by E. Van Lowe
“All grown up,” she said. She was still smiling, but something had changed. It was as if a shade had been drawn behind her eyes, shutting out the light coming from within.
Enough small talk.
“I was wondering, is Mr. Dawson home from work yet?” I asked, abruptly shifting the subject.
“No, not yet. Why?”
I told her about Amanda catching the mouse and dropping it at my feet, and that I was too squeamish to pick it up.
“You don’t need Mr. Dawson for that. I can do it.”
I started to offer a protest. Another woman removing the little rodent from my kitchen would make me feel even more of a wimp than I was already feeling. In addition, her eagerness to help was added guilt for me not visiting. I never stop by, and now I was only there because I needed help removing a dead mouse. What a horrible neighbor I was.
Before I could say “never mind,” Mrs. Dawson disappeared back into the house. The door hung open. I stood, unmoving. I didn’t want to cross the threshold. I didn’t want to see the Dawson living room, or the den, or smell the interior of their house that I knew held fragrances that would dredge up images of Matt. So I stood there on the doorstep like a vampire who hadn’t been invited in.
“Here we go,” she said, returning wearing a pair of throw-away latex gloves. “Show me the way.” She was out the door and heading for my house as I stood on her doorstep, lost in my guilt.
Eventually I got up the nerve to move, and five minutes later the mouse had been flushed down the toilet. Mrs. Dawson stayed behind to help scrub the blood stains from the kitchen tile.
“Looks like you’ve got yourself a hunter,” she said. We were both on our hands and knees, paper towels and Lysol in hand, finishing up with the floor.
“A hunter?”
“It’s instinct for some cats to kill birds or mice or lizards and leave them for you as gifts. Hunters love leaving gifts.”
“You mean this is going to happen again?”
“Probably. The only way to stop it is to keep them indoors. But you don’t want to do that to a hunter. They’re born to hunt.” Together we moved to the compactor and threw the wadded-up paper towels into the trash.
“Then I guess I’d better get used to cleaning up dead rodents.”
She laughed. There was a throatiness to her laugh that reminded me of Matt.
“Hey, umm… sorry I haven’t been by until now,” I said in a low tone.
“It’s okay. We understand. You’re getting on with your life.”
“Umm, yeah. I am.” Now I was truly sorry I’d asked her, of all people, to help me with the mouse. “But I’ll try and get by to see you guys more often.”
“It’s okay,” she repeated, and I got the feeling that maybe it was okay for me not to stop by, that maybe they needed me to stay away as much as I felt I needed to stay away. “Isn’t that something about Erin?” she said after a few moments.
When I heard what she’d said, a clamminess settled over me. It was as if I’d been outdoors on a foggy night and the coolness of the air had seeped into my bones.
“Erin who?” I asked, as if I didn’t know the answer.
“Erin Chambers. Your best friend.”
“What about her?” I asked. I could hear a slight tremble in my voice.
She seemed surprised by my question. “You don’t know.”
“Know what?” My voice was now rising with panic.
“She’s getting married.”
“What? That’s impossible. Erin doesn’t even have a boyfriend.” Then I thought of the man she’d been palling around with, the roughneck, Danny Tambor.
But that doesn’t make any sense.
“Obviously she does, Megan. A fiancé, in fact. When’s the last time you talked to her?”
“I don’t know.” My voice was a scant whisper. “She just turned sixteen,” I said. “It can’t be true.”
“Maybe I got it wrong. It was just a rumor.” She put the Lysol back in the cabinet under the sink. “I said to Mr. Dawson ‘that girl’s smart and she’s got her whole life in front of her. Why would she want to do a dang fool thing like that?’”
I thought I knew the answer, and if you dug deep enough looking for it, you’d find me at the bottom.
“Thanks for telling me, Mrs. Dawson. I’ll look into it and let you know what I find out.”
“I’d appreciate that, dear. I sure hope it’s not true. There’s nothing wrong with marriage. Ted and I have been married for over twenty years. But like you said, she’s only sixteen. Too young to settle down.”
