Swell

by Rieman Duck, Julie

  “Oh, okay.” I hoped he would leave it at that.

  No such luck. “I hear you do a lot of baking.”

  “Excuse me?” I looked up; he kept his head low to his paper.

  “You use a lot of vanilla.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Here’s a question for you,” he said, finally making eye contact. “Do you know why the best bakers never use artificial vanilla?”

  “I don’t know what you’re thinking, Jesse, but tell me, why do the best bakers never use artificial vanilla?” I tried to brace my emotions and remain calm.

  “Because, Rebecca,” he said, leaning close to my ear. “They’re all alcoholics.”

  He went back to his project. I sat there, saying nothing. Tears blew into in my eyes and I stood up and approached Mr. Stanley’s desk.

  He looked up at me with calm, understanding eyjs. “Yes, Rebecca?”

  “I don’t feel well.”

  Not wanting to push me off of the deep end, Mr. Stanley simply nodded toward the door. I stepped out and leaned against the edge of the building, wishing a bottle of bourbon would fall from the sky. Even if it did, I wouldn’t want to drink it in front everybody, especially Jesse. He already seemed to have his suspicions about me.

  I stayed in that position until the bell rang, and went back inside to get my things. Jesse was already standing by the door with them in his hands.

  “Here.” He handed me my stuff. “I didn’t want you to forget them.”

  I took everything and turned to walk away. He shadowed me as I trudged toward my locker, walking so close that I could hear him breathe.

  “Rebecca.” He touched my shoulder. I spun around, lost my footing, and landed on the ground. My butt felt like it had cracked in half.

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to make you lose your balance.” Jesse helped me up.

  “Sure, yeah. Whatever, Jesse.”

  “You’re pissed-off at me,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets.

  “Gee, you think I’m not?”

  “No, I think you are. I was just joking with you. Sort of.”

  “What I’ve been through is no joke,” I muttered, tears about to spill again. I wanted to turn around and run.

  “I know that, Rebecca.”

  “Really? You know what I’ve been through. You know exactly what it feels like?” I asked, dropping my bags and putting my hands on my hips. He shrugged.

  “You seem so sad sometimes, like life is leaving you hollow.” He shook his head before walking away. I grabbed my bags and ran toward him, but he kept a steady pace.

  “Do you know what happened to me?” I had to know if the stories had circulated down to the lower ranks — a place I knew well and hadn't seen since before I’d dated Christian.

  “I think I do, and I don’t like it.” His legs were impossibly long, and my own were moving at twice the usual speed just to keep up.

  “Can you stop or slow down for a minute?” I begged, and he finally brought his pace down to a level I could live with.

  “So, you do know,” I said. He stopped and gave me a hard look.

  “Let’s just say I’ve heard more than enough from the flapping mouths around here.” I thought about the mouths on Allison, Devin, and Hillman.

  “You look puzzled,” he said as he removed the khaki jacket. Underneath was a black Misfits t-shirt. It was the first time I’d seen him without his jacket. I’d never noticed anything else he wore.

  “I just. Feel--”

  “You probably feel a lot of things. Look,” he said, taking a pen out of his backpack and reaching for my hand. “Here’s my number. Give me a call sometime, you know, if you want to talk.” He opened my palm and wrote the number across my life line.

  I clenched my hand into a rock-hard fist, as if I had captured something valuable.

  “I’ll call you later,” I said, knowing that although I wanted to, I probably wouldn’t because I’d be out with Christian.

  /////

  Christian was stoked that I was going to have coffee with him. I was a little addicted to the milkshake-like blended drinks and considered, for one ridiculous minute, using them as a booze substitute. The price of those frothy drinks was more than I could pay and beer was cheaper. And unlike coffee, beer wasn’t something I had to be in the mood for. I just wanted it.

  To my knowledge, Christian hadn’t stopped drinking. As the hour of our coffee date approached, I thought of ways to get him to give me beer, wine, or anything that could be used to fuel a car or ignite a flame thrower.

