“Birdie,” I correct. “Or, Couch Girl, apparently.”
Dave’s smiling, brimming almost, but doesn’t say a word. He looks to me, then to the boy, then back to me.
“Now would be a good time to stop staring,” the boy says. “If I were her, and I saw your face right now, I’d haul ass out of here. You scare people, man. Ease up.”
His honesty makes me laugh. Not because it’s really that funny, but because I wish I could say things like that without analyzing. Dave dips his head and waves slightly before turning away.
“Bye, Dave,” I say. “Is he shy?”
“Um, no. He has aphasia. It’s a speech impairment. The most outgoing fuckin’ quiet guy I’ve ever met, too. Dude won’t shut up—I mean, in his own way.”
I laugh harder, while simultaneously trying to conceal how funny I think he is so he doesn’t get a big head about it.
“So…,” I say. “Your name is?”
“Most people just refer to me as ‘that asshole.’”
“I see why.”
He hesitates. “Bash. Or if you want to chew me out, Sebastian.”
“Okay, Bash. Did you really graduate, or was that a lie, too?”
He ducks his head away, and I’ve got my answer.
“And that’s why I don’t do parties. Lying. Boys. Like. You.”
He grabs his chest, appears hurt. “Burn. You don’t know me, either, kid. And my guess is that’s not the only reason you don’t do parties.”
“Right.” I sigh. “You’re SO different. Anyway, since we have to work together, let’s pretend we never met, start over. Are you training me, or what?”
He smiles, grabs a stack of papers, and tosses me a pen. “Fill all these out and give me your ID.”
“What? No way!”
“For Vinny. He needs it on file for taxes. Jesus. Have you never had a job before? What would I do with your ID?”
I grab the chair next to him and scribble my info on the sheet, my hands sweating, thanks to the plug-in heater that’s nestled between paper piles. “Maybe you’re obsessed with me. You could be a total creeper. I don’t know.”
“Yep,” he says, “you got me. This was all part of my grand plan. To get you, a complete stranger—”
“Who you met once,” I interject.
He chokes. “A complete stranger I didn’t meet once because we’re starting over—to apply for, and get, this shitty job so I can steal your”—I hand him my ID—“really terrible ID to hang up on my wall of Couch Girls. That really gets me off. Like, more than you know.”
I scowl. “I don’t know you. Maybe that’s your thing.” He copies the ID on the scanner and tosses it back.
“Girls, women”—he points at me—“are soul-sucking, time-wasting hangovers waiting to happen. Remember the girl at the party I was trying to piss off? Point made.”
“I see where I stand.” I’m joking, sort of. Because while right now may not be the best way to reunite, I felt something at the party, and I thought he did, too.
“I’m not interested in being analyzed.”
I shift in my seat, away from him. Doesn’t faze him, though. “Good—neither am I.”
The silence stings.
“So … how long have you worked here?” I ask.
“Too damn long.”
“If you hate it, why don’t you do something else?”
“Yeah, good luck with that. Everyone says they’re hiring, but no one is really. Some of us need whatever we can get.”
“I know the feeling.” My thoughts drift to Benny, and the room feels like it’s shrinking.
He’s looking at me. I’m staring at these piles of random papers, but I feel his eyes hard-pressed on the side of my face. It’s warm, a little like when you open the door to a sauna and it hits you—BAM—right there on your cold, vulnerable skin. I’ve started to ask another question when Vinny bursts through the double doors. A tiny lady nips at his heels only a step behind. He’s balancing a big cardboard box while she’s covered in the fur of something exotic. Her jingle bell earrings dangle and ding, something that seems to match her very, very scarlet metallic lips. Gold jewelry hangs off her, and even the tips of her heels have little gold bows on them. She’s like a miniature Christmas tree about to topple over.
The woman makes eye contact with me and rushes around the back, into the office door like she’s being chased. Her arms wrap around me, knocking the papers and pen to the other papers and pens lying in stacks on the floor. And suddenly, there go the files in my mind, too.
