by Lianne Oelke
Some of Marc’s friends were having a house party at an acreage just within city limits. Marc thought it would be a good idea to go. I disagreed but couldn’t physically move him off the driver’s seat. He texted Chaunt’Elle to bring out a case of beer, which she did. Silly girl. I suggested we stop to get gas first, but Marc thought we had enough to get there.
We ran out of gas at 11:43 p.m. on a dark gravel road, a good five kilometers away from everything. We figured the HOOcap in the Civic behind us would get us a jerry can. He didn’t. Or maybe Marc’s friends would come. They didn’t. I didn’t want to bother Bonnie, because she lived on the other side of the city and she had school tomorrow morning. I didn’t know of anyone else with a car. So we sat there. Marc opened the case of beer and had two. I threw the rest out the window because I did not want to spend the night in a van in the middle of nowhere with a drunk Marc. He was pissed. He turned on the CD player, and as soon as “Achy Breaky Heart” came on, I leaned out the window and threw up. As soon as I threw up, Marc opened the door. At first I thought he was getting out, but no, he was throwing up too. Most of it landed on his pants. He swore and took them off and threw them on the road as I climbed into the trunk. It was a long night.
I woke up extremely cramped. Every part of me hurt. I wanted nothing more than to stand up. And run. And join every sports team possible. Then shower. Part of the terrible smell in the van was my own body, and that annoyed me. I wondered how much longer it would take for Marc to leave.
Two more days passed. Four words, but they represent ETERNITY. A HOOcap eventually brought us gas because we were too stubborn to ask for help. It didn’t really matter to us where the van was parked because we were ALWAYS IN IT. The need to stand up and move became almost unbearable. Almost. Whenever I thought I couldn’t handle it anymore, I closed my eyes and retreated into myself and screamed inside my head. It sort of worked. I tried to keep up with homework, but it was almost impossible to concentrate. We ended up parked on our driveway most of the time. People came to visit us, but they never stayed long. Probably because we were in such a bad mood. I kept wondering when AP would call the whole thing off. This couldn’t be fun for anyone to watch.
Marc and I couldn’t avoid talking completely. We talked about school and movies and stupid things. Apparently he comes from a very close family. He grew up in Millet, which is just outside of Edmonton. That explains a lot. And his sister is getting married in July. Hooray for her. Sometimes we turned on the radio. A couple of times I caught myself wanting to sing along, or punch Marc in the face, or twitch and yell certain words over and over. When this happened, I reminded myself that the cameras were still on. It didn’t make me feel any better, but at least I didn’t embarrass myself as much as I could have.
One night we talked about the game. Not out loud, of course. We passed notes the cameras couldn’t see.
JS: So are you seeing anyone?
MARC: None of ur bizniss, little miss nosy.
JS: Just making conversation.
MARC: Who do you want to vote off next?
JS: (You, bitch!!!!!) Whoever annoys me the most.
MARC: Haha. I get it.
JS: What about you?
MARC: Robbie.
JS: Why?
MARC: Because he’s a clever little shit.
Part of me was offended that Marc didn’t consider me to be a clever little shit. Stupid, I know. But I hadn’t been thinking clearly for days.
JS: Maybe. But he hasn’t won that many challenges.
MARC: I know. But I can convince Chaunt’Elle to vote him off. It would be harder to get her to vote for you. I think she wants another girl to stick around.
I think he was telling the truth. Whatever alliance Chaunt’Elle, Robbie, and I held, it wouldn’t last forever. And it was obvious that Chaunt’Elle liked Marc more than she liked me or Robbie. If I won this thing, there would be a good chance that Marc would go home next. But if he won, it could be Robbie. Either way it will likely come to a tiebreaker. I don’t trust tiebreakers. I hate vans. I don’t trust Marc. I don’t want Robbie to leave. I hate vans.
I’m almost always happy to see Bonnie show up in her plastic yellow sunglasses with a six-pack in her hand, but I felt and smelled like a piece of shit on Tuesday evening. I wasn’t in the mood for anything but my own misery.
BONNIE
So how’s life in the van?
JS
It’s the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.
BONNIE
Lucky for you, I brought beer.
MARC
I’ll take one of those, thanks.
JS
They’re not for you.
MARC
Gonna drink them all yourself, Sinner?
Even if I could have had a beer without getting in trubs from Mr. Dubs, I didn’t want to. I felt nauseated enough as it was.
JS
No. I don’t feel like drinking.
BONNIE
Lighten up.
Bonnie cracked one open herself. From the look of her, it wasn’t her first that day. Bonnie is eighteen, but I couldn’t explain why drinking was a bad idea for me, as privacy was not an option.
