“Oh, you’re going to play mad? You’re going to pretend that I’m a douchebag for telling you the truth? Go ahead.” I waved my hand, taking a sip of my beer. “Until tomorrow when you realize that just because I pissed you off doesn’t mean I wasn’t right.” I lifted an eyebrow.
She threw the strap of her purse over her shoulder and laughed nervously. “I’ll tell you one other thing I’m entitled to: being happy. And if you have nothing to offer in that department, just watch how long I can play mad, motherfucker.”
She won’t leave.
There’s no way.
She can’t deny what we have, no matter how much we deny it to each other.
Marching up to the bar, she smiled at the bartender and slapped down a ten. “For his drinks,” she said, barely audible from my position.
I kept my head down, scratching my forehead and waiting for her to return. But when I looked up again, she’d gone.
Dammit.
And she paid for my beer, too.
Don’t chase her.
You’re going to lose her.
Don’t chase her.
She’s gone, man. You really screwed it up this time.
I shook my head. Fuck!
I bolted from the booth, and took off for the parking lot in search of her car. But by the time I spotted it, she’d already put it in reverse and backed out of her spot.
“Charlie, get your ass back here!” I yelled, jogging over.
She punched the gear into drive and stared at me blankly. Rolling down the window, she cocked her head to the side and smiled widely.
“Watch your feet.” Sticking up her middle finger, she slammed her foot down on the gas and drove off.
Chapter Three
Jesse
When I got home fifteen minutes later, I hadn’t bothered removing my shoes or taken my meds before I grabbed the phone and dialed her number.
Come on, answer it.
Pick up the damn phone.
“What do you want?” she answered without saying hello.
I chewed my lip, unable to hide my smile from my relief that she answered. “How’d you know it was me?”
She sighed. “Talk fast, because I don’t have the time to bother with you anymore.”
I panicked. There was a seriousness in her tone I hadn’t heard before, and it wiped the smile clear off my face. “I…” I stuttered. “I had a really bad day. I wanted to talk to you about it, but all that other stuff started coming up.”
“You had plenty of time to tell me about your day. Then you got all freaky and weird like you do. You must realize that the kind of behavior you displayed isn’t normal. And you can’t be so hot and cold with me. You can call me sensitive if you want, and if that’s true, so be it. You need to start filtering what you say to me, otherwise I’m not going to stick around to listen to it. I’m a female, for fuck’s sake—I’m already an emotional creature! I’m not going to go over with you—again—the reasons you should’ve censored yourself a little more.”
“I get that you’re mad, and I understand why. I do,” I pleaded. “And I took my frustrations out on you. It was misplaced anger. I’ll try not to do it again.”
A muffled noise came from the other end. “Good. It makes me happy to hear you say that. Anyone you make friends with from this point on will be grateful. Glad I lent a hand in teaching you the lesson,” she said indifferently.
“You’re not seriously thinking about ditching me, right?” I swallowed. “You couldn’t.”
“I think,” she began, then paused. “I think we should just take a break for a while.”
No.
No way. Not now.
You can’t run away now.
“I just think it would be better if I stopped hanging out with you,” she added. “I’ve told you some pretty personal stuff. And you know what to say to make me feel really bad about myself. I just don’t know if you do it purposely or not…”
She continued talking but I couldn’t hear past my own thoughts. You’re gonna lose her. She’s going to run away from you screaming if you don’t come up with something to say to keep her. And what will you do then? You’ll rot.
“I don’t want to make you go away again,” I said, interrupting whatever she had been rambling about. “You’re somebody to me,” I continued. “You’re sweet and kind and generous. I can’t lose you, Red. I just can’t. Don’t let me regret this night.” I bent over, holding the sting in my gut. “Don’t leave me.”
My voice matched my heartbeat, quick in tempo and erratic.
But I hoped to God she didn’t notice.
She was quiet. Too quiet.
I looked at the phone to make sure she hadn’t hung up.
Oh God, please.
“I know you’re still there. Please, Charlie. I don’t know what more you want me to say. I’ll sit on the phone all night with you not saying a word, just listening to you breathe, if that’s what you want. Is that what you want? Tell me—”
“That’s enough,” she whispered with a sniff. “Just think about what I said, please. I can’t keep doing this. It shouldn’t be this hard. You’re exhausting.”
I breathed a laugh of relief, cracking my neck from side to side. “I’ll work on it.”
Muffled movement could be heard through the receiver and then a deep exhale. “Do you want to talk about your day?” she asked.
“No. Just sleep.” I smiled. “We’ll talk more tomorrow.”
“No Jess, I’m sorry. Tell me.”
“Don’t you dare apologize to me.” I laughed. “Tomorrow, promise.”
“Okay. Goodnight.”
“’Night,” I said and hung up the phone.
I exhaled a deep breath and turned toward my room. When I faced the stairs, Jake sat waiting on the first step. I didn’t know how long he’d been there, but I thought back to the conversation I’d just had, and my stomach lurched at how it must have sounded.
“Let me guess… Charlie?” He raised an eyebrow. “That was the most pathetic shit I’ve heard in a long time. That was some real-life, chick-flick, man-card-removing, panty-wearing display of emotion, my friend. She owes you a blowjob after that.”