“My God,” she says, pulling back, “I cannot imagine what your family is going through. How is your brother? Is he okay? I can’t stop watching the news. Well, once the cable got all fixed up. That was a long couple days without. Every single morning, I think of you all, and now here you are—right in front of me. This has to be a sign. Our paths were meant to cross.” She pulls my head back into her, the fur fully inside my mouth, and I’m thinking about Sarge and if she says the word “kismet,” I’m going to—
“It’s kismet. It must be.”
(Insert silent scream.)
“Your chinchilla is in her mouth, Evie,” Vinny says, handing the oversized box to Bash. “Step back and let her breathe. So glad ya could finally make it in. Welcome—this is my wife, Evie, by the way. She’s a hugger, if you can’t tell.” They’re all standing here, waiting for me to say something. She pulls back again, her hands tilting my head up at her crystal blue eyes that have streaked with mascara.
For a second, I forgot about the pain. And I liked it that way. “They don’t think he’s going to make it…”
She rubs the hair on my head in a way resembling motherly and offers a sympathetic pout.
“There’s nothin’ they can do?” Vinny asks.
I shake my head. “I don’t know.”
Bash’s eyes are glued to the floor, and I can’t tell if it’s because he feels sorry for me, too, or if he’s not interested in my sob story.
Vinny pats my shoulder. “Well, we’re glad to have ya, and if there’s anything else we can do, let me or Evie know.”
They hold their stares for a solid minute while I keep nodding. It won’t stop, and I feel it going, going, going. “Thanks.”
“Well, you look great,” Vinny says to lighten the mood. “I hope Dave didn’t say anything inappropriate.” He laughs, turns to Evie, and she laughs, too. “Kidding, kidding.”
I force a pseudo-laugh and glance at Bash, who is not even trying to smile. He looks like he wants to disappear.
“Bash, can I talk to you for a second?” Vinny asks. “Evie, go wait in the car. I’ll be right out.”
“So nice to meet you, honey,” she says. “I’ll drop off a casserole and keep you on my prayer list.” She squeezes me again, but this time, I don’t squeeze back. Bash meets Vinny at the doorway, a few footsteps away. I go back to my spot near the clutter, next to the other clutter, and awkwardly pretend I’m not listening while gathering, then filling out the endless pages of paperwork.
“I don’t care what shit you have going on—stealing my cigarettes and a twenty from the drawer is strike two,” Vinny whispers in a loud voice. He’s pointing his finger in Bash’s face.
“I didn’t steal—I borrowed,” Bash jokes. “I put the money back.”
“Two weeks later.”
I try not to listen, not to stare, but I can’t help it.
“Sorry.”
“One more strike, Bash, you’re out. I’m sorry. This is a business. And replace my cigarettes.”
Bash’s head is low, his jaw clenched. “You know why I need this job.”
“Then don’t fuck up again.” He places his hand on Bash’s shoulder but catches me watching. He turns to me. “I’ll have a schedule for you in a couple days, but until then, just come and go as you please while you learn the ropes. I know you’ve got a lot going on, but we’re glad to have you onboard. If you have any problems, my cell is on that list by the computer.” He points
to a faded sheet with barely visible numbers.
“Thanks,” I say.
“Bash will teach you everything you need to know.” He leaves, and Bash flops back into his seat. The mood of the room has shifted. Feels like the ceiling is falling down on top of us.
“What should I do?” I ask.
He grabs a bottle of hand sanitizer and spreads a thick streak in his palm, rubbing until it’s dissolved.
I scoot my chair up next to his, pretend not to have heard what Vinny told him. Our knees touch in this way that kind of grazes, kind of shoots a jolt through me. I pretend not to feel it, and I can tell he does, too. “Teach me, Yoda,” I say.
His eyes find mine, and we’re close enough that I can really see into them. My reflection and everything.
“So there’s nothing the doctors can do … for your … brother?” he asks.
The question catches me off guard. I shift in my seat. “Uh, they want to take him off the ventilator. See if he can breathe on his own. But our insurance doesn’t want to pay much more and…”
He leans in to me. I smell him. Can’t say it smells good, but for whatever reason, I like it. “And what?”
“It’s like a Dateline mystery. We don’t know who did it, probably never will.”
He turns away. “That sucks.”
