Page 30 of Script Swap
I followed Bobby past 1A, 1B, 1C, and stopped in front of 1D.There was no sign that said KYSON or THE SWETZ FAMILY.It was an old door that was splintering at the bottom, with a tarnished bronze-colored knob and a peephole.On the other side of the peephole, it looked like there was some natural light, but those things are tricky, so I wasn’t sure.
“So, do you want me to pick the lock…” I let the suggestion hang in the air.
“Canyou pick the lock?”
“Bobby!”
I got a sliver of that big smile, but he ruined it by shushing me.“People live here.”
“CanI?CanI?”
“I saw you practice for one weekend, and then Keme did it on his first try and you threw the practice lock away.”
“Because I’d already mastered it, Bobby.Because I’d learned everything there was to learn.”
He’s a good boyfriend, though, which is why he said, “Typical law enforcement procedure doesn’t involve picking the lock.I’m going to find the manager.Be right back, babe.”
What’s the saying?I hate to say goodbye, but I love to watch you walk away.(No, wait—I hate to see you go!Anyway, you get the idea.)
A minute passed.
Then another.
There was definitely natural light on the other side of the peephole.
And natural light meant a window.
I mean, it wouldn’t hurt to check, would it?
A few paces down the hall, a door led out behind the apartment building.I tried it, and it opened easily.I checked that it wasn’t the self-locking type, so I wouldn’t get trapped and have to “explain myself” to Bobby.And then I slipped outside.
An old barbeque grill with fungus-like growths of rust.A tricycle.A plastic castle missing a wall.A kiddie pool with algae-covered water.A dumpster, and next to the dumpster, a sodden-looking armchair in lime-colored upholstery.The air smelled like old charcoal and wet grass, and a bird was calling off in the distance.
I made my way around the side of the building and started checking windows.The first one was shut, the blinds lowered.Okay.The second one, however, had the blinds raised.And on the other side of the window was a desk.And if I did exactly the right amount of blinking (and not blinking), I could see that it was covered with interesting things like photos and awards and pieces of mail and, the holy grail, an iPad.
A part of me knew I should wait.A part of me knew that waiting would be the responsible thing to do.And I wanted to be Bobby’s good little guy.(Nope, I immediately regretted saying it that way.)
But I kept thinking about Kyson lying on that bathroom floor, his body stiff and cold, the back of his hair matted with blood.
He wasn’t me; I knew that.He was a twentysomething kid who’d gotten his big break playing Daniel Dank in a Pippi Parker Production, and if that doesn’t make you feel a tiny bit sorry for him, then you’ve got a heart of stone.And I couldn’t help, in some small way, identifying with him.Because he’d been young, and he’d had dreams.And I remembered what that had been like, back when I’d had my own dreams.
Here’s the thing about growing up with my parents and talking about nefarious activities at the dinner table and doing bizarre research like how to get a window open from the outside—for example—when you were writing a novel about your intrepid detective, Will Gower: you learn a lot of shady stuff.
On the other hand, it does occasionally come in handy.
Take this window, for example: two sliding sashes with a cam lock on the inside.
I pulled a credit card from my wallet, worked it between the sashes, and jimmied it back and forth.It’s not as easy as it sounds, and my fingers started to ache.Then I started to sweat.(Look, I wasn’t happy about it either.) I was starting to think about the finger exercises I’d invented a few months before (tiny dumbbells—I own that idea), and I was also thinking about how Bobby—and Keme—had freakishly strong fingers, and it probably had something to do with surfing, and maybeIshould take up surfing when—
Ta da!
The cam lock slid open.
(Thank God—if I tried to surf, I’d probably manage to get myself killed while still on dry land.)
I slid the sash to one side.A breeze picked up, cooling the sweat at my hairline and making the blinds rustle.I reached through the window.
Awards—the Mount Hood Stage Guild, the Lake Oswego Circle Award, the Oregon High School Musical Theater Award for Best Actor in a Leading Role (2015).And mail—credit card statements showed that Kyson, like a much younger Dash, had believed that some future, more successful version of himself would be happy to foot the bills.There was a letter, too, which I found interesting.How many people still wrote letters?
