Memories from the Crawl Space

The hillside view always took my breath away. I took out my phone, pressed the camera button and switched to video mode. I lifted the phone to my face and scanned around the view. Ever since I was young, I always wanted to capture moments in video form. The view was nostalgic enough for me but then I caught a whiff of something in the wind.

It had always amazed me how out of all our senses, the sense of smell can completely take one back to a place in time. As I stood there looking out across the graveyard, I caught a hint of floral notes and sandalwood. The wind picked up as I desperately tried to retain the familiar smell. The fragrance transported me back ten years ago as I closed my eyes...

Erica’s parents were almost always in the house but never present. Her mom’s medication made her drowsy. Her father was usually in his basement office working on blueprints for his architectural firm. In picturesque Westchester County, New York, the three strangers under the household lived in blissful ignorance of one another. It was an incredibly different atmosphere from my strait-laced household.

My father was moving up to the local police department. He took pride in his work and wanted me to make something of myself, even though I aspired to move to Hollywood.

“This stuff is supposed to be next level,” Erica said with a grin as she shook a Ziplock bag full of green. “Rachel, your baby boy, Jacob, won’t be able to handle it.

“I’ll be just fine,” I interjected. “I’m not that much younger than you guys.”

“It’s all good, Jakey, don’t listen to the old lady,” Ricky said and gave me a wink. “Erica, Dillon said that shit last time he skimped, and it was trash.”

“The jealous boyfriend thing isn’t cute on you, Ricky,” Erica retorted. “Just shut up and roll it.”

The two of them had dated since they were in middle school, and they should have broken up before high school. They had a toxic relationship before it even became a title.

Erica and Ricky were ridiculously good looking. Due to her high cheekbones, freckles and slight frame, she could’ve easily been on a billboard. Ricky was only a teenager, but his body was that of a man. He developed early. He was the stud starting quarterback for our school football team despite only being a junior. He was posited to receive a football scholarship to a division one school. Unbeknownst to his teammates and coaches, or more likely blissfully ignored, he was likely either stoned or keyed up on coke when on the field.

I felt immediately insecure in Ricky’s presence. He was over six feet tall with a six pack and disarmingly bright blue eyes and perfectly coiffed light brown hair. I was around 5’-4” on a good day with unruly curly hair, a baby face and baby fat. It didn’t help that Rachel was taller than me and had developed young as well. She was less strikingly beautiful as Erica and more girl next door pretty with her brown eyes and brown hair pulled up in a ponytail.

I still was unsure whether Erica liked me or not. Maybe she saw through my standoffish façade. . She probably thought Rachel was out of my league, especially since I was younger. She was out of my league, and I knew it. Hell, everyone knew it. I was often silent during our hang-outs. Sometimes I would break open my old handheld digital camera and shoot the interactions. That way, I wouldn’t have to talk. The impromptu video sessions garnered a divided reception. Ricky would smile and make a silly face. Erica would roll her eyes while Vanessa would hide away her face and put her hands in front of her. Rachel just went along with it because she knew I enjoyed filming everyday events no matter how insignificant.

“Brad and Vanessa should be over any minute,” Ricky said while rolling the joint. “He should have my stuff too.”

I cringed. I wasn’t a fan of other stuff besides weed. I was afraid of the consequences.

I did not necessarily feel as though I was better than this group mostly because I was dating their friend. Yet, I always had an underlying feeling as though this group of friends were bringing Rachel down. Rachel was incredibly talented and intelligent. She was an honors student with dreams of Ivy League prestige.

Despite my disapproval of Ricky and Erica’s lifestyle, I sympathized with them the best I could. Erica wanted a normal family life instead of having emotionally absent parents living in a façade of suburban bliss. Ricky just wanted his family to care about his well-being and not just his football stats.

Brad likewise had a wealthy family with a mother that worked long hours in the city. His father was a corrections officer that pretended that he was a cop. Instead of taking advantage of his privileged background, Brad took on the persona of a grimy street kid.