“I just want him to open his eyes,” I say. I wipe away a tear with the tip of my pinky finger before he can see. He shuffles the stack of papers, pretending we weren’t having a super-serious conversation, just as someone comes through the door.
“Well, hey, hey, hey,” a boy says, making a kissy face toward me. “Who’s the new fox? Ho-ly guac-o-mol-e.” Bash jumps up from his chair and runs around to the boy, who towers over him, trying to usher him out before I get a good glimpse. The boy resists, pushes his way up to the counter, where I now see him clearly. He’s a total cliché. Tall, dressed like he’s got money, diamonds in his ears, and slicked-back hair. It’s like he knows what he is, where he comes from, and doesn’t even try to fight it. He opens his mouth, and the smell of alcohol wafts out—hard liquor.
My nose crinkles.
“Doesn’t matter,” Bash says, pulling on the boy’s arm. “We’re not open yet. Out.”
The boy pushes Bash away, knocking him into the concrete wall near the exit. “Stop, dude!” He turns back toward me and ducks his head inside the small window while Bash is reaching for him. I scoot my chair farther back from the opening, just out of this boy’s reach. “I’m Kyle. Are you single? I’m single. Wanna mingle?”
I say nothing, instead look to Bash, who is now rubbing his arm. “You’ve got to go,” he says.
Kyle, or whatever his name is, grins with a smugness that screams insecurity. “Silence is a true friend who never betrays,” he says, pointing to me, then to Bash, then to me again. “Hmm? You got that? Confucius—my script magician of life.” He’s stuttering, slurring his words.
Bash gets ahold of Kyle’s shiny leather coat and shoves him out the door. Hard. “STOP DRIVING AND CALL A CAB, YA DRUNK DOUCHE!”
He pulls the door shut quickly and twists the lock behind him.
“You know him?”
“Unfortunately.”
“Sucks for you.” I look at the clock. “Also, it’s like four in the afternoon. Why is he wasted?”
He rubs the skin between his eyes, his hair falling into his face. “Because that’s Wild Kyle. He does whatever the hell he wants.”
“I remember seeing him wasted at that party and, no offense, but he seems pretty terrible.”
He glares at me, but his face softens the longer he looks at me. “My mom used to babysit him. He’s been following me around ever since. Like a bedbug. He’s really not that bad once you get to know him.” There’s a short pause. “Yeah, he is. I don’t know why I said that. He’s the worst human being I’ve ever known. But I guess I kind of care about what happens to him or something. I’ve got a death wish.”
“I get it. Sounds like my little sister.” I scoot my chair closer to the window where my feet disappear beneath the desk. He looks up at me, through this thin sheet of pain, and in his eyes, I feel that warmth again. He smiles, then quickly retracts it.
“There’s a binder in the filing cabinet. Read it. If you have questions, ask Dave.”
“But Dave can’t talk.”
“Sorry, gotta make sure my idiot friend doesn’t kill anyone. Later,” he says, rushing out. He disappears, only the scent of him, something terrible, lingering behind.
I don’t see Bash again for a few days. He bails, leaving Dave and me to figure things out with no verbal communication whatsoever, which if you’ve never tried, is really hard. When my time is up this shift, I make my way home. I debate texting Vi to tell her I now work with the mysterious boy from “the rager,” but I know she’ll lecture me about “dudes like him,” just as she did when she pulled me away from him. It’s not like us to keep secrets but these days, I’m doing a lot of things out of context. What’s one more?
Dad’s car is gone. Judging by the temperature of the space, the coldness of the leaked oil I swipe across my finger, he’s been gone a while. Like maybe he never came home from work, if he went at all. I walk inside and toss my things on the muddled kitchen table. A loud blaring boom spills from Brynn’s room, where the door is wide open. Her back is to me as she glides a jet-black pencil around her eyes.
“Where’s Sarge?” I scream.
“Hospital with Mom,” she screams back.
I walk over to the laptop on her bed and punch the volume down. “Dad, too?”
“Dad’s working. Again.” She spins around to face me so I can see her more clearly, the pencil lodged between her freshly painted black nails like a cigarette. She’s dressed in a black miniskirt that looks more like underwear and a white V-neck that’s been cut at the midriff.
“Uh, where are you going?” I ask.
“Out.”