  Even though I wasn’t allowed to see the likes of Allison and Devin, my parents did let me go with Christian. After all, he rescued me from the son-of-a-bitch, to quote my dad. As far as they knew, Christian wore a white hat and carried silver bullets.

  “You don’t know how long I’ve waited for today.” He put his hand on my thigh as we drove, massaging it as if we’d never broken up. My lungs quivered with stifled breaths, excitement bubbling in my stomach over what might happen. Kind of like a first date, part two.

  “Where are we going for coffee?” I asked.

  “Down by the harbor,” he said, zipping onto the Pacific Coast Highway.

  “Good, cause I need a drink… of coffee, I mean.” I pretended to check my purse on the floor, but instead swept my hand under the seat to check for a bottle. Shit! There was nothing!

  He stared at me for a moment when we got there. I hoped he was buying, as my parents had cut-off my allowance in an effort to keep me dry.

  “Beck, I’m sorry. I hope you can forgive me.” He leaned in for a light kiss on the mouth.

  “I know, Christian.”

  We settled on the patio and watched the cars whiz by. I was a fast drinker, whether it was beer, coffee, or orange juice. I finished my drink before Christian.

  “Wow, you’re fast,” he said, putting the finishing sip on his coffee.

  “I had to keep up with you.”

  “I never expected you to keep up with me, Beck.”

  “Ah, I don’t think so. I was expected to keep up with a lot of things.” Like socializing with assholes and drinking until it sweated out of my pores. Some things, I figured, you did for love, or because you really wanted to.

  “That’s the pressure I told you about on our first date.”

  “When you brought a jug of wine?”

  “Oh yeah. That. I was nervous about our date,” he said, looking the other way as he tapped his fingers on the table. “Wanna go?”

  “Yes.” I stood up and took his hand, which prompted him to snake his arm around my waist and cinch me close.

  At the Partymobile, Christian opened the back, lifted the floorboard above the spare tire compartment, and brought me close to see inside. Twenty-four glistening cans sat in a cardboard box. My jaw dropped.

  “Do you want to go somewhere, Beck?”

  My rapture was blatant. The sheer number of beer cans boggled my mind and I was instantly attracted to them. I would have even curled up with the spare tire just to be close to the cold ones.

  We went to the beach where we’d spend long hours drinking and making out in the sand. The sun was already setting when we shoved several cans in Christian’s jacket and pranced to the shore.

  What bliss! The taste of frothing pilsner cleansed my palate of sobriety, and I was hooked once again on the concept of more. More beer. One more. Another. Then another. This time, Christian had to keep up with me.

  “You’re downing these like you haven’t had a drink for weeks.”

  “I haven’t!” I cheered, holding up a can to celebrate the goodness. I could feel the love that I had for Christian pouring out with each sip I took. It oozed from my brain, down to my chest, and then even lower into my private parts. Ideas came to my fizzled mind that made my inner giggle laugh harder than it had in a long time.

  “So, Christian,” I asked, slinking over to sit spread-eagled on his lap. “How much have you missed me?”

 
/////

  It felt like pure power when I had sex with Christian on the beach. It was love, but also possession as I took back what was mine. He surrendered to my need without question and I hoped that as I glided aggressively over him that he would remember his feelings for me.

  The magic of the moment disappeared when I woke up on the beach in the middle of the night. I had sobered, and my head pounded with familiar hangover static that ran from ear to ear. Had I passed out?

  Christian looked like he had. I couldn’t get him to do more than grunt and groan when I patted his face. My phone said it was past midnight, and that I’d received 10 calls from my parents. I didn’t want to hear their voicemails, because it would make being drunk and stupid more real for me.

  At the same time, I knew they were terrified that I was being held captive somewhere. With that, I dialed home.

  “Do you know how worried we are? You’re out in the middle of the night! God knows where. Don’t you even remember what happened a few weeks ago? Wasn’t that enough?”

