Jumper:Griffin _s Story j-3

by Steven Gould

  "My place-uh, Southern Cal. In the desert."

  "You're kidding me."

  I shook my head. "No. Want to see?" I took a step forward.

  She held up her hands. "Whoa, boy!"

  I stepped back again, the corners of my mouth tugging down. Please, please, please.

  She pointed at the far side of the cemetery. "See the corner over by the birth control clinic?" It was about two hundred yards away. "Go there. Show me."

  I did.

  How many Sensitives could there be? Hopefully there wasn't one around here.

  I stood there, two hundred yards away, and waved. After a moment, she raised her arm and made a large come-here gesture. I returned, my way. She didn't jerk so much this time when I appeared.

  "I suppose it could be drugs. Did you put something in my coffee?"

  I shook my head.

  "How do you do that?"

  "I just do it. When I was five, the first time."

  "The Starbucks cup, in Mont-Saint-Michel-you said you'd got it in San Diego. You meant that morning, didn't you?"

  I nodded.

  It started to rain, fat drops falling at an angle with the wind.

  "Shit!" said E.V. "I'm so tired of winter! I want it to be warm." She sounded upset and I didn't think it was the weather.

  "I can't make it warm here," I said. "But I can take you someplace that is."

  She didn't say no. Her eyes were still wary but her forehead was no longer furrowed.

  "How do you feel about Thai food?"

  Chapter Twelve

  Rites of Passage We were walking down Kensington High Street on our third date when E.V. said, "Let's go in here."

  I thought she meant the shoe boutique but she pulled me sideways toward the shop on the corner. "What? The chemist?"

  "Yes, the chemist."

  I followed her through the door-it was afternoon in New Jersey and nearly ten at night in London and they were about to close. "What do you need?"

  She looked over her shoulder at me and said, "What do we need." Then she blushed.

  She bought the condoms, Durex brand, and some lubricant but got the cash from me since she only had American.

  The clerk looked bored and my ears burned.

  Back on the sidewalk she said, "We've two more hours."

  I'd offered to show her my place, the Hole, before, but she'd refused. So far she'd let me take her swimming in Mexico, to Paris for coffee, to Madrid for tapas, and Phuket for sa-tay. But not to my place.

  "Uh, I've never done it."

  She nodded. "I know. I could tell." She stepped up to me and pressed against me. "Don't you want to?"

  I nodded mutely.

  "Well, then."

  It was after, when we were lying in my bed, hip to belly, that she finally found out I was thirteen months younger than her seventeen and a half years.

  "Oh, Christ! It's like child abuse!"

  I moved my hand sideways and she arched her back. "Well, more fun than self-abuse," I said. "Think of it as charity to a poor orphan boy."

  "An orphan boy?"

  "An orphan boy."

  She sang,

  "Oh, men of dark and dismal fate, Forgo your cruel employ, Have pity on my lonely state, I am an orphan boy!"

  "Huh?" I was thoroughly confused.

  "And you an Englishman! Pirates of Penzance. Gilbert and Sullivan. Got it?"

  "Oh. Never saw it. 'Modern Major-General,' right? Okay, have pity on my lonely…?"

  "State. What time is it? Oh, shit!" She pushed my hands away. "Get me back or I'll be grounded for all time."

  I jumped her to the corner of her block, depending on the gathering gloom to hide our sudden appearance. She kissed me and ran up the block, her book bag thumping at her shoulder.

  I walked between two parked cars on the street and jumped away.

  E.V.'s father had a rough commute, forty-five minutes, so he was rarely home before six. Her mother worked in a middle school in the Neshaminy school district in Pennsylvania- across the river and then some. She rarely made it home before five-thirty. So we had that time between three-fifteen and five-thirty, most weekdays.

  "I'm not burning us out, though," she said. "Three times a week, tops."

  I had to buy more condoms.

  She drew me naked.

  Well, naked with a sketchpad.

  We drew each other.

  And we swam naked in the moonlight at Phuket.

  And we ate at little cafes overlooking the Seine while she did her class assignments. I helped her with her French-she helped me with Algebra II.

