Nobody, Somebody, Anybody

by Kelly McClorey

  “I guess someone needs to teach him about the real world.”

  “Just what I was thinking.” Ward grinned. He glanced back at the rowdy house and his buddies lagging in the doorway, half surveilling him and half playing a game that involved tossing quarters toward an empty can.

  He grinned again, hollowing those dimples, and strapped one hand to the back of my head. As he leaned in, I felt giddy with anticipation: here was my chance to thrust him away and make a fool of him, he would be shocked, he was so used to having everything go his way and come so easily, his life had required no effort at all. He made a gradual approach, probably out of courtesy to me, so I could behold the kingliness of his bone structure up close—his face the exact opposite of Gary’s, which was made of mush—and I breathed in the scent of cologne and cheap beer and spearmint gum from the hot cave of his mouth and then, before I could make my move, his lips had collided with mine. He went all out, plunging his tongue in and swirling it around. Before long it felt less like a dream and more like my life, like I had unlocked a door hidden inside me, and I started to surrender and even enjoy the experience, the simplicity, the meaninglessness, even the audience. Gary had said he couldn’t imagine who I’d be without my EMT stuff, but that just proved he didn’t know me at all, since a person’s identity wasn’t the same as her job, especially if she didn’t technically even have that job and now most likely never would. And maybe this was who I truly was—impulsive, adventurous, superficial, fun—and if these were the people who brought that out in me, who appreciated and accepted me and invited me to parties and even competed for my attention, perhaps I shouldn’t fight it, regardless of how old they were. Age was just a number, after all.

  Ward looked coy as he pulled away, with a subtle bite of his bottom lip. I took the pose as a challenge, daring me to one-up him and to one-up Gary, who actually thought he was something special and irreplaceable in my life, that he and his mush-face were the object of my desire.

  “How old are you?” I asked.

  “Nineteen, almost twenty. Why, how old are you?”

  “How old do you want me to be?” I felt fierce and drunk and my singular wish was to feel even fiercer and drunker, until I could no longer recognize myself. This is a pop song, I thought, and you’re the star: a fearless, tantalizing force of nature. “So,” I said. “Want to go somewhere?”

  He didn’t flinch except for the slightest flare of his nostrils, almost imperceptible. He had the same stoicism as Brady Caldwell, the kind that resembles maturity but is actually manipulation, leading you to believe, for example, that a smile from him means infinitely more than a smile from anyone else and to work harder as a result. “My room.” He stood, smoothing his hair back with both hands.

  I hadn’t made a fool of him and no longer wanted to—we were connected now—but I could still shock him, force him to doubt for the first time in his life that he had it all figured out, including me. “Or how about over there?” I pointed to the bushes along the side of the house.

  His eyes darted from the bushes to his friends, and back to me.

  “It’s dark enough,” I said. “And doesn’t being outside make you feel more . . . alive?”

  “Sure, yeah. Whatever you’re into.” He sounded the tiniest bit apprehensive, and I relished that.

  We edged around to the side of the house where a narrow strip of lawn ran between the bushes and the fence, and I put my hands on his chest and pushed him down to the ground. “Whoa,” he said. He palmed the grass. “It’s still pretty wet.”

  “Even better.” I mounted him and started to suck his neck.

  “Damn, you’re kind of a freak. I like that,” he said as I unzipped his fly and stuffed my hand inside. “You do this kind of thing a lot?”

  “No more talking.”

  I hadn’t had sex in a long time—the closest thing had been Gary’s hands on me in the basement. But this seemed to be an asset more than a hindrance, as I had no comparison to distract me or routine to fall into. I followed only my instincts. We wrestled on the hard wet ground, unable to decide who was the aggressor. I enjoyed the feel of my bare skin against the grass and the champagne whirring in my head. While he sucked on my nipple, I laughed aloud at how strange and joyful life could be. His touch reminded me of the rain that had fallen earlier that day: each drop distinct and remarkable at first, then becoming so numerous that they flowed together into one great pool and I was bathing inside it, buzzing from head to foot.

