The Last Stand of Haviland Dinwiddie

Chapter 8

By Dabeagle

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The following Tuesday I looked on in curiosity as our English teacher spoke to Rigby toward the end of class, wondering what he'd done. The bell rang for the end of the day, and the teacher asked me to stay for a minute. Rigby took his seat beside me, and the teacher sat in a desk in front of us.

“So Rigby turned in a pretty good report, and I wanted to talk to him about it, because he's never put in that kind of effort.” She smiled and tilted her head. “I had him as a junior as well, so I'm familiar with his work.”

“Yeah. He worked pretty hard on that,” I said cautiously.

“Well, again, being familiar with his work, I called him up and asked him a few questions and had a great little conversation.” She shifted in her seat. “As a teacher your hands are more and more tied in situations where what you feel is best for a student as an educator clashes with, as a for instance, the beliefs of a parent or guardian.”

Rigby looked slightly uncomfortable, and he turned toward me. “Ms. Bensen was asking if someone else wrote my paper. I told her you helped me work on it and fix what I wrote.”

I turned to face Ms. Bensen. “That's completely true. He's been working on homework at my apartment a lot. It's just...he's got to focus so hard to read and get things down, but when you talk to him he completely gets it.”

She smiled, just a little. “Is it fair to say you read the research material to him and then he dictated what you typed?”

“I mean..kind of?”

Her little smile looked a bit like she was pleased. “Well, when I saw this report I took a quick glance to refresh my memory on Rigby's current grade. Let's just say he's more consistent about turning in work than he was last year.” She paused and turned her gaze to Rigby. “It seems your other teachers are noticing as well.” She leaned forward a bit. “Sometimes in life we have to figure out who is in the way of us improving and find a way around it. If I were you, I'd keep doing this.”

I worked my jaw for a moment, getting over the idea that she was going to try and bust him for looking like he hadn't done the work himself, but then my mouth went another way. “I think Rigby's dyslexic.”

The teacher's smile turned a bit sad. “Well, Rigby will have to tell you about any of that. Keep up the good work, gentlemen.” She stood and went back to her desk, and we got up, making our way into the mostly empty hallway.

“What did she mean asking you about that?” I asked him.

He glanced at me, but he looked angry. “Let it go, E.” His anger made me pull back from him, and he glanced at me. Maybe there was something on my face, but he got angrier. “What, E? You want me to say I'm stupid? That I can't do my own work? Bro, fuck school.” He turned and stalked down the hallway. It took several steps for me to start moving again after overcoming my anxiety; his sudden anger had frightened me, which had then made me angry and then scared me. It's exhausting to go through so many emotions so quickly.

As I exited the school, Rigby was standing at the edge of the parking lot. His body was stiff, but his expression was more of shame. As I approached, he shifted his bag. “I'm sorry, E.”

I stopped a few paces from him. “It's okay,” I said quietly. “Just...scared me a little.”

He looked at me, and his mouth opened just a bit, then his eyes got wider. “Oh. Oh, E...bro, I'd never get violent on you. You're my best friend! I just...” He sighed. “I don't like people talking like I'm broken.”

I shook my head. “You're not. I don't think you are. You're also not stupid. I just...some people need glasses. They're not broken, they just see things a different way. Literally. If someone is dyslexic, they'll have someone read their tests out loud for them and make accommodations so you can learn. I just...I wanted her to help you.”

He shook his head. “She can't. My mom won't let them test me. She says I'm just lazy.”

I smiled a little. “Well, you might be lazy, but you're not stupid.”

He smiled back and rolled his eyes. “Shut up, E.” We started walking to the car. “Do you think...do you mind reading the work to me? Like homework and stuff?”

I let out a breath. “Yeah. I mean no, of course I don't mind.”

Over the next few weeks I fended off a few more oblique attempts from Kate to get me to meet her. Rigby got frustrated with Amanda reaching out to him, saying she wasn't even that interested in him. While Rigby wasn't rich, I still thought he was a catch, and so did a girl named Mia, who started to burn up his phone. He seemed content to try texting with her, but he didn't talk that much about her until the night he said they were going to meet at a Starbucks.

By the time he headed off, I was feeling low, because he was going to meet someone who had some kind of interest in him. I sat in the tiny living room with my mother as she streamed some show I had no real interest in. I thought about doing homework, but I didn't really have anything that needed doing, and I was sure I couldn't focus on that either. Eventually I went for a run in the chilly autumn evening, headphones mercifully charged, and tried to clear my head.

