Dark Blue: Color Me Lonely with Bonus Content

by Carlson, Melody

  I laugh. “I’m surprised you’d admit that in public.” Then I look around. “Although I guess no one else can hear this, can they?”

  “And that’s for your own good, Kara. I only asked to talk to you to let you know that I’m concerned about you.”

  “You’re concerned about me?” I feel my voice get a little louder now, but I don’t think I care.

  “Yes, you’re hanging with some questionable people and—”

  “Questionable people?”

  “Yes. Like Amy Weatherspoon, for instance. Everyone knows that girl is nothing but trouble.”

  “Hey, Amy may have her problems, but at least she’s a good friend. Not like some people I used to know.”

  Now Jordan scowls. “I don’t know why I’m even wasting my time trying to talk to you, Kara.”

  “I don’t know either, Jordan. And I’m sure your friends won’t like it. Betsy already told me what you think of me.” I put my hands on my hips now and look her straight in the eyes. “Not that I care.”

  “Well, fine, Kara. Go ahead and make a mess of your life and act like a total fool. What do I care anyway?”

  I shake my head now. “Oh, you do care, Jordan. Because I used to be your best friend and I have the power to make you look bad.” She frowns now, but says nothing.

  “Not that I’d trouble myself to do that,” I say quickly. “Because I think your new friends are already doing a great job of it themselves.” Then I turn and walk away. It helps that I’m wearing these tall, black boots. It’s like they’re putting this authority into my step. But just the same, I can feel hot tears burning in my eyes. And I want to hurry up and find Edgar before they actually spill out and make black streaks down my cheeks like I just witnessed with Amy.

  Edgar is no more eager to stay than I am. But I’m not sure whether to be disappointed or relieved. I was sort of hoping that I could just walk home by myself. I don’t really want to have to explain this whole thing to anyone right now. Of course, it does occur to me that I’ll probably have to explain it to Mom.

  “You want to go get some dessert or something?” he asks after we’re back in the long, black Caddie.

  I slump down into the seat and wish I could simply vanish into the musty upholstery.

  “You okay, Kara?”

  I just shrug.

  “You want to talk about it?”

  I turn and look at him. And something about that sweet yet intense expression in his eyes lures me in.

  I nod.

  He puts the car into gear and heads toward town.

  Now I’m thinking that perhaps someone like Edgar can really understand how it feels to be spurned and rejected and betrayed by an ex-best friend. Or not. Come to think of it, Edgar doesn’t exactly seem like the kind of guy who’s had a whole lot of experience with best friends or even friends in general.

  Well, it just stands to reason that I’d come to something like this before too long. And all in one night too. First I get barfed on by the school bad girl, and then I get dissed by the school popular girl. And now I am ready to spill my guts to the school nerd. It just figures.

  nineteen

  WE GO TO A SLEEPY LITTLE COFFEE SHOP ON MAIN STREET, WHICH IS just as well since I know it’s unlikely we’ll see any kids from school here. This is the kind of place where old people hang out and eat coconut cream pie and glazed donuts as they read the newspaper or talk about the weather or politics or whatever it is that old people talk about these days.

  We sit at a table by the window and order coffee, which tastes metallic and bitter. Even when I doctor it up with sugar and cream, it’s still pretty disgusting.

  “I don’t really like coffee,” I confess.

  He laughs. “Well, even though I drink coffee, I have to admit this is some pretty nasty stuff.”

  And so we both order milkshakes. I push my coffee to the side and watch as he takes small sips from his chipped cup. Who would’ve figured that Edgar Peebles was a coffee drinker?

  “Sorry, I’m such a hopeless date,” I say in a quiet voice. Actually, I’m thankful that I managed to keep from crying on the way here.

  “Hey, you’re fine. I’m probably the hopeless one.”

  I shake my head. “No. You were great, Edgar. I was actually having fun. Until . . . ”

  “Did something happen in the bathroom?” he asks. “I mean when Amy got sick.”

