What We Knew

by Barbara Stewart

  “I swear, you guys are like oil and water,” she said. “Why does everything have to turn into a confrontation?”

  Larry sucked his teeth. Lisa shrugged. Mrs. Grant wiped the sleep from her eyes and pressed the button on the coffeemaker. “Seriously,” she said. “What is it with you two?”

  I wondered the same thing as Lisa shoved me toward her room.

  “I am so sick of his shit,” she said to the mirror. “He’s just jealous because Katie went off with Ryan instead of waiting around for him.”

  I was trying my best to listen only to Lisa, but the Grants’ walls are thin, thinner than ours. There was no tuning out the sound of Larry pounding his fist on the table, grilling Lisa’s mom: Do you even know where your youngest daughter is right now? Do you?

  Lisa put her hands on her hips and listened, too.

  C’mon, Larry, it’s my first Friday off in a month. I don’t wanna fight.

  The clatter of silverware followed by the clink of plates. Mrs. Grant unloading the dishwasher. The back door slammed. Once. Twice. Shading her eyes, Lisa spritzed her head with hair spray. I thought it was over, but then Larry started in again:

  I thought we agreed, Sharon, no dating until high school.

  You can make all the rules you want, Larry. She’ll just go behind your back.

  So let her run wild? Do whatever she pleases?

  That’s not what I’m saying.

  She’s too young for a boyfriend! Case closed!

  A car drifted up the street, rattling the house with its thunderous bass. Larry’s voice followed, equally thunderous: Unless you want her to end up like Lisa!

  My heart stopped.

  Lisa exploded. The hairbrush hit the mirror, cracking her reflection.

  I wanted to grab Lisa’s hand and leave the way I’d come in—through the window—but she towed me through the kitchen, past her mom and Larry, and out the back door.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Larry hollered from the steps.

  “Away from you!” Lisa shouted.

  I’d seen Lisa hurt—bumps and bruises, her heart broken—but this was something different. A weariness reserved for adults. The pain in her eyes crushed any notion I had of comforting her. Fists clenched, her stride grew longer and longer. Helpless, hopeless, the tears flowed. And then the curses: “I hope he dies,” she choked. “I hate him. I hate him so much.”

  Listening to her strangling on her own grief, I would’ve given anything for words. The right words. The wrong words. Any words at all. My silence ballooned, filling the space between us. I wanted to be the one leading us wherever, but it was all I could do to keep up.

  “You have no idea, do you?” she asked over her shoulder.

  “I think I do,” I said. “My mother told me.”

  Lisa stopped in her tracks, confusion warping her brow. A car blew by and honked.

  “My mother knew what it was, the thing you had done,” I confessed. “You could’ve told me.”

  Lisa’s eyes turned flat and cold, pupils fixed, just like in the nightmare. Instead of dirt, though, I found myself wiping away black mascara. Lisa flinched as if I’d stung her.

  “Who else knows?” she asked.

  “No one.” I raised my right hand. “I swear.”

  Lisa mumbled something and marched on. I thought I knew where she was going, but she took a left instead of a right, toward downtown. Nobody walks there from where we live—that’s why we have buses. It isn’t just far, it’s dangerous. Any other day I would’ve defected, but Lisa needed to walk off her rage. Heads low, eyes lowered, we moved quickly, quietly, past blocks of forgotten houses and dismal stores and graffiti-covered billboards, ignoring the scarecrows in basketball shorts and baseball hats thumping their concave chests. Bus after bus lumbered down the hill, but we trudged on—like one of those dreams where the hallway keeps getting longer and longer—until the houses turned into apartment buildings and the billboards were dwarfed by office high-rises.

  This is downtown: hot sidewalks dotted black with gum, racks of discount clothes, broken windows and garbage and pizza. I smelled them before I saw them—the homeless sprawled on blankets and newspapers, withering in the heat. A simmering Dumpster took my breath away. It isn’t any better where Scott is—cities are cities—but at least he has the bright and shiny to distract him from the stench.

  “I’m not complaining,” I said, stopping to tie my sneaker. “But I think my blisters are bleeding.”

  “You should’ve said something,” Lisa scolded. “We could’ve hopped a bus.”