  "Madame Breskin says my accent is improving remarkably."

  "Lefrangais est la langue de Vamour. Let's go back to my place."

  She laughed. "No. I've barely got time to finish this essay."

  My sigh was eloquent.

  "Tomorrow. Homework or not," she promised.

  But the next day she wasn't there. We'd been meeting at the Shell station, across Greenwood Avenue from the high school and only a few blocks from her house.

  I thought about calling but she told me her parents had caller ID, so if I was going to call, do it from where I was supposed to be. With a small mountain of quarters, I stood at a pay phone in San Diego's Balboa Park, and dialed.

  She answered. "Hey," I said.

  "Where are you calling from? Ah, where's six-one-nine?"

  " San Diego. How are you?" What I really meant was, Can you talk?

  "I'm pissed. Dad went through my nightstand. He found the sketch I did of you in the nude. When we were sketching?"

  "That was a really good sketch. Uh, what did he say? What did you say?"

  "I said I'd drawn it from my imagination. Also that it was none of his business and if he ever went through my stuff again, I'd leave home." She cleared her throat. "There was some shouting involved."

  "When did this happen?"

  "Today. He showed up and pulled me out of school last period. Sorry. I'm grounded for a month. He suspects something-I have to come straight home after school and check in with him by phone at work. Can't go anywhere. He'll probably spot check with phone calls."

  "What are you going to do?"

  "I'll stick it out. My mother's upset, but a bit more at him, I think. I know they did it in high school. He's a hypocrite. She's the one who made sure I had condoms when I entered high school."

  "Oh, yeah? I knew I liked her." I tried to keep my voice light but I felt like crying. I couldn't imagine not seeing her for an entire month.

  "Yeah. We fought like wildcats when I was in middle school but we've come to a pretty good place now. But I'm not speaking to Dad. I predict two weeks, tops, then he'll cave. Maybe even sooner."

  That wasn't quite as bad. "Will I be able to call you?"

  "Hmmm. I don't see why not. We've got call waiting. He'll know you called, though-he'll check the numbers when he gets home-so make sure it's from San Diego, right?"

  "Right."

  I heard a noise in the background. "They're calling me for supper. Gotta go." "Okay. Je t'aime." "Damn straight," she said.

  I did laundry. The sheets needed changing. I bought more sheets, a nicer comforter, more pillows. She'd complained about my not having music, so I boug-volt power system, and a selection of CDs. I stocked up on her favorite diet cola and some snacks, healthy and otherwise. She liked those weird rice cakes, the ones that are like Styrofoam, so I bought a case of those.

  I bought a better portable toilet for my bathroom nook, one that used chemicals to keep the smell down. I could still dump it in the same pit toilet at the park picnic area and it had a nicer seat.

  I added two more solar water heaters for the shower back in Oaxaca.

  Well, that killed three days.

  My side was getting better. While no longer tender, it pulled when I moved my upper body, so I began doing some stretches.

  I bought a heavy bag and a stand for it, but it wasn't stable on the uneven floor of the cave, so I ended up se
tting it in concrete. After a few days of hitting this, I also went back to the makiwara in the Empty Quarter. One of them had been taken, maybe used for firewood, and I had to reset a couple of the others that had come loose in the soil.

  My left side was weak, the tugging from the scar profound. I doubled up on that side, both the stretches and the strikes, and there was some improvement.

  I talked to E.V. every weekday afternoon.

  "Now he's even more suspicious. He's wondering why you weren't calling before and now you are."

  "Oh, great. Should I stop?"

  "Hell, no! But if this keeps up, I'm thinkin' you might join me in the afternoons. I mean, I've got a bed."

  "I've never been in your room. In fact, it was only that one day that I was in your house-when I brought the sketch- and then later, when I met Patrick and Booger."

  "Yeah? What does that mean?"

  "I can't jump without a clear memory. I mean, I can jump someplace I can see, but otherwise I really need to be familiar with it. That's why I have all those sketches."

