Rufus + Syd

by Julia Watts

  As I ran myself a bath with some of the unused bubble stuff I got Mom for her birthday, my mind rehashed the bizarre events of last night: the random meeting at the Gas ’n’ Go, the couple wallowing on the blanket, Danny’s gaping mouth coming at me like a just-hooked fish’s. My ankles were still muddy from my accidental jump in the lake.

  Bubble baths are one of my favorite things, and I don’t get to have them often. When there’s only one bathroom in the house, I feel guilty for hogging it for too long. I let the tub get as full as it could without spilling over, then slid down so deep that the water and bubbles were up to my chin. And in that moment, I felt the awkwardness of last night getting washed away with the mud. I closed my eyes, thinking I’d make a good mermaid—neither a whole fish nor a whole girl, never fitting in all the way, in any one place.

  But then my mother hollered, “Sydney!” and I jumped so hard I splashed a bunch of water out of the tub.

  One of the many terrible things about this house is that there are no locks anywhere except on the front door. Mom swung the bathroom door open, came right in, put down the toilet lid, and sat down. Her makeup was still on her face but had strayed from the places she originally put it.

  “Uh… I’m taking a bath here,” I said.

  “Nothing I ain’t seen before,” she said. “I changed your diapers.”

  This is what Mom always says in these situations, but it never makes any sense to me. The body of mine that needed diapers was very different from the body I have now. At least I hope it is.

  “Have you put coffee on?” she asked.

  “We’re out.”

  She groaned. “I’m supposed to work from noon to six. I can’t do it without coffee.”

  I told her that Darlene would have a pot on at work, and maybe she could stop by the store on the way home. We were out of milk too.

  Mom moved to the sink and regarded her makeup-smeared face, saying, “Look what the cat drug in.” She attacked her face with Ivory soap and water, and when she turned to me, she looked ten years younger. Still tired, though. “I did have fun last night,” she said, squirting her toothbrush with toothpaste, “but I sure am suffering for it this morning. That’s the way it goes, though. If you’re gonna play, you’ve gotta pay.”

  “Was it worth it?” I asked her.

  She grinned at me, her mouth foaming with toothpaste. “Honey, it’s always worth it.”

  AS SOON as Mom got out of the house, I started my walk to Mr. D’s. A thirty-minute walk for a cup of coffee might seem pathetic to some people, but it was something to do—a quest for the holy grail of caffeine.

  Saturdays downtown are even deader than weekdays. If people are doing their shopping, they’re doing it at the Walmart out by the interstate exit. But when I got to Mr. D’s it was lunchtime, and while the streets were empty, the restaurant was surprisingly crowded. Looking around at the faces, I saw a familiar one, although it was the hair, not the face that I recognized at once. I hardly had time to wonder if I should go say hi before she saw me and called “Syd!” like I was her long-lost best friend. When I went over to her table, I asked about her shoulder.

  She waved away my question and invited me to sit down. I hope I didn’t make her feel like too much of an old lady by asking her something health-related.

  It was then I noticed the boy at Josephine’s table. He looked close to my age and had the kind of flame-red hair that artificial hair color can never imitate. He was slender and pale and before he looked at me, he seemed wrapped up in his own thoughts—not in an arrogant way but an interesting way.

  “Do you two know each other?” Josephine asked.

  We both shook our heads.

  “Syd, Rufus. Rufus, Syd,” Josephine said.

  If I’d seen Rufus in school before, I didn’t really see him. Sometimes when I’m there I’m so wrapped up in my cocoon of misery that I don’t notice other people. But I should’ve noticed Rufus. He seemed like he probably has his own cocoon of misery too. Like any kid who’s different. That red hair marked him as different for sure, and so did the name he was saddled with. But there’s something else—something on the inside—that’s different too. When he looked at me today, it wasn’t the way a boy usually looks at a girl, like he’s trying to decide whether he wants to dis her or kiss her. Instead, he looked at me like one human being should look at another, with no judgment, just respect and curiosity.