  I wrapped my sweaty hands around her sweatier neck and pretended to choke her. Tongue lolling out of her mouth, Lisa crossed her eyes and went limp, then pried my fingers loose and led me around the corner to a pizza shop. It wasn’t any cooler inside. The heat from the ovens made my temples throb. Lisa waved to the guys tossing dough behind the counter.

  “Gabe here?” she asked a woman hunched over an order pad, a phone pressed to her ear. A floury finger directed us to the empty dining room in back. My legs felt like jelly as I powered through the final stretch of our death march and collapsed on the first vinyl chair.

  “Hey!” Gabe said, abandoning a gray tub of dishes to wrap his arms around Lisa’s waist and give her a spin. While they were kissing, I sniffed the plastic flowers and then examined myself in the gold-spattered mirror above the table. My shoulders glowed. My nose looked cauterized.

  “Why are you so red?” Gabe asked. “Did you walk here?”

  Lisa’s eyes wandered as she whistled aimlessly.

  “Hold on,” Gabe said. “Let me get you some drinks.”

  Plunking down across from me, Lisa wrinkled her nose and then sniffed her armpit. She picked up a paper menu, scanned it, tossed it, and then reached out and pressed her thumb into my shoulder. “Ouch,” I whined, watching the red seep back into the white oval.

  “Sorry.” She winced. “Thanks for sticking with me, Trace. You’re the only person—” Lisa fell silent as Gabe returned with a water pitcher and cups. He poured from the side instead of the spout, giving us lots of ice. Pushing one cup toward me and the other toward Lisa, he ordered us to drink. “I hope you guys didn’t come all this way for the pizza,” he whispered. “It’s not that good.”

  “Actually,” Lisa said, “I was hoping to get a little something.” Making tweezers of her thumb and finger, she raised it to her lips.

  “Aren’t we going to Trent’s?” Gabe asked.

  “It’s been a bad day.” Lisa gritted her teeth, then grinned, batting her lashes. “I need something now.”

  I fished a chunk of ice from my water and swabbed my collarbone. Gabe refilled our cups. “I don’t have anything on me,” he said. Lisa’s whole body sagged as though finally feeling the effects of walking miles in the heat. “Hang on.” Gabe’s chair scraped the tile floor. “Let me see what I can do.”

  When he came back, he had something clutched in his fist. He palmed it to Lisa, who peeled her thighs from the vinyl seat and pressed her body against his.

  “I’ll thank you for this later,” she whispered.

  Gabe’s face pinked. “You want some sodas?” he croaked, then cleared his throat. “To go?”

  Jumbo paper cups in hand, we trudged back out into the heat. I took the lead this time, winding down side streets and alleys, searching for the sunken plaza where Foley and I first kissed one snowy winter evening. It was deserted this time, too. We hid behind a brick planter anyway, in the shadow of an office building. My father worked in one of them, patrolling dark halls with a flashlight and radio.

  “I’m the only person?” I asked, rattling the ice in my cup.

  Lisa squinted. “You’re the only person, what?”

  “Back there, you said—”

  Lisa flicked the lighter in her fist. “You’re the only person who knows. About … you know.” The thin white paper crackled as Lisa inhaled. Examining the glowing red ember, she said, “Except my mom and Larry. And your
mom, too, I guess.”

  “You didn’t tell Gabe?” I asked.

  Lisa shook her head. A light went on in mine: Trent? I took a smoke and then sipped my drink. “Is it possible it wasn’t…”

  The hatred in her eyes made me swallow my words. She leaned back and laughed harshly. “You think I’m a slut, don’t you?”

  “Like I’ve got room to talk.” The smoke expanded my lungs. My vision expanded, too. I’d never noticed the fine red threads branching from the creases where Lisa’s nose flares. “I think you’re brave,” I said. “There’s no way I could’ve told my mom. I don’t know what I would’ve done.”

  Gone running to Foley, probably.

  Lisa snatched the lighter from my knee and took another hit. “Did you hear about that woman who left her baby baking in the car while she was at Bingo?” she asked. “You should need a license to have a kid. You need one to own a gun or drive a car. Hell, you need one to own a dog.”

  I laughed, releasing a puff of white smoke. My head grew light as if filled with helium.

  “Nobody told me you can’t give gum to a three-year-old,” I said, referring to the one and only time I babysat.

