C A I T L Y N
Nobody asked, but if someone did, I would say without hesitating that Ethan should be getting paid good money for his work at the daycare. Every day he went around giving the kids at recess what was very likely to be the best time of their lives. I was sure he would get tired of it after a few weeks, but it had been months now, and he was still at it. It was exhausting to watch, but I kept on watching.
I couldn't help myself. I sat down on the same bench every time, tried very hard not to light up a cigarette and smoke it, and watched him run around the kids, picking them up, and throwing them around.
At school, I found myself watching him too. He arrived on his skateboard every day and everyday he fell on it, either jumping a flight of stairs, or sliding through a railing, or just sprinting down a hallway full of students. Every time he fell, he got up and laughed it off, as though he hadn't very possibly broken something, and needed to be taken to the nurse's office as soon as possible.
He paid attention in class, but never did his homework. More than once, I had seen him copy the answers off his friend before class started. He was always with this friend, to the point where it was hard to see where one begun and the other ended. Tristan said they were probably gay for each other. I thought so too, but I had asked Ethan about it one day on the ride home and he had laughed and said yes like he was lying.
Every day, Ethan offered me a ride home on his bicycle, and every day I accepted, mostly because it was better than taking the bus, and sometimes because I wanted to ask him something about what I had noticed during the day.
Like today. He had skipped school but shown up to the daycare. I had been sitting cross-legged on my good old bench when he showed up. He was late, but just barely, and he was very sorry about it. Mrs. Johnson told him not to worry even though she had wanted call him as soon as she had realized he wasn't here on time.
I had wanted to get up and go ask him where he had been, but he had been swarmed by a bunch of kids as soon as Mrs. Johnson walked away, and I refused to go anywhere with that many kids with that much energy.
The only kid I didn't mind having around me was Sade, who often came to sit next to me, never without asking if she could first, even after I told her she didn't have to. I didn't know why she wanted to sit with me, since I didn't really do anything other than just sit there, and Sade didn't tell me either. It seemed it was enough for her to just stay there with me, playing with one of those toys that came with any children's meal at any fast-food restaurant. Occasionally she would lay her head on my shoulder or hold my hand in hers. She did it without realizing it and regretted it as soon as she did. I let her get away with it every time. I didn't mind. She reminded me of myself when I was younger, always ashamed to have been caught in the act of wanting something. I would have let Sade get away with anything, she just didn't know it yet.
I asked Ethan why he had skipped school while he unlocked his bike later that day. He seemed surprised that I did, stopping to scratch the back of his head, an ugly cut bruising on his forehead from hitting a rock surfing a few days ago. Apparently, he went surfing every morning at the crack of dawn. He couldn't be very good at it if he was hitting his head on the rocks of a beach that barely had any.
"I had to help my mom with something," he said, finally.
"Your dad couldn't do it?" I asked. I was being bitch, but I couldn't help myself. I had been trying to make sense of him for weeks and come up with nothing. His righteousness seemed to come with no ulterior motives, or at least not any that I knew of yet.
"He's been dead for years, so no," he said.
"Oh," I said. "So Ron's not your brother. Is he your â"
"He's my half-brother," he stopped me. I was going to ask if he was his son.
"So where's his dad?"
He showed me a half-smile, "You have a lot of questions today, don't you?"
"Is it a problem?"
"No," he said. "His dad isn't around."
"Oh."
"He wasn't very nice so it's probably for the best."
"Right, so you're the man of the house?"
"Not really, no," he said with an awkward laugh. "I think I'm just me."
"And who is that?"
He frowned, "What's with all the questions?"
"You said it wasn't a problem."
"It's not," he said. "I just don't understand why you're so interested."
"I'm not."
"You are."
"I'm trying to get to the bottom of you."
He laughed, "I'm as deep as the shallow part of a pool, trust me."
"That must be why the kids like you so much," I said, even though I didn't believe him. My feet couldn't touch the bottom of him, so no. He wasn't shallow at all. "Why don't you do your homework?"
"What?"
"You never do your homework, but you pay attention in class, and you take notes, and you ask questions. You're a good student. It doesn't make sense."
He was smiling like an idiot, "So you pay attention to me at school?"
"I don't."
Still smiling like an idiot, he said, "You do."
"Just answer my question."
"I don't have time to do homework."
"Why?"
"Well, I have to help my mom, so," he said with a shrug. "Why don't you do your â"
"Does she work late or something?"
"No, she's, hum, she's sick."
"Oh," I said. "So you take care of her?"
"I try. I don't think I'm very good at it."
"What happens when you go to college?"
He shook his head, "I don't think I'm going to college."
"Why not?"
"Well, someone needs to take care of Ronny," he said. There was no resentment in his voice, only acceptance. He reminded me of Sam's new babysitter. Tristan spent his days watching her at school the same way I watched Ethan. Except he had gotten to the bottom of her, or at least he thought he had. Ethan went on, "What about you? You don't do your homework either, and you don't pay attention in class, or take notes, or ask questions. Are you going to college?"
"Probably not."
"Why not?"
I shrugged, "I'm probably gonna kill myself next year."
His face fell, "That's a horrible thing to say."
I shrugged again and got a cigarette out of the pack in my pocket. He watched me light it up, his face closed like a fist. I put on a smile for him, and said, "I'm kidding, Ethan."
"Are you?"
"Yes," I said, more for his sake than mine. Why did I care about his sake? I had no idea. "You're the one who seems to be trying to get yourself killed actually."
"How?"
"I've seen you skating. You do it like you're not scared of dying. Apparently, you surf like that too," I said, pointing at the cut on his forehead. "So you won't go to college so you can be around for Ronny, but you'll almost kill yourself jumping off a flight of stairs on a fucking Tuesday? How are you gonna be around for him if you're dead, Ethan?"
"So you think I'm shit at skating," he said, a smile on his face. "Thanks."
"You know what I mean."
"I'm not trying to kill myself," he said. "I justâ I don't know. I think it's more about doing this thing that will probably really hurt, and it does, you know, it fucking hurts, but it doesn't kill you. You get up and you're fine, and you do it again, and it happens again, and again, and you just keep getting up, and you feel like maybe you can do it, you know? Life. This probably makes no sense."
"Ethan, you're describing self-harm."
He frowned, "No, I'm not."
"Yes, you are. You need professional help."
"Right," he said, finally getting on his bike. "Let's just go."
I didn't move, "You're something else, I'll tell you that."
"In a good or bad way?"
I threw the cigarette away and got on the bike behind him, "I don't know yet."
Except maybe I did, maybe I had been trashing around shallow waters and I just had to trust that there was solid ground in him. Maybe. Maybe not. Life had a way of making me lose my footing every time I thought I had it.