  “Sort of.” I pause as the middle-aged waitress sets our milkshakes on the table. They’re those old-fashioned kind where they bring the stainless steel container with extra in it. I haven’t had one of these in ages.

  We both taste our shakes. Mine is chocolate and better than I expected. Edgar ordered peanut butter, of all things. I never even knew there was such a thing as peanut butter milkshakes.

  “How is it?” I ask.

  He grins. “Superb. Ya wanna taste?”

  So I take a spoonful and am surprised to discover that it’s really good. “I’ll have to have one of those next time I’m here,” I tell him.

  “So what happened?” asked Edgar.

  I briefly described the barfing-in-the-bathroom scene, which simply made him laugh. “Betsy got what she deserved,” he said. But then he frowned. “Still, I don’t see why that should be so upsetting.”

  “It wasn’t just that. I ran into Jordan on the way out and she attempted to give me this little lecture on how to act. Like she was afraid I was going to embarrass her or something. I actually thought that maybe she was going to apologize and that she maybe wanted to be friends again.” Okay, that last line does it to me. Now I am starting to cry. I stare down at my milkshake and feel like a total moron. “Sorry,” I manage to say as I wipe my nose with the stiff paper napkin.

  “Hey, it’s okay. I understand. If it makes you feel any better I’ve been hurt a few times too.”

  I look up at him. “Did you ever lose a best friend?”

  “As a matter of fact, I did.” He frowns now and I’m not sure if he wants to go into any detail, but finally he does. “I was in sixth grade. Tommy Benson and I had been best friends since third grade. We were both the smart kids in the class, you know, the eggheads, bookworms, nerds, geeks, whatever the fashionable term at the time was.”

  I nod sadly. “Yeah, I’ve probably used those terms a few times myself. Sorry.”

  “It’s okay. Everyone does occasionally. But anyway, something happened that year, and Tommy’s mom said we couldn’t spend time together anymore.”

  “That’s not fair. Parents shouldn’t be able to tell you who you can or can’t be friends with.”

  “As it turned out, we ended up moving that summer anyway. But I was really sad to lose Tommy as my friend. I guess I haven’t really had anyone I’d call a best friend since then. Well, other than one.” He looks up and smiles now.

  “Who’s that?”

  “Jesus.”

  I sigh. “Oh, yeah, I almost forgot about that.”

  “But it’s really true. Jesus became my best friend and he’s better than any human friend. He never lets me down.”

  I’m sure my expression is one of pretty strong skepticism.

  “Hey, I’m not trying to preach at you, Kara. I’m just saying the truth. Jesus really is my best friend. Without him, I’m not sure what I’d do to survive. But it wouldn’t be pretty.”

  I fiddle with my long spoon now. “Must be nice to grow up in a religious family,” I say absently.

  But this just makes him laugh. “Are you kidding?”

  I look up at him, feeling slightly confused. “No, not exactly. Why is that so funny?”

  “My family isn’t exactly religious, Kara.”

  “Oh. I just assumed . . . ”

  “Well, you know what they say about that word.”

  “So, your family doesn’t go to church then?”

  “First of all, my family is mainly just my dad and me these days. And my dad never goes to church. Fact is, he’s an alcoholic.”

  “That’s
too bad.”

  “Not really. He’s a recovering alcoholic. Last count he hadn’t had a drink in eight months and about seventeen days.”

  “Good for him. But what happened to your mom?”

  “My parents divorced several years ago.”

  “Was it because of your dad’s drinking problem?”

  “No, it was because they couldn’t be together anymore.”

  “Why not?”

  Now Edgar is looking at me, really studying me, as if he’s trying to determine what I’m made of. Good question, I’m thinking. I wonder if he can figure it out.

  “My parents couldn’t be together because my mom is serving time.”

  “Serving time?”

  “Yeah. In prison. She was convicted on drug charges and is doing ten to twelve years in the state pen.”

  “Oh.” I wonder if my surprise shows in my face.

