by Lena Prodan
If a teenager in Lane 5 is buying something she'd rather keep private, so she switches to Lane 3 at 4:50 PM, with her heart beating at one hundred miles per hour ... If I stayed where I was, what were the odds that Amanda would see what I bought and get so disgusted with me that she never spoke to me again? But if I claimed I'd forgotten something and left the line, would I get through a different check-out in time to oh-so-casually bump into her at the door? Hero's death or coward's way out? Lane 3 was looking good.
"Next,” the cashier sighed.
My hand sweated against the slick plastic package under the flannel shirts.
Amanda touched my back. “Hey."
Pinned between a display of candy bars and the girl who made me forget how to talk, I hoped humiliation could be fatal. Strike me dead now, please.
"Oh, hey,” I said.
Amanda's mom stood between us. Everything about her was tiny. Hands like a child's clutched their cart; a lit cigarette tucked between her fingers. She wore a McDonald's uniform with shiny spots on the polyester pants.
"You're next,” Amanda reminded me.
I shoved my stuff onto the counter and stared at my hiking boots, not even looking at the cashier as I handed her the wadded bills from my pocket. She called after me to take my receipt, but I was already headed out the door.
Halfway across the parking lot, I heard a car pull up behind me. Amanda shouted, “Hey!"
I didn't want to look back, but people behind her Mom's car were laying on the horns, so I went over to their faded orange Pinto.
"Where you going?” Amanda asked.
"Walking to our house."
"You live on base, right?"
I nodded, but said, “The off-base housing."
"I'm late to work, but I can drive you as far as our apartment,” Amanda's mom offered.
Amanda didn't have much of an accent, but her mom was pure Kentucky. It as too geeky of me, but I suddenly understood exactly what Truman Capote meant in The Grass Harp when he called someone a hard Kentucky woman. I could see her life hadn't been easy, and from the look of her eyes, she didn't expect it to ever get any better. “Can't be late for my shift, so make up your mind,” she said.
"That would be wonderful. Thank you, ma'am.” I got into their car, dragging my feet through a pile of discarded McNugget boxes.
The town we lived in was small, but I'd never seen Amanda's long, low apartment building. There were four units. A Big Wheel and toddler's push toy lay on the snow outside the apartments.
Big men wearing greasy jeans watched Amanda and me walk to the door.
"Wanna come in?” Amanda asked.
Like I wanted to stay outside with those men. “Yeah. Thanks.” I clutched my K-Mart bag.
Amanda shoved aside the busted screen door and unlocked the door. Both windows were covered with aluminum foil. To the left of the door was a small kitchen. Plates were stacked in the cracked sink. The rest of the room was taken by a fold-out couch. Amanda's brother sprawled on the tangled sheets. He looked a lot like Amanda's mother, with the smallest hands I'd every seen on a boy. “Where's Ma?” he asked without looking away from the TV.
"Work."
"I need the car,” he told us, as if we could do something about it.
"She got six hours today."
"I only got four. Guess I'll walk over and get it.” He turned the volume up.
Amanda pulled me past the couch and through one of the two doors on the back wall. “When he leaves, we can watch TV or somethin'.” She plopped down on the double bed that filled the room.
There was nowhere else to sit, so I got onto the bed with her. She pulled off her shoes and threw them into the open closet. I recognized Amanda's school clothes hanging on the far side of the rail. Another McDonald's uniform and petite dresses hung in the middle. At the far end were jeans, concert tees, and an Arby's uniform.
"Who were those guys outside?” I asked.
She stared at me for a long time. “Don't look at ‘em too long, don't talk to ‘em, walk around ‘em. And don't ever go inside an apartment with one of them, even if you're doing a deal."
She dumped her K-Mart bag onto the bed. “Want something to read?” She had the latest issues of People and Cosmo, and a romance novel.
Before I answered, she sprawled on her stomach and flipped open People to a spread on Brooke Shields. “I wish I looked like her."
Wasn't that what we were all supposed to say?
