by Ann M. Noser
“Yeah, I know. It wasn’t easy living with her.”
“No. I mean you’re being hard on your mom.”
“What?” My throat tightens, and my chest hurts. “You’re supposed to be my friend, not hers.”
“I am being your friend. And you’re so ‘type A’ it’s ridiculous. You’re the one who wants to be perfect. Don’t put that on your mom. It’s you.”
I jump out of bed and glare at Jake. “What exactly are you saying, Dr. Freud?”
“Nobody’s really perfect, you know. And I’ll bet your mom knows that better than you do. You can’t accept your own flaws…or anyone else’s, for that matter.”
I sigh, remembering Mike’s face as he told me how much his brother adored my old roommate, Chrissy. “Well, it would be really nice if someone out there thought I was perfect…even if they were wrong.”
Jake gapes. For some unknown reason, the guy who never stops talking has been rendered silent. His eyes hold mine for a moment, setting my cheeks afire. In a panic, I break off my gaze and glance at the clock.
“Whoa. Time for class.” I grab my bath tote. “I better get moving.”
“Sucks to be you. I’m going back to sleep.” Jake dives back under the covers.
On my way out the door, I spot Jake’s open water bottle. Expertly, I fire it at the spot just above his mountain of blankets, causing a waterfall to explode upon his head.
“Hey!” Jake jumps up and shakes his drenched hair. “How’d you do that? Your aim isn’t that good.”
I smile as I flee the room. “Maybe it’s magic.”
he weeks speed by until the Monday before Thanksgiving. Everyone prepares to go home―everybody except me. My parents won’t be home until closer to Christmas break. Given Abby’s current family situation, I’m not surprised to hear she plans to spend the holiday with a friend.
“Emma, I feel bad you don’t have anywhere to go.” Abby frowns. “Why don’t I ask if you can come along to my friend’s house, too?”
“Thanks, but you don’t have to worry about me. I’ll be fine.”
The night before Thanksgiving, I return to my dorm room after my shower to find Jake sprawled across my futon. He scribbled all over my whiteboard.
“Everyone wants to be Cary Grant.
Even I want to be Cary Grant.”
―Cary Grant
But he crossed out Cary Grant’s name and wrote “Jake Cunningham” next to it each time.
“Couldn’t find anything private of mine to read this time?” I ask.
“Are you inviting me to read your diary now? Did you finally put something in there about me?”
“Yeah, I wrote ‘Jake stinks’.” I roll my eyes. “Why are you here, gracing me with your presence, anyway? And don’t write on my board.” I go over and erase it.
“I thought I’d offer you my company over Thanksgiving.” Jake stretches.
Something about his languid movement makes me turn away. I busy myself with writing on the board.
“All modern men are descended from a worm-like creature,
but it shows more on some people.”
―Will Cuppy
“Nice one.” He laughs.
“Didn’t any of your many girlfriends invite you back home with them?” I hang up my towel and put away my shower caddy.
“Of course they did, but I declined.” Jake crosses the room to flip through my CDs. “You have the most boring taste in music I’ve ever seen.” He holds out my five Sarah McLachlan CDs as evidence.
“What’s wrong with Sarah McLachlan? She’s great.”
“Yeah, if you’re suffering from insomnia.” Jake mouths the word “bor-ing” as he deliberately slips each of the five cases into different locations upon my normally alphabetized shelf.
“Leave my CDs alone, will ya? And I’m not stupid, Jake. I know you come into my room while I’m at class and reshuffle my CDs just to be annoying.”
He smirks. “No comment.”
“And if you hate my music so much, then turn on the radio instead.”
“Maybe I will. You need a little hard rock in your life.” Jake makes a face, adjusts the radio setting on my stereo, and turns the volume way up. “Do you have any plans for tomorrow?” he yells over the screeching guitars.
“Not really.” I run over and turn down the volume. “I don’t even have anything good to read.”