  “See what I mean?” Lisa slapped her thigh. “That kid could’ve died, and you’d be in juvie for neglect or whatever.”

  Church bells echoed in the distance, tolling the hour, but my mind drifted and I lost count.

  “I don’t think I want kids,” I said. “Not because I’d be a sucky parent. There’s just too much I want to do.” I poked the bendy straw between my lips. The empty cup gurgled. Lisa offered me hers. “Scott’s the opposite,” I said. “Which is sad because he’ll probably never have any unless he adopts.”

  I leaned my head on Lisa’s shoulder, my body sinking into a sweet acceptance of heat and pain. Maybe the combination of smoking and clearing the air with Lisa would help me sleep. Dr. Dan told me to come back if the nightmares started interfering with my days. And I’m pretty sure nodding off in the park the other night counted. “What about you?” I asked. “You think you’ll want kids someday?”

  Lisa raised the smoldering stub to her lips, but the sound of feet pounding jerked us upright. Lisa swatted the smoke curling above our heads. I peeked around the planter as a cluster of pigeons exploded. Just a panting jogger cutting across the square. Heart drumming, I leaned back and laughed nervously at the inky-blue sky. Suddenly, a lonely sunken plaza in the middle of desolate downtown seemed like a dangerous place for two wasted girls.

  “We should get out of here,” I said. “Before it gets dark.” I checked my phone. If we hurried, we had a shot at catching the 8:06 uptown. Tossing our cups, we stumble-rushed toward the sound of traffic, then sprinted for the shelter. I knew we’d make it—the bus was a block away—but Lisa started waving like she was hailing a taxi.

  “Act normal,” I begged, gulping air. “Seriously. My mom finds out everything.” The bus rocked to a stop. Paranoia set in. “Quick!” I pinched Lisa’s chin. “How do my eyes look?”

  The doors hissed open. Lisa started giggling. “Purty,” she drawled, kissing my cheek.

  I didn’t know the driver. I flashed my pass while Lisa pumped her money into the fare box. Bumping down the aisle, Lisa made chicken sounds until we fell into a row behind a guy eating french fries. My stomach rumbled for the cardboard scoop of fat and salt. Lisa walked her fingers along the top of the seat like she meant to swoop down and snatch one. My head was pretty messed up, but I had enough sense to know she’d get her hand broken. I bulged my eyes for her to stop, but Lisa just shrugged and cleared her throat. “Excuse me?” she said, leaning around the seat. I drove my knuckle into her leg and she snorted. “My friend wants to know if she can have a fry.”

  The guy turned and smiled and raised the cup. I hesitated, wondering if he was a serial killer who preyed on girls with the munchies. Biting my lip to keep from giggling, I drew first and then Lisa. I got an extra-long one, the kind you have to bend to fit in your mouth. Lisa frowned at hers, brown and short and shriveled. As the giggles passed from me to Lisa and back again, I had one of those lightbulb moments: laughter is a lot like fear—highly contagious. Katie’d caught it, too. Poor thing. Imagining her crazy escape drills made me laugh even harder until I saw the driver watching in the mirror.

  As the bus trundled uptown, the blue lights came on, purging all trace of red. Something about that eerie wash always magnified Lisa’s stark beauty. I leaned my head against hers and snapped a picture with my phone, but the flash ruined it. I looked like a clown with my bright nose, my eyebrows arched ridiculously high, and Lisa’s pupils were enormous. She deleted it, then leaned over and tapped the buzzer. Gripping the handrails we stumbled toward the stairwell and waited for our stop. The bus bucked and the doors jerked open. Descending into darkness, we giggled and skipped like idiots the last couple blocks to Trent’s, where his spacey mother let us in. The sub-bass frequencies droning from the third floor magnetized us up the first flight, but then the rising heat took hold, weighing us down. The stairs stretched on forever. We’d never reach Trent’s room. Ever. The hallway grew longer and longer as we swam toward the light. My brain was trapped in a cement mixer, turning and turning, until the music stopped. Time and space collapsed. A platinum-pigtailed Rachel flicked her hand lazily, too hot or too drunk to wave. Kicking a pile of clothes out of the way, Trent hugged Lisa and then glowered at me. “You look like hell,” he said.

