The world never let up. You just learned how to fight back.
If she loved this kid, and I knew she did, she’d have to toughen him up.
“I just…I know I’m no good,” he started, his voice thick.
I paused. Suddenly, he looked very young, just a kid trying to fit in and figure out the world—a vicious world that could crush him.
A picture of a boy in dirty clothes and vulnerable face flashed in my mind. Fire. Screams. A boy frozen in fear. My head started to pound.
I can’t get involved again. I tried to help someone before and… I’ll just destroy this kid’s life. Like I did before.
I was about to tell him to go home when he continued.
“It’s hard when I can’t even invite my friends over because our house is so small. I can’t even ask a girl out because I’m a loser,” he said. “I love working at the garage, but it seems there’s no point to it. My dad works like a horse and we’re barely paying the bills because of my uncle. We don’t really have a choice, you know? So my dad’s always broke and my sister’s working herself to the bone trying to support us…and I’m…I’m just a loser.”
I closed my eyes and lowered my head. The helplessness in his eyes spoke to me. Bothered me.
I made a fist and bit my knuckle, hoping for some inspiration. “Look, man. You did a wrong thing but you’re not a loser.”
Rick should be here, talking to him. Not me. I had my own issues. What the hell do I tell him when I didn’t even have my own crap together? And what if I just made it worse? Like I always did.
“Thanks. It would be nice…” he said hesitantly. “To have you as a friend.”
I let out a sigh. Damn kid was going to make me cry.
I frowned, trying to remember what Rick said or did to calm me down back then. Nothing came to mind but the feeling of someone who finally cared.
“I’ve been in your shoes before. You have to try. Just…try. Because from where I’m standing, you’re not even doing that. Damn it, where the hell is my beer?”
I grabbed my beer from the table and finished it off. When I saw Dylan still looking at me, I decided I needed another one. I went to the kitchen and opened the fridge. I popped open a beer and glugged. I could feel his presence behind me, waiting.
“Want a beer
?” I asked.
This time, his face broke into a smile. “I wish,” he answered. “I’m not eighteen yet.”
Well, damn. I opened the fridge again, looked through the debris.
“Ah.” I grabbed an item, pierced it with a straw, and handed it to him. “Juice box?”
This was probably Levi’s.
“Nah, man. Give me a pop or something. I’m not a kid.”
“What’s wrong with a juice box?” I took a sip.
“I like pop.”
“Yeah, but pop doesn’t give you these.” I lifted my shirt and showed him my six-pack.
He broke into laughter. “Oooh!” The pure happiness on his face was innocent. “Yeah,” he said. “I like a juice box. What flavor is it?”
“I don’t know, man. It’s got vitamin C. Just take it.”
He sipped and was quiet for a few moments. I considered it a miracle.
“I’m sorry about your motorcycle.”