“What am I going to do with you?” he groans. “Don’t worry. We’ll find something to do in this town. I’m staying here tonight, by the way.”
“Don’t do me any favors.” I toss him a blanket. He never seems distressed by the uncovered mirrors in my room.
The next morning Jake calls around to see what restaurants are open. “Okay, I’ve found something. Only it’s on the other side of town, and you don’t have a car.”
“I suppose the bus schedule is very limited today. Do you want to take a taxi or walk?”
Jake picks up his coat. “I don’t mind walking if you don’t.”
“I’ll bundle up.” I pile long underwear, jeans, and a sweater on a chair. “Now face the wall and cover your eyes.”
“I don’t know… Long johns are pretty sexy on a girl. I can barely control myself.” But Jake sounds bored instead of turned on.
The wind blows clouds across the gray sky, but I don’t shiver as long as we hustle along. Jake refuses to tell me where we are going.
“Ta-da!” he announces, as we approach neon lights and blackened windows.
“You would bring us to a bar. I should have known.”
“Actually, it’s a bar and grill. And I’ve heard they serve pretty good food here. You should give it a chance.” For some reason, Jake reminds me of a teacher. Of which subject, I’m not sure.
“I bet they don’t serve turkey, mashed potatoes, and gravy.”
“Who wants to eat that, anyway? It’s easier to forget you’re not with your family if you’re eating something else.” Jake holds the door open. I pause a moment, not sure how to respond. Then I hurry in from the cold.
The bartender wears a black AC/DC T-shirt and a long gray beard. “What can I get you two?” He hands us each a greasy laminated menu. “Stuck here for Thanksgiving?”
We nod.
“So, what’s your story?” He strokes his beard.
“My parents are vacationing,” I say.
The bartender turns to Jake.
“Yeah, mine too.” Jake flashes an I.D. “I’d like a Leinie’s Red.”
The bartender takes our food order, places a bottle of beer next to Jake, and departs to tend to his other customers.
“Where’d you get that?” I whisper, gesturing at the I.D. as Jake tucks it back in his wallet.
He leans close to murmur in my ear, which sends a strange sensation down my spine. “It’s a fake…of course. I bought it, with your money I might add, because I thought it might be useful. So you’re my partner in crime, whether you like it or not.”
I nod. “Actually, that makes sense.”
“So you agree with me? Ha. That’s a first.” Jake spins around on his barstool to observe the place while swigging his beer. “By the way, you should know that you won’t be drinking today, even though we’re at a bar. I’m twenty-one. You’re not.”
“You can’t boss me around,” I retort and grab at his beer.
He slaps my hand away and sets his beer down on the opposite side of the bar from me.
I slip my hand behind his back and reach for the bottle again.
He leans back on the bar, crushing my arm.
“Ouch!”
“Serves you right.” He grins and steps away from the bar.
“Where are you going?”
“The bathroom.” He pauses. “Why? Do you want to come with?”
Disgusting! “No.”
He grabs his bottle just as I reach for it.
“You’re taking your drink into the bathroom with you? That’s gross. Yuck.”
“I don’t trust you,” he calls over hi
s shoulder.
I cross my arms. “Well, now I definitely don’t want it. You’re probably going to pee in it or something.”
After he leaves, I sit by myself, glancing around. There are several groups of people who look like college kids home for the holiday, probably just here to hang out with their friends before or after eating a big meal at home with their families.
Jake returns just as our order comes back from the kitchen. I have a chicken sandwich, fries, and jellied cranberry sauce. Jake eats a monster burger.
“Oh good, I like this kind of sauce.” I attack the little plastic cup it comes in.
“You, Ms. Fancy Pants, like the cranberries that slip right out of the can?” Jake snorts.
“You know, the food here isn’t half bad.” I try to compliment him. “You did good, Jake.”
“Well, the food might be all right, but the company sure sucks.” Jake smirks as he takes another drink.
I elbow him in the gut, causing him to cough and sputter all over his meal.
“Serves you right.” I smile, trying my best to look innocent.