  And sitting at the table with him, I noticed something else. Rufus had on faded Levi’s and a plain T-shirt like I did, only his shirt was white and mine was black.

  “We’re the same but opposite,” I said, pointing at our shirts.

  “I noticed that too,” Rufus said.

  “Yin and yang,” Josephine said, sipping her iced tea. “You complement each other.”

  Brandy came with coffee for Rufus and me and set a huge salad and a plate of green unidentified objects in front of Josephine.

  When I commented that I didn’t know something as healthy as salad was on the menu at Mr. D’s, Josephine said, “It’s not. But Tony—Mr. D to you—knows I like it. He doesn’t put Greek food on the menu because he doesn’t think anyone here would order it. But since he knows my tastes are a bit more global than the average Vermillionite’s, he always gives me the same thing he’s having for lunch himself. In this case, a Greek salad and stuffed grape leaves. I want you both to try them.”

  Rufus said, “Thank you” and reached right away for one of the green cylinders. I was a little nervous about what the grape leaves might be stuffed with, but I wanted to make a good impression, so I took one. It turns out the leaves are lemony and stuffed with rice and some kind of cheese. Delicious.

  Brandy kept on refilling our coffee and tea long after our plates had been cleared. It was like we couldn’t stop talking. Josephine and Rufus are a lot smarter than me. Or at least they know a lot more than I do. They kept talking about all these old movies they love. A few I’d seen, but most I hadn’t. It seems like Josephine’s seen about every movie ever made. But Rufus is a year younger than I am. “So how come you’ve seen so many old movies?” I asked him.

  He gave a shy little smile. “Cable. My daddy can’t live without his ESPN. There are lots of times I can’t sleep at night, so I get up and watch Turner Classic Movies. Sometimes on weekends I’ll watch seven or eight movies. Which probably shows that I don’t exactly have a bustling social calendar.”

  “Me neither,” I said. “Which is why I wish we could afford cable.”

  When Josephine suggested we watch a movie together at her house, I couldn’t believe how many good things were happening at once.

  I guess for regular people it’s no big deal to run into friends and then end up spending the afternoon together, but since I woke just a few hours before, sure I had no friends, this was a really big deal. Josephine gave us a ride in this gigantic Oldsmobile (“My mother’s old car,” she said. “A land yacht.”) to this house that looks like a cottage in a fairy tale. But not “Hansel and Gretel,” thank God.

  Josephine’s house is amazing on the inside too—cluttered with movie posters and books and magazines everywhere. I hate the clutter my mom leaves around the house: cigarette butts and half-empty soda cans and gnawed pizza crusts. But the clutter in Josephine’s house doesn’t come from carelessness. It seems like a labor of love.

  The movie we watched was called Some Like It Hot, and it was just about the funniest thing I’ve ever seen. I can’t believe it was made in the ’50s. But the best thing—the very best thing—about it was that I got to see Marilyn Monroe for the first time. I had seen her in photographs, and her beauty stayed with me, but I had never heard that breathy voice or that giggle, had never seen the walk that in the movie they say is “like Jell-O on springs.” And there’s this one dress she wears in a musical number that would still make people’s eyes pop out if a star today wore it to the Oscars.

  But in the end, it wasn’t her looks or her sexiness that got to me. It was someth
ing else, a softness and a sweetness and a little-girl quality that made me want to take care of her. When her character complained about always getting “the fuzzy end of the lollipop,” I wanted to hug her like a mother and make it all better.

  Today is the first time in a long time I haven’t felt like I was getting “the fuzzy end of the lollipop” too. When Rufus and Josephine and I sat on the couch together laughing, it felt so good, almost like we were a family even though we really just met.

  Josephine let Rufus and me each pick out a movie poster to keep. I decided Rufus probably needed Rebel Without a Cause more than I did. Besides, he’s actually seen the movie, so I chose one from another movie I’ve never seen. In the poster Bette Davis is holding a smoking gun and looking like a total badass. I figure having this poster in my room will be a daily reminder not to take any crap.

  I almost refused a ride home from Josephine because I didn’t want her and Rufus to see where I lived. But in the end I gave in because it really would have been a long walk.