Vanessa was reserved like myself but had the prettiest smile I had ever seen. She had little to smile about though. She lost her mother during her birth and her father soon spiraled into a state of depression. He was institutionalized and Vanessa was placed into the foster system. She moved into our town in middle school living with a foster mom who enjoyed the monetary perks of being a foster mother but not the burden of taking care of kids.

It was a rare occasion, but whenever Vanessa laughed, she would flash her toothpaste commercial worthy smile and I couldn’t help but have my heart flutter a little bit. I couldn’t help but wonder what she saw in Brad. She had beautiful caramel skin and curly hair. Brad’s pale skin was in stark contrast to Vanessa’s complexion. She was ethnically ambiguous and an all-natural beauty. I couldn’t help but have a crush on her despite dating Rachel.

The door slammed open and there stood Brad with his stringy hair covering most of his face. He was wearing a Led Zeppelin shirt and torn black jeans. Behind him, dazed in the face but still stunning was Vanessa. She was wearing Brad’s nasty sweatshirt and stained matching sweatpants. They looked like they hadn’t showered in a few days, and I was not looking forward to the combined stench of skunky weed, sweat and cat piss.

“Sorry we’re late, this one had a tough time getting up,” Brad said while nudging Vanessa. He tossed a baggie towards Ricky.

“Sweet, dude. I was running low on the blow.”

“I managed to get us this too,” Vanessa said sheepishly behind Brad. She pulled out a gigantic glistening bottle of vodka out from behind her.

“Let’s head to the crawlspace!” Erica exclaimed.

Erica’s family had a beautiful house with some idiosyncrasies, including a hot tub in their downstairs family room, an adjoining sauna that seemed to be left untouched and a crawl space that was big enough to fit all of us. I believe it was meant to be a panic room. We weren’t exactly sure if Erica’s father was in fact an architect. We suspected that he was into some very shady business dealings.

The crawlspace was hidden in the closet across from Erica’s bedroom and smelled wretched.

Erica pushed away jackets and snow pants eagerly. She pulled up gingerly and slid the door to the side. In a row, we crawled through the open door. I was the chubbiest of the group, so I had to squeeze myself in. I waited to be the last to avoid embarrassment. Rachel crawled ahead of me, and I thought it was an opportune time to break out the digital camera. I turned it on and pointed it at her butt.

As soon as we all were settled in space, Brad immediately cracked open the bottle of vodka and took a good long swig without flinching. Ricky pulled out a lighter from his pocket and lit the joint. One big inhale, another small inhale and then a succession of floor shaking coughs. Bits of sawdust and what I assumed to be mouse shit fell around and onto us. Ricky passed the joint along while Brad took another long swig and spat on the floor. Classy. He passed the bottle along to Vanessa who had already looked zonked out but she took a swig, pulled a few pills from her sweatpants pocket and washed them down with more plastic bottle vodka. She coughed like mad while Ricky still attempted to calm his own coughing fit down. I looked down at my digital camera while the coughs in stereo echoed in the small space.

“Could you like not film us all the time, bro?” Brad asked while he inhaled the joint. “It’s getting on my nerves. You ain’t no Spielberg.”

“Shut the fuck up, Bradley. His name is Jacob, by the way,” Rachel said in my defense.

Rachel pulled me close to her and whispered, “ignore his junkie ass, babe.”

“Okay, okay. I’m just messing around,” Ricky said with his hands held up. Typical Ricky behavior. He loved to instigate.

Vanessa moved abruptly which caused us all to look towards her. “I feel like shit, I’m going to your room, Erica.”

“Sure, girl, go ahead.” Vanessa crawled out, closing the door softly behind her.

“She took a few painkillers before I picked her up,” Ricky stated casually.

“Yeah, maybe Bradley could be a good boyfriend and be concerned about that,” Ricky replied and took a swig of the vodka.