  His penis seemed to glow from within. I immediately wanted to take it and absorb it inside me. I hurried to pull my underwear down. “I actually like a bush,” he said.

  “Go,” I urged, opening my legs and bracing my heels in the grass.

  I loved the filled-up feeling so much that I was disappointed when he had to withdraw slightly in order to begin thrusting. But soon the rhythm itself became pleasing, and I kind of forgot about the rest of him, that he was a person and we were in the world. I focused only on the part inside me. Each time it drove in, I clenched as tightly as I could, as though I might be able to trap it there forever. I growled with the effort, and my growls took on a life of their own. I felt no need to tame them; in fact, I wanted to sing.

  Was this the meaning of life? I had been feigning asexuality for so long. It had become easy, even natural. A nonissue. Now as I locked my ankles behind Ward’s back, I saw how wrong that had been, how tragic, how totally insane . . .

  But then, while it was still only just beginning, Ward seized up, grunted a long, drawn-out “God,” and shuddered to the ground. It took a second for me to realize he had just ejaculated on my thigh. “Holy shit,” he said, rubbing his face. “That was unreal.” He’d lost his stoicism, and although I was disappointed that things had cut off so abruptly and in such a mediocre fashion, I also felt powerful, as though I were the god he’d called out to.

  The space inside me seemed cavernous now, so I stuffed my fingers in, trying to fill back up. “Oh, shit,” he said. “Let me finish you.” He moved my hand out of the way, slid his fingers in, and wiggled them as though gesturing for me to come closer. After a few minutes of that, he brought his tongue down. It occasionally felt good, especially the warm puff of his breath, but it didn’t give me that complete feeling. It mostly tickled. I considered faking an orgasm, not for his sake but because it might be kind of fun. So I quickened my breath and made increasingly high-pitched noises and thrashed around. It was pretty fun, and even seemed to enhance the physical sensation. But when the theatrics were over and Ward emerged, saying, “The alphabet always does it,” the space felt even more cavernous than before. I questioned if I had actually done it for his sake and kicked myself for being so spineless and unimaginative.

  He rolled to his side, perching on his elbow to look at me. “So,” he said. “Don’t you want to know anything about me?” He smiled and plucked a blade of grass.

  “Not really.” It sounded harsh, but inside I felt grateful for his vain attempt at flirty conversation. I began to relax again. I lay my head back in the grass to observe the twinkle of a passing plane.

  “Actually, I do have a question.” I rolled to my side and mirrored his position. “What would you think of a guy who goes on a trip to Ukraine to find a wife? Like he buys a special tour through a company called Sincere Romance that helps you meet single women and sends you all this advice about how to get them to marry you.”

  “That sounds pretty fucked up. You know someone who did that?”

  “You’re right. It is fucked up.”

  “That’ll probably be Jeremy someday.”

  “Yeah, probably.”

  He sat up and appeared to be listening—a siren sounded in the distance. It grew fainter and disappeared. He relaxed again. “People think if you’re an athlete, they let you get away with anything, but it’s the exact opposite. They’re ten times harder on us. They suspended half our team last season, complete bullshit.”

  I walked my fingers up and down the rack of
muscle in his abdomen. “I’ll bet you have under fifteen percent body fat.”

  “Soccer and lacrosse.”

  “What about video games?”

  “You mean do I like them? Not really. Seems like a waste of time.”

  “So what do you want to do? Like after you graduate.”

  “Make money, you know. I’m not going to be one of those guys who moves back and just hangs around here.” A commotion erupted in the yard, a chorus of voices yelling “Oh!” like a game had just ended in a shocking upset. “You think they could hear us before?” he said.

  “Sounds like they’re pretty occupied. Who cares if they did.”

  “I’ve never done it outside before. In a car, but not full-on dirt and grass and shit. It’s sexy as hell.” A glob of semen began to slide down my leg, and I reached down to touch it. “Shit,” he said. “Here, use this.” He handed me his T-shirt and I balled it up and used it like toilet paper—it struck me as a pure and tender offering, the perfect closure to our evening. I put my shirt back on and shook out my shorts.