  As we cruised in the land yacht, something occurred to me. “I don’t know either of your last names. You’re just plain Josephine and Rufus as far as I know.”

  “Josephine Caldwell.”

  A nice name. Elegant but down to earth too.

  “Rufus Snow.”

  Somehow the last name fit him. It made me think of how a blanket of snow changes the dull gray and brown winter landscape and makes everything look clean and white and new.

  “I guess you’re the only Snow I’ll see in South Georgia.” I felt stupid as soon as I said it, but he smiled.

  “I guess so,” he said. “And what’s your last name?”

  “Simmons.”

  “Oh,” he said. “Like Jean Simmons? That’ll be easy to remember, since I’m a fan.”

  “Of Kiss?” I tried—and failed—to picture to him rocking out to the aging stadium rock band with its members’ wrinkles hidden behind greasepaint.

  Rufus laughed. “Not G-E-N-E Simmons. J-E-A-N Simmons, the actress. She played Sister Sharon Falconer in Elmer Gantry.”

  “That was a tremendous performance,” Josephine said. “And she was such a beauty.”

  We pulled up in front of the house, which looked even worse when I imagined it through Josephine and Rufus’s eyes. I thanked Josephine and made plans to see Rufus at Mr. D’s, then went in the house to find Mom waiting for me, which was an interesting change.

  And now I’m lying awake, staring at my Letter poster and feeling less alone than I’ve felt in a long time. Usually by Saturday night I’m starting to feel slight twinges of the dread of going back to school Monday. But now I figure Monday might have a bright spot anyway since I’ll see Rufus.

  Rufus and Syd at Mr. D’s

  Syd: I always feel like I have to watch Brandy to make sure she doesn’t spit in my coffee.

  Rufus: I like it best when she’s not here and it’s just Mr. D.

  Syd: Me too. He’s nice to everybody.

  Rufus: So how long have you been coming here? I’m kind of surprised that we haven’t run into each other before.

  Syd: I just started coming here back in the winter. I haven’t lived in Vermillion that long, although it seems like an eternity.

  Rufus: I know what you mean. I’ve lived here all my life.

  Syd: Really? You don’t really have a Southern accent, so I thought you might be from somewhere else too.

  Rufus: I wish! I’ve always wanted to be from somewhere else, anywhere! That’s good to hear about the Southern accent, because I’ve worked at it.

  Syd: You remember Josephine saying she didn’t think she had a Southern accent until she moved up north and everybody kept telling her how cute she sounded?

  Rufus: Yeah, Josephine is so cool. I had such a good time with you two over at her house the other day.

  Syd: Me too. One of the best times I can remember, to be honest. God, does that sound pathetic or what?

  Rufus: If it is pathetic, then I’m right there with you—because it was one of the best times I’ve ever had too.

  Syd: Actually, I think we’re way less pathetic than the people we go to school with. What passes for fun with them really is pathetic.

  Rufus: I know, like pep rallies and proms and stuff like that, right?

  Syd: Yeah, and even the kids who aren’t into that stuff still do things I think are lame. Like playing video games for hours on end or texting on their stupid little phones.

  Rufus: Everybody’s always looking down at their phones or BlackBerries or whatever, and so they walk right into you, and then they act like it’s your problem. But if somebody were to give me a phone I wouldn’t turn it down. Just think, we could text each other at school. Anyway, I’m so glad we met, Syd; I just wish it could have happened sooner.

  Syd: Me too. You know, the other day I saw these two girls in the hall. They were about the same distance from each other that you and I are now. But instead of talking to each other, they were texting. What the hell?

  Rufus: That’s really funny. And also really sick!

  Syd: Totally. You know, my mom has one of those little throwaway cell phones, but I’ve never even wanted one. To tell the truth, I hate to talk on the phone.

  Rufus: Yeah, I hate talking on the phone too. There’s this great line in a movie I love that goes something like this: “They never spoke on the phone. They feared disembodied voices.”

