32. MAX

Chapter thirty-two

MAX

A s I woke up on Saturday morning, I lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling of my bedroom. Of course, I was wrong to hit Tim, even if he was an idiot and spoke badly about Eddie. But what made me feel really bad was those two things: my rage – that the old me, the troublesome me, might still come out, frustrated and confronted by these small-town attitudes – but also my shame, in that I had not been ready for the world to know about how I felt about Eddie.

I should have called him, gone to see him, just to hang out with him, not even for sex. But fear held me back: fear of what I had done and of what had made me do it. I was supposed to be tough, resilient, a man's man, a guy's guy, and here I was: a coward, after all.

I felt more alone than ever, alone in this sea of self-doubt and self-loathing. I lay in the darkness of my bedroom, curtains closed, listening to my own breathing, rising and falling.

I couldn't help but wonder if I was destined to be a perpetual screw-up. The thought only amplified my despair. I had worked too hard to be a better person, a sane person. Those women who said things about what a shitty person I had been were talking about someone else: was he back now, too?

I picked up my phone. There were messages from Eddie, but I didn't know what to say to him, so I said nothing. Wasn't that a shitty thing to do, too, though?

Eventually, I typed out a response:

All good with me – can I call you later?

And then I put my phone away.

***

Later, I headed down to the supermarket nearest my house. I grabbed a shopping cart and began pushing it down the aisles, looking for whatever I needed.

In the produce section, I reached for fresh spinach. Next to it, I picked out a few ripe tomatoes. Moving on, I put a carton of eggs into my basket, then a loaf of whole-grain bread, a block of cheese. With my basket nearly full, I made my way to the bakery section, picking up a bag of sliced fresh bread.

Finally, I made my way to the checkout counter. As I approached it, a familiar voice called my name behind me. Turning, I saw Gayle, a middle-aged woman I knew from my neighborhood, looking at me with a weird mixture of amusement and disapproval.

"What the hell do I hear about you?" she said, her tone sharp, yet she was almost grinning.

"Hey, Gayle," I said.

"So?"

Her tone was quite insistent.

"So what, Gayle?"

"I hear you smacked Tim Bailey in the face at the Rusty Nail…"

I felt such humiliation and remorse. Gayle didn't hold back, admonishing me and telling me I "should make it okay." I knew she was right.

"I'm an idiot," I said. "I should apologize to Tim."

"Yes, you should," she said, although really, it wasn't any of her business, and I hated that in this town, any random person felt that they could make your business theirs and offer a commentary on it. "Fighting!" she cried. "At your age…"

After paying for my groceries at the checkout counter, I headed outside and stood in the covered entrance to the supermarket. I got my phone out and called Tim.

But the service said it couldn't connect me. I sent him a text, but the message I tried to send didn't go through. Then I realized Tim had blocked my number.

I couldn't blame him for it. I had lashed out in anger. What man wants to be seen being struck in the face in public by a bigger man? It just got worse and worse.

I headed home and unpacked my groceries in the kitchen. It was late in the afternoon, and I was thinking about calling Eddie to see if I could come over when I just quickly looked at my Facebook and saw I had been tagged into a video.

I pressed Play. The video loaded on my phone screen. A dimly lit bar, a crowd of people, the unmistakable sound of raised voices, commotion. A sinking feeling immediately settled in. And then, the camera angle shifted, and I saw it.

There I was in the Rusty Nail, caught in an act of violence, Tim's shape crumpled on the ground and me standing above him, animalistic, fists still drawn. The gasps and shouts of the onlookers started to rise. I heard the barkeep telling me he was going to call the cops, and then the phone recording shifted again, watching me flee the scene.

I felt like I was going to be sick. I looked down at the comments:

Rick Solomon wrote:

SMACK HIM MAX HAHA

Christine O'Mallory wrote:

THESE TYPES WILL NEVER CHANGE GO BACK TO JAIL!!!!!

Julianne Taylor – Julianne ! – wrote:

CRINGE ;(((

Almost unable to breathe, I closed the video and set my phone down on the kitchen counter. Pulling a chair from the dining table toward me, I sat down, shaking my head in disbelief at the video I had just watched.

Then my phone bleeped again. It was a message from Jared.

Have u disappeared man???

I hesitated, unsure of how to respond. It was the best question. Where the hell was I now?