The Wrong Side of Twenty-Five

by Dionne Abouelela

  “I don’t know, maybe five? Seven? I’ve never counted them before.”

  “So thirteen blocks, possibly. What is that? Two miles? Three miles?”

  “Oh Blossom Springtime Weatherby Franklin, you are impossible. It takes 20 blocks to make one mile. When is the last time you got outside and walked?”

  “We walk to our car and then from the car to wherever we are going. It’s a small town in the country. Nothing is within walking distance. I’ve gotten in my car to go three blocks before.” I suddenly felt like a sloth, my cheeks burning red from embarrassment.

  “Well, everyone has their own lifestyle and we often don’t understand what we have not experienced for ourselves. ‘Walk a mile in my shoes’ is what I believe they say.”

  “I believe it is,” I returned. “Just don’t walk a mile in fake Louboutin’s.”

  We both fell into laughter recalling the earlier bus ride. We turned a corner around a glass window filled building, watching as the famous Arch spread out before us over the lawns of a meticulously manicured park. At night, the spotlights beamed from the ground towards the clouds in an effort to make contact with space, it seemed, and gained strength as they bounced from the curves of the metal, shooting off in different directions. The famous landmark looked enormous and small all at once, mysterious and welcoming, deadly and inviting. The large metal curve mystified and intrigued me simultaneously. If I were a traveler in the space age, or if this arch existed during the Wild Wild West, I was sure coming upon a sight such as this would scream, ‘Don’t mess with us, we have powers and building skills beyond your basic comprehension.’ However, as a modern human with no super powers from infinity and beyond, and as a human not traveling across the United States in a Conestoga Wagon, I appreciated the whimsy tourist trap for what it was.

  “What are you thinking so hard about? You’re staring at the Arch awfully intense,” Tyler interrupted.

  “I was just imagining what aliens would think if they came across St. Louis. Would they see it as some super launch pad or some holder of great secrets that would scare them away?”

  “Is that all?” he laughed.

  “Well, not exactly,” I blushed. “I was also thinking of coming into St. Louis on a Conestoga Wagon and seeing this massive silver structure just looming into the sky. Wouldn’t you be terrified? I’d turn my wagon around and head for a new town.”

  He laughed harder. A little too hard and I suddenly became uncomfortable. I had made myself into an idiot once again. I really must move on in the morning. There is no saving me from the idiocy I have spouted here on my first extended stop.

  “Well, first of all, your mind is adorable. I’m going to start with the aliens. Based on what I’ve seen in sci-fi and from the great cinema god Spielberg, I would say it’s safe to bet the arch would not intimidate a single alien. I think they would laugh at its puny size and dump showers of laser beams onto it until it melted into a pool of molten goo with the rest of the city.”

  “Fair enough. I suppose if their ships are as big and powerful as conspiracy theorists lead us to believe, they would assume the arch would shoot out water balloons and simply laugh while they ushered in our imminent doom.”

  “Correct,” he laughed, this time a bit more softly and friendly. “Now, about the Conestoga Wagons. Did you ever, um, attend a history course in your life?”

  “Of course. I did graduate from High School. Maybe I didn’t pay attention, but isn’t all of this Americana and such old as dirt?”

  “I suppose that depends on how old dirt is. Here at the Gateway Arch, the dirt dates back to 1965. That’s when the arch was finally opened. A good indicator of the history and timeline of the arch is the fact wagons were made of wood and the arch is made out of steel. If they had the ability to build things like this, I doubt we would have had Oregon Trail to play back in the day. Although, I suppose some hippies might have traveled by Conestoga Wagon to fight the man that held them down, but for the most part, they came by car. Do you want to walk closer?”

  “No. I’ve had my fill of silver monuments that want to burn you to death,” I quickly retorted.

  “Blossom, it’s 8:15 p.m. It’s not going to singe you to death or send out any killer laser beams from it’s upper deck. Hopefully, you’ve learned to stop touching things made of metal in the middle of the day. As far as I know, the Arch is closed at the moment. You’re perfectly safe. Nothings wants to kill you or abduct you into space and another dimension.”

