by Amy Reed
He’s there, on his porch, watching us from behind dark sunglasses. He makes no sign that he differentiates between us, that I am any less a stranger than Sadie, that we have shared each other’s saliva and touched each other under our clothes, that I have slept in his bed. Sadie practically skips up to him, her hair bouncing like a shampoo commercial. The porch is already littered with beer bottles, and it’s not even five o’clock.
“Hey, Dylan,” Sadie says, leaning over the rail of his porch so her boobs get pushed up. I know she’s doing it on purpose. I know what her mating dance looks like. And I am fully aware that every trace of femininity I once had is hiding somewhere far away. I watch Sadie grab the beer from Dylan’s hand and chug the whole thing. I watch him hand her another one. I feel sick, like it was me who just chugged that whole beer, like its fermented froth is sloshing around in my stomach and making me woozy. I can’t watch this.
“I’m going swimming,” I yell loud enough for Sadie to hear. As she turns around to wave at me, Dylan lifts his sunglasses. His left eye and nose are bruised, but I can still see the smirk behind the swelling. Our eyes meet, and I am suddenly breathless, made dizzy by a sickening combination of anger and lust. They are both looking at me, Dylan and Sadie, and I have never felt so much repulsion and so much craving in my whole life.
“Why don’t you join us?” Dylan shouts, saying so much behind his words that Sadie can’t hear. He’s saying I am still a warm body he wants to touch, but this is not something he wants to announce publicly.
I don’t say anything. I can’t open my mouth. So I walk away, past the deflated raft that’s been stuck there since we got here so many weeks ago, past the lily pads hiding the muck lurking below. I hear Sadie’s laughter in the breeze. The wind will carry her song across the fields. Men will hear its whisper for miles around and wonder why they are suddenly aroused. Let her claim her domain. What do I care? For the time being, she has forgotten that I exist, and I am free until she has news to report.
I try not to feel the snake of jealousy burning through my ribs. I tell myself I don’t even want him; she can have him. But the logical thoughts of my mind are doing nothing to cool me down. I am not convinced. I want him. I want him to want me. I want him to want me more than he wants her. I want him to hurt her. I want her to run back to me, crying, needing me, with a broken heart only I can fix. I want to mean something to them. I want to be important. Necessary. I want the feeling I used to have with Sadie, with my mother, that feeling of knowing someone can’t live without me.
But it’s gone. All I have is this body, sticky with sweat and dirt and animal shit. I walk far away from everyone, behind a tall patch of reeds where the farm is hidden from view. I don’t care that this part of the lake is murky and tangled with mysterious weeds, I don’t care that no one can see me, that I could be pulled under and disappear and no one would notice until it was too late. I throw off my clothes and step into the water, completely naked. I feel it wash over me like a baptism, even though there is no one here to bless me. I sink my head under and look up at the sky. The darkness swirls around me like a tunnel, and the sun shines at the end of it like a distant star, and I can’t decide whether the light is a taunt or a promise.
After some persuading, I let Sadie fish me out of the water. She drags me to my yurt, picks out clothes for me to wear, the whole time repeating a chant of “What’s wrong?” and “Are you still mad at me?” I don’t like seeing her this way, all pathetic and unsure. I don’t know which Sadie is worse—the one who takes me for granted or the one who needs me too much.
“Why are you being so quiet?” she keeps saying. “What are you thinking about?” I have nothing to say to that. I’m not going to tell her I secretly wish she’d get sick again so I can have my life back.
At dinner, she doesn’t protest when I say I want to sit with Maria and Joseph. “So nice to finally spend some time with you,” Maria says, little Bean attached to her breast as usual. “I’m so glad you’re feeling better.”
“Thanks,” Sadie says, and I can tell she’s trying hard to not stare at Maria’s boobs.
“So, tell us about yourself, Sadie,” Joseph says. “What kind of stuff are you into back in Seattle?”
I realize I’m nervous. I’m holding my breath, waiting for her to answer. I don’t quite trust Sadie around my new friends.
