by Amy Bryant
“I got a flat tire yesterday,” I said. “It just totally blew. It was scary.”
Todd grunted and kept moving.
“William had to come and help me.”
Todd rifled through his tapes, looking for the one he wanted.
“My dad’s getting married,” I said. “I have to go to the wedding.”
Todd didn’t answer me.
“I thought maybe you could come with me,” I said.
He came over and sat down on the mattress beside me.
“You don’t want me to meet your dad,” he said. His voice was flat.
“Yes, I do,” I said, realizing he was right.
I put my cigarette butt into a beer can Todd had neglected to pick up. Smoke wafted out of the hole. I shook it to make sure the cigarette was out. Todd stretched out on the mattress and closed his eyes. He was even drunker than I’d thought. I looked at his small, sturdy mouth and his Roman nose, his strong jaw. Since he was asleep I let myself swoon. Todd was actor handsome. Alcoholic handsome. Rock-star handsome.
He started to snore. I located my cutoffs on the other side of the mattress and pulled them on. I remembered at the beginning of the summer, when we ran into each other at the Dag Nasty show. Todd had held my hand on the way to the car. And after, when I drove him home, he had kissed me good night like he meant it. His voice had scratched when he said my name.
I leaned over and kissed his neck just above the collarbone. You’re not real,” I said.
He snored into my hair.
I was getting ready for work the next day when Sam called. “Did you get the letter?” he asked.
I balanced the phone on my shoulder as I rolled on my panty hose. I was glad to hear his voice. “What letter?”
“There’s a two-week art intensive, but you have to get back to school early,” he said. “I think they sent it to all the people who signed up for second-year art.”
“I didn’t get it,” I said. “It sounds cool, though.”
“I’m going,” he said. “It would be fun if we did it together.”
After work I went with Mom to the grocery store. I liked the bulk food section, where everything was labeled and sat in giant wooden bins. When I was a kid I would stick my arms into the bins as far as they would go, until my mother noticed and stopped me.
On the way there we stopped at the gas station. Mom let me pump the gas; I loved the smell. After I’d filled the tank I waited in the car while Mom went inside to pay. Her car was nicer than mine. It ran smoother, and the interior was immaculate. Even though she’d had it for more than two years, her car still had a faint new-car smell.
A beat-up light blue Volkswagen bug pulled into the station and stopped in front of where we were parked. The muffler was so loud I thought it might drop out onto the street. I peered through the windshield. In the driver’s seat was Brendan Davis. I hunched down in my seat as the air went out of me. He was grinning.
Brendan got out of his car and came over to where I was.
“Hey, Polly,” he said. “Long time no see.”
“Leave me alone.” My voice came out louder than I’d meant it to.
Brendan rolled his eyes. “I see you’re still hung up on that whole thing.” He said it like I was mad at him for teasing me at school.
I lowered my voice. “Get out of here. I mean it.”
“Polly. Come on.”
I folded my arms in front of my chest. I hated the way he was looking at me. Like he had seen me naked.
Mom came up behind him. “Get away from my daughter,” she said. She had pulled herself up to her full height—she was taller than Brendan—and she was holding her purse in front of her with both hands.
Brendan turned to face her. He looked bored.
“What are you going to do about it?” he asked her.
“I’m going to call the police is what I’m going to do,” Mom answered. “If you ever come near my daughter again, I can guarantee you’ll regret it for a very long time.”
“Whatever,” Brendan said. His face had gone pale under his tan.
“You’re lucky I don’t call the police right now,” Mom said. She gave the Volkswagen a long look.
Without looking at either of us, Brendan got back into his car and started it. He was backing out of the station by the time Mom had come around to her side and sat down. She slammed the door behind her, hard.
“I assume that was who I think it was,” she said. She still sounded angry.
I straightened up in my seat and let out the breath I’d been holding. “Yes.”
Mom shook her head and started the car. “What an asshole.”
“I can’t believe you did that.”
“I mean it. You tell me if he ever bothers you again.”
We drove in silence while I waited for my heartbeat to slow back to normal. By the time we got to the grocery store, I was smiling.
The next day the letter came. The course was painting, sculpture, drawing, graphic design, screen printing, and photography. There would be a day and a half of each, and the goal was to figure out if you wanted to major in art, and also to help pick a focus. It cost five hundred dollars on top of regular tuition. I put the letter on Mom’s nightstand with a note that said Please.
Carrie’s family went to the West Virginia mountains for a long weekend. Carrie stayed behind so she could break up with Lyle. She was also having people over.
“I don’t want him over here,” Carrie said when I told her I was bringing Todd. “He’s such a weirdo alcoholic freak.”
“I already invited him,” I said. “I didn’t think you’d care.”
I told Todd about the breakup as soon as I picked him up.
“I thought they were gonna get married or something,” he said.
“Please. Nobody our age gets married.”
I pulled into the 7-Eleven on the edge of Carrie’s development and parked between two pickup trucks. As a consolation prize for bringing Todd, I’d promised Carrie we’d bring beer. Carrie didn’t live too far down the block, and in the distance I could see people standing out on her deck.
I pulled a twenty out of the front pocket of my cutoffs.
“Get a case, you know, for everybody,” I said.
Todd got out of the car. I leaned my head out the window.
“Todd! Get cigarettes.”
He held his hand up as he walked through the double doors of the 7-Eleven.
I got my brush out of the glove compartment and got rid of the tangles that had formed on the window side of my hair. It was dusk, my favorite time of the day. I watched the top of Todd’s head move down the fluorescent-lit aisle, toward the beer. I could see his stick-up hair.
A fortyish, bowlegged man wearing a baseball hat that sat up high on his head came out of the 7-Eleven and got into the pickup truck on my left. His radio blasted to life when he started his truck, and the parking lot was treated to the loud, false voice of the DJ.
“IT’S ALL HAPPENING THIS SUNDAY AT RFK STADIUM,” the DJ screamed. The man backed his car out of the space, pausing to give me a quick leer. I pretended not to see him.
Then Todd was running out of 7-Eleven with two cases of Milwaukee’s Best. He jumped in the car and slammed the door behind him.
“Let’s go!” He flung one case of beer in the backseat and held the other on his lap.
“Did you get cigarettes?”
“Polly, go! Drive!”
I dropped my brush into the space between my seat and the door and started the engine. Todd slammed his hand down on the dashboard as I released the emergency brake.
“Jesus, Polly, will you please move this fucking car!”
A policeman was running alongside the front of the 7-Eleven. He was headed straight for us. I put the car into reverse and stepped on the gas.
The policeman reached my window as I pulled out of our space.
“Stop the vehicle!” he shouted.
I stepped on the brake. The policeman ran around to
Todd’s side of the car and yanked open the door.
“Step out of the vehicle!” he shouted again.
Todd set down the case of beer he was holding and got out of the car. The policeman threw him against the side of the Subaru and handcuffed him. The Subaru and I rocked back and forth with the weight of it. Before the policeman could shout at me to do so, I turned off the ignition, pulled up the emergency brake, and returned my hands to the steering wheel.
Two police cars squealed into the parking lot. Doors slammed. Big, square flashlights beamed around the inside of my car. I sat frozen.
“I’m gonna need your license and registration, and then I’m gonna need you to step out of the vehicle,” a policeman said in a policeman voice. I realized he was talking to me. He had a rectangular face, and looked to be only a few years older than me. Another policeman leaned into the car window and picked up the two cases of beer. He ambled over to the entrance to the 7-Eleven.
I got out of the car just in time to see Todd being pushed into the back of one of the police cruisers. It was just like TV. I watched him lean forward and say something to the two policemen in the front seat.
“I take it he stole that beer,” I said to the rectangular-faced policeman.
Instead of answering me, he walked back to his car with my license and registration. Todd was in the other police car. I kept an eye on his profile. I was waiting for him to look at me. Maybe send me some kind of a message. An “I’m sorry” mouthed through the window. Something like that.
“Count yourself lucky you don’t have an open container situation on your hands, little lady,” the policeman said when he got back with my paperwork. “Are you aware that drinking underage is against the law?”
“I thought he was buying cigarettes,” I said.
“I suggest you find yourself another boyfriend, little lady,” he said. “A boyfriend who’s law abiding.”
I wanted to ask him to stop calling me little lady. Instead I said, “He’s not my boyfriend.”
There were a few cars parked out front of Carrie’s, including Theresa’s. I hadn’t seen either one of them in weeks. I crossed the front yard and pushed open the front door. The foyer was empty.
“Hi honey, I’m home,” I called out.
Nobody answered. I heard music and talking outside.
I cut through the kitchen on my way to the deck. Carrie’s mother was a Southern Living fan, and the kitchen was decorated with things like salt and pepper shakers disguised as cows and baskets of fake fruit wrapped in checked, lace-trimmed cloth.
Mike Franklin was sitting at the picnic table next to Carrie.
“Hi,” I said. Carrie smiled and Mike nodded.
Theresa came up beside me. “Did you see what happened at the 7-Eleven just now?” I asked.
Nobody had. I told them about Todd’s arrest.
“I guess I should call the police station or something,” I said when I got finished.
“What for?” Theresa said. “That’s what he gets.”
“Yeah,” Carrie said. She ashed her cigarette into a coffee can filled with sand. “Let him rot.”
Mike’s hand was resting on Carrie’s knee.
When I got home from work the next afternoon I found a check made out to Virginia Tech for $500 on the kitchen counter. William had signed it. I screamed. Then I called Sam.
I drove over to Todd’s apartment without bothering to change out of my costume.
“I’m going back to school early,” I said when he opened the door. “I’m doing this art program.”
Todd shrugged. “That’s nice,” he said.
I followed him through the living room and into the kitchen.
“You owe me twenty bucks,” I said.
Todd opened the refrigerator and pulled out a can of Budweiser.
“Do you still have my twenty?”
Todd slammed the refrigerator door shut. “Can you shut up about your goddamn twenty? I’m the one who got arrested.”
I made a grab for the back pocket of Todd’s jeans, where I could see the outline of his wallet. He twisted away from me and pushed me against the counter so hard it dug into my back.
