“Yeah,” Randy laughed, and wondered why they put so much effort into the ‘big maybe’ that was dating.
“I mean … that was rough tonight,” continued Chad, and he kicked at the snow and started pacing. “In the middle of Sally tellin’ me how she didn’t like the way I smelled … I got sad.”
“Yeah, well, you’re always sad.”
“No. This was different. This was a new kind of sad.”
Randy really didn’t want to hear about Chad’s new kind of sadness.
But Chad really wanted to tell Randy about it. So he did. “And all I could think about was how not much in this world makes me feel good or makes much sense anymore.”
Randy stopped breathing for a second and hoped Chad wasn’t going to tell him that he wanted to kill himself or something.
“And I got really scared,” continued Chad, still pacing. “’Cause there’s gotta be something that makes you feel good or at least makes sense in this world, or what’s the point, right?”
“I guess…” Randy was trying to figure out what he was going to do if Chad said he wanted to kill himself.
“But then…” Chad stopped pacing and continued, “I kinda came out of bein’ sad and actually felt okay, ’cause I realized that there is one thing in this world that makes me feel really good and that does make sense, and it’s you.”
The words flew out of Chad’s mouth—before the thought they were trying to describe had even been fully formed.
So Chad wasn’t quite sure what he meant by what he had just said.
And Randy wasn’t quite sure what he had just heard Chad say. Or what Chad meant.
And the guys felt like everything had stopped—like some kind of cosmic shutdown had occurred.
And they sat in the midwinter northern Maine silence and stillness.
And Chad started to feel a strange lightness suddenly grow inside him. It made him feel warm and weightless—like the gentlest fireworks ever were going off inside him, and like helium was filling his body. And—like he had been released from a great sadness.
But then, just as suddenly as it had come on, the lightness was being replaced by a strange heaviness—and not the usual heaviness he felt inside. It was an even heavier heaviness. And it made him feel like it was going to pull him to the ground.
Chad fought the feeling that he was going to fall, and, as he did, Randy suddenly hopped up—so fast that it felt like he had singlehandedly jumpstarted the cosmos and made everything start moving again, and the stillness gave way to motion and the silence gave way to sound as Randy got to his feet.
And Randy decided that he was going to ignore what Chad had just said—whatever it was that he had just said—and carry on as if it had never been said—if it had even been said at all.
“Well, I’m gonna head,” Randy said gruffly, and he started bending down to grab his flashlight and his bag of beer when Chad realized that he could no longer fight the strange feeling that he was going to fall.
And then he fell.
His knees buckled.
And his legs crumpled.
And he couldn’t get his hands out of his pants pockets in time to brace his fall.
And he face-planted onto the snow.
Suddenly and completely—and almost in slow motion.
Randy witnessed Chad’s strange face-plant.
And tried to figure out what had just happened.
And wondered if Chad had had a seizure or something. His cousin from Frenchville had a miniature pony that had some sort of neurological disorder and would periodically collapse. Maybe Chad had a similar condition.
“What is wrong with you?” demanded Randy, implying that a lot was wrong with Chad. Because something was definitely wrong with Chad. Because of what he had just done. And because of what he had just said.
Chad didn’t answer Randy’s question. And slowly started getting up, brushing the snow off his beard and his face and his coat and his jeans as he did.
When he was on his feet again, he looked completely bewildered.
And so did Randy. “You all right or what?” he asked in a way that let Chad know that the only answer he would accept was yes.
“Yeah,” answered Chad unconvincingly.
“All right. Well, I’m gonna head,” he said again, and he grabbed his flashlight and his bag of beer.
“Yeah,” said Chad. “Me, too.”
“I gotta work in the mornin’,” said Randy, and he started to make his way up the snowbank.
“Yeah, well, let me know when you’re done, and I’ll pick you up whenever you want.”
Randy didn’t really want to hang out with Chad tomorrow and felt like maybe he didn’t want to hang out with him ever again, and said, “Oh, I don’t know, Chad. I’m helpin’ Lendall—he brought me on to work on Marvalyn and Eric’s roof, and—”
“Well, whenever you’re done, just let me know.”
“Well, their roof collapsed, you know? So it’s gonna be a big job.”
“Well, just give me a call when you’re done.”
“I don’t know when we’ll be done—could take all day—so let’s just bag it.”
“Well, you can’t bag it!” cried Chad, almost pleading.
Chad was deeply regretting saying what he had said—even though he hadn’t planned to say it—and hadn’t meant to say it. And he started to feel like he was losing his best friend because he had said it. And the heaviness that had made him crumple to the ground grew inside him again and made him feel like he could barely stand. “You’re the big winner!” he reminded Randy as he tried to remain upright, “So I can be ready whenever you want me to come pick ya up.”
“You know what—?”
“Just say when and I’ll be there!”
“You know what, Chad—?”
“’Cause you can’t bag it! We gotta—!”
“Chad! You know what?” Randy held his hand out in front of him—like he was stopping traffic—to let Chad know that the conversation was over and that he was getting a little ticked off. “I’ll see ya later!” And he knew he was lying. Because he wouldn’t be seeing Chad later—or ever again. If he could help it.
And he made his way back up the snowbank.
And Chad said, “Okay,” and he watched Randy go. And he felt for sure that he wasn’t going to see him later. Or ever again. And he didn’t want that. So he tried not to sound desperate when he called, “Hey, Randy!”
Randy ignored Chad and continued climbing the snowbank.
And then heard the oof sound that a body makes when the wind gets knocked out of it from a sudden fall.
Randy turned and directed the beam from his flashlight onto Chad.
And it revealed Chad facedown in the snow.
Again.
Because Chad had suddenly and completely fallen down—almost in slow motion—again.
Randy was now convinced that Chad had the same thing wrong with him that his cousin from Frenchville’s pony did.
“Hey!” called Randy. And he made his way down the snowbank to make sure Chad was okay. Because, even though Chad had said something that Randy didn’t quite want to understand, he didn’t want to leave Chad there if he had the same thing wrong with him that his cousin’s pony did. “You all right?”