Wilder

by Andrew Simonet

  “And your hair…” Marcy or Ann-Marie said.

  “Your hair is amazing, it’s so shiny and dark,” the other one said.

  “You’re very kind. But you boys.” Meili pointed at Mark. “F. And for you.” She pointed at me. “F minus.”

  Tammy socked Mark in the shoulder. “Come on, isn’t she pretty?”

  “Yeah, no, she is. But I can’t tell another girl she’s pretty in front of you,” Mark said, a credible defense.

  Butchie was standing. Leaving? Walking over here?

  “Here’s what you say, Mark,” Meili said. “‘Oh, Melissa, you are such a pretty girl. Of course, you can’t hold a candle to my gorgeous Tammy, but you are attractive.’ Got it?” She turned to me. “You don’t even have that excuse, do you? Have you got a girlfriend? How could I not know that? Have you got one?”

  Someone pulled into the parking lot. Not a car I recognized.

  “Can’t remember.”

  “Oh, fuck off. You couldn’t possibly, the way you act. Such a pain in the arse. You should see him in the Rubber Room. Though he did teach me how to ride a motorbike today, which was amazing. Ever done it?”

  “Jason, man, you can’t be here.” Butchie was standing next to me now, and I braced for a punch or a grab.

  “I’m here, aren’t I?” I said. Exactly what Meili said on my front step. Same tone and everything. Weird.

  “Come on, man, you and the girl should go.” He was giving me a chance to get out of the fight, which was nice, considering.

  “I’ll go when I’m finished.”

  “Just take your food and go, man,” Butchie said. “Don’t make it a thing.”

  “Shit, I do need to get home, Jason,” Meili said, checking the time. “Gawd, my aunt’s gonna have a cow.” She took a bite of her hot dog and stood up.

  “I can’t leave now,” I said.

  Mark absorbed himself in his phone to avoid taking sides, but Tammy jumped in. “Come on, Butchie, don’t be a dick. We’re all hanging out.”

  “It’s not me, it’s Ronny and those guys.”

  “So don’t tell them Jason’s here.”

  Meili was pulling me. “I do need a ride. Come back and arm wrestle your little friends after you drop me home, ’K?”

  I stood up. This wasn’t good.

  “It’s nothing personal, Jason,” Butchie said, shrugging.

  “Fuck you, it’s not personal,” I said, turning around, ready to get in his face. But Meili pulled my wrist hard, and I stumbled toward the door.

  “See you guys later!” Tammy called after us.

  Ding-dong. Round over.

  We were in the parking lot.

  “Why are you doing this?” I said. An older dude was getting out of his car. Not part of it.

  “Doing what?” Meili asked.

  “If I come here, I have to stand my ground.”

  “Take me home, and then you can come back and do whatever you want, can’t you?” She was on the back of the bike. At least I wouldn’t ride bitch out of the parking lot.

  “Fine.” That’s exactly what I would do. Ride her home and come back to get my ass kicked. Fuck.

  I put my helmet on my lap and gunned it out of the parking lot. Meili held on extra tight, but the thrill of touching her was gone. I was in fighting mode.

  “Where do you live?” I yelled.

  “Drop me at MacArthur Street.”

  “You’re really fucking things up for me, you know that?”

  “Come on, that was fun. Who cares what they think?”

  “Now, it’s gonna be: ‘Jason showed up at Stewart’s and had to be rescued by the weird girl with the accent.’ Now I’m a pyro and a pussy.”

  We rode on in silence.

  I pulled off by MacArthur. “You live here?”

  “Up the road a bit. But it won’t do to be dropped off on a motorbike.” She handed me her helmet. “You really care what people say? It’s so stupid. It’s like … it’s like sport.” (She never said sports, always sport.) “If you follow it, if you spend all your time thinking about it, then it’s like: ‘Oh no, my favorite player got injured, what a tragedy.’ But if you don’t follow it, it’s like: ‘Football who?’ Doesn’t exist.”

  “I care what people say because I’m in danger.”