It took me a bit to find my stride and get my breathing into a proper rhythm. Since Rigby and I had been spending so much time together, I'd let running fall to the side, not that I'd really enjoyed it before. It was a literal way to run from my problems, even though they were always waiting when I got back. As I ran, I thought about all the stuff going on around me: My father and how he still loomed over our lives. My mother, practically a shut-in since our arrival. Me, on an emotional rollercoaster as I pulled Rigby closer and simultaneously tried to hold him at a distance. Kate and her misguided attempts at non-flirting. My friendship with Daphne and Tony, though they really didn't know why I'd moved here. Maybe Daphne had a clue, depending on what she knew or had figured out about the people that moved into those apartments.

That sent my mind in an unexpected direction. I didn't recall seeing any other tenants coming or going. No one had left their laundry in a machine or forgotten their dryer sheets. No one had a loud TV or had left for the day, only to have their alarm clock go off all day. No one fell or dropped something. No one had loud sex that could be heard in the next apartment. I began to wonder if we were the only renters there for the moment.

I finally got back home, dragging myself up the stairs. After a drink of water and a shower, I sat back on the little couch with my mom, ready to try and let my brain slip into neutral before going to bed.

“Do you work this weekend?” Mom asked.

“Yeah. Both days.”

“Where's your shadow?”

Without meaning to I took an extra beat to answer. “He's meeting a girl for coffee.”

“Oh,” she said quietly.

Not much more to say, at least I hadn't thought so. About ten minutes later my phone buzzed with an incoming call. Only one person calls me.

“Yo,” I said, giving Rigby his own greeting.

“Bruh, I'm downstairs. Can I come up?”

I glanced at my Mom. “Is it okay if Rigby comes up?”

She glanced at me, and in a very low voice she asked, “Is it?”

I swallowed and nodded. She waited a beat and then nodded back. “Okay, I'm coming down,” I said into the phone and hung up. I didn't bother to slip shoes on, since I wasn't actually leaving the building. After I made sure the door was secure behind Rigby, we went back upstairs, where he greeted my mom, and then we went into my room.

“Bruh!” he groaned, pulling off his hoodie, which caused his shirt to ride up, and then fighting his shirt back into place. “It's just cold enough a hoodie feels good, but it's too hot for inside.” Given I liked him with his shirt off, I wasn't complaining or telling him that.

“So?” I prompted him.

He settled in at the head of my bed, leaning against the wall. I took my place close to the foot, turned a little so I could see him while leaning my shoulder against the wall.

“Do you believe in, like, love?”

I suddenly felt my anxiety ratchet up. Did he suspect? Or had she made a bigger impression than I'd feared? Trying to keep my nerves from betraying me, I cleared my throat. “Yeah. I...don't you?”

He slowly shook his head, brought his knees up together, then let one leg fall to the side while lacing his fingers around the other knee. “I don't know. For real, what even is love?”

I widened my eyes and let out a breath, willing my anxiety to not get worse at best. Talking to Rigby about love? Not on my to-do list. “Well, you love your little brother, right? He loves you?”

He looked to one side, and his fingers tightened and relaxed rhythmically on his knee. “I don't want anything bad to happen to him. I want him to eat and brush his teeth.” His gaze dropped, and one of his hands moved down to pick at the cloth of his joggers. “I think he just sees me as someone who gets things he needs.”

“I saw how you were with him, though. You made him feel good with the way you treated him.” I swallowed. “I guess some love starts there. I love my mom, but it started out as her taking care of me. Now we take care of each other. I'm not sure you do that if you don't love them.”

“My mom thinks babies are cute, but after that she...loses interest.” He let his other hand drop from his knee and shifted, turning his hips and putting one folded leg atop the other. “But...what is it? Really?”

After a beat I asked, “Love, you mean?”

He nodded and brought his gaze up to meet mine. “Like those girls that my brother got pregnant. They thought they were in love, maybe. A lot of people in this shitty town do that. Isn't it just chemicals you react to in a moment, and then maybe they go away? Like some kind of biological urge to fuck and then it fades?”

I frowned a little, wondering where he was coming from with this. “Well, no. I don't want to have sex with my mom, but now I'm worried you want to have sex with yours.”

