Will needs a friend, that’s all. Now he’s got two of them. Me and you. Besides, now you can put your whole I-don’t-agree-with-any-of-that-shit speech into practice.”

  Carson’s grinning at me like an idiot. I can’t take it anymore, so I get up, plow through the kitchen, and head outside to the back patio. I hold on to the wood railing, steadying myself, and after breathing some fresh air, I begin to feel a little better. I stare up at the clouds. Is Carson right? Is Will gay? Is he into me? If so, does it matter? I’ve known girls who’ve had crushes on me. Well, a few. And we’re still friends. So why is this different? Am I homophobic?

  A few minutes later, Carson joins me on the deck. “Let me ask you something, Noah. You like Will, right? I mean, as a friend?”

  “Yeah, of course.”

  “Okay. Everything’s cool. He’ll get over you. I mean, really, Noah, you’re not that irresistible.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Come on, forget about this. Let’s go tune up our guitars.”

  Later, as I’m loading Will’s clothes into the dryer, he emerges from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. I look away.

  “Wait right there, Will,” Carson says. “I’ve got just the thing.” He runs to his parents’ bedroom and returns carrying a plush green robe. “Here you go. The DPCP’s finest bathrobe. The color of money. Never been worn.” He rips off the tag and studies it. “What do you know? It’s from Neiman Marcus. A steal at two hundred and fifty bucks.”

  “Dude, I can’t wear that,” Will says.

  “Of course you can. My dad’s got ten others just like it. He’d never even know the difference.”

  Reluctantly, Will slips his arms into the robe and ties a knot at the waist. “I look ridiculous,” he says.

  I nod. “Sorry, but yeah, you do.”

  “No way, it’s perfect. Come on.” Carson gives Will a little push toward the living room. I follow. He points to his father’s favorite lounge chair. “Now, take a seat upon His Majesty’s throne, and Noah and I will serenade you. Your clothes are in the dryer. They’ll be ready when we’re done.”

  Carson and I grab our mikes and amps from the closet and carry them into the living room. I’m still feeling a little weird about a guy having a crush on me, so I avoid eye contact with Will, wondering why I didn’t pick up on the clues—the ones that were obvious to Carson. Or maybe I did? I just don’t know. The whole thing is confusing.

  Carson hands me my guitar. “Okay, let’s do it,” he says. “No covers. We’re gonna play our original songs. Will, you’re the judge. Let us know if we suck or if we’re ready for the Austin music scene.”

  “All right,” Will says. “And just so you know, I’m a tough critic. I won’t kiss your asses if I think you suck.”

  “Fair enough,” Carson says.

  Carson cranks up his amp and begins with his political masterpiece, “Flesh-Eating Zombies,” which is supposed to be a satire about American imperialism. The song makes absolutely no sense, but I figure if I play my guitar loudly enough, Will won’t be able to hear the god-awful lyrics. It seems to work. After that, we harmonize on some bluesy folk tunes, and last I perform my favorite—an acoustic piece called “Devil Inside My Head.” It’s got a long harmonica solo. While I play and sing and blow on my harp, I begin to feel fairly normal again. I guess it’s the music, which always seems to calm me down. When I’m finished, I look at Will. He smiles appreciatively. Carson’s right. Everything’s cool. At least, I hope so.

  “So, what do you think?” Carson asks Will.

  “Honestly, I think you guys are ready for a downtown gig. Have you ever been to the Red Room?”

  “Never heard of it,” Carson says.

  “Oh, we’ve got to go, then. It’s this really cool underground club on Seventh and Neches. All ages. It caters to a gay crowd, but there are plenty of straight people who go too. Are you guys… okay with that?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Carson says. “No problem.”

  Will looks at me. “How about you, Noah?”

  “Um, sure, that’s fine.” My voice cracks a little. I imagined hot girls falling all over me and Carson at our first gig. Not hot guys. But I suppose beggars can’t be choosers.