  “Oh, please, you’re in danger cause you want to be. You love it. And did you even hear the conversation back there? All these white people talking about how I’m Asian and desirable and have secret powers. And meanwhile lit’rally every man in this town stares at me, and half of them say something nasty. Now that’s fucking dangerous.”

  That was deep. It wasn’t the spelling of PersuAsian that pained Meili. Why hadn’t I been more disturbed by that conversation?

  An SUV roared by. Ronny?

  “Yeah, that sucks, but you’ll be out of here in a few months.” I didn’t know that, but I assumed it was true. “I live here. And you’re making that a lot harder.”

  “I’m so sorry. Is your life hard? That’s certainly got to be my fault.”

  “You’re impossible.” I put my helmet back on.

  “And unattractive, don’t forget. And I’m a weird girl with an accent.”

  I backed the bike up. I was done talking.

  “Thanks for the ride,” she said, and gave me a gesture, a two-finger peace sign with the back of her hand, which I later learned was her version of the middle finger.

  I rode back toward Stewart’s wishing she was still holding on to me.

  The evening sun pushed shadows across the road, strobing faster as I accelerated. Alone.

  Goddammit.

  Before I got to Stewart’s, I turned onto my road and went home.

  * * *

  Meili and I didn’t speak Monday in the Rubber Room.

  That night was the first time I saw Manny.

  I was home, rereading The Fallen Queen, the first book in my favorite series, and listening to hip-hop.

  He may have been knocking for a while; I heard him when the song ended. It was after nine, I had to be careful. I looked out and saw a guy I didn’t recognize. He wasn’t white or black, maybe Chinese. Hawaiian? Super short hair, arm tatts, clean-cut but muscled. Not someone I open the door for.

  I yelled, “Who is it?”

  “Hello, Jason. My name is Manny.”

  “What do you want?”

  I checked the back window and the side yard. Could be more of them ready to rush in.

  “I’m here about Melissa.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I want to talk.” He paused. “I’m Melissa’s friend. Please.” His calm voice made my two dead bolts plus a knob lock seem absurd. And he used the magic word: Melissa.

  I cracked the door. “What?”

  “May I come in? I have a gift.” He held up a dirty cardboard box. Nice gift.

  I opened the door, and Manny walked in. Glided in. He stood in my barren living room, the kitchen fluorescents glaring in sideways. I didn’t want him to sit. I had already broken my first rule: never let anyone in the house you can’t forcibly remove. Manny would be hard to evict, maybe impossible.

  “This is for you.” He handed me the box. Inside was a carburetor, the same as my bike’s. He smiled when he saw me recognize it. “I understand you’re having starter problems. This will help.”

  Manny was warm. Manny was generous. Behind all that, Manny could kick your ass.

  “Uh, yeah. Thank you. How did you—”

  “I need to talk to you about Melissa.” He sat on the faded pink, fake-leather sofa. “Please, sit. This is a conversation.”

  I pulled a folding chair over and sat with the carburetor in my lap, not relaxing.

  “I have to ask a favor. And, please, it’s nothing personal.” He sounded like Butchie. “You need to stop seeing Melissa.”

  Was I seeing her? As in dating? God, I wished I was.

  “Says who?”

  He dodged that one. “Melissa is in a delicate situation with her citizenship
. She needs to keep to herself for the time being. If her situation becomes more … stable, then of course you would be welcome to visit with her whenever you want.”

  Huh.

  “And who are you?”

  “I’m a friend. I watch after her. And trust me, if you want what’s best for her, and I know you do, you will leave her alone.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  He dodged this one, too. “Jason, I’m sure you don’t like being told what to do. I wouldn’t either, if I were you.” He stopped, and his voice changed. “But you’ll do as I ask. Because you aren’t foolish, and you have a lot to lose. Especially now.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  He smiled and shook his head slightly. “When I threaten you, you won’t need to ask if it’s a threat.”

  I’ve heard a lot of guys talk shit and act hard, and 99 percent of them are faking. Manny wasn’t. Manny was understating how hard he was, I could feel it. It kind of made me want to hug him, and it kind of made me want to punch him in the fucking mouth.

