Where the Heart Is

Published in Kolob Canyon Review

Rue is standing in the alley between a bar and a law firm, leaning against a cold brick wall, a nearby lamppost casting half his face in shadow. There’s a cigarette held between his two fingers, arm outstretched, his flannel falling down over his wrist. I hear the soft thumping of music as I approach him, a cold wind hitting my bare face.

I pull my jacket closer to my body, shivering. He looks up at me then, a little more of his face illuminating, both his eyes bright with the reflected light. I make quick work of covering the rest of the distance, sliding into the alley with him and leaning against the opposite wall. He reaches into his pocket, grabbing a box of Camels and offering it to me. I wave it away, and he puts it back in his jeans.

“What are you doing here, Vince?” he says, blowing smoke towards the light. I watch it wisp around in the air before the wind carries it away.

“I thought you’d be here. Your mom called again,” I say.

“I’m fine. What makes you guys think I’m not?” He doesn’t look at me, ducking his head down, his eyes covered by his overgrown hair. It reaches his shoulders now, and I can tell it hasn’t been washed in days. I haven’t seen it like this since high school when he still invited me over to watch the movie Where the Heart Is. Over and over. I could probably still recite the whole thing in my sleep. I miss Rue’s blankets. They were so soft and warm. And I miss being able to check up on him without having to track him down like this.

“You’re smoking again,” I say through chattering teeth. It’s not that cold yet, only forty-eight degrees out, but winters have always been hard for me.

“It’s an addictive substance, hard to quit. You should know.” He points at me, accusing, ash flicking off the cigarette before he brings it back to his mouth for another pull.

“I smoked for you. You’re my best friend, man,” I say. I’m reminded of Where the Heart Is again, when Novalee rejected Forney’s love confession because she didn’t feel good enough for him. He ran a library, got job offers from colleges, and she was just this high school dropout who gave birth in a Walmart. “I’d do anything for you, even if you keep pushing me away like this.”

Rue drops the cigarette and walks toward me, slow and deliberate. The shadow envelops his whole body as he gets closer. “Then leave me alone, Vince!” He grabs my shoulders, pushing me back hard. My head bounces against the wall with the force, and I worry for a second that it split my head open. “Can you do that for me?” The feel of his spit hitting my face brings me back to Rue and why I’m here.

He shoves me again, this time letting go and allowing my body to feel the full force of it. The impact leaves spots in my vision and I have to blink to make them go away. I bring my hand up to the back of my head and—oh. Oh, that’s bad.

I bring my hand into the light, watching as red runs down the tips of my fingers to the palm of my hand, following the line of each crevice before dripping onto the concrete ground, mixing in with the dirt and grime of the alley. “Fuck, man,” Rue says, but when I look at him, he’s turned away from me further in the alley, running his hands through his hair. I wipe the blood on my sweatpants before he can notice it. Head wounds bleed a lot, I think. It’s fine.

“What should I tell your mom?” I ask.

“This isn’t about her and you know it.” He whips around with another pointing finger, eyes wide and staring directly into my own.

“She calls me almost every day, Rue, wondering if her son is still alive because you don’t pick up the phone anymore. And you know what? Most days I don’t know the answer. You’re allowed not to give a shit about me, but you can’t keep doing this to her.” I feel dizzy and I reach for the wall to stabilize myself, my fingers freezing in an instant. I curse my poor circulation.

“I’m not hurting myself,” he says, and crosses his arms, pouting. It feels almost inappropriate for the tone of the conversation. A laugh builds at the back of my throat but I swallow it down.

“You’re smoking again,” I say. I feel the blood pouring down my neck, pooling at the seam of my sweater. I remind myself again that head wounds bleed a lot and that I would be fine.

“That doesn’t count.”

“Do you remember when you told me you felt like you were burning from the inside out whenever you got like this? You got heat stroke four times in one summer because you were waiting for rain in a desert to wash away that burning. You were jealous of Forney for having the privilege of standing out in the rain all night.” I breathe in harshly, gently tilting my head back onto the wall, enjoying the coolness against my heated scalp. “When you started smoking, you told me you wanted to drown so that you’d at least get one moment of peace, and two weeks later you drove your car into the fucking ocean. So yeah, Rueban, I’d say this counts.”

I touch my hands to my cheeks, feeling the heat against my cold fingers. I tell myself it’s from the anger, that the bleeding wouldn’t do this. Rue stands still and silent. The dizziness starts again as the seconds stretch on and the black spots make a reappearance. I want to sit down.

“Why can’t you just hate me, Vince?” His voice is strained and I know in an instant that he’s crying even without being able to see him. “Everyone else does. Everyone else left me. But you’re still here. You’re still fucking here.” He kicks something that thuds against a dumpster and the sound echoes in my ears, a ringing following it. I slide down the wall before I can even think to do it. I dig my palms into the ground, trying to at least keep my torso up. Pebbles and dirt stick into my skin and it hurts for a second before my arms start to tingle and go numb. It’s much colder now than it was before, I realize. That’s not good.

“Vince?” Rue calls. He sounds far away, but his hands are on me and he says my name again. “Vincent, hey. Dude, you’re bleeding!”

“It’ll be okay.” My voice sounds distant now, too. My head bobs when I try to lift it to meet Rue’s eyes again. “I’m okay.” I know I said it only to convince myself. Rue clambers for his phone, dropping it with a clatter and a whispered swear.

“You will be. You’ll be okay,” he says. It sounds like he’s trying to reassure himself, too.

I try to keep my thoughts on track, but they keep wandering to Rue’s old apartment, a fuzzy white blanket wrapped around my shoulders, Rue laying on the tan couch with his feet on my legs, an Xbox controller on the coffee table along with the juice his mother brought out for us, and a bag of microwave popcorn half eaten pointing towards him. The movie is playing and it’s at the scene where Novalee comes to check on Forney in the hotel where he was staying for his sister’s funeral. Forney tells her ‘I love you,’ but she doesn’t say it back. And she leaves. And he leaves.

“You ‘member in high school?” My words slur, my tongue loose in my mouth. “Rem’mber wh’n you got back ‘ome ‘n’ we watched the movie again? It was the same, but it was differ’n’. Better.” I open my eyes, though I have no recollection of closing them. I’m looking up at Rue’s face now, and I can see the tears glistening on his cheeks in the lamplight. Rue must have moved me so my head rests in his lap. I smile and my eyes slip shut again. I allow myself to think that I might actually die right now in Rue’s arms.

“How was it better?” Rue asks, shaking my shoulder. He must think I fell asleep.

“‘Cause,” I say, my breathing fast, “I realized we’re jus’ like ‘em. ‘N’ one day you were gonna know that I like you how you are. An’ you’d find me again even if you hurt me. You’d come back and I’d forgive you.” I feel his tears dripping onto my face. It feels like rain. And I am Forney standing out in the rain, waiting outside of a closed Walmart. I hear a cry and I jump through the window and I find Novalee in the pots and pans aisle. I find her and I help her give birth even when I don’t know if I’ll ever see her again.

“The ambulance is almost here,” he says. The phone makes more sense now, though I don’t remember the call. “Just stay awake a little longer.” The sound of sirens approaches fast. Then there’s hands and pain and movement and sounds that all muddle together. Someone shines a light into my eyes and I squeeze them shut.

“Rue?” I say—I plead. In my haze, I forgot I had to make sure he was alive.

“Hey, man.” I sigh at the sound of his voice. My eyes are closed again so I don’t see him, but he’s here.

“I love you,” I say.

“I love you too, Vince,” he says over the cacophony in my ears and I smile. He’s safe, I think. He’s okay.