by A. R. Rivera
I stared at him, my embarrassment plain to anyone who took the time to notice. I wasn’t pissed like I should have been, mostly because it was true and nothing new to me. People always talked to me that way. At that time, I was just coming out of my slut phase—slowly growing careful about whom I allowed to take advantage of me. But that guy looked old enough to be my dad and I thought, judging by his weaving, that he was about to pass out. And the whole scenario just seemed too pathetic.
I turned away from him once again, wondering why I even bothered to try. Those high school affairs weren’t invitation only—they went by reputation. By that standard, I was not invited. But I had heard some other kids talking about it and was bored. More than that, I wanted free beer.
Smiley was suddenly at my side again, with his liquor-stink breath in my ear. “Why you do that girl? Huh?” And then, his red plastic cup tipped, sending a stream of beer all over the green silk top I’d snaked from my mom’s closet because it matched my eyes.
Free beer indeed.
Uncle Ass-Smiley laughed through an apology, swearing that he’d find me a towel. Then, I noticed Troy Bleecher was posting at the keg. He walked over as I was wringing out the front of my shirt.
“So much booze and not a drop to drink,” he quipped. His hair was buzzed down at the time, for football. He whipped a red plastic cup from behind his back and offered it to me.
I examined at the contents. It looked like beer but I was suspicious and gave a quick sniff. “Are you trying to roofie me?”
Troy laughed and took a demonstrative sip before offering it up once more. When I didn’t accept the proffered cup a second time, he tipped it up and drank until it was gone.
“Come on, I’ll get you a towel.”
I followed him through the packed living room and down the hallway to a closed bedroom door. He took a key from his pocket and unlocked it, walked through, and flipped on a light. The first thing I saw was a giant bed and froze.
“Wait here,” Troy said, without seeming to notice my discomfort. He walked into an adjoining restroom and returned with a plush, cream and blue checkered towel.
I dried myself as best I could and handed it back. “Is this your house?”
“Yeah,” he tapped his fingers along the front of his shirt. “You good?”
I nodded and thanked him. I should have made up an excuse and went back to the party. But at that moment, all I was thinking about was avoiding Uncle Dickwad. I knew he was out there looking for me, waiting to ruin something else.
“Hey, Troy, do you mind if I stay in here minute?”
“That’s cool. Uncle Smiley is trashed and it’s not even midnight.” He grinned wide. “He’s my chaperone.” His hands made air quotes around the word chaperone and we both laughed.
Then, awkward silence.
“I could stay and talk with you. If you don’t mind.” Troy offered, and there was something sweet about the way he asked. Something that made me think that if I said no, he would leave me alone in his parent’s bedroom. But I didn’t want to be alone.
I nodded. “Okay. But not for sex.”
Troy laughed into his closed fist. “Damn, girl, why do you assume? Can’t I just talk to you?”
“We can talk.” I answered, and a sudden eagerness rose in her belly. Troy said he didn’t want any more than my company and I liked it.
He invited me to sit beside him at a padded bench at the end of his parents’ bed. He examined the spill-stain down the front of my shirt. “Do you want something to wear that doesn’t smell like beer?”
“Sure.”
He disappeared once more and came back with a clean, white tank top and handed it over. It looked like one of his. I could tell that he was going to turn around to give me privacy or maybe to point me to the bathroom to change, but I lifted my shirt before he had the chance.
Troy didn’t say anything and he didn’t turn away. He just stared.
Suddenly, he was the nervous one and I liked that. I took his hand from his side and set it over my bra. He kept it there for a long moment, and then asked for a kiss.
+ + +
18
—Angel
Avery lived in an actual house. No wheels. It was in the middle of a giant lot and needed a new coat of paint in the worst way. The stucco was cracked in more than a few places, but it had a wrap-around porch and there were no neighbors. We used to sit on that porch and get stoned when her mom wasn’t around. If she caught us she’d have a fit. But her mom worked so much it was almost like she lived there alone. No one took care of the yard, so it was all sand and weeds and the occasional wild cactus. No trees. Lots of lizards. I was as familiar with her place as I was my own. More so, even, because she had lived there since before I landed with my Foster, Deanna.
