Of the dozens of poems in the brown paper grocery bag, she keeps coming back to one, called “The Expendable Spider-Man Alex.” She experiences a vague premonition when she reads it, although she’s not exactly sure if the poem is based on real events. “There is no such thing as fiction,” Booker and Alex have often said. And so she wonders whether she should show the poem to Alex’s father or send it to the people who run Alex’s reform school. Is the poem a cry for help? Or is Alex trusting her with his most intimate secrets and therefore she has a responsibility to keep his confidence? There are almost a hundred poems in the bag, and this was only one of them. Alex surely didn’t expect her to read all the poems in one night.
Nanette lies awake in her bed thinking and then rereading and then thinking some more.
When she finally drifts off to sleep, Nanette dreams that she is falling and wakes up sweaty and terrified.
The novelty gifts she gave to her parents as a joke—the fuzzy pink handcuffs and the purple pleasure bondage kit. She starts to understand why people want to restrain their loved ones and why love is so often linked with pain, as if joy and suffering were two sides of the same coin.
Somehow she knows something bad is going to happen to Alex, and yet she worries that this thought makes her just as unbalanced as he seems in his poetry.
After all—it’s only a poem written by a teenage boy.
What power could there be in that?
24
There Is Always an Exit Window
THE EXPENDABLE SPIDER-MAN ALEX
By Alex Redmer
The windows of my cell are unlocked
Because I am on the seventh floor
And they don’t know I’m Spider-Man
They think I’m just a regular kid
Who cannot climb walls
They believe that gravity can kill me
And that a dead me is the same as
A locked-up me—problem solved
But the bricks of this building are
Old as the mortar, which has crumbled in
Between here and there making cracks
Deep enough for fingertips
Strong enough to cling, and dress shoe
Soles that stick out just a few centimeters
From the black leather upper
Find their way like hands into gloves
And so I climb in the middle of the night
When everyone else is resting
Up for running and push-ups
First thing in the morning
Before the sun rises over
The eastern horizon
And with arms and legs spread wide
Muscles quivering like
Strummed guitar strings
As a crab scuttles over sand
I rise up the side of the brick face
It’s slow going because I
Must rest from time to time
On the pretty boys’ windowsills
As the moonlight illuminates
Their sweet sleeping cheeks
I pity them for they know not
What it means to ascend
They lie in beds dutifully
Like pretty boys do
And observing their compliance gives
Me the strength I need to push on
With amazing finger strength and
The awful horrible need
I rise, never looking down
Or caring if I fall—because
It would end suddenly, everything
As I was climbing free for me
And not lying in bed for them
But when I reach the slate roof
And pull myself onto
The toothlike shingles, and then
With my heels in the copper gutters
My head in the stars
I howl out my freedom
Like a bullet exploding
From a gun barrel
And I know
That they will never
Keep me down
Because there is always
An exit window
That leads somewhere
No one else will go
And the gambling bastards
Well, they always leave it unlocked
Yes, they do
25
The Environment’s Health Is the Last Thing on Her Mind
Nanette shares Alex’s poetry with June, and they discuss “The Expendable Spider-Man Alex” at great length. June understands Nanette’s concerns about the word expendable in the title and the risky behavior described in the poem, but she says that teenagers often fantasize, and regardless of whether the poem is a metaphor, Alex is in no way taking Nanette’s feelings into consideration.
“Did he even ask you one question about yourself when he showed up uninvited and interrupted—and based on what you told me, I’d even say ruined—your family’s Christmas? You told me about driving the Jeep with your parents, and it sounded like pure bliss, and then Alex inserts his problems into your life, and you end up here feeling anxious and responsible. Can you see how that makes Alex out to be the villain here?”
Nanette can indeed see that, but she also remembers the electric feeling of Alex’s lips touching hers and the important way she feels when she alone reads his poetry—words with which he entrusted her.
“Do you think this is a healthy relationship, Nanette?” June asks. “Or a fool’s romance?”
“What do you think?” Nanette asks Oliver after she finishes telling him all about her Christmas experience with Alex and what June has suggested. They’re sitting on the floor in Oliver’s bedroom, surrounded by pictures of flowers. It’s early January.
“As much as I love Alex, June certainly makes many good points,” Oliver says.
“Are you worried that Alex is actually climbing the outside walls of his reform school?”
“Um, I guess so.”
“He could fall.”
“Yes, he could.”
“You seem unconcerned.”
“Ask me how I’m doing,” Oliver says, and then smiles.
“How are you doing?”
“Fantastic. Ask me why?”
“Why are you fantastic?”
“A girl named Violet transferred into my school. Her parents are botanists and she knows even more about flowers than I do! We’ve been eating lunch together every day. It’s the first time I have ever eaten lunch with anyone! Violet dyes her hair African violet purple and wears little yellow hair things to make her head look like the flower. Isn’t that amazing?”
“Are you in love, Oliver?”
“Maybe!”
