Landslide

by Jenn Cooksey

  So, anxiously bouncing my knees up and down like a little kid impatiently waiting for dessert to be set before them, I type out my text…

  Please come back. I want to go with you.

  11

  “We Said Hello, Goodbye”

  —Erica—

  In the distance of a downstairs corner stands Old Father Time chiming eight o’clock. The once soothing, sing-song melody of home is no longer comforting as I stare at my phone and unanswered text, feeling not only severely disappointed, but, you know, wholly stupid and immature as well for being so disappointed. And Xanax although helpful last night at midnight when I finally gave up and abandoned my post on the steps of the porch waiting for Cole, didn’t really do much to stave off any dreaming so, I didn’t have what I’d call restful sleep. At least I didn’t have any nightmares; however, my dreams were weird and disturbingly vivid, leaving me feeling wholly out of sorts this morning. All of these things combined are the building blocks of a slippery slope above a pit of depressed prickliness that I can feel myself about to slide down into.

  I splash some cool water on my face in the hopes that it’ll wake me up and clear my head a little. The person staring back at me in the mirror looks like me, but I’m a stranger unto myself. Then noticing my birth control pills on the counter, I realize part of what my problem is. A quick check under the sink to see what my supply level is like doesn’t do anything for my mood. Blowing out a frustrated breath, I grab my phone and head to the top of the stairs, deciding to call Cole although I’m hurt that he didn’t even bother to tell me he’d had a change of heart about wanting me to go with him. I’m cranky in addition, and I really don’t know what I’m going to say to him if he actually answers. I know I’m only probably asking for trouble here, but PMS seems to be dictating the protocol so against my better judgment, I go ahead and dial.

  “Talk to me,” he answers on the third ring, but it doesn’t sound like him. I mean it sort of does, I guess, although it sounds like he’s in a cave next to a babbling brook or something, and he just sounds…odd. Like he’s manic and has gone from being a rage monster to Mr. Happy Go Lucky over night.

  “Cole?”

  “Uh, yeah, you called me…s’up?”

  “What are you doing?” I ask with my face sort of squinted up, being irritated and trying to figure out what the sounds I’m hearing in the background are.

  “Takin’ a leak. What are you doing?”

  I stumble on my own feet and stutter to a stop with his matter of fact information, and I swear, I’m sure I have one of those goofy, cross-eyed looks on my face.

  “Um, right this minute I’m wondering if I have any tampons in my purse because I’m out in my bathroom and I’m pretty sure I’m gonna get my period any minute. I’m also about to go downstairs and eat breakfast,” I answer, thinking that I might as well be just as specific, as he’s apparently comfortable discussing our bodily functions and such.

  “Well, that’s not really my area of expertise, but maybe you can wad up some toilet paper or something…that’s all I got,” he responds nonchalantly and completely unfazed. He then just continues as if news of my impending menstruation isn’t a completely icky segue into talking about food. “I wanna grab some breakfast too before hitting the road again. Chicken fried steak sounds so good.”

  “Did you, um…” I start, suddenly nervous about asking and afraid of the answer even more, “Did you get my text?”

  “Mmhm. Not until morning though. I got pulled over for drinking and driving and then got arrested for being under age and driving under the influence, so I spent the night in jail.”

  “Oh my God, Cole! Are you serious?!”

  “Not in the least. Thanks though for believing I’d be a larger than life dickwad to drink and drive,” he laughs at me, and then almost too casually he says, “I did however get baked, swam naked in the ocean, and fucked around with a few people on the beach in San Diego until the sun came up.”

  “Oh,” I murmur, relieved on the one hand, but not really wanting to get into it with him about the whole getting stoned thing. He knows how I feel about that and it almost seems like he’s pushing my buttons on purpose for some reason this morning, which is irritating in and of itself. I mean, he has to know what a huge deal it was for me to even ask him to come back, let alone getting to the point of deciding to go with him in the first place, and here he is, being flippant, rude, and borderline obnoxious, and really, a pretty big asshole. Still, I’m curious about who he’d deemed more important than his childhood best friend last night so I ask, “What people?”

