by Lila Felix
We had a substitute in Physics and we were assigned three chapters to read and we had to write the definitions for all of the keywords. People chatted and snickered around me instead of doing their work. They probably had all the time in the world when they got home for normal things like homework and studying.
No use in complaining, Havok. Complaining will get you nowhere.
Ali met me at my locker after school, going on and on about some guy who used to be geeky but now he was dressing really Goth. She has been on an Emo/Goth kick ever since she discovered 30SecondsToMars. She started wearing tons of black bracelets and eyeliner just as thick—I had to bite the insides of my cheeks to refrain from telling her she looked like a raccoon. She put it on in the bathroom before school since her mom hated it and forgot to take it off for picture day. Her mom wigged out and forbid her from wearing any make-up at all for three weeks.
“Ok, there’s a good Geeky and a bad Geeky. Which one?” I thought it was a legitimate question.
“Bad Geeky, like pocket protector, pants up to their chest Geeky. Not hot geeky with black rimmed glasses like Superman.”
“Well that clears it up.” I laughed at her.
“Yeah, but my mom would totally flip.” She said and pouted out her lip.
“Truth, but at least your mom cares.”
“Mmmmm…”
“I’m sorry about what I said. I know you don’t hate your mom. It’s just kinda weird to see you care about her when she obviously doesn’t care about you.”
I shrugged, even if I tried to explain it to her, she’d never understand. “It’s fine.”
We walked home, parting ways at the corner as usual. I stopped at Mrs. Swan’s and took care of her trash. Her chocolate chip muffins this morning had been downright cavity inducing but I lessened the blow by telling her they were a tad sweet. She laughed at me, thinking I was joking. But those things had kept me jittery until lunch.
I snuck into the apartment, Mom was sleeping, the remains of her latest drug conquest next to her. I cleaned up the kitchen and got the coffee pot ready to make her nightly coffee. I looked back to the bedroom before sneaking a look at the bills opened and envelopes discarded on the counter. I could say one thing about her, she always paid the bills. I wiped down the counters and while I did, a half smile crept up on me. Maybe I would see Cal again. Then again, maybe I wouldn’t.
He asked me about my family, if I had brothers and sisters but I avoided those questions, deflecting back to him.
I got in my closet after I’d finished and did my homework by the light of that stuck-on light bulb so I wouldn’t disturb her. An hour or so later the door slid open in a fury and she bent down to my level.
I threw myself towards the back of the closet, and let out a scream that should’ve been recorded for a horror movie.
“I’m gonna have some company tonight. We need to make rent. I need you gone, I’m sorry.” She made a half-cringy, half smiley face. But since when was she sorry?
“Ok, mom, no problem.” I got out of the closet, packed a bag and headed out again. This was getting more and more frequent and it really pissed me off.
I stalked the distance to the library and finished the rest of my homework there. I met Mr. Randy at the corner and we ran through our paper route. He had me in stitches and by the time we delivered our papers at the bakery I’d forgotten that I was looking forward to this stop, hoping I’d see Cal. I jumped out and scanned the front of the store, not finding anything. A surge of disappointment rippled through me when I didn’t see him. I got the newspapers out of the van and put them on top of the machine. Mr. Randy handed me money for his nightly muffin and juice and he always bought one of each for me too.
I came out and even if I wanted to, I couldn’t have stopped the silly grin that broke out over my face. Cal was talking to Mr. Randy and hadn’t noticed me exit the bakery. I flumped the bag on top of the machine between them. Mr. Randy cleared his throat, grabbed the bags and uttered something about letting the young people talk.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hey, you.” He answered. He wore a simple gray t-shirt and jeans ripped at the knees.
“You’re cheating,” I teased him.
“I am?” He asked.
“Yes, you’re not supposed to meet me here until Sunday, you’re a little early.”
He chuckled a bit. I balled my hands into fists to keep them from reaching out to touch his chest, checking if the rumble felt as good as it sounded.
“I guess I was just returning to the scene of the crime, hoping I’d get to see you sooner.”
That sounded like a lot more than friend talk. And I loved it and loathed it at the same time.
“Well, I gotta get back to work. By the way, I’m here every night at this time, in case you can’t wait until Sunday.” Holy hell, did I just flirt back?
“I’ll have to be here then. I need to get to work too. See you later gorgeous.”
He walked off while I stood, frozen in time mouth wide open. That was definitely not friend talk. And now I questioned the status of his sanity.
I got back in the van and Mr. Randy had a smug grin on his face.
“Don’t say a word old man,” I picked on him.
“Nope,” he shook his head, “Not a damned word.”
After delivering all the papers, Mr. Randy dropped me off at my regular spot and I pretended to stroll home until he was out of range. He’d seen me double back once and followed me, offering a place to sleep for the night. I’d met his wife before, and they were both very nice, but I didn’t feel comfortable, letting them take in a stray. And when I told him no, I think I broke his little old heart.