“You’re one to talk, coke head. I’m surprised you two haven’t killed each other in a drug-induced rage."

“Fuck you,” Ricky snarled. Some vodka escaped from the side of his mouth.

“Don’t forget who gets you the good stuff, buddy. If it wasn’t for me, your whole team would suck.”

Ricky looked down at the ground. Unbeknownst to the coaches and parents, Ricky single-handedly turned most of the team onto coke and other uppers. Whatever they could get their hands on, they would swallow or snort without a second thought.

Erica’s mother knocked on the closet door. “You guys want some pizza? It just came out of the oven and is sitting on the dining room table.”

“Thanks, mom!” Erica replied. “You want weed?”

“No, I’m good today, sweetie."

We continued to rotate the weed and the vodka like an Olympic relay team trying to make trials. I felt ridiculously stoned and drunk. Ricky took out the baggie of coke, pulled his car keys out and ripped a line. Erica followed suit. Rachel and I both declined.

Brad snorted a large amount and chased it with a gigantic gulp of vodka. Despite his thin frame, he could hold his liquor. He was really going for his record today. Ricky and Brad continued to drink and snort. No one seemed too concerned about Vanessa’s well-being. I scooted past Rachel and out of the closet. No one noticed.

I walked across the hallway and peeked into the bedroom. She was sound asleep. Her eyes twitched and her stomach rose and fell gently. Erica’s comforter was on the floor next to the bed. I picked it up and placed it over Vanessa. I considered pulling out the camera from my hoodie pocket and filming her sleeping peacefully. She looked so beautiful with the sun shining through the blinds. I watched her for a few minutes ensuring her breathing was steady.

The munchies were hitting me hard. I peeked over into the kitchen and there was Erica’s mom, snoring in her recliner. The pizza was simmering. I was about to sneak over and devour a slice when I heard a loud voice coming from the closet. Hurriedly, I made my way back over to the closet, pushed aside articles of clothing that fell, moved the door ajar and made my way into the crawlspace. Rachel’s bloodshot eyes were filled with fear.

Ricky held Erica in her arms, shielding her underneath his armpit. In the furthest corner of the crawl space there was Brad shaking his fist and slamming it on the floor. More sawdust and shit fell.

“Fuckin’ shit!” Brad exclaimed with another strike. “Why the fuck did I even tell you that?” His hands trembled.

“What happened?” I asked nudging Rachel’s arm. No response. “What happened?” I asked again with more urgency.

“Fuck!” Brad yelped.

“Stop it!” Erica shrieked and Ricky grabbed her mouth attempting to silence her. “Your fuckin’ mom will hear us. Be quiet!”

“Dude, what the fuck is wrong with you?” Ricky asked. “What the actual fuck, dude? You are seriously sick. Jake, let’s beat the shit out of this fucker.”

“Shut up!” Brad scooted across from the corner like a miner escaping a collapsing cave. He raised his hand to hit Ricky but then stopped himself, breaking down with his hand in the air.

We silently sat and listened to his sobs. I averted my eyes to Ricky. Out of the whole group, despite his obvious cocaine addiction, I respected him. He was good hearted and just wanted to succeed. His hard work and dedication were something I admired. In a way, he was the older brother I wanted and in other ways he was everything I never wanted to become; blindly obsessed with his goal at the expense of others and self-consumed.

“Ricky, what is going on? I asked.

"Ask him,” Ricky pointed looking away.

“Brad?” Despite my disdain for Brad, I felt sympathy for him.

“I already fucking said it, dude. You and your high and mighty attitude all the time gets on my fucking nerves. You think you’re so much better than me. You’re just a little bitch that clings onto his girl.” The combination of coke, weed and vodka was undoubtedly the catalyst for whatever was going on. He put his head in his quivering hands. Another punch to the floor. I wanted to mention how his family was more well off than mine and how the cocktail of substances was making him look foolish. Instead, I looked at Ricky. He shook his head glumly.