  “Just, people,” he barely answers and then I think more or less to himself he complains, “Damn, my ass feels raw…think there’s still sand in it.”

  “Well, were they guys or girls?” I question, my curiosity piqued now and my frustration with his tone and unwillingness to recognize that he’s hurting my feelings rapidly increasing even more so.

  “Uh, both.”

  “Well, who were they? What were their names?”

  “Um, honestly, I don’t remember any of the chicks’ names, but the beast of a lifeguard’s name was Tristan and his buddy’s name was Jeff. You don’t know any of ‘em though, so why the hell does it matter?”

  “I just want—”

  “Hold on, I need two hands…gotta shake it off and zip,” he informs me so very politely. Not.

  “Oh my God, never mind. Forget I called,” I snap and hear a toilet start flushing just before I hang up.

  I stalk my way around the corner heading for the kitchen, completely irked and almost in tears, again. I should’ve listened to my gut instinct when it told me that spontaneity never works for people like me. But then again, I haven’t seemed to have had much success with pre-planning either or I wouldn’t still be a virgin.

  The thought crashes through me like a tidal wave, Holden’s face riding in the surf and smiling down on me at first before his mouth opens up into a punishing grin and devours me with the razor blade teeth of biting cold water.

  Inordinately dejected tears put a stranglehold on my throat and forward progress. I feel so lost and alone—utterly inadequate. All my hopes and dreams for any life worth living seem to have slithered between my fingers. Sure, they did; I’d naïvely pinned them all on Prince Charming and then he died and left me. So what do I do? I turn around and stupidly look to Boorish the Dwarf to rescue me. Which of course he doesn’t do because he’s too busy frolicking naked on a beach somewhere in San Diego with a beast, mermaids, and talking seagulls to realize or care that he’s wandered into the wrong story, thereby abandoning Snow White because he’s effectively the only one she has left. Just, ugh.

  Mental note: Stop watching Disney movies. You are by no means a princess and life certainly isn’t a fairytale.

  Sullenly picking my feet up again, I feel something whack the back of my head so I whirl around to see what it was only to be pelted in the face with another paper-wrapped tampon.

  “Why’d you hang up on me? Hashtag girl problems or what?” Cole asks, inexplicably standing in the short hallway just outside the downstairs bathroom, two or three more tampons clutched in one of his hands, “Seriously, I was just having some fun with you, but if this is how you’re gonna be every time your plumbing is about to do its thing, I’m gonna need to start paying attention to a calendar or download a doomsday countdown alarm or something…I mean there’s gotta be an app for that, right?”

  I stare at him, totally bewildered, not knowing whether I feel like crying happy tears or punching him in the face.

  “Here, catch,” he commands and tosses the rest of the tampons at me all at once, “This is all there was under the sink in there so we’ll have to hit a store before too long I’m guessing. I already gassed up the camper, checked the engine out and all that, hitched my baby up, and made sure everything’s all good to go, but I really just wanna get outta town again before we make any stops. You cool with that?”

  I go with both
crying and smacking him in the arm repeatedly…

  “Ow! Jesus Christ, sweetheart, you need some chocolate, stat,” he laughs at me, “And I’m starting to think I might just be on board with drinking and driving this week.”

  I whack him again and we head into the kitchen, him rubbing his hands together in appreciative expectation, and me rolling my eyes at myself as he tucks into the heaping plate of chicken fried steak, sausage and bacon, and grits that my grandma sets before him. Seriously, I grew up knowing exactly what she was cooking for breakfast with just a single sniff from under the covers of my bed. How did I not put together that Cole was here in my house when I smelled gravy first thing this morning and he mentioned eating chicken fried steak? Hashtag girl problems indeed.

  I’m packed and ready by the time Cole has eaten his fill and my grandma has finished pulling out casseroles from the freezers, cookies and brownies from the jar and pantry, and packing up any and all leftovers she can find for us.

