by Taryn Steele
Breakers is packed, and music is bumping with “Then The Morning Comes” by Smash Mouth. The bar is dim inside, and the ambient lighting and loud music make me want to dance. I spot Mark the bartender I’ve grown to know better from frequenting here lately with Jameson. He says “hello” and points to the far corner of the room letting me know where I can find the guys. I thank him and let him know I’ll be back in a minute to get a drink.
I am relieved to see that Gloria is not with them. Not that I really thought she would be, but it had crossed my mind.
The guys are playing pool as I walk up, and David approaches me first, arms outreached for a hug. It’s the first time seeing him since his pimp parade at The Tavern for Jameson’s birthday.
“Hi, Hillary. It’s nice to see you again.”
He doesn’t hug me hard. He barely hugs me at all, but strangely it’s not awkward. Maybe it’s because he’s so damn thin.
“Hi David. You too. Are you kicking Jameson’s ass?”
“Hah. Actually no. He’s kicking mine this time but I won the first one.”
“How long have you guys been here?” I ask.
“Maybe fifteen or twenty minutes. It’s only the second game.” Jameson interjects as he stalks over to me with sparkles in his blue eyes. How many drinks has he had already? I wonder.
“Hey there.” I give him a swift kiss on the lips. “What are you drinking?”
“Red death.”
“You’ve had that before. What’s in it exactly?”
“Vodka, Southern Comfort, Amaretto, Triple Sec, Sloe Gin, and cranberry juice.” He tells me.
“Oh God! That’s all you. I’m going to get a Rum and Coke. You guys want anything?”
They shake their heads no, and off I go to see Mark. I do my best to squeeze up to the bar so Mark can see me but I’m not going to be pushy or annoying like I’ve seen other bar patrons be. Mark is good to us. I refuse to be rude. Once he sees me he reaches over the bar and gives me a quick hug and kiss on the cheek.
“Hiya sweetie! Rum and coke?”
“You know it!”
“Coming up.”
“Thanks Mark.”
I toss my money on the bar already knowing the cost with a little extra for him.
“Here you go sweetie. With a lime.”
“You know me so well.” I say with a wink.
“Keep your money. First one is on me. You know that.” He insists.
“You’re the best Mark. I’ll be back soon.”
Heading back to Jameson and David I’m itchin’ to play a game of pool myself.
“I call winner!” I shout.
“I can already tell you that is gonna be Jameson. He’s kicking my ass on this one.”
“I ain’t scared of him.” I say jokingly.
“Oh, so the ‘Queen of Cut’ is talkin’ trash!” Jameson implies.
“The Queen of Cut?” David asks.
“Yeah. Watch this chick. A straight shot she might miss but if it’s the most fucked up shot that has to be cut in, she could do it with her eyes closed.”
“I assume it’s my fucked up Polish blood?”
Jameson and I have spent so much time here lately I’ve become better and better at playing pool. My dad taught me how to play when I was ten. His friend Mickey from high school had a pool table, and when we went for dinner, he and my dad would always play. When anyone needed a break they would let me fill in, but I hadn’t played in years when Jameson first invited me here. I wish I had more strength when it comes to the initial break but I’ll take my awesome skills at cutting in.
Throughout the night Jameson’s phone rings a few times. Each time he walks away to talk to whoever it is. It makes me uneasy for some reason because when he comes back he acts as if nothing happened. The third time, David asks him who keeps calling. I don’t think he asked because he wanted to know. I think he asked because he could see the unease on my face each time Jameson walked away and returned without an explanation.
“Oh, um... it’s just Gloria asking about plans for tomorrow.” Jameson answers.
I immediately drop my head, upset at his response. Why did he keep those phone calls so secretive?
Here comes self-conscious Hillary.
After that, I keep quiet for most of the night. I’m not even sure if Jameson notices. He seems to be enjoying playing pool and drinking with David.
“What do you say bro, one more game and head out? It’s getting late and we have to get up early.” Jameson asks David.