  Will smiles. “Great. I’ve done some poetry slams there, and I’ve written a few songs for Kevin Watson. He’s a guitarist who plays there most Friday nights.”

  “Cool. Will we get to hear him play?” Carson says.

  Will shifts in his chair. “If it’s all right with you guys, I’d rather not book the gig on the same night Kevin’s playing. We were, well … seeing each other and things didn’t work out.”

  So there it is. Will was seeing a guy. Carson gives me an I-told-you-so look. “We understand, Will,” Carson says. “No problem.”

  “Thanks. Anyway, Rob Ramirez is the owner. He’s always looking for new bands. I’ll talk to him, introduce you guys. In the meantime, record a few songs this week and he’ll listen to the CD. I’m sure he’ll invite you to play.”

  Carson flashes me a goofy grin, and I can’t help breaking out into a smile. “Yeah! We’re doing it, baby!” Carson yells. “Austin! Here we come!” He falls down on his knees and bows before Will. “We’re not worthy, O great one!”

  We’re all cracking up now—that is, until Carson’s father walks through the front door. “What the hell is going on?”

  Carson looks up. “Dad? Why are you home?” A legitimate question. The DPCP’s a big-time workaholic and never gets home before eight.

  Carson’s mom follows right behind. I can tell she’s been drinking martinis with her tennis friends, but unfortunately the DPCP is stone-cold sober. “Hi, honey.” She waves to Carson and smiles at Will and me. “The car broke down and your father had to pick me up. How’d the interview at Kinkos go?”

  The color drains from Carson’s face. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He tries to stand but can’t get off his knees.

  The DPCP’s eyes narrow into tiny slits. “You didn’t go to the interview, did you? After I set the whole thing up? Talked to the supervisor and vouched for you?”

  “Uh, well, you see, I kind of … forgot.”

  “Forgot! I don’t believe this.” The DPCP’s ey
es scan the rest of the room. He points to Will. “Who the hell are you? And why are you wearing my robe?”

  “Dear, don’t be rude,” Carson’s mom says.

  Will stands up. “Um, sir, I can explain everything. This isn’t your son’s fault. You see, I—”

  “He’s our friend, Dad,” Carson says. “His name’s Will. He needs a place to stay and—”

  “Wait a minute. A place to stay?” Now the DPCP turns his wrath on me. Until now I’ve seriously doubted Satan’s existence, but looking into Carson’s dad’s eyes, I’m a true believer. “Okay, now I get it!” he screams. “Those church people put you up to this, didn’t they? I should have known.” He points an accusing finger at Carson. “What’d you do, tell them I’ve got money? Tell them it’s no problem for me to take strangers into my own home, who, for all I know, want to rip me off blind? Sorry, no, uh-uh, this is not happening!”

  This is really getting scary. Carson’s dad looks like he’s about to have a massive stroke. The vein on his forehead is throbbing.

  “No!” I blurt out. “That’s not it at all! And besides, Will’s staying with me. At my house. We were just about to leave.”

  It’s the first time I’ve ever stood up to the DPCP, and let me tell you, it feels good. He glances at me, then at Will, and surprisingly looks a little embarrassed about his tirade. For a second, I almost feel sorry for him. Almost. He takes a seat on the sofa and puts his head in his hands. Carson’s mom sits beside him and whispers something in his ear.

  “I’m sorry about the robe, sir,” Will says. “And I didn’t take anything from your house. I swear. You can check.”

  Carson’s father sighs deeply. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter. Keep the goddamn robe. Just … get on your way.”

  Carson, Will, and I exchange glances. We head to the kitchen and stuff Will’s clothes from the dryer back into the grocery bags. Will goes to the bathroom and puts on clean jeans and a T-shirt, and as we’re about to walk out the back door, the DPCP pipes up. “Oh, no! Not you, Carson. You’re staying right here. You’re going to call Kinkos and explain to the supervisor why you didn’t show up today. And then you’re going to beg for another interview.”