Since September

by Noelle MacLeod

  Matt positioned himself in the easy chair and Cyndi was standing in the middle of the room hugging her beer bottle to her chest, squeezing it between her breasts, her head tilted so that her blonde hair hung in her face. I was sure she must spend hours a day perfecting her best angles in the mirror. The first song started and she beckoned to Matt with one finger.

  “Come on, lover boy,” she said. “I’ll show you what love is.” I glanced at Ralph, smiling sheepishly. Cyndi’s openly sexual behavior was sometimes embarrassing. I took a seat at one end of the sofa and Ralph sat at the other end. It seemed there was about a mile between us, which felt about right. As we got situated on the sofa, Matt abandoned his chair in the corner to dance aimlessly around the room with Cyndi, the two of them laughing and acting like they were the only two people in the world. Or at least in the room.

  “Hey!” Ralph called out over the loud music. “Who wants dessert?”

  Cyndi and Matt both eagerly came over to the sofa and sat on the floor in front of us. Cyndi was grinning from ear to ear. “Sher,” she said, “Ralph has the best weed!”

  I raised my eyebrows. She hadn’t mentioned anything about smoking weed. As far as I knew, she hadn’t smoked it in over a year, which was the only time I had ever smoked it at all. She’d gotten some from a guy she met at a party and the two of us smoked it on the way to the bar one night. It made my eyes red, but I hadn’t noticed much else. Cyndi had told me then that it never worked the first time but I had never bothered to find out if that was true.

  “You don’t have a problem with it, do you? I mean, Cyndi didn’t say you did, so I…” Ralph pulled something out of his shirt pocket and held it in the air. It looked like a big cigar.

  “A problem with cigars?” I asked. Matt and Ralph both laughed. Cyndi took it from Ralph and held it under my nose. A musty sweetness, and just a hint of a strong, rich tobacco teased my senses before Cyndi handed the thing back to Ralph.

  “It’s a blunt,” she said. “You’ll love it. Trust me.” I took a deep breath and visualized the goddess in my bedroom mirror, the one Cyn had created, and reminded myself that hers was the face I wore tonight. I wasn’t Sheridan ‘the freckled couch potato with the frizzy hair’ tonight. No, tonight I was ‘Sheridan, the porcelain-faced redhead who likes to have fun’. What would she do?

  “Spark it up,” I told Ralph. I remembered hearing the phrase in a movie one time, where a group of teenagers were sitting around smoking pot. I tipped my head back and poured what was left of my beer down my throat. I looked at Cyndi’s bottle and noticed it was empty, too.

  “Matt,” I said, dipping my head down and looking up, Cyndi style. “We’re gonna need some more of these.” I held up my empty bottle and wiggled it in the air. Cyndi giggled as Matt went into the kitchen for more beer.

  Ralph lit the blunt and took a long drag, holding it in for what seemed like forever before slowly exhaling and taking another. Finally he passed it to me. I looked at it for a second before taking it in my fingers, and then raised it to my lips. It dawned on me then that a person thinks nothing of taking a toke after someone they don’t find the least bit attractive, and yet there your lips are, touching the very spot theirs just touched, touching spit that came out of their mouth - that mouth you wouldn’t want to kiss but think nothing of sharing a smoke with. I inhaled - just a little to get a taste - and was surprised by how good it was, how well the tobacco and weed and beer all mingled, each bringing out the best in the other. I took another, longer drag, and held it in as long as I could, passing the blunt to Cyndi as I finally exhaled, coughing a little as I did so.

  She smiled. “Told you it was good.”

  Matt came back in with the beers and handed one to each of us. “Oh, man,” he said enthusiastically. “This is the bomb right here. This is the shit.” He resumed his position next to Cyndi on the floor, and taking the blunt from her, tapped the ashes into one of the empty beer bottles.

  The four of us smoked and drank while the CD played in the background. I lost count of how many beers I had but I know it was more than I’d had in a very long time – maybe ever. And Cyn had been right about the weed. I was feeling more relaxed and less inhibited than I could ever remember feeling before. When the last song started Cyndi and Matt disappeared into Cyndi’s bedroom leaving me alone with Ralph. I dreaded the silence that would follow when the music ended and was trying to figure out a way to slip into my bedroom, alone, when I noticed that Ralph had somehow managed to move closer to me without my noticing. His left hand was resting on my thigh.