“Well,” Sadie says. “I like to go to shows.” She doesn’t mention how this is secondary to drinking.
“What kind of shows?” Maria asks.
“Oh, you know. Music. There’s a lot of local bands in the Northwest.”
“Joseph used to be in a band,” Maria says as she switches Bean to her other breast.
“Really?” I say. “What kind of band?”
He chuckles. “It was in college. We weren’t very good. Basically we were a mediocre jam band trying to be Phish.”
Sadie snorts, then covers her mouth with her hand and looks at me apologetically. I resist the urge to pinch her leg under the table. But Joseph is so good-natured, he laughs it off. “I know,” he says. “Probably not the coolest music, right?”
Before Sadie has a chance to attempt an answer, Maria says, “Do you know what your plans are for after high school?”
“Not really,” Sadie says, pushing the food around on her plate.
“Max was telling us she’s thinking of going to school to be a veterinarian,” Maria says.
Sadie looks at me, shocked. “You didn’t tell me that.”
“It was something I was thinking about,” I say, wanting to run from the table. “It’s not for sure. It was just an idea.”
I wait for her to cry, to stomp away in anger. But she smiles a little sadly and says, “It’s a good idea, Max. You’d be good at that.” For some reason, this makes my heart jump in my throat, makes the hint of tears surface in my eyes.
“Thanks,” I say quietly, so only she can hear.
After dinner, people congregate in the living room to play charades. “Really?” Sadie whispers in my ear with her cynical hiss.
“I want to play,” I tell her, and she looks shocked, then confused, then pleading.
“Come on, Max,” she whines. “Let’s steal a bottle of wine and go hang out by the lake, just the two of us.”
“I want to hang out here.”
She gets too close, whispers conspiratorially in my ear. “But these people are so weird.”
I step back, look her in the eye. “I like them,” I say. “They’re good people, Sadie.”
I see her jaw clench. I can tell she’s trying so hard to not say something mean, trying to be agreeable, trying to give me what I need. Part of me is grateful; in some ways, I think this is what I’ve always wanted from her—to just notice my needs, to just try to not be so selfish. But watching her squirm like this, seeing how uncomfortable it makes her to be nice—part of me wonders if this will ever be enough.
“Okay,” she says, and attempts a weak smile.
We sit down to play and a woman named Eleanor sets out a few wine bottles and cups on the table. “My first attempt at mead,” she says.
“What’s that?” Sadie says.
“Honey wine.”
“Thank God,” Sadie says under her breath as she rushes over to get her sample.
Everyone else sips slowly at the thick, strong wine, but Sadie’s already filled her glass twice by the time everyone’s played a round of charades. It’s kind of like drinking syrup, and I have no idea how she can down it so fast. By the time we’ve played two rounds, Sadie’s already talking too loud and laughing at things that aren’t funny. This is always when my heart starts beating fast, when my breathing shallows, when my eyes start darting around for signs that Sadie’s outstayed her welcome.
“It’s so funny,” Sadie says to Yoshiro. “You’re so tiny and your wife is so big.” She is the only one laughing.
This is when I’d save the day, when I’d swoop in and save her from herself. This is when I’d be on high a
lert for damage control, when I’d carry her home and spend the rest of the night watching her either puke or sleep. But I refuse to do that this time. I refuse to let her decide when my night is over.
“Sadie,” I say quietly, trying to avoid embarrassing her. “I think you should leave.”
“What?” she says, spinning around so fast she knocks over her drink. “Oh, shit!” She retrieves the cup from the ground, her first instinct not to clean up the mess but to suck the remaining drops of wine from the cup.
“Sadie,” I say again. “You’re drunk. I think you should go to bed.”
“But I don’t want to go to bed,” she says too loudly. I can feel every eye in the room on us.
“Sadie, come on.”
“Where’s my mom?” she says, looking around. “Have you seen her?”
“Let’s go, Sadie,” Doff says, moving toward her from his quiet place in the corner. He lays his hand gently on her shoulder.
