by Richards
Becca stepped through the door.
“I can’t see anything.”
“Exactly.”
I racked my brain to remember the location of the restroom.
“It’s next to Harley’s workshop,” I explained. “Which I’m pretty sure is right over there.”
Crossing my fingers, I headed in the general direction of right over there. I didn’t get more than a few steps before running into a wall.
“Found it,” I groaned, massaging my forehead.
Becca opened the door and flipped on the light.
“Thanks,” she said before closing the door behind her.
This left me in a dilemma. Was it better to stand outside the door within earshot of whatever was happening inside? Or retreat back outside and leave Becca alone in Harley’s seriously dark and creepy barn? Instead, I groped my way past the restroom until I found the door that led into Harley’s workshop. I flipped on the light and stared around in wonder at the contents of the room.
“What is this?” Becca asking, joining me a few moments later.
A dizzying variety of sculptures made from old barn wood, barbed wire, barn windows, rope, and miscellaneous pieces of rusted metal filled the room. “This is Harley’s art studio.”
Becca walked to the center of the room, then turned in a circle taking it all in.
“I didn’t know he was an artist.”
“Yeah, he uses reclaimed materials he gets from old barns and stuff. My dad says it’s tough to make a living as an artist, but Harley is starting to sell pieces to people as far away as Montana and Colorado.”
“Wow, that’s so cool!”
“Yeah, checking out his workshop is my favorite part about coming here.”
She delicately touched one of the sculptures with a finger.
“I can see why. It’s like the past and the present are all jumbled together in cool ways.”
I pointed to one that had a rubber duck peeking out through the glass pane of an old window. “Some of them are pretty funny, too. My mom calls his art ‘Whimsical Repurposed Americana.’”
Becca stood next to a sculpture of a woman with her hands on her hips made completely out of rusted barbed wire.
“Who’s that?”
“Oh, that’s Barb. Harley says it’s a likeness of his first girlfriend. I guess she had a sharp temper.”
Becca giggled. “You weren’t kidding about his sense of humor.”
“That’s what’s so great about him. He’s all easygoing and cool, but then you see his artwork and there’s this whole other side to him.”
Becca turned to face me. “You really like Harley, don’t you?”
My head nodded involuntarily. “Yeah, people see him and think he’s some greasy biker dude. But really, he’s a super-nice guy when you get to know him. I kinda wish I was more like him.”
She floated across the room until she was standing right in front of me.
“You’re pretty cool in your own way,” she said in a soft voice that made my skin tingle.
“Really?”
She leaned close, her eyes as blue and fathomless as my favorite Lego blocks.
“Yes,” she whispered.
My lips puckered against my will. Whatever was happening I was powerless to stop it. I leaned forward, the unimaginable about to happen.
“Whatcha doin’?”
Ben and Kirsten stood in the doorway.
“Wha—no—nothin—” Becca and I stammered.
Ben and Kirsten’s eyes suddenly went wide like they’d seen a ghost, or their closest friends about to kiss.
“Oh, sorry,” Kirsten said.
“Dude,” Ben added, his eyes shouting You the man at me.
“We were just looking for you to let you know the fireworks had ended,” Kirsten said in a rush, pulling Ben back out the door.
Maybe the fireworks outside had ended. The fireworks inside never quite got started. I wasn’t sure whether to hug them in thanks or hang Ben from Barb’s armpit.
“I guess we should go back before your parents wonder where we are,” Becca said.
“Yeah, I guess so.”
I stared up at the stars on the way home and wondered how my life had gotten so complicated. Just months ago, I was happy being a guy who still built fortresses out of Legos without girls or a care in the world.
What had happened to me? Now I couldn’t even enjoy a quiet night of exploding fireworks without facing the risk of another sort of fireworks going off. I missed the old days. But I couldn’t go back. My world had become more dangerous, more unpredictable, and more real than ever before. And somehow more intriguing, too. Sometimes I kinda even liked it. Sometimes.