  “I never said anything wanted to abduct me. I don’t know if I do believe in aliens. I simply informed you of a weird thought crossing through my mind.”

  “Your mind does work in mysterious ways,” he said.

  “You’ve learned a lot about me in less than 24 hours it seems. Alright, we can walk closer.”

  “The river bank is quite pretty. Sometimes when I need to just clear my mind, I head down here and sit by the water. I watch the barges and boats pass, and I just enjoy the park.”

  “Have you ever gone to the top of the arch?” I asked, hoping he didn’t take the question to mean I wanted to go to the top of the arch.

  “No. Never. I’m afraid of heights.”

  His admission surprised me. Before I realized this was my opportunity to be dominant and own something over him, I agreed. “Me too! I hate heights. Can’t stand them. It’s like I can feel the height in the pit of my stomach and my legs lose all sensation.”

  “That’s interesting.” He contemplated my admission and sized me up and down as if my words were a shock. He gestured for me to take a seat on the plush green grass surrounding the arch, and we watched the night sky deepen and the streets lights brighten along the Mississippi River. “What else are you afraid of?”

  “I used to think nothing but now I’m realizing I’m afraid of quite a bit — and I have been afraid of quite a bit most of my life. But, I would have to answer you with sharks. I am quite terrified of sharks.” A hearty chuckle spread out between us and he fell back onto the grass, clutching his stomach. “Tyler, what’s so funny? You asked what I was afraid of!”

  “I know,” he said in between gasps of air. “It’s just that I expected some deep existential moment after you opened with, ‘Now I’m realizing I’m afraid of quite a bit.’ You hooked me in and I thought you were going to open your heart and soul and deepest questions you hope to answer until you run out of gas money. And then your final answer is sharks. A girl from Indiana who has never been to the beach is terrified of sharks.”

  “Have you never watched Shark Week?” I screeched.

  “I have, I have. They are terrifying, but your second largest fear is something you’ll never encounter. It’s interesting. By the way, did you know there are sharks in the Mississippi?”

  “WHAT? Down there?”

  “Yeah, bull sharks. They are built so they can withstand freshwater and saltwater. This isn’t their typical swimming ground but they’ve been found here. I just remind myself they have been found here and that’s why I never go in there. Interesting, isn’t it?” He pulled himself back up and tugged his knees up to his chest to rest his chin across his arms.

  “Tyler…I would say your last name, but I don’t know it,” I said and turned to look at him with the fakest, most overacted look of shock I could manage. “You just admitted YOU are also afraid of sharks.”

  “Bennet,” he replied. “Last name is Bennet. And no, I am not.”

  “Then go, now,” I asserted as I grabbed his arms and pulled him to his feet. “Go, jump in the river.”

  “You just want to see me naked.”

  “I didn’t say take off your clothes. I said go and jump.”

  “Absolutely not,” he screeched. “Have you seen that water during the day? I may not find a shark but I would find a host of other parasites and bacteria, and who the
hell knows what, that would kill me quicker than any bull shark hunting for a delicious meal of caramel and sugar.”

  “Okay, Mr. Bennet. You are afraid of sharks and microorganisms. Noted.”

  “Ooh,” he teased, “microorganisms. Blossom scores her first big word of the night.”

  I pushed him away while he danced around me, sending him flailing to the ground. I jumped in triumph. “St. Louis,” I proclaimed. “I have came, I have conquered! I own you!”

  A loud pop, pop, pop, interrupted our merriment and sent Tyler into a panic. “Get down!” he screamed. “Now, get down!” He yanked my arms and pulled me swiftly to the ground, throwing his smooth frame over my body.

  “What the hell, Tyler? What was that?” I gasped.

