Cherry

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by Nico Walker


  I was back in school because I needed the money for drugs. Poetry class was twice a week and I was usually in bad shape if I made it at all. The lady who taught the class was named Dr. Archer. She acted bitter as fuck for a woman as young as she was, seeing as it wasn’t like she was ugly or anything. She was real serious about poetry too. She came from England.

  The class was doing “Ode on a Grecian Urn.” Dr. Archer was asking us about the end. I was pretty wasted on some fucking skag so I missed most of what she was saying. But I caught the last part:

  “ ‘Beauty is truth,’ ” she said, “ ‘truth beauty,—that is all Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.’ What do you think Keats meant?”

  No one tried to answer.

  I thought, Fuck it. I’ll give it a shot. The line spoke to me, spoke to my heart, so how could it be that I should misunderstand it?

  I raised my hand. Archer kept looking for someone else to call on. There was no one else. At last she had to say, “You.”

  “I dunno,” I said. “Maybe he’s saying that all things that are true are beautiful, you know? So beauty’s the only thing worth living for.”

  All she said was no.

  But the way she said it was as if I’d taken a dump on the floor and ruined the whole poetry class. Which I thought was a bit overmean on her part.

  And her meanness made me wonder, Why this contempt? Why should this lady despise me?

  And then I knew the answer:

  There were two jackals fucking inside of her.

  * * *

  —

  LIBBY AND Gilda had tried living together. They had signed a lease on an apartment some months back. I think I went over there twice. The only furniture aside from their beds was an inflatable sofa. And they had a little TV set with a DVD player built into the bottom of it. And they had maybe a hundred plastic martini glasses. I didn’t like going to their apartment: too many dreams there that wouldn’t ever come true.

  They ended up breaking the lease. Some big fight or whatever; it doesn’t matter. But they turned on each other.

  Libby told me how Gilda kept fucking around on Roy with that bitch Ricky. Libby thought Ricky was a creeper. She’d seen Ricky make out with a 17-year-old girl!

  At the same time Gilda was telling me Libby was a borderline retard and completely psycho and a slut who’d fuck more or less anybody and pretty much did.

  “Don’t you see it?” she said. “You have to. I know you do.”

  And it turned out Roy had been talking shit.

  Libby said, “He talks shit about you.”

  I said that was okay.

  “It doesn’t bother you?”

  “Why would it bother me? Nine times out of ten, you have a friend, he’s gonna talk shit about you. That’s just the cost of doing business.”

  “Does he know Gilda hooks up with other guys?”

  “I imagine he presupposed it.”

  “Does he cheat on her?”

  “What do you think?”

  “Why? Did he tell you something?”

  “No.”

  “And you don’t care.”

  “That’s right.”

  “And you don’t care what he says about you.”

  “No. I don’t.”

  “Because you don’t give a fuck.”

  “Because I don’t give a fuck.”

  * * *

  —

  LIBBY AND I went out on Sunday night. ’80s night. Gilda went too. Roy didn’t go because he said he was poor. Libby and Gilda danced together. I drank well vodka at the bar. Kamchatka. I was shit at dancing. The night ended. We went up the stairs and out onto the sidewalk. Libby and Gilda were excited.

  “Two guys humped us while we were dancing!”

  “We were dancing by ourselves and these two guys came up from behind and smooshed us between them and humped us!”

  “Look! There they are!”

  Libby pointed at two bros who were about to turn the corner. They were about to get away. I sensed Libby’s expectation that I would do something. And I wasn’t thrilled about it. But then I figured the bros weren’t dangerous and there were two of them and one of me so she couldn’t really expect I’d do much more than catch up with them and talk some shit and leave it at that. Which I about did, till I got carried away.

  I said, “How much money you got on you?”

  “What?”

  I said, “Give me all your fucking money.”

  They raised an alarm.

  It turned out these bros weren’t alone. More bros appeared. And now there were six bros and it looked like I was about to get the fuck beaten out of me. I was lucky that two friends of Libby’s happened to be out there. Two black guys. Gay ones. Two gay black guys in fur coats and diamond earrings. One of them a giant. They saved me. The bros didn’t do shit. The bros were scared of the two gay black guys. Libby took my hand.

  “I want you to meet my friends,” she said.

  The one, the giant, had to be six foot seven, and he was built like a fucking bull. I thanked him. He said, “So this is your boy, Libby? He’s cute.”

  She said yeah.

  Then a bro I hadn’t seen yet came jumping up the street: “YOU BETTER POP OFF, SON. YOU BETTER POP OFF. POP OFF, SON. YOU BETTER POP OFF.” And some more bros came and they took him away while he kept on: “POP OFF…POP OFF…YOU BETTER POP OFF…POP OFF…POP OFF…POP OFF, SON…”

  He faded out.

  The giant said, “Tell me, Libby. When are you two getting married?”

  She said, “We’re not sure yet.”

  He said to me, “If you ever hurt Libby, I’ll kill you.”

  * * *

  —

  WHEN I told Libby I wasn’t really gonna marry her she got upset. “Why are you doing this to me?” she said. “I love you.”

