EDGES

by C. G. Carroll

  Patrick gave a nonchalant shrug. “That’s a good night in my book.”

  Josh nodded. “Now we need food.”

  Patrick took a long moment looking at Josh while he fiddled with the bottle and sniffed the bourbon. Patrick knew Josh could never know what had happened with him and Simone.

  Never.

  Josh

  THAT SAME NIGHT STORM CLOUDS pushed down the valley from the north. A silent, heavy, wet snow fell on the city, sticking to bushes, lawns, sidewalks, the roofs of houses, everything but the glossy black roads.

  Josh had spent most of the drive back into town watching the falling flakes through the window, sipping from the bottle. By the time they pulled into a Denny’s parking spot, his vision was blurry and there was a subtle buzzing in his ears. Josh handed Patrick the pint and watched him hold it over the dash to the let the streetlight illuminate it.

  “Thirsty?” Patrick asked, sloshing what little remained of the Stagg around in the bottle. “I hope you can still walk.”

  Josh just slumped his head, not saying anything.

  “We need to get some food in you,” Patrick added. He drank the remaining bourbon quickly.

  When they got out of the van, Josh stood on legs that felt like rickety stilts. He held out both arms, balancing himself. The flakes fluttered down and landed on his face. He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling each little soft wet kiss, and then he sighed as the flakes melted into cold droplets that hung on his cheeks and nose and lips. It was the first time in days he hadn’t felt dead inside.

  Patrick started off across the parking lot and hollered at Josh to come along, which snapped him into action. Inside they were seated at a booth next to the window, which was semi-fogged over and cold to the touch. They ordered waters, and Josh looked at the waitress and demanded she bring him ranch. With a laugh she agreed to bring him some. He held up two fingers and nodded.

  “You’re just going to drink ranch?” Patrick asked.

  Josh nodded and then gasped. “I forgot to order food!”

  “She hasn’t taken your order yet.”

  “Then why is she bringing me ranch?”

  “Because you asked for ranch.”

  Josh snickered. “I did. Didn’t I?”

  “Yes,” Patrick said, amused. “You did.”

  The waitress brought waters and two ramekins of ranch, set them next to his water. It was only 1:00 a.m. and the bars hadn’t let out yet. She still had patience for the drunks.

  “I think she likes you,” Patrick said, checking out the early-thirties waitress’s butt as she walked away.

  “Well I don’t like her,” Josh grumbled, and then leaned forward with elbows dug into the table.

  Patrick laughed. “You’re even pickier when you’re drunk.”

  “I don’t want any girls to like me. Not ever again. It’s a waste of time.”

  Patrick was combing the wetness out of his dark hair and then drying his hands in the napkin. “It’s not a waste of time.”

  “Sure it is,” Josh said, gulping his water, staring at the table when he spoke. “What’s the point of having a girl, if you can’t have the one you really want?”

  “You said you were done with her.”

  “I am done,” Josh responded, resentful. “I’m done because she’s done. Don’t you see?”

  Patrick gave him a curious look, and then just nodded. Josh rubbed his hands over his eyes. The waitress came back and took their orders. Moons Over My Hammy for Patrick. Pancakes for Josh.

  “You gonna put that ranch on those pancakes, honey?” asked the waitress.

  “Ranch?” he grumbled.

  She sighed.

  Then Josh looked up and asked the waitress, “Do you like me?”

  “Sure, I like you.”

  “That’s a mistake,” he grumbled again. “You shouldn’t like me. See my hand?” He held it out for her. “Go on, look at it.”

  He motioned for her to hold it, and reluctantly, she did.

  Patrick had covered his mouth with a hand, suppressing a laugh.

  “My girlfriend—”

  The waitress’s eyes bugged.

  “Technically, she wasn’t your girlfriend,” Patrick pointed out.

  “Shut it!” Josh yelled and then turned back to the waitress. “A guy hit on her in front of me, so I punched him in the face.”

  “That’s not nice.”

  “It’s not,” Josh agreed. “She told him to do it. Just to see how I’d react.”