“Bro,” he said and kicked my knee. I smiled at him and laughed a little. “I get, like, different feelings that aren't the same thing, but we call them love. People that want to fuck, and then...kids and parents, like you were saying.”

“Yeah.” I nodded along.

“But what's at the middle of any of that? Is there anything in common? Like what makes someone just go, 'Oh, I'm in love with you'?”

“I...well, I guess there's probably a bunch of different things.”

He looked at me and raised his eyebrows.

Feeling like he was waiting for an answer, I continued. “Like feeling safe with someone. Feeling like they see you and accept you for who you are. That they want good things for you. That they have your back. That they're not in it just for them.”

He let his head fall back against the wall, and his gaze was on the ceiling.

I shifted a little, sitting up a bit more. I swallowed once and then again. “I think...after that, there's other stuff. Attraction. Depending on the relationship.”

He moved his head, bringing his gaze to meet mine. “Right. So when someone jumps right to 'I love you' without any of the rest, it's just bullshit.”

“Well, I-”

He was suddenly on his feet and moving restlessly in the small space. “It seems like every fucking person who-”

“Rig, calm down,” I said, sitting up and pushing down with my hands. “You're being loud.”

“Sorry,” he said, lowering his voice. “I'm just wondering...” He shook his head. “Do you think I'm a hot mess? For real?”

“The hottest of messes,” I said with a grin.

He shoved my shoulder and resumed his seat at the head of my bed, hands in his lap and one leg stretched out while the other moved back and forth. “E.”

I shrugged. “Look, you're asking someone who is literally hiding out from his abusive father.”

His shoulder slumped. “You know, I forget about that. A lot. How are you, like, doing?”

I couldn't help but smile and think he was sweet. “We're not talking about my problems; I was just pointing out that...you're not asking someone who isn't a mess all on his own.”

“I didn't say you – okay, I'm shutting up. Talk!” he said after I raised an eyebrow at him.

I thought about the many ways this could be said and kept revising it in my mind, because I didn't want to word it in such a way that he felt bad.

“Stop. Just be honest,” he said, breaking into my internal debate.

I took a breath. “Okay, truth? On paper, you should be a basket case. You've got a face card, you've got girls that are into you. Right now you should probably have at least one kid and be headed for working minimum wage forever. Your house is, no offense, not the best. It seems like your mom isn't really interested in what's going on with you.”

He stared for a beat. “Okay, that's bleak.”

The corner of my mouth curled up in a half smile. “Rigby...that's not you, though.” I sat up and sat on my feet. “You're the opposite. You looked around you and saw how your mom lives – like, her relationships. You saw what happened with your brother, and you learned from that.”

He tugged at his earlobe. “Well. Yeah, I guess that's kind of true.”

I shifted again, sitting on my feet being uncomfortable. “Look at this. Your mom's house...isn't the best.”

“Shit hole.”

I waved my hand, not wanting to dig into saying things about his house. “Public apartments aren't luxury places, but it's probably better than your mom's house.”

He moved his head a bit from side to side as if considering and then made a noise I took for agreement.

“So now some girl comes up to you and says something like, come crack me open. I get pregnant, and we get a decent place to live. We'll get some public assistance. And for some people? That sounds really good.”

He crossed his arms and turned his head from me, but didn't answer.

Undeterred I said, “Instead you turn those people down – because they don't really want you. They want what you look like and what they think having sex with you will get them. They don't love you, they want to use you – in every way.” I straightened up. “Instead of settling for that and having a kid maybe you don't want right now, instead of maybe ending up living like your mom does, you're saying no and working a job.”

He was still for a minute, and I let it be, wondering if I'd said the right things, no matter how true they were as I saw him. I wondered if I'd said too much, and my anxiety was up and down, making my throat dry and then flooding my throat to make up for it. Finally he relaxed his arms and turned his face toward me. His voice was pitched low, and his tone was unhappy.

“I didn't really know this girl, Mia. This town is just big enough that you know someone's face or name without really knowing them.” He licked his lips, and I nodded. “I like dating. I like feeling like you're part of something. I know...things don't last. Not for most people. My mom is the best example of things not working out I can think of.”

My heart began to skip beats, and my anxiety level moved higher as I braced for him to tell me he was now in a relationship and our time was going to be less as he gave her more.

He licked his lips. “This girl, Mia, is talking with me, and I'm trying to text back. I'm careful not to leave her on read. I don't like to text.” He moved his gaze to me. “It's like reading and typing, you know? I have to focus.”