  She gives us both a squeeze and cupping Cole’s somewhat bruised cheek in her fragile hand, she tells him, “Bless your ever lovin’ heart…now you make sure you take good care of my grand baby drivin’ her around with you this summer. She’s precious cargo you know. Don’t go lookin’ for trouble no matter how bad it wants to be found,” and then to me she says, “And you be a good helpmeet to him out there on the road, you hear? I raised you to know how to do all of what needs to be done, so don’t let him starve or go around in filthy clothes. You’re partners in this now so watch out for each other and have yourselves some fun, and don’t be fretting about me. I’ll be fine and I’ll see you both when you get back.”

  I nod and wipe a tear from my cheek before giving her another hug, but one look at Cole and I know he hasn’t told her that he’s not coming back. And he isn’t planning on pointing out the distinction to her either. I silently plead with him using my eyes, encouraging him to at least give her the opportunity to say the final goodbye that I know she’d want to say to him if she knew this would be the last time she’d have the chance to say it face to face. He just barely shakes his head “no” and looks to the sky briefly, putting a period at the end of our unspoken discussion.

  When we finally get in and buckle up in the smallish camper, that supposedly sleeps six but really only three full-grown humans comfortably, I give Cole another look.

  “What would’ve been the point, Erica? You know she would’ve argued with me about it, just like she did about giving me this house on wheels at fuckin’ five-thirty this morning. Scared the shit out of me too…I was sleeping in my car out front and she wakes me up by rapping the morning newspaper against the window and then hands me the goddamned keys and title to this thing.

  “I let her win that battle because she wouldn’t get dick for this relic if she tried to sell it, but what really did it was when she reminded me that snakes and spiders have this not so cool way of getting into tents and sleeping bags,” he says in disgust and visibly shudders, “And you know how much the idea of that freaks me out because I’m a pussy when it comes to those fuckers, just like I know she knows. That’s why she brought it up, I’m sure.

  “And, she would’ve started hemming and hawing about how you’re gonna get back here and I just wanna get on the goddamned road before next week! Besides, saying goodbye is depressing as fuck…I’ve done that enough the last couple days, you know? I mean I really think I’ve filled my goodbye quota for at least a decade or more, and you have too, so shut it,” he rants at me, looking over the dashboard and checking the glove compartment to make sure he’s familiar with where everything is before firing up the engine.

  “How am I gonna get back home?” I really haven’t spent a single ounce of energy wondering about that detail since the idea of going with him became plausible, but really, now I’m thinking it’s something that needs to be figured out.

  “Plane, train, or any automobile that isn’t a black ’67 Chevy Impala, because my baby isn’t rolling a single tire in this town again once I get her out of here safe and sound. I promise you, this time when I say gone, I’m talking gone for good, beautiful,” he answers, and I honestly hate to admit it, but I think he was talking to his car, calling it beautiful and not me, because he said the last half of that while looking at his car in the driver’s side mirror like he could’ve been looking at the love of his life.

  I want to be irritated with his stubborn insistence about never coming back, but at the same time, I don’t. I understand his reasoning and that he feels justification on the one hand, and on the other, he appears to be genuinely happy and excited about what awaits him now. And I am too. At this point, starting our trip off arguing with him about where he’ll end up when all is said and done would be intrinsically childish and rather selfish of me, not to mention that it would effectively ruin the beginning of our adventure. So, I keep quiet and turn my attention to the radio to see that Cole had evidently been a very busy bee this morning and had pulled out his car stereo and hooked it up in the camper. He’s already connected his iPod too so all I have to do is push play as he turns the ignition and lets the engine warm up some. Knowing him and figuring he probably has some kind of road trip playlist queued up already, I just click play and sit back, ready and just as anxious now to hit the road as I know he is. However, when the speakers reveal the little known secret of what a nerd he can be by picking up part way through the song he’d last had playing, I have to look at him.