Arrangements are soon made for Nanette to meet Violet, and when she does, in Oliver’s bedroom, the young couple hold hands the whole time in the most adorable way, proving that they are indeed under the spell of love.
“What is your favorite flower, Nanette?” Violet asks.
Nanette never really thought about that before, so she names the first flower that pops into her head.
“What color lily?” Violet asks.
“White?” Nanette says.
“That symbolizes purity.”
“How old are you again?”
“We’re the same age,” Oliver says. “Isn’t that great?”
“Yes,” Nanette says, and then makes an excuse to leave. Oliver doesn’t need her anymore. That’s certain.
When Nanette visits Booker, she finds that Sandra has practically moved in with the now-much-less-reclusive former writer, and they, too, are always holding hands and looking into each other’s eyes. It’s a nightmare, because Booker won’t take anything that Nanette says seriously. When she tells him about the Spider-Man poem, Booker says, “The boy is being dramatic! That’s all.” Sandra also seems unconcerned.
Nanette’s parents begin scheduling date nights for themselves to have some “quality time,” which leaves Nanette quite alone with her thoughts. So she takes long drives in her Jeep with the top down and the heat turned up.
&
nbsp; She has nowhere to go, no one to visit, and so she drives sort of aimlessly for hours and hours.
June suggests that Nanette needs to engage again with new people—find a new hobby because “driving around is not only boring, but it’s also not good for the environment. Especially since you drive a gas-guzzling Jeep.” June means it as a joke, but Nanette doesn’t laugh. Considering all that is going on—or not going on—the environment’s health is the last thing on her mind.
She realizes that her time with Booker and Oliver has somehow come to a close.
Oliver is okay.
Booker is okay.
Nanette is still not okay.
26
He Has Sort of Become a Concept
One year after Nanette kissed her English teacher Mr. Graves in his classroom on Valentine’s Day, she’s playing a rather unromantic game of Scrabble with her parents when the doorbell rings. Even though Nanette has decided that her relationship with Alex is over, her heart leaps at the thought that he might actually be standing on their front porch steps. She’s shocked to find herself running to the door, but when she opens it, Alex is not there.
“Hi—Nanette?” a man says.
Nanette nods.
“I’m Alex’s father.”
He’s wearing a gray suit with a shiny red tie knotted tightly under his chin. He’s tall but weak-looking, with a long face that somehow reminds Nanette of a stork’s.
Maybe Alex has sent more poems or a letter? Nanette thinks, and her heart pounds. But when she notices that Mr. Redmer’s eyes are red, she begins to feel as though someone is strangling her.
“I don’t know what Alex has told you about me,” Mr. Redmer says. “My son, well, he sometimes had a problem holding on to the truth.”
Nanette doesn’t like Mr. Redmer’s use of past tense, and it suddenly feels like she is frozen solid—unable to speak or move.
“Ever since he was a little boy, Alex had this wild imagination—the most radical ideas seemed to burst from his mind. This got him into trouble more than it helped him, I’m afraid. And I’m rambling now. Sorry for that.”
Rivers of tears run through the wrinkles of Mr. Redmer’s face.
“What happened?” Nanette says.
“Alex is… well, he’s dead.”
“Dead?”
“Slipped and fell off his dorm building wall. Apparently, he tried to climb up to the roof. Didn’t make it. Died instantly. No pain. That was two weeks ago. They found this letter on his body. I hesitated, given the circumstances, went back and forth, but ultimately decided to give this to you.”
“Because it’s Valentine’s Day?” Nanette says, thinking that the timing couldn’t be crueler.
“I didn’t realize it was Valentine’s Day. Was it wrong of me to come today?”
She doesn’t know how to answer that. She feels as if she must check the facts again, because they don’t seem to add up. “So Alex is really dead. You just come here and say that two weeks after he dies?”
“I’m sorry. He’s gone. I don’t really know what else to say. I’ve never been good with these sorts of things.”
“Was there a funeral?” Nanette whispers.
“No funeral. I’m not religious. Alex was cremated. I put him into the sea. He liked the ocean.”
“Why didn’t you contact his friends?”
“Alex didn’t really have friends. Besides you. And you’re why I’m here now.”
“Does Oliver know?”
“Who is Oliver?”
“You seriously don’t know?”
“Was he the boy my son was claiming to protect? The one whose problems got Alex into so much trouble?” Mr. Redmer says, but not in an accusatory way. He’s merely trying to identify Oliver in his mind, although his not knowing for sure speaks volumes.
“Yeah,” Nanette says.
“I haven’t told anyone but you. Like I said, Alex didn’t have a lot of friends. He was sort of a loner, like his old man. Maybe you could tell Oliver? This hasn’t exactly been easy for me.”
Nanette agrees to tell Oliver and says she is sorry for Mr. Redmer’s loss.
