Under The Covers

by Baker, Max Q.

  We sat in silence as the song began. I sang along, a little loud and a little off key, and right in her ear, doing a mock serenade while trying to improvise a bad choreography as I danced around her. A couple lines in, I remembered this was a love song, and I was feeling embarrassed. We took turns stealing nervous glances at one another, as I felt my cheeks blushing. I wondered if she thought I had chosen this one on purpose.

  She was smiling. She looked back at me at the end of the first verse, before the bridge, in between my singing, she said, "I like it."

  "Yeah." I said, and went back to singing, stopping just before the chorus.

  "I like you too," she admitted. "You're ok, Waylon."

  "Just ok?"

  "We'll see." She gave me the sweetest little smirk.

  We listened some more, this time in silence and when it ended I asked, "You ever feel that there are things that can't be said? But they're always right there, under the surface, exposed through complex context, waiting to be discovered?"

  "Tell me again why you didn't bother pursuing a career in writing?" She poked her finger into my shoulder teasingly.

  "Figured I had nothing important to say."

  "Well, I think you're wrong," she complimented me.

  "Thanks. Maybe I'll find my voice one day."

  "Maybe you already have what you want, and you don't even realize it."

  Puzzled, I asked, "We still talking about my writing voice? Or does this go back to that conversation in my room, that day you gave me the second painting? Or the fund raiser?"

  "Or some other complex context, under the surface, waiting to be discovered." She bit her lip the way Mags did and cast me an enigmatic glance.

  “You believe in fate?” I asked.

  "Sometimes I do whatever my heart tells me, and trust the universe to sort out the mess that follows. It’s not the best way to do things."

  I grinned. I had thought the very same thing in my own life. "You and me both."

  Uncertain where this conversation was going, and whether or not I should take a chance, I tried to ease into her fight with Ryan. "So - I know you probably don't want to talk about this, but Ryan seems pretty cool – as much as he may bug the hell out of me personally. He's good to you. What's up?"

  "Yeah," she said, almost sadly. "He's a great guy. He'll make a perfect husband someday."

  There was something about the way she said it that implied an ellipsis, an omission of her actual intensions. No hyphen at all. It felt lonely and lost.

  "You reckon you're going to get married? To him?"

  If she hadn't already linked his name to her greatest mistake, it might have surprised me when she said, "Doubt it."

  "You said he would make a perfect husband."

  "He would. But not to me. He's almost perfect." She said it without sarcasm. She had deep respect and appreciation for him. But perhaps not love. She found no joy with him. She did not like him. He was a good person, but not the right person to bring out the best in her.

  My lungs drained of air. The blood oozed out of my face. I could feel it clogging up my throat and neck, that weird creeping tingling feeling, moving downward. I was way too afraid to say any of my real thoughts or feelings, so I kept poking around at the surface. "I thought you two got along great?"

  "We do." She was pretty tight-lipped about what she was thinking, but I thought one thing was obvious: there was a chance for me.

  I was at a loss for words.

  She continued. "Remember that first time we met? At the gas station?"

  "Yep."

  "I don't know how, but I knew I would see you again."

  "How?" I asked.

  "I just said, I don't know how." Pause. "But I think it was because I wanted to."

  "Is everything ok?" I meant in general.

  "Yes. No." She gently put a fingertip on my chest as she averted her eyes. "I'm glad you're my friend now."

  "Me too."

  "Promise me you'll hang around."

  "Till when?"

  A sidelong-glance found my eyes, her hair covering her face in shadowy determination. "Till it works."

  There was nothing more either of us could say.

  [ Drinking The Kool-Aid ]

  As all of this was going on, I was finishing up my summer session of classes.

  And I was changing.

  Not only was I talking less like myself and more like my friends (unless I was around Robby, then my Old South came back out), but some of the sales topics that used to make me gag were starting to make sense and enthuse me.

  A sales person had a responsibility to understand, and to guide. They had a responsibility to lead a person to make a difficult decision that they were afraid to make on their own, because it was a big decision, and often involved a lot of money and emotional insecurity, which meant a long-term commitment. No one liked making the wrong decision, especially a big one. A bad salesperson would go for the sale, without caring, but a good salesperson would become their best friend - at least for a short while - and help them find exactly what they needed. And since it was what they needed, it also was what they truly wanted, even if they didn't realize it themselves. That was the job of the salesperson, to find what they truly wanted, because it was both what they needed and could afford.

  I must have been drinking the corporate Kool-Aid.

  Helping others helps yourself. Do what you love and the money will come.

  I didn’t know myself anymore.

  [ Separation Anxiety ]

  And then it happened. Bo and Ryan officially split.

  She told him that she loved him, but not in a way that made sense to continue dating. She didn't want to be wasting his time when he could be falling in love with someone who not only appreciated him, but genuinely loved him back. There was a difference, she explained gently. She was brave enough to recognize that.

  Of course, he was devastated.