The next day at work, Elsa was bubblier than ever. She nearly shrieked when I entered the store.
“Stu! I’m so glad to see you! After everyone left last night, Harley and I stayed up and planned out the entire fashion show.”
She opened a notebook filled with notes and diagrams that looked like some sort of secret battle plans intended to win the war to end all wars.
“Harley is so creative,” she enthused. “Look at how he diagrammed the store and how we can set up for the show this year. The catwalk is going to run right through the middle of the store with chairs on either side just like a real fashion show.”
She grabbed her purse and jammed the notebook inside.
“I’m off to meet with the rental folks who are providing the risers, chairs, curtains, tables, and everything else we need.” She twirled on her way out like a toddler in a toy store. “This is going to be the best show ever!”
After the windstorm known as Elsa left, things were a lot quieter. That left me time to sweep the floors, tidy up behind the counter, and sprinkle sparkly confetti about the store. Not really. Mostly, I sat hunched over on the stool behind the counter and tried not to fall asleep. About the time my eyelids closed for good, the front door burst open and a gaggle of ladies led by Diane marched into the store.
“Stu!” Diane said. “I’m so glad you’re here. I was just telling the ladies that with luck you would be here to help us take advantage of the twenty-five-percent-off coupon that we all received in the mail the other day.”
Lucky me.
“What can I help you with?”
A lady with silver hair and penciled black eyebrows stepped forward.
“What do you have in the way of swimwear?” she asked.
Swimwear? I wasn’t comfortable being seen in my own swim trunks, let alone helping a group of senior citizens find bikinis.
“Um … I’m not sure.”
“Mildred, you just follow me,” Diane said, leading the way to the back corner. “I’ll get you started while Stu helps Audrey.”
A frail woman with white hair sidled up to the counter.
“I need a new handbag.”
She held hers up so I could see that the clasp had broken.
“I haven’t had a new handbag in years.”
“They’re right over here,” I directed, pointing to a table right next to her.
“Oh, aren’t they lovely?” she asked.
She lifted the closest one and inspected it inside and out.
“Do you have something like this but in navy blue?”
I picked up the purse next to the one she was holding.
“Do you mean like this one?”
“Oh, yes,” she replied. She patted the handle. “I used to work at Macy’s a long time ago. I dreamed of having a navy-blue hand-sewn leather handbag with gold snaps just like all the rich ladies had.” She stroked the faux leather. “But then I got married and had four beautiful children and I never once missed owning such a gaudy extravagance.” She gazed down at the handbag rocking in her arms like an infant. “Okay, maybe I missed it a little bit.”
She handed me the bag and headed for the cash register.
“But now my kids are grown, my husband is long since deceased, my investments are holding steady, and I have this here c
oupon. So, at long last, I’m going to get the bag I always dreamed of having.”
She paid and then rejoined Diane and the other ladies.
“Look what that fine young man found for me,” she said, showing off her new handbag.
“It’s beautiful,” Diane agreed. “I told you he was the darling who would hook you up with whatever you needed.”
According to Diane, I had some sort of supernatural powers when it came to helping ladies with their fashion needs. Nothing could have been further from the truth. But what good did it do to argue? They’d only find me humble as well as talented.
Diane waved me over. Next to her stood a little woman with short cropped black hair and the smallest hands I’d ever seen that didn’t belong to my little brother.
“Honey, this is Aiko. She and her husband recently moved here from Southern California and joined our ballroom dance group.”
Diane put an arm around the little woman.
“She sure knows her way around the dance floor.”
Aiko gave a little bow with her head.
“She only says that because I make her sushi on Tuesdays.”
“But she’s got a problem,” Diane continued. “She needs a dress that says ‘watch me,’ don’t you, Aiko?”
Aiko blushed but didn’t refuse the notion.
“Perhaps something teal green,” she said.
I followed Aiko as she browsed rack to rack ignoring the green dresses in favor of the red ones.
“My mother always said I looked good in teal,” she confