by David Kummer
“I… yes, please, of course.”
Layla kissed me on the cheek after that, and this somehow covered my arm in goosebumps. We’d made out before. I’d seen her body almost completely naked. I’d longed for her as she disappeared back toward the cabin and wished, at times, that I would have never met her in the first place. And yet, a simple, second-long kiss on the cheek. It sent my heart into a tailspin.
“Here.” She pulled out her phone and tapped a few times on the screen. “Gimme your number.”
As Layla added me into her phone, I felt a shiver through my legs. The cold shadow of the bridge had deepened since the last time I moved. It had been days since I felt alive, since I had been more than a barely-functioning corpse. The way that Bruce looked is how I now felt. I just wanted to escape whatever spell had taken hold of me. To be normal.
Maybe this, with Layla, could be the first step.
9
Little Rush
(The Robbers)
June stood in front of them next to a posterboard that would’ve been better suited as the base for a schoolkid’s presentation. Only this poster, rather than having pictures of animals or proof of research, contained plans. A diagram of Bruce Michael’s house, lines drawn on the picture, as well as their names. Some of the marks were dotted, others zagging lines, and some straight ones. In front of this display, June stuck out her chest and crossed her arms, looking triumphant.
The darkened television behind her made no sound. The air conditioning unit had turned off when the apartment hit its set temperature of seventy-eight degrees. A bit on the warm side, Randy and Curtis lounged in tank tops, shorts, and bare feet. Curtis had taken to picking at his toes, both at the fuzz that got caught in between and also the nails which had grown too long.
“Christ, will ya stop that?” Randy lashed out, missing by an inch.
Curtis, propped on the couch alone, had sprawled out across the whole length. Bent in an awkward position, he worked at the toenails with his fingers, sticking out his tongue in concentration.
“Ain’t doing you harm,” he mumbled, continuing at his task.
“Swear to god I’ll punch you!”
“Boys!” June clapped her hands together, and their attention turned at once. Both sets of eyes were now locked on her and the poster. She grinned, gestured at the diagram, waiting for their comments.
Curtis, of course, spoke first. “I… don’t get it.”
“You don’t get anything,” Randy murmured, although his own face balled up intensely, like he too couldn’t make out the details.
“This line is you, Curtis,” June began explaining, pointing to a section of the poster. It showed the yard in front of Bruce’s house, closest to the road and his driveway. Then she moved her finger to the side where the tombstones sprawled. “This is you, Randy. This line.” Finally, she scratched her nail against the final line at the back door of the house. “This is me.”
“How we gonna… take his stuff?” Curtis asked, now rubbing at his head. “He won’t just give’r up now, will ‘e?”
“Good point, really.” Randy cocked his head, still studying the poster.
“Guns. Or knives, if we can’t get guns.” June’s toothy grin still hadn’t dissipated. She observed the two of them with wide eyes, raised eyebrows, and a “ta-duh!” tone of voice. “Boys, this is really gonna work. I swear. The big fish!”
Their excitement didn’t quite match her own. Soon, they were clambering to watch television, a baseball game or something equally boring. Uninterested, June collected her presentation and retired to her bed. Miffed, she grumbled at them while heading out of the room. Once in bed, her mind began to race. With the poster standing against her wall, she couldn’t help but sneak glances in its direction. The other two were in the living room, hollering and hooting anytime something exciting happened, but June’s mind stumbled its way through countless scenarios. So many possibilities. Split-second choices she’d have to make.
By the time exhaustion overwhelmed her, June had a concrete plot. Impossible to mess up. Impossible to be caught. Bruce Michaels lived way out there, after all, far from any major roads or other houses. An ideal spot for a robbery. It helped that nobody could hear him scream.
The plan had to be foolproof. Her mother’s life depended on it. The future of these two numbskulls. This was their ticket out of here. And her ticket to a better life, whatever that meant. Bruce’s valuables and money would open so many doors for all of them.
