Swell

by Rieman Duck, Julie

  She put down the bottle of polish and politely folded her hands in her lap. “Beck, I’m sure he’ll remember you, kay?”

  “But what about Monday?”

  “He hangs out at Jock Wall. Just go up and talk to him.”

  Jock Wall was a block of stucco bricks lined with benches where the popular kids hung out. I usually avoided walking by it, because the guys would hang over the wall and spit on the serfs like me below. I would have to walk by the wall on Monday to see if Christian was there. If he was, I would approach him.

  “You might try asking Olivia Baskin. She ran track with him last year.” Jenna picked up the polish again and started on her left foot.

  “Wasn’t she his girlfriend?” I recalled Olivia following Christian whenever, wherever possible around school. It was clear that she was in love with him. Then she was out for a week and after that she never followed him again.

  “Naw. She wishes she was. But they were pretty close.”

  I sighed and leaned back, plans for Monday swirling around my head like ghosts in a haunted mansion. There was so much to do besides figure out how I was going to approach Christian. Things like what the hell I would wear, how to do my hair, and if I really had any basis for thinking about any of this to begin with.

  Monday came too quick. As I walked toward Jock Wall, I knew that I’d worn the wrong thing — I was encased in a yellow sweater dress that kept falling off my shoulders. Jenna said the color brought out my luscious dark highlights and enhanced my brown eyes. Instead, I felt like Tweedy Bird.

  The wall was in my line of sight, its peach-colored stucco plastered with posters about the annual Senior Trip to Disneyland and last-minute yearbook orders. Several of the popular kids were already there.

  It was easy to spot Jeff Hillman, a friend of Christian’s. A tuft of bright red hair had marked Hillman for life, topping-off a body that rippled in muscle and lean flesh. In spite of his manly attributes, he wasn’t my type and never would be. It wasn’t the freckles and pale skin, or the unnatural hair color. It was that he gave me the creeps whenever I saw him, like something was wrong but I couldn’t say exactly what.

  A few of the rah-rah crowd stood nearby, including Devin Stewart, the head of Varsity Cheer. She was super-tall, with Superman-broad shoulders and muscular legs that looked like they belonged to a guy. There were rumors that she had to shave her legs twice a day because the hair on her body grew fast. Jenna thought Devin was a man.

  I was cursing my Big Bird outfit because I couldn’t hide in it. What was I thinking? I should have worn taupe or gray, and it seemed everyone at Jock Wall could see me coming from miles away. I planned to walk by, glance over to see if Christian was there, and then sprint to my class if he wasn’t.

  Not so fast, my yellow sausage casing dress was challenged by the steep incline of the hill. Even so, I tried to walk as fast as possible without ripping the dress up the back, my steps short and robotic. When it looked like Christian wasn’t there, I flitted past the wall with my head down. That’s when I ran into him… with my face.

  I fell back on my sunny butt, books and purse flying in all directions. He crouched down to help gather my stuff as I brought my legs up to my body. The last thing I wanted was for Christian to see up my skirt.

  He lifted me up by the hand. “If anyone asks, you could say we really did run into each other.” He was as tall as Devin, for sure, but being that he really was a man that didn’t seem so odd. Christian was one of those guys whose porcelain smooth skin never seemed tan, even in the Southern California sun, which only enhanced the milk chocolate brown hair that hung in a shag around his face. The perfect frame.

  “You’ve got that right.” I straightened my body without looking too rigid. Inside I went completely concrete, holding solid so I wouldn’t slip up and accidentally burp or do something worse.

  I could have said anything at that moment — something like, “How’s it going?” or “Thanks for helping me up.” No. Not me. I was the one with the big feet that fit perfectly in my mouth.

  “Do you remember me?” My dress started falling off my shoulders again, revealing a white bra strap. It had never occurred to me to wear pretty bras, and I was clearly going to have to get with the Victoria’s Secret set or suffer the continuous hell of ugly lingerie. Christian kept his eyes on mine.

  “I do. You’re a great dancer.”