I didn’t respond. I agreed with her, of course, but there was nothing more to say. I nodded.
“I’m glad you stopped by,” she said, a fresh smile brightening her face.
I got the feeling she meant it. “Me, too,” I replied, returning the smile.
A few minutes later she was gone. I was out the door soon after, off to the Rattlesnake Lounge. I had put it off long enough. It was time for me to look up an old friend.
Chapter Seven
The bus pulled away, kicking up a cloud of dust as it did, leaving me in an unsavory part of town. I was standing in front of an old pawn shop, one of the few establishments whose dingy windows hadn’t been boarded up.
My nerves were jangling as I looked around, wondering if I’d googled the right address. I pulled out my phone. The drop pin on the map showed the Rattlesnake Lounge about four blocks up the street. Actually, it wasn’t a street. It was a road. It had been paved once a long time ago, but the surface was now filled with cracks and crevices from disrepair, covered with a dusting of Arizona red clay. The little sidewalk that existed was powdered with it, as weeds sprang up through the cracks, like bad news invading a happy day. The area reminded me of an old Western ghost town.
I started walking.
It was hard to believe that Erin would be hanging out in this neighborhood, but I knew that Danny Tambor hung out at the Rattlesnake. If Erin was his betrothed, she’d be there, too.
The street was sparsely populated with older men with slumping shoulders who looked as though they’d played the game of life and lost.
I decided that Mrs. Dawson had been wrong, that the rumor of Erin’s engagement was just that, a nasty rumor. I would walk into the bar, and when I didn’t find her there, I’d be relieved. But what if Danny Tambor was there?
I had defeated him twice: first on the day Guy made him and his party crasher friends leave The Explosion, and then again at my expulsion hearing. He might want a third crack at me, and this time I’d be all alone, on his turf—exposed.
Stop it! I told myself. Enough with the negative thoughts.
If Erin was here, I’d talk to her, maybe even persuade her to leave with me. Why not? We’d been best friends since the third grade. And if she wasn’t here, I’d have a quick look around and get back on the bus and go home. That was the plan. A simple plan. So why was my heart beating so rapidly? I could hear it thundering in my chest as the drop pin told me I was getting nearer to my destination.
I wished I’d dressed less conspicuously. Skinny jeans and a powder-blue Hello Kitty tank top did not seem neighborhood appropriate, but this is what I’d worn on my last day of school, and I didn’t take the time to change. To make matters worse, the sun would be setting soon, and once it went down I’d appear even more out of place. I did not want to be in this part of town after dark.
What is wrong with this picture? I know; the girl in the jeans and blue tank top doesn’t belong here. Let’s string her up.
As hard as I tried to fight the negative thoughts, they kept wrestling their way back in, like the losing dog in a dog fight who didn’t know when to quit. I hurried along.
I stopped outside a sinister-looking establishment. The two drop pins on the map were now one atop the other. A string of motorcycles was parked in front of the decaying building. A large wood carving of a pale green rattlesnake hung above the door. A yellowed sign that flashed the single word ‘
lounge’ was positioned to the right of the door. Rattlesnake. Lounge. I had arrived at my destination.
My heart was now pounding so hard I thought it would knock a hole in my chest, and I took several breaths to get it under control. I kept reminding myself that I had the power to create wind indoors and giant waves in a pool. I was fully capable of defending myself if I had to.
I eyed the place suspiciously. The windows were covered with a dark substance, keeping private whatever was going on inside. The door was made of what appeared to be burnt wood. If I wanted to know what was happening on the other side of it, I had to go in.
I took a step forward and the door swung outward. Two laughing bikers came stumbling out. One of them crashed into me.
“Sorry, darlin’,” he slurred.
“That’s okay,” I said. I moved to brush past them before they got a good look at my out-of-place outfit.
Straightening himself, the slurring man took a look at me, “I know you,” he said.
