Friday, July 15, 1994

Friday, July 15, 1994

10:58 p.m.

"Uno," Ethan says for the third round in a row. A rarity. Usually, it's him losing again and again as Billy, a far better strategist, racks up the points. Tonight, though, Billy's playing is lazy and distracted. Twice now, Ethan caught him forgetting to say "Uno" when he had one card left, which has never happened before. As he tallies their scores and sees he's won his first game ever against Billy, Ethan feels not victory but disappointment. He knows he would have lost if Billy had been playing like his usual self.

"Rematch?" he says.

"Nah," Billy replies, disappointing Ethan further. He'd hoped the answer would be yes, because playing a one-sided game of Uno means they wouldn't be talking about what happened that afternoon, a topic they've expertly avoided so far.

Ethan had assumed it would be the first thing Billy mentioned when he entered the yard with his sleeping bag and pillow. He'd even braced himself for it, the apology already formed in his mind. Yet Billy didn't bring it up when he crawled into the tent and unfurled his sleeping bag. So Ethan didn't bring it up, either, even though it was totally weird not to.

The avoidance continued the rest of the night. When they ate the s'mores Ethan's mother had made. When they roamed the edge of the woods trying to catch fireflies. During the entire game of Uno, in which Ethan constantly snuck looks at Billy, searching for signs he was mad at him. And while Billy looked no different, Ethan knew something had changed. He was quieter, slower, less animated. It was as if the old Billy Barringer remained stuck in that mausoleum and had been replaced with a newer model. One missing all the quirks that made Billy special.

Ethan reminds himself that's what he wished for when he was huddled alone in the tent before Billy arrived. A different version of his friend. But now that a more subdued Billy is in his midst, Ethan has changed his mind. He longs for the old Billy, and if hashing out the events of that day will make it happen, he's willing to do it.

Still, he waits.

Until after his dad raps on the side of the tent and says, "Time to get ready for bed, boys."

Until after he and Billy go inside to brush their teeth and wash their faces.

Until after his mother comes out, wine on her breath as she pokes her head into the tent and asks if they need anything before they turn in.

Ethan waits until he turns the lantern out and it's just him and Billy stuffed into their sleeping bags, the silence as thick and stultifying as the July night. Finally, when it gets so unnervingly quiet that Ethan thinks he might scream if it continues for one second longer, he says, in a voice that's little more than a whisper, "Did you get in trouble for today?"

"What do you mean?" Billy says, when he knows exactly what Ethan means.

Ethan sits up. "For getting caught. What happened? What did they do?"

"Nothing." Billy says it with such boredom. As if he can't believe Ethan's bringing it up now.

"That guy in the suit wasn't mad?" Ethan says. "He looked mad."

"He wasn't," Billy says, again leaving Ethan wanting more.

"What did he say, though? What happened?"

"Nothing," Billy says, stretching out the word for emphasis. Naah-thing. "They told me I shouldn't be there and let me go home."

Although the answer doesn't satisfy Ethan, he knows it should at least relieve him. If nothing happened, there's no need for him to feel guilty. No harm, no foul. Yet Billy's demeanor suggests there was harm. Or at least something that changed him dramatically.

"So your mom doesn't know what happened?"

"No."

"And they didn't call the police?"

"No."

This leaves Ethan with only one question left, regarding not earlier that day but the one before it.

"Why didn't you tell me you went there yesterday?"

"Why do you care?" Billy says, finally sitting up so he and Ethan are eye to eye.

Ethan flicks on the lantern, not caring that his parents might see the tent glowing from the house. From the weird way they've been acting, they probably won't care even if they do.

"Because we're supposed to tell each other stuff like that." And it hurt my feelings that you didn't is what he wants to say, but pride, youth, and a refusal to be vulnerable even in front of his best friend keep him from doing so. Instead, he says, "So why'd you go?"

"You won't believe me," Billy says.

Ethan's heart sinks. Because he knows what Billy's talking about. The thing that everyone but him understands isn't real.

"You think there are ghosts there."

"I know there are," Billy says.

"Ghosts don't—" Ethan stops himself, frustrated. He wonders if maybe he really did mean it when he wished Billy would change. All day, he's felt their bond slowly unraveling. Like rope that's been worn down to the snapping point.

"Why did you leave me there?" Billy says, whispering the question Ethan's been expecting.

"I didn't mean to."

"You ran away."

Billy's chest hitches as he says it. A hiccup of pain that even Ethan can hear. He thinks he hears something else, too. Not inside the tent, but just outside. A vague rustle in the yard that might be an animal, although he assumes they'd be scared off by the tent and its lantern glow and the voices rising from inside.

"We all ran away," Ethan says quietly, a weak defense.

"Without me!"

Spikes of annoyance run down Ethan's spine. "Because you'd been there before!" he replies, shouting now himself. "You went there without telling me and got caught and now you're blaming me for it. Even though we shouldn't have gone there in the first place. And you knew that!"

"I told you, they talk to—"

"Ghosts? There's no such thing! They're not real, Billy. It's all bullshit."

Ethan stops then, stunned that he's spoken a curse word out loud for the very first time.

"It's not…" Billy's voice trails off, making Ethan feel cruelly triumphant. Unlike him, Billy can't even swear.

"Why can't you be normal?" he says. "Why do you have to be such a weirdo? Why do you always have to be such a freak? If you like ghosts so much, why don't you just die and become one?"

Billy looks for all the world like he's just been slapped. His face takes on a dazed expression, his mouth agape and his eyes suddenly vacant. Ethan thinks he sees tears forming in them. A tiny glisten in the lantern light that makes him feel so vicious and petty and small.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I didn't mean it, Billy. Honest, I didn't."

But it's too late. The words have been spoken, and Ethan knows they will now always be there, a faint ghost haunting their friendship. If there is one after tonight. He wouldn't blame Billy for never speaking to him again.

But Billy does speak, letting out a half-murmured "It's okay."

"It's not," Ethan says. "I shouldn't have said it."

"I know."

"So you forgive me?"

On the other side of the tent, Billy fakes a smile. "Hakuna matata, dude."