  I wiped the sweat trickling from my hairline. “This room is hell,” I said. It was the first time I’d been to Trent’s since Adam and I had broken up. A few things had changed. The fist-sized hole in the wall beside the closet—that was new. And the drum set was under the window now. In its place was a small black fridge plastered with band stickers. And then there was Rachel’s hair. Actually, it was more like Lisa’s hair on Rachel.

  “What are you drinking?” Trent asked. “Beer or beer?”

  While Lisa pretended to mull it over, Trent tossed me a generic cola. I didn’t know if it was punishment for puking behind his radiator or cheating on Adam until he cozied up to Lisa and showed her a picture on his phone.

  “This is what our boy is up to in California,” he said. “Is she a hottie or what?”

  Lisa stared blankly at the screen and shrugged.

  Winking cruelly at me, Trent zoomed in with his fingers. “Seriously,” he said. “Look at her.” He was hoping I’d ask to see, but something fiery and inflexible—pride, maybe, jealously, probably—hardened my jaw. I squeezed the soda can with both hands to keep it from flying at his stupid smirking skull. Lisa swiped the screen and asked if the next picture was the same girl. I couldn’t help it. I peeked.

  “You could park a car in that dimple,” I said. Lisa and Rachel laughed, but Trent started barking at me in a way that made me hate him and fear him at once. “You don’t get to be bitchy!” he shouted. “Look at that hole! Look at it!” I obeyed because I was in Trent’s house, in Trent’s room, with Trent’s hand driving my head toward the wall. In biology we learned about the fight-or-flight instinct. I must be genetically defective because I don’t possess either. I stared into the black void, waiting for Trent to tell me what I was seeing. “That’s you,” he hissed. “Adam did that after he found out you cheated.”

  A thunderous rush filled my ears. My eyes filled, too, with blinding rage. But I didn’t move. I couldn’t. “Let go,” I whispered. “Please let go.”

  “Don’t be a dick,” Lisa said, chucking a bottle cap at him. “Leave her alone.”

  Trent’s fingers tensed and then fell away. I waited until he’d stomped out of the room and down the stairs before turning. The bathroom door slammed below. Lisa gave the empty hall the finger, but Rachel cocked her blond head and frowned. “Don’t be mad,” she pleaded. “He was just … I don’t know. It was a shock. You and Adam. You guys were the perfect couple.”

  “Nothing is perfect,” I responded icily.

  I wasn’t pissed at Rachel—well, actually
I was, a little, for defending him—but I was furious with Trent for being a hypocrite. Maybe he didn’t count kissing as cheating, but I was damn sure Rachel did.

  “C’mon, let’s go,” Lisa said. She chugged the last of her beer and checked her phone. “I don’t care if Adam’s his friend. That was a shitty thing, what he just did to you.”

  “I’m fine,” I said, still feeling the ghost of Trent’s palm gripping my head. “You sure?” Lisa asked. I shrugged. Rachel passed me her cigarette and promised to make Trent behave, which wasn’t necessary. When he returned, he was someone else. There was still an edge to his voice, but it was the edge of someone trying too hard to be nice. “I think I’ve got one of those lemony things you like,” he said, rattling through the fridge. “Yep. Last one.” He twisted the cap with his T-shirt and held the bottle before me—a peace offering. I took it, reluctantly, and drank it. One less for him. Bottle in hand, I jumped on the bed and tugged Rachel’s pigtail—the same shade as Lisa’s, except Lisa’s didn’t come from a box. “I like the new color,” I said. “It totally works.” And then, smiling innocently: “Did Trent pick it?”

  Beer shot from Lisa’s nose. Grinning wickedly, Trent mouthed Touché. I waited for a glassy-eyed Rachel to ask what was so funny, but she clinked her bottle against mine like she was in on the joke. As I wrinkled my face at Lisa—Does she know he has a thing for you?—Lisa inhaled sharply, her torso convulsing like she’d been shocked with a Taser. Another creaky gasp. Her chest quivered. The four of us burst out laughing. Lisa hiccupped again. And again. And again. The faces she made made us laugh harder, our bodies racked by those deep, uncontrollable jags that only seem to strike at life’s lowest moments. Suddenly, everything felt right again.

  “Stop it, you guys!” Lisa gasped, jerking with another spasm. “I can’t breathe!”