We play darts for a long time. I start out horrible and only slightly improve. After an hour, I no longer ding up the paneling next to the dartboard. Instead, I simply nick the board in random locations.
Then we move on to pool.
“Wow, you really suck at bar sports,” Jake observes.
“I am completely talentless at anything that requires the ability to aim.”
“That’s all right.” Jake smiles. “I’ll be your partner, despite your lack of talent.”
“Thanks. You’re my hero.”
By the end of the evening, I realize I’m actually having a good time. After the long, frigid walk home, we watch some television back at the dorm. Then we fall asleep.
A few hours later, I wake up all warm and cozy. Unfortunately, I drank a large mug of hot chocolate right before bed and really have to pee. I sneak a bare foot out from under the warmth of my comforter in search of my slippers. Instead of finding something soft and fuzzy, my foot lands on something cool and rubbery.
I wake up immediately, hitting my head on the upper bunk as I kick away the repulsive object on the floor.
“Jake!” I shriek. “What nasty thing did you toss down here?”
“Hey, do you have a flashlight?”
“What for?” I gingerly step around the pale heap to find the flashlight and hand it up.
Jake waves the narrow beam of light along each finger and then down his arm.
I carefully pick up the rubbery mess on the floor, appalled to discover the shapeless form of the second person I saw in both Sam’s and Jake’s mirror reflections. It hangs heavy and lifeless like a rubber suit in my hands.
“This is disgusting.” I find an old shopping bag and shove it inside.
“Hey, be careful with that.” Jake jumps down from his bed and crosses over to the mirror, flicking on the lights. Only his real image stares back.
“What happened?” I ask.
“You’re asking me?” Jake gazes at himself. “I don’t know, but it’s freaking awesome. That’s all I have to say. I’m me again!”
His excitement makes me laugh. I cross my legs. “Uh…Jake, I really have to pee. Don’t go anywhere this time, you promise? I’ll be right back.” I dash out.
Five minutes later I return down the hall and notice the full moon shining through the window of the TV lounge. I remember Jake’s dream from a few weeks ago. When had that dream occurred exactly? Was it at the time of the last full moon?
I hurry back to my dorm room, praying Jake hasn’t ditched me yet. Thankfully, he’s still gazing at his reflection in the mirror.
“Jake, I have an idea. Maybe you separate from the body every time there’s a full moon. Remember that dream you had?”
“Yeah.” Disappointment floods his face. “I guess that means I’m only myself for the night.”
“Sorry, Jake.” I feel like I shouldn’t have told him. Maybe he would have been happier not knowing, at least for a while.
“Bummer.” He frowns, clenching and unclenching his fingers, and stretching out his arms. “I want to feel like myself for a while. I don’t want to go back to sleep and waste what little time I have.” He glances around the room. “Maybe I’ll go for a run.”
“Do you want company?”
He raises one eyebrow. “Can you run without falling down?”
“Very funny. You shouldn’t insult my generous offer of self-sacrifice. I don’t even like to exercise.”
“Well, come on then.” Jake changes in front of me without hesitation.
I try to hide in my closet while I dress.
The full moon and streetlights provide the only breaks in the darkness.
After fifteen minutes, I keel over in airless agony. “Why…do you like to exercise…so much?”
“It’s good for you.” Jake chuckles.
“How come something that’s supposed to be good for you hurts so much?” I gasp for air.
“Now, you could be asking about so many different things, I wouldn’t even know where to start.”
After running and showering, we fall back to sleep, but not for long.
“Wake up!” Jake always yells in the morning. “I went to bed myself, but woke up back inside my own personal blow up doll.”
“If you were going to have a blow up doll, shouldn’t it be a girl?” I mumble into my pillow.
“Not in this case. Come on, get up. I’m hungry.”
I roll out of bed. “What’s it feel like being inside another body?”
“It feels tight, like a pair of leather pants.”
“You used to wear leather pants? That’s nasty. Don’t they smell?” I sleepily gather my bathroom supplies.