  “A drive by. Those guys down by where the old McDonald’s boat used to dock were probably dealing. This isn’t the same city it used to be.” he sighed before moving my hair gently out of my face. “Are you okay? Did you get hit?” He started searching my body for any signs of pooling blood or organs hanging out of a gaping hole.

  “No, I don’t feel a thing. They probably shot in the other direction,” I stuttered.

  “Probably, but you can never be too safe. I think it’s time we left here. I’m so sorry. Why don’t we go get some coffee and then head home? I think this is enough adventure for the night.”

  “I think it’s enough for me as well. I’ve never even heard a gunshot, although all the guys around me hunt for sport. That’s really scary. Do you think we should go see if those other guys are okay?”

  “Absolutely not. Never walk into the lion’s den. You’re adorably ignorant. I’m going to say it’s safe to assume you won’t be staying in St. Louis after this and you’ll be heading on. If you ever hear that sound again, it’s a gunshot. Get down on the ground and try to make yourself as invisible as you can. If they’re shooting at you, run in a zig zag. Statistically speaking, hitting an unpredictable moving target is harder. When it’s over, get the fuck away as fast as you can and don’t try to help anyone.”

  “That’s your first dirty word, Tyler. Glad to see you aren’t the superhuman I thought you might be.”

  “Seriously, Blossom. Listen to me,” he said firmly and put his hands on my cheeks to focus my head towards him. “The world out there is scary. There’s more to it than tall buildings and sharks. There are bad people. There are good people, too, but you can’t just go off trusting every person who offers you a couch for the night, a tour of the town, or anything else. People will try to take advantage of you. Be safe, kid, okay?”

  I was shocked. In those twenty or so seconds, he may have given me the most real advice anyone in my life had ever bothered to vocalize. I didn’t know to be scared of the world. I didn’t know events like this happened outside of the movies. I didn’t know I needed to be more careful. I just assumed all people were good and all people were honest unless they had some obvious sign hanging around their neck saying they weren’t.

  I felt terrified. I felt my insides go numb; my eyes started to blur, and my breath became rapid. My heart was acting like it belonged to a rock star on a world tour during his crowd thrilling solo. “I think I should go home,” I whispered. “I’m not cut out for this. I’m just a small town girl with a strange name trying to be something else. This world isn’t meant for me and I’m not meant for it. I’m meant for Franklin and only Franklin.”

  “What do you mean you’re meant for Franklin?” Tyler asked.

  “That’s my hometown,” I sighed. “My mom always tells everyone we are related to the founders because we have the same name, but we aren’t. I don’t think anyone is anymore. Everyone who was smart enough got out, even those who built the first house.”

  “Well, Blossom. You have a lot to learn but you are absolutely meant for this world, otherwise you wouldn’t have taken your first step. It seems you’re scared of more than sharks. Maybe you’re scared of whatever you have hidden deep inside of you you don’t want to share with the world. I think you need to let that girl out, let her have some time to play and figure out where she belongs.”

  “Is the whole world violent and shocking like this?” I asked, trying to keep my voice from breaking.

  “No. Some places are wonderful, and even here, it’s wonderful. It’s beautiful and there are great gems in this city. We just have to work together to take it back from those who aren’t in agreement.”

  “Why do you stay?” I asked.

  He paused and then shut his mouth, cutting off his answer from becoming reality instead of a thought. “We’re supposed to be going for coffee, right? Let’s lighten up this evening. After all, it’s your last night in St. Louis. There are bigger things out there for you and more roadside attractions to find and harm yourself on.”

  He started to laugh. I let out a loud, “Hey!” and elbowed him in the ribs. Hard. Maybe a bit too hard as he temporarily lost his breath.

  “Damn. Maybe you should find a boxing studio while you’re out there,” he gasped. The suggestion wasn’t half bad; I’ll have to mark his idea down on my list of ways to improve who I am and who I want to be. “I have another idea. While we’re drinking coffee, why don’t we look up all the cheesy roadside attractions somewhat close to where you’ll be going? Might as well try to reach them all!”