"So, you just moved to town, or were you going to Baker High before?” I cautiously lay beside her, feeling the mattress through the thin blanket. The bed smelled of boy.
She kept turning pages, but I knew she wasn't reading. “We moved here because of my dad."
"Oh?"
"He lives with his new wife and other kids in a big house on the other side of town. Gots a power boat, a new truck, a huge satellite dish in the backyard ... We moved here so Ma could take him to court for the child support he owes us."
Righteous anger flushed under my skin and gripped my throat. It couldn't be that easy for him to get away with it. “Can't the courts do something?"
"Pfft. The judge in Indiana said Mom must be one of those harpy feminists to hunt Dad all over the country trying to get money out of him. Said Indiana didn't have to enforce some Kentucky law. Judge didn't say nothing when Dad said Mom got herself pregnant and tricked him into the wedding.” She turned back to her magazine. “The courts don't care. Every time we catch up to him, he just moves. We never seen a dime."
I was still choking on my anger. Maybe the courts didn't care, but I did. I'd do something about it. I never thought much about what I'd do when I got out of school, because I never expected to live that long, but in an instant, I decided I'd go to law school so I could help Amanda get revenge on her dad. I wanted to make him live in a crappy apartment in the worst part of town and make his new family have to live off the wages of a part time job at McDonald's while Amanda, her mom, and brother, lived in her father's big house. I wanted his other kids to see what he'd done to their half sister and brother, and I wanted them to learn how to hate their father for it.
Once I had my plan, the tightness in my chest eased. Little smiles flickered across my lips. I wanted to tell Amanda, but I also wanted to keep a secret so that I could surprise her. I could imagine how happy she'd be.
Smug and content, I opened the Cosmo. It must have been written in secret code, because I couldn't understand any of it. Each word was clear, but they wouldn't stick in my mind. Amanda was on the bed. She was next to me. There were no other girls, no suspicious teachers, no distractions. I flipped magazine pages, oblivious to the bright make-up ads, only aware that we were alone.
As she read, I let my elbow move over close to hers, and then relaxed my thigh so that our jeans touched. She filled out a crossword. I leaned closer, watching her soft pink lips moving as she read each clue.
"Do you know who starred as Colonel Henry Blake in the movie version of M*A*S*H?” she asked.
Mentally, I'd filled out the entire puzzle by then, but I shrugged.
The deep brown of her hair was intertwined with honey and amber strands. She even had two shades of freckles.
What I would have given to be a boy right then. To slide my thigh between hers and feel the moist heat of the inside of her thigh burning through my clothes. My hands would be respectful, touching only in wonder as if she were a foreign country and I could learn the customs by feeling the soil. I wanted her girlness to slide against my skin but not take it into myself. I wanted to slowly hump against her thigh, delicately so that maybe she wouldn't notice, and she'd keep chewing on the end of her pencil. I wouldn't whip it out. I wouldn't be so crude. I'd leave it in my pants and not use her, but want her, and let her know that it was an act of worship. Just bump—and feel the contact through my jeans until the tingle faded and then bump again and enjoy the rush.
More than anything, I wanted to tell her that I liked her, and I wanted her to understand
want those words meant. I wanted to offer prayers to her against her lips. If only I could tell her that she was pretty and not freak her out.
The door slammed open. Amanda didn't move, but I jumped off the bed, afraid that her brother would yell at me for pressing against her.
"Get out. Gotta dress for work,” he told us.
I grabbed bags and magazines. Amanda sauntered past her brother, plopped down on the fold out couch, and kept working on her crossword. I wanted to turn off the TV, but didn't.
Her brother came out of the bedroom in the Arby's uniform.
"Hey, grab me something for dinner. I'm starving,” Amanda shouted as he headed out the door.
"I can't. Any food we're supposed to dump gets sprayed with Lysol now."
"Shit. Then ask Ma if she can swipe something.” She turned to me. “You want some McDonald's?"
I shook my head as another lump settled in my chest. I had to save her from that life.
"If I see her when I take the car, I'll ask,” her brother said as he headed out.
