A Field Guide for Heartbreakers

by Kristen Tracy

  “Holy shit,” Veronica said. “Stories like that give me great relief that I’m an only child.”

  “I’m not finished,” Scotty said.

  Veronica looked like she’d heard enough about this saint.

  “And legend says that an army sleeps inside a mountain and they will wake under Wenceslas’s command when the motherland is in ultimate danger. And when his horse stumbles and trips over a stone, a sword will appear. And wielding this, King Wenceslas will slaughter all the enemies of the Czechs, and bring peace and good fortune back to the land.”

  “Is that everything?” Veronica asked.

  Scotty Dee winked. “It’s a shame to meet and part ways,” he said.

  “Shames. Life is filled with them,” Veronica said.

  “We should meet up again,” Scotty Dee said.

  “We’ve got classes during the day,” Veronica said. “Three days a week. Workshops. They’re intense.”

  “I wouldn’t want to derail your studies,” he said.

  “Yeah. Our studies are very important to us,” Veronica said.

  “Why don’t you two meet me and Kirk here Sunday? Say six o’clock? Does that work for you?”

  Since today was Thursday, that meant he was suggesting we meet up again real soon.

  Veronica pursed her lips like she was thinking. “That works for moi. What about you, Dessy?”

  I nodded. I guess hanging out with hot guys with amazing accents worked for me.

  “Hey, let me get your picture,” Veronica said. “I’m a huge fan of photography.”

  “Uh-oh. I don’t have my camera,” I said. Because it was a cheap disposable one, I’d left it in the room on purpose. Using it in front of people, I feared, would draw attention to me and make me feel poor.

  Veronica looked devastated.

  “That’s okay. Bring it on Sunday,” Scotty said. “At six o’clock.”

  Veronica reached out and touched the heart on his arm again. “Okay,” she said.

  As we walked off I bumped her with my shoulder.

  “Ouch,” she said.

  “You came on way too strong,” I said.

  “I had to do something to combat your weirdo Ohio info drop. The Cuyahoga River Fire?”

  “You saw him. He’s trivia minded. He knew where Ohio was and he’s not even an American. He ate that river story up!”

  “Yeah. Yeah. Here’s something you need to know,” Veronica said. She sounded very serious. “If a guy asks us both out and he has a guy friend, it’s called a double invitation and that’s cool. If a guy asks one of us out for a date, it’s called a single invitation and that’s cool too. Never try to convert a double invitation into a single or vice versa. Because men have very sensitive egos and they’ll take it the wrong way.”

  “What if one guy asks both of us out?” I asked.

  “That’s called a sex party and we don’t go,” Veronica said. “Oh my god! It’s the guys. It looks like they’re eating lunch. Let’s go harass them.”

  Veronica took off, and I followed her. Waller, Frank, Roger, and Kite were sitting at a table littered with pizza crusts on paper plates. I guess their earlier impulse to pursue authentic Czech cuisine had been a short-lived one.

  “It runs counter to my nature to tease flood victims,” Waller was saying, “but when I realized the guy was canoeing down Main Street in two feet of water, I couldn’t resist running past him in my waders, making some waves, and yelling, ‘The current has me!’” Waller put his arms out and moved them around like he was swimming. The guys sat around him laughing and drinking beer under the sun’s hot glow.

  “Hey,” Waller said. “How’s it going?”

  “Sorry to interrupt,” Veronica said. “That sounded like an interesting story.”

  “Oh, I was just telling them about when I worked a sandbag line in my grandparents’ hometown.”

  “That’s very philanthropic of you,” Veronica said. Her tone was totally sincere.

  “How are you feeling?” Waller asked.

  “Pretty good,” Veronica said. “We just checked out the Wenceslas statue. When I visit a square, I always stop by its namesake.” She winked and flipped her hair.

  “Okay,” Waller said. “And how are you doing?”

  His eyes fell on me. They looked concerned, and it made me melt a little.

  “I’m feeling better,” I said.

  “Did you visit the plaque for Jan Palach?” Waller asked.

  “Who?” Veronica responded.

