My Stupid Girl

by Smith, Aurora

  “HA!" Her laugh startled me, "Now I have your number! Try getting away from me now!"

  "Yeah, this is my cell phone number." That was a sentence I’d never uttered before. Thank you, grandma.

  I tried to think of something else to say, but my mouth was dry. I was sure I had used up all the small talk I had.

  "So, whatchadoin'?" She talked fast. It was hard to understand her. It was almost like she was nervous, too. Which actually wasn't comforting because I had been counting on her to carry the conversation.

  "Uh, nothing. Just, hanging out." Lame. So lame.

  "Me too! I'm bored, you sound bored. Maybe we should be bored together?" The hope in her voice was a surprise to me, even though it was awesome to hear. I felt the nauseous feeling again. I wondered for a moment if I might actually be getting sick.

  "Y-yeah. Good." I stuttered like a fool. Good is another brilliant response.

  "Great, my house or yours?" Cloth rustled on the other line, sounding like she was already on her way out the door.

  “Err, my car is kind of… it sucks." I stood up and opened the window to let in some fresh air.

  She laughed, "Yeah, it does. I can come to you then. I like that drive, it’s like an hour of uninterrupted music."

  "Ah, ok… yeah, ok. Sounds good." Needed a sign on my forehead that said, “Un-able to talk to beautiful women, kick me. Kick me now.” By the way, okay is also a winner.

  "Well, I'm gunna’ just hop in the car then." An engine roared to life on the other end of the line.

  "Wow, you’re already in the car?" I gagged a little. What was wrong with me?!

  Then I felt it. I was going to throw up.

  "Yep, see you in an—“ CLICK.

  I had turned the phone off and had flown into the bathroom to vomit.

  I know I am a complete nerd and am perfectly willing to admit that I am unable to have a normal conversation with any kind of girl that matters to me but this was ridiculous. I was sick; I had come down with the flu or something, because I was sweating and feeling like I would never feel well again. This was not nerves; this was my body rebelling against waffles. Or early morning fries.

  Whatever it was, it was hitting me violently. What made it worse was the fact that Lucy was coming over. I tried to reach for my phone to call her but when I moved I started retching. If I thought about moving, I would dry heave. I took off my shirt and lay my body down on the cold tile of my bathroom, wishing I could call for my grandma to stand guard at the door. Under no circumstances would the tiny old lady permit any girls into my room.

  “This is what I get for being brave,” I thought to myself. I made a mental note to always avoid doing anything that might bring a shred of happiness because it always blows up in my face.

  Melodrama.

  I closed my eyes and lay my cheek down on the floor, trying to breathe slowly and concentrate on not puking on myself. It made me think about the time that I had come down with pneumonia when I was seven. I still lived with my father and had complained about pain when I breathed. At first, he just told me I had a cough and that I should just go to bed, so I did. That night I guess he heard me wheezing in my sleep, so he came in and felt my head. After he touched me he scooped me out of bed and took me to the hospital.

  I remember being nervous about where he was taking me while in the car, but then I saw a hospital. He had taken me into the ER and made a big fuss about me being the next person who went in. When my father yelled he usually got his way, because he was a big man. It turns out that if I hadn't gotten antibiotics right then, I probably would have died.

  I was awake when the doctor told my father that. They’d thought I was asleep. I will never forget the look on my father’s face when they told him. He looked down and put his face in his hands. I remember realizing that a tear was slipping out from under his hands. An actual tear. That was one of the only moments in my entire life that I believed my father cared about me.

  It was less than a year later when I got taken away by social services.

  I must have dozed off because the next thing I remember was a little tap on my door. I prayed it was Grandma.

  "Hello?" I heard Lucy’s sweet voice. Awesome. Best hang out ever.

  "David, what’s wrong?!" She bent down over me. Her sweet smelling perfume that always smelled amazing in class, or in a hospital, or on top of a lighthouse, made my entire stomach rise in protest. It was horrible. I lunged over to the toilet and threw up, right in front of her.