I popped my headphones on while I walked, happy to hear a fresh show. I looked up at apartment windows with lights on, children and families settling down for the night. I bet those kids didn’t know how good they had it. And then my attention was turned to Fade’s show. Some whiny girl complained about her boyfriend not holding her hand or kissing her in public. It kinda irked me how some people took their lives for granted. It was then I decided to call and give them a piece of my mind, if I could ever get to talk to Fade.
Sam ducked his head in the door and whispered, “You’ve got a caller on four and she’s pissed off good. Talking about all your callers are whiny brats.”
I nodded and rolled my eyes. I’d had these callers before. They were usually whiners themselves and once I got them talking they fell in line with the rest.
I pressed line four on the phone and waited, “This is Fade, talk to me.”
“My name is—um—Jocelyn. I’m just gonna get right to the point. I think most of your callers don’t know how good they have it. They whine and complain about how their boyfriends don’t hold their hands or Daddy gave them a red BMW instead of a black one. I think they should take the opportunity to stop and appreciate what they do have.”
I couldn’t argue with her, she had a point.
But part of my show was for the entertainment, so I baited her.
“So what’s your life like in comparison, Jocelyn? Do you have a great life or an awful one?” I had to turn up the volume, she sounded like she was whispering and I could hear some street traffic in the distance.
She huffed into the phone, “It’s just life. Right now I don’t really have a choice, it is what it is. But I would give up what I have in a heartbeat to live one day in the life of some of your callers.”
“Well, what’s so bad about yours?”
I called her on her bullshit. She was probably just another one of the bunch.
“Mine? Well, right now I’m walking around town, trying to find an empty stoop to sleep in front of since my mom kicked me out for the night so she can work. I have one friend I could stay with, but she has a litter full of brothers and sisters and sometime there isn’t room for me. They’d make room but I always feel like I’m the fourteenth wheel. I haven’t eaten since seven a.m. and I probably won’t until seven a.m. tomorrow
. I could go on and on but I think you get the gist.”
I almost didn’t believe her. Those things didn’t really happen in real life, did they? She was making this stuff up just to prove a point. That had to be it.
“Your mom can’t work with you at home? What kind of job requires that?”
She laughed a little, “My mom is a stripper and she sidelines as a hooker and brings them home to do the deed. So you see, her clients aren’t really down with the kids’ club, know what I mean? Plus, I don’t really want to see my mom bang a stranger and then sniff up the profits through her nose. We have an understanding. She asks me to leave; it benefits her and me. So, I leave.”
I looked up through the glass to verify what I was hearing. The looks on Sam and Roger’s faces mirrored mine. They both did this motion with their hands, wanting me to make her talk more.
“So, how does that make you feel?”
She laughed again, a little haughtier this time, “Really Fade? I’ve listened to you for years and years. I finally get to talk to you and you’re gonna couch me? Fine, I’m on the couch, Doctor. Here it is: I’m numb to it. I go through the motions, recognizing the feelings, but they don’t pierce me anymore. It’s been going on for so long that I’m not sure I’d know how to function in a normal family environment. I know how to survive, day in and day out. But I don’t know what it’s like to live with a mom and dad who work normal hours and bring me to the zoo or whatever shit regular families do. And the sad part is, I love my mom. No matter what she does, I can’t bring myself to hate her—hating her would make all this shit so much easier. But that’s not my life. Like right now, I’m on a payphone on a shady corner and there’s a creeper on the other side of the road staring at me. That’s the crap I have to worry about. And I’m so hungry my stomach feels like it’s turning in on itself. Oh yeah, and there’s the little issue of my mom’s pimp wanting me to join the ho-down club.”
I couldn’t believe this. I had to keep her talking, that’s what my inner counselor told me. But my inner man, he wanted to reach through the phone and first strangle the man staring at her and then hold her to my chest as she told me more. I wanted her to tell me everything.
“I guess their problems do pale in comparison to yours. What about school? What about your friends?”
“Look, I gotta go, creeper’s looking at me like I’m the last puff of cotton candy and I have a feeling he’s one of my mom’s boss’ cronies.”
“Call the police Jocelyn.”
She scoffed at my suggestion, “I can take care of myself. Anyway, I’m beyond being kept safe or being helped. Alive is sufficient for me. Thanks.”
With one click of the receiver, I lost her. I gawked at the phone for at least thirty seconds repeating ‘Hello, Hello’ before Sam knocked on the glass reminding me I had a show to run. But the calls that came in the rest of the night were all talking about Jocelyn. How she was right. How concerned people were for her. How they couldn’t’ believe that a situation like that was happening right under their noses. I just hoped she called back so I would know she was safe.
At the end of the show I played Plowed by Sponge and dedicated it to her. I hoped she heard it; she was a permanent part of my prayers now.
I went home later, empty and exhausted.
I couldn’t stop thinking about Jocelyn. I’d heard many callers over the years but she stuck with me, I was actually worried about her. I’d learned to not worry a long time ago—there was no way I’d sleep at night if I allowed myself to dissect every call and every answer I gave them.
But I couldn’t help it this time.
I took a cold shower, the weather had turned hotter than hell outside, even at seven in the morning, and my body was covered in a film of sweat just from the walk home. But before I went to sleep, Jocelyn wasn’t on my mind; it was Havok’s face I envisioned before falling into a deep sleep.