“I don’t think so,” I replied quickly, and again took a step toward the entrance. He put a hand on my shoulder.
“Come on, pretty eyes. I’m not tryin’ to push up on you or anything. Not unless you want me to.” Both men laughed.
“No. That’s okay. Maybe next time.” I pointed my eyes downward and again tried to move past.
“But I know you,” he said. His hand was still on my shoulder. He squeezed.
I looked up into his bloodshot eyes, and recognized him. I recognized both of them. They were the two roughnecks that had accompanied Danny Tambor to the Explosion.
Okay heart, pound away.
“Let it go, Mert. That line is older than Methuselah,” the second one said. He seemed less inebriated than the first. “We don’t know who she’s goin’ in there to see, and we don’t want no trouble.”
Mert considered what his friend had just said. “You right.” He smiled at me. It was a crooked smile, a sneaky smile, the kind that made your skin feel like you’d bathed in scummy water. Mert had brown eyes that were set too close together and a scraggle of unkempt beard littering up his face. He wore rumpled biker jeans and a dingy V-neck tee. Everything about him screamed DON’T TRUST ME.
“You’re a beauty, you are. Maybe I met you in my dreams.” He chuckled to himself as if he’d said something clever.
The good news was neither of them recognized me. I needed to make my escape before they did.
“Yeah, that’s probably where it was,” I replied. Feeling a little braver, I returned the smile. “Maybe we’ll meet there again sometime. In your dreams, I mean.”
“Yeah,” he said. The smile twisted, and I could almost read the dirty thoughts in his dirty mind. “Maybe we will.”
The two roughnecks excused themselves and went back to stumbling down the street.
“I know I’ve seen her somewhere,” I heard Mert say before they were out of earshot.
“If I had a dollar for every time I’ve heard you say that about a pretty girl, I’d be Bill Gates by now,” the other one said, and they laughed.
I turned away and again faced the entrance of the Rattlesnake Lounge. I took in a long breath. “Here we go,” I whispered to myself, letting it out. I pulled on the grimy door handle. The door opened easily, and I went in.
It was dark inside. Music was playing through butchered speakers somewhere in the back, an old Western song. Merle Haggard, I thought. I don’t know why I thought it. I’ve never listened to Merle Haggard in my life. I have no idea what he sounds like.
I pulled the door shut behind me, and all signs of the dying day filtered out. It was perpetual night in the Rattlesnake Lounge. As my eyes adjusted to the low light, I noticed the ceiling was crawling with hanging dollar bills. Every inch of overhead space had a dollar hanging from it like crumpled green party streamers raining down.
The bar ahead of me was jam-packed with cowboy bikers who all seemed to be having a good time. It was a small room with just five or six circular tables away from the bar. Most of the tables were empty. This was a watering hole, not a date-night hangout.
“You a tourist?” I heard someone say. It was a female voice, husky from years of smoking.
“Umm, no,” I replied, thinking why would a tourist come here?
The woman was seated alone at the table closest to the door. She was about twenty-five although she sounded much older.
“It’s the dollar bills that bring’em.” She gazed up at the ceiling knowingly and then back at me.
I moved in closer. “You mean tourists actually come here?”
She cackled lightly. “It’s the damndest thing, and the regulars don’t like it one bit. But they come anyway. Some reporter did a story about them dollar bills on the local news a few years back, and it went national. Now we’re a tourist destination.” She laughed at the ridiculousness of it.
“What’s with the dollars anyway?”
“It’s an old cowboy tradition. Back in the day, before a cowboy left town, he’d put his signature on one or two dollar bills and staple them to the ceiling. This way he knew when he returned he’d have money for a drink. Today, whenever a new person comes through, they sign a dollar and look for an empty spot to stick it.”
The trivia collecting part of me loved the story. This relaxed me. I moved closer. “That’s a good story.”
“So you’re not a tourist, and you’re obviously not from the neighborhood. You must be looking for a guy.” She grinned. It was an open mouth grin revealing a big gap in the front of her mouth. At first I thought she was missing a tooth, but it was just a gap.