  "Hmm. Well, I'm really getting desperate, if you know what I mean."

  "Believe me, I know."

  At three weeks, her father relented.

  I met her at our usual spot and we went straight to the Hole. She approved of the pillows and the comforter and the toilet but I don't think she noticed until after the second time.

  "Oh, God. I needed that. Boy, did I need that." She poked at my arm. "You've been exercising."

  "Yeah. Especially my right arm."

  We showered together in Oaxaca, washing each other slowly. The temperature was just right.

  After we were dressed, we sat in the sun on the beach below, me on a rock and her in the sand at my feet. I brushed her hair until it was dry.

  I left her in our corner of Mercer Cemetery. I wanted to walk her home but she kissed me and said, "No. Not when you're supposed to be in San Diego. See you Thursday!"

  She was there on Thursday but pale.

  "What's wrong?"

  "Oh, I've got a headache," she said. "But I've also got some good news. I told them I'd be out until nine. Some friends of mine are playing the Teen Club. We're to lend moral support. They're not that good a band but they play really loud."

  I was stunned by the good fortune. "That's almost six hours!"

  "Well, we do have to actually go to the club-but I don't intend to get there until seven at the earliest." She looked anxious. "That okay?"

  "You're not worried someone will see me and tell your parents?"

  "I want to dance with you."

  "Have you seen me dance? Anyway, we can find places to dance far from Trenton."

  She shook her head. "I want us to go."

  "Claro que si! At your command. And what do we do before then?"

  "I don't know about you, but I want to screw."

  There was something wrong. She was clinging to me hard, almost desperately.

  "Are you all right?"

  "Don't stop!" She buried her face in my chest and pulled me hard against her. The lights were dim but it seemed like her eyes were wet. She dug her nails into my back and I forgot everything but moving.

  When she came it was loud, almost anguished, great shuddering gasps, and what little control I had went with it. I was drowsy and she pulled my head onto her shoulder. "Sleep. This once, we've got the time."

  I thought it might still be her dad. It must be hard to have to lie to your parents. I worried for a moment that it might be me but she was holding me close and stroking my back.

  She woke me again later and we made love once more, long and lingering. Then she looked at her watch and said, "Fuck. Quick shower?"

  The sun was low in Oaxaca but the water was still warm and "quick" was the word, for the mosquitoes were coming out.

  The Teen Club was nearer the Delaware River, but still walkable, and while it was cold in Trenton, it wasn't as cold as it had been the week before. I was wearing my anorak but the minute we'd paid our cover and got inside, I took it off and carried it because the club, either from too much central heat or too many occupants, was like an oven, worse than Oaxaca.

  Many of these kids clearly didn't use deodorant.

  The band was loud and they weren't terrible-three guys on drums, guitar, and bass, and three girls on vocals. They tended toward punk with industrial overtones and either the club had a full light setup or these kids had way too much money. There were strobes and motorized track lights and lasers and a smoke machine.

  Conversation was barely possible if you shouted or if you timed your sentences in the gaps. They sold refreshments but no alcohol. Most of the customers were under twenty-one but some weren't, and there were chaperones, leaning against the walls, eyes moving restlessly. One of them had his fingers plugged firmly into his ears.

  There were tables around the edge but they were all taken, either occupied or piled high with coats. I yelled in E.V.'s ear, "Why don't I drop our coats back at my place?"

  "What?"

  It took two more efforts to make her understand. "Oh! Okay." She took her pocketbook and something else out of her coat pockets before pushing the coat into my arms.

  I wandered back toward the bathrooms, looking for an unoccupied corner, but there were kids making out in the dark hallway. The bathroom itself, though, was empty, and I jumped carefully.

  To return I jumped back to an empty lot we'd crossed walking here. There was a streetlight but it had been smashed and I'd remembered being a little uncomfortable taking E.V. that route, picking my way across the junk-strewn ground.

  By myself, I didn't care, even when I saw three guys moving from the edge of the lot into the middle, to block my way. I kept walking straight at them and when one of them lifted a pipe in his hand and said, "Stop," I just jumped past them, to the sidewalk at the corner.