Amanda's gaze slid sideways to the door and she waited for a while after it closed to kneel on the mattress. She pulled a bag of peanut M&Ms out of her bag and tore it open. “At least I got these. Want some?"
"No. Thank you. It's okay. I'm supposed to be on a diet."
She shook the bag at me. “Me too, but it looks like oatmeal for dinner again, and I'm sick of it. Come on. These're good."
I took three. No matter how long I chewed, I could barely choke them down.
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Chapter 14
First semester finals were only two weeks away, but Sean, Eric, Tony, and I already had a bad case of senioritis. Instead of making heroic last minute efforts to pull up our grades, we shrugged and went to a Black Sabbath concert.
Sometimes I wondered why I met up with the guys every night. It felt as if we'd had the same conversation a hundred times before. We were all at the Black Sabbath concert. We saw the same things and heard the same music, but for days following the show, Tony, Sean, and Mark wanted to discuss it in excruciating detail as if we hadn't.
The hand holding the dog's leash was numb from the cold and my teeth chattered uncontrollably. She didn't seem to mind, but I felt guilty for taking the dog out to walk when we rarely went far. It wasn't as if Mom or Pop ever questioned me about where I went or how I spent my time, but just in case, I always took the dog along as an excuse.
The MPs patrolled past us a fourth time, slowing down to a crawl while they glared at us. We got the message. Teenagers spooked people, especially when boys—and one wanna-be—gathered in a sullen, bored mob, so we headed to the gazebo in the woods where the sight of us wouldn't offend anyone.
It was one of those nights when the air was like a knife. There were too many clouds to see the stars, but the moon, low and fat on the horizon, glowed through the haze.
Most of the guys sat on top of the picnic table. I leaned against one of the posts and let the dog inspect the bushes for a while. When she was satisfied, she looked up at me, expectant. I put her inside my coat and zipped it up so that only her face was exposed.
"I'm freezing my ass off,” Tony grumbled.
Lighters flickered, and the sweet scent of pot wafted through the air.
In case we didn't hear him the first time, Tony said, “It's too damn cold."
Mark huddled into his down coat, the high neck pulled up over his mouth to muffle his voice. “My parents are out of town."
He was right to be cautious. With the walls between the duplexes so thin, we had to be careful not to piss off the neighbors. They might call the MPs.
We made our way up the other hill to Mark's place. As soon as we were inside, Lane put Rush's Moving Pictures on the stereo. Mark's parents had cable TV, so we watched a boxing match and passed around bags of chips. I gave some to the dog so that she'd be happy on my lap.
I went out through the sliding glass doors a few times to smoke cigarettes I bummed off the guys. It was weird, how right I felt while I was smoking, as if whatever was off-kilter inside my brain aligned, and for those brief moments I was a normal human being. Afterwards, I felt worse. So I smoked another one.
Much later, when the TV was off and Mark's house got quiet, I tip-toed through the rooms. Sean was on the floor of Mark's room, passed out in a nest of crumpled clothes. I crouched down to roll him onto his side. The death of Led Zeppelin's drummer was still fresh in my mind and no friend of mine was going to choke to death on his own vomit.
A sound behind me made me look up. Eric stood in the doorway, a blanket in his hand, a dark scowl on his face. I shoved past him and went downstairs.
There was a part of the night that used to belong solely to Eric and me. It came after the others fell asleep. HBO showed short movies like Bambi meets Godzilla. Pink Floyd, Rush, and AC/DC records went back into their sleeves. We'd put on Oingo Boingo, The Pretenders, Sex Pistols, or Dead Kennedys and quietly slam dance against each other until we collapsed, laughing and bruised, onto the floor.
We hadn't done that since summer. Still, out of habit, I put on Only a Lad and bounced on the balls of my feet, but it wasn't the same. I went through the first floor of the duplex and turned off all the lights except the one in the bathroom. My nerves were strung out and edgy. I decided it was the music. I was in no mood for it. I flipped through albums, put a few on, but yanked away the stylus after only a few bars. Everything I loved grated.