“I’m sorry, Brad. I’m just trying to understand what you’re going through right now. Deep down you’re a good guy.”

“I’m not a good guy,” he replied through trembling lips. “They all know it now. I’m a piece of shit. I know it, they know it, my nephew knows it.”

Rachel reached out to touch me. I moved away and inched closer to Brad like he was an animal caught in a fence that I didn’t want to startle. I felt my digital camera fall out of my pocket onto the floor. Pieces of mouse shit were undoubtedly cradling it, but I didn’t even care at that point.

“Your nephew knows it?” I asked calmly. “I didn’t even know you had a nephew, Brad.” I couldn’t even fathom the thought of Brad taking care of a child. “I highly doubt that they think that of you, Brad. I’m sure you’re a great uncle.”

“He’s not,” Ricky interjected.

“Ricky, stop!” Erica screeched.

“Naw, fuck him” Ricky said calmly. He took another swig of vodka.

I held my hands up in protest and closed my eyes. Maybe my father’s good cop routine was really rubbing off on me.

“Let me just talk to him,” I whispered to Ricky. Ricky relented and turned his back, taking another long swig of vodka.

“He drank too much too fast and just kept snorting the coke,” he murmured.

“Like I said, bro, if only you and your dickhole football fans knew the truth behind you and your team,” Brad said frantically. Goodbye scholarship. Goodbye college.”

“Fuck you. You and I are very different, Bradley. You’re a coke fiend and a fuckin’ pedophile,” Ricky replied while firing the almost empty vodka bottle at him. The bottle bounced off the carpet sending a combination of dust and mouse shit into the air. Brad picked up the bottle and chugged the rest. A single tear fell from his eye. He wiped it away with frustration.

“Pedophile?” I inquired. I looked at Rachel. She was wide eyed and silent, but I knew the look of confirmation. Erica sniffled. Ricky scoffed. Rachel scooted towards the door. I heard the closet door gently close behind her and Erica’s bedroom door open and close swiftly.

The silence continued for a few minutes in between Brad’s sniffling and Ricky’s incoherent muttering. Erica occupied herself by using an old, pierced soda can that had to have been in the closet for years. She lit up some sprinkles of weed and inhaled.

“I molested him” Brad stated softly, breaking the silence. Erica coughed violently. Ricky put his hands to his ears. He was almost too calm with this admission, especially in comparison to the moments prior.

“I did it multiple times.”

“You raped a child,” Erica managed to squeak out.

“Molested. Raped. What’s the fucking difference?”

“There’s a huge difference and they’re both disgusting,” Ricky said. “Once I sober up, I'm out of here and you’re fucked. You’re going to be charged as an adult and on that pedo list for the rest of your miserable life.”

“And who are you going to get your coke from, genius? You and your buddies are only winning because of the stuff I provide. Who else is going to get you coke and those lovely little meth salts you need? If I go down, say goodbye to football.” Brad smirked between sniffles.

Ricky looked down and Erica nudged him. Ricky scrambled to the crawlspace door with Erica following quickly.

“That’s right,” Brad scoffed. “Pussy.”

I heard footsteps retreat towards the front door. After a few minutes of arguing, the front door opened and closed, followed by Erica’s quiet sobs and footsteps towards her bedroom. I sat in the crawl space unable to move or speak.

Brad sat staring at the wall.

I felt sick from the weed, vodka and sickening admission of guilt. Brad coughed up phlegm and spat on the floor. Here was my opening. I moved towards the door desperately.

“Don’t you want to at least know why?” Brad asked. His back was towards me, and his head was lowered. I deliberated for a few seconds and removed my hand from the door.

We sat in uncomfortable silence.

“Yeah,” I finally muttered softly. “Speak.”

More uncomfortable silence.

Brad looked up at the ceiling as if asking for guidance from a god I was positive he didn’t believe in.