“That was none of your business.” I crossed my arms over my chest.
“You know,” he grabbed the railing and pulled himself up to a stand, “I’ve seen Charlie.” He shuddered. “What are you doing with her?”
My hands balled into fists. “We’re friends.”
“Nope.” He wagged his finger in the air and slowly walked across the room. “Jesse Anders doesn’t have friends. There are two kinds of people you keep in your life: the ones you use and the ones you fuck. So it makes me wonder, if you’re not fucking her, what are you using her for? And if you are fucking her, then this is an alternate dimension. You don’t have sex with girls like her.”
“What do you mean, ‘girls like her’?” I watched him carefully, waiting to pounce on him the moment he said it. And I knew it was coming. He sensed my anger, likely due to my white knuckles and swollen arms at my sides.
“Nice girls.” He smiled.
That wasn’t what he was going to say, but I let it slide. “I’m not having sex with her and I’m not using her. She doesn’t have any money—she’s just as poor as I am. She’s a hostess at the restaurant, remember?”
“So what do you want with her? There must be a reason you’re so damn protective of her. A second ago, you were ready to walk across this room and tear my throat out for her. Guys like us don’t go after girls like her. And we definitely don’t take a cab ride for two hours just to hang out. Shit, I don’t even think I’d spend that kind of money to come and see your ugly ass.” He laughed. “What you’re doing is beyond friendship, man. It’s spooky.”
“She’s different.” I shrugged. “She’s not like us. She’s not like anyone.”
“Bullshit. You said so yourself, ‘Women are all the same. The only thing that varies is their favorite color.’” He grinned, c
laiming I’d said those words before. But I didn’t remember them. Didn’t matter; they sounded like something I’d say.
“I’m not going to sit here and explain it to you. You can choose to believe what I’ve said, or not. It’s up to you—”
“You love her.” He scratched his jaw at his revelation.
I rolled my eyes. “Why does that have to be the only word to define it?” I shook my head. “No. What I have with Charlie is not love. It’s something else. Besides, I don’t believe in love, remember?”
“Oh, poor Jesse. I’ve agitated him,” Jake teased. “God forbid he feel something for someone that doesn’t start with the tip of his dick.” He waved his hand. “It’s fine. Don’t admit it now. But after stewing on it tonight, I’ll expect you to draw your own conclusions tomorrow when you realize I’m right.” He covered his smile. “I’ve never seen you like this. You started your meds again, you go to bed at reasonable hours—when you’re not eight inches deep in pussy. You’ve kept a job for longer than three months—hell, man, you even smile occasionally. You’re changing, my friend. Whether or not it’s for the good, the jury is still out.”
He walked back up the steps toward his room.
“Wait, Jake. Do you ever wonder…” My voice faded. I wasn’t sure I should finish the sentence. “Never mind.” I waved him off.
“What?” He turned back and took the steps back down.
“Nothing.”
“This has been a fun chat, Jess. And when you finally hit that, I want to hear about it. I’ve always wondered what it would be like to fuck a fat chick.” He winked and took the stairs back up.
I glared in his direction as he shut his door and locked it.
Asshole.
***
It was almost midnight when I laid my head on the pillow. I put my earbuds in and flicked the button to shuffle my playlist. The thing I loved most about ska was its risk-taking and experimentation. It dared to challenge the rules of music, the rhythm coming on the upbeat. Just a different way of looking at it, I guess.
I stared at my ceiling, resting one hand behind my head, listening to the words, combing through the images of my day and keeping Charlie’s words close: ‘I think we should just take a break for a while.” I allowed the sting to linger for a while, letting it resonate.
“Louie Louie” came blaring into my ears and I relaxed, taking in the horns from the Funky Kingston. The curtain draping my window snapped in the breeze; the first sign of fall made me shiver. I pulled up my sheet, covering to the middle of my chest.
Up and down, up and down. My chest rose and fell—carrying my scars with it—and I felt more at ease than I had all week. All year, probably.
Charlie.
Charlene Johnson.
Red.
I smiled so widely at my thoughts that I almost laughed. Because between the fast, entertaining, and furious was the weak, mundane, and horrifying. When I wasn’t in one extreme, I was complacent. Taking a break from those extremes was welcomed. And Charlie was probably the first person I’d ever thought might like to see it all. Even with how we fought, she made the quiet, and the loud, easy. The light and the dark, easy. From the smiles to the frowns, she was always there with me, whether she knew it or not.
Her shy giggles entered my head, and I closed my eyes to smile with her. The way her hand shied away from mine at the park, her black panties exposed as she slept on the way back from the cabin, tugging on her lip, finding logic in my rambles, choosing to stay…
I opened my eyes.
Choosing to stay.
I replayed the words twice.
What made Charlie so different from Bree? Why was the thought of Charlie acceptable and the other terrifying? And would Charlie and I eventually get to the point where we’d have too much of a history to trust each other, like Bree and I had? Could I ever be truly mad at Charlie?
I closed my eyes again and saw the back of her head; her short red curls swayed and bounced before me. But when I set my hand on her shoulder, she turned, and her big eyes stared back at me.
