“Hi,” she replies. The store is empty except for Mary, the boy, and a clerk. The space is filled with row upon row of old albums, packed into long wooden boxes, raised on makeshift legs. The warm sound of a guitar picks away over the sound system.
See, not so bad
The clerk is hunched over the counter, reading a newspaper that he has pinned down with his elbows. In one hand, he holds a tray of takeaway food, in the other, a plastic fork. The boy leans around her, calling out, “Hey, Jay-Bone, why don’t you put on some real music?” The clerk lifts a pair of sleepy eyes in the boy’s direction, his face nearly expressionless. He then turns his glance to Mary, lingers appraisingly on her for a moment, then goes back to his newspaper without a word.
“Whatever,” the boy says. He turns to Mary. “I’m Van.”
Don’t
Why not?
Just don’t
“Mary,” she replies, looking away nervously.
“You’re not Catholic, are you?”
She shrugs.
“No? Good. Catholic chicks are crazy.”
Crazy
“Religious people are just mindless zombies, anyway.” Mary is struck by the strange disconnect between his angelic looks and the harshness of his words.
He’s the Big Bad Wolf, he’ll eat you all up
She tries to ignore her own warnings, but it’s so hard, so hard. Being the object of his attention is so exciting, so new—she likes it, whether she wants to or not.
“Hey, do you like The Velvets?” Van asks. She shrugs, not sure what he means. “You know, The Velvet Underground? The coolest rock-and-roll band of all time? I’m going to get a sick skull tattoo like the one on the cover of White Light/White Heat. You have to look real hard to see it. I’ll show you.”
“Um … cool,” she offers, trying to sound enthusiastic.
“You don’t know much about music, do you?” he says with his back to her, poring over a row of albums.
“No.”
“That’s okay. I’ll teach you,” he says, laughing. “Shit, it’s not here. Whatever.” He returns to browsing the records.
The records are divided into categories, their names written on hunks of cardboard stuck within the rows. She sifts through the “Golden Oldies” section, taking special interest in The Beatles albums. She drifts over to the “Folk” records and begins flipping intently through the musty paper sleeves. She pulls out a few—Judy Collins, Carole King, Simon and Garfunkel—looks at them, puts them back. Even the ones in poorer condition are more than she can afford.
“You like that old stuff?” Van asks.
“Um … my dad likes it, I guess,” she replies.
Liar
Half-liar
“He must be a geezer to like that music. You want to get out of here and walk around a bit?”
Don’t go into the woods with him
Why can’t I?
Don’t do it
Shut up
Surprising herself, she finds the courage to say, “Okay.”
The clerk looks up as the two exit the store. He says to Mary, “You have good taste.”
“Oh … thanks.”
“So, what the hell are you doing with this asshole?”
She is confused, not sure how to reply.
“Screw you, Jay-Bone,” Van replies and pushes through the door.
Once again out on the street, Van asks, “So, are you new here? I haven’t seen you around.”
“Yeah, I just moved. Up there.” She points one skinny finger toward the forested hill and her home.
“Cool.”
They walk in silence through the downtown.
Van asks, “Do you want to get a coffee or pop or something? I could buy it for you.”
“Oh … no thanks.”
“You sure? I thought all you chicks liked Diet Coke.”
She shakes her head no, looks at the ground.
Chicks
“Can I ask you a question?”
Be careful what you say
She shrugs.
“Why are you wearing a coat?”
She shrugs again.
“Aren’t you hot?”
“No.”
“It’s okay. I think it’s a really cool coat, but I’d be sweating in it if it was me. Did you get it used?”
“Yeah.”
From Daddy
“I like your whole outfit, actually. It’s styling.”
“Thanks.”
What do I say?
“I like your clothes, too.”
“This junk? It’s just second-hand alterna-gear.”
She wants to say more, to reach out, is unable to do so.
“You don’t talk much, do you?”
“No.”
