Under The Covers

by Baker, Max Q.

  Quietly, I said, "You mean more to me than you know. And I'm sorry."

  Mags fumed in silence, and then blurted out, "I know you went to the mall with Amane, and didn't even bother to call me or invite me. Do I embarrass you too?"

  That was definitely a Ryan reference, but I wasn’t supposed to know that story.

  "That had nothing to do with you. That was supposed to be her day. She was trying something new."

  "But that didn't stop you from calling Bo, did it? At least now I know where I really stack up with you and your friends.” She paused long enough to chew on a nail, then got fired up again, “And do you know who told me? Even before I found out from you? Chris! Because, coincidentally, he wasn't invited either. And I know you're not exactly a huge Chris fan."

  "No. Wait!" I wanted to have the chance to argue this one out. I didn't think that moment was worth this level of churn. “She needed that day. She needed to be the one getting all the looks. Not you.”

  Mags stared open-mouthed and shocked. “And you didn’t think you could tell me this? You didn’t think I would understand? You didn’t think I was capable of dressing down and supporting a friend in need? Really? You think I’m that shallow and needy?” She scoffed and looked away.

  I didn’t know Mags. Her exaggerated cover had outweighed my ability to see the real girl, despite all the subtle things she had said and done.

  “Mags! It was a trip to the fucking mall! Why are you blowing this out of proportion? So I made a mistake. Let it go! So I don’t feel like fucking around tonight. So what? Do we have to do that every time?”

  Her eyes and tone became icy. “No. We don’t have to do it every time. But why don’t you want to do it tonight. That’s what I want to know. What’s different tonight? What happened with you and Bo today?”

  She was jealous and not unfounded in her anger. I threw my hands up. “I give up. I’m done.”

  “I'm taking you home,” she commanded. “The only thing I want to hear for the rest of this drive is the radio. Got it?"

  "Fucking fine."

  She drove fast, and dangerous. She was aggressive, cutting people off, blaring her horn, switching lanes without her directional, with barely enough room to make the cut. That girl was a heap a road rage waitin’ to happen. I held on tight, afraid she was going to get us killed. As subtly as I could, I slipped my seatbelt on and locked it. I was glad she hadn't been drinking. Much.

  When we pulled up in front of my house, she unlocked the door and unclicked my seat belt. Reaching her arm across me, she pushed my car door open from the inside, and waited silently for me to leave.

  I didn't want it to end like this. "This wasn't a good night. We'll talk tomorrow," I said.

  With malice, she grabbed the door from the inside, and slammed it shut, then burned rubber as she peeled out of there.

  ***

  When I got upstairs, there was an email from Bo waiting on my laptop. I couldn't even get myself to open it. I closed the laptop, cut off the light, and dropped into bed, fully dressed.

  If I had read it, I would have known that after the duck pond, Bo was considering telling Mags her feelings for me. She didn’t know what to do.

  Staring at the slice of streetlight cutting across the black ceiling, I waited for dawn, sleepless and hurt. It was weird how much it ached breaking up with someone; even someone that you weren’t really dating, and who you intended to leave. You were losing a piece of yourself, the piece of your heart that you had shared. And it felt awful.

  Mags and I had grown close, but not the spend-your-whole-life-together kind of close.

  [ No Phone Sex At Dinner ]

  The next afternoon, despite Mags, all I could think about was Bo, and whether or not she was going to call me. Where ever I went, I brought my phone with me, hoping.

  The afternoon stretched by slowly, and dinnertime rolled around. I sat in the kitchen soppin’ gravy with biscuits, chowin’ my side of tender buttery grits. My parents were in their usual distant condescending moods.

  When my phone rang, Sweet Home Alabama, my Pa looked up from his plate, and Ma glared at me, expecting me to do the right thing, which was not to answer it.

  In case it was Bo, I had to answer. I had no Caller ID, thanks to them.

  I held up my finger, hoping Ma would understand. I just wanted the chance to say “I’ll call you back.”

  "Hey!" I said, hopefully.

  It was Mags, "Hey, big boy? How you doin'?"