Avery and me walked up the path to the porch with our arms interlocked.
I took a deep breath and finally asked the one question that had been on my mind since the previous Friday. “Will you come with me to my session this week?”
Instead of immediately rejecting me, Avery shrugged.
“Is that a yes or no?”
“It’s an ‘I’ll consider it.’ And beat you the front door.’” We pounded up the front steps and burst into the living room at the same time.
Avery walked over to the stereo set inside the living room and pushed a button. A second later, the chorus of one of my favorite Analog Controller songs flowed through the quiet air. It was one of their only ballads called, Untitled. Jake said he wrote it about his moms’ depression. And he didn’t neglect to name it, he just figured, if someone was depressed, would they care what the title was?
Don’t ask why. Don’t try. Not you.
Forget my name and I’ll forget it too.
Forget you saw—this mask, this lie.
You can do without. Don’t cry.
I am a moment. A tick. A flea.
The second I’m gone, you’ll forget about me.
The kitchen was small and white, bright with afternoon light as she led me in to dig for snacks. I was singing way too loud and Avery joined in, granting me a smile. There was something in the way she looked then. I don’t know if it was the music or the words, but Avery’s dark green eyes grew brighter for a moment as she stepped in to give me a rare embrace. There was a light in Avery that was not evident very often. But when she drew the shades back and let you see inside, no one shone like her. Jake was different—he was sunshine and life. But Avery gave her embraces with a look. Hugs by osmosis. So this physical act caught me by surprise.
“How are you, really?” Her forearm dug into my back a little. “Good?” Avery questioned and pulled back to look me in the eye. As I thought over her question, she nibbled at a few grapes in the fruit bowl set out on the kitchen sidebar.
Suddenly, she spun to face me. “Hey, can I borrow your portable CD player? I found some discs I want to listen to.”
I saw the hope in her eyes and didn’t have the heart to refuse her.
Avery waited a moment, then guessed. “You lost it, didn’t you?” Her mouth was plump with grapes she’d pressed into her cheeks.
I nodded.
“Where did you have it last?”
Avery had this quality, an ability that made me feel comfortable telling her almost anything. She wasn’t much older, but was definitely more mature than me, and easily the most beautiful girl at our school. And she was the one who bought me the portable CD player. A surprise present, for no reason other than she was thinking of me when she found it at the second hand store.
I wanted to loan it to her. Knowing I couldn’t because of my own stupidity brought sudden tears to my eyes and a ball to my stomach.
“I don’t know. I’ve been really bad this week. My headaches . . . I’m stressing out.” I bit my lip, determined to keep Jakes haunting words, but let everything else go. “School’s suckier than ever. I feel like I can’t do anything right. I barely got my Literature essay in on time. Report cards are going ou
t soon and the Foster will talk to my counselor if my grades slip. She doesn’t miss anything.”
Avery raised a pointed finger at me. “No tears.” Her words were commanding as she cupped my chin, pressing warmth into me with her soft gaze. It spread quickly, calming me. “You know what happens when you freak out. Do you want another trip to the hospital?”
“No.” I have passionately hated hospitals my entire life. Nothing good ever comes out of them.
“Those troubles are mine now, okay? You give them to me. Let me do your worrying.”
A surprising grin burst through my tears. “Okay.” She was so bossy. I loved it.
“I mean it. You give them all to me.” She held up one finger. “I know—I’ll make a list. Then, I can go right on down, taking my time, carefully worrying over each item.”
Smirking, Avery produced a pen and sheet of paper, led us to the small kitchen table, barely big enough for the three elegantly mismatched chairs, and sat down. “Now, you said your essay.” She leaned over the paper and began writing. “And your CD player . . .” She kept up her scribbling. “The migraines. Now, tell me—what else?”