  “It won’t come to that,” he said, smiling but still in charge. He stood up and extended his hand. “Good luck with the bike. If you have more engine problems, come to Gorman’s. I’m sure I can help.”

  I didn’t shake his hand. We stared a bit too long, then he walked out, closing the door carefully. “Good night, Jason.”

  I put the cold, heavy carburetor on the floor. What the hell just happened?

  * * *

  The next day, it took forever to get a moment with Meili.

  Sometimes when Meili was absorbed in a book, she would drag her top teeth across her bottom lip: a silent, slow-motion “Fffff.” There was this moment when her lip would release from her teeth and pop out. I timed my nonchalant looks at the clock to catch the end of the “Fffff.”

  “Fffff.”

  9:57.

  “Fffff.”

  Still 9:57.

  At 11:30, this classroom assistant (she recognized me from Algebra but pretended she didn’t, like most people in those days) finally left us alone. Not completely alone. A boy came in crying during third period and sat way off to the side, sniffling and occasionally shaking his head, arguing silently with whatever had just happened.

  “Got a message from Manny last night,” I said.

  Meili didn’t look up. “Who’s that?”

  The other boy stopped his mental fight and stared: Talking in the Rubber Room?

  “Funny, I was going to ask you the same thing,” I said.

  She kept fake-reading. “Don’t think I know a Manny.”

  “Works at Gorman’s,” I said. “And you’re a shitty liar. I expected better.”

  She ignored that. “What did he say?”

  “He told me I’m not allowed to talk to you anymore.” I didn’t say “see you,” because that would sound like we were dating, which I desperately wanted to be true.

  “That’s a pity. Why not?”

  “You tell me.”

  “I have no clue.”

  “Is he in charge of you?”

  “Sure, why not? Everybody’s in charge of me. My aunt and uncle, Ms. Davies, the fucking principal. I get to decide, let’s see, basically fuckall about my life.” There was a long silence. “What are you staring at, cry boy?”

  The poor kid looked away. He didn’t sniffle again.

  “So what should I do?” I asked.

  “How should I know? Do whatever you want. It’s not like you’re talking to me anyway, is it?” The Algebra assistant waddled back in. Conversation over.

  Twenty minutes later, Meili said she had a stomachache and asked to go to the nurse. I didn’t see her again that day.

  FOUR

  At 3:45, I stood in front of Gorman’s Auto in a chilly drizzle. I held the box with the carburetor, now soggy from the rain.

  A pudgy man with a shaved head, the guy who’d bought the shop from Ray Gorman two years ago, stepped out of the office. “Help you?” he said, not sounding eager to.

  “I’m looking for Manny.”

  “What do you need?” He didn’t like me mentioning the name.

  “I’m returning this part.”

  The guy was unsure about me, and he did that man thing of taking a long pause. A trick I’ve learned is: don’t fill the pause. Don’t jump in and say some crap or apologize or back down. Wait, let them answer.

  “He’s around back,” he said finally. See? It works. “Blue door.”

  I walked around to a blue garage door with a smaller, people-size door built into it. Manny had knocked, so I knocked.

  “Yeah?” a voice shouted.

  “I’m here to see Manny!” I yelled, pretty sure it was him.

  The door opened with a loud scrape, recutting an arc on the concrete. Manny looked smaller in his gray coveralls, his hands too greasy for a handshake.

  “Jason. Hello.” He gestured me inside. “Problem with the carburetor?”

  I handed him the box, which had fallen apart. “I don’t want it.”

  He looked at me carefully. “OK.” He placed the carb on a shelf over the workbench and carefully folded the wet cardboard into a trash can. Dude was neat.

  I did need that carb, which was one bad thing about this visit. Now it was time for the other one.

  “I made my decision,” I said.

  “Decision,” he repeated.

  “I’m gonna keep seeing Melissa.” I liked that phrase. “Keep seeing” made me hopeful I might start seeing.

  “That’s why you came here? To tell me this?”

  “Yep.”

  He was going to hit me. I’d been hit a lot recently, but I had the sense this would be much worse.

  Fine. Bring it.

  “You’re gonna mess with my Melissa, huh? You’re gonna put my Melissa in danger?” My Melissa.