  "Oh, Mags." I was surprised she was talking to me. I could see Ma shaking her head, making hand gestures, telling me to wrap it up.

  "You said we could talk today. Did you mean that?" she asked. She sounded hopeful, contrite.

  "Well, yeah," I began. "But this isn't the best time. Can I ..."

  I was going to ask if I could call her back after dinner. Secretly I was annoyed she had called me at all. Overnight, throughout the long sleepless hours, I had come to grips with the separation, and I felt as if the best thing possible had already happened. We had effectively split. Why did we need to complicate this any further?

  "Can you what?" she asked suggestively. "Can you slip my panties off of me? Well, no, you can't, because they're already gone. Can you ... take your finger, lick it, and stick it deep up inside the warm wet walls between my legs?"

  My mouth was open. I couldn't believe she was doing her phone sex routine. Now. While I was at my dinner table. In front of my folks.

  My ma had had it with me. "No phones at the dinner table. You know the rules! Wrap it up!"

  "Mags!" I shouted. "I have to go! I can't do this right now!"

  Either she didn't hear me, or she didn't care. She must have thought this was the way to apologize to me, and try to make things right. She continued, undaunted. "I'm sucking you, and it feels so good. I feel your head expanding, and it's sliding way to the back of my throat, the way you like it. And now I'm pushing it deeper. You grab my hair, and pull me close…"

  "Mags! I'm serious. I can't do this right now. My ma has this rule, no phone sex at the table!"

  I choked. My folks recoiled. Had I just said what I thought I had? Oh, God, I did. “Oh, fuck!” Yup. I swore out loud, too. I was so screwed.

  Ma shouted, "Excuse me? Who are you talking to? Let me have that phone, young man! THIS instant!" She held out her hand, for me to give her the phone.

  Mags tried to continue, but I had to hang up before my mother got it. "Mags, I have to go! I'm sorry!" I hung up on her, and put the phone on mute, and then closed the flip.

  Ma grabbed it and put it on a countertop. “I’ll keep this here with me until you've been excused from dinner. And later we can discuss your vulgarity!"

  "Yes, Ma’am."

  [ Missed Messages ]

  It was only a short spell before my phone was given back to me. As a condition, I had to promise that I wasn't having sex with Mags, taking drugs, or doing anything else inappropriate or illegal. I also had to swear I wouldn't have my phone at the dinner table again, or use vulgar language under any circumstance, at any place or time.

  I promised.

  I admit I lied. But those requests were fairly ridiculous, I thought.

  I went upstairs and didn’t leave my room. I lay there in my bed, with my phone on my nightstand, watching the clock. Every minute felt like an eternity. I wish I had a dollar for every time I urged, "Bo, come on, call me. You said you would. Come on. Do it now. Call me." But she didn't.

  Funny thing about Mags. After our fight, I had had a long sleepless night with plenty of time to think about a lot of things.

  It occurred to me – despite her image, despite her talk – that I never saw her with other guys. She didn’t flirt, grope, or take off with random strangers. She wasn’t receiving constant phone calls or giggling over a million texts that weren’t me. She didn’t go out with anyone during the week, as far as I knew. That didn’t explain the contents of her nightstand in her bedroom, but for all I knew, that was ancient history, wha
tever it was.

  I suppose she could have snuck in a one-hour hook up here and there, but honestly I had no reason to think she had ever cheated on me in any way. Not that it would have been cheating; she made it clear time-and-time again that what we did on our own time was our business, and no labels or commitments applied.

  But it helped me to appreciate the depth of feeling she may have had that I had completely overlooked.

  I considered calling Mags back, like I had promised, but I didn't have Call-Waiting on the Dumb-As-Fuck, and didn't know how long that call with Mags would last. I didn't want to risk missing the call with Bo.

  But Bo didn't call.

  At first, I contented myself that she hadn't been sure when she would call, but at least that she had said she would. Maybe. It was just a matter of time. But as the first hour turned into two, and entreating the Dear Lord above did not seem to bring an end to this standoff of silence, I became angrier and more frustrated.