  Have you ever just wanted to die? I have, many times, but this time, I really wanted to just not exist. Forget the time it takes to die. Blinking out of existence would have been so awesome just then.

  "What’s wrong?" I heard my grandma’s voice come around the corner. This was so excellent. Puke party in David’s bathroom! All nice women in my life are invited! Where’s my third grade teacher?

  "Oh no!" Grandma’s voice was filled with concern. I felt someone’s hand on my bare back and realized it was Lucy’s. The hand was full and soft. It moved up and down my back. It felt amazing.

  I mean, completely awful in an I-can’t-believe-she-is-watching-me-throw-up kind of a way, but amazing at the same time. In sort of a seriously-if-you-ever-stop-doing-that-I-will-cry-real-tears-please-continue-sorry-if-I-puke-all-over-you. But she stopped.

  Lucy said something to my grandma and then left the room. I was glad she left, but was bummed that her soft hand wasn’t there anymore. The soft hand was replaced by a bony one.

  "I'm going to go get you some water, Hunny." Grandma patted my back softly as she got up to reach over to the sink. I put my body back down on the tile, closing my eyes, maybe falling asleep. Next thing I noticed was my grandma next to me with some water, patting my back again. I wanted to go and lay in my bed, but didn't think she’d be able to help me. The siren call of bed was too strong to ignore, though, so I started crawling.

  When I’d landed, grandma put a wet wash cloth on my forehand and tried to put my hair behind my ear. I rolled over onto my eye so she couldn't. I zoned out again and woke up to my grandma sitting on my bed, putting a new cold washcloth on my face. It felt incredible.

  "How’s he doing?" Lucy’s voice carried across my room. I started to lift my head without thinking. I’d moved too fast and it made me nauseous. I laid my head back down with a groan. Lucy padded over and softly placed a big bottle of yellow Gatorade on my bedside table. She walked away for a moment and returned back with a plate full of saltine crackers and some Nyquil.

  She made eye contact with me and then lifted up a cheap bathroom wastebasket, that looked brand new, raising her eyebrows to ask if I understood it was for puking. I almost nodded my head but thought better of it and gave her thumbs up. Grandma got up and crept away and Lucy took over the spot on the bed, turning the washcloth over to the cold side.

  "Did you by chance eat at Spyglass before you drove home last night?" Her normally loud voice was a whisper, which I was so thankful for.

  "Yeah, with the guys." I heard her laugh quietly.

  "It was on the news this morning that about thirty-eight people who ate there got food poisoning last night. I guess its thirty-nine." I felt her hand shaking on my cheek a little; she was chuckling.

  Although I instantly regretted the late-night fries, it was a relief to know that it wasn't the extreme dork in me that had ruined my digestive system because I had invited a girl to my house.

  Lucy brushed my hair behind my ears, on the side that she knew I didn't mind her touching. She left the other side alone. She looked beautiful. It was the first time I had looked at her since she had come to my house. Jeans hugged her legs, paired with a long-sleeved black shirt. She had a bright, multi-colored scarf on her lap. Her long hair was curly; she even had a little make up on. The light blue eye shadow on her eye lids made her blue eyes stand out even more than usual. I noticed she used brown mascara and eye liner, it made her rosy cheeks seem less dramatic. And no, it’s not weird that I noticed. I put m
ascara on every day.

  I think this was the first time I’d ever seen her with make-up on. I couldn’t even remember seeing her wear makeup when I used to catch glimpses of her in school. Her too-big square teeth grinned through her full, sparkly lips. She was an absolutely breathtaking person.

  Here I was, lying in my bed with no shirt on. I was willing to bet I had puke on my face somewhere, or in my hair. She noticed my growing panic, grabbed my hand, and held it in hers. She tilted her head to the right and stared at me, holding my gaze. Her mother had done this to me in the hospital. What was it about them that made you feel so uncomfortable yet so understood? Lucy finally released me from the laser-lock stare and stood up to tuck the blanket in around me. I saw my grandma at the door, watching all this.