“Where is she, Doff?” Sadie says, allowing him to help her stand.
“Probably sleeping,” he says, but I know he doesn’t really think that.
Doff leads her toward the door, and I can see Sadie’s eyes already drooping. “That wine was strong,” she says, and there are a few kind giggles around the room.
“Goodnight, Sadie,” people say. She waves goodbye with a big grin on her face, like she’s on a float in a parade. Maria and Joseph are both looking at me with such compassion in their eyes I can’t stand it. I don’t want them to see me, don’t want them to acknowledge how this hurts. I don’t want to hear what people say after Sadie is gone, don’t want to hear their comments, all their judgments wrapped in kindness. So I get up too and I leave out the other side of the house, trying not to feel the burn of eyes on my back, trying not to hear Maria’s sweet voice ask me where I’m going. I may not be taking Sadie home, but I’m still letting her ruin my night.
I can hear Sadie babbling to Doff as he helps her down the trail on the other side of the lake. Her voice bounces off the water and takes over the night. I walk my trail alone, with nothing to distract me from the voices shaming me in my head. How could I have thought Sadie was capable of changing? How could I have been so stupid? And then it hits me, like a boulder, like an avalanche, how incredibly lonely I am. I am in the dark in the middle of nowhere, and the only people I’ve ever known how to love are lost to me—Sadie, my mother, my father—all gone in their separate ways. What do I have left? Who?
I know I shouldn’t go to him, but I want that feeling back, even if it was just a hallucination. I want Dylan the way he was that night in the field, fragile and yearning and needing me, when he was lost, when I was the one who knew the way. I want him the way he reached out for my hand, the way he trusted me to show him the way home.
I know he’s on his porch before I see him. I can feel his energy in the air. “Hey,” he calls from the shadows.
“Hey,” I say back. I climb the steps to his porch. He is leaning against the wall with his legs out. I straddle his legs and pin his arms down. “Where were you?” I say, my lips so close to his I can feel him suck in air.
“Damn, girl,” he says. He tries to lift his arm, but I put more weight on it. He laughs. “I wouldn’t have thought you were into this kind of thing.”
“Where’d you go?” I say. “After that night. Why’d you disappear?”
“It was work stuff,” he says. “Deliveries. I didn’t really have a choice.”
“You didn’t tell me you were leaving. You didn’t say goodbye.” I lean in harder. “Then this afternoon you acted like you don’t even know me.”
Then all of a sudden I am flipped over, on my back, my arms pinned down. Dylan’s on top of me, his face dark in front of the moon, his thighs pressing hard against mine. I feel my heart pounding hard in my chest, the muscles tight in my arms, straining enough to feel caught, but not enough to get away.
“First of all,” he says. “You left me first. Remember? I woke up the next morning and you were gone.” I stop fighting. I arch my back. I lift my pelvis to meet his. “Second of all,” he continues. “I know how girls get, and I could tell you two are in the middle of something I definitely don’t want to be a part of. So it seemed like a good idea to keep my distance, okay? Avoid whatever’s going on that’s got your fangs out. Sound fair?”
“Yes,” I say breathlessly. His hands are still on my wrists. I squirm a little under him, but not too much.
“Do you want me to kiss you?” he says.
“Yes,” I say.
“Maybe I should make you beg.” His face is hovering over mine.
“Fuck you,” I say. He laughs as he presses his lips against mine. His tongue is thick in my mouth. He tastes like beer and whiskey, like cigarettes, and despite the heat, despite every part of my body wanting to grab on to him as hard as possible, I feel a momentary revulsion, like this is not at all what I wanted, not at all what I was yearning for. He tastes like something rotting. His body feels like a dead weight on top of me.
I push him off. I sit up. I gasp for breath, for the taste of clean air. I rub my wrists where he held them so tight.
“What happened?” he says, pulling himself up.
“Why do you drink so much?” I say.
“What?” he says. “What are you talking about?”