“Yeah, that’s cool. Hillary do you want to play one more?”
“No thanks. I’m good.” I say with a fake smile.
I go to the ladies room before the thirty-minute drive home because I won’t be able to hold it. As I’m washing my hands I look up in the mirror and I start to tear up. I think all the things I’ve overheard my mother and even sometimes my father and brother say about me.
You’re not tall enough.
You’re not thin enough.
You’re not smart enough.
You’re not good enough…
I can’t compete with Gloria. I won’t compete. I won’t put myself through that. I deserve more. I wipe my eyes, freshen up my lips and walk out. Straight across the room I can see Jameson and David packing up, ready to go.
I follow them up to the front counter to pay the bill, humming along to the jukebox playing “Bent” by Matchbox Twenty. That’s how I feel right now… Bent.
Without even a look over their shoulders to see if I’m following Jameson and David walk out the door. The chilly night air assaults my exposed skin. I shake my head in irritation and stalk towards my car. Jameson unlocks his door. It seems like he’s just going to get in without a word, a hug, a kiss, nothing. Since David is the passenger and I’m parked right next to them he’s right next to me so he hugs me good-bye. I unlock my car and get in, turn on the ignition and start to back up.
Bang!
Jameson hits his hand on my window. Startled I slam on my brakes, and the car rocks with the sudden stop.
“Holy shit! What the fuck was that for?” I shout at him
“Were you seriously gonna leave without saying goodbye to me?” He yells.
“You were getting in your car. I thought you were leaving. You didn’t say anything to me, so I just assumed.”
“What the fuck is going on with you? You barely said a word all night!”
“Nothing. You didn’t really talk to me either. You seemed more worried about your phone calls.”
“So that’s it, huh?”
“Jameson! Take it easy bro!” David shouts from across the way.
“You know what Jameson. I’m not doing this with you right now. Especially after you’ve been drinking.”
Without letting him say another word I pull away. I look in my rearview mirror and I see him standing there in the middle of the parking lot, throwing his arms up in the air as if he’s saying “what the fuck?” to me. He disappears in the distance.
Almost immediately my cell phone is ringing, it’s him. I don’t answer it. I light up a cigarette and crank up the radio to drown out the unwanted noise in my head.
Twenty five miles until I’m home and looking at the clock on my dashboard all I can think is I’m past my curfew and now I have to wonder if I’m going to be locked out of the house or not. Just what I don’t fucking need right now. I can hear my cell phone buzzing again. Four more missed calls from Jameson and one from David. I didn’t even know David had my cell phone number. He must have taken it from Jameson’s phone. I don’t think I can wait until I get home to listen to these voicemails. I entire my four digit access code, put it on speaker.
You have five new messages. Press one to hear your messages.
“Hillary! Turn around! Come back!”
Next message.
“I’m not done talking to you! Pick up your phone!”
Next message.
I don’t understand why the fuck you’re mad at me! Call me
back!”
Next message.
“Hillary, it’s Dave. Look, Jameson is pretty upset. I don’t know what happened but he’s miserable right now.”
Next message.
“I’m done. I’m goin’ to bed. I’m sorry… for whatever.”
End of messages.
“I’m sick of you!”
October 3, 2001
I CAN HEAR RAIN BUT I CAN’t bear to open my eyes to look out my bedroom window. I’m so tired. I slept like shit. What the hell happened last night? How did the night go so wrong? I turn my head to look at my alarm clock to see what time it is.
12:40 p.m.
I guess now is as good a time as any to get up. I don’t hear any other voices in the house so I won’t be bothered by anyone. All I hear is the rain pouring down. I wonder if we’ll get a thunderstorm. I love sitting with my dad on the back of his tailgate in the garage watching the rain come down, listen to the rumbles of thunder and see the lightning strikes. I haven’t done that with him in a while. Today would be a good day for that.