  I wondered if my crimson cheeks went with my yellow dress, because my face was burning up a new one.

  “Thanks. So are you.”

  Christian looked over at Hillman and his posse, who eyed me with suspicion like I was an alien from Planet Wrong who’d landed on their turf. In particular, Hillman had a kind of Sean Penn snarl on his face, hands in his pockets as he watched us.

  “Come over with me for a minute,” he said.

  Hillman didn’t change position as I approached the wall with Christian, who took out a sheet of paper and a pen. It felt like everyone wanted to talk about me, and not in a nice way.

  “What’s your name and phone number?” It was funny that he didn’t know my name, given that his dad’s hands had been in my mouth since before puberty, and that I’d painted the tooth mural on the office wall, and even been introduced to him.

  “Rebecca,” I stuttered.

  “Most people have two or three names.” He paused to smile at me, pen in mid-air.

  “Uh, yeah. Right. Ionesco.”

  “Is that Italian?” People always asked me that. They figured that with my dark hair and eyes that I knew all about spaghetti and John Gotti.

  “Romanian” I hoped to God he didn’t think I was a vampire or that my dad’s name was Vlad.

  “I’m Christian Rusch.” He put out his hand to shake mine. It seemed so goofy. Of course I knew his name.

  “I thought so,” I replied, releasing his warm hand and long fingers.

  /////

  I had dreamed about my first kiss, and although I never practiced on pillows, I’d spent time with my forearm, sucking the daylights out of the skin. Sometimes I left a little hickey and would tell my mom it was a bruise.

  As for the reality of that kiss, it was definitely different than a date with my arm. Christian took me to a movie and then to the beach, where I ended up with his wine-soaked tongue in my mouth. It’s not every day that a girl’s first kiss tastes like Cabernet.

  We were sitting on the wall that ran the length of beach overlooking a wooden pier. It figured that the lone light on the street was right above us, and even though nobody was around, I felt like I was on Kissing With The Stars.

  Christian kept looking at me, and then reached for my face, holding it in his hands.

  “Your face is so proportionate,” he whispered.

  “I’ve never had anyone tell me that before.”

  “It’s perfect. Every detail.” His eyes remained on my face until I put it down against my chest, my heart trembling against my chin. He seemed like he was about to kiss me, but instead went to his car and brought out a jug of wine. It was already open.

  “Want some?” he asked, holding the bottle up to me. It smelled like our first meet at the toga dance.

  “No thanks.”

  He shrugged and took a big drink, his lips moist with wine when he smiled.

  “This is a good Cab. I had my boss buy it especially for tonight.” Christian worked behind the scenes at a local bank doing admin stuff. He must have been a good worker to earn booze pimping privileges.

  After taking another sip, Christian sat back on the wall and closed his eyes. The wine was doing its magic, warming him from head to toe. He seemed more loose with each drink.

  “Do you drink a lot?” I asked.

  “Whenever I can. It helps me relax.”

  He sat up and put the jug between his legs.

  “My dentist is your dad,” I offered, looking for his reaction.

  A shit-eating grin spread across his face as he shook his head. “He’s everyone’s dentist. How’d you th
ink I got this smile?” He tapped his long fingers against his teeth.

  “Do you remember me at all… from before the dance?” I wondered if he recalled the girl with the hanky on her head, kneeling like a good artist in front of the heart and soul that was her work.

  He squinted. “You do look familiar.”

  “I painted the tooth mural in your dad’s office.” He nodded, took another sip of wine and rubbed an imaginary spill from his leg.

  “Yeah, that’s a cool painting. I remember you… you had a towel or something on your head.”

  “It was a handkerchief, to protect my hair.”

  He reached out to hold a lock of my hair, clamping his fingers across the strands and running them down to the ends where they sat just above my breast.

  “Good thing you did that, because you have beautiful hair.” He moved close, put his hand on my face and kissed me. Covered in wine, our first kiss felt warm and deceitful, like something was hidden behind it. Rather than over-analyze things, I let it go and enjoyed the moment.