JS
Can we not drink, Bonnie?
BONNIE
Come on, Jane. We’re celebrating.
JS
It’s a little premature for that. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be stuck in here with this asshole.
MARC
I can hear you, Sinner.
BONNIE
You know, not everything revolves around you and your show. Other people have lives too.
Her words came out thick and messy.
JS
Can we not do this now? Here?
BONNIE
Yeah, I want to do this here. Just pretend Marc doesn’t exist.
MARC
I have feelings too, you know!
JS/BONNIE
Shut up, Marc.
Marc crossed his arms and turned the other way in his seat.
BONNIE
Are you even going to make it to grad? Or are you too busy pretending to be a college student?
Bonnie was starting to make me nervous. She was dangerously close to blowing my whole cover, and I wasn’t nearly sane enough to talk my way out of anything.
JS
Yeah, I’m coming to grad! Relax. We’ll talk when I get out. But for now, can you please—
BONNIE
We can talk about it now! Or is living in a fucking van more important to you than your best friend?
JS
Of course not! We’ll hang out as soon as this is over.
Bonnie threw her can of beer at the van. It dented the door, just inches below where my arm rested on the open window.
MARC
Come on, Sinner. She can’t do that.
BONNIE
Just fucking watch me!
She picked up another can and drew her arm back sloppily. A HOOcap put his hand on her arm and gently lowered it.
HOOCAP
All right, Bonnie. Time to go.
BONNIE
Are you going to let them take me?
JS
What do you want me to do, Bonnie?
My head was pounding. As much as I love Bonnie, all I wanted was some peace and quiet and time away from everyone.
BONNIE
I don’t know. Maybe get up off your ass and come with me? Maybe I have shit I want to talk to you about, too!
JS
I can’t get up! Not yet! You said yourself that you want me to destroy the competition.
Bonnie, of all people, should know how far I’d come. Why would she expect me to throw away everything I’d been through the last few days to talk, when we’d talk soon enough?
Bonnie didn’t reply as the HOOcap slowly guided her back, away from the van. I wanted to go with her. She had no idea how much I wanted to. But I had spent more than four days trapped in that van, aching and filthy
and miserable. I wasn’t about to let it all be for nothing. Bonnie shouted one last Fuck you! over her shoulder—to me, to Marc, to everyone on HOO—before she disappeared around the corner.
I don’t remember how it ended because it happened while I was asleep. I’ve watched the footage several times since then. It’s probably a GIF by now. It was dark. Marc was behind the wheel; I was sitting in the passenger’s seat. Dozing against the door with my mouth half-open. He moved very slowly, reaching across me. Leather squeaked, but I didn’t wake up. Once his hand reached the handle, it was over. In one swift motion he opened the door and pushed me out.
I was a wretched mess splattered on the driveway. The first few seconds were very confusing. I was half asleep, half full of adrenaline. Half in shock, half in pain. A HOOcap stood next to my head and stared down at me with a camera. Someone else jogged up and stuck a hand in my face.
MARC
Sinner? You all right?
I hurt. Not just my twisted ankle or my face where it scraped the pavement. My whole body was cramped and aching. I had spent the last five days imagining how glorious it would feel to emerge from the van, stretching my muscles in the sun. Smiling. Triumphant. I don’t think I seriously entertained the idea of losing until it happened. I lay still for a while, organizing my thoughts, breathing cautiously to see how well my lungs still worked.
MARC
Sinner?
The pavement smelled nice. Like dirt and rocks and rain.
MARC
Jane? You okay?
I stretched out my legs and they hurt like hell. I flexed my hands, and I could feel some of the tiny pebbles embedded in my palm fall out. My head throbbed.
MARC
Jane? Jane? Jane?
JS
Marc?
MARC
Yeah? Look, I hope you’re okay. I’m—
JS
SHUT THE FUCK UP, MARC.
Then I remembered this was still streaming live. I didn’t know how late it was or how many people were watching, but it wasn’t over yet. I lay still for a few more minutes and ignored Marc’s voice. I hated the sound of it. Eventually a paramedic helped me up and wiped the blood off my face. She asked me a couple questions—I don’t remember what they were—but I think I responded. I didn’t respond to Mark, or the HOOcap. I wanted to, but all I could come up with were profanities.
Most of the attention was on Marc after that. Chaunt’Elle and Robbie came outside. AP was already there. He might have been standing there the whole time, I don’t know. Chaunt’Elle and AP went to Marc. Robbie sat down next to me on the curb.
R
He’s a dick.
JS
Yeah, well, we already knew that.
R
I don’t think it’s legal. What he did.
JS
It is, I’m sure.
R
You must be pissed.