  Lucy spoke softly, "David, I'm going to let you sleep. There is stuff here for you. I also got you some popsicles if you want some, just call for us and we will help you, okay?" She put her hand on my cheek again and I couldn't help but bury my face into it. It felt amazing and so cool against my hot skin. She moved her thumb across the corner of my lip then left the room, Grandma closed the door softly behind her.

  This was not what I imagined when I was sitting on this bed trying to work up the nerve to call the beautiful girl. Vomiting in front of her had not been part of the almost-script. I was glad she was here, though. It was obvious that she knew how to take care of someone when they were sick. I figured she had nurturing parents and it showed by how she was treating me.

  I closed my eyes and listened to the two sets of footsteps fade down the stairs. Within minutes, I was asleep. Next time, I’d try texting. Less vomiting involved.

  7. IN THE STILL OF THE NIGHT

  Night from hell. That’s the only way to describe what happened next. I threw up for the next five hours, straight. Every thirty minutes, without fail, my stomach would cramp up and I would lose my cookies all over my bathroom. I tried to keep it quiet, but those two women had radar hearing for puke noises. My grandma and Lucy would come running into the room to see if I needed anything. After the fourth hour, when there was nothing left in my body to dispel, Lucy made me drink the Gatorade. Just an FYI, when you are sick, Gatorade is pretty much the worst drink in the history of the world.

  I fought it at first but soon realized how truly stubborn Lucy was. Plus, I was weak. I had no nutrients left to feed my (normally awesome) powers of resistance. I gave in, drank the yellow punch, and felt better having something to throw up rather than just stomach acid. Finally, by 3:30am on Sunday morning, I had gone a whole hour without getting sick or dry heaving. I was even a little hungry. I was sitting up in bed and started really looking at all the things on my nightstand that Lucy had gotten for me. Gatorade, crackers, ginger ale, washcloths, Tums, and that trashcan. I hadn't used the trashcan to throw up in; there was no way I was going to do that. My last five plus hours had been spent in and out of the bathroom, with my head in a toilet.

  I decided a shower was the best move. I moved slowly but got myself quietly to the bathroom, hoping my grandma wasn't waiting outside my bedroom door with her super awesome sick-detection hearing. To my surprise, rather than a stinkhole of nast, I walked into a fresh smelling, clean bathroom. It was even cleaner than it had been before I had gotten sick. Lucy and Grandma must have cleaned it. And now that I thought about it, it had smelled clean every time I used it. I knew they were around me the whole time I was sick but I had been too miserable to stop and see what they were doing. They must have swooped in with deep cleaning gear every time I went back to my bed after an episode of getting sick. I sighed deeply as I turned on the shower. Is this what it was like to have someone take care of you? It seemed extreme, even for someone like me, whose experience was limited at best. But I didn’t hate it.

  The hot shower felt amazing. I had spent so much time over the last evening trying to get colder, with cold wash clothes or lying on the cold tile, that the warm water and steam felt different and insanely comforting. I shivered, turning the nozzle to the hottest possible setting. It felt nice having my hair out of my face while I washed it. It wasn’t often my eye wasn’t covered by thick black hair. I took a long shower, which is not like me. I didn't want to get out and face the world and realize the one time I got up the nerve to call Lucy I had thrown up at least twenty times in her presence. Stupid girl, being so helpful and amazing. I felt the corners of my mouth go up.

  After thirty minutes I turned the water off and wrapped a towel around myself. My hair was still smoothed off of my face. I opened the door from the bathroom and saw that the bedroom was completely put together. I backed into the bathroom and closed the door with a snap. My grandma was like a freaky little worker elf that you never caught working. I hadn’t seen anyone jump up in surprise when I opened the door, though. I flattened my eyes against the door and opened it a crack, just enough to fit half my pupil through. I didn't see anyone. I ran to my bedroom door and locked it. I looked around my room. All the trash had been thrown away, my bed was made, and, by the looks of how it lay, the bed also had new sheets on it. The air smelled like a Clorox wipe had made contact with every hard surface. There was no doubt about it, in the last 24 hours my grandma and I had bonded in a new way. I had puked my guts out multiple times and she had followed behind me, erasing the evidence of my sickness. I smiled and got a little choked up realizing the time of day (night?) and realizing that she was still awake, still trying to take care of me.