“Like that?” I hear Mom’s voice, not mine.
“Yeah, so?”
“Mom and Dad said it’s okay?”
She huffs. “Before, it was all about you, and now, it’s all about Benny. They don’t give a shit what I do.”
My brows knit together as I study this girl who’s transformed overnight. Or maybe it’s been happening, and I didn’t notice until now. She isn’t a kid anymore—it’s obvious by her curves—but she’s not a woman yet, either, obvious from her words. She’s in between, trying to navigate her place, her body, her boundaries—things I get more than she knows.
“They care,” I say. “You want Benny to wake up, too. Imagine what Mom and Dad feel right now.”
She laughs, tosses the pencil into a case on her dresser. “If Benny doesn’t wake up, this is just the beginning.”
She sounds different, more cynical. A jealous hatred leaks out of her, and I’m wondering how she could be so cold. I think of Violet’s horoscope that promised new beginnings. Goose bumps coat my skin.
“Did something happen?” I ask, afraid to know the answer.
She shakes her head. “Nope. Just realized life is too short to sit around and watch everyone frozen in this weird parallel universe where good things don’t happen—where we all die a little every day without good things happening—without MIRACLES!”
Her words sink all the way in as I watch this almost-fourteen-year-old twist her hair up into a high knot where a few loose wisps fall free. Maybe this little brat has it figured out more than any of us.
“Just so you know, boys, the good ones, will like you even if you don’t dress like that.”
She glares at me, at another one of my big sweaters fluffed up around me. “This coming from … the town bag lady. Might as well be a nun in those gross clothes.”
“I’m just saying … there are some boys who see what you’re wearing and think it’s an invitation or something. Like you’re—”
“Like I’m what—asking for it?” Her hand is on her hip, and she walks toward me.
&nb
sp; “Yeah.”
“Maybe I am.”
Her eyes challenge me. I back down, move toward the door so she can’t see my own mistakes scribbled across my forehead. Truthfully, I envy her confidence. Instead, I prefer to hide behind my clothes, my glasses, and my scientific facts because it’s safer that way. I open my mouth, but the moment I do, a horn blares from the driveway. I poke my head around the corner to see two headlights gleaming through the window right into our bare cypress.
“Welp, good talk,” she says. “Later, loser.” Her lips upturned, she throws a skinny jacket over her shoulder and slams the door behind her. I watch from the window as she piles into the backseat of this car, with these friends—who are apparently old enough to drive—I didn’t know she had, and I think maybe she’s right about everything.
I watch the headlights reverse down the driveway, careful at the base where everything changed so quickly, and my heartbeat accelerates. I feel those moments all over again. Like even though we’ve never been super close, I’ve lost Brynn, too. Maybe I’m destined to walk the earth alone, inside my head, always.
Short of breath, I open the front door, and the wind hits my face. Plunging my hands into my pockets, I walk down the hill to where a new pile of stuffed animals and trinkets encircles the crash site. I squat and pick up each item, one by one, to say hello. Even for a highway, it’s quiet now. No one wants to drive here anymore. I count how many cars pass as I sit here—two—and relive the night in my head, retracing every step, every choice. If only I’d talked to Mom about the party, the scholarship, this boy now known as Bash sooner, if only I hadn’t let these completely normal things fester and grow into monsters inside my mind, we wouldn’t be here. I don’t know much about a grand plan or fate, but I know it’s my action, or inaction, that is undeniably part of the equation.
While I’m lost in thought, the full moon breaks free from the clouds. The illumination casts shadows that stretch far and wide and a strand of glowing light shines down on the prayer sheath I’m sitting beside. Out of the corner of my eye, I see something reflect off my glasses. I poke my finger into the dried-up grass and brush away the dirt to pinch a hollowed silver metal circle with a triangular-pointed trinity molded inside. I angle it up toward the moon, one eye shut to study the object and think, Surely the police didn’t miss this; it couldn’t be related to Benny’s accident. Cars pass through here all the time. Or did. I look up, clutch the metal in my palm, and decide to do the only thing I can think of in my dreary state: Hide it. I don’t know why this feels okay, but right now, what does?
The Inevitable Collision of Birdie & Bash Page 13