A Little Late

2004 

Pine needles crunched underfoot as Jersey approached the row of trees. His trailer park had been built outside of city limits for tax reasons, but Jersey was only thirteen and didn’t know about all that. What he knew was that civilization ended past the scattered plastic flamingos in the Gomez’s backyard. Beyond the artificial avian sentries the evergreens had already hidden the sinking sun behind their speared tips. Bloody veins marbled the bruise purple sky above.

 “Matt?” Jersey whisper-shouted, cupping his hand to the side of his face to amplify his voice while hissing it as to not wake the Gomez’s, whose yard he was cutting through. There were four trailers whose backyards bled into the woods, but the others all had enormous dogs, which were friendly but smelled terrible, and the Gomezes were cat people. So here he was. “Matt?” His voice carried over the beer cans clinking together in his backpack only a little. He continued down the carpet of needles until it grew dark around him, then he turned, hesitating as he noticed the bright trailers were only zebra-like stripes between the pitch-black trunks. 

He continued forward, humming a pop-punk song under his breath, until the cuff of his baggy jeans snagged on a fallen branch. He slid into the army of pricking pain. A bramble of thorny sticks scratched at his arms, opening thin lines of red so small the blood drops had to line up and exit one after another in a slow procession of bubbles. The fall combined with the weight of the Gameboy Advance SP in his pocket dragged his unbelted pants down to his knees, exposing his threadbare boxers. 

If Matt had been watching, he would have guffawed. There were few things a middle school boy loved more than humiliating slapstick. No laughter, and even a bird who had been singing into the night ceased, stunned by the clatter of all the cans in the backpack knocking together. Jersey swore, shaking free the dozens of green javelins attempting to piece his skin. He brought his pants up to his hips and tucked the bottom of his long black T-shirt into them, which still wasn’t as good as a belt but would have to do for now. 

 He unzipped his backpack and pulled out the camping lantern he always took to their meet-ups in the woods. He turned it on and held it in front of him. Illumination might help him avoid another spill. 

 He followed a path of slashes in the tree trunks he’d made last year. He didn’t need that intentional trail, as slobs who also used the secret spot in the woods had dropped their chip bags and tiny alcohol bottles along the ground. The sun would take years to bleach away the psychology jacking artificial colors of the trash. Lantern light spilled to fill the small clearing. 

Four fallen trees were crude benches which sat in a circle around a black fire pit. Ribbons of smoke danced from orange sticks in its center, an anemic smolder where Jersey had expected either a flame or no heat at all. If Matt hadn’t gotten here yet, the firepit should be black and cold. If he was already here, a flame should be dancing. What was this tepid, aborted smolder supposed to mean? 

“Matt?” Jersey called, turning once in a slow circle and casting his light on the trees all around. He was fifteen minutes late. Guilt gnawed at him; he didn’t want to be late but there was no way he could have known that dungeon wouldn’t have a save point for so long. Maybe Matt had come and just left a few minutes ago, sick of waiting. 

Maybe Matt was waiting but got run off by other teenagers who also wanted to use this spot to drink, but if that’s what happened where were the conquering teens? 

Jersey wished he had a cell phone to call the other, but he’d asked for a new game instead of a phone for Christmas because he didn’t have many friends. Matt had a phone (an N-Gage technically, but Matt always whined it might as well just be a phone because the games sucked). Even if Matt was calling him right now Jersey wouldn’t get the message until he checked his machine at home. 

Jersey did one more slow turn, shoulders slumped, preparing himself for the trudge back to his trailer. He’d call Matt there (provided Jersey’s siblings weren’t hogging the phone) and apologize for being late. Or yell at Matt for ditching their meeting after only fifteen minutes. He hadn’t decided yet- 

There! 

 Jersey jumped and gave a shriek at the sight of Matt standing with his back to the clearing. 

“Hey man,” Jersey started, a giggle in his words. Matt didn’t answer. His hood was up, and his arms were limp. “You okay? 

Jersey guided the light downwards. No legs. That was Matt’s well-worn, beloved blue hoodie all right, but where was the rest of him? Jersey frowned, walking over to it. 

“Hilarious Matt,” Jersey punctuated this with a few sarcastic laughs as he pulled the hoodie off of the tree branch it was snagged on. The zipper up the front was open. Jersey wondered why Matt had taken it off when he saw the wet, dark strain down the front. Probably soda. Matt’s mom and dad weren’t alcoholics like Jersey’s older sister, so Matt could only sneak away with sodas and not beer. 

 “Come out or I’ll pee on your hoodie.” Jersey threatened the trees. The woods responded with hoots and chirps and scurries, but no words from Matt. Jersey tossed the hoodie on the ground and stood over it menacingly. “I’ll really do it dude, stop screwing around.” 

