One Lonely Degree

by C. K. Kelly Martin

  Jersy’s head is down on the bedspread, his arms at his sides. I watch the calm rhythm of his breath and barely even mind that he lied about staying awake.

  I DIDn’T LIe about phoning my dad; I just haven’t gotten around to it yet. I’m not in any hurry to listen to his hurt voice over a long-distance line, asking why I’m mad at him. Why do I have to explain myself? He should already know that things were difficult enough when he was around. With him and Audrey gone, there’s nothing left holding me in place. Mom’s lost in her own sadness, and she never understood in the first place. She’s always blamed things like bad posture, vitamin deficiency, and my aversion to cosmetics. She thinks I could be normal if I tried harder.

  You’d think I’d be relieved now that normal has lost its currency, and in some ways I am, but I can’t stand to see her so deflated. Mom was a talented third-year drama student when I came along. She was meant to be a career actress, not just some random girl in a tampon commercial, but my parents, acting more responsible than their years, decided to get married. Mom never finished university, and Dad, who’d been aiming for grad school, swerved into an education degree instead.

  They told Daniel and me the truth about their history and never sounded like they regretted it; they had each other, and they had us. I guess it seemed like enough, but now Mom doesn’t care about anything. The day after Dad’s visit she went back to lying on the couch like someone with a permanent case of the flu.

  If Dad came back, she’d be better. They could try harder and make it work. I know they could. But Dad doesn’t want to give it a chance.

  So why should I buckle and give in the second he seems unhappy? Besides, I’m busy, busy, busy. I have things to do. E-mails to send. A Web site to update. Long hours to put in at Play Country with that stupid logo busting across my chest.

  Somehow Mom managed to shrink one of my uniform shirts in the dryer. I got ketchup down the other one on break yesterday, which leaves me no choice but to put on the former large and current medium. It’s a typical Monday-morning thing, along with Mom making us ten minutes late for the start of my shift. She screams at Daniel in the car because he forgot to tell her he was supposed to show up early for a bus trip to African Lion Safari.

  Lucky for him the bus waits. A harried camp counselor ushers Daniel onto the bus, pausing to frown critically at my mother.

  “I can’t keep this up,” Mom says to herself as we pull away.

  “Seatbelt,” I prompt. She must’ve been driving without it since we left the house. Daniel’s usually the one who notices, but he was too busy being yelled at.

  Mom snaps on her seatbelt, worry lines spreading across her face. “It’s just too much running around with your father gone. How am I supposed to keep this show on the road on my own? He’s off having a vacation while I run myself ragged.”

  Someone who averages eleven hours’ sleep a night is a better candidate for bedsores than exhaustion. I chew my thumbnail and avoid Mom’s eyes. If she starts doing the pity-fest thing, I’ll have to throw myself out of the car and hope for the best. It sucks that Dad left; I don’t need her reminding me how shitty she feels.

  “Couldn’t you take the bus to work in the morning?” Mom asks, her voice gooey.

  “It’s not even ten minutes from Daniel’s camp,” I cry. “What’re you going to say when I start night shifts—buy some pepper spray and sit next to the driver?”

  “Of course not.” Mom’s tone hardens. “I just thought it would give me some extra time in the morning, what with all the running around.”

  “Getting out of bed when your alarm goes off would give you some extra time in the morning,” I retort.

  That stops Mom cold. She doesn’t even say goodbye when I get out of the car in the Play Country parking lot. The car speeds away, leaving me to wonder whether she intends to pick me up at the end of my shift.

  Gerald claps his hand on my shoulder as I stomp through Play Country’s sliding doors. He’s smiling, as usual, but he must be aware that I’m late. “So how’re you settling in here, Finn?” he asks. “Feeling at home yet?”

  “Getting there,” I tell him.

  “Good, good,” he says jovially. “We like to see our employees happy.”

  I smile like an idiot, but it’s only half fake. There’s something so clueless about Gerald that you don’t want to disappoint him.

  “Nishani’s in eight this morning,” he adds. “Why don’t you join her there and continue on?”