  “Are you going to give me your number?” he said. “I don’t even know your name.”

  “Let’s keep it that way.”

  “You’re hooking up with someone?”

  “Let’s just say, it’s been a crazy week. I’m not in the right place to go jumping into anything.”

  “Seriously?”

  “It was fun, though. I had a good time.” I tried to make my face convey that I didn’t mean to be cruel, I was just an impulsive, adventurous, superficial, fun person who had a whole host of other impulsive, adventurous, superficial, fun times ahead of her.

  “I would’ve lasted longer if I hadn’t been drinking so much.”

  “I know.”

  “All right. So that’s it, then?” When I didn’t answer, he said, “Okay, if that’s what you want.”

  We rounded the corner back to the yard, Ward still naked from the waist up, carrying his shirt in a sticky ball. The crowd seemed to have swelled. As we emerged side by side, everyone tittered and stared. A girl in the pool stopped paddling and said “Oh my god.” Ward whispered into my hair, “Guess we’re on our own now,” and swaggered off. Halfway across the yard, he paused, and that’s when I noticed Jeremy standing there, apart from the crowd. Ward touched his shoulder as he passed, on his way to rejoin his buddies, who laughed and whooped and sealed him inside their circle, which slowly wheeled itself into the house.

  I didn’t move. Jeremy stood there, facing me, a sweatshirt crumpled in his arm—the sweatshirt he’d retrieved for me, because he’d thought I looked cold. He was the only person who’d noticed I’d cut my hair. In the dark, it was difficult to see the expression on his face—I was thankful for that. Finally he put his hand on his gut, waddled toward his house in his pigeon-toed gait, and vanished.

  I found the champagne bottle in the grass. Just the dregs were left, but I sucked them down anyway and walked to the edge of the pool. One of the girls at the other end said “What’s she doing?” They both laughed. The surface of the water had a sheen to it. I considered jumping in. One of those girls would have been willing to hold me under, would have welcomed the opportunity, no doubt. A few moments passed. Then I pushed the empty bottle into the water like a toy boat and left it floating there.

  * * *

  Jogging home, I felt heavy and bloated. My breath whooshed in and out, and my feet slapped the pavement hard. The contents of my stomach reeled, sending up the sour fizz of gastric acid, and before long I was doubled over, spewing it all out onto a stranger’s front lawn. When there was nothing left, I mopped my chin with my shirt and again propelled myself homeward. I wished the storm would come bursting back to crack open the sky and wash me away.

  At the corner of my street, I slowed to a trot. My body was clean and empty now, purged, and if not for the throbbing in my temple, I might’ve felt free. I hugged myself to calm the goose bumps. Most of the houses were dead—it was probably midnight or later—but the porch light was on at my house. When I spotted a shape on the front steps, I figured my eyes were lying. But as I got closer, I saw it was him, undoubtedly him. “Gary?”

  “I was waiting for you,” he said. “It’s so late. I wasn’t sure you were coming home.”

  I was waiting for you. I felt full of a godlike power for the second time that night. So he didn’t need any more space after all; he’d already forgiven me and found himself longing for my company and regretting his callousness, and so he’d planted himself here to wait for me, waiting all this time, probably for hours—the thought of it made me nearly collapse. I was overwhelmed, but not exactly shocked. Rather, I had the sense of having been shot into the air and falling back to Earth, coming to rest in my rightful place. Yes, this was my rightful place, I felt that clearly now. My despair had tried to persuade me otherwise, but I wouldn’t let that happen again.

  “Wait there,” he said, and disappeared into the driveway. I held my breath. He came back pushing a handsome beach cruiser bicycle with broad handlebars and a chipped coat of paint. “I wanted to get you a little something,” he said. “And I figured it might be useful. Since you don’t have a car or anything. It could save you some time.” He stood with the bicycle thrust forward and his face hanging back in the shadows, unsure. “It’s not the fanciest model obviously. I bought it from a guy at work. Used to be his daughter’s. He assured me everything’s working—no rust or anything. To brake, you just pedal backward.” He lifted the back end and spun the tire to demonstrate. “But I can always return it to him, if you don’t think you’ll use it.”