  “Maybe” was starting to feel more like “definitely not.” Had she chickened out? Had she seen the opportunity to make something meaningful between us, turned her back, and run away?

  I wanted to call her, as casually as I could, and say. "Hey. Whatcha' doin'? How's things going'?" But I didn't. I knew it would be transparent. Maybe her Ex had shown up and convinced her she was wrong to break up with him, and they were in her bed right now, forgetting about me and my broken heart by practicing the top ten sex positions of the Kama Sutra.

  I was starting to buzz like a hornet. "I guess she doesn't care about me after all. If she cared, she would have called. If she doesn't know and understand how much I hurt inside, and for how long I've loved her, then maybe I should give it all up and get over it." My advice to myself sounded good, but like every other love-sick fool I had known, I could not afford to take that advice. In the off-chance.

  I tried to find things to do. I listened to some tunes, singing as loud as I could to vent my frustration; until my father pounded on the door with his fist telling me to KNOCK IT OFF! I hollered back, "If you didn't want me singing badly, you shouldn’t have named me something that sounds like "Wailin' Willie!"

  I cut off the tunes and tried reading books. Everything was paced so slow. I couldn’t do it.

  I did some pushups and sit-ups. At least that helped channel the aggression and frustration. I considered a few other options to channel the frustration, but opted against them. In the Off-Chance.

  Two hours became three. I was literally going crazy. I was melting down, and all over a girl. I suddenly wondered if all these months of wanting her and loving her had been worth it, if it made me feel this out-of-control inside. Out-of-control. Two hyphens: that was getting close to the limit.

  I fired up the laptop, which took another 300 days to load. I saw the message from Bo, but it was from the day before, the one I hadn’t read until now. I replied, “Are you sure you should do that? Talk to Mags about us? Call me when you have a chance.” I hit send. It gave me a chance to remind her to call me without sounding like a desperate jerk.

  But she didn’t call, and I was becoming a caged beast. I could go for a walk. The whole point of the cellphone was that you didn’t have to be tied to one room to get a phone call. I went downstairs, and told my folks, “I need some fresh air.” I grabbed my key ring. (My folks liked to keep the house locked at night.)

  “You should be grounded,” my ma reminded me. But she didn’t actually say I was grounded, so I nodded and kept walking.

  I hadn’t gone far when I decided I should call Robby. It would take my mind off Bo. If anyone could do it, he could. At least I could keep a phone call with Robby down to a minute or two, restore my sanity, and go back to waiting. If Bo didn't get through in the minute or two I talked to him, I was sure she would try again.

  I grabbed my dumb-as-fuck to dial him, but when I flipped it open, I was mortified.

  A little envelope with a number showed me I had missed 17 calls. The most common random number in the English speaking world. Another little icon showed me that my phone was still on mute. I suddenly remembered I had muted my phone when I hung up on Mags, afraid of my Ma. I had plumb forgot to take it off of mute later on, after I finally got it back.

  The phone was too DUMB to vibrate.

  My dumb-as-fuck didn't show me who called, or when, but - from the count of missed calls - I knew that someone had been trying to reach me pretty badly for the last three hours.

  I tried to call Bo, but got her voice mail. She was probably totally pissed at me. Everything I had been saying about her, she was probably saying about me, only worse, since she had actually been trying to call, like she promised. I was the dirt bag who wasn't answering.

  I started checking my voicemail. It was set up to play urgent messages first. It wasn't Bo. It was Ryan. "Where the hell are you? She was in an accident. Get to the hospital as soon as you get this!"

  I froze. Who was in the hospital? Who had been in an accident? My heart stopped. I couldn't even move for at least 15 seconds while the adrenaline started firing through my veins, preparing me for a massive set of shakes, followed by a mad dash down the block, back to my car.

  I was heading to the hospital like a bat out of hell.

  ***

  On the way, I listened to the other messages, mashing a few awkward arrow keys to start the missed recordings back from the beginning this time.

  I was driving too fast to be holding the wheel with one hand.