  “Sure. Thanks.” Nishani won’t be ecstatic about being stuck in stocking. I sail towards aisle eight (home of Barbie/Bratz dolls and accessories), trying to scout her out. She must be in the back, loading up a stock cart. I push up my sleeves and head into the bowels of the stockroom, where Kevin’s standing by the recycle bin, a stack of collapsed boxes at his feet. Courtney’s about ten feet away from him with her hands on her hips and her bottom lip jutting out. “Just frigging pick up line three,” she says impatiently, turning on her heel. “Or don’t—I don’t frigging care either way.”

  “Hey,” Kevin says, showing off his weird Chiclet teeth. “Don’t be that way. Ya know I love ya.”

  Courtney doesn’t care; she’s walking away as fast as her summer-bronzed legs will carry her.

  Kevin winks at me as she goes. “Little Miss Serious,” he calls after her.

  I don’t know what that was about, but I take off before he can get in another word. It’s better not to talk to Kevin for too long. Conversations degenerate fast.

  Nishani’s in the middle of filling her cart with doll clothes. She hears my footsteps and looks up at me. “You’re late. I was afraid you weren’t going to show.”

  “I can’t believe you’re still stocking,” I tell her. “Are you gonna speak to Gerald or what?”

  “At eleven o’clock,” she says. “I tried to ask him about it first thing, but he said he had some notes to go over for a conference call.”

  We haul our load to aisle eight and start restocking Barbie/ Bratz clothes. It’s bizarre—they have bigger wardrobes than I do, and I’m a real live person. Nishani and I take turns playing fashion critic. Conclusion: Barbie is a skank-princess with a white-bread smile and no fashion sense, while the Bratz are a race of alien-skank hybrids with urban attitude. The common skank element is hard to miss.

  Hanging out with Nishani is the part of Play Country that I actually like, and I tell her that being a stock person’s going to suck without her. “We can still take breaks when we’re on together,” she says. “We should exchange numbers so we can compare schedules.”

  We swap phone numbers then and there so we won’t forget, but by ten after eleven Nishani’s standing in aisle eight next to me again. “Gerald asked me to give him another week to fit me into the cashier schedule,” she says. “It’s like trying to have a conversation with one of those yellow smilies.” Nishani sighs. “He had a grin frozen on his face the entire time, and he kept saying what a good job I was doing with the stocking, which is a joke because I still don’t know how to find anything in the stockroom.” “Me neither,” I admit. “I’m amazed I found you.” “I’m amazed there’s anything on these shelves,” Nishani says. “Somebody around here must know more than we do.” All the stocks guys know more than we do. Nishani and I are summer surplus. Anything we manage to get done is a bonus. “How long are you sticking around anyway?” she asks. “I want at least two weeks off before school starts.”

  I was planning to stay right up until September. Otherwise Dad might try to invite me to the cottage. “Do you want to do something after work tonight?” I blurt out. “I had a fight with my mom in the car on the way in. I’m not in a rush to get home.” Nishani doesn’t know about the situation with my dad. This is the most personal thing I’ve confided.

  “Sure.” She nods like it’s a good idea. “What do you want to do?” “Do you like Aidan Lamb? He’s in that new action movie.” “I saw the commercial.” Nishani’s eyebrows wiggle unhappily. “It looks like a
ll car races and explosions.”

  “We can see something else.” I don’t care what; I just need somewhere else to be. I can’t keep running over to Jersy’s every time something goes wrong.

  Nishani suggests some Italian movie about four girls on summer vacation. That’s fine with me, and she calls Aneeka at lunch to invite her along. “She can drive you home afterwards,” Nishani explains. “Then you won’t have to call your mother to pick you up.”

  I leave a message on Mom’s voice mail telling her I’m going out with friends after work, and she doesn’t call back to ask where these friends mysteriously appeared from. She’ll probably be asleep by the time I get back. I’ll have to walk Samsam because she’ll have forgotten, and Daniel will be glued to a repeat of The Surreal Life. He’ll tell me Dad called and whine when I send him off to bed. Then, once I finally have a minute to myself, I’ll e-mail Audrey to complain about how shitty everything is.