What I needed was “alone in the dark” music. Led Zeppelin III called to me, so I put on Since I've Been Loving You, stretched out on the couch, and closed my eyes. The dog jumped up and lay beside me.
The room smelled of beer. Beer and boys. I pulled my coat to my nose and drew in deep breaths. Underneath the stink of cigarettes was the comforting scent of campfire.
Someone crept down the stairs. I could feel the dog get tense, but then she waggled her butt, so I figured it was Eric. He was the only one still awake, but I had no reason to talk with him anymore.
He stood somewhere near the edge of the room until the song ended. Then he came over to the couch and bumped the cushion with his knee. “I want to ask you something.” When I didn't answer, he said, “I know you're awake."
Eric jumped back when I sat up fast and headed out through the sliding glass door, dragging the dog with me. It wasn't long before I heard the door open and shut again. He jogged to catch up with me.
"Want to go to the winter formal? Dad told me I had to ask you,” he gasped as he slowed down to a walk beside me.
My breath came out in puffs. “Since you asked so nice, no.” I kept walking.
He didn't say anything, but he followed me down the hill, through the park, and up our hill.
An MP cruiser slowed as it passed us. At the corner, it stopped. The officer rolled down his window. “What are you boys up to this time of night?"
"Headed home, sir,” I told him.
It was funny calling the MP sir. He couldn't have been much older than us. His face had that unfinished look to it, like he wasn't done growing into a man.
"Come here."
I trudged over. Eric stayed behind me. The MP shone his flashlight into our eyes.
"You been drinking?"
"No, Sir.” I was so glad I passed on the beer.
"Let me smell your breath."
The scent of stale cigarettes seemed to disappoint him.
"How about you?” He shone the light at Eric.
Fighting or not, there was no way I'd let a cop catch Eric with beer-breath, so I stayed between them. Eric leaned down for the MP, but was far enough away that the yeasty smell didn't carry.
"Well, you shouldn't be out this time of night. Curfew was hours ago. I could take you in for that."
"We're on our way home, sir. That's allowed, even under curfew,” I reminded him.
"You getting smart with me, boy?"
I bit my tongue and shook my head.
"Where do you live?"
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Eric gave the MP his duplex numbers. As usual, when faced with a test involving numbers, my mind went blank. So I nodded toward Eric and said, “I live next door to him.” A drop of clear, watery snot hung inside my nose and threatened to fall. I wiped it away with the back of my hand.
The MP sat in his car while he decided how much he wanted to hassle us. His patrol was boring as hell and we were the only people awake for him to talk to. It was a lonely night for everyone, I guessed.
"Sir, I really do have to get my dog home,” I said. I picked her up and hoped she looked pathetic enough to convince him. She licked my hand.
He sighed.
"Well, you boys get on home to bed now."
I put the dog down. Eric said, “Yes, sir.” The cruiser rolled away from us.
"Come on, go to the dance with me,” Eric whined.
"What? Are we suddenly friends again? I don't think so."
"I still help you with your math tests."
"You've been a total shit to me."
"Let's see how well you do without my help,” he called out as I walked away.
"Bite my cock, douche."
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Chapter 15
Eric, Sean, Tony, Mark and I slumped across the living room floor at the Foster's. While the guys debated the greatness of Rush's Hemispheres album versus the utter sellout of Moving Pictures, I studied the cover of The Pretenders’ latest album and daydreamed of Chrissie Hynde in a leather cat suit like Mrs. Peel from the Avengers. I wondered if she cracked the whip when she sang The Adulteress.
Mrs. Foster brought a bowl of popcorn out and set it on the coffee table for us.
Sean perched on the arm of the couch next to me. “You going to the Christmas service at the base chapel?” he asked.
"I guess so, even though Mom's at her sister's again."
"Oh dear. She's been away a lot this year,” Mrs. Foster said. “Are things okay? I saw her at the Base Exchange last week. She seemed a little ... distracted. Tense."
"She always gets like that just before she leaves. She cracked a plate at dinner the other night and cried about it for hours, even though she always hated that set. The worst part is when she can't sleep. She wakes me up to talk."