by M. R. Joseph
Silence again. She looks every which way but at me.
“Turnip, I asked you a question. I know I’m not your best friend, but still, I got this big brother type vibe going on with you I think, so I kind of want to know so I can either bash his face in, or I can bash his face in.”
She smiles when I say that.
“I didn’t use the mace.”
I bunch up my face in confusion.
“Then what did you use?”
A devilish grin turns up on her face, she pulls at her bottom lip with her teeth, and drinks from her water bottle.
“Turnip?” I say with my voice raised an octave, then a lower one. “What did you use?”
She finishes her sip, flashes me an unbelievable smile, and says, “My knee.”
I laugh. I mean I really laugh because for as tiny as she is, I’m not surprised by it. Not the least bit shocked at her confession. When I laugh, she laughs, tears coming out of her eyes. A good, old-fashioned belly laugh, and it’s really adorable. The suit of armor she usually wears is off, and she’s open with me, joking, laughing, being herself.
Maybe.
I make my way to the sofa and park myself next to her. She twirls her hair, and I’ve noticed she does this when she’s tired.
She turns towards me and sits crisscrossed on the sofa.
“So what were you doing out on the deck, and by the way, what are you doing home?”
She looks tired, but seems to be in the mood to talk, so she’s asking, I don’t have a problem telling her. We are still doing the baby step thing here.
“I was tired. Didn’t want to hang out anymore.” I keep my answer simple, not wanting her to know she pissed me off with Elton Joel earlier. She had a bad night, so why tell her because I think it would have only caused us to argue about it, whether I was right or not. But I was.
She doesn’t believe me. Her face tells me so.
I snicker at her. “Seriously, I worked a lot this week, plus I had some work to do.”
“Work?” She asks.
“Yes. I’m taking an online class to keep up with the latest past and present case laws and any recent changes to them.”
“Case laws?”
“Yes. It’s all kinds of legal shit for when I have to be present at a hearing. It’s for future reference. When I get a full-time position, I’ll be somewhat up to date on things.”
She gets up and goes to the refrigerator, grabs a new bottle of water for herself, well at least I think it was for her until she makes her way back to the sofa and hands it to me.
“Thanks.” The gesture was nice, so I take it from her.
“So with this class, what else does it entail?”
“You really want to know?” She nods. She really wants to know.
“Well, I have to stay updated on probable cause, reasonable suspicion and vehicle investigations.” She begins to laugh.
“What?” I ask. “What’s so funny?”
She wrinkles up her nose and her freckles spread out onto her cheeks when she does. She continues to twirl a strand of her strawberry blonde hair.
“Nothing, except the tables are turned right here and right now.”
I’m not understanding what she means. She rolls her eyes and continues to speak.
“You and I. Tables turned, because I have no idea what you just said. Big words, you used big words that I have no idea their meaning. It’s usually the other way around.”
She means cop talk. Funny, isn’t it? She’s right. Sometimes when we are all sitting around, talking, and she uses a big one, I pretend I’m checking a text, but I use my smart phone to Google the word she’s referring to.
“Sorry, it’s to keep updated on new laws. So what about you? Have you heard anything else yet about any teaching positions that opened up?”
She lets out a frustrated breath and eases back on the sofa.
“Not yet. I just don’t want to go back and have to get a job that I don’t want to do. I know that sounds bratty, but I just want to teach. It’s my dream and all I’ve ever wanted to do.”
When she tells me that, she gets a dreamy look in her eyes. Like if a chick talks about a hot movie star, or a new bag she wants, or some shit like that, not about teaching, but it’s cool.
We are talking like old friends. She’s telling me about how her brother is a junior in college, is also going to be a teacher and how he’s coming to visit next weekend for a few days. How her sister is still driving her crazy with her wedding plans, and how her grandmother, the rich one, is paying for most of it. She tells me she disapproves of her and her brother’s career choices that she wished they had gone into law and worked within the family firm. Her dad never wanted to be a lawyer, but was sort of forced into it. He made a good living from it, but does very adventurous things with his spare time. Sky diving, zip lines. He climbed Everest once, and almost died. He’s very into his family. He taught his kids the value of a dollar, never spoiling them, but taking them on extravagant trips to Europe. And a few years ago they went to Australia, so they could explore a new continent, and a new culture. She tells me how he wanted his children to stay grounded, grow up with privileges, but with the values of Harlow’s mom, who came from nothing.
Harlow’s been everywhere. I’ve been places, but the places I’ve been to ended in death and destruction. Never for pleasure, or relaxation.
The five of them, plus her sister’s fiancé, always volunteer at a homeless shelter on Thanksgiving, donating and cooking all the food. Her grandmother hates it, but it’s something they look forward to every year.
I’ve never heard of a rich family doing something like that. When she talks about her parents, she lights up. They are the sun and the moon to her. She’s extremely close with her brother, has little in common with her sister, but they get along well.
“So tell me about your family? I’m going on and on about mine, and I feel bad I haven’t even asked you about yours.”
“Well not much to tell. Mom’s great. She’s a homemaker. She’s beautiful, kind, loving. We are close, and dad, well he’s a real jokester.”