  Well, almost everything. The movie turns out to be pretty cool, and after a while my brain forgets it’s reading subtitles and believes it’s conquered the Italian language. Aneeka, Nishani, and I sit in the center of the middle row, which means I have to disturb the old couple near the aisle on my way to the bathroom. They look Italian anyway, so they most likely understand what’s happening despite my ass blocking the screen.

  Coming back, I spot Billy Young in line at the concession stand. I can’t remember seeing him out of school uniform since eighth grade, and it takes my eyes a second to adjust to his dark jeans and black T-shirt. If I didn’t know he was Billy Young, I might even think he looked good. He’s got nice arms (not beefy but not thin), wide hazel eyes that look like they never quit thinking, and a rangy build he hasn’t finished growing into. Billy nods hello and I nod back, wondering if Jersy was right about me liking Billy, if maybe he just realized it before I did. Then Jersy steps out of line next to Billy—and suddenly I know that’s not true.

  Jersy’s wearing a navy T-shirt that says “I’m with the Band,” and his hair’s shaved down to the tiniest fraction of an inch from his skull. For the first three seconds I’m outraged. Then relief sets in. His hair isn’t soft and tempting anymore. I’m saved.

  “How’s it going?” Jersy asks, sauntering towards me.

  “Okay. How was your birthday thing the other night?” And what’s going on with me anyway? I shouldn’t be thinking about his hair; I shouldn’t be thinking anything.

  “No party.” He smiles. “We drove around most of the night and ended up crashing at Joel’s brother’s place.”

  “Your hair,” I say incredulously.

  “Yeah.” His hand skims across his shorn head. “It was too hot.”

  “Wow.” I should shut up about his hair already, but it’s so weird. He’s like a whole different person, almost a stranger.

  Jersy laughs. “Good or not good?”

  “I don’t know,” I say truthfully. “Just weird. Who are you again?”

  Jersy slides his hands down into the front pockets of his jeans. “So which movie are you catching?” he asks. If he’d walked into St. Mark’s with his hair like this, I would’ve recognized him straight off. He’s flashback Jersy, all lips and eyes.

  “È Così. It’s Italian.” I motion in the direction of the theater. “What about you?”

  “Liar’s Restitution.” That’s the Aidan Lamb action flick Nishani wasn’t impressed with. Jersy glances over his shoulder at Billy’s second-place spot in the concession line and adds, “Looks like I gotta go, but when’re you coming over for a dip?”

  “I definitely have to do that,” I tell him.

  “How about tomorrow night?”

  “Sure.” Really? I thought it was one of those things we’d never get around to. “I guess tomorrow’s good.”

  “You gotta go in the pool, though, you know.” Jersy’s smile is infectious enough. He doesn’t need the T-shirt. “This time you definitely have to go in.”

  “I know.” A blush starts at my ears, quickly working its way across my cheeks. Why does my brain instantly convert the most harmless phrase into something dirty? Don’t worry, this time I’ll get wet. Shit. We can get wet together. Oh, shit.

  I have to get out of here fast. Before smoke starts piping out of my ears like an overheated cartoon character. “Enjoy the movie,” I add quickly.

  “See you tomorrow,” he says.

  “See you, Jersy.” I turn and spin away, my crazy cartoon legs blurring underneath me like wheels.

  I am anything but saved.

  THe neXT mOrnInG Mom drives me to work without any mention of taking the bus. The three of us are quiet in the car. Daniel’s tired from staying up late last night, Mom’s always tired these days, and I’m tired because my brain refuses to leave things alone. I should call Dad. I shouldn’t go swimming at Jersy’s. I should stop wasting so many hours surfing the Internet. I should practice sketching instead. It’s exhausting.

  The rest of the day isn’t much better. After work Daniel asks me why I never talk to Dad on the phone. “You said you’d call him,” he adds. His right hand’s clutching the remote, and he’s riding the channels like a maniac with a wicked nervous tic. It takes every inch of my willpower not to snatch the remote out of his hands.

  “How do you know?” I ask. Anti-Me’s been eavesdropping. I thought I was the only one.

  “He’s always asking to speak to you,” Daniel continues heatedly. “He wants to take us up to the cottage with him for a few days.”

  “It’s not even his cottage.”