  Chapter 3

  For a moment, I forgot that the drunk girl was me, until I realized these guys thought they were going to screw the hell out of me, or something worse if that was possible.

  But my body wouldn’t move. The booze made everything floppy, otherwise I would have shoved The Squeezer’s hands off my tits and made a break for it.

  “Hillman’s all over it, cause it’s her.” The lawn mower was now moving faster, whipping around street corners and making my stomach lurch. I thought if I could throw-up then maybe I would be able to fight back, or at least hide somewhere.

  ≈

  It was Christian’s 17th birthday, and I baked him cookies as a gift. It seemed so innocent the afternoon that I’d made them. My parents were out and I decided to try a little wine from the fridge. I didn’t drink too much because, after all, they’d know if a considerable amount of it went missing.

  Just Chablis, no big deal, until I felt what it did for me. Drifting on a magical bed of Gallo, happy and unconcerned about anything and everything, I was a cheap date after only one glass.

  The cookies came out good, and I gave them to Christian at school. He shoved two into his mouth at a time, appreciating my homemade present.

  I teased him. “Don’t you know that sweets are bad for your teeth? What kind of dentist’s son are you?”

  Christian smiled, melted chocolate chips peppering his teeth like tobacco road.

  “It’s okay to be bad sometimes,” he said, planting a chocolate kiss on my lips.

  After I’d given Christian his cookies, I stopped at the school library to pick up a book. There was a paper due on Romeo and Juliet and I needed help. As much as I wanted to say that I read the story with a passion, I really wanted to read something more interesting and racy. That was the problem with some of the other books I’d picked up, only to put down — they were happy-go-lucky, with characters who said darn instead of damn, and nobody had sex. To me, that wasn’t the real world. Now, Romeo and Juliet had its juicy scenes, but plodding through Shakespearean verbiage dampened the appeal for me.

  The square library had pillars every few rows and tables tucked in between. You could play hide and seek in there. I stood between pillars in the Classics section, thumbing through a book and thinking about how much Christian liked me. It felt warm, like wine in my tummy.

  I thought the library was almost empty, until I heard them. A few coughs, some muttering and then audible words.

  “What’s Rusch doing? He’s stupid.”

  “He’s just taking advantage of her. Like he always does with freshmen.”

  “Yeah, but he hasn’t dumped this one yet.”

  I peeked my head out to see three guys sitting with their feet up, chewing on pencils and ignoring the books in front of them.

  “Hillman thinks she’s cute. He’s stupid, too, if you ask me,” said a borderline fat jock with no neck.

  “Wish he’d do her and get it over with,” said the one with blond hair. His pale skin glowed under the fluorescents like the Pillsbury Dough Boy.

  The third participant, a surfer-looking guy with shaggy hair, sat up and smiled.

  “I’ll do her if he doesn’t!” He slapped a hi-five with Fat Jock before standing up. The rest followed him out of the library. I stayed glued to my pillar, lungs filled with air that wouldn’t leave. After five minutes, I slinked like a lion to the checkout desk. The librarian, Ms. Mulford, didn’t look me in the eye once during the transaction.

  I left the library through the side door, which took me behind a row of bushes around the office. There were no jocks or jerks to be seen, so I went to the bathroom and locked myself in a stall, allowing the fear of crying to overtake me. If I wasn’t careful, someone would hear my sobs as I thought about the mean boys in the library. They didn’t know me, and didn’t have a right to judge me like a piece of meat.

  There’s only so much time one can spend in the school bathroom, with its mucky floors covered in watery dirt, the ever-present overflowing handicapped toilet and sinks stuffed with paper towels and tampons. No wonder the school janitor was a grumpy bastard.

  I stepped out of the smelly pit because I had to meet Christian for a ride home. He drove a giant SUV nicknamed the Partymobile. It was his dad’s old family taxi, a sort of metal flake meets Duggar family vehicle that seated ten people in luxurious comfort. A mattress could fit in the back.