  One of them yelled and another was saying, "What the fuck!" over and over and over. I looked back and saw that they'd turned, perhaps having heard my footsteps on the walk, but they were making no move to follow.

  I was still grinning when I showed the man at the door the stamp on my hand.

  E.V. was standing near the refreshment bar juggling two drinks and her pocketbook. The dancing had spread and she was having a hard time keeping the drinks safe from flying arms and jumping bodies. She was watching the back hallway to the bathrooms, the direction I'd left, and her face was anxious, as if she was afraid I wouldn't come back or something.

  I tapped her shoulder and she jumped. I'd swear she screamed but the music was so loud, it may have been just a gasp. Both drinks hit the floor, though, together, spraying my legs and hers.

  I did hear her say "Fuck!" quite distinctly-it was one of those lulls in the music. "Sorry, sorry." She started to reach down but I caught her shoulder and stopped her. The floor was already littered with paper cups stamped flat by the dancers.

  The band reached the end of one number and the drummer and the lead vocalists were discussing something off mike. In the momentary silence I said, "What are we drinking?"

  "I got you a Sprite. You know what I had. And I dropped them both! Whatever you want."

  I managed to place the order just before the band started up. Payment was successfully accomplished with hand signs. I delivered her diet soda and tried my coffee. It was in a Styrofoam cup, too hot to drink and, in this environment, potentially disastrous. First- or second-degree burns, I thought, and turned suddenly back toward the bar to get some cream or ice to cool it down.

  He was older than the kids around him, dressed grunge, but he'd been stepping forward when I saw him, his left hand held out slightly, chest high, his other hand held low by his leg. He lunged as the stage strobes were flashing and the knife cut upward in discrete stop-motion steps.

  I stepped back, bumping someone dancing, and threw the coffee straight out. He jerked back, clawing at his face and shirt. There was other movement, sudden, not the puzzled reaction of bystanders but deliberate motion among th
e dancers, and I turned. E.V. was fumbling with something, but I grabbed her and jumped.

  Electric current, burning, contracting my entire body. I spasmed away from E.V. The bright blue sky dimmed and flared. My hands scrabbled across gravel and sand but I couldn't make them do anything.

  E.V. screamed, "No! No! NOOOOOOOOOr I blinked hard trying to get my sight to behave. We were alone, in the Empty Quarter. I thought she'd been attacked- was being attacked. She was on her knees, on the ground, hunched over, holding herself up with extended arms. Her pocketbook had spilled open showing a cell phone and money and a small-unlabeled prescription-medicine bottle. There was a black cylinder, perhaps seven inches long, clutched in her other hand.

  "I'm okay," I said. I wasn't that sure, but she was horribly upset. I wanted to reassure her.

  "Take me back! Now!"

  She was suddenly leaning over me, one hand grabbing my sweater, the other shaking the black cylinder in my face.

  "What?" My muscles were starting to work again and I tried to sit up but she shoved me back down again. She was crying and she looked desperately afraid.

  "TAKE ME BACK!"

  She jammed the cylinder into my side and the current and the burning came again. My back arched so much my heels and head were the only thing touching the ground. This time I passed out completely.

  The sun was dropping below the horizon when I came to. E.V. was coming down the ridge, stumbling, tripping over rocks. She was crying, her eyes so filled with tears she could obviously hardly see.

  I sat up. My muscles felt like I'd run a marathon, lactic acid soreness, and there was a burn on my side and another on my back, but I felt like I could jump if I had to.

  She had the cell phone in one hand. I didn't see the black rod.

  "I didn't know you had a cell phone," I said. I felt insane. Surely this is what a psychotic break is like?

  She stopped, then threw the phone onto the sand between us. "It's not mine. It belongs to them."

  Oh, fuck.

  She pulled the black rod out of her back pocket and I tensed, but she threw that down, as well. "And that. And those pills." She gestured to where her purse still lay. "I dropped the drink. Why'd I drop the drink? It would be over if I hadn't dropped the drink!"