I nodded, electing to stay quiet.

“So she says let's meet up, and I'm like, we're in talking stage, right? So good, I'll meet up with this girl and see what she's like. Makes sense, right?” he asked, holding a hand out. I nodded at him, and he continued. “So we order drinks and sit down to wait for them, and she's acting all shy, which is not a bad thing, but then she says some shit like she's been hoping we'd get together and she loves me.”

I looked at him in silence for a moment and then leaned in. “Just like that?”

“Bro, not even two minutes after we got there. I almost left without my drink, that's how bad I wanted to nope out of there.” He shook his head. “Nope, nope, nope.”

I couldn't help but chuckle at him. He widened his eyes and said nope about ten more times, and I laughed a bit at him, in relief that this girl had blown it and also because he was just cute and funny while he was being silly. His expression sobered, and he looked away again.

“I just started thinking while I was walking – and I was going to go home, I thought, but then I realized I was a block away from your place so...but, why, bro? Why am I pulling hos that don't actually care about me?”

I hummed a moment. “I think it's partially what I said before. Like, turn it around. Some girl who aims low in life – get pregnant, get on public assistance, if cash gets too tight, you do it again.”

“Not all girls. Daphne's not like that,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, I didn't say all of them though, did I? Just ones aiming low.”

“So now going for me is aiming low?”

I laughed in amused frustration. “Rigby Chandler.”

His eyebrows went up, and his mouth curved into a big smile, though he wasn't going to show me any teeth.

“I'm saying these girls are seeing you're not doing that, so that makes you different. They could have a lot of reasons for trying to get you now – maybe they think you'll be more loyal or responsible, because you haven't crashed out yet. Maybe they see you getting a job and think you're going somewhere and maybe you'll take them with you.”

He tilted his head and looked thoughtful to me. “Huh.”

“Of course,” I said slowly. “Maybe some ho thinks your mom’s place looks good enough and maybe they can inherit at some point.”

“E. Not funny, brah. Quit laughing. You're not funny.”

My snickers trailed off, and I tried really hard to sound disappointed for him. “I'm sorry she wasn't...that she didn't appreciate you.”

He waved a hand. “Wasn't so much her. Just feels like a pattern.” He stretched his legs out and pushed his feet against my leg, shoving me a little. “I don't want to walk home. Okay if I crash here with you?”

“I'll ask,” I said, swallowing.

He followed me out of my room. My mom was still watching her show, but she also had her laptop open and seemed to be looking at it as well.

“Mom? Okay if Rigby stays, or should I drive him home?”

She turned toward us and lowered her glasses to the end of her nose. “That Rigby? Polite Rigby? Rigby who won't keep me up all night making noise if he stays Rigby?”

“Yup! That's the one!” he said before I could reply. I glanced at him and laughed a bit before turning back to my mom.

She gave me a long look and then said, “Okay. I do have to work in the morning, though, so don't be loud.”

“Thank you. I'll be quiet,” he said.

“Thanks, Mom.”

We got drinks and went back to my room. I sat on the end of the bed, back to the wall per usual, but instead of taking his spot at the head of the bed, Rigby sat down beside me, shoulder pressed to mine. We both opened our drinks and drank.

“So. You said staying at Daphne's was your first sleepover.” He dipped his head closer to me. “Obviously it was epic, because I was there.”

“Obviously.”

“Did you ever have a sleepover at your house?”

I shook my head. “Um, no. My father...no.”

He was quiet a moment and then softly said, “That's so shady.” He shifted a little, pushing our shoulders together a bit tighter. “Why did your dad do that? I mean was he...like did he drink or something?”

I glanced at him to find his gaze on me, a frown on his face. Maybe he was trying to understand.

“Well. He's a racist for one thing,” I told him, my words coming out slowly. “He...that seemed to be the big thing, actually. He hated that my mom is Latin. He wanted both of us to...to cover up so we look more white.” I closed my eyes. “He thinks my name sounds white.”

Quietly he said, “It does give old white guy aura, E.” I looked at him, and he was giving me a tentative smile. I smiled back, just a little.

“I know you're...trying to be there for me. But I don't really want to talk about all the things he did,” I said, turning my gaze back to my hands. “Sometimes...I can't stop thinking about it, about things he said or did and...I’d rather just hang with you than focus on that.”