These are lies.
All lies.
I tell them because she’ll never find out the truth anyway, so to keep the conversation light, I lie.
“Yea, my dad loves having a catch in the yard with my brother and me. He works really hard. He’s a VP at a printing company, has been for thirty years. I’m going to be an uncle in a few months. I’m not into kids, but I’m happy for my brother and his wife, Bella.”
Her face lights up when I tell her about being an uncle, then it turns into something else for a moment. Girls get that look in their eyes when you say baby, but the light that was just there, went out.
“That’s um… that’s great for them. This will be their first?”
“Yes. My brother told me they tried for a few years without success.”
She gets up from the couch abruptly and goes to the cabinet which stores DVDs and games. She rifles through it while speaking to me.
“Well, some people aren’t as lucky as the ones who don’t even plan on pregnancies. It’s a shame, really. It comes so easy for some. I’m glad they are getting their little miracle.”
Her voice is distant. It seems to not even be her speaking. Like another person said those words. Sometimes I don’t get this chick.
“Bella is great. When we were younger I had a crush on her, but my brother snagged her from me.”
She looks at me, like she’s heard this somewhere before.
“I remember.”
Did I tell her that? I can’t remember.
“You do?” She comes to sit by me again and holds a DVD in her hand.
“I do. That night last summer when we um, when we…”
“Did it?” I say with a grin. She smacks my arm.
“Yea, whatever. I told you, you were, a um, a…”
I know what she wants to say, I’ll finish it for her.
“Good kisser.”
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I’m aggravating her.
Score and I’ve earned a blush from her.
“Yes, yes, yes. Ok. Fine. A good kisser, and you said you practiced on a girl who is now your sister in law.”
She remembered that? But she was drunk. Totally wasted. At least she seemed to be.
“How did you remember that? It was so long ago, but I did tell you, now that you mention it.”
She doesn’t want to say, which is fine. She looks uncomfortable, so I won’t press the issue. She changes the subject quickly.
“Um, I’m not really tired, and I was going to watch a movie. You want to watch it with me?”
She wants me to hang around? I think she may be bipolar. One minute she’s kicking me in the balls, the next minute, she wants to know my life story. I’m not really tired anymore either, so what the hell, I’ll just keep working on being a grown up.
“Sure. What do you have there to watch?”
She holds the DVD close to her chest, closes her eyes, and lets out a breath, a dramatic one.
“My favorite, A Song In My Heart. I knew Mrs. Taylor, Willow’s mom still had to have it here. I turned her on to it.”
“Sounds like a chick movie to me. I want blood and guts. Can’t you find Rambo or something like that in there?” I point over to the cabinet.
“Ugh, Neanderthal. Why’d I even ask.” She shakes her head at me, basically aggravated at my reaction to her choice in movies.
“What I say wrong?” I grab the box from her, look at the cover, read the synopsis on the back, and toss it on the table.
“That is fucked up. It’s sad. She’s a singer with this awesome career, and she gets hurt in a plane crash and practically gets her legs cut off. She’s a cripple. Why would you want to watch something like that?”
She stands up, puts her hands on her tiny, little hips, and taps that foot of hers.
“Well then why would you want to watch something like Rambo? Didn’t you get enough of that stuff when you were in the Marines?”
She’s got a point.
Damn it.
She continues talking. “I was raised on the classics, my mother was a…”
I interrupt her. “Huge fan of old movies, and movie stars, hence the name Harlow, because you were named after Jeanne Harlow. Your sister Greta, was named after Garbo, and your brother after Joan Crawford, which I still don’t get.”
She looks startled. She stops tapping her foot, and looks at me like I have a parasitic twin growing out of my neck.
“How do you remember that?”
Oh, shit, how do I remember that?
“You, um, you told me that during one of our conversations out on the dock one morning.”
She shakes her head.
“No, no I never said that to you, this summer. I said it to you last summer during our little, you know…”
No need to hesitate.
She’s right.
I scratch my head, wishing I didn’t say it all out loud, but I did. No turning back.
“So. Your name’s weird. Of course I’d remember a story like that.”
She waits a second, takes a step forward, and then retreats. She thought of something, contemplated saying something to me, but backs away, still standing near the sofa, but a few inches away.
My sudden urge to cover this up makes me take desperate measures.
“Ok, fine. I’ll watch your stupid chick movie, full of sappy love shit and tragedy. But if they break out in a musical number, I’m fucking out of here.” She claps her hands in an exciting way and shoves the DVD into the player.
I like playful Harlow Hannum.
When the music for the intro of the movie starts, I already know I’m in deep shit. I hope there’s a knife handy, so I can slit my throat. Harlow sits at one end of the sofa, hands me a blanket, and grabs one for herself. She covers herself in it and snuggles down to make herself comfortable in the crook of the sofa. I look at the blanket, then to her.
“What am I supposed to do with this?”
“Cover yourself up with it, get cozy, and enjoy the movie. That’s what you do. That’s what I always do.”
She smiles at me, and for some ungodly reason, it makes me feel… I don’t know how to explain it, a little warm and fuzzy maybe. So I do what she said, hoping there are no hidden cameras for anyone to take notice at what a pussy I am.