AFTER I’M SHOWERED AND DRESSED I go to the kitchen to find something to eat. It’s almost 2:00 p.m., so breakfast is kind of ridiculous to think about. Opening the refrigerator I laugh, because it’s pretty bare. I guess breakfast is back on the table for my 2:00 p.m. meal. Cereal it is.
I curl up on the couch with my bowl of Cinnamon French Toast and grab the TV remote. I haven’t been home on a Saturday afternoon in a while. I’m not even sure what there is to watch. Flipping through the channels I see a very recognizable person on the screen, Jennifer Grey. Yes! Thank you TBS for playing classic movies on the weekend. “Dirty Dancing”.
CRACK!
I jump from hearing what sounded like a strike of lightning behind me. As I turn to look out of the picture window from the living room I see my mother pulling in to the driveway. That’s my cue to get out of this room. This would be the perfect time to go see if my dad is downstairs in the garage watching the storm roll through. Grabbing my shoes I trot down the stairs, turn right through the door to the garage and I see the top of his head over his truck. Yup, I was right. Just where I knew he would be. For some reason that puts a smile on my face.
“Hi, Daddy. Watcha’ doin’?”
“Hiya Poopsie Bear. Just watching the storm.”
My dad has been calling me Poopsie Bear forever. Even as a so-called adult, it still makes me all mooshy inside when he says it.
“Cool. I’ll join ya.”
“What are you doing home anyway? I’m surprised you’re not out and about.”
I can’t tell him the truth. My dad is a great man but talking to him sometimes, I don’t know. I don’t think he realizes how shitty his comments come out. It’s easier just to lie.
“I don’t know. I think the rain is just making me sleepy and lazy today. I don’t feel like going anywhere.”
He doesn’t say anything. He just nods his head, takes a swig of his Busch beer, a drag of his Marlboro light cigarette and just stares out at the rain. We sit just like that, no words, just stare for well over an hour.
“HI MRS. BOUDREAUX. Is Tess there?”
“Oh hello Hillary. No dear, she’s with Jameson. I think she’s at his house. Do you want the number?”
Un-Fucking believable!
“No thanks Mrs. Boudreaux. I’ll talk to her later.”
I hang up the phone and cover my face with my hands and just cry. How could she do this to me? I thought she was my friend? What kind of friend does something like that? A swamp crotch friend, that’s what kind. Yes, as pretty as she is she smells like swamp crotch. I grin evilly. I would never tell her that but a pretty face can’t hide that kind of smell.
I look out my window and notice the rain has stopped. I quickly wipe my tears, put a pair of shoes on, grab my car keys and run down the stairs while yelling to my parents “I’ll be back later!” before they can even ask any questions. I need to escape the hurt, the pain. There’s only one place I can go that will help ease the searing pain in my chest, in my heart. The dock.
When I pull in to the parking lot I’m not surprised that no one else is down considering the weather from today. I’m thankful at the same time. I grab a blanket from the trunk of my car I always leave in there in case of an emergency. I’m sure the dock is pretty wet and I want to sit and zone out.
All the outdoor porch lights lit up the restaurant on the hill, and I hear someone make an announcement that the band is taking a ten-minute break. At least I’ll have a few minutes to be alone with my thoughts uninterrupted. I want someone to tell me everything is going to be okay. Tell me that this is all just a bad dream. Tell me good things happen to good people. Tell me this will have a happy ending. Now would be a perfect time for a friend to show up, sit with me, and give me a shoulder to cry on. There’s only one problem with that. Only one other person knows about this place and I’m pretty sure he’s not coming.
TAP TAP!
Testing. Testing 1, 2, 3. Can everyone hear me? Alright everyone. We’re back! Ready for some more music?
Please don’t play sad music. Please don’t play sad music I pray to myself but it doesn’t work. Immediately the lyrics to Nazareth, “Love Hurts”, come through loud and clear.
“You have got to be kidding me?” I shout!
I can’t.
I just can’t stay here and listen to this.