  He did this sharp motion with his head, and I brought my arms up to brace. But he just smiled. A little fake-out. And then, somehow, I was on the ground. Like I had done a backflip and ended up on my face. He had me pinned in negative one seconds.

  The fuck just happened?

  “You’re not so tough after all. You’re down right away, huh?” He pulled my right arm back, and my whole body screamed in pain.

  “Aaaaaaaaaaauuuuhhhh!” I yelled involuntarily.

  Pain does strange things to your mind. It’s a reset. That’s part of what I like about it. With my cheek on the cold concrete, I saw an empty chip bag under the workbench and thought: Manny eats Doritos.

  “You’re not gonna see Melissa. You’re done.” He increased the pressure, and I started seeing black spots.

  When I finally got some breath, I growled, “Fuck. You.” I tried to roll over with all my strength, though I thought it might dislocate my arm. This was some ultimate fighting shit. We didn’t fight like this in Unionville.

  He laughed. “Pretty good. But you’re going the wrong way. You know that, right? You need to go with my push. Elevate that shoulder.” He tapped my left shoulder and eased up a bit.

  Sure enough, I was able roll the other way, which felt completely wrong but somehow extracted my arm from his grasp. I tried to come with an elbow, but he caught it and twisted it, and I was stuck again.

  He hopped up and stepped away. “Sloppy but determined. Very American.” He chuckled and picked up a gallon jug of water, taking a sip and offering it to me. “Time-out, OK? No more fighting. We are on time-out.”

  We are on time-out is, in retrospect, a funny-ass phrase. In the moment, it was pure relief. My shoulder had been realigned in an unfortunate way, and I had to hold the jug in my left arm.

  He stared as I panted and tried to remember how to move my right side. An air gun pulsed in another garage. Then music, someone listening to a radio. Had that been on the whole time?

  “She said the same.” He grinned. “She will keep seeing you. She was here at lunch. I guess school was dismissed early today?”

  I shrugged. “For some people.”

  “Not
many guys can take that hold. Almost all submit quickly,” he said, nodding his approval. “You need that. To be with Melissa, you need that.” Was he talking about what a pain she was? Or something else? “And take the carburetor. Can’t have you riding her around on a broken bike.”

  “OK.” That was it? “So we’re cool?” This whole interaction, including the fight, had been maybe ninety seconds.

  He frowned and growled, “Cool? I don’t think so.” Then he laughed. “Look, man, don’t take this the wrong way, I’ve been hearing stuff about you.” Oh, great. “Not all of it bad, OK? Some of it very … encouraging.” That was a surprise. I wanted to talk to those people. “Melissa and I have to be careful, OK? Some things you’ve done have been sloppy. Dumb stuff. So watch the dumb stuff, OK? I’ve got enough problems with Melissa. I can’t be cleaning up your messes.”

  He said “OK” a lot. So I said, “Alright.”

  Silence.

  “OK,” he said. Again.

  Maybe Manny was the key to all of it. I don’t regret much, but if I could go back, I would ask Manny a lot more questions.

  We stood there, awkward but intent. Maybe we were sizing each other up. Maybe I had a question I couldn’t ask and he wouldn’t answer. Maybe he wanted me to leave but was too polite to say so.

  All of the above.

  “I should probably…” I started.

  “Yeah, thanks for coming down,” he said. Which was crazy considering he had nearly broken my arm a minute ago.

  I walked out into the now-heavy rain with an aching shoulder, a carburetor I would never install, a new acquaintance I would see a total of four times in my life, and a fierce desire to talk to Meili immediately.

  * * *

  “Talked to Manny again,” I said.

  “Did you?” Meili said, calm and casual as if our speaking again was no big deal. We were enjoying a long unsupervised period in the Rubber Room.

  “He said he spoke to you,” I said.

  “Maybe. Can’t remember.” Meili stared at her book.

  “Bullshit. You told him the same thing I did.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “That I won’t stop seeing you.” I used the phrase. Screw it. If she pointed it out, I could say I meant it literally.

  “Don’t exactly have a choice, do we? Erasing Room and all that.”