  “God, you’re so fucking beautiful I can’t stand it.” He whispered. But it wasn’t me he found beautiful. It was the tamed hair and the eyeliner smudged to smoky perfection, making my eyes greener than the grass of Ireland. It was the shiny red lips shimmering in the dim light, the velvet look of my powdered skin, begging to be touched. But it wasn’t me.

  Ralph took my perfectly painted face in his grease-stained hands, leaned forward and kissed me. I felt his warm tongue - that same tongue that had held half-chewed pizza earlier that night - flicker across my top lip, ever so lightly, like a feather. After the beer and the weed his eyes didn’t look quite so rat-like, and his balding head wasn’t nearly as distasteful.

  “I’ve been itching to do that all fucking night,” he said.

  A smile crept across my cherry lips. Maybe Cyndi was right. Maybe I did need to get laid.

  * * *

  CHAPTER FOUR

  I awoke to the smell of fresh, rich coffee. Coffee meant Cyn was up but the clock radio said it was only seven in the morning. Neither of us worked on Sundays so what on earth had her up this early? Usually she spent Saturday nights at Matt’s and I had the place to myself for a few hours on Sunday mornings. As much as I loved my Cyndi, the few hours I had to myself on those Sunday mornings were heaven. I could read without any distraction or watch the kind of movie that gave Cyn “the willies”. More often than not, though, I spent my alone time in Cyndi’s bedroom, trying on her clothes and wishing I had the curves to pull off the sexy outfits she lived in. I would twirl around in front of her full-length mirror, imagining what it must be like to walk into a room and demand attention without saying a word. But last night she and Matt stayed here. And Ralph.

  Oh, God! Ralph! Suddenly I was bombarded with images of Ralph kissing me, carrying me into my bedroom, tying my wrists to the bedposts with his dirty socks, grinning that chipmunk grin, his beady eyes devouring every inch of my body as he stripped off my clothes. Oh, Fuck. I’d been too out of it to care about anything other than how I felt in the moment. To hell with the consequences. Forget about having any morals. Forget about the fact that I’d just met the guy and didn’t find him the least bit attractive. I’d let him tie me up! My stomach churned as detail after detail came flooding back. Ripples of pleasure had soared through my body, sparks had gone off like fireworks until I could take no more, my body limp with exhaustion, drenched in sweat, my hands and arms numb from being tied. I’d had to beg him to stop, writhing beneath him, his five o’clock stubble rough against my thighs. My stomach gurgled some more, partly from hunger (I’d been too nervous to eat any of the pizza last night), partly from the alcohol sloshing around in it all night, and partly - mostly - from sheer repulsion.

  A sharp pain stabbed me in the forehead and I stumbled out of bed and into the bathroom across the hall, quite aware that I was naked and praying to God that Ralph’s absence from my bed meant he’d gone home. I looked in the mirror and saw that the beautiful stranger from last night had been replaced. The woman who stared back at me now had Raccoon Eyes. The lipstick had smeared as well, giving her - me - a sort of desperate clown look.

  I splashed cold water on my face and grabbed a towel from the shelf. The pain in my forehead intensified and I staggered. That’s when I heard it. A voice. Not Cyndi’s voice, not anyone I recognized. It seemed to come at me from behind.

  “Whore!” the voice hissed. I spun around but there was no one
there. “You’re nothing but a pathetic whore!” I flung the shower curtain open, fully expecting someone to be there, but there was no one. “You better clean yourself up if you want Romeo to ever touch you again with that magnificent pepperoni tongue of his.” It came at me like a dagger, this voice did. It was clearly a woman’s voice, though exceptionally deep and crackly, like she’d smoked way too many cigarettes. I retched and spit golden bubbles into the sink. The woman laughed then, an evil, howling cackle.

  Oh, God, what was happening?

