by Johi Jenkins
Oh, Joy, what am I going to tell her?
Margarette certainly isn’t going to tell her mother right now, but realizing she may have to eventually makes her feel like she is on a cliff, and this moment is just some masochistic vertigo before the fall.
She stands waiting for a reply and realizes her mother never came in from outside. Her mother would have to be deaf not to have heard her shout. She returns downstairs and looks around. Nothing. She peeks in the garage and sees that it is empty. Her mother is gone. It knocks the breath out of her.
It isn’t the first time that Margarette’s mother leaves without saying a word. It may have shattered her on a different day, but today it saves her from a lie in order to leave the house abruptly. What good excuse could she have to go to the pharmacy? Her mother’s absence stirs the thought of her father leaving, for some reason. Even though it hasn’t been that long, she has a hard time remembering his face without pictures. Her mother only kept a picture of him when he was a younger pharmacist. Not that pharmacists really have a distinguishing outfit. Margarette’s father never really dressed up for work. In the picture her mother looks so young standing next to him. It was her vanity that kept it from being burned with the rest the stuff he left behind.
“Where the frick is the car? Where does she even go?”
Her hands wipe her eyes and she doesn’t notice the sweeping smear near the corner of her eyes like a horn.
“MOTHER!” she screams again. Then she mutters, “I hate… this. Why is this happening to me? What did I do? Huh? What? What did I do to deserve this?”
She considers it is okay to hate inanimate objects and situations. She hated a lot of things, but not people. Gran would be okay with that, bless her soul.
The sun is out, the air is dry and her walk feels more like miles due to the reasons for it. Apparently her bad day isn’t nearly over. She has to walk down the side of the road near the edge of the ditch. It makes her feel trashy. Every car that goes past is somehow better than her, judging her.
In the middle of town she finds Square Park, and to her surprise it is mostly empty. It is the first good news all day, since a lot of kids from her school would park and hang out there. On the corner there is a family-owned pharmacy next to the old bank building. The pharmacist’s children are still in grade school, too young to know Margarette so it is much better than going to the grocery store nearby where everyone knows your business.
She has been thinking about her next few steps the whole way there. The walkway is cobblestone with scattered pebbles from the park that people have deposited from the soles of their shoes over the years. She tries to land her foot evenly on each slate stone to prolong entering. But eventually she gets to the pharmacy. With a heavy heart she pushes open the door.
Ding.
The door announces that Margarette is there to get a pregnancy test. She counts the people inside. She had planned to leave and go back if three or more people were there. Shit, she thinks. Do I count the employees?
One young woman picks out get well cards for herself and two old ladies struggle to find a better use of their time. What did Margarette care about old women anyway? Not that they wouldn’t judge her, but who would they tell other than their sewing circle? Moving on. Margarette goes straight to the aisle that holds her business as her heartbeat quickens. She examines her options for only a minute; with nerves pulsing with lightning she picks the cheapest box and heads to the checkout counter. But she turns around when she sees all three patrons are there with a struggling clerk.
Shit!
Okay. She decides to wait it out nearby, pretending to buy candy. But what if someone else comes in? Her heart is beating so fast it threatens to fail. Then she has a brilliant idea and runs to the back where the pharmacy counter is.
An old man in a white jacket stands behind the counter with his back toward her.
“Excuse me sir,” Margarette calls him.
“Yes?”
“May I check out here?”
With a smile, the pharmacist says, “Of course. Did you find everything okay?”
Nothing’s okay. That’s why I’m holding this box, she thinks bitterly. But she only says, “Yes.”
“Let’s see,” the nice pharmacist says, and takes the box from her.
“It’s for my friend,” she explains unnecessarily.
The pharmacist’s smile falters a little as he looks down and reads the box as if he were deciphering an alien language. By the time his spectacles have been successfully centered between the bridge and the tip of his nose, a grim line has fully replaced his smile.
“Oh yes… so that’s what this is,” he says.
“Yes,” Margarette says.
“Well… let’s ring it, shall we?”
She digs into her pockets and clenches a bill her neighbor gave her that week for graduation. Margarette is very good with money and never spends a penny unless necessary. Her palm shakes as she tries to straighten the bill.
The pharmacist continues awkwardly. “Does she need any instructions?”
“Who?” Damn it, damn it, damn it, she thinks the second she blurts out the question.
“Your friend. For whom this is for.”
“Oh, no. She knows what to do. She’s older.”
“Odd that she would send someone younger to get it,” the pharmacist says, looking down as he fumbles with the register.
“She knew no one would think it was for me.”
“Of course.”
There is a drawn out pause, then Margarette jumps as the register drawer pops open.
“Here’s your change.” His voice has become decidedly less cheerful. “Anything else?”
“No, thank you.”
“Whatever happens is meant to be,” he says for her or for her imaginary friend. In either case it was said in a kind tone.
She turns around and walks toward the exit.
Whimsically, the old man mutters to himself. “Such a beautiful young girl. What a shame.”