“Ow, Todd, fuck!” I yelled.
He took a step toward me. I put my hands in front of my face.
“I didn’t mean to,” Todd said. His voice was soft.
He kissed me. His face felt hot. He unbuttoned my Mickey sweater and threw it on the floor. I grabbed his hand when he started in on my oxford.
“Let’s go to your room,” I said.
We stripped off our clothes and got on the mattress. I climbed on top of him and pinned my hands against his shoulders. I lifted my hips up while he positioned himself. I had done it this way with Ian a few times, but never with Todd.
When I leaned over to kiss him, I felt a hiccup in my vagina. The hiccup felt good. I moved further up his torso. There was another hiccup. I kept going. The hiccups moved closer together.
I checked Todd’s face. Sweat had appeared on his forehead, and his eyes were half-closed. The sides of his nose were slick with oil. I turned my head to the side and kept moving.
Finally it happened, rushing all the way through my body and evaporating much too soon.
Afterward, we smoked our cigarettes in silence.
“I have to go,” I said after I’d stubbed out my cigarette. “I promised my mother I’d be home early.”
Todd rolled over and faced me. He smiled his squinty smile. “I don’t want you to go back to school,” he said.
I kissed him. “I have to go,” I said.
I got up and began gathering my clothes, which were strewn all over Todd’s floor. I found everything but my pantyhose. I stepped over Todd’s boom box and tipped back his amplifier. Something thumped against the inside of the amp. I leaned over and looked closer.
It was some sort of handgun. At first I didn’t think it was real, but then I knew.
I looked over at Todd. He was lighting a new cigarette with his last one. I reached down and picked the gun up. It was heavy.
I turned around to face Todd. “Where did you get this?” I asked. My voice shook.
“It’s not loaded,” Todd said. “In case you get any ideas.”
My ears were ringing. “Why do you have this?” I asked.
Todd rested his cigarette in the ashtray and pulled on his T-shirt. “None of your business,” he said. He reached for his jeans.
I stood frozen. I was holding the gun like they did on TV, with my finger on the trigger.
“Have you always had this?” I asked. “Like, all summer?”
Todd snickered. “You think it’s sexy?”
“No.”
Todd stepped toward me. “Here. I’ll show you how to use it.”
“No thanks.” I leaned over and put the gun back behind the amplifier. Todd shrugged and went into the bathroom.
I picked up my tennis shoes and tucked them under my arm. My pantyhose were balled up at the end of Todd’s mattress. I decided I didn’t need them.
It was still hot out even though it was dark, and I kept the windows rolled down as I drove. There was a Jane’s Addiction song on the radio, and I turned it up. The traffic light up ahead turned yellow. I shifted the car into neutral and eased the brake down with my bare foot. A station wagon with a bumper sticker that read MY KID IS ON THE HONOR ROLL cut in front of me. There was a black lab standing up in the back. The light turned red. “Hi, doggie,” I said. I was having trouble breathing. The lab sat down, reached a hind leg up, and tucked his head under it. I grabbed my pack of cigarettes off the passenger seat. The light turned green just as I pushed the car lighter in.
“Coming down the mountain,” I sang with Perry Farrell’s high, raspy voice.
I wanted to see Mom and William, to thank them for letting me do the art program. It was going to be a brand-new year, with new people to meet and new things to do. I would be a new person.
The car lighter popped back out, and I pressed it to
my cigarette. My lungs tightened as the smoke entered them, and I felt a calmness come over me. I was safe now. My life in Reston was ending.
I lifted the turn signal, changed lanes. I was almost home.
Epilogue POLLY
It was a three-bedroom apartment with a big, sunny kitchen, just off campus in town. The living room was wood paneled and had dark brown wall-to-wall carpeting. Andrew called it the Brady room. Julie’s parents donated their old brown couch, and Andrew added a tan beanbag chair. It was all too ugly to spend much time in, so we centered the ironing board in front of the couch, leaned our bikes against the wall, and went in only when we had to.
Julie hung her hammock up in one corner of her bedroom, near the window. Andrew and I were sure the hooks she’d put in the wall would cost us our deposit, but we loved lying in it after class. Andrew’s room was so crowded with band equipment he hardly had space for his desk. His closet stood empty, as he preferred to keep his clothes strewn all over the floor. Julie and I ordered him to keep his door shut at all times.
We spent most of our time in the kitchen. Sam was over nearly every night. We sat on green plastic chairs from Kmart, at the round wooden table we bought at the Salvation Army, eating macaroni and cheese and complaining about frat boys and rednecks. Andrew’s radio show was on Thursday nights, so that was the night every week that Sam and Julie and I sat at the kitchen table with the radio turned up, playing cards and drinking beer.
Early in the semester Mom and William drove down with my dresser and my desk from home. They took me to Sears in Roanoke and bought me a bed frame and a rug for my bedroom. Up until then I’d been sleeping on a mattress on the floor, which I didn’t mind. Mom wanted to buy me a new bedspread, but I still liked my old down comforter, even though it was worn through in places. We went out to dinner at a Mexican restaurant in town I’d never been to, and afterward I showed them the art studio on campus, where some of my work was.