  “Jan Palach, the student who set himself on fire to protest the Russian occupation?”

  “The Russian tanks rolled into town right there,” Roger said, pointing in the direction of the statue.

  “That’s tragic,” Veronica said.

  “It really is. People tried to stop them, but really, there’s no way for a group of citizens to stop an army of advancing tanks.”

  “Good point,” Veronica said. “Hey, you seem like you’re headed somewhere.”

  The guys exchanged glances and mischievous smiles.

  “Not all of us,” Roger said.

  “Where are the rest of you headed?” Veronica asked, twirling her hair with her pointer finger.

  “Well, that’s privileged information,” Kite said.

  “Yeah,” said Frank. “We wouldn’t want anybody to tell their mom.” He glanced at Waller again.

  “I don’t tell my mom things,” Veronica said.

  “Frank is just teasing you,” Roger said. “Don’t take him seriously.”

  “Well, I’m being serious,” Veronica said. “You should tell me. I keep secrets like you wouldn’t believe.”

  “That’s not even tempting,” Kite said. “Because you come across as a gusher.”

  Veronica’s jaw dropped. “A gusher? I’m not a gusher. What makes you think I’m a gusher?”

  “It’s a hunch.” Kite wiped pizza crust crumbs off his lap. “Listen, how about we tell you later?”

  Veronica’s mood had shifted. She was practically scowling at the guys. “Cool,” she said. “See you later.”

  And she turned on her heel and walked off. She left me standing in the wake of her pissy attitude—with four college guys—feeling like a total idiot.

  “Her mother is having a bad-hair day,” I said.

  “I’ve had a few of those,” Waller said. He ran his fingers through his long hair and shook it. Watching him do this made me tingle.

  “What did you buy?” Roger asked, pointing to my bag.

  “I’m not totally sure,” I said.

  “What do you mean? Do you shop with your eyes closed?” he asked. I studied his face to decipher his tone. But all I saw was brown eyes and a freckled nose and neat trimmed sideburns. I couldn’t tell if he was playing with me or making fun of me.

  “No. I’m pretty sure they’re snack items. Everything was written in Czech.”

  “Dessy!” Veronica yelled. “We’re going to be late for the bones.”

  “Bones?” Waller asked.

  “The Old Jewish Cemetery,” I said.

  “I thought maybe you were going to Kutná Hora,” Waller said.

  I didn’t respond. Because I thought I heard him say the word “whore,” and why would Veronica and I be going to look at those?

  “Have you ever heard of Kutná Hora and the Sedlec Ossuary?” Waller asked.

  “Oh yeah,” I said. “Veronica and I are dying to go there.”

  “Dessy!” Veronica yelled.

  “We might drive out there later this week. You two should come,” Waller said. “It’s supposed to be unbelievable.”

  “Okay. Sure. I’ve got to go,” I said. “We’re going to take a tour. With a guide and stuff. It’s rude to make tour guides wait. Because it suggests that you aren’t very interested.”

  “Enjoy the tour. Don’t forget to close your eyes sometimes and let everything sink in,” Waller said.

  “I won’t,” I said. Then I waved good-bye. And ran off.

&
nbsp; I was hoping to hear Waller yell something after me, like, “See you later, Dessy!” or “I love talking to you!” or “Nice legs!” But that didn’t happen.

  As I hurried after Veronica I could hear the guys laughing. Not at me. I knew it was about their top secret plans. Seriously, though. What could be that funny?

  Chapter Ten

  “Just go ahead and cremate me,” Veronica said. “I mean, the idea that somebody would be buried on top of me, let alone several people piled directly above a box containing my remains. The concept wounds me. I couldn’t endure it. I just couldn’t.”

  Veronica collapsed into the first available metro seat and stared at the floor. I sat next to her and patted her leg.

  To say that Veronica had not enjoyed the tour of the Old Jewish Cemetery was an understatement. She’d found it abhorrent and, therefore, unlike me, couldn’t be impressed by any of the tour facts. I mean, we had just seen the oldest Jewish cemetery in Europe. Was it spooky? Certainly. But it was also very interesting.