My head was fogged with a dull ache. I grasped it and let out those two terrible words, “Not yet,” and what they represented. I told her about Jake. How I felt him withdrawing from me. And my insecurities over that stupid girl who he didn’t even want in his band and what that meant. Did he not trust himself around her? Or was it only my reaction he worried about? Saying it all out loud made me feel even more pathetic. And I changed the subject, telling how I’d been tired, so tired, since my last migraine, and how I felt like maybe I was getting the flu. And the way I seemed to be forgetting more of the small things.
“It’s hard to pay attention in class. More than usual.”
Avery’s pencil moved with righteous speed.
“I got lost at school the other day. After the thing with Rosa; I forgot where I was going and missed the whole period. I walk those halls five days a week. I should be able to get from one place to the next on autopilot just like everybody else.”
“Could be a side effect of you migraine medication?” Avery guessed.
“And my shrink won’t let up about talking to you. She’s driving me crazy.” Avery nodded her head, repeating quietly, “autopilot is malfunctioning.” She was trying to make me laugh. And I wanted to, but the troubles were pouring from me like a burst dam. She sighed and tilted her head. “Over-active tear ducts, too. Now, that’s a tough one, but my mom might have a few clothes pins.”
She was the only person who could turn my tides so quickly. I went from wails to giggles in a matter of seconds.
19
—Angel
Back inside my cell, lying in my bed, I’m trying to find the sleep that so often evades me.
Of course, my mind drifts back to Jake, my very own Romeo. And the anxious feeling, the need to find him again is so strong that I cross my arms and pinch at the insides of my elbows to distract me. It’s not time yet. My confession must be completed before I can think of taking the next step to get back to him.
I spent so many nights with him; mostly in my bed, but sometimes in his. A memory, nearly forgotten, surfaces like a dream and pulls me in: my feet were tangled in his sheets as I ran my fingers down his bare back, lingering on his sculpted shoulders, his pecks, and then the finely tuned notes of his taut stomach. Jakes lips pressed against mine as we moved together. Loving me, he whispered my name in a way that turned the word into music. I can feel his fingers gathering the hair at my nape, the little scratches of his nails as he pulled me closer.
Turning to my side, I sink into my thin mattress and thinner pillow, burrowing down, hoping to cry myself to sleep.
But all the talking, cultivating all those memories has my mind going. There are so many moments I left out. Moments worth reliving scattered among times I long to go back and change.
Memories I’ve long cherish are sprinkled among the signs I thought I saw, but never took them for what they were: a warning.
+++
We’d been together for a several months and Jake was anxious for me to meet his mom. He’d planned to introduce me several times, but I was always too nervous. I made up excuses the first couple times. He didn’t like my cancelling, but had been letting me get away with it. By the fourth invitation, his patience was wearing thin. Seeing this, I agreed to go over one Sunday afternoon.
“She’s going to love you.” He assured me, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of the radio. “Just relax.” His gaze drifted from the road to the rearview mirror.
Avery was in the back of the van, watching the store fronts blow by. I’d invited her at the last minute because knowing she was there would help me feel confident enough to relax. And Jake didn’t say anything when she got into the car, so I assumed it was okay.
“Where’s your mom work?” Avery asked.
“Post Office.” Jake turned to me and smiled.
“Why do you want me to meet her so bad?” I asked.
He looked into the rearview mirror again. “Because I like you.”
Just then, I looked into the back. Avery was staring at him, wearing a small smile that faded when her eyes met mine.
My fingers clutched at a set of knots forming in my stomach. When I looked back to Jake he glanced from the rearview mirror to the road, and then back at me. I straightened in my seat.
When we stopped at a red light, Jakes eyes went right into the rearview mirror, again. He was looking at Avery, even when she wasn’t talking. I understood why—I mean she was so much prettier than me—but it made my chest quiver, and not in a good way.
I told myself it was nothing, but couldn’t help asking, “Why do you keep looking behind you, in the mirror?” my tone was low, hoping Avery couldn’t hear.