“And you don’t swear, either.”
“I guess not,” she says shyly.
“What would happen if I asked you to say a swear word like 'Fuck’?”
She shrugs.
“Okay, say it. I triple-dog-dare you.”
Go back home now, back to mama’s house
She shakes her head.
“That’s too funny!” He laughs, then, changing the subject, says, “And don’t listen to Jay-Bone. He’s smoked so much pot, his brain doesn’t work anymore. Am I talking too much?”
She shakes her head no, but he seems unconvinced. A small silence develops between them as they go.
He seems okay, kind of a bit mean sometimes
No, he’s not. He’s Bad. Run away
But I don’t want to have to
Run away NOW
Seeing her lost in thought, Van attempts to break the silence. “If you like music, you should see one of my bands play sometime.”
“You play music?”
“Yeah, I play guitar. I totally suck. I’m in a couple of bands, though,” he says. Van waits for her to reply but she continues to walk mutely, her face pointed to the ground. An uncomfortable, quiet tension builds in the space between them.
He’s waiting, say something else
What?
I don’t know… ask him about his bands
“Do you play around here?” she asks hesitantly.
“No, we just screw around mostly. We played at a party once; that was pretty cool. This one guy I know thinks we can get a gig lined up, no problem. Do you want to keep walking?”
“Okay.”
“Hey, have you been down to the waterfall yet? The one over by the railway trestles?”
“No.”
“You wanna go?”
It could be nice
It could be dangerous
“Sure, I guess.”
“Cool. Let’s go.” They walk toward the train station. He holds her hand to help her climb down a crumbling stone retaining wall. The touch of his skin causes a flash of excitement to run through her. They cross the street and Van leads her under the massive black skeleton of a railway overpass. They pass a sign that reads Heritage Park as they head down a narrow and well-worn path to the concrete banks of the river.
Standing at the edge of the water, he asks, “You still cool to go?”
I don’t know
Mary nods, still nervous to be with him but wanting so much to be able to stay.
“Cool. We’re almost there.”
Rounding a corner, they come to a secluded enclosure, ending in a small, concrete dam. Gray water pours over the top in a dirty curtain of liquid, cascading down into a swirling, scummy pool.
“Cool, eh?” he asks.
“Yeah.” She tries to sound enthusiastic but finds the scene to be oppressive and sad.
“Come on down here,” he says, daring her to follow him along a narrow concrete ledge that skirts the edge of the pool. “Don’t worry, you won’t fall in!”
She shakes her head no.
“Okay, never mind.” He returns to Mary’s side. “Here’s the really cool part. Look down into the water.”
Mary looks down into the brown water, seeing her own broken ref
lection in the waves.
“Okay, I’ll tell you when I see one …” Van’s voice trails off as he scans the surface of the water. “THERE!” he calls out, making her jump. He points to a spot just a few feet from where they’re standing. Barely visible under the cloudy surface is a large, scaly fish, maybe two feet long.
“What is it?”
“Some kind of carp, I think.”
It looks to her like an enormous silver goldfish, swimming forlornly in a large, muddy tank.
“Cool,” Mary says quietly.
“Yeah … We used to throw rocks at them when we were kids.”
She can’t hide a look of displeasure.
“Well … we never do that anymore. We were just, y’know, being little assholes. You know how stupid kids are.” He looks around, as if unsure of what to say next. “There’s a cool place up here, too,” he says, pointing upward at a piece of railroad track running above their heads. He begins climbing back up the hill. “C’mon,” he says and Mary follows.
A scrubby trail leads through coarse bushes with tiny, biting thorns. Van charges through them, but Mary turns sideways, easing her way through. “There,” he says, pointing up to a rotting concrete cave below the tracks. The hole, big enough for perhaps two people to climb into, is spray-painted with graffiti and riddled with debris. The dried remains of unhatched cocoons line the corners. “Come on!” he calls, climbing up and into the dark space.