“We gotta do this,” she repeated. “We gotta do this. And we will.”
She couldn’t help but imagine it. The three of them, cruising down the interstate in a sleek car, cops on their tail. That would be it. All she’d dreamed of. And if they really got away with it? The wealth of a millionaire actor?
Her mind couldn’t help but wander. Think about what her mom had said last week. A trip to New York. That’s all she could dream of. And it was June’s goal to achieve that for her. Maybe not right away, but someday. She’d take her there someday. Make it a reality.
This final score would be the end of this business, without a doubt. She could pay her mom’s insulin costs for a long time afterward. Maybe June would get a normal job after all this. Integrate into society as something other than a thief. And these two, they’d be on their own. Out of Little Rush. Out of her life.
It had to work. And it would. She’d give anything to ensure it.
10
Hudson
With shoulders hunched forward and elbows resting on the table, I stared dead-panned at the entrance. The air hung heavy with smells of garlic, grease, and fresh-from-the-oven pizza. Every so often, a server would pass by the booth and wink at me. One of the guys stopped and made a thrusting movement. I knew it had been a mistake coming here. It was never a great idea to go on a date at the place you work, but Layla had suggested it.
For a few days, ever since our unexpected meeting, we’d been texting almost non-stop. My phone, usually barren, now lit up every few minutes with a new text. Then, once in our beds, we stayed up way too late texting and said “goodnight” half-heartedly, ready to pick up the conversation as soon as our alarms went off. The previous night, right after we’d agreed on this date, we video chatted for the first time. Layla wore a low-cut tank top and somehow had seen my eyes drop to her cleavage. She responded with a sly grin and a not-so-subtle removal of her shirt.
Suffice to say, I had no qualms as I pulled into the pizza restaurant and took a deep breath, composing myself. That weird half-pizza sticking out from the roof brought a sense of comfort. I’d spent countless hours in this building, knew it like the back of my hand. So, strolling inside, I stuck out my chest and assured myself things would go excellent. We were playing on my home turf, after all.
When I entered, though, Layla was nowhere to be found. Even though I arrived two minutes after six, she hadn’t shown yet. I’d been forced to ask one of my friends behind the counter.
“Hey, Jimmy, I’m just… looking for a girl. Same grade as us. Layla? You know her?”
“That cute black girl, huh?” Jimmy grinned far too wide. “You on a date, huh?”
“Is she here or not?” I crossed my arms and glared over the register.
“Nah. I’ll let her know you’re here. If she shows.”
From that moment onward, I’d been in a booth alone, eyes trained on the entrance. A quarter past six, by that point, and I’d already downed one soda. When Jimmy brought me a refill, he narrowed his eyebrows, as if some question ate at his insides. Silence prevailed, however, and he disappeared after that.
Sitting in the booth, I got a few texts from Mason. He’d messaged me right before I came here, something about “let me know how it goes.” This time, he offered a little more detail.
Mason: Be drinking with babe at the cabin. text when you’re free. good luck!
And then, a few minutes after that.
M: Wanna swing by after your date?
I didn’t answe
r either of these. The thought of driving out to his dad’s cabin didn’t appeal to me. Neither did retelling the course of my date to a drunken idiot and his girlfriend who wouldn’t care. Being with them in any capacity was unappealing. We’d drifted apart over the previous two weeks, ever since the party. I couldn’t quite put a finger on the reason. They had sort of clung to each other in the aftermath and started doing things like this. Drinking at the cabin, sans me. Going on walks downtown, sans me. Being a third wheel was painful enough. Being a third wheel in the process of falling off hurt even more.
From my booth, I could see the television, where a baseball game played at low volume. I could hear noises from the kitchen, the typical clattering cutlery and voices of a busy pizzeria. The local radio station played over the speakers, nearly drowned out by conversations from surrounding tables. Lots of couples tonight, more than usual. Even two middle-aged men openly holding hands. I hadn’t thought there were any gay couples in Little Rush.