“Actually I’m looking for my friend. Her name is Erin.”
“Oh, Danny’s girl.”
I was surprised she knew who I was talking about. But she didn’t say fiancé which meant there was still hope.
“I seen them two around here earlier. They’re probably in the back.”
It was then I noticed the darkened, narrow passageway just beyond the bar leading to the back room.
“What’s back there?” I asked. The tremor had returned to my voice. I hoped she didn’t notice.
“Pool table, poker table, the usual.” She didn’t say dead body, which to my way of thinking was a “usual” thing you might find in the darkened back room of a grungy cowboy biker bar.
“Thanks,” I said huskily, and started for the rear.
“Don’t forget to sign your dollar bill before you leave. Become a part of history. I’ll look around for a clean spot for you to stick it.”
“Thanks,” I called again.
I moved past the bar, avoiding eye contact with any of the men. I didn’t want what had happened outside on the street to happen again. Once I was in the passageway, I could see the room ahead of me. It was brighter in there.
I entered. Two men were playing pool. Erin and another girl were leaning against the wall by a vending machine talking. Erin had aged since I’d last seen her. Or maybe it was the unflattering lighting or the thick mascara, but she didn’t look like Erin—not my Erin, anyway.
I started toward her. She looked up as I was crossing the room.
Don’t make a scene. Please don’t make a scene.
She was smiling with the girl, but when she saw me, the smile vanished. She didn’t say anything, though. I was grateful for that.
“Hey, Erin,” I said as I walked up. My heart was in my mouth, hoping she didn’t jump down my throat.
“Well, look who’s here. Millie, this is an old friend of mine. Umm, what did you say your name was again?” Her voice was laced with sarcasm.
“She’s a laugh riot,” I said to Millie, who appeared to be at least twenty-one, and was now getting a good look at my Hello Kitty tank top and forming her own opinion of me. Although, in my defense, Millie’s cut-off Daisy Dukes, tee shirt rising above a belly roll, and calf-high snakeskin cowboy boots weren’t much of a fashion statement either.
“Megan Barnett, isn’t that it?” said Erin. “The smartest girl at Glen
dale Union high. I can’t believe you’re slumming.”
Millie thought that was funny and let loose a throaty chuckle. The two men at the pool table had stopped playing and were now eyeing us curiously, wondering if we were about to reward them with a fight. I noticed a card table off to the right with several chairs around it, some of them toppled over. Maybe fighting was a regular thing back here.
“I just want to talk to you,” I said softly.
“Okay,” she replied, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “You came all this way. Talk.”
I glanced at Millie who didn’t seem to be leaving. “I was hoping we could talk alone.”
“That’s not going to happen,” Erin said. “Millie here is my best friend.”
“I’m gonna be her maid of honor,” Millie said with throaty pride.
“Maid of honor? So, it’s true, you are getting married.” As much as Erin’s words stung, I tried to make my voice sound easy, but my heart was once again beating like a drum.
“June twenty-second.”
“That’s my birthday.” The words dribbled off my tongue. I was shocked it was happening so soon. Guess I’d been hoping for a long engagement.
“It can’t always be about you, Megan Barnett,” Erin said in a nasty tone. “Sometimes other people matter, too. My wedding day is way more important than your birthday.”
“Don’t do it.” The words tumbled out of me like rocks in a landslide. I didn’t know I was going to say them, but once they were out, I couldn’t stop myself. “You haven’t even finished high school yet. You have your whole life ahead of you. You’re smart. This doesn’t make any sense.” When the words finished coming, my legs felt wobbly, as though it had taken all of my strength to say what I had to say. I needed to lie down.
“I’m not going back to school after this semester,” she said.
“What?” Another shock.
She narrowed her eyes. There was a mixture of pain and anger in them. “Everybody doesn’t love school like you do, Megan. Besides, I have my whole life ahead of me, right? Isn’t that what you said? I want to get it started.”