  “I love it,” I said, hugging my fingers around a handlebar. It was the truest of true gifts, a symbol to show he was sorry for overreacting, for making terrible and impulsive threats like “Maybe we should take a step back.” In exchange, I forgave him for the hurt he’d caused and let go of any animosity I had been carrying around. We were going to be okay, Gary and I, more than okay, possibly the most important people in each other’s lives. And I should’ve known that all along, should’ve had more faith in our bond, which would be even stronger now that we’d overcome our first adversity. He transferred the weight of the bike to me, and I was so keyed up that I threw my leg over and took off pedaling. “It might be too dark!” he called after me.

  I made a dizzy, zigzagging lap of the street. There was nothing bad in the world. There was only the night with its golden streetlights and friendly crickets and the mosquito that flew straight into my open mouth—welcome!—and the endless coursing of my legs as they pumped round and round. At the end of the street, the bicycle spurred me onward, and I had to coax it back the other way.

  I fumbled the dismount—it had been a while since I’d ridden, and I wasn’t used to this method of braking—but I landed on my feet and stabilized the bike. Gary had returned to his position on the steps. I chopped the kickstand down, letting the handlebars nod to one side. The trip had left me delightfully woozy, teetering from one leg to the other.

  “You like it?”

  “It’s perfect,” I said, sitting down beside him.

  A rustle came from the bushes, and Gary stood to investigate. “She hated to stay cooped up inside,” he said.

  “The cat?”

  “I tried. But I felt like a monster, doing that.”

  “Maybe she just needs a little adventure. I bet she’ll come back in the morning.” I let my leg drift toward his.

  “Looks like you got run over or something,” he said, gesturing to my lap. I looked down at the dirt on my shorts and knees, and my heart sank. While Gary had been searching for the perfect true gift and waiting patiently, all night, to present it to me, I’d been rolling around with a fraternity brother at a pool party. I felt ill. Had I betrayed Gary? And if the answer was yes, as I suspected it was, did I need to confess what I’d done, so that we could have a fresh start, marked by honesty and trust, especially given how important honesty was to him? It was the last thing I wanted to do right then—
and maybe not necessary. The night was just a fluke, after all, completely out of character, and seeing as he already had doubts about my character, this would only confuse him further. And what would be the point of that, beyond alleviating my own sense of guilt?

  “Just a little dirt,” I said, folding my arms across the front of my clothes. “Thank you for the gift. You really didn’t have to do that.”

  “Well, I wanted to give you something, to say thanks after all you’ve done for me this summer. I was feeling kind of bad about how things went, you know.”

  “Me too. But it’s okay, it’s all okay. Just a misunderstanding. And now we can move on, like it never happened. I just wish I’d known you were waiting. I would’ve come back sooner.” I shivered and tried to snuggle up against him, but his muscles tensed.

  “There’s no way I’m getting any sleep tonight anyway.” He laughed, shaking his head and looking at his hands as though he’d never seen them before. “You’re not going to believe it, what’s been going on. These past couple of days . . .” He began rubbing his hands together, palm to palm, with accelerating speed. Then he clapped and said, “She ended up going, to the interview. Irina. And she got it. She got the visa. She’s coming. She’s actually coming.”

  “What do you mean, she’s coming?”

  “I know, can you believe it? All this time waiting and then suddenly it’s like it’s happening so fast. I sent her the money and she bought the first ticket available. In fact”—he lit up his phone to see the time—“she should have already taken off. And then she’ll be here, tomorrow. Or today, actually. Like, eleven hours from now. Feels like I’m in a dream, or some alternate universe.” He turned to study my face. I couldn’t fathom what he saw there. It was like he’d been speaking another language and I was still working to translate the words, slowly and with immense effort. “I thought it might be kind of weird, telling you, after everything, but I knew you’d be happy for me too, since we’ve been friends. And you’ve done so much to help me—us. Am I a hundred percent sure it’s the right thing? No. But it’s a risk I’ve got to take. You get that, right?”