  “So what?” Daniel’s eyes are as wide as hubcaps. “It’d be cool. There’s a canoe and we could go swimming all the time.” I’m already going swimming. Tonight at Jersy’s. I can’t get out of it now. He’d think I was making excuses.

  “Just go without me,” I say. It’s not like Daniel will miss me. The only thing we ever do together is stare at the television. Mostly not even that.

  “It won’t be the same.” He looks at me like I should know that without him having to say it.

  “It’ll be better,” I tell him. “You’ll have Dad all to yourself.”

  Daniel fixes his eyes on the screen. His knuckles are white, that’s how hard he’s gripping the remote. “Why do you always have to be like this?”

  “Like what?” I’m being the crappy, self-obsessed older sister again. Don’t think I don’t notice. “Look, I’m going to call him when my schedule gets worked out, okay? But I probably won’t be able to go to the cottage. I have to work one shift every weekend.” This is true. It also happens to be an excellent excuse. “But you should go. It’ll be fun.”

  “You can still talk to him next time he calls.” Daniel stops flicking and stares at me like some demon child out of a horror movie.

  “Chill, okay?” I fix a Zen stare on his agitated presence.

  Daniel’s head twists back towards the television. If he starts levitating and talking backwards, I’m leaving the room. Mom can deal with the exorcism on her own.

  “Daniel?” Mom pops her head into the room, saving my immortal soul. “Set the table for me, please.”

  Daniel glowers at me again as he gets up. Five minutes later the three of us are eating hot dogs and Pringles at the kitchen table, despite Mom’s aversion to junk food. I munch Pringles in stacks of three and four and wash them down with swigs of ginger ale. Mom concentrates on her hot dog, which she’s dabbed with mustard and relish, and Daniel shoves a bit of everything into his mouth at once.

  My appetite’s gone before I start on my hot dog. I don’t know what time I’m supposed to be at Jersy’s for swimming. Maybe he’s forgotten. Who wants to go swimming with a pound of Pringles lining their stomach anyway? I’d probably sink straight to the bottom.

  I’m tapping my feet anxiously under the table and telling myself not to be such a moron when the phone rings. Daniel, who has the chair closest to the phone, reaches behind him and grabs the cordless from the wall. The eager look in his eyes tells me he’s expecting D
ad, but his face falls as he cradles the phone. He hands it wordlessly to me, and I take it. There’s no way it can be my father; Daniel’s not that good an actor. It’s gotta be Jersy I know before I even press the cordless to my ear.

  “Finn?” Jersy’s voice is deeper than it was last night.

  I stare at the wall, ignoring Mom’s and Daniel’s presence. “Hi, Jersy.” The slurping sound behind me is instantly replaced by incessant crunching. Daniel sounds uncannily like Samsam when he eats potato chips. Actually, Samsam’s neater. He never leaves crumbs.

  “I’m gonna have to cancel tonight,” Jersy says. “It’s not a good time. There’s some stuff going on here. I called your cell and left a message, but I wanted to make sure—”

  “It’s all right,” I cut in. I’m more relieved than disappointed. “Don’t worry about it.” But his voice doesn’t sound all right. He’s restless or moody or some other thing I can’t pinpoint. Audrey would know. “Is everything okay, though?”

  “Yeah,” Jersy says hesitantly. “It is … it’s just … not a good time to use the pool and stuff, you know?”

  No, I don’t know. “Okay, don’t worry about it. We can do it another time.” Of course, we never will. This is probably the last I’ll hear from him until September. Maybe now I’ll be able to finish my hot dog. Maybe I’m saved after all.

  “For sure,” Jersy says. “Another time.” He hangs out silently on the other end of the phone line, waiting for me to pick up the slack.

  “I better go.” I glance behind me at Daniel, Mom, and the dwindling supply of Pringles. “We’re in the middle of dinner.”

  “Okay, see you later,” Jersy says.

  “Yeah, see you.” I hang up the phone and immediately reach for another stack of Pringles. Now I sound like Samsam too. I bet he sits at the table and devours garbage like this in his doggie dreams. Or maybe he’s happy enough chomping down the contents of a torn garbage bag with no one standing over him to yell at him.