  Syd: That is great. My mom can talk on the phone for hours, which is one of the many things we don’t have in common.

  Rufus: I don’t think I have anything in common with my parents—or just about anybody else in Vermillion, for that matter, except you and Josephine.

  Syd: Hey, you’re all bipeds… you’ve got that in common. Plus, the same number of eyes and noses and that kind of thing. But it’s not much to build a friendship on, I guess.

  Rufus: I guess. Anyway, I meant to say that I like the way you look.

  Syd: Thanks. You know, a guy said that to me the other night, and it made me feel weird because I knew he was just saying it because he wanted something from me. But you say it like you mean it. I like the way you look too.

  Rufus: Now we sound like that scene from Annie Hall. I say I like the way you look and then you say you like the way I look. Thanks, though. I wish Brandy would get over here and give us a refill.

  Syd: For the record, I don’t like the way she looks. I especially don’t like the way she looks at me. I’ve never seen Annie Hall. When you and Josephine were talking about movies the other day, I felt like I’d never seen anything!

  Rufus: Oh, Syd—you’ve got to see it. Maybe we can watch it together sometime? I’d love that. I saw another great movie just last night. I couldn’t sleep, probably because I was so excited about seeing you today—but I always have a hard time sleeping. Anyway, the movie was called Double Indemnity. I didn’t even know what “indemnity” meant, so I looked it up. It was really great.

  Syd: What’s it about?

  Rufus: It’s what they call film noir, in beautiful black-and-white, and the dialogue is incredible. But I’d rather watch it with you than tell you what it’s about. Maybe Josephine has it.

  Syd: I bet she does. It seems like she has everything. And I’m not just talking about movies. I still can’t figure out why she wants to stay in Vermillion. But I guess it’s a good thing for us that she does.

  Rufus: Totally.

  Syd: And I guess there wouldn’t be an us—I mean, you and me sitting here together—if it weren’t for Josephine.

  Rufus: That’s true too.

  Syd: You know, it’s weird we didn’t know each other before… that we never noticed each other in school or anything.

  Rufus: I know. I thought about that too. Probably because we’re in different grades. But also, I don’t exactly hang around school any more than I have to.

  Syd: Yeah, and I don’t know… sometimes when I’m at school it’s like I go inside myself. I don’t notice any more than I have to. I
guess you have to be on the alert because of guys ragging on you, but girls are different. If they don’t like you, they ignore you… there may be a snarky comment here or there, but mostly they ignore you so much it messes with your mind. Sometimes I feel like I need to duck into the girls’ room and look in the mirror just to make sure I’m not invisible.

  Rufus: That’s funny. Well, I don’t mean funny, but I always wish I were invisible, so that I’d be left alone. So what do you do when you’re not at school?

  Syd: Nothing much. I drink coffee, which you’re getting the thrill of watching me do right now. I take long walks. Why do I feel like I’m describing myself in a personal ad? But most of the stuff I do wouldn’t look so great in an ad: I help out a couple of days a week in the beauty shop where my mom works. I cook dinner most nights and do the dishes. I wait on Mom hand and foot. The best part of my week—well, before I met you and Josephine—is Sunday afternoons, when I get to take Mom’s car out and go driving. Do you drive yet?

  Rufus: Ha! Are you kidding? I’m only fifteen. And my parents are way overprotective. Mostly, it’s my mom. I didn’t really mean what I said about wanting to be invisible. I mean, I do and I don’t. I want to be noticed, and taken seriously. I don’t want to be disregarded or disrespected. I just want people to stop harassing me. It’s mostly guys, but some of the girls do it too, in that “mean girl” kind of way.

  Syd: Don’t even get me started on the mean girls… the way they smile when they stick the knife in and twist. Hey, I just thought of something… maybe you could come out with me on one of my drives one Sunday. You might have to lie to your parents about it, though.

  Rufus: I’d love to! I’ll just tell them that you’re my girlfriend. They’d love that.

  Syd: Am I correct that you’re asking me to be your Pretend Girlfriend? I feel like I should be giggling and batting my eyelashes or something.