***
The glass door swings open into the parking lot. Although the transaction was stressful, at least Margarette has the box hidden in a small paper bag, and managed to escape without being seen by anyone she knows. Hopefully. She turns to look back inside to make sure, and at the same time a young man steps inside without looking up. He bumps into Margarette and automatically brings his hands to her frame to hold her steady, but they land on her chest instead.
She looks down at the offending hands and then up at their owner’s face, and Paulie stares up at her. He quickly takes his hands back.
“Margarette?”
“Watch it, Paulie.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I got a cough.” She tries to walk past him, but he catches her arm.
“Wait, I’ll go with you.”
“I’m done,” she says impatiently, shrugging off his hand. “Don’t you need to buy something?”
“I was only going to buy candy. I can skip it. I’ll go back with you.”
“No, thanks,” Margarette says. She keeps walking, crossing the street to go back through the park.
Paulie follows slightly behind her anyway. “I was at your graduation.”
“So was I,” she says, a little irritated but trying to make it sound like she doesn’t care. She is paying so much attention to his chase that she doesn’t notice that Square Park is no longer empty.
“And I clapped when you went on stage,” Paulie keeps saying.
“Well… thanks.”
“I didn’t see you after the ceremony, though.”
“I left right after with my mother…” she starts to explain, but trails off as she sees Julie talking to a big football player at the edge of the park. Julie sits on the hood of a white car while the football player leans against a red pickup truck. They’re both on Margarette’s way, and to avoid them she would have to go cross back to the other side of the street from where she just came. But that would show weakn
ess, so she trails on, determining to ignore Julie.
Julie yawns and rolls her eyes at something the guy just said.
The guy notices her exaggerated open mouth and chimes in with his best effort to be clever. “You better shut that before someone puts….” He trails off as Margarette approaches with Paulie right behind her.
Margarette squints as Julie finally notices her.
In her raspy voice Julie asks, “Is that your new boyfriend?”
“What?” Margarette asks, exasperated.
“You broke up with Tommy for him?”
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
The big redneck guy turns and looks her up and down while the two girls exchange words. This happens to be the football player would-be rapist from the party about three weeks ago. Fortunately he doesn’t recognize Margarette, and she doesn’t recognize him, but Paulie knows who he is.
“That’s right,” Julie says. “He doesn’t have to be your boyfriend for you to frick him.”
The football guy asks, “She’s fricking that guy?”
“Probably just blowing him,” Julie answers. “Lord knows he hasn’t popped his cherry; his prick will be the cleanest thing in her mouth.”
Paulie leans in and whispers in Margarette’s ear, making it worse. “Let’s just get out of here.” He is reluctant to tell her anything else about that night, and he doesn’t know that the football guy doesn’t recognize Margarette. He wants to leave quickly before the guy mentions anything.
Incensed, Margarette stays put despite Paulie’s advice. “Look… I’m not fricking anybody.”
“I bet you’d frick like a rocket,” the football guy says. “I’ll fill in for him if he ain’t doing it.”
Julie puckers her shapeless lips. “Ugh… you’ll get a virus or something.”
Paulie bobs forward as if he’s going to say something, but backs off when the guy looks up at him.
Margarette ignores Julie and looks at the guy in the eye. “Where the hell did you learn your etiquette from, you shit kicker, a dirty book store or something?”
She tries to storm off but the guy steps away from his truck, onto the sidewalk in front of Margarette.
“What did you call me?” He sounds angry.
“She called you a shit kicker,” Julie says. She knows the guy has a temper and wants to exacerbate things for her own personal gain.
Margarette keeps going. “Are you ears filled with shit too?”
“No whore like you is going to mouth off to me like that,” the football guy says in a heavy twang, towering close to her.
Margarette’s hand reaches inside her front pocket, her fingers curling around the folded switchblade while she grips the paper bag with the other hand. She looks up at the guy defiantly. “What, are you going to hit me? You would do that, you fricking coward.”
“What did you call me?” the guy asks a second time.
She pulls out the blade and snaps it open between their two bodies. Then she whispers, “If you try I’ll cut your fricking balls off.”
She presses the open blade into his pant leg just below the crotch. A black sports car pulls up, but adrenaline keeps her from looking up. All she hears is the gravel shifting under tires. She sees a spark of fear in the guy’s eyes and knows he is thinking about grabbing her. The blade slides forward without her control as if moving on its own, and makes contact.
Rip.
The fabric begins to tear and the guy freezes with the threat of pain. Julie and Paulie are unable to see her hand, but realize something else is happening because of the gap in the conversation.
“I don’t give a shit who you think you are, but no one gets in my way,” she says with a deathly seriousness. “You got that?”
“Uh….”
Margarette hears a familiar voice.
“What’s going on here?” Tommy calls. He knows who the guy is. “Hey Bobby, what the hell are you doing?”
She takes a step back as the guy turns and swings for her. She shuffles back out of range knocking over Paulie, elbowing his chest. The guy goes to grab her again and Tommy steps in, pushing the larger guy back and lays him out flat. Julie screams. The scuffle continues until Tommy gets a punch in. The other guy is huge, but bad in a ground fight. Tommy gets up as the guy tends to his bleeding nose.
