Page 116 of Goodbye Days

“Doctor Manhattan!” Eli says.

“That doesn’t really—” I start to say.

But Eli’s stopped and is looking down at this short, skinny kid with an Afro, black-framed glasses, and low-top Chucks that have been drawn on with a permanent marker. He’s sitting, leaning against a locker, sketching on a large pad.

The kid looks up, surprised. “Yeah…you into Watchmen?”

“Totally, man,” Eli says. “Can I see?”

The kid shrugs. “Sure. Not done yet.” He hands the pad to Eli.

Eli studies it, awestruck. “Bro, this is amazing. If you told me you actually illustrated Watchmen, I would believe you.”

The kid breathes hot on his fingernails and buffs them on his V-neck T-shirt. “Well, of course I illustrated Watchmen.”

Eli laughs and extends his hand. “It’s an honor. Eli Bauer.”

The kid takes Eli’s hand. “Mars Edwards.”

Blake and I introduce ourselves.

“Hey, we’re going to my house right now to play some Spec Ops: Ukrainian Gambit,” Eli says. “It’s more fun with four players. Wanna come?”

Mars’s face brightens at the invitation. “Man, thanks.” His face dims again. “I wish I could. I gotta do this church thing with my dad in an hour or so, and he’s a pretty intense dude. He’d be like ‘Thurgood’—that’s my real name, by the way—‘we do not cancel commitments or change plans ever for any reason.’ ”

We laugh at Mars’s impression; we don’t even need to have met his dad.

“You eat lunch with anyone?” I ask.

“Naw, not really. Still meeting people,” Mars says.

“You wanna eat lunch with us?” I ask.

“Yeah, yeah, that’d be cool. I usually use lunch to practice sketching.”

“That’s fine, because we use lunch to practice being sketchy,” Blake says.

The next day Mars eats lunch with us. And from then on, Sauce Crew is complete. One day he sketches a picture of me.

I frame it and put it on my wall.

I’m looking at it now; staring myself in the eyes as I lie awake, listening to my house creak and pop; listening to my humming blood.

I wish I could talk to Jesmyn. I wonder if she ever lies awake and thinks of me. I wonder if she ever misses my lying under her piano. Another phantom limb itching.

I contemplate the day stretching ahead of me like some vast unknown land enshrouded in fog. I have no idea what will happen or how it will go.

No, scratch that. I have some idea.

November. Mars and I should be immersed in the abundance of our last year together. Instead, there’s this.

Penance.

Stories.

Goodbye days.

Not only do I want to shit myself as I pull up to the Edwardses’ immaculately restored East Nashville house in the predawn dark; I feel ridiculous. I’ve slapped together a workout getup of some old PE shorts, trail-running shoes I bought to use for hiking, a T-shirt, and a hoodie. I had to sneak out in these clothes because my parents think I’m visiting the Sewanee campus today. As if I’d tell them I’m hanging out with the guy who tried to put me in prison.