  “Sounds like an excellent idea. I’m sure I’ll really enjoy seeing the four or five of them spread out along the way.”

  “I’m sure we’ll find more than five,” he said. “The world is a weird and wonderful place and I’m convinced here, in the land of dreams, people tend to share their dreams through spending their hard-earned money on the weirdest things possible.”

  I woke up the next morning around nine after sleeping soundly on the red plaid couch so generously gifted to me for two nights. In a half slumber, I stumbled to the shower, patiently waited per the usual instructions, and lathered myself down with the lavender soap Tyler’s mother left before laying down in the semi cool ceramic bath tub and letting the water just wash over me. I never had a bathtub before. I dreamed of one. I dreamed of who I would share the warm water with with and I dreamed of what books I would read inside of the smooth curves while I was covered in bubbles smelling like childhood chewing gum. I dreamed of a lot of things, I realized. And as the water rained down on me, I realized last night Tyler was right. I do deserve this trip. I do deserve to run away. I do deserve to let myself find her inner badass bitch and become whoever she feels she needs to be.

  I pulled myself up and stepped softly out of the bathroom, wrapping myself into one of Tyler’s fabulously fluffy bathroom towels. I had no doubt his mother picked these out. After plopping on the couch, I noticed a piece of notebook paper tri-folded next to a shoe box. My name was written across the front in scratchy handwriting — the perfect handwriting for a future doctor.

  Dear Blossom,

  Thank you for hanging out with me the past day and a half. It’s been fun and I’ve never done something like invite a complete and total stranger to share my house. I wish you the best on this road trip. I know it’s going to be something you will never forget. That is why I’m giving you the gift in the shoebox. I have to be honest: it’s not brand new, but I don’t use it and I think it will serve you well. I’m also sorry I only have a shoebox, but you know, guys don’t keep wrapping paper and bags laying around for last minute spontaneous gift giving. On second thought, I bet you don’t, either. Anyway.

  I noticed your phone was from the stone-age, but if you ever find a computer or have a chance to email me, let me know you’re doing well. Or, stay in the stone-age and send me a postcard or two. Stay in touch, all of my contact info is below.

  Have a blast,

  Tyler

  555-4105

  tbennet@pmail.com

  P.S. You sleep like a troll. I took your car this
morning and filled it up for you. It’s not much but hopefully it helps you on your journey and can get you some extra miles. I also threw in some coupons for BurgerBarn, but don’t go home with anyone, okay?

  For real this time, have a blast,

  Tyler

  I thought it was adorable he signed the note twice. I’ll have to ask someone if you’re supposed to sign a letter again if you include a P.S. I’m pretty sure you don’t, but Tyler is more educated than I am. I am marking this down on my list of things to find out before I settle down.

  A laugh escaped my dry semi-chapped lips and a tear formed in the outer corner of my left eye. No one had given me anything unless they were forced to out of formalities. Family would come to various birthdays with the cheapest presents they could get from the clearance rack of WorldMart, because gifts were expected, and if you wanted your children to get gifts on their birthday, you had to give gifts to all of the other hellions you pretended to like. Mom would always sigh and tell me, “I probably shouldn’t be giving you this but I suppose you’ll need it,” throwing me a half empty box of tampons. My life consisted of cheap plastic knock off Barbie dolls that crumbled when you touched them and half empty boxes of tampons.

  Note to self: become a better gift giver. Find people to give gifts to or just give gifts because you want to give someone a damn gift.

  I opened the box carefully, unsure of what I might find inside, only to see a shiny red digital camera, charger, and an extra battery. I never owned a camera before. Mom said they were too expensive and why anyone would want to keep photographic proof of our shitty life was beyond her. Secretly, I longed for one last night when sat in the café, sipping fancy coffee with foamed milk on top and chocolate drizzle that didn’t break through the fluffy white cloud. We were busy looking at all of the places I could stop if I continued due west, went a little north, or a little south on Tyler’s super space age cell phone.