  That’s when I heard it...a laugh. A loud, obnoxious laugh. I couldn't believe it. Lucy was still here; it was after 4am.

  Ever have a panic attack? I have. They are horrible. You start to sweat, every image that makes you uncomfortable goes through your mind, and you feel out of control. I was standing in my room with nothing but a towel on and a face as clean as the morning. Panic attack. I rushed to my closet and grabbed a shirt Lucy had complimented me on once at school, a year ago. It had been a passing comment as she walked by me in the halls. Didn't make sense to me at the time, some girl saying "nice shirt" to a complete stranger, but now that I knew her a little, it was so Lucy. It was a tighter white shirt with a crow on it. I filled it out more now than the last time I wore it. Which was last year, the time she had complimented me. I couldn't wear it after that, it doesn’t make sense, but there you have it.

  I put on some black skinny jeans that I was particularly fond of and took a look in the mirror which triggered another panic attack.

  But then I was fed up. Lucy always caught me off-guard, but not this time. I knew it was 4am, but I was going to make sure I looked exactly the way I wanted to look. I went into the bathroom again and, for good measure, I locked that door. I began with shaving my face, which wasn't that much work because I only grew hair above my lip and on my chin. Even that hair would take a few months of growth to look like I had anything there. Then I smoothed on foundation that was three shades too light for my olive skin. The light shade evened everything out. I covered my flawed face, trying not to look too much in the mirror.

  Next I took my black eye liner and drew a thin line on my eyelid. I added a thicker line under my eyes. Staring at my eyes, I thought about my birth father briefly, how my grandma had told me I had his eyes, dark green, nothing special. In my eyes there was a light, almost golden brown color in the middle, around the pupil. I put mascara on, a little thicker than usual. I found my lip rings I had taken off while I was sick, someone had put them in a safe spot and made sure they were both facing out. Then I stretched my gauges back into my ears, which didn't matter really because my hair was completely covering them. Finally, a few more minutes and some hair product gave me a completely concealed right eye. I looked through my hair at my made-up face. Done. Good.

  I opened my bedroom door and walked as quietly as I could down the hall to the kitchen. There, sitting at the table, were two very tired looking women. They were both sipping from mugs and talking in low voices. Lucy was leaning in towards my grandma, listening to what she was saying. />
  "He died a year ago. It was very hard but it’s nice having David in the house. Things have been a lot easier." She was talking about my grandpa. He was a strict, no messing around, ex-military man. He didn't judge people by how they looked but by their actions, how they treated people. He was a good man. I’d liked him a lot, even though I’d only seen him a few times.

  "So, you lost your daughter and your husband. Do you have any other children?" Lucy’s voice was low and respectful, but familiar. I guess cleaning up after me together had created a bond.

  "I do, I have two sons. They don't live here in Montana, though. One is in California and the other is in Alaska." My grandma looked sad. I was trying to remember what those uncles looked like.

  "Wow, that must be hard to have everyone so far apart." Lucy’s face wore a compassionate look. She had a way of making people feel like they were the only ones that existed and I could tell that she made my grandma feel the same way. The wonderful little old lady was chatting like she was sitting next to an old friend of many years. It was like their age difference didn’t even matter.

  "It is, but they call me once a week, both of them do. So I get to talk with them, that’s something I always look forward to." My sweet grandma, always seeing the good.

  "Can I ask you something, Mrs. Hall?" Lucy looked a little apprehensive, but determined.

  "Yes dear," my grandma answered instantly.

  "Why didn't you get David when he was younger, when he had to go to foster care? I thought they liked to keep family together." Lucy said it in a careful way. Even I felt comfortable and non-threatened. I moved back a few steps, not wanting to interrupt them. This was a question I had wondered myself, for many, many years.

  "Well," Grandma paused, I could tell she was editing herself, "I actually had a court order to take complete custody of David. But his father asked me not to."