"When I was small... my dad would crawl into bed with me,” he stated softly. “At first it was just him cuddling me.” He looked up at me to see if I was listening. My eyes met his and he averted his gaze back to the wall.

“My mom was never around. My dad would work long hours a few days a week, but most of the time he was at home. He drank a lot. I wish I had a crawl space like this,” he said looking around the crawl space like it was sacred ground which up until today, really was our sacred safe space. “One night I felt his hand move from my shoulders down my back. He told me ‘This is what big boys do.’ He made me promise that I wouldn’t tell my mom.”

He brushed his hair away and I finally caught a real glimpse of Brad. He was dirty and adorned some stubble but still had a baby face. With the profound sadness I saw, he looked like a little boy.

“I felt his finger pull at my underwear. His breath reeked of tequila and cigarettes. It was warm. He was my dad, so I felt like I was safe, you know?”

I nodded.

“His fingers were calloused. I felt them scrape against the small of my back like this” Brad said and pantomimed the movement against the crawl space wall. “His fingers entered me. They were as dry as sandpaper. I bled. He let me stay home with him afterward.”

“Believe me, I wanted to run away. But he kept giving me gifts and made me say that it was okay.” “It started with his finger and then it was... more.”

I shook my head, looking down with my eyes closed.

“I was eight years old. The same age as my nephew. He moved in with us a year ago after his parents split, and his mom entered in-treatment. It runs in our blood.”

“So, you do what your father did to you?”

Brad’s eyes closed and a tear fell. “Yes. And believe me, I don’t want to. I can’t help it, Jake.” He had never actually called me by my name before. I simultaneously wanted to console him and restrain him. “The cries coming from him. I block it out. I hold him down. If he’s too loud, I grab the back of his head and smash it into the pillow.”

I swallowed back vile.

“Thanks, Brad. I get it.” I moved back towards the door.

“Wait, Jake.” I turned.

“Your camera, Jacob. Spielberg is nothing without his camera.”

“Thanks.” I grabbed the camera and opened the crawl space door. I opened Erica’s bedroom door. Their three chests rose and fell in synchronization. I closed the door and left Erica’s house. Outside, I took a deep breath and balled and convulsed while my camera fell into the grass beside me. I picked up the camera and looked at it. The red record button was still on. I stooped recording, pressed the play button and sped up the playback. There was Brad, in focus and clearly stating, “I molested him.”

“Hey, stranger,” a familiar voice said behind me while I was still trying to smell the fragrance in the open air. I turned around.

Rachel. I hadn’t seen her in almost twelve years. She looked beautiful. Her hair was in her trademark ponytail. She was wearing a long black trench coat. “I didn’t see you at the service, but I waited around just in case.”

“Yeah,” I said taken aback. “You know me, I don’t like big crowds.”

“I saw you still like taking videos. Did film school ever work out for you?”

“No, I kind of lost the passion for it. After...you know.”

“Yeah...” She looked away.

We let the breeze fill in the silence.

"You know, I broke up with you not because you gave your dad that footage.”

We had broken up soon after I left the digital camera on my dad’s desk with a sticky note that read “watch this.”

“I knew you were in love with Vanessa.”

Even after all these years I couldn’t help but get butterflies in my stomach hearing her name.

“She was doing so well,” Rachel continued. “Even after Brad killed himself. She got clean and stayed clean until recently. I think the anniversary of Brad’s death took a toll on her. I can’t believe no one in her family showed up for this,” Rachel said overlooking the graveyard.

“I loved you too, you know.”

“I know.”

“Were Brad and Erica here?”

“Erica was. Brad moved away when his family did. I think that was around when you switched schools. I heard he’s working construction somewhere out west.”

“No football scholarship, huh?”

The silence between us answered my own question.

I wanted to fill in the silence with some small talk and hear about how she’s been and what adventures she has embarked on over the past decade. But instead, I let her smell of flowers and sandalwood waft and let us bask in the moment together reminiscing with the wind blowing around us.