  The two of them took turns calling me to talk, needing to vent, needing to cry, shouting, seeking advice, or just needing a friend to listen. I tried to be impartial. I told Ryan I couldn't understand her decision any more than he could. Bo cried as she explained to me exactly why she had done it. At least what she was willing to share. I told Ryan he didn't deserve to be treated this way. Bo told me that he deserved better than her, and this was the only thing that was fair and good. She was sacrificing her own heart so that he could be free to find true love. Ryan told me that she was his one true love, and that she was confused or scared; perhaps because of me. He said I had to talk to her for him. I diplomatically said that this was between the two of them. Bo told me that she couldn't possibly be Ryan’s true love if she didn't love him back; and she did not, not like that. He said he would love her forever, no matter how she felt. And after all he had done for her, he didn’t understand how she could treat him like this.

  On and on it went, phone call after phone call. At one point, I just started playing solitaire and mastered the art of saying, “Oh, I see,” “I feel your pain,” and “Uh-huh.”

  I was getting dizzy hearing the two sides of the story, but I tried to be the best friend I could to each of them. I listened. And I said as little as possible that might get me in trouble later, in the event they reconciled, which I fully expected them to do.

  At one point, Ryan asked me, “If she never showed a sign of being the least bit unhappy, and said she loved me every single day, how could she possibly want to end it so abruptly? Does that make sense to you? I am beside myself; baffled; utterly distraught, crushed and confused.”

  Apart from thinking he was a drama queen, his question gave me a jolt. It did not make sense to me either. In fact, it gave me a nagging doubt. If she could discard him with such impunity, the man who would move mountains for her; the man who already could provide for her in ways that I doubt I EVER could... what type of strange commitment issues did this girl have, and how could I ever hope to have a chance with her?

  As the day of endless phone c
alls wore on, I figured one of three things were likely to happen:

  Either this was going to blow over in a few days and they would be back in each other's arms, blowing kisses and floating on clouds and generally making everyone around them sick, and a little irritated for enduring the support-phase during their separation.

  Or they would stay separated, and the little circle of friends would stay together, but grow weak with the tension of everyone being afraid to say or do the wrong thing, until our circle disintegrated entirely and no one remained friends anymore.

  Or it was truly ended, and he would realize he mostly had been there for her, and no longer felt comfortable invading her space. After all, these were her friends first, despite his once involvement with Mags, and it was not his place to ask her to leave. Maybe he would stay in touch with some - or all - of us, but he would honorably disappear and begin to mend his own life.

  The last choice was my favorite for obvious reasons. It allowed him to retain his dignity. It allowed the rest of us to remain friends. And it freed Bo to be pursued by me, without the shackles of guilt.

  Except maybe about Mags.

  If I were so ready to toss Mags aside with impunity, maybe I needed to do exactly what Bo had done to Ryan. End it now. Spare the deeper hurt by preventing its ability to spread across the heart and soul.

  There was one obvious problem with that.

  Mags was not as noble and honorable as Ryan. She was tough as nails and when someone crossed her, she was mean as a bobcat. Not only would she punish me dearly, but I would be chased out of the circle, by tooth, nail, and claw. And if that happened, how could I pursue Bo? I never would be able to see her again, or comfortably share any time with her best friends.

  Shakespeare was right. Love is doomed.

  [ Someone's Missing ]

  The next time we went out, we met for drinks at one of our usual spots.

  Robby hadn't arrived yet. He had said he wasn't coming after the fight with Amane, but I talked him into it. He was trying to find a parking spot for the Beast.

  We stood at the bar. Mags was on one side of me, and Bo on the other. There I was in the middle between the girls again.

  Ryan was conspicuously absent. No one asked where he was.

  Mags looked from one of us to the next as if taking inventory and knew something had happened. Then she scowled. If Ryan were gone, she feared that might upset the delicate romantic balance.

  It wasn't till Robby showed up that someone actually spoke about the 500 pound gorilla in the room. He asked, "Hey! Where's Monty Python?"

  Bo said simply, "Away for a while."

  Robby tried to make Ryan sound dumb, "On one of his big 'speech-writin' ‘trips?"

  "Just away."

  Mags took my hand and squeezed it a bit harder than usual. She was certain that Ryan was still in town, which meant that he and Bo were definitely having problems.

  Robby looked at Bo, then me, then Mags. I didn't catch it at the time, but I reckon he was thinking if Bo were single it might mean I would switch to her, freeing up Mags for him. But Mags was still with me, so Robby said to Bo, "Oh yeah? That mean there's room for me to take his place?"

  Bo looked disgusted and I kicked Robby hard. "Settle down, Romeo."

  "If you don't ask, you'll never know," he justified.

  Bo tried to change the subject. "I would rather talk about anything else please."

  Then Robby meekly eyed Amane, and made an effort that seemed completely out of character for him. Quietly, he said, "Hey. I'm sorry about the other night. I was a jerk."

  All eyes were on them. I knew what he was talking about because I had been there, but Bo and Mags thought that he might have made the moves on her, against her will. They waited, breathless.

  Amane nodded sadly, forgiving him. "It's ok. You’re a prick. I get it."

  Everyone, shouted, "Whoa!!!!" They were impressed at Amane's newfound confidence.

  She continued, "Plus, you missed finding out exactly what I look like under all these clothes."