  “That’s not nice either.”

  Josh raised his index finger. “But it wasn’t the reason I hit him. The reason I hit him was self-defense.”

  “Self-defense?” She looked to Patrick, confused, and Patrick shrugged back at her.

  “Self-defense,” Josh continued. “When you can see your heart is about to be broken, you have a right to defend yourself. You can’t live with a broken heart. I tried to save my heart by hitting him. But you know what?”

  “What?” She was laughing mildly, but Josh was oblivious.

  “When I found out she and him played me, with that plan… a kiss, my heart broke anyway. And I died. And not only is my heart broken, but so is my hand. I’m a broken man with a broken hand.” With that he balled his fingers into a fist and then slammed it down on the table, rattling the glasses and startling the waitress.

  “I’m so sorry, honey. Woman do funny things when they like a guy.”

  Josh had taken a sip of his water and nearly spit it up. “She doesn’t like me!”

  “If she didn’t, she wouldn’t have cared enough to see how you would respond if she kissed another guy. She would’ve just done it.”

  “Knowledge,” Patrick said, pointing to the waitress.

  The waitress gave a little curtsy.

  “No, no, no,” Josh said, talking over them. “We’re you even listening to my story? Whatever, it doesn’t matter now, it’s over.”

  “Maybe, it’s not,” she suggested.

  “It is so! You know why? Because I can’t live with myself. Who falls in love with a girl after three weeks? Me. A sucker. A big pussy. I don’t deserve her. I’m broken!” Josh crossed his forearms on the table and laid his forehead against them.

  Josh didn’t want Patrick to say anything, and he didn’t. After several minutes, Josh realized how emotional he was being, just letting it all seep out right there in front of his friend, who by all accounts had never even shed a tear over a girl. Josh wiped his eyes and rose back up in his seat, feeling ashamed.

  “Love is tough stuff,” Patrick said.

  “What would you know about it?”

  “I loved a girl, once.”

  “That stripper down in Rocky Point doesn’t count.”

  Patrick chuckled. “Very funny. No, it was in seventh grade. A girl named Alex. I’ve never been so scared around a girl. In between classes, when I knew we’d cross paths in the halls, I’d literally be shaking. I remember exactly how she looked when she smiled and how she smelled. I remember how she dressed, she used to wear these plaid skirts with knee high socks. I remember the way she said my name, in her cute southern accent. Everything, I remember. I was so scared of screwing things up that I actually avoided her. Isn’t that funny, avoiding the girl you love because you’re scared? Eventually she lost interest in me because I was such a wimp. I found her on Facebook last year. She’s got a kid and is living in Minnesota, putting herself through nursing school. But that’s not the point. The point is that I was weak. You are not weak, Josh. At least you got to bang the girl you loved. That first love is like… it’s like an experiment. A practice run. You have to fuck it up so you can learn and get it right the next time. No one deserves their first love.”

  “So you haven’t loved anyone since?” Josh asked.

  “No. But I haven’t been exactly looking for it, either.”

  Josh held out both hands and curled his fingers in frustration. “Neither was I.”

  “What I mean is, you can look
for it, but you can’t choose it. Everyone knows that. It just has to happen. Love can’t be forced.”

  Josh thought about what was happening. Patrick Finch was giving him advice on love. He burst into a drunken laughter. The majority of the restaurant turned to look at the commotion he was making.

  “That’s great,” Patrick said. “I actually open up and you laugh in my face.” Patrick was looking down into his glass of water, stirring his ice with the straw.

  “No,” Josh replied. “It’s just that I never realized you had feelings.”

  Patrick shook his head. “That’s a nice thing to say.”

  “No, what I mean is,” Josh corrected. “You fucked her, didn’t you?”

  “What?” Patrick replied, straightening up into a defensive pose.

  “Simone. You fucked her.”

  “I told you I didn’t fuck Simone, dude.”

  “Bullshit. That Christmas break, Tiffany was away. I know you did. It happened just the once, right?”

  Patrick didn’t respond.