Her reluctance to climb into the filthy hole overcomes her desire to stay with him.
“I don’t think so,” she says.
“Come on, don’t be chicken!”
“I … I don’t think I’m wearing the right shoes.”
“Who cares? C’mon … Peer pressure! Peer pressure!” he teases. She does not move, but looks down at the ground instead. “Okay, okay,” he concedes, climbing back down. “It’s really grungy in there, anyhow.” He wipes dirt and rust from his hoodie and jeans. “What should we do now?”
Mary shrugs.
“Let’s go around this way, it takes us up to the bus station.” He leads her up and out of the area of the dam, back across the road and down a side street. The houses are smaller here, still older and pleasant in appearance, but not the stately mansions surrounding her new home. A white parking ticket flaps under the windshield wiper of a car parked by the curb.
“Hey, want to see the most awesome prank ever?”
“Okay.”
He goes to the car, reaches over the hood and pulls off the ticket. She marvels at his confidence, at how easily he ignores the rules.
That’s because he’s trouble
She feels too excited being in his presence to leave him, even if what he’s doing is wrong.
Van holds up the ticket. “Okay, so these tickets get dropped off at this building downtown, and you can either just pay it or you can try to fight it in court. So what my friends and I do is we take a ticket off someone’s car and check off this box that says, ‘I wish to be tried in court.’” He points to a small area on the thin slip. “Then, under ‘Comments,’ we write, ‘Screw you, pigs! OINK! OINK!’ and then, for the finishing touch, you turn it over to this side and check off the box that says, ‘I wish to be tried in French.’ Then you drop it off and the guy is totally screwed!”
“Why?”
“Well, he’s screwed ’cause he’s gonna have to go to court and it’ll be in French and they’ll probably have the ticket there and they’ll, like, ream him out for calling cops pigs, which they all are, anyway.”
“But... why do it at all?”
“I don’t know. ’Cause it’s funny, I guess. ’Cause it fucks up the system.”
That’s stupid
She turns away from him slightly, not wanting to make eye contact. “I think I should go home. I have to make dinner for my mom.”
“What are you, her servant?”
“No … she has to work.” She can feel an unfamiliar edge of anger creep into her voice.
“All right, I was just kidding. I can be a jackass sometimes. Being a cook’s cool. All I can make is toast.” He pauses before continuing. “You have really pretty eyes; anyone ever tell you that?”
Taken by surprise, she manages to say, “Thanks,” before instinctively turning her head away from him, her cheeks flushing red.
“Hey, you live nearby here, right?”
“Just over there,” she says, taking a moment to orient herself before pointing again to the hill.
“You want me to walk you home?”
Don’t do it, get away, say no
“Okay.”
As they stroll, Van continues to talk while Mary listens. They cross the bridge and head up the hill toward her house. Van wipes his palms on his jeans and says, “Y’know, you’ve got really skinny fingers.” He stops walking and reaches for her hand. Before she has time to react, he places her hand palm-to-palm with his. “See, mine are gigantic compared to yours. And yours are cold, too. This will warm them up.” Deftly, he rotates his hand, bringing his fingers in between hers. A rush of emotions—pleasure, excitement, fear—courses through her body.
Holding hands
I’m holding hands
She shivers. He drops their intertwined hands down between them.
She begins to feel detached from her own body. Her head seems to float away like a helium balloon. This contact, these feelings … when she left the house this afternoon, she could never have imagined this happening, and now it is, and it’s all too much, too fast. She feels as if she is watching herself go through the motions of walking. There is a sudden sensation inside of her, like a curtain being drawn, and she feels the shadows close to the surface, writhing with their desire to be released.
She pulls her hand away suddenly.
“Whoa!” Van looks over at her with a confused expression. “Did I hurt you or something?”