  “Don’t you think we’re sort of lucky to have seen it? Because it’s amazing that the place exists at all. Remember what the guide said about how the Nazis made it a policy to destroy Jewish cemeteries? How they even used the tombstones for target practice?”

  “I don’t feel lucky to have seen any of it. Seriously. When my time comes, go ahead and incinerate me and then scatter my ashes at the mall.” She reached down and squeezed my hand.

  “I didn’t think it was that bad,” I said. “There were parts I liked. Even loved.”

  Veronica made gagging noises, but I ignored her. She rested her head on my shoulder. If Veronica had been a more reasonable person I could have debated with her until she realized that our tour of the Jewish Quarter had been a meaningful experience. As it was, I was going to have to wait and talk to my mother about what I’d seen. I knew she would understand. Even though she hadn’t done much of it, she thought seeing the world was important.

  “Collapsing headstones aren’t tour-worthy. Castles. Cathedrals. Crown jewels on display behind bulletproof glass. Those are tourist destinations,” Veronica said.

  I wanted to remind Veronica that we’d seen a lot more than a few graves. Before the cemetery, our tour had started off at the synagogues. And I had done exactly what Waller had said. I’d let everything sink in. I hadn’t understood that it was possible to feel emotionally stirred by a building. But I was. I saw things at the Spanish Synagogue that were so amazing their beauty was now lodged inside of me forever. Walls outlined in gold. Pillars decorated with dizzying amounts of green, red, and black paint. And ceilings so high and ornate that for the first time in my life I was able to imagine the idea of heaven.

  Veronica hadn’t even wanted to go inside.

  “We were just in a synagogue,” she’d said to her mother.

  “We’re going into another one,” Mrs. Knox said.

  “Why?”

  “It’s part of the tour!”

  There was so much tension between the two of them that I seriously thought about stepping outside.

  “Life shouldn’t be this structured. You don’t leave any time for random fun crap to happen. All you do is plan, plan, plan,” Veronica had said. “Living life shouldn’t feel like plotting a story.”

  Mrs. Knox seemed to bristle at this comment. “We’ve got two more synagogues to tour, Veronica. Maybe random fun crap will occur when you take the subway home.”

  “I thought we were going out to dinner after this,” Veronica said.

  “Change of plans,” Mrs. Knox said in a brusque tone. “I want to investigate purchasing some art from a local painter I met.”

  Veronica shrugged as if she didn’t care. But I knew she did. She’d been looking forward to dinner out.

  After their fight, Veronica couldn’t appreciate anything we saw. Even when I’d told her what Waller had said about letting everything sink in.

  “If Waller were standing right here and he said that to me, I’d flip him the bird,” Veronica said.

  “I’m going to give you a little space,” I said.

  And I did. I’d breathed in the synagogue’s air. Every inch of it was covered in color, even the stained-glass windows. The guide said that the Spanish Synagogue got its name because it was inspired by the Alhambra, a palace in Spain that was built by the Moors. So it was like I was touring that place too. Veronica hadn’t wanted to hear anything about the Moors.

  “I read Othello,” she’d said. “When it comes to the Moors, I think I’ve got their number.”

  But I loved hearing about the Moors and how they were followers of Mohammed and the Koran. I didn’t know that one of the laws of the Koran forbids any human figures or animal forms in sculpture or painting. The guide explained that this is why Moorish architecture only used geometric figures in decorating the synagogue. I fell in love with the place. Its floors, and walls, and arches, and benches. If our guide hadn’t been sixty, I bet I could have fallen in love with him too.

  I didn’t understand everything he said, but I paid attention because my mother had studied architecture in college. Sometimes we’d drive through neighborhoods and she’d point out what was Roman versus Victorian versus Gothic. I’d listened intently to the words the guide used: “features a low stucco arabesque,” “use of stylized Islamic motifs,” “carried out on the doors and gallery balustrades.”

  The metro jerked to an abrupt halt, and Veronica moaned.

  “Are you going to throw up?” I asked.

  “I should have. Right there in that awful cemetery. If she makes us go to anything else like that, it’ll kill me. Seriously. I’ll have an aneurism and die.”