  “It’s not real,” I whispered to the clown-whore in the mirror. “It’s not real. My mind’s just playing tricks on me. It’s just my subconscious. It’s from all the beer, and the weed.” I stared into the reflection of my eyes, bloodshot and tainted with the disgrace of last night. But the laughter only grew louder, bouncing - echoing - off the shower tiles.

  “Oh, Honey,” she cackled. “A little weed and a few beers never hurt anyone.” I turned the shower faucets on full blast, adjusting them until the water was as hot as I could stand. I stepped in and stood under the flow, my skin turning red almost instantly from the heat of the water, my mind racing with images of the night before as crackling laughter swirled around me. My stomach lurched again and yellow foam flew from my mouth and nose, ran a circle around the drain and disappeared. I lathered soap onto my face, my breasts, my groin, scrubbing until my skin hurt and my eyes burned. A whiff of Ralph’s cheap cologne invaded my nostrils when the water hit the back of my neck and I was sick again. There was a knock at the door and I jumped.

  “Sher?” It was Cyndi. “How long you gonna be? We were all thinking about getting some breakfast.”

  We. “Who’s here?” I shouted over the sound of the water pounding against my chest.

  “Me and the guys. We’ re starving!”

  “Who else is here?” I called out.

  “Nobody. Just us! You coming with us or what?”

  “I’m not hungry,” I yelled. “You guys go ahead!”

  “Are you sure?” she asked. “We can wait.”

  “Yeah. I don’t feel very good. I guess I drank too much.”

  “Okay,” she said. “But I think somebody’s going to be disappointed you’re not joining us.” I heard the kitchen door slam as they left a minute later. Did Cyndi and Matt know about Ralph and me? They had to. He’d spent the night in my room and I was sure he wasn’t trying to hide it from them. Why would he? Shit, he might even give them details over breakfast.

  “You better believe it, Sweetheart.” The voice not only seeped from the shower tiles, but came at me from every direction. I shivered in spite of the excessive heat of the water.

  “He’s gonna give his ole buddy Matthew the play by play!”

  “No…no…no…” I muttered the words to myself, over and over like a mantra, turning to grasp the shower rod with both hands for support. “This isn’t really happening. I must still be asleep. It’s just a dream.” The steaming hot water beat against my left shoulder until it ached.

  “So, tell me!” The voice snapped. “Was that the best fuck you ever had or what?” More howling laughter echoed around me. “Never judge a book by its cover, eh Sweetheart?”

  “Oh, God,” I cried, my knees buckling beneath me. “Please make it stop… please make her go away!” My arms fell to my sides and I collapsed into the tub, turning halfway down to face the faucets as I landed.

  “Honey,” her voice grew softer, barely audible now over the sound of the water beating against my back. “God has nothing to do with it.”

  “This is impossible,” I whispered. Stabs of pain shot into my forehead and out the back of my head. Soap had gotten into my eyes and they stung. Everything around me looked black. “Please, God, just make it stop.”

  “What do you think God’s gonna do for a whore like you?” The voice whispered. And I swear I felt the breath of someone on the back of my neck.

  “No, please no. Make this stop! What is happening to me?” I sobbed. I was sitting now, my arms wrapped around my middle, rocking back and forth. I lifted my head and let the water hit me in the face, feeling it pound against my closed eyelids.

  “Oh, Sher,” croaked the woman. “You really don’t get it, do you? You’re falling apart, Sweetheart. I’ve always known someday you would. And I’ve been waiting.”

  * * *

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The bookstore had been quiet all week and I’d spent most of my days reading about ghosts and trying to figure out if that’s what I’d heard on Sunday. As crazy as that was, it was the only plausible explanation. The problem was I didn’t believe in ghosts. Even after reading every book in the store that dealt with ghosts at all, I still wasn’t convinced they existed. I’d read stories about ghosts trying to kill the families who’d moved into their homes, stories about ghosts who were seen but not heard, stories about ghosts who were heard but not seen, and stories about ghosts who did nothing but play tricks on their friends and family – pranksters who stayed pranksters even after death – hiding the salt shaker or the remote control, making picture frames jump off desks. Whether you believed or not, the stories were creepy. So by closing time on Friday, I was a little on edge. When the phone rang I nearly jumped out of my skin.

  “Rhinehart’s Books,” I said, forcing as much cheeriness into my voice as I could.

