Blindness

“He was the youngest to pull some of those stunts,” Jessie pauses for a minute, shutting her eyes. I can tell how much she loves Cody because of the sadness on her face when she remembers him before, when his body and his heart were stronger. “His last few competitions? Damn, girl. He was sick—like people were talking about how he was this phenom and shit. Then Jake died, and Cody just lost his grip on everything.”

I slide my bag from my shoulder and move over to sit on the other end of the hood. Hearing Cody’s story is bringing out feelings of my own, and it’s getting harder to hold onto the power I used to have to hide it, to bluff my feelings away. “How’d he die?” I ask because I’ve been wanting to know, but I know how it is to be the child without—you don’t want to talk about the details.

I’m gripping the metal crease of the hood, waiting for Jessie to speak. “That’s the thing. It wasn’t some freak accident, like a car crash or something. One day, Jake was fine—the next, he was gone. He had a brain aneurism, Shelly found him on the kitchen floor, a gallon of milk spread on the tile around him, his cereal bowl on the counter, bone dry. Dude was just getting up to have some breakfast.”

I feel the tears falling down my cheeks—Jessie has no clue how close to home her words have struck. But I think I would cry hearing Cody’s story even if it wasn’t a parallel of my own life in so many ways. I wipe them away quickly with my sleeves, hoping she doesn’t notice, but she does. She doesn’t make a big deal of it, but I know she sees me. “You said it got worse. After the accident?” The need to know more is strong, and I’m thankful Jessie is sharing.

“Yeah, it got way the f**k worse,” she says, sliding forward and stuffing the bag back in her pocket. “Cody got really depressed. His leg was mangled, I mean like really messed up. He had to live in that chair for months.”

“That’s when Kyla left him?” I ask, piecing the rest of the story together myself. Jessie just nods and rolls her shoulders back.

“Yeah, girl was a bitch. I never liked her, but when she just ditched him like that?” Jessie trails off, looking up at Cody’s place.

I wonder if he’s home, and I peek over at his garage. It’s empty.

“He’s at the garage; that’s why I came here,” Jessie says, reaching out for my hand to help me slide from her hood. “I’ve gotta get back though. Gabe’s going to wonder where I am. I told him I was just going to grab breakfast burritos.”

I smile at her realness. And I’m jealous that Cody has someone like her to look after him. I know I need to get to class, and I know Jessie’s ready to leave, but I can’t help but ask her one more question, get my final puzzle piece locked in before she goes.

“What pulled him out?” I ask, and she looks at me puzzled. “You said it took forever to pull him out of the dark. What did it? How did you do it?” I’m not sure why I’m asking, really. Maybe I want to know because I’m hoping it will work for me, or maybe I just need to have some sort of happy ending in my head for Cody’s story—especially now that I’ve made the decision to end trying to get closer to him.

“It was Gabe. Gabe was in a darker place than Cody, and that’s all it took. Those two are more like brothers than real brothers are,” she says, smiling while talking about her boys—her brothers. “Gabe got into drugs. Our families? We didn’t grow up in the best hood. And Gabe hooked up with a few bad guys while Cody was gone. Gabe didn’t make it to every tour, only the ones he could afford, and when Cody wasn’t around to help Gabe make smart choices, he made really stupid ones. He was taking a lot of things—pills and shit. But when he started to hit crack, it got out of hand. He stole a car one night and got his ass arrested. Cody bailed him out. Spent a lot of his sponsorship money on it.”

I can tell it hurts her to talk about Gabe’s weaknesses, so I stop her. “Thank you for telling me…everything,” I say, reaching out my hand, hoping that she’ll accept it, accept me, and trust that I’ll make the right choice and not hurt Cody. I’m surprised when she reaches forward and pulls me into a hug, and my arms are awkward as they reach around her. I haven’t been held much, let alone by another woman.

She doesn’t look at me while she walks away, and I know she’s struggling with trusting me, letting me get close to her tight family. And I’m torn, too—almost hoping she opts to keep me out, makes my decision easier.

“So, I’ll see ya, okay?” she says, getting in her car and leaving it at that. I watch her back out and pull down the drive before I get in my own car and head to school, my verve for studying now almost non-existent.