I was. Extremely. Mostly I was pissed at myself, for not thinking of this before Marc did. I would have done the same thing. Robbie reached for my hand, and I let him hold it. I figured the cameras were off me for now.
When I woke up, Alexander Park was standing in my bedroom with a camera on his shoulder.
AP
I know you must be tired, Jane. But could you turn over so your bandaged cheek is showing? And just pretend I’m not here. You can go back to sleep if you like.
I didn’t move.
AP
It will only take a second, Jane. We don’t have to start the interviews now. We can do that after you’ve showered.
I closed my eyes. Rage swelled up within me.
JS
Look. This is a reality show. I signed up for this. I get it. But for Christ’s sake, I just gave you the last five days of my life! I gave up my privacy, my classes, my dignity. Possibly my best friend. And all for nothing. So if you don’t get out of my room right now—if you don’t let me have just one goddamn day to myself—I am going to kick you in the nuts. I am going to slash your tires. I am going to piss on your hundred-thousand-dollar camera. And if you use any of this footage, I swear I will destroy everything you love! I’ll run over your balls with that fucking van! I’ll set fire to this house!
I don’t know how long I had been yelling to myself, but he got the point. When I opened my eyes he was gone.
After he left I took a shower, since I was already up. I may have cried a bit while I washed the thick layer of grease out of my hair. It could have been from my aching body, the disappointment of losing in front of everyone, or even the sheer joy of being clean. Most likely it was the humiliation.
Needless to say, I’ve been in a bad mood all day. In the morning I watched the footage of me falling out of the van, over and over, then I helped myself to whatever was in the fridge. It’s not Friday, but I didn’t care. Everyone stayed out of my way. Eventually I grabbed my sunglasses and journal and left the house. The weather was shitty, so I didn’t want to stay outside. I ended up walking to a coffee shop a few blocks away. I ordered a large brewed coffee with the change I had in my pocket and sat down and wrote. It helped, getting all this out. Catharsis. It’s been a couple hours, and I’m starving, but I’m out of money. I don’t want to go back to the house for my wallet, and even if I do, my bank account is empty. I spent it all on fast food. It will stay empty for a while, since I traded three shifts to stay in that fucking van. Refills are free, so I’m just drinking more coffee. Maybe I’ll stay here and live off coffee forever. It might not be so bad. At least I can stand up.
I’ve been hoping for and dreading a text from Bonnie. Maybe she’s waiting for me to apologize, instead. Should I? If I do, I’m admitting that I chose the show over her. No, I’m overthinking this. All I know is that neither of us wants to go to grad this weekend mad at the other. Bonnie is the only person outside of the show I can actually share House of Orange with. She’s on my side. Maybe I’m forgetting to be on her side, too.
Also, I’m just a selfish bitch sometimes.
I’m calling her now.
ThuJun2
A lot of people were angry with me at school. Maybe not at me, but they were angry. Apparently, quite a few bets were lost because Marc won. I suppose it’s good to know that people are betting on me, not Marc. I’m still in a bad mood today, so I just ignored everyone. I have a lot of schoolwork to catch up on. Robbie photocopied his Sociology notes for me, and I’m surprised how helpful they are. Maybe I should start taking decent notes instead of drawing over everything. I should, but probably I won’t.
I spent the day trying to figure out how to cheer myself up. Most of what I came up with involved food, which I can’t afford right now. Then I remembered Carol. I’ve realized how much more I appreciate her, now that we don’t live together. I didn’t want to go home, so we met at Elbow River after she got out of school. Carol was excited to be there. She wanted to read my assignments and visit the lecture halls and meet my friends. I texted Robbie to meet us for supper later. He bought Carol a marshmallow milkshake and an extra-large poutine, which was quite nice of him. Carol was certainly impressed. He offered to buy me supper too, but I told him I’d already eaten. The practical part of me screamed, JANE, WHO ARE YOU TO TURN DOWN FREE FOOD? but I ignored it.
It was dark by the time we left the restaurant, so I rode the bus with Carol back to the parents’ house. I would have turned around and left right away, but Carol insisted I come inside and say hi to them. I couldn’t figure out how to tell her no, so we went in together.
They were happy to see me of course. I was happy to see them too, actually. Then they brought out the guilt. They asked me why I didn’t visit more often, why I rarely called, how I was doing, why I wasn’t going to church, and a thousand other questions I didn’t want to answer. I wanted to ignore them and walk out the door. I really wanted to. It would have been easier than telling them the truth. But I still care what they think of me. So I told them I was sorry, I’d call more, it’s just that I’ve b
een busy. Mom gave me a Tupperware container full of homemade cookies before I left. I really should call them more.