  “Yeah, I don’t usually tell anyone. But I thought maybe you could handle it. You seem like a mature person to me.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Yeah, that’s the reason Tommy and I couldn’t be friends anymore. His mom was worried that my family was a bad influence. As it turns out, she was right.”

  “But you’re not a bad influence.”

  He shrugs. “That’s only because of God’s influence on me.”

  “So your mom’s in prison and your dad’s an alcoholic. Go figure.”

  “Recovering alcoholic,” he corrects. “In fact, he had an AA meeting tonight.”

  “Well, good for him.”

  Now the conversation comes to a lull and I feel the need to divulge some family secrets, just to balance things out.

  “Well, my parents are divorced too,” I tell him.

  He nods as if he already knew that.

  “My mom is pretty ordinary. Just a hard-working single mom. I’m not sure why she hasn’t remarried. But she does date sometimes. We never hear from my dad. All I know about him is that he’s an artist. Well, sort of. He’s probably a starving artist, and for all I know, he could be an alcoholic or maybe he’s even into drugs. Who knows.”

  “So that’s where you get your artistic talents?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know.”

  “Don’t be so modest, Kara. You’re really good. I think you’re the best in the class.”

  “Really?” I feel slightly stunned by this high praise. “Hey, thanks. I never would’ve thought that of myself.”

  “Well, you’re really good. And I’m sure it won’t go to your head if I tell you.”

  Suddenly I’m feeling a little better about tonight and my life in general. And I’m actually wondering why someone like Edgar Peebles wouldn’t make a perfectly acceptable best friend. I mean he’s kind and thoughtful and sensitive. I think he must have a pretty strong feminine side, for a guy anyway. Although I don’t really think he’s gay. Really, he’d probably make a great best friend.

  Just the same, I think I’d prefer a female best friend. Probably because that’s what I’m comfortable with and I think life would just be simpler that way. Especially when it comes to sharing clothes or makeup or personal concerns that might be embarrassing to mention around the opposite sex. I suppose I really need a girl to hang with.

  But then who am I to be so picky when I hardly have a friend to call my own anyway? Wouldn’t having Edgar as a best friend be better than nothing? And he is kind of cute. So now I’m looking at this semi-geeky guy and thinking he might be just the ticket. And I wonder if he’d be interested, or how a person even brings something like this up. I mean do you just say, “Hey, wanna be best friends?” or what?

  Then as we’re paying the bill and getting ready to leave, I remember how Edgar said he already has a best friend. I think those were his exact words too. He said he didn’t need a human best friend because he has Jesus for a best friend. It’s a little hard to wrap my mind around this slippery concept. I don’t actually think he’s saying that he doesn’t need anyone else in his life. But then when I think about it, Edgar has always seemed pretty self-sufficient. And I don’t recall ever seeing him hanging with friends. Of course, I’ve always assumed that had more to do with his image.

  As Edgar drives me home, I am considering this whole Jesus-as-best-friend concept. To be perfectly honest, it sounds just a little too good to be true. And you know what they say about that. Besides, how exactly does one go about becoming best friends with someone who’s invisible and silent and fairly intimidating anyway? What good would it even do? I’m thinking I might as well talk to a wall or a lamppost. Really, I think I need a flesh-and-blood friend who I can laugh and cry with, someone who can listen and understand, someone who knows how to just hang together and have a good time without doing anything special. Now is that too much to ask?

  twenty

  THE IDEA OF HAVING ANOTHER WHOLE, LONG, LONELY WEEKEND LOOMing before me is fairly daunting as I lie in bed on this dreary Saturday morning. It’s like I’m afraid to even get up. Like I don’t even want to begin this day that promises to be so boring and empty. Did I mention that it’s raining outside?

  And I already know that Mom has a sales seminar to go to. She’s probably already left by now. And Bree plans to hang with Sunny again today. Nice that someone has friends.

  I entertain myself by thinking of things I might possibly do today.