  There were some early messages from Mags, asking if I had forgotten to call her back, sounding more dejected than angry. Then some from Bo. She had tried to call me as she promised, disappointed I wasn't picking up. Promising to call back later. She did. Left another message, promised to try again later. She did. Then a click with no message. Another one. No message. And so forth.

  Then there was a call from Mags, crying, sounding really broken up; asking if I could please call her. I could hear her car speeding in the background. Highway noise. Road noise. Fast. Too fast.

  Then the next message was Bo again, screaming hysterically, "Oh my god! Where are you! Mags!" My blood curdled and froze in my veins. The message cut off prematurely.

  Other messages followed from some of our other friends, also broken up, frantic, trying to sound rational and calm, but failing. Amane: "Don't freak out, but get to the hospital as fast as you can. I am serious. This is really, really important." Then, Ryan, angry, out-of-control, like I have never heard him before: "Where the fuck are you? She needs you here! Do you need a ride? No one knows your home phone! Don't be an asshole! Get back to one of us!"

  With every message, my foot went down harder on the gas, and I seemed to forget that red-lights meant stop. I was sweating and freezing, my eyes burning, my lungs barely breathing. I could barely see. When I finally got to the hospital, I don't think I found a parking space near the door and just swerved up onto the sidewalk without giving a damn.

  [ The Hospital ]

  When I arrived, it was late. People were grabbing me, and hugging me, and yelling at me, and crying, and asking why I hadn't been answering my phone. I needed to find out what happened. I was shaking. I felt sick. I couldn't speak. It felt like iron teeth were clenching my chest, tightening around me.

  As time crawled to a stop, I fought my way toward where she was, while hands held me back. I could hear the noise from the emergency room like a muffled blur. I could hear my own heart pounding in my temples. I could feel the tears of panic escaping the corners of my eye.

  There was one thing I had learned in my short 21 years. Generally speaking, people don't die. I mean, sure, we all have to die eventually, and in fact we do. But people have this amazing ability to survive. You can drop them, step on them, break them, beat them, torture them; suffer them, burn them, make them sick with dehydration and poison, shatter them with accidents and broken hearts; and somehow - despite all of that - the human spirit finds a way to keep those fragile pieces of flesh and blood together long enough
to heal.

  Except when it didn't.

  I was staring at the doors to the ECU, when I spotted Bo out of the corner of my eye. She did not look back at me. She was shrunken like a deflated doll, face buried in her hands, trembling, whimpering uncontrollably. That was when I knew. I stopped and stared, and started to listen to what people were telling me. I was ready to hear; but I didn't want to know.

  By some incomprehensible stroke of insane horror, Mags had died. The doctors had kept her alive long enough to try to find ways to save her, but too many vital organs had been damaged in the crash, and there was nothing they could do. As indestructible as the human form had been, and with all the advances of modern medicine, somehow they had failed to save that one young person who had been my friend; who's passionate pursuit of life and love I definitely had not deserved.

  Time froze. My heart stopped. You can care about somebody, even love them, without wanting to be with them. And that's ok. Bo loved Ryan, but realized she could not be with him. And that was ok.

  As I saw them push a silver bed on wheels into the hall, with a sheet draped over a body that I suspected was Mags, I realized that I may have loved her too, but mostly as a friend. And that was ok. Mostly. But there she was. Under the covers. Her plain white book cover of cloth saying that her story was done; and reminding me that I had betrayed her trust, love, and friendship. I started to lurch forward, racing for the stretcher. Orderlies quickly pulled it aside, as others blocked the way, and my friends grabbed me to hold me back.

  Ryan kept shouting, over and over until someone understood. "It's his girlfriend! It's his girlfriend!"

  Whether they were supposed to or not, someone stopped pulling the stretcher and let me race to her side. I could hear a nurse warning me that she had sustained terrible trauma on impact. The sheet was pulled back only enough to see the top of her head. Even that was bloody, damaged and swollen. Her eyes were puffy, red, and staring blankly. I heard myself cry, "No! God damn it, No!" as if it were someone else speaking, the voice sounding too high and fast to be my own. I broke down into unintelligible tears, wrapping my arms around her body, putting my face to her head, kissing her mouth through the sheet.