Jakes face didn’t change, but his gaze shifted to the road ahead. “I’m being a responsible driver.”
“It doesn’t mean anything, Angel.” Avery whispered, reaching up to pat my shoulder. I swear she had the ears of a jungle cat.
I looked out the window behind us. There were a few cars. The light changed and we started moving. I watched Jake as he checked his mirrors and then switched lanes, but his gaze kept going back to that rearview mirror.
“What are you looking at?” I asked more forcefully.
Jake didn’t take his eyes off the road, but they shrank. “Traffic.”
“Who are you looking at?”
“Angel.” My name was a warning. “Don’t start this again.”
“Tell me. Who are you trying to scope out back there?”
Jake shook his head and scoffed as he guided the van to the roadside. He parked and turned to face me, pinning me under his undivided irritation. “Are you trying to start a fight? Because I thought we were going to having a nice time. I thought that I was taking you to finally meet my mother. If picking a fight is your way of trying to get out of it again, you let me know. The way I’m feeling right now, I will fucking fight.” His lips thinned and his voice was stern.
The sliding door of the van slammed. I looked into the back and Avery was gone. I turned to look out my door and found her face in my open window.
“I’m not fighting with anyone.” She snapped, before taking off down the sidewalk.
I jumped out after her. She stopped when she heard my door close and turned around, stalking back to me.
“Angel, dammit, would you get back in the car?” Jakes’ voice sailed from inside the van.
I ignored him. “Ave—”
“Go, Angel.” She told me. “I’m only a few blocks from my mom’s store. She’ll give me ride home.”
“Angel!” Jake called, sounding more upset.
I was torn. “I’m sorry,” I told her.
“Angel, you’re really pissing him off right now. Over nothing. Just get in the van and go meet his family. It’s important to him.” She turned and started down the block again.
A second
later, Jake was behind me. “Well? Are we fighting or what?”
I turned to face him, but kept my eyes on the ground. “Let’s go.”
He opened the vans passenger door for me and I hopped inside.
Jake’s temper vanished as we drove down the road. My mood improved considerably as I watched him repeatedly checking the rearview mirror.
The ease of his hand on my knee didn’t last long. Once we got to his moms place, I was nervous all over again.
I stood in her pale yellow kitchen, fidgeting as she stared me down. Mrs. Haddon collected ceramic roosters. There was a high shelf on the back kitchen wall that was covered with them. The pale yellow curtains over the sink had little white outlines of roosters crowing. Jake had gone off to the bathroom or something and I felt helpless, trapped under her searching stare.
She lifted her Snoopy coffee cup and took a sip. “My son tells me that he loves you.”
My stomach dropped at the blatant honesty, but I couldn’t hide my smile. I cleared my throat, staring at the faded yellow and white linoleum floor. “He tells me the same thing.”
“Well?” Both her eyebrows lifted.
A moment passed before I managed to answer. “I love him, too, ma’am. He’s very special.”
She nodded. “I thought so. You know, you’re the first one he’s brought home in a long while.”
My smile grew. “I didn’t know that.”
She grinned and then asked about “my people.” When I told her I didn’t have any to speak of, her soft demeanor became tender. She wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “Well you do, now.”
I liked his mother. She was so warm-hearted and open. I think that’s where Jake got it from. He looked like his dad, but he was sweet like his mother.
His older sisters were identical twins. Both nice and smart—they were off in college before we got together, so I didn’t really know them, but they seemed nice the two times I met them. His younger brother, Henry, was three years younger than me.
Jake’s mother busied herself in the kitchen, putting an end to our talk. I wandered out to the living room and watched Henry. He liked to rock himself back and forth when he played alone on the living room floor. It was a game no one understood but him. From what I could tell, it required his imagination, a sharpened pencil, and the mumbled sounds of explosions. Jake said Henry played it all the time. He was either painting or crouched on the floor, flipping a pencil.