  1. I could clean my room. Not.

  2. I could redecorate my room. Doubtful.

  3. I could go to the library and do homework. Ugh.

  4. I could take a soggy run. Yuck.

  5. I could surprise Mom by cleaning house. Puh-leeze.

  6. I could get on a bus and see where it takes me. Interesting . . .

  But the phone is ringing now, and since it sounds like Bree is in the shower, I suppose it’s up to me to answer. And who knows, maybe it’s someone wanting to be interviewed for the position of Kara’s new best friend.

  “Hi, Kara?”

  “Yeah.”

  “This is Suzy next door. I know this is last-minute, but something unexpected just came up. Could you possibly babysit the boys all day today?”

  And so it’s settled. I guess it’s better than nothing and at least I’ll make some money. But honestly, what a pitiful excuse for a life.

  Fortunately Jeffy and Justin seem happy to see me and the day goes fairly well, although Suzy’s apartment is pretty much trashed by five o’clock. I’m actually sort of relieved when she calls and asks if I could feed the boys dinner and put them to bed since she’s afraid she’ll be gone later than expected.

  Suzy doesn’t get home until nearly midnight. And by then I have her apartment looking even better than when she left. I’ve discovered this is a good way to get paid extra when babysitting. And it works because Suzy is quite grateful and generous when she gets home.

  “Thanks so much, Kara. You’re the best babysitter in the world.”

  I smile and say goodnight and wonder if that’s the kind of thing I’d like to be remembered for—“the best babysitter in the world.” Hmmm.

  Somehow I make it through the next day and then I wonder why I dreaded the weekend so much when I realize I now have a whole week of school to face. And really, which is worse? A couple of days without friends or an entire week? Besides that, I remember how angry Betsy Mosler was and how she probably really hates my guts now.

  As I walk to school, I replay the unhappy events at the dance. I replay the things that Jordan said to me, and by the time I reach the school I am ready to turn around and go home.

  But what has really changed? I mean, Jordan was ignoring me before and she’ll probably ignore me even more now. So what? Still, as hard as I try to make myself believe that I am nonchalant, that I don’t care, that those stupid, shallow kids have absolutely no hold over me, I know that it’s not true. Because I do care. I do worry and fret over the snide little comments and the hurtful looks. I do wish that everyone could just be nice to everyone for a change. And here’s what’s really pathetic: I st
ill wish that life would return to what it was last summer. I still wish that Jordan and I were best friends. Why am I such a fool?

  I’m early enough for English that I can slip into the back of the room, open my book, and pretend to be absorbed by Ivanhoe. I glance up through the strand of hair that’s fallen across my face to observe Jordan and a couple of her friends walking into class. As usual they are laughing and joking. It seems their life is nothing but one big, happy party. And it makes me sick. They chat with Mr. Parker, acting like they really love his fish tie, but I’m sure it’s just a big schmoozing act for the benefit of their midterm grades. I’m sure they really think he looks ridiculous in a tie that resembles a dead fish.

  I watch them as they take seats, all clustered together as if they might feel isolated or alone should they have to sit a desk or two apart from each other. Poor things. I feel so sorry for them.

  I notice that I’m chewing on my pencil again. It looks like it’s been through the shredder. It’s a recently acquired habit that I’m not terribly thrilled about but seem unable to shake. I’m sure it’s stress-related, and once again I can feel the tightness in my stomach and my head is beginning to throb. I realize that I need to get the upper hand in this thing. I can’t let this consume me. But how do I not?

  When first period ends, I wait until Jordan and her friends have exited before I make my way to the door. But just as I’m coming out the door I see the girls clustered together again. I can tell by the way their heads are tilted toward each other that they are gossiping. I’d never really considered Jordan to be into gossip. I suppose it’s because we never had much to gossip about, but at the time I probably assumed it was because we were above such petty and juvenile behavior. Seems I’ve been wrong about a lot of things.

  I see no alternative than to walk directly past them and so I do. But as I do, I see them pause and I notice Jordan looking my way. But it’s the expression that totally devastates me. It’s like she’s looking right through me. Like I don’t even exist, or maybe she wishes that she’d never known me, never been my friend, or that I was simply dead. They say that words are painful, but I think looks can kill.