  Josh continued. “I know you, man, you usually keep girls around, at least for a few times. The girl I love wasn’t even good enough for you to fuck twice! Not even twice!”

  “You’re being an asshole.”

  “I’m sorry. I just, I can’t believe how pathetic I am. I wish I didn’t like her, but no matter what I do, I can’t stop thinking about her. I go to bed telling myself to forget about her, then I have dreams about her, and then I wake up thinking about her even more!”

  “Then go back to her!” Patrick said. “If you feel that way, go try again. You might be surprised that she’d take you back. Maybe she’s hoping you will man up. You can never really tell what a girl is thinking until you try. And if not, then oh well, you did all you could. And then there’s still Lisa…”

  “She was into you more than me.”

  “Yeah. You’re right. That’s why she had her tongue in your stomach, because she’s into me. Jesus, give yourself some credit!”

  Josh nodded.

  The waitress brought their plates, one sizzling and one with swollen pancakes. They didn’t talk much while eating. Josh felt the pancakes pile up in his stomach and he gradually became more reticent. They each finished their plates in a flurry of bites and scrapes of their forks. The two ramekins of ranch sat on the table, untouched.

  Waiting for the check, Josh leaned his head against the window, and one side of his hair became damp. The bill arrived, split into two checks, each with a crisp fold down the middle.

  Patrick gestured to him. “You ready?”

  Josh nodded glumly and they both took their checks to the register to pay. It was almost 2:00 a.m. and there were lots of college kids coming in. Patrick paid first, and while Josh was fiddling with his wallet the front door of the restaurant jingled, and a loud group of four girls stumbled in.

  “Hey, baby!”

  Josh wheeled around to see Tiffany throwing herself into Patrick’s arms. Then his eyes moved to the two other girls behind her, and then, behind them, to Simone, who was standing there, her eyes darting toward Josh and then darting away.

  He involuntarily bit down on the inside of his cheek. He turned away nervously to give his debit card to the cashier, and then glanced back at her. She was looking at him with a soft, closed-lipped smile, but didn’t say anything. Josh’s heart was suddenly pounding.

  Being cordial, Tiffany gave Josh a hug next. He knew he’d met the two girls with them a couple of times, but didn’t remember their names. Patrick engaged the group and got them laughing. Josh didn’t have anything to say. He just wanted to go home.

  “Where’d you guys go tonight?” Tiffany asked.

  “Some house party way out of town on 550.”

  One of the girls in the background piped up. “Oh, I heard about that. Was it big?”

  “It was so big,” Patrick said. “Too big for you, probably. You probably couldn’t handle it. Way too big.” The girls laughed and Tiffany crossed her arms and half-heartedly scowled.

  “Who’d you go with?” she asked.

  “Just the two of us,” Patrick said.

  “Uh-huh,” she replied begrudgingly. “Did that little slut invite you?”

  Josh took an awkward step forward and almost fell down as the room began to move. “It was someone I knew, Tiff. She invited me, so I dragged Pat with me.”

  Simone was standing still, only listening. Josh’s attention flitted between her and Tiffany. Her cheeks were rosy from the cold and there were melting flakes in her dark hair. It stabbed him, how beautiful she was. He was reminded once again of what he’d lost.

  “I think we’re going to head home,” Josh said. “Tired and drunk, you know.”

  “You seem sad,” Tiffany remarked, and with a concerned bend in her expression, she brushed at his shaggy brown hair.

  “I’m not sad.” He looked away from Simone when he said it.

  Both groups went silent, attuned to the dynamic taking place.

  “Call me when you get home,” Patrick told her.

  Tiffany nodded, and Josh followed Patrick past them to the door, skirting painfully close to Simone but not making contact.

  The snow was heavier and wetter now. The flakes were like big white discs that burst as they hit the ground. Patrick walked on while Josh lagged to take a final glance back at the girls through the windows. They were still waiting to be seated. Tiffany and the two girls were gabbing, but Simone was standing with her hands in her coat pockets, looking down at the floor. She seemed to be thinking to herself. Then, sensing she was being watched, she peered over her shoulder out the window at him. Josh couldn’t move, didn’t want to move.