  I said, “I’m sorry but it isn’t what you think. All this I-love-you-and-I-want-to-marry-you shit, it’s fucking bullshit. I’m sorry but it’s true. I know I said that shit. But there’s no way I can really mean it. Not in real life.”

  “THAT’S NOT TRUE.”

  “But really that is the truth and I’m sorry. Please believe me. I wish things were different but they’re not. It’s just that it’s no good and I may as well tell you now, right? It’d just be worse later, you know?”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I don’t know what I’m saying. But it’s how I fucking feel. I wouldn’t do some shit like this to you for the fuck of it. I’m not trying to be a dick. I say I love you, right? I’d like it to be true. But it’s fucking stupid and I should’ve known better than to do that.”

  “Are you saying you don’t want to be with me?”

  “No. I do. That’s not the problem. The problem’s just that I know it’s no good and I don’t believe in this shit.”

  “You don’t trust me?”

  “Honestly?…No, not especially. But—”

  “WHAT DO YOU MEAN? WHAT HAVE I EVER DONE?”

  “It’s not anything you did. So don’t worry. Really it’s okay. But a motherfucker would have to be crazy to trust a girl this day and age. Nothing personal.”

  “Did somebody tell you something about me? Was it Gilda? She’s LYING.”

  “Nobody said anything.”

  “FUCK YOU.”

  “AH, SHIT. Why the fuck are you mad at me? I’m trying to be fuckin honest with you.”

  “YOU SAID YOU LOVE ME. YOU SAID WE WERE GOING TO GET MARRIED. NOW YOU’RE SAYING YOU DON’T LOVE ME AND WE’RE NOT GETTING MARRIED AND I’M NOT SUPPOSED TO BE MAD AT YOU?”

  “I do love you. Fuck! I mean I like you a lot. So much. I like you so much. You’re really great. You know that. You’re incredibly hot and you’re much too nice to me. But I can’t do this. Look aroun
d you. I’ve lived in this fucking apartment almost two months now and the lights aren’t even turned on yet. Doesn’t that tell you something? Ninety percent of the time I’m too high to fuck you and I know you like dick and I’m too high so that’s lame. I understand why you fuck other guys.”

  “I don’t fuck other guys.”

  “Yes, you do. And you don’t need to lie about it. Who am I that you should need to justify yourself to me? You fuck other guys and you have my blessing. You like dick and there’s nothing wrong with that. You’re supposed to like dick and I don’t doubt for a second that one of those pieces of shit is a better match for you than I am. You ought to marry that one.”

  “But I want to be with you!”

  “How can you say that? You don’t really know anything about me.”

  “Yes I do.”

  “What’s my last name?…You see?”

  “THAT’S NOT FAIR.”

  “Listen. I’d ruin your life. This is your lucky break. Trust me, you’ll get over it.”

  “Are you breaking up with me?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Gilda had been out in the living room the whole time, and Libby and I were feeling dumb on account of Gilda’s having heard us say a lot of crazy shit. And Gilda was bored. So we decided we would all feel much better if we did some heroin.

  I called Three-Hundred. It was three in the morning but Three-Hundred picked up and I said I was sorry about calling so late. He said it was okay because he was always awake and I could come through. Libby and Gilda wanted to come along. So we all drove over to Buckeye and met Three-Hundred on one of the side streets over that way. He got in the front seat and looked back and said, “Good evening, ladies.”

  Three-Hundred invariably smelled like shit, and he was a fat fuck and he had breath like he ate shit for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

  I said, “Three-Hundred, this is Libby and Gilda. Libby, Gilda, this is Three-Hundred.”

  “Hi, Three-Hundred.”

  “We really like the heroin.”

  On the way back Libby asked me if Three-Hundred was his real name. I said it probably wasn’t.

  Gilda said, “He smelled like a zoo!”

  Ten minutes later we were out of heroin but we were all high as fuck and Gilda flipped an ashtray over on the rug and said, “Darn.”

  I said, “Gilda, you’re a fucking bitch.”

  Libby asked if we could call Three-Hundred again.

  I said we didn’t have any money.

  She said, “Can we maybe get some and pay him back later?”

  I said I didn’t think he’d go for that. It was real late.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  December. Libby had been on me to go out to Chardon and meet her dad. I called her on the way because I got lost. I said, “I’m lost and I can’t see a fucking thing. It’s fucking dark out here.”

  She stayed on the phone and talked me all the way there, step by step. The house wasn’t big.

  “Okay. I’m here.”

  “Ooo-wee! I’m so excited!”

  Her dad was in the living room. He said his name was Mark. I said hello to Mark. He was tall and very thin, soft-spoken, depressed, effeminate. Another man and a woman were on the sofa. I wasn’t introduced so I just waved to them. They didn’t wave back. The man had a silver crew cut. He looked like a sheriff’s deputy. The woman looked like hell. Both of them were wearing turtlenecks. So was Mark. But what scared me the most was that they were all drinking pop.

  Libby’s kid brother came running down the stairs. He was 16 and half-naked. He was wearing silk boxers and a Santa hat, a plastic necklace that lit up. He said, “Come here, big boy.”

