The Rest of Us Just Live Here

by Patrick Ness

“Your dick or whatever, that’s just wanting. Animal stuff. This is more.”

Give him numbers, he’s great. Give him words and sentences to put together and his forehead creases down so you can see exactly what he’ll look like when he’s eighty.

(and yes, I know, Michael and Melinda and Meredith and even Mary Magdalene the cat. We once even had a Labrador called Martha, but she bit a porcupine one day and that was the end of that. Apparently you can put a price on love. It’s slightly less than $1,200 for doggy face surgery).

“I think it’s starting again.” “It’s probably just the pressure of everything,” Jared offers. “Finals, your massively unrequited love for Henna–” “Don’t say unrequited.” “. . . your massively invisible love for Henna . . .” I hit him on the arm. It’s friendly. More silence. “What if I go crazy?” I finally whisper. I feel Jared shrug. “At least it’ll piss off the Senator.” We laugh. A little. “You won’t, Mikey,” he says. “And if you do, I’ll be there to pull you back.” Which makes me feel . . .

“Go to bed, Dad,” I say. “I’m okay.” “No, you’re not,” he says, shaking his head. “You’re not okay at all.” “All right then, I’m not okay. But it’s the middle of the night and you waking me up is kind of making everything less okay by the minute.” He makes a little sobbing sound. “I should kill myself. I should just drive off a bridge and make all your lives better.” “That’d be a waste of a good car. Especially if it belonged to Uncle Rick.” “I could park the car and jump.” “What bridge, though? There aren’t any around here high enough. You’d only just break your leg and then you’d be even more of a pain in the ass than you are now.” He sighs. “You’re right. You’re so, so right.” He starts crying again. “Dad–” “You’re a good kid, Mikey. You’re the best kid . . .” His voice breaks. “Seriously, Dad–” He slides to my bedroom floor, still crying. Within minutes, he’s snoring. I take my blankets and go sleep on the couch.

“What if . . .” I say quietly. “What if I am going crazy? What if I get trapped in a loop and there’s no one to get me out?” Grandma’s eyes find mine, rest briefly, then keep wandering. “What if I get trapped,” I say, “like you are?”

And yeah, I know most people would think it weird that two guy friends touch as much as we do, but when you choose your family, you get to choose how it is between you, too. This is how we work. I hope you get to choose your family and I hope it means as much to you as mine does to me.

“What’s important is that I know how much you worry about shit. And what’s also important is that I know a big part of that worry is that, no matter what group of friends you’re in, no matter how long you’ve known them, you always assume you’re the least-wanted person there. The one everyone else could do without.” All I can do at this is swallow. I feel like I’m naked all of a sudden. “Even when it’s just you and me,” he says. “I know how you worry that you need me as a friend more than I need you.”

“You kids,” he spits at us. “With your impudence and your sex–” “Our what?” Henna says. “Thinking no one understands you because you’re young. Thinking only you can see the world as it truly is.” He hits the flashlight, hard, on the door of my car. “You know nothing.”

If you’re too specific, people will purposely mishear you so they can be outraged about whatever thing that usually outrages them. You want to get them on your side emotionally, apparently, where they ask fewer questions. They want us a bit dumb and a bit afraid. Which for the most part, I think we are.

“What do you do when your dreams are about to come true?” she asks. “No one ever tells you. They tell you to chase them, but what happens when you actually catch one?” “You enjoy it. Do your best, try not to be a dick.” “Language.” But she’s not upset. “I really do this for you guys, though, whatever you may believe. They’re my dreams, yes, but they’re dreams of a world I can make better for you.” “Us specifically? Me and Mel and Meredith?” “Your generation. I know you guys face some tough things.” “Do you?” “I want to help with that.” “Do you?” “Quit saying that. I was a teenager once, too. I know what goes on.” “You do?” I risk. She frowns at me. She looks in the rearview mirror, checking out for Mel in the car behind us. “I saw stuff you wouldn’t believe,” she says under her breath. My ears prick. “What stuff?” I ask carefully. She just shakes her head. “The world isn’t safe, Mike. It just isn’t. I wish it was, but it’s not. I worry for you and Mel. I worry myself sick for Meredith, that the future’s going to have enough for her to be happy and protected.”

I don’t want to die. I want to live. I want to live long enough so I can really live.”

We share our craziness, our neuroses, our little bit of screwed-up-ness that comes from our family. We share it. And it feels like love.

“Not everyone has to be the Chosen One. Not everyone has to be the guy who saves the world. Most people just have to live their lives the best they can, doing the things that are great for them, having great friends, trying to make their lives better, loving people properly. All the while knowing that the world makes no sense but trying to find a way to be happy anyway.”

I’m in these loops and I’m trapped and I can feel that I’m trapped and getting out of them is as simple as just doing something else. Anything. But it’s getting harder and harder to get out of them myself and what if I go away and start a new life and I get trapped in one and I can’t get out of it?”

I feel like I’m at the bottom of a well. I feel like I’m way down this deep, deep hole and I’m looking up and all there is is this little dot of light and I have to shout at the top of my lungs for anyone to hear me and even when I do, I say the wrong thing or they don’t really listen or they’re just humoring me.” “Because they couldn’t possibly care about you.” “. . . It’s hard to feel that. They tell me. They show me. And I still don’t feel it.” “Why do you think that is?” “The fear gets in the way. And I get stuck in a loop.” “Because if you can just get the loop right–” “Yes. If I can just get it right, it’ll all be okay. I’ll, I don’t know, save everyone. And the world won’t fall apart. And it’s getting harder to do.”

“Why are you responsible for your anxiety?” “Because it’s a feeling. Not a tumor.” “Are you sure?” “You think I have a tumor?” “No, no, no, no, no, no. Not what I meant. A feeling is pride in your sister. A feeling is fear at the concert that makes you act. A feeling is embarrassment or shame. A feeling may or may not be true, but you still feel it.” “And anxiety is a tumor on your feelings?” “Feelings don’t try to kill you, even the painful ones. Anxiety is a feeling grown too large. A feeling grown aggressive and dangerous. You’re responsible for its consequences, you’re responsible for treating it. But Michael, you’re not responsible for causing it. You’re not morally at fault for it. No more than you would be for a tumor.”

“This is how much you matter to me, Mikey.” I look up in his eyes. The day is hot, the crowd around us getting bigger, louder, that damn music still parping out from the eleventh-grade brass band. Henna and Mel watching us. Even Nathan finally coming through the now quite uncontrollable crowd. My mom and sister out there somewhere. The future swirling in. Suddenly a little less worrying. “That’s all I ever really wanted to know,” I say, realizing right that second that it’s absolutely true.

“I think . . . I think I don’t want you to heal my scar. Or anything else yet.” “You sure?” “Yeah. If it gets bad again. Bad enough to . . . Well, I’ll think about it then. But not yet.” “Is the medication working that well?” “No, but if you heal all that stuff, I’ll live the rest of my life not knowing if I could have figured it out on my own.” He nods solemnly. “That makes sense. In fact, what do you wanna bet that’s what your sister will say, too?” I smile at that. “That you offered, Jared. That you bargained. For me . . .” I find that I can’t go on. He knows what I mean. “I’m always here for you,” he says. “If you need it.”