  Simone gave him that shy, closed-mouthed smile again, and even ventured a friendly wave to him, taking her small hand out of the pocket to do so. He watched in awe for a moment and then spastically remembered to wave back. He saw her cheeks lift as she laughed and Josh almost began to cry.

  The hostess was ready to seat them. The three girls followed after her, and Simone noticed how she was about to be left behind. She turned to walk, but looked at him once more over her shoulder, still with the nervous but friendly look. She joined the rest of her party, being led into the back of the restaurant and Josh at last turned back to the puddled parking lot.

  Snow had collected on his head and shoulders. It was cold now, much colder. And with each second he was getting wetter. He took one step and then another, and soon he was dancing his way to the van’s passenger side door. A smile broke over his face as he jumped in.

  Patrick was grinning too, seeming genuinely happy for Josh. “See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

  Josh leaned his head back against the headrest and let out the heaviest sigh of relief. The tingling sensation of love rippled through him and he wanted nothing more than to run through the streets laughing at the top of his lungs. In the space of time it took for the girl he loved to smile and wave at him through a window, he’d forgiven her.

  They drove home with the last snow of spring hitting the windshield.

  George

  “REACH!” GEORGE SHOUTED UP THE rock wall to Tiffany, who he was belaying.

  Tiffany, her blonde hair sweat-soaked, was stuck on the overhang. Her legs had fallen free and were dangling straight down at the ground where George stood, twenty feet below, and her lean arms were beginning to vibrate as her hands clung onto two replica rocks. Decent enough holds, but with her legs hanging she didn’t have enough upper body strength to hold on for long. There was a big horn two feet above her head, and if she could just reach it, she could easily finish the route. George saw how easy it was to just reach up, but he was on the ground, not the one suspended on the wall with fire burning through her forearms.

  “You got it!” he encouraged.

  “Shut up!” Tiffany exasperatedly yelled down at him.

  He laughed under his breath so that she couldn’t hear. Two droplets of sweat blipped onto the mat in front of his feet,
having slid down her thigh and wicked off her calf. She wasn’t going to make it. George took the slack out of the rope as her first hand slipped. She grunted as the second came free. She swung there level with the overhang, her harness cinching against her thighs.

  “Just shake out your arms and get back on,” George called up to her. “You still got it.”

  She looked disheartened now, and shook her head. “I’m fried. Bring me down.”

  “C’mon—”

  “Bring me down, George!”

  “All right, all right.”

  He lowered her in small jerks, letting the rope slide nicely through his palm. Her toes met the mat and she could stand. Her legs were shaky. He gave her some extra slack and she adjusted the harness and fixed her spandex shorts so they weren’t wedged up her butt.

  She turned to him without looking up, undoing the knot on her carabiner. “When I say I’m done, I’m done, okay?”

  “It seemed like you were going to make it,” he replied.

  “Well I wasn’t.”

  “Next time you will.”

  “Oh George, stop being such a fuckin’ cheerleader all the time.”

  His face muscles flexed like he’d been slapped and he turned away from her, acting unscathed. He didn’t think he was being a cheerleader, just supporting her like a friend would.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, not more than a moment later.

  He nodded, solemnly. “You seem angry. In general, I mean.”

  George still felt a lingering embarrassment whenever someone looked directly at his face, which had healed some but was still mostly discolored. The black skin now was progressing into deep purples and receding in size. His eyeball was still heavily bloodshot and unsettling to look into, even for him when he stood before the bathroom mirror. But Tiffany, even in her worst moments, would never give him grief about it or make him feel ashamed. She was good to him like that.

  Her eyes lingered on him, and then went back to her knot. “It’s not you.”

  “So something is wrong?”

  She let out the longest sigh he’d ever heard. “Fucking Patrick, what else.”

  “Patrick?”

  She nodded. “I think he’s cheating on me. I can feel it for some reason, super strong in my stomach. I just know it.”