  “Sheridan?”

  “Yes…”

  “It’s Ralph.” I hadn’t seen or heard from him since Saturday night. “I was wondering if you wanted to maybe catch a movie tonight.”

  “A movie?” I was completely unprepared with a satisfactory excuse but I had no intentions of seeing him again. I was much too embarrassed by what had happened between us. “Oh, thanks but… I can’t.”

  “Oh.” He sounded disappointed. “How about tomorrow night?”

  “Um… Maybe…” I pinched my eyebrows together, desperate for a good excuse.

  “Oh, well, I’ll just give you a call back tomorrow then and see.”

  “Sure.”

  “Sher?” I hated that he called me Sher. It was Cyn’s name for me. Nobody else called me that. Not even Mother.

  “Yeah?”

  “I had a really good time last weekend. I’m sorry I didn’t call sooner. I wasn’t sure you wanted to see me again, but I finally couldn’t stand it any more.” There was an awkward pause and then he said, “Shit. I said too much.” I could imagine him looking down at his dirty sneakers.

  “No,” I said. “You didn’t. I…” I didn’t know what else to say. The thought of facing him, seeing his beady eyes and his chipmunk cheeks, made me more than a little uncomfortable. “Oh, hey, I gotta run. A customer just came in,” I lied.

  “Oh, okay,” Ralph said. “Talk to you later?”

  “Sure. Bye.” I had barely hung the phone up when it rang again. “Rhinehart’s Books,” I answered.

  “Hey!” It was Cyndi, sounding bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, as usual. Just once I’d like to hear her sound a little down. Just a little. Just once.

  “Hey yourself,” I answered. “What’s up?”

  “Matt has to study for a test tonight so I thought I’d grab some KFC on the way home.” There was a Kentucky Fried Chicken place next door to her salon, which was just a block away. We’d both been lucky to find jobs so close to the apartment when we moved to the city.

  “Sounds great. I’m starved.”

  “Good ‘cause I’m in the drive-through right now so I’ll see ya in a few!” She hung up and I glanced at the wall clock above the desk. It said 6:04. I ran to the front of the store and flipped the window sign from “open” to “closed”, then did my nightly check to make sure I didn’t lock in any customers before turning off the lights. I walked out into the dimly lit parking lot, locking the door behind me. I stood there, breathing in the crisp September air, taking in the splendor of colors in the trees that lined the parking lot – burnt oranges, golden yellows and vibrant reds. I was trying to think of a good excuse to give Ralph i
f he called tomorrow, but how long could I really put him off? My roommate and best friend was dating his roommate and best friend. Sooner or later we were going to run into one another again. I was still standing there when Cyndi’s beat up Toyota pulled into the empty parking lot, blinding me temporarily with its headlights. She stepped out of the car with a big brown bag in her arms, the smell of fried chicken quickly filling the air.

  “Hey!” She shouted. I forced a smile and the two of us ran around to the side of the building, taking the stairs to our apartment two at a time. I unlocked the door and grabbed a couple of beers out of the fridge for us while Cyndi pulled two snack boxes out of the bag and set them on the table. “How was your day?”

  “Oh, you know. The usual,” I told her. “Except that Ralph called just before you did.”

  “Yeah?” Cyn raised her pencil-thin eyebrows at me. “And?” She smiled and stuck a spoonful of mashed potatoes in her mouth.

  “And nothing,” I said, taking a bite of potatoes myself. Canned gravy and boxed potatoes or not, it was good. I hadn’t eaten a bite all day. “He wanted to get together.”

  “Well, duh,” Cyndi said. “Of course he did! You’re gonna see him this weekend, right?”

  “I don’t know. I’m just not sure he’s for me,” I told her.

  Cyndi set her spoon down and folded her arms across her chest. She was wearing the low-cut blouse she said got her more tips.

  “And you came to this conclusion before or after you fucked his brains out?”

  “Cyndi!”

  “Well, Sheridan… I mean, come on. The guy’s nuts about you, you spend the night with him, and then you decide he’s not good enough for you?” She was angry. Ralph was Matt’s best friend. And Matt was Cyndi’s flavor of the month.