That night after I woke up, while brushing my teeth, I listened to the news play in the background; I’d DVR’ed the news from six that afternoon. There were stories of people getting robbed and pointless legislation being passed, but I listened for one thing and one thing only: Girl murdered, girl raped, girl mugged. Even though there was nothing I could’ve done from the secluded safety of my swivel back chair under the pretense of headphones, I felt like shit for not doing more. Jocelyn could be lying dead somewhere because I couldn’t keep her on the phone longer or convince her to hang up and call 911.
I’d asked Sam to try and see if we had the phone number from where she was calling from and we had it on our caller ID. I’d called the station at noon and they’d given me the address of the pay phone. I wanted to take a different route to the station to be at that payphone as late as I could. My conscience was spliced in two; one side wanted her to be there to make sure she was alright. And the other didn’t want her to be anywhere near that payphone or even near that part of town at night.
Havok’s name pulsed through my mind later that night as I took a turn on Brighton Street, it would circumvent seeing her in favor of checking on Jocelyn and I felt a rip in my chest at the decision I made. I followed the concrete paths until they brought me to the payphone on the corner of a dimly lit street. I got on my cell and called the phone, listening intently for the ring even though I was two feet in front of it. But there was no ring. I picked up the receiver and heard the echo of my own phone in the earpiece. Maybe this was why she hadn’t answered the phone when I called it.
Duh, or maybe she’s just in school.
I noticed another payphone at the other end of the same street, and decided to try that one as well. I dialed the number in my cell from the faded white paper above the numbers and let it ring incessantly, hoping beyond reason that Jocelyn would pop out of the darkness. But that was a ridiculous notion. Who waits for a phone call at a payphone in the middle of the day? And what—did I expect her to have supersonic hearing—she’d just hear the blaring ring from her home. I was interrupted by a woman with rollers in her hair, hanging out of the window wielding a cleaver—did a ringing phone really warrant a cleaver?
I slumped my way to the station and almost regretted making the detour to check on the payphone. I’d missed seeing Havok again. And I wanted to kick myself for making that choice. But as I reached my chair and took my place in front of the already twinkling phone lines, I felt a new vigor well inside me. There was a chance she would call that night. And so I took that hope and tried to answer each call as if it was her. But quickly that enthusiasm faded and I was left empty.
My last caller was a girl named Teresa and by the time I heard the spew about her boyfriend who smoked pot, I cut her off quickly, wanting to get to the last flashing light before I cut off the phone lines for the night.
“Look Teresa, you know he smokes pot, right?”
“Um—yeah—I do.”
“So, either you like it and stay with him or you don’t like it and it’s enough to break up with him. It’s not that hard.”
I was harsh with her, but thankfully she was the type who needed a little tough love.
“Yeah, you’re right Fade, thank you.”
“Goodnight.”
I got a negative nod from Sam in the other room and knew it wasn’t Jocelyn on the line, so I blew that person off and started playing Lexington by Alpha Rev. Sam left shortly after. I was usually by myself during the pre-dawn hours and I liked it that way. I was the first to admit that my song choices were morose that night—but it couldn’t be helped.
After Tale of You and Me by Wild Child started, the phone lit up one more time and I imagined it was a complaint call about my choice of music that night. I pressed the blinking button and answered the station’s phone.
“Fade here.”
“I know a guy who can get you some uppers if you need them. Jeez man, get a grip.”
I would recognize that whisper in a stadium full of screamers.
“Jocelyn?” I asked though I already knew, the crackling over the phon
e she used gave her away, plus the sounds of the traffic in the background. Letting on that I knew might cue her into the level of my stalker status.
“Yeah, I know it’s past your call time but it sounded like you were drowning in depressing lyrics over there. So I thought I’d take a shot.”
She thought she’d take a shot? I tried not to read too hard into her sounding worried about me. Because I should be the one worrying about her.
“Well, thanks. So, what happened last night?”
“Last night,” her voice rose octaves.
“Yeah, the creeper who was following you or whatever.”
She laughed a little and it was husky through what I imagined was another pay phone. Her voice was a little scratchy with connection noises.
“Oh, him. Dude, you should’ve seen him…wait, I meant for this to be a quick call. I’m sorry.”
I nearly fell backwards in my chair, “No way. I was waiting for you to call tonight. I mean, to see if you were ok. I’ve got five songs lined up. So, the creeper?”
“Ok, so he was wearing this wine colored shirt and white pants. I shit you not—white pants. And he’s smoking one of those skinny cigars, the one that smell like grape or apple or something. He walks over and I try to fast walk away and next thing I know his hand is on my shoulder and he’s asking me where I’m going. I swear, it was a scene right out of Howl’s Moving Castle.”
“We will talk about Howl’s Moving Castle another time. What next?”
“Oh, I kneed him in the junk. End of story.” I could imagine her shrugging like it was no big deal.
“Can I ask you a question Jocelyn?”
“Sure.” I could hear another song begin.