More Happy Than Not

“Now what?”

“Suicide,” Me-Crazy says in a low growl, which sounds fucking crazy even without the growl, but he’s not actually suggesting we all somehow use this handball to kill ourselves because that would be a) insensitive to me—not that he cares, I guess—and b) impossible.

Genevieve looks up at me as if we’re all some cult run by Me-Crazy.

“It’s a game,” I tell her.

How to Play Suicide: It’s every man for himself. Someone throws a handball against the wall, it bounces back, and if that ball touches the ground, someone else throws it. But if someone catches it, the original thrower has to race to the wall and shout “Suicide!” before anyone has a chance to bean them.

“ . . . and the game goes on until you’re the last one standing,” Brendan explains to Genevieve.

“Sounds barbaric,” she says.

“You can opt out of a beaning,” Baby Freddy says.

He’s right. There’s a rule we reserve for girls and younger kids, where instead of hitting them with the ball you try and throw the ball against the wall before they reach it and eliminate them that way.

“Or you can not play at all,” I offer. I don’t want to see what happens when she’s running to the wall when Me-Crazy is armed.

“I can handle it,” she says.

“You ever play this?” I ask Thomas.

“Been a few years.”

We walk over to the wall under my window. There’s a white residue fogging up one panel because of our shitty air conditioner or something. You can see a couple of my sketchbooks sitting on top of a pile of comics next to my dad’s trophies.

Me-Crazy throws the ball first. It’s possible no one caught it on purpose in case you hit him too hard and he flips out. Nolan throws the ball next and Brendan and Baby Freddy bump into each other trying to catch it while both making contact with the ball. Nolan is safe whereas Brendan and Baby Freddy book it to the wall. I quickly snatch up the ball and bean Baby Freddy.

He’s out.

Brendan shouts “Suicide!” before someone else can sweep up the ball and hit him too. But shouting “Suicide!” on Family Day is a poor move. Everyone, especially my mom and brother, are instantly hyperalert as to whether or not I’ve you-know-what’d myself. It takes a moment for them to realize we’re playing a game they’ve begged us to rename over and over through the years.

The game goes on. Fat-Dave manages to eliminate Nolan, Deon, and Skinny-Dave because, overweight or not, he has a pitcher’s aim. He throws the ball and Genevieve catches it.

“Don’t miss,” I beg her.

Genevieve throws the ball, and, well, it’s good to know if we ever get into a big fight where she’s threatening to throw a knife at me I won’t have to move a single muscle.

“Suicide!” Fat-Dave shouts.

It’s so tense right now you’d think there are mines planted on the ground.

Genevieve doesn’t run for the wall (like she should).

No one makes a move for the ball (like they should).

Finally, Brendan goes for it.

“Don’t do it,” I tell him. I should’ve grabbed the damn ball myself.

Genevieve runs and is a couple feet from the wall when the ball hits her in the shoulder. She spins around, rolls her eyes, and folds her arms. “Is that what you’ve all been so afraid of?”

“I went easy on you,” Brendan says as she takes a seat with the other losers. Brendan throws the ball and it rebounds right into Thomas’s hands. Thomas chases him and hurls the ball, but hits Brendan after he shouts “Suicide!” and is penalized. The ball rolls toward Me-Crazy, which is just terrifying for the newbie, so I race for it myself, falling onto my shoulder in an attempt to grab it. I get up and Thomas hasn’t run to the wall yet.

“You okay?”

“Throw it!” Me-Crazy shouts.