  I tried to answer my dad but slurred my speech, so I kept quiet. He already knew the state I was in.

  “Is Christian there with you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Drunk?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Where are you so I can come get you?”

  I told him and hung up. Then my phone disappeared from my hand. I panicked and started digging through the sand, but it was gone.

  “Christian, wake up!” I said, smacking his face. He moaned and opened his eyes.

  “My dad is coming to get us,” I said.

  He shot up like a bullet. “What the fuck? You called him?”

  “How else would we get home? You’re drunk. I’m drunk and I don’t drive—“

  “That’s stupid. How could you call your dad?” He got up and paced the beach before he whipped it out and peed on the sand.

  “It’s stupid to drive when you’re drunk!”

  “Oh, fuck it, Beck.” He walked away from me toward the car. I ran up and pulled him back onto the sand.

  “You can’t drive, Christian. Just let my dad take you home.”

  “I can drive, and I think you’re a dumbshit! Go to your dad. Go away,” he yelled, stomping to his car. Without putting his headlights on, he zoomed away and almost took out a trashcan.

  It was dark, and I could hear the waves crashing on the beach and bugs chirping in the bushes. With no phone, no light, and no company to keep me feeling safe, I sat with my arms around my knees and waited for my dad.

  The Cadillac’s headlights glared into my eyes, and I was blinded for a moment as I tried to make sure I had my purse with me before trudging forward. My dad didn’t get out of the car, and he was smoking. This was something he did behind my mom’s back, and only when he was pissed off. It looked like I’d helped him get there.

  “I’m disappointed in you, Rebecca.”

  I said nothing, and hung my head low to my chest.

  “You have a black heart! To do this to us and to yourself. I don’t understand. You must want to go to hell.” He was going all preacher on me, and I kept my mouth shut because I had nothing good to reply with. It was better to take it like a man, go to bed, and get up the next day to deal with it.

  /////

  I shared my night of drinking story with David, who sat frozen except for his pad of paper and flying pen. It was like speaking to a tape recorder.

  “Rebecca, you need to realize something,” said David, taking a swig off his water bottle.

  “Yeah? What?” I mirrored his drinking and managed to splash some water on my shirt.

  “You have a problem with drinking.”

  “You’re joking!” I put my water bottle on the table and pushed it close to the burning candle. Maybe it would catch fire and the session would have to end early.

  David gave me a story about his own alcoholism, how he almost died from alcohol poisoning, and went through six treatment programs before he found Alcoholics Anonymous.

  “I’ve been sober for 10 years and I still go to meetings. It’s helped me, and I think it can help you. Here’s their card.” He leaned over and handed me the same white card with green letters that my last pimp gave me.

  “Thanks. I’ll think about it,” I lied, tossing the card into my purse so it could mingle with the other one. I might as well start an Alcoholics Anonymous card collection. If they ever ran out, I’d have plenty to give back.

  I prayed that the digital timer would ring so I could go and get buzzed with Christian. He’d called me the next day and couldn’t remember telling me off or driving home drunk. Unfortunately, my parents knew what had happened and he was now one of the forbidden people. This made seeing him all the more difficult, and tempting.

  I planned to go home, have dinner, and pretend to go to bed. Later, after everyone went to sleep, I’d hop out the window and meet Christian around the corner. Even after our heated moment on the beach, and the unkind words he said, I knew he could give me what I wanted.

  Of all nights for my parents to stay up, this was the one. I could hear the television going until past 10 o’clock. By then, my bedroom light was out and I paced the floor at a steady speed. I decided to bust out anyway, sprint down the street, and meet Christian.

  The Partymobile sat under a street light, the shadowy figure in the driver’s side not moving until he saw me arrive. Christian reached over and opened the passenger door.

  “I didn’t think you were coming.” He drew me close and kissed me hard.

  “They stayed up late! They never do that!” His hand was on my thigh again.

  “Ready?” He shot me a beautiful grin that had good time written all over it.