“You drink all day long,” I say. “That’s not normal.”
“One minute you’re frothing at the mouth you want me so bad, and the next minute you’re criticizing my drinking? Girls are crazy.” He pulls me onto his lap, wraps his arms around me, kisses my neck. I begin to melt. All thought disintegrates. His hand goes to my zipper. An alarm goes off in my head.
“I know practically nothing about you,” I say, breaking out of his arms. “Why is that?”
“Jesus, what’s with all these questions?” I can tell he is losing patience.
“I want to know you.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s what people do in a relationship.”
He laughs, and I feel the slice through my heart before he even says it. “Who said this was a relationship?”
I turn to stone. Stones don’t breathe. Their hearts don’t beat. Stones don’t feel anything.
“Oh, fuck,” he says. “Come on, calm down.” I feel him pawing at me. “This is fun, right? That’s what we’re doing—having fun. That came out wrong. I’m sorry, okay?”
He starts kissing me again, but my lips don’t move. He wraps me up, pulls me tight to him, presses his face against mine so hard our teeth scrape. I try to pull away, but he’s holding on too tight. This isn’t fun anymore. This isn’t a sexy game.
“What the fuck!” a voice says, tearing the night apart, tearing Dylan away from me. We both turn our heads to find Sadie outlined against the moon, her hair crazed and tangled and ominous. “What the fuck, Max?” she says, her voice a throaty mix of hurt and anger.
“Sadie,” I say, but I can think of nothing more.
“Really?” she says. “This is happening? This is really happening?” She is shaking her head side to side, as if disagreeing with herself will make this less real. She is crying. The moonlight illuminates the tears running down her face. “Max, why didn’t you tell me?”
Dylan slithers away into his cabin and shuts the door. “Fucking chicks,” I hear him mutter.
Sadie backs away. “Wait,” I say. “I can explain.” But can I?
“Get off my fucking porch!” Dylan shouts from inside. “Take your little bitch fight somewhere else.”
Sadie stumbles off the porch and starts running. “Sadie, wait!” I call after her, but she doesn’t stop. She makes it halfway around the lake before she trips and falls to a heap on the ground. I jog up to her sobbing, slumped-over figure. She can’t catch her breath. She’s hyperventilating.
I rub her back. “Breathe, Sadie.” She just looks at me with panicked eyes. “Look at me, Sadie. Listen to my breath.” I breathe in slowly, out slowly. I grab her hand and pl
ace it on my chest. “In,” I say. “Out.”
It takes a while, but eventually she starts breathing normally again. And then she just cries. I hold her as she sobs. I whisper “I’m sorry” and “I should have told you” and “It’s over now, anyway.” I say these things over and over until she stops crying, until she’s just limp in my arms.
“I was coming over to apologize,” she says. “That wine was so strong, and my tolerance is so low now. I threw up when I got back to the trailer, and then I kind of sobered up.” She looks up at me with so much love in her eyes, so much need, and just like that, so quickly, I forget why I’ve been so mad at her. All I remember is loving her. All I remember is needing her to love me.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m sorry I embarrassed you.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Dylan. It just sort of happened.” I smooth her hair down with my hand. “I think I was afraid you’d be jealous.”
“I am jealous,” she says, attempting a laugh, but it just comes out like an exhausted sigh. “Of a lot of things.”
“What could you possibly be jealous of me for?”
“How happy you seem these days. How well you’re fitting in here. How easy you make everything look.”
“It hasn’t been easy,” I say.
Sadie sits up, puts her arms around me, and squeezes tight. “I miss you, Max.”
“I miss you too,” I say, and squeeze back. I miss our old ease. I miss having a partner. I miss not feeling so alone.
“Stay here with me,” Sadie says when we get back to the trailer. I am tired, and the other side of the lake suddenly feels so far away. It is way too close to Dylan. So I climb into the twin bed and let her curl around me. I lie still, held captive by her long arms, listening to her peaceful breaths, wondering why it has always been so easy for her to fall asleep.