  He wrapped his arms around me and started dry-humping me really hard. He wouldn’t let go. He was stronger than I was. I got the impression that he did lots of sit-ups. He kept humping me. I didn’t know what to do. Then Libby took my hand.

  “Come with me,” she said. “I want to show you this.”

  She led me into a dining room, where there were stacks of old magazines on the table and on the floor, and against the wall was a china cabinet holding a number of framed photographs.

  “This is my mom,” she said.

  She picked up one of the photographs and kissed it and handed it to me. Libby looked like her mother. The same eyes. The same mouth. The same smile. I handed the photograph back to her.

  “She’s beautiful.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You look like her.”

  “Thanks.”

  She put the photograph back in its place. Then she showed me another:

  “That’s me with my older brothers.”

  It was her and five guys with shaved heads. Any one of them looked like he could beat the fuck out of me.

  * * *

  —

  I HEARD there was a party some days later. I didn’t go. I hadn’t been invited but I wouldn’t have gone anyway. It was Ricky’s party. Roy went. I didn’t wonder at that.

  Roy dropped by so he could meet this guy Pills And Coke at my apartment. It was a convenience thing since Pills And Coke was paying me rent to keep a safe in my kitchen. Roy was wearing a sweater with a reindeer on the front. He looked like a total asshole, and I was ashamed of him.

  He said, “You’re just chilling by yourself?”

  I said I was.

  He said, “That’s cool. How’s things with you and Libby.”

  “Fine.”

  “That Libby’s a good girl.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I see why you like her so much. She’s got that whole painted-whore thing going for her….Say, man. You wouldn’t happen to have any clean rigs around here, would you?”

  I said no, but I had some slightly used ones and some bleach. He considered it and said it would have to do. I went and cleaned out a couple rigs. Pills And Coke came up and Roy bought an 80mg Oxy off him. If you didn’t know any better you’d have thought Pills And Coke was Biff from Back to the Future, but he wasn’t; he was Pills And Coke and it was almost 2009 and Pills And Coke wasn’t old enough to have been in Back to the Future. I had decided that I had better get an 80 as well and I asked Pills And Coke to take it out of what he owed me in safe rent. He said I’d already run through all that. So I asked him to spot me one for a day or two. He said okay.

  Pills And Coke left and Roy and I got to shooting our pills. Roy shot half his 80 and I shot the entirety of mine. Roy said, “I wish I could afford to shoot a whole eighty like that.”

  I said, “Work hard and save your money and you just might.”

  “Really?” he said. “So that’s how you do it?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Why aren’t you at the party?” he said. “Libby’s there.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  Zoë was back.

  I said, “Zoë, what are you doing here?”

  “Holiday,” she said. “Visiting friends.”

  “Zoë, you live in Barcelona. How long have you been in America?”

  “A month.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

  “You don’t check your email.”

  “Please come over.”

  Zoë had called. She wanted to see me. And I was dying in a good way about getting to see her.

  She was fucking gorgeous and so cool.

  I’d fucked her before. Maybe I could fuck her again.

  Maybe that would save me.

  One thing though: when I’d fucked her before, I’d fucked her all wrong. I’d been trying to make a big deal out of how much it meant to me to fuck her and I’d fucked her pretty lame. I hadn’t understood that she wasn’t trying to think about what this or that meant and she wasn’t trying to be all sad about everything. Fucking the sad is like
fucking the dead; it’s not something healthy people want to do. And I’d been on coke and I’d been emotional. That’s usually how I’d ruin things. And I think this is all very tragic.

  Anyway. Zoë came over.

  I said, “Zoë, I’m so glad you’re back.”

  She said, “Yeah, it’s cool.”

  Libby called. I didn’t take her call. She called again. I ignored it. Then Libby was downstairs trying to get in. Then she was yelling up at the window, yelling like the world’s most beautiful psycho.

  Zoë said, “Is she your girlfriend?”

  “No.”

  “I feel bad for her. I think I should go.”

  “Don’t go. She’ll give up. She’ll get tired of it. Just give it a minute. She fucks lots of people.”

  “She must think I’m a witch.”

  “It’s nothing. We’ll just ignore her. It’ll be fine.”

  And I’d thought still it’d be alright but then I ran into some bad luck. I’d taken a barr and drank a Gato Negro. I knew better than to do some shit like this; I’d always been a lightweight when it came to the benzodiazepines. But I was broke and the barrs were the only drugs I had and Zoë had wanted to do drugs and I hadn’t wanted to disappoint her. And I don’t believe in giving anyone anything I wouldn’t take myself, so I took a barr; that’s why I blacked out.

  Such was life. I didn’t understand it.

  I came to on the floor.

  And Zoë was gone.

  Beautiful Zoë.

  And there was Libby.

  Beautiful Libby.

  She kicked me in the side. “What is wrong with you?”

  “Where did Zoë go?”

  “She left.”

  “You’ve ruined everything.”

  “What did I ruin?”

  “You don’t fucking care. Leave me alone. I’m goddamn fucking miserable.”

  “Why are you so miserable? You always say you’re so miserable. What do you have to be miserable about? You’re a brat. Is your mother dead? You don’t even have to work.”

 

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