She shakes her head no and begins walking faster. Feeling his eyes moving over her, she draws her coat tightly across her chest. “This is my place,” she says coolly as they approach her apartment. She looks up and sees that there are no lights on, no signs of life. For once, she wishes that her mother was actually home.
Except she’d probably invite him in
“Can I come in and get a glass of water?” Van asks.
You shouldn’t do this
I know
Then say “No.”
I don’t know how
“Okay,” she says, pulling a key from her coat pocket. She unlocks the door of the building and steps inside. Van follows and closes it behind him. They climb the stairs, arriving at the landing of her apartment. Mary can feel her heartbeat rising, her hands beginning to shake as she tries to use her key. Eventually, the lock catches and she steps inside. She turns on the light and steps aside to let Van in.
“Cool,” he says. “I’d kill to have a place like this of my own.”
“I’ll get your water.” She takes off her shoes and goes to the kitchen.
“How many people live here?” he calls out.
“Just me and my mom.”
Mary steps back into the room and hands him a tall glass. He downs it in a series of deep gulps. She stares at his Adam’s apple, which bobs up and down with each swallow.
“I thought you were buying something for your dad.”
Her stomach twitches.
Daddy
“He’s … he’s not here.”
“What’d he do, take off on you?”
No
Sort of
“He’s just not living with us, I guess.”
She can feel her face flushing red with anger and hurt, and is embarrassed by her display of emotion. Inside her abdomen, she can sense the first twitching of the shadows. Van drops the topic, wiping his lips with the back of his sleeve. “Which room is yours?”
“That one,” she answers, pointing to her door, which is slightly ajar.
“Can I, uh, see it?” he asks. “I think you can really tell a lot about a perso
n by their room.” She looks at the dark door, slightly open, mostly closed, and feels panicked at the thought of letting him in. She can feel a silky squirming inside of her, the shadows want out so badly.
“It’s really messy,” she says apologetically.
“Why should I care? My room is a disgusting mess. My mom calls me a pig all the time.”
“No.”
“C’mon,” he says but Mary does not reply. In the silence that follows, Van takes her arm in his hand and leans forward to kiss her. She recoils from him.
“Whoa, sorry. I didn’t mean to freak you out or anything.”
She looks away from him, her heart beating violently.
“Shit. I guess I should go, huh?”
She nods her head in reply.
“It was cool hanging out with you. Sorry for being such a jerk.” Turning, he gives her a small wave, says, “See you around,” and closes the door.
Suddenly alone, she sits down on the edge of the coffee table and puts her fists to the sides of her head.
You knew he was trouble
I know
What did you expect?
I don’t know
She explodes into tears. There is a boiling inside her, an insistent surge that cannot be contained. The shadows tear out of her body, filling the room with dark and swirling shades. They spin violently around her, a hurricane of black forms with Mary at its eye.
CHAPTER
Six
Mary’s mother looks disapprovingly at the outfit her daughter has chosen for the first day of school: black shoes, socks, and pants; brown coat covering her new t-shirt.
“Nothing matches! And you can’t even see the t-shirt I bought you.”
Mary seethes under her mother’s critical gaze.
“And you can’t wear a coat. You’ll be too hot. PLEASE, take it off.”
Knowing it’s a battle she cannot win, Mary shrugs out of her coat and hangs it on a hook by the door.
“Well, that’s better, at least. You have everything you need in your knapsack?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, well, have a good day.” Her mother takes Mary’s thin arms in hand and kisses her on the cheek.
Out on the sidewalk, Mary drifts toward her new school, eventually joining a thickening stream of students funneling toward the entrance.
Notebook clutched to her chest and head tilted down, she does her best to obscure herself in the crowd. The school corridor is packed with students. She feels like a cork in a river, tossed this way and that, drowning in the noise of shouted names and slamming lockers. The air is heavy with the smell of bodies and industrial cleaner. Her senses are overwhelmed. She can feel a wave of panic surging inside of her, with the shadows riding right behind it.
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