My eyes shifted to the television. In the bottom right, the time had just turned six-twenty. I told myself that I’d give her ten minutes and then be out of here. Again, I checked my phone, hoping to find something from her. Even an apology and asking to reschedule would be enough. Instead, just another text from Mason.
A notification popped up, something from Twitter. I clicked it on and resigned myself to ten minutes of this before leaving. I could check my feed at least, just in case any other pictures had surfaced of me and Bruce. Since the pizza delivery incident, I hadn’t noticed anything, but that didn’t mean for sure nothing would.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!”
I glanced up and saw her approaching. Layla, breathless and out-of-sorts, hurried up to the booth. She stood, as if afraid to sit down. Her graphic t-shirt was wrinkled, one sock folded over itself in haste. Her hair had been pulled back in loose braids. She wasn’t, by any means, the image of preparation. At the sight of her, I grinned and gestured to a chair at the table.
“Don’t worry. I haven’t ordered.”
She took a seat and threw her head back almost right away, letting out an exasperated sigh. “Ugh, I feel awful, Hudson.”
“It’s honestly no big deal.” I looked around for one of the servers, hoping that we could finally order. I’d worried myself into quite an appetite. “Everything okay?”
This thinly veiled request for an explanation went over fine, and she launched into a story, interrupted by Jimmy coming to take our order. (This ended with a wink and another thrusting movement when Layla couldn’t see him.)
According to her, she’d started off running late, leaving her house just before six. Her mom needed help carrying groceries inside and then watching the baby while she prepared dinner. Layla, the oldest of six children, tried to throw on some make up and hurried through everything. Then, she got stuck behind a tractor on a two-lane road with no good places to pass. And finally, she’d driven past the pizza restaurant on accident twice and had to circle back.
“I guess I should’ve realized from the… that pizza thing sticking out of the roof,” she finished, smacking herself on the forehead. “I’ve just never been here, so didn’t know what to look for.”
“Really?” I asked, shaking my head in disbelief. “You’ve never been here?”
She shrugged. “Never. We don’t eat out much. Too many siblings and all. Too expensive.”
It struck me as odd that myself and Mason were both single children. Even Willow only had one brother. I didn’t usually consider siblings, since as an only child and a senior in high school I had no reason to. But I was sure that would’ve meant… well, more responsibility.
Layla’s drink arrived, and our conversation turned to the pizzeria itself, being her first time. She commented on the memorabilia hanging beside us. The wall adjacent our booth had been covered with newspaper articles, pieces of basketball nets, a football helmet, all stuff from the local high school. I wasn’t sure if Jed Cooper had decided on these neat touches or if they were somebody else’s idea. Either way, the sports-bar aesthetic served the restaurant in a nice way.
Through some off-handed comment from Jimmy, Layla discovered that I worked here. She launched into questions about my job, what it entailed, did I enjoy it. I played along with this typical first-date game and asked her some as well. Turned out she’d only gotten a job recently, now that her eleven-year-old sister could watch the kids. She’d been at the movie theater for about five months and offered to get me discounted tickets sometime.
“Well, if you’re paying, I’ll see just about any movie,” I offered up, taking a sip through my straw. “Maybe… date number two?”
“Maybe so.” She kicked my foot under the table playfully. I didn’t know what she meant, but it felt nice to talk so casually with someone. Someone new.
Maybe that’s what irritated me whenever I spent hours in Mason and Willow’s company. It was sort of the same feeling I used to have riding in my father’s truck between him and my mom. Like in every conversation, they weren’t ever fully talking to me. I only had a portion of their attention, never the full thing. With Layla, her eyes were only on me, her words directed only to my ears. Having somebody’s full attention, somebody so beautiful, felt really nice for a change.
Maybe that’s selfish. I pondered this as we talked, thinking it might not be a good thing I needed so much attention. But a date wasn’t the time for that speculation.