“I didn’t allow Alex to correspond with you, because I didn’t want him to hurt you, but… well…”
Mr. Redmer nods and then extends the letter. His hand is shaking wildly. Nanette takes it, rushes past her parents (who have been eavesdropping in the hallway), and then locks her bedroom door behind her. She opens the envelope and wonders why she is not crying. It all feels too theoretical—surreal, maybe—and not true.
My Dearest Nanette,
I often wonder what you are doing and thinking. It’s very strange to have a girlfriend and yet never see or speak with her—no letters, even. It’s almost like dating a fictional character whom I dreamed up in my head, like we were written into the pages of a book I read long ago, but somehow that book was taken away from me, and so now I only have the memory of it, with which time plays games, altering everything in strange but subtle ways. But enough of that.
I bet you are wondering why this is the first time I have written you a letter. Well, I’m not allowed to write or receive letters here in this hellhole of a prison unless my father signs off on it, which he has refused to do. (I think he’s trying to protect me from you! Hahahaha!) So I couldn’t write you one for Christmas. The poems I gave you in that bag when read collectively were like a letter in code and I hope you understood the meaning. My dad doesn’t understand poetry so he acquiesced a little and let me give you the bag because I said you would help me get them published. (HAHAHAHA!) I have great plans for our future!
I’ve made friends with a teacher here—Mr. Harlow—and he said he would mail this for me if I aced my Intro to Philosophy exam, which I did, by writing an essay about you.
I am now writing you by moonlight. Tonight, she’s glowing full and bright as fresh milk—calling to me like a mother—and I’ve half a mind to finish this letter on the roof. Did you read my SPIDER-MAN poem? (I really do that sometimes. Don’t worry. I’m an ace climber.) The moonbeams are pulling hard tonight, and I really think I must ascend. This letter will be much better written if I write while elevated. The night air will perfume my words and stuff my sentences with moonbeam magic!
That’s all there is. Nanette reads the unfinished letter over and over again, and each time she gets to the end, she’s forced to create a little movie in her mind—she’s doomed to see Alex trying to scuttle up the brick wall like a human-sized spider until his fingertips give out or his dress shoe tips fail to find a crack and he falls back starfish-like toward Earth and then—poof—everything in Alex’s mind is instantly erased like a computer that got too close to a magnet.
Return.
To.
Blank.
Nanette tries not to picture the mess that Alex’s body must have made, and so in her movie, he shatters into a million tiny pieces like a crystal vase and she pretends to clean him up with a dustpan and broom before she throws all the fragments into the sky, where they will become stars once again. It’s childlike poetry that she runs through her mind, but it helps.
June calls it a coping mechanism and insists that Nanette is in no way, shape, or form responsible for Alex’s death. Nanette insists that she had a premonition—she knew after reading Alex’s “Spider-Man” poem that he was going to die this way.
“That’s not a premonition. That’s identifying dangerous behavior—like saying someone who drives drunk every night is likely to get into a fatal car crash. Or someone who wrestles alligators for a living might eventually be killed by one. It wasn’t the climb that was most dangerous, but Alex’s entire way of looking at life. If it wasn’t punching the fathers of middle school kids or climbing brick walls without safety precautions, it would have been something else.”
Nanette says she should have told someone about the climbing.
“You told me,” June says.
“But you didn’t do anything to save Alex.”
“Alex wasn?
??t my responsibility. And he wasn’t yours, either. He was going to do what he was going to do regardless of what anyone said or did. They had him locked up in a reform school. He had been given second chances. People were paying attention to him. He wanted it this way. It’s unfortunate, but it’s true.”
Nanette wonders if it can be that easy. Everyone says it wasn’t his or her fault, says they are sorry for the loss, and then moves on with life.
The strangest part is that Nanette doesn’t really miss Alex, because he has sort of become a concept. He hasn’t been in her life for the past few months. She spent only a couple of months with him to begin with. She’s probably spent more hours with Wrigley the fictional character than she did with the late Alex Redmer.
High school students die all over the country—hell, all over the world—every day, and the world keeps spinning.
What does it matter? What do any of us matter? Nanette thinks. What is the point?
She very much wants to quit—to sit alone on a log or rock Unproductive Ted–style or float forever in a lake like Wrigley.
Nanette reads The Bubblegum Reaper over and over again—like it’s a religious text that can provide answers and meaning—but she learns nothing new.
Oliver and Booker express shock and sadness when they hear about Alex’s fate. According to his mother, Oliver cries for days. Booker refuses to show Nanette the letters that Alex wrote to him, saying, “They simply were not addressed to you, Nanette.” She says they must be filled with clues as to why the tragedy happened, but Booker insists that “there are no good answers for such tragedies and you’ll drive yourself mad if you try to find what isn’t there.” Nanette petitions Sandra for support, but she agrees with Booker. “It’s all very sad,” is the only thing Sandra says with which Nanette can agree. And then suddenly Oliver, Booker, and Sandra seem to be just memories in Nanette’s life—characters in a book she no longer wants to read—and so she stops returning their calls, texts, and e-mails. What can they say or do to change what happened and the way Nanette feels about it?