“Quick, get in the car,” Tommy calls.
Margarette pushes Julie and the brown bag slips from her hand and falls to the ground. Panic grips her as she sees Julie look down at it and up at her with a confused look. She tries to go back for the bag but Tommy grabs her, forcing her inside his car and shutting the door. She rolls down the window.
“Paulie, grab the bag!” she yells.
To her surprise she sees Paulie gets it and passes it to her, then opens the door to the back seat, but Tommy starts to speed off before he can get into the car.
“No no no… stop, he’s with me,” she cries.
Tommy brakes and they all look back to see the football player steps out with a tire iron quickly closing the distance behind the car.
“Oh frick!” Tommy and Margarette say in unison.
Paulie looks behind him. “Oh shit!” He quickly gets in and shouts before even closing the door. “Go, go, go!”
Tommy puts the car in reverse, gunning it, and the football guy has to jump out of the way. Tommy cuts back into the park to make an illegal U-turn.
“Oh shit, oh shit!” All shout as the car hops the curb. But Tommy peels the car out back to the street and finally they speed away.
Tommy starts laughing after a few blocks. “Holy shit, that was cool.”
Margarette turns around and inspects Paulie. “Are you okay?”
Tommy looks at Paulie in the rearview mirror, confused as to why she’s concerned. “Is he your boyfriend?”
“Why the hell does everyone keep asking that?” Margarette asks, annoyed.
“Well I mean… wait, why what?” Tommy is at a loss for words.
“No, he’s not my boyfriend. I mean he is, but not like that. Damn it. You know what I mean. Just fricking get us out of here.”
Tommy turns off the main road and drives until he gets to the Snappy Snack Shack convenience store adjacent to the police station, not far from her house.
Tommy shouts, “Alright, out!”
Paulie and Margarette both open their doors and start to get out, but Tommy grabs Margarette’s arm.
“No, not you,” Tommy says. “You and I have to talk.”
“What the hell for?”
“I’m not done talking.”
But Margarette keeps going until she hears Tommy add, “Please.”
She stops with one leg in and the other out. She looks down and sees the torn bag on the floor.
“Okay, just wait,” she tells Tommy. She gets out and walks to Paulie. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” Paulie says. “You?”
“I don’t know. Can you go inside for a bit? If that nut comes by we’ll get a cop or something.”
“We?” Paulie repeats faintly.
She puts her arms around him slowly and hangs on him until it becomes a hug.
“Thank you,” she says softly.
Paulie smiles.
She sits back down into the car and her shorts start riding up. Tommy starts talking, but she ignores his intro to why they should be dating and lifts her hips so she can fix her shorts. Tommy explains that he misses her and that he wanted to be at her graduation. None of what he says matters much to her when she thinks about the larger problems at hand. Yet as she collects the package from the floor, she recalls that her largest problem is completely tied to him.
She turns the package so he can’t see through the tear. As Tommy explains how Sharon was at the graduation and it was her that kept him away, Margarette sits nervously fidgeting with the box, thinking about the uneasy task at hand. He is still talking, but his words are muted by her thoughts.
Tommy pauses and she looks up at him. He has the look of someo
ne who just asked a question, but she could certainly talk her way out of that even if she wasn’t listening.
“I don’t know what to think.” Margarette says.
“You don’t have to,” Tommy says.
“Why not? Why shouldn’t I be thinking? It’s my future.”
“I uh… I guess.”
“I’m not sure what you want from me. I never get what I want, so why should you?”
Tommy’s face is tender. “You can have whatever you want.”
“That is so not true.”
“I can change. I can fix this.”
“Prove it.”
“Well, if you want to ride with me to the store we can make groceries.”
“What?”
“The store,” Tommy repeats. “We can go get stuff.”
“You said make groceries.” She remembers May saying it at the disaster dinner.
“Yeah, my parents say that.”
Her father used to say that too. It reminds her of him, and strangely it connects a few dots in mind. She recognizes the familiar twang in his voice that her father used to have when he spoke. “Are they from Knowledge?” she asks.
“I grew up there. We moved when I was six. We went to the same grade school before we switched to Public High remember?”
She is shocked. He was right. He did know of her from before. It gives her a strange happiness that he remembered her.
Her lip twitches as she almost smiles. She thinks about everything. Life, her mother, her situation; and there he is still staring at her with a faint longing in his eyes. She does smile then, realizing she likes him. But her thoughts digress into reality. What if Julie saw the box when the bag fell? How long does she have before everyone in the town knows? Days? Hours?
“Do you want to go to dinner instead of making groceries?” Margarette asks.
His face brightens. “Of course! I’ll take you anywhere you want. It’ll be your graduation dinner.”
“As long as it’s not at your house.”
“Wherever you want,” he repeats. “But… I promise, next time I take you to my house it will be different.”
“You promised you wouldn’t do that again.”
“Not unless you asked me to. If and when you do, I’ll make sure my dad is there. He keeps them in check.”