The heat from the blanket suddenly wakes me from my sleep. I can feel more weight on me, around my chest, and a softness under my one hand. I shake off my sleepiness and open my eyes, confused and not remembering where I am at that moment, until I look down. Then I remember. I see the top of her head. The thick strawberry blonde hair of Harlow, and when I shift my body, her arm tightens around me, and she purrs. Soft, little snores come out of her with every breath. I can smell her hair under my nose, a scent that awakens me even more than the feel of her soft hair. Do I wake her up? Do I tell her to go to bed, or do I just fall back asleep, which is what I really want to do because the heaviness in my eyelids tells me so. Leaning my head on the back of the couch, I contemplate what to do next. I try to pull my arm out from under her neck, and when I do, the strands of her hair go through my fingers, and it feels like silk passing through them. I’ve never felt anything like it. I’ve felt and pulled a lot of hair in my day, but this feels different. My fingertips spark at the sensation. It flows up my hand to my arm, and I’m awake more than I was five minutes ago. Harlow doesn’t move. She’s so still and so deep in sleep. I’m not sure what my next move will be.
Do I even want to move?
I’m exhausted, but I don’t do this. I don’t cuddle with chicks. How’d she even get this close to me anyway? She was on the opposite side of the sofa when the damn movie started. I can’t even remember when I fell asleep, or when she did for that matter.
I push any thoughts I have of staying on this couch out of my head. I look at the clock which reads 2:15. I didn’t hear anyone come in, so maybe they went to an afterhours place, or decided to stick around Jax for a bit after closing. Her friends will get the wrong idea if they see us this way. Hell, my friends will get the wrong idea if they see us, so I make my move.
I gently nudge her arm, making sure not to startle her.
“Turnip. Turnip, wake up. Time to go to bed.” I stroke the top of her head, thinking this may not be a good idea.
She doesn’t make a sound, not even a stir, or a flinch, nothing. The only thing left to do is carry her to her room and leave.
I struggle to get her body off of mine and slip out without disturbing her. I slide an arm under her legs and support her back with the other. Gently lifting her off the sofa, her arms find their way back to my chest. I cradle her as I carry her to her room. When we reach it, I lay her down, trying to pull back the comforter from the bed, and one by one I take off the shoes that are still on her feet. She moves her body involuntarily to her pillow and tucks her hands underneath it, supporting her head even more. I pull the comforter over her body, and my hands do something my mind tells me not to do. They make their way to her hair again, stroking it, feeling the softness I felt out in the living room, waiting for that sensation. As soon as it hits me, she moves, and I pull away.
A little too soon.
“Chad?” I hear her croak out.
Who’s Chad?
“Chad, I’m sorry. Please. Stay with me. I’m so sorry.”
She’s dreaming, but who is the Chad she’s dreaming about? I don’t remember a Chad from the movie we watched tonight, and the guy from earlier wasn’t Chad. I’m too tired to figure it out. She’s still asleep, and no longer talking to this Chad person, so I get up from the bed and make my way to the door. But before I leave, I take one last look at this tiny person lying there, looking so young, so innocent as she sleeps.
I walk out of her room, lock her doors to the house, and go back to mine. I lay in my bed, wondering who Chad is, and why just a few strands of hair made me feel… something. Not knowing what it is, or wha
t it was, I know I saw a softer side of Harlow tonight, one that I liked. One that could make us be better friends, closer ones even. I think about the way she looked in that bed, so vulnerable, warm, content. I’m too tired to jerk off tonight. Morty will just have to wait till tomorrow.
The last thing I think about before I fall asleep is the peacefulness I saw in her as she slept. Her hair splayed across her pillow, the soft sounds she made as she breathed in and out. She looked like an angel, and here I am, thinking of her like the devil.
***
CHAPTER 7
Fireworks
Harlow~
I can’t believe the 4th of July is in two days. The summer is flying by. It’s somewhat the idea of what I wanted it to be like. Hanging with the girls, relaxing on the beach, going out at night. It’s everything I wanted out of this summer and needed. I see that it’s almost time for my first scheduled call of the week with Dr. Goldberg, my therapist. So I tell the girls I’m headed for a run. I take my phone with me and run to the spot on the beach I always go to when I have to speak with him. I dial in, and his secretary puts me through to him.
“Hello there, Harlow. How’s your week going?”
“Hi there, Dr. Goldberg. It’s good. I’m feeling ok.”
“How have you been sleeping?”
“Not too bad, as long as I take the meds. I did miss a night or two, but I realized I didn’t need them, and slept for a solid six hours.”
“Good, good. Glad to hear it. Have you heard back from any of the schools you applied to for a job?”
As much as I want to tell him yes, I can’t and it frustrates me.
“No not yet, but I’m not worried, just anxious.”
“Are you feeling the anxiousness only with the job situation, or are other things making you anxious?”
I look out at the water, which is far enough from me not to make me anxious, and I tell him about the feet in the water incident with Cruz. I conquered a fear and Dr. Goldberg seems pleased to hear about it.