That’s the way I want you to look at me. I don’t like it when you’re scared.
I could never hurt you; not when I was lucid.
Is this a dream? Have you looked at me like this before? Why can I see it so clearly?
Her body shrouded in reds and oranges, Charlie smiled. The image of her hit my chest, removing every last breath from my lungs. I was pulled into her, seeing, feeling, and experiencing her laughter, her empathy, and her love. No matter how much I fought it, there was something strangely comforting about being there, having her warmth and beauty swathed around me.
And that’s exactly what she was: beautiful. Her soft skin, the light in her eyes, the optimism, and God, the joy. How anyone could’ve lived a life like she had and still see all that fucking joy was unfathomable. But she had a way of showing me all the things worth living for.
Devastating to a pathological pessimist.
Contrary forces acting complementarily.
Fire and Water
Absent and present.
Dead and alive.
Light and dark.
Always and never.
Holy shit. My eyes flew open and I sat up in my bed. The sheet fell to my lap and I stared at the wall with my mouth hanging open.
“Jake was right,” I whispered in awe. “You want her for all the reasons the others could never work. She shows you the things you refuse to see. The good.”
It made sense now why I had been so lucid with Bree earlier that day. For the first time since I was a child, I had a future, something to look forward to tomorrow. I had a reason to smile, to get up everyday, to hope.
I ignored my erection and quickly put on a pair of pants—being careful not to zip the bastard up. I threw on my green T-shirt and grabbed my keys, forgetting all about my need for shoes.
Driving barefoot, I arrived at her house five minutes later, cutting off my headlights before I hit her driveway.
A small light emanated from a basement window of the dark house, and I crept alongside of the mulch; the cool mud squished between my toes. I felt giddy, like a boy with his first crush. At my age, it didn’t seem likely, but it was the only way I knew how to describe the racing heart and cyclical thoughts of her.
If she was inside and awake, would I knock? I hadn’t thought it through.
Spontaneity and unscripted words weren’t exactly my specialty. I had to come up with a plan. I wanted to do it right. She deserved that and so much more for putting up with my shit.
But my thoughts drifted as I inched closer to the window, and a painting of a woman came into view through the blurry pane. Taking a quick glance by snapping my head forward, I took in the room quickly and pulled back again. I hadn’t seen her. Just a queen-sized bed in the middle of the floor set atop a yellow rug with the walls a pale peach.
The house sat on the edge of one of the busiest roads in the city, and an occasional car passed, reminding me of the guilt in what I was doing. But it wasn’t as if I hadn’t done worse—with less noble causes.
Perhaps she wasn’t even home.
Of course she was; her car sat parked in the driveway.
I leaned in again, putting the idea of coming up with a plan aside, and took in the room in full scope.
An easel sat in the far corner, holding up a half-painted study of a nude woman. Next to it was a small table that held pencils, erasers, and other gadgets used for artwork.
But she was nowhere to be seen.
“Where are you?” I whispered, and sat down in the damp mulch.
As if to answer my question, she walked around the corner from a hidden hallway, holding a cup of water and a paintbrush. I thought to flinch away from the window, but I couldn’t keep my eyes off of her.
She wore a white, button-down, business-casual kind of shirt, like the ones management wore at the restaurant. It hung loosely over one shoulder, and she wasn’t wearing anything on the bottom except panti
es. Straddling an old, round stool, she propped her feet up on either side of the footrest and stroked the brush from one end of the canvas to the other.
I leaned in further, watching the way her body moved. She’d lean in, then out, and her arm never stopped moving. It was hypnotic to watch, creating an image of something entirely from her imagination.
But as her calf flexed with her motion, I noticed something I hadn’t until that point. I don’t know where I’d been for the past few months, but there’s no way she was as thin when I first met her as she was at that moment. She had to have lost a lot, too, because the Charlie from my memory was much larger than the one who sat in front of me.
Or perhaps I’d lost my mind.
I closed my eyes, remembering that angry bitch from the restaurant when I’d first spoken to Charlie. Her hair was much shorter and her cheeks were rounder. Her fingers were chubby, her ass plump, her chin and neck wider. But the Charlie who sat on the stool through the window had lost several inches.
Smaller waist.
Smaller ankles.
Smaller breasts.
Thank God she still had her ass. I guess I hadn’t realized that was one of my favorite parts.
I took my time watching, not caring about the world flying by around me. Cars passed, crickets chirped, water trickled into the street drains, and Charlie moved in time with them all, creating a song in my head. Whiz, chirp, swish, honk. Over and over in patterned chaos, the music flowed in perfect synchrony on the upbeat.
Whiz, whiz.
Chirp.
Swish, swish.
Honk.
Again and again, the chorus repeated. My mind instinctively came up with a drumbeat for it, the subtle tapping of my sticks together and loops of quiet electronica. I heard other noises around me, but the melody drowned out anything unnecessary.
For over an hour I sat in the dirty mulch, staring in my Charlie’s window as she completed an entire painting of a woman sitting on the floor, holding up her red hair, and wearing a white button-down shirt.
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