  "Yeah?" Robby sounded intrigued.

  As if it had been rehearsed, Bo, Mags, and Chris whipped out their cellphones and brought up the pictures of Amane that Rayne had taken at her apartment and emailed to everybody.

  Robby went pale, staring open-mouthed from phone to phone. "Holy fuck! This is you?"

  I took great guilty pleasure watching him realize his mistake, since it was Amane's choice to make him squirm.

  "Still don't think of me as a girl?" she asked.

  He rolled up his sleeve and pulled a pen out from behind his ear. "Can I call you?"

  "Nah," she said, giving him a gentle push. "I'm over you."

  "Whatever." He shrugged and put away the pen, and rolled his sleeve back down.

  I should have kept my mouth shut, but I added, "You should have seen her in person. The pictures don't do her justice."

  With a cross expression, Mags asked, "You were there?"

  The cat was out of the bag. Ouch. "Yep."

  "Where was I?" she asked.

  "I don't know." It was half true. "It was very spontaneous."

  "Hmmm." If she had a tail, it would have been flicking angrily.

  Chris told Mags, "Don't feel bad. I wasn't there either." He added to Robby. "But you - you wish you could have had her babies."

  Robby frowned. "I don't even know what that means, Sasquatch!"

  "I don't have big feet," Chris snapped back.

  Robby was annoyed, making gestures in front of his head. "I meant the big furry beard."

  Chris explained simply. "It’s because of a mole."

  Robby was flat-out rude. "That's one big fucking mole!"

  Chris shook his head. "Not that kind of mole." He pinched his fingers to demonstrate something unseen.

  For reasons I didn't understand, Mags suddenly leaned over and gave me a kiss. She held me for a moment, making sure everyone saw it.

  Chris reminded us, "You know we're in public, right?"

  Robby hooted, "Get a room!"

  Amane, being the perpetual voice of moral reason, chastised, "Don't do that in front of Bo. Have some consideration."

  That set Robby off. "So what happened to Britt? He choke on some franks and beans, or you tell him to take a hike?"

  "More or less," said Bo without expression. We all stopped and stared, waiting in silence. Bo added, "I needed some time to think, and my therapist said I shouldn't be in an active relationship while I do that."

  Robby grabbed a passing waitress by the arm, and said, "Therapist? This is MY therapist, right here. Beer, please."

  Amane muttered, "At least he said please. He's already improved 200% tonight."

  Robby caught her comment and smiled.

  Chris mused, "Anyone else think it's disturbing that the word 'therapist' is almost 'the rapist'?" He held his hands out as if they were the two words, and he put them together.

  We raised our eyebrows at Chris.

  Amane moved her chair away from him a couple of inches. "I'm disturbed that you noticed that."

  [ Mags On Caring ]

  By the time we were on our way home, Mags had had too much to drink. Again. She had been strange all night, as if the changing group dynamics already upset her. This time, I took her home in my own car. Chris got to enjoy his delivery duty solo, dropping her Dodge at her house, while Amane trailed behind, ready to pick him up. We were like a small caravan; camels with headlights, trolling through the muggy haze of night.

  I had expected Mags to be passed out for the entire drive, and that was almost true. When the car stopped in front of her house, I wasn’t sure if I should let her sleep for a while. But she must have sensed that the car had stopped moving. She started talking to me, her face half covered by the door.

  "I never cared before. About anything. I never hoped.

  And when I became upset, and couldn’t handle my moods, I used to crash, and crash hard.

  Sometimes I crashed so hard, I wanted to
crawl away into a corner and die.

  And that was without hope. Without caring.

  But these days, for reasons I don’t quite understand, I have started to care.

  I have started to hope.

  And it makes me wonder: how far will the crash be from where I am heading?

  But I don't want to crash.

  I want to keep riding this balloon all the way to the top.

  And then, if I fall from the top of the world, at least I got to see life through God's eyes."

  She turned to face me. Her eyes were those of a child, a puppy dog, an angel. She trusted that I understood. She had put her life in my hands, and had the faith, or hope, that I would not let her down.

  But I was not that smart.

  I was not that person.

  But I wish I could have been. For her sake.

  [ Confessions on a Swing ]

  September rolled around, and Robby and I were kicking back in the rocking hammock on his front porch, picking up chestnuts and whipping them across the yard at squirrels. While we picked off the rodents, we also picked off a twelve pack of PBRs.

  With summer session at college behind me, I was surprised to have added some A's to my report card and increased my GPA. I would have thought that all that extra time hanging out and partying would have negatively impacted my studying. But as it turned out, hanging around with my new friends actually inspired me to try harder and study more because I wanted to fit in with them, and to aspire for Bo. Or Mags. But mostly Bo.

  I told Robby, "That was a big thing you did with Amane a while back. I've never heard you apologize before."

  He shrugged. "Wasn't nothin'."

  "Was so."

  "Nah," he said, then admitted, "I'd already seen those pics a’ her on your laptop."

  "What?" I stared at him. "When?"

  "Night before. You went to take a piss and I was going to have a little fun, send some emails to some of your fancy friends..."