  I stood on the curb alongside the parking lot, clutching my Romeo and Juliet cheaters book, watching the exodus of kids in cars. They jingled their keys, knowing they were in control of their transportation. I couldn’t wait to drive, and though I had my learner’s permit, my mom and dad were less than excited to teach me the ropes. The last time I’d gone out with my dad, he tried to instruct me on how to drive like a race car driver, using both feet on the pedals. Mind you, his car was an automatic, so it made no sense to do this. I messed up, screeching and unable to coordinate my floppy feet.

  “Just go back to right foot on the gas and the brake,” he said, giving up on his dream that I would become the next Danica Patrick.

  Christian was nowhere to be found, but Hillman was. His BMW slinked by me, windows down and Snoop on the stereo. He looked at me through sunglasses, flames coming off the top of his head, and then stopped the car.

  “Hello,” he said, waving to me. I looked right at him and gave a nervous smile.

  “Christian’s in lab right now. He wanted me to tell you.”

  “Oh, okay. Thanks,” I said, toes crunching inside sweaty shoes that were melting into the concrete.

  “I’d take you home, but, you know.” He ran his hand through his hair and just sat there, waiting for some kind of response. I couldn’t swallow or speak, but then Christian came running toward me, a stack of books under his arm. He waved to Hillman.

  “Hey, thanks man. I’ll call you later,” he said. Jeff nodded and pulled away from the curb.

  “He told me you were in the lab.” I shifted my purse to the other shoulder.

  “I asked him to be on the lookout for you. Jeff’s a good guy.”

  “Yeah,” I said, wondering if Christian knew just how good Jeff was to offer to take me home himself.

  Christian smoothed back his shaggy hair. “I need to stop at home before I drop you off.”

  I had never been to his house, given that we’d only been seeing each other for two weeks. However, the thought of being in Dr. Rusch’s palace made my intestines feel like they were falling out.

  We drove up a steep hill to the house, which looked five times the size of mine. A rustic fountain sat in the front with palm trees around the perimeter. Christian parked the Partymobile by one of the three garages.

  We entered through leaded glass doors, which took us into a foyer filled with Mexican pavers and wrought iron lighting. The peaches-and-cream-colored walls were a thick stucco, the kind that you didn’t want to lean against for too long because it would cut into your skin. Chris
tian took us into a giant kitchen with an island and Viking appliances that would beat the pants off my mom’s Kenmore series any day.

  “Want something to drink?”

  “Yes,” I replied, thinking he would give me a soda or bottle of water. Christian pulled two wine glasses from the cupboard, went to the massive fridge, and pulled out a bottle. I didn’t protest. It would probably feel good to be a little buzzed.

  “Enjoy!” he said, toasting me. We clinked glasses and he downed his wine in one gulp. It took me a little longer because the liquid burned my throat on the way down, but sat ever so nicely in my tummy, which gurgled as it soaked up the goodness.

  He held up the bottle. “More?”

  He must have noticed my concern that someone else was present in the vacuous home. “Nobody’s here but us. Don’t worry.”

  And so he poured us another glass. Again, he drank his with a quick slug. I was able to down mine with more ease the second time around, as my throat was numb from the alcohol fire.

  Fuzzy. I think that was the best way to describe the effect 10 minutes later as Christian and I sat on the couch in the den. He put on MTV and we watched some skating show.

  “This sucks.” Christian changed to a digital music station. The music went well with my buzz, and helped me to not stiffen when Christian put his arm around me. Up until this time, we had only held hands, hugged and kissed, but when his hand slid to my breast I let it happen. It felt odd to have a hand other than my own or my doctor’s on it.

  Christian brought his lips to mine, and we made-out for a good minute before his hand found its way under my shirt and back to my breast, this time over the white bra. I still hadn’t visited a Victoria’s Secret like I’d promised myself.

  I reciprocated by putting my hands under his shirt and on his back, which was smooth and soft like a small child’s leg. I’d been afraid that it would be hairy and scratchy.

  The wine had extended beyond my brain and into my entire body, warming in particular my girl parts with each minute I spent kissing Christian. When he rolled on top of me, I could feel him through his clothes.