  Rather than making excuses, Cole just faces me, raising an inherently cocky and imperious eyebrow, and challenging me to say something, whether it be along the lines of amateur psycho-analyzation into his thought process or outright questioning him and “Highway Don’t Care” as the song he chose to listen to on his way back to get me.

  I step up to the battle line and respond with raised brows of my own and a “Really?” look, but it doesn’t seem to have an effect aside from amusing him further. So, I decide to fight fire with fire and rapidly scroll through songs on the iPod. The signature Southern rock guitar and bluesy rhythm of drums belonging to The Black Crowes as they sing of unwavering and unflagging support in “By Your Side” combine to abundantly make my point as Cole puts the camper into drive.

  He gives me a half-grin and just as we set off for our journey of untold excitement, I turn the volume up, just so that there’s no doubt.

  Judiciously allowing a couple of his sparkling white teeth to show and soften his features, his smile widens just barely as he winks at me and commends me with, “Atta girl…”

  12

  “You Don't Seem To Miss Me”

  —Erica—

  “Oh my God, remember this?” I ask and snicker a little, holding up my iPad mini so Cole can see the picture that I’d taken of him with an actual bearded lady and a set of Siamese twins we saw at the traveling circus we’d stumbled upon a couple weeks ago.

  We’ve been so many amazing places, seen so many awe-inspiring sights, and done so many incredible things this summer so far. Cole’s been bungee jumping off a bridge in Idaho, he saluted four of our nation’s most prominent past presidents at Mt. Rushmore while I recited the Pledge of Allegiance and laughed about what dorks we were being, and we saw a concert at Colorado’s famed Red Rocks Amphitheater. We’ve experienced a lobster festival in Maine and gorged ourselves on some of the best lobster that I will ever ingest in my lifetime, we celebrated the Fourth of July in small-town America; parade on Main Street, apple pie, chili cook-off, dancing in the town square, and fireworks all encompassing, and we’ve stepped at minimum one foot each into almost all the states accessible by motor vehicle. We sort of made doing that our thing. We set out with a goal of being in each state of continental America, even if it was just our big toes, and every time we cross state lines, we stop and take a picture of one another in front of the welcome sign. Quite a few times so far, Cole and I have been fortunate enough to not be the only people marking their journey in this way, so we have a decent handful of pictures of us
together in front of the sign as well as individually.

  It’s become like a twice-weekly routine almost for me to pick out pictures to print so that I can send them to my grandma. It’s sort of how I’ve chosen to check in with her and let her know I’m alive and am having a great adventure. I’ve called her several times too of course, but I really think she gets a bigger kick out of seeing our trip with her own eyes, rather than listening to me use words to relay the experiences.

  Cole glances up briefly and absent-mindedly chuckles his acknowledgement of remembering the event the picture depicts. Soon after though, he goes back to whatever he’s doing on the computer he’d finally managed to crack the password of—playing game after game of solitaire I think. He hadn’t spent too much time trying to figure out what word or phrase Holden used to lock his computer, but every so often, he’d pull it out and give a couple of things a try and then when he was unsuccessful, he’d either flip the laptop the bird or just stick his tongue out at it like a frustrated and disappointed child.

  When he jumped up and did a goofy happy dance, having finally hacked his way in, I smiled and asked, “You finally figure it out?”

  He nodded and sat back down before looking at me in a kind of odd way and saying, “Yep. It was easy once I actually thought about it.”

  He didn’t divulge the password to me and I didn’t ask. Holden’s computer although Cole’s now, and really, just a machine, which I try hard to look at it like; it holds pieces of a past that makes seeing the future too difficult for me still, so I honestly want nothing to do with it. And now that he’s conquered the challenge he thought of the password as and completed his quest to be able to use the computer, I’m not sure if he’s thinking of it as his yet or not. I am pretty certain though that all Cole does on it is listen to music and play games. However, I do know that one night when we were lucky enough to find a campground with Wi-Fi, he went ahead and added his email address to the iMessage and FaceTime apps on it because he was being silly and used the computer to FaceTime and make all kinds of funny faces at me from his bed while I was trying to read in mine.