The pizza and breadsticks arrived. Conversation lulled as we ate. Neither of us felt comfortable talking while chewing. Mostly, we resigned to exploring the other tables with our eyes, watching some of the couples. We would comment on them, sometimes rude but also genuine compliments. Layla took a particular liking to the gay couple who rose to leave.
This act of people-watching teamwork churned away the better part of an hour. When the pizza had turned into crumbs and our drinks were only ice, I glanced at the television screen and found that we’d been sitting longer than I thought. Plus my isolated half-hour.
Layla checked her phone, presumably for the time. She looked back at me with a thin, thoughtful smile. “You know, I just realized I did know you were a delivery guy. I remember that picture of you and Bruce Michaels from a while ago.”
“Oh, right.” I tried to force a smile. “Yep, that was really weird.”
“Do you talk to him much?” she asked, leaning forward a bit, really leading the conversation now. “Or was that just a delivery thing? I didn’t know if… maybe he asked for you specifically or something?”
“Or something, yeah.” I cleared my throat and started to scoot out of the booth. “I’ll be right back. Bathroom.”
If she understood my sudden leave of absence, she didn’t show it. I hurried away from the booth and into the restroom. The cramped space smelled like cherries. I noticed the air freshener resting just below the mirror. For a few minutes, I stared at myself in the glass, at the almost-stubble on my chin.
Deep breaths, I told myself. There was nothing malicious in her question. She’d enjoyed the date. So did you, I snapped. Just a question. She’d remembered it, not been thinking about it. She didn’t come here just to pepper me about Bruce.
And yet, it almost felt that way. Like this whole date was a scam. She’d rejected me at the party, seen my picture with Bruce, and only then decided to give it a go. It made sense. It made perfect sense.
I didn’t want to be associated with that old man. I didn’t want him hanging over me. There were enough shadows here in Little Rush without an extra one. I once thought of Bruce as an idol. Him moving here was the coolest thing. And now, his presence just gave me another reason to run away. Another regret in a life swamped by them.
My phone buzzed. I almost didn’t pick up. It was probably Mason, now sufficiently drunk. God only knew what he would text this time. But when I did finally extract the phone from my pocket and read the name, it wasn’t Mason.
Dad: Don’t want to interrupt your date. And don’t freak out.
I just wanted to let you know that I won’t be staying at the house tonight. I’m with Mason’s dad for a few days.
My mind drew a blank at this text. None of that made sense. For a few days? I mean, he’d stayed at their house once last year, when Jed and him were too drunk and didn’t feel like calling a taxi. Mom hadn’t been too happy. But for a few days?
The next vibration brought few answers.
D: Your mother and I had just a small argument. We just need to cool off. Well I need to. Everything’s okay, promise buddy. Just wanted to be open with you and all. We’re just taking some time to think.
To think.
Taking some time to think.
What the fuck did that mean?
My own parents. My farmer’s tan, workaholic dad and my faithful, relentlessly kind mom. Taking some time to think. About what? A divorce? God, would it be like Willow’s parents, where her dad had really gone south afterwards? I didn’t want to be that… that nineteen-year-old with parent issues, a fresh divorce. Jesus Christ, at least wait until I graduated high school! Not right now. Before I’d even settled on a future.
I stormed out of the pizzeria, shooting a glance at Layla. I could only offer her a small wave, mouth the words, “I’ll explain later!”
I’d already left cash on the table to pay for the meal. No reason to return. I would text Layla that night, maybe. Give her an explanation and say sorry.
No, I wouldn’t. I didn’t owe her an apology.
I slammed the door of my truck and felt the engine rumbling. Shifting into reverse, I took one last glance at the window beside our booth. Layla stared back at me, her eyes wide, confused, hurt. I couldn’t bear the sight, so I slammed on the gas and then maneuvered into the road. As quickly as possible, I fled the scene like a murder had just been committed.