  Because Veronica was visibly green, I didn’t argue with her.

  Our stop was next, and thankfully the train was lightly populated. It seemed unfair for other passengers to have to endure Veronica’s complaining.

  “My mom is obsessed with tombstones,” Veronica said as we stumbled off the train and walked toward the escalators.

  “Veronica, one hundred thousand people were buried there.”

  “That’s just too many,” she said. She covered her ears like she was trying to block out all dissenting arguments. “There should never be one hundred thousand of anything. Let alone dead people.”

  Back at the dorm, Veronica swept her card over the front door and made a beeline for our room. Then she groaned. And turned back around.

  “I feel like I’m being assaulted with sticky notes,” she said. She pulled one from the door and slapped it to her forehead. It stayed pasted to her skin for about a second, then it fluttered to the floor. I caught the words “kitchen duties and bathroom responsibilities.”

  “Is that Veronica and Dessy?” a voice called from behind a closed bedroom door.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “We don’t have to answer,” Veronica whispered. “There’s still time to run.”

  I shook my head.

  Brenda and Annie Earl both emerged from their room. They looked eager to talk.

  “Corky is in her room too,” Brenda said. “This is perfect timing.”

  I looked at Corky’s door and saw smoke wafting out from beneath the doorjamb.

  “Is she a smoker? Should we be worried?” I asked.

  “Let’s knock!” Annie Earl said, barging toward Corky’s presumably locked living quarters.

  After three loud pounds, Corky flung open the door. She stood before us completely nude. Her body looked like a perfect pear. I tried to focus on her head.

  “What are you doing in there? Do you need a towel?” Brenda asked. She stared at Corky in utter disgust.

  “I’m being naked. And no, I don’t need a towel. I made peace with my body eons ago,” Corky said. “I don’t punish it for its imperfections. I embrace it.”

  “I didn’t realize you’d collected such a variety of piercings,” Annie Earl said.

  “Yeah, yeah. My mom has already given me those lectures,” Corky said.

 
“Oh. I’m not lecturing you. It’s just that usually I’m able to notice a person’s nipple rings through their shirt. Yours somehow escaped me.”

  I aimed my gaze at the ceiling. I wasn’t used to female nudity other than my own. Even in gym class.

  “Um, maybe we should go over lists and duties after dinner,” Brenda said.

  “How about tomorrow? After workshop? I need to get to work on my story,” Corky said. “I’ve hit an impasse with a machete and a hot air balloon.” She yawned and scratched her neck.

  “All right,” Brenda said. “See you tomorrow.”

  “Cool,” Corky said. “Rock on.”

  I watched her turn around, revealing her bare pear ass, and return to her room.

  “We need to work on our stories too,” Veronica said. “I’ve reached an impasse with a big-tailed animal and a small-tailed animal.”

  Brenda looked defeated, but nodded.

  “Good luck with that,” Annie Earl said. “I think I’m going to go buy a marionette.”

  I followed Veronica into our room and shut the door behind me.

  “Corky is so awesome!” Veronica said. “I mean, there she is. Chubby. Terrible haircut. Wearing an obscene amount of eyeliner. And she’s a total nudity freak.”

  “How does that make her awesome?” I asked.

  Veronica threw her hands up. “Because she looks like a disaster and she doesn’t try to cover up this condition with nice clothes. She’s a free woman. She doesn’t plot her life. She just lives it. And that’s so rare.”

  “Maybe,” I said. But I wasn’t sure. Because shouldn’t life be partly planned? Isn’t that why we lived in a place called “civilization,” where we had freeways and mortgages and orthodontists?

  Veronica lay back on her bed and took out her notebook. “Sometimes I worry that I don’t know enough about foxes to write this story.”

  “Have you done any research?” I asked.

  “Well, I watched a fox on television once.”

  I rolled onto my side and looked at Veronica. “I don’t think that’s enough.”

  “What about you? What kind of research have you done on Ecuador?”

  “I haven’t done any research on Ecuador because I’m writing about Guatemala.”