“Leather pants are cool. Like Jim Morrison. Hey, listen to this.” He gets on my computer and forces me listen to the Doors. Despite being stuck back in the body, Jake seems cheerful enough. He acts so different than Sam.
After breakfast we go shopping, a horrid, frantic experience. All those Black Friday shoppers are crazy, pushing and pulling everybody else around. Jake needs some more clothes. I gave him money before for things he needed, but I don’t always go with him when he picks up his supplies. He says he has plenty of other girls that are willing to take him.
This time Jake brings me and makes me pay in more ways than one.
He drags me through the women’s lingerie section and projects his voice. “What did you say you needed? Red crotchless panties?”
“Oh, Emma, I finally found your size!” High above his head, he carries an enormous 38DDD black lace bra.
I run away into the next department to hide.
Then we wander into the bookstore.
“Hey, Emma, look―I found the dirty book section! Holy cow, what are they doing to each other in that picture?”
“Shut up! People are staring at us!” I punch Jake’s arm just as some guy with a greasy moustache comes by to pick up a copy of the same book. Disgusting!
Finally, Jake picks out clothes for himself. All of them are atrocious.
“There’s no way I’m paying for that wife beater.” I try to put it away.
Jake strikes a few poses, holding it up in front of him. “But I’ll look good in it.”
“No one, I repeat, no one looks good in a wife beater.”
“You’re just trying to be politically correct. There are plenty of people that look good in a wife beater.”
“Name one.” I hold up a finger, not the middle one.
Jake holds up a finger and points to himself. “Me.”
“I don’t think so. Why would anyone want to buy a wife beater this time of year anyway? It’s freezing outside!”
“Well, it’s on sale.”
I end up buying him the stupid wife beater and some jeans. Then we watch a movie at the cinema. It’s an action picture. Go figure.
By the time we get home that night, we’re so exhausted we both fal
l asleep without even arguing.
The next morning, Jake drags me out of my warm, cozy bed to eat at the pancake house. As we walk there, my phone beeps.
“Oh, look. Abby just texted me.”
Jake turns up his collar and shoves his hands in his pockets against the cold breeze. “What does she want?”
“She just asked how my Thanksgiving went.” I type away. “I told her I won the Turkey Trot road race, cooked a turkey in the dorm microwave, and then discovered a cure for cancer. All in one day.”
Jake shakes his head. “You’re so strange.”
I laugh. “Abby just texted me the exact same thing.” I put my phone away.
“Since we’re talking about Abby…” Jake frowns. “I suppose I should tell you I’ve been avoiding her on purpose. You probably think that’s mean, considering her situation.”
“No. I understand why you’re avoiding her.”
“Do you really think she knows what she’s in for? Raising a kid isn’t easy.” Jake sounds sympathetic, not judgmental. I like that.
“I think she knows that.”
“Has she given any thought to adoption?” Jake asks.
“Yeah, but her sister doesn’t want anything to do with either her or her baby.”
“I didn’t mean her sister. There are plenty of other nice people out there just waiting for a child. She could give the baby to one of them.” Jake shoves his hands even deeper into his pockets as we cross another windy street.
“You’re right. Too bad I’m not brave enough to bring up the subject with her.”
“Well, you should just talk to her about it. You can’t exactly pay her way, no matter how much money your family has.”
“You don’t seem to mind getting my handouts.” I gesture at his coat, jeans, and shoes.
“No, I don’t. But if I end up like Sam, I’m not going to be here forever. I have no time for pride.”
“I wonder how long you’ll be here,” I muse as we enter the tinkling front door of the pancake house.
“Why? Are you going to miss me?”
“Not really, but you are starting to grow on me, kind of like a mold or some smelly fungus.”
“Well, I don’t know how long I’ll stay.” Jake grabs an open booth, and I sit across from him. “I don’t think it’s up to me. But don’t worry… You probably won’t have to put up with me for much longer.”