For emphasis, he unzipped his pants. The ratcheting of the teeth coming unclasping was too loud in the forest. A shriek ripped from the treeline and he yanked his pants back up with fumbling fingers. 

“A bird, just a stupid bird.” Jersey reassured himself, stepping away from the hoodie. He looked for any more signs of his friend, too spooked by the barn owl to yell into the trees, and then sat to wait. Maybe Matt had just left to pee. 

He’d told himself he’d only play for fifteen minutes, but when that passed and Matt hadn’t come back, Jersey was in the middle of leveling up and hardly noticed. He decided to just hang out here instead of heading home. Yeah, the mosquitos were annoying, and it was a little scary without Matt, but it was better than listening to his sister having noisy sex with whoever her new boyfriend was. 

Hours passed in a haze, the purple sky exploded with stars and the moon hovered high above. Since he wasn’t talking and hadn’t bothered lighting the fire, Jersey spied animals lurking in the trees. A stray cat prowled past with a mouse clutched in her jaws. An owl perched on a distant branch, the backlight of the system catching in in its huge eyes. 

His wrist watch chimed at him, letting him know his older brother Vitorri’s shift at the Spaghetti Spot was ending. That meant either sis’s boyfriend was leaving or would be kicked out when Vitorri got home. After saving his progress, Jersey chucked the device back into his pocket. He arranged three empty beer cans next to the firepit to be used as ashtrays by the others, picked up his lamp, and eyed Matt’s hoodie. Should he leave it here to teach Matt a lesson for ditching their meeting? Or pick it up and take it to his school tomorrow? Jersey had been the one who was late, and Matt probably called him once he got back home. 

Jersey, feeling merciful because of the buzz, shoved the hoodie into his backpack. Using his lantern to watch the ground more than the trees, he crept through the woods. Leaving was less intimidating than going in. Walking towards the light filled him with impatience rather than dread. 

He bolted through backyards, and along the winding driveways until he made it back to his house. No cars sat in the driveway, meaning the boyfriend left already. Jersey smiled, hopping up the wobbling white staircase that led to his front door. He eased the door and tip-toed in. He heard the shower running; his sister was probably sober if she hadn’t just passed out. He opened his backpack, tossing Matt’s hoodie onto the sofa to get to the remaining cans. He nestled the remaining cans behind the milk. A flashing light of the answering machine caught his attention, so he listened to messages next. The first was from Vitorri saying he was working late and Jersey should eat something at home instead of waiting for left overs from the restaurant as he often did. That sucked, but it wasn’t a big deal and wasn’t what Jersey was looking for, so he deleted it and went onto the next message. 

“So I’m here, and you’re not. Stuff like this is why you get summer school every year.” Matt’s already reedy voice was made tinnier still by the answering machine’s cheap plastic speaker. “You can’t stick to your commitments. It’s a huge problem. And it really sucks for you, because I brought chocolate and this is going to melt for sure before you get here. Dummy.” 

Jersey smirked. So that’s where Matt had gone. Back home, to protect his chocola- 

“Anyway, get here soon, I can only ‘study’ for an hour today,” Matt emphasized the word study in such an overdrawn way even a total stranger could tell it was a euphemism. Jersey frowned as the tape continued. Matt hadn’t gone home? “I’ll eat your- oh, wait, I hear you coming now. Nevermind. Delete this, haha.” 

And with that, the message ended. 

Jersey hit play again, confused. Black crescents lurked beneath his nails from falling face first in the woods earlier. The bathroom door opened, and the humidity shifted as steam rolled in. 

“Whoa, what happened to you? You and your boyfriend finally do it in the woods? Or did you try to wash a cat?” Caprice, Jersey’s older sister, was sober but only in a towel as she walked over to him. She tapped her chin in thought as she walked by. “No, can’t be the cat thing, you’re too dirty.” 

“What?” 

“Your arms, they’re all cut up but not like in an emo way.” Caprice explained, drawing one damp fingertip from Jersey's elbow down to his wrist. Thin spider webs of red laced Jersey’s arms from where he’d fallen hard into the plants.

The next message began.

"Hey, is our son Matt over there? He told us he was going to hang out with Jersey but he never called us after the first hour, which is why we even bothered getting him a phone. Tell him to call us back now if he doesn't want it taken away. Bye."  

The fourth message on the machine was also from Matt's parents, conveying the same idea but more tense.

Jersey backed away from the machine. Matt's hoodie hung carelessly tossed over a chair in the kitchen. In the woods sunset had transmuted all colors into variations of orange or purple. He had seen values, but not the real hues. Here, under the bright white kitchen light, that stain was dark, but not brown-ish like cola would have left the blue fabric. The word for it was burgundy. A big burgundy stain on Matt’s hoodie, now dry. 

Jersey called Matt’s parents. 

I hear you coming now, that’s what Matt had said. 

Who had met his friend in the woods?