“Yeah, well, who wouldn't want to focus on having a sleepover with me? Obviously, think about an asshole father or your best friend – wait, you are going to focus on me, right? Right, E?” He poked me in the ribs, and I laughed and pushed him away. He didn't stop though, and we were soon pushing back and forth a little, laughing. A bit later we had our phones out and were just sitting beside each other companionably. He was scrolling TikTok, and I was bouncing from one thing to another. Thinking about his hair growing out, I opened his pictures and then leaned back so I could compare my favorite picture of him with his hair as it was.

“What?” he asked.

“I'm just looking at that pic of your hair with what you have now.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “It's growing,” he said a little defensively and giving me an embarrassed smile.

“I liked your hair like this,” I replied. “I was just wondering if you'd get your hair done like this again?”

“Yeah? I liked it. You think I should?”

“Yeah. It was fire.” I looked at the picture again. “Where did you take this picture?”

He glanced at it. “I was at my dad's to get a shower. Our power was out for like a week; my mom and step dad didn't pay the bill, so we didn't have hot water or anything.”

I frowned but said nothing. Instead of staring at his picture, I scrolled down a bit and looked at the comments. There were some I expected – fire emojis, a few cartoons with hearts in their eyes or some combination of the two. But then it got weird.

“Have you ever read these comments?” I asked.

“Bro. Really?”

I glanced at him and back. “Right. Um, some of these are really sus.”

“Like what?”

“Like this guy that wants to marry you. There's a couple responses to him, calling him a pedo and that you are a literal child.”

“I'm not six.”

“I guess he's about fifty.” I nudged him. “Want a sugar daddy?”

“Fuck you, E.”

“This one wants feet pics.”

“Don't they always?”

“Might be your way to college.”

“Shut up, E.”

Eventually we got tired, and unlike the last sleepover, I wasn't so nervous about sleeping next to him. We stretched out, and he lay on his side facing me, knees up a bit and was breathing steadily in sleep quickly. I lay on my back and was soon out as well.

Rigby practically lived with us that weekend. He did get his hair cut, and we both had work. Paul had us getting snowblowers ready and stacking bags of ice melt and sand. After work my mom put us to work cooking dinner – and we made a good pollo envinado. Sunday we ran to the grocery store for my mom after work, and after we had leftovers I reluctantly took Rigby home. Mom sent him home with some leftovers and told him she'd make a cook of him yet.

Not long after I got home I felt an irritation in the back of my throat that felt kind of like a hair was being stretched, causing some discomfort as I swallowed. I made some hot tea to sooth my throat and give it some moisture. I tried to lay down but woke up coughing about two in the morning and felt congested. I dragged myself into the kitchen at six. My mom was brewing coffee, but she could tell as soon as I opened my mouth that I was sick.

“Oh, you got what I had, but worse,” she said with sympathy. “I'll make you some soup. Take some medicine, and I'll get it started.”

I nodded, went to use the bathroom and grabbed my phone. I didn't feel like talking, but calls are a lot easier for Rigby.

“Yo,” he said, his voice scratchy.

“Hey, Rig, I'm sick. Wanted to call you before you missed the bus.”

“Oh, E, you sound like shit, bruh. You need anything?”

“I'm good.” We hung up, and that was pretty much my life the next few days. Sleep, eat soup and take some medicine. My only real communication was calling Rigby to let him know I still wasn't going to be in school. I suppose it would be kind of romantic to say I missed him, but I felt so crappy I didn't have much more than stray thoughts. In fact having him stay over that past weekend had really just left me feeling really comfortable with him. Yeah, I was still attracted, and I had no doubt I'd be crushed when he started dating, but I felt like I was in a good place now.

Thursday morning I felt better, but my mom told me to just take the extra day and work on catching things up. I called Rigby and told him I was going to be out that day, but was more or less okay. After a shower and something solid to eat – I'd had enough soup for a year – I sat down at our table to see what I'd been assigned. There were a few worksheets, some math exercises and some reading with questions. Seeing that, I swapped over to Rigby's account and looked to see if he had the same reading; confirming we had the same thing, I figured I'd wait on that, as he hadn't turned it in.

I did two of his worksheets, basically stuff I had just completed for myself, and then I felt tired, so I napped most of the day away. That evening I was sitting up with my mom when Daphne texted and asked me to come down to the store. I cleared it with my mom and got dressed; there was no way I was going out in joggers and a tee shirt. At the very least my shirt would be covered by my jacket.

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