I’m going home.
“You’re just too much work.”
October 7, 2001
IT’S TIMES LIKE THESE I wish this was my weekend to work but nope. Not me. I don’t have that kind of luck. At least not the last couple of days. On a brighter note, waking up to the sun shining is a nice change from the doom and gloom of yesterday’s rain storm.
As I head out into the living room I feel slight relief that yet again no one is around. Grabbing a glass of orange juice, a necessity for my morning I hear something outside. I peek out the kitchen window to see my dad raking the lawn. That man can never sit still. I give him credit though, he takes pride in a nice looking lawn. I know the wind and the rain were bringing down leaves and branches and that was just driving him nuts. As I put the orange juice back in the refrigerator I see a note from my mom.
Hillary,
Out for the day shopping with Bev. I need you to fold the laundry in the dryer and start a load of towels in the washer. After that you can wash the dirty dishes in the sink. If I’m not home by 4:00 p.m. you start making the spaghetti sauce.
-Mom
This lady is unbelievable. There is no fucking way I would ever do this to my kid. Charge her rent every month, as if she is a tenant, not family, give her a curfew even in her twenties and then leave her a list of chores while she goes shopping. I would never. You know what’s even worse though? I’m still going to do it just so I don’t have to hear her trash talk me on the phone with another person. But with paying rent, the small amount of money I make at my job, and trying to stash away as much as I can each month, it’s going to be a long time before I can live on my own.
IT’S ONLY 2:00 P.M. and I’ve done the laundry and the dishes. I even started the spaghetti sauce just so there is plenty of time for the fresh peppers and onions I added to provide lots of flavor. My mother’s idea of adding flavor to a jar of Ragu is salt and pepper. She’s terrible at cooking. An Italian woman bad at cooking is not something you normally hear of, but yet, here she is.
All day while doing laundry and dishes I’ve been contemplating calling Tess. Now that I’m done with everything I find myself standing in the middle of the living room staring at the phone. I grab the cordless and step out on to the front steps. I’d rather sit on the back deck but Dad is still raking in the back and I don’t want him to hear me. I could just stay inside the house but for some reason being outside in the fresh air it relaxes me a little.
“Hello?”
“Tess. It’s Hillary.”
“He-ey. What’s going on?” She says in a cheery tone.
&nbs
p; “Um, I called you last night. Your mom said you were with Jameson.”
“Yeah, don’t be mad. I wanted to talk to him about you and how you were feeling about your relationship with him and how it overwhelmed you. You know, how you felt suffocated?”
“WHAT?” I shout in the phone. “What the hell are you talking about Tess? I never said that!”
“What do you mean? You said you were puzzled about things with him?”
“Tess, being confused about something new to me and being overwhelmed and suffocated are completely opposite things. All I told you was that I felt Jameson was pretty open with me about his feelings and that was new to me because I kept shit to myself and it made me nervous. And what gives you the right to talk to him on my behalf? What did he say?”
“Oh, well all he said was if you didn’t want to be with him he would accept that. So I told him that’s what it seemed like you wanted, to break things off.”
“OH MY FUCKING GOD TESS!” I scream into the phone. “Is this some sort of game to you? Are you jealous? Is that why you are doing this, because now that you and Brody are done you want Jameson?”
“What? No.”
I wish I could see her face because her tone of voice is throwing me off. “I can’t believe you did this to me, behind my back.” I slam the phone down.
Swamp crotch bitch!
HI. THIS IS JAMESON. I can’t get to my phone. Leave a message.
“Hi… It’s Hillary.”
I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans.
“I just got off the phone with Tess,” I continue. “She told me what she told you. Jameson, I never said those things. I don’t know why she said any of that stuff to you.”
I leave out the fact that I’m pissed at her, and try to keep the subject on our relationship.
“Look, I know you’re probably sleeping right now because you have to work tonight but you can email me tomorrow morning at work when you get home if you want. I really want to talk to you about all of this.”