  I gave him back the same smile. “Hell ya.”

  /////

  Jesse didn’t look at me when I sat down at our desk. His lips were pursed, his eyes narrowed, and his jaw tight.

  “What?” I wasn’t in the mood for guessing games.

  “I didn’t hear from you.”

  “I got busy. It happens.”

  “I was worried,” he said, twiddling his pencil between his fingers. What was he, my third parent?

  “Jesse, I was busy. Seriously. Look, I didn’t feel like talking, okay?”

  Besides, I was tired from the night before. Christian and I had stayed out until 2 a.m., drinking the rest of the beer in his trunk by the city water tower. We’d hopped the fence and watched the city lights grow fuzzier with each sip, paying no attention to the time.

  “Okay. I understand, I guess.” He went back to drawing. Every few minutes, though, he would look at me without moving his head.

  “You’re gonna need to see a chiropractor if you keep doing that to your neck,” I chided. This prompted Jesse to fully rotate his head toward me.

  “I can’t stay mad at you,” he confessed.

  “And I can’t get mad at you,” I shot back, giving him a little smile.

  “Good. Then call me tonight.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I will.”

  I meant it this time.

  Chapter 19

  I massaged the buttons on my phone, wondering when to call Jesse. I didn’t know what time he ate dinner, did his homework, or went to bed. Sooner or later, I’d just have to dial.

  The motivation for calling this scruffy-jacketed boy went against everything I presently wanted. He was the opposite of Christian in every way. Where Christian’s middle name should have been brood, Jesse’s was it’s all good. He was shorter than Christian and had a more milk and cookies look. But Jesse was anything but innocent and ignorant, and I sensed he’d been places.

  “Hellooo?” He answered on the first ring, as if he was waiting with phone in hand.

  “Hi Jesse. It’s Beck.”

  “No, really? I thought it was my dead mother,” he laughed. Was he kidding?

  “The dead don’t make phone calls.”

  “Well, my mom does and she’s been dead for three years.”
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  I wanted to crawl under a rock and die.

  “Gotcha! You’re gullible, Rebecca,” he said.

  My cheeks flashed hot and I knew I’d been bested. What a good liar he was.

  “Please tell me your mom is alive.”

  “Alive and in the kitchen. She’s making herself an ice cream cone, in fact. What’s your mom doing?”

  “Probably having ice cream, too, but not in a cone.”

  “So she’s cone-free?”

  I couldn’t believe we were having this crazy conversation, but went with it. It was, after all, easier than talking about my drinking habits.

  “My dad is, too. What do you think of that?”

  “To each his own cone, I always say.”

  Our chat went on like this for an hour. I began to wonder if there was an actual purpose for the call. Just as I thought we were about done laughing, Jesse threw me a curveball.

  His voice deepened. “Remember vanilla?”

  “How could I forget? What about it?”

  “Have you had anything else to drink since then?”

  “Why do you want to know?”

  “Just curious, cause someone’s gotta be pretty desperate to drink vanilla. I’m surprised you didn’t give Nyquil a try.”

  Little did he know I already had. His comment reminded me of the bottle, tucked safely in the closet, waiting for me to savor its nasty flavor.

  “Desperate! You think I’m desperate?”

  “Well, for a drink, yes.”

  “If you’re gonna tell me I have a drinking problem, we’re done with this call.” My cheeks were really hot now as I paced the floor with my hand over my mouth, wondering if I should just hang up.

  He was headed somewhere and I dreaded the destination. “Look, Rebecca, I’m a watcher. And from what I’ve seen, you like to drink a little too much.”

  “I already told you I like to drink. It doesn’t affect my schoolwork or life.”

  “That explains the dark circles under your eyes. Oh, and let’s not forget the time you started dancing to your iPod in class and sat in Mr. Stanley’s lap.”

  I had done no such thing, and didn’t think it was funny that Jesse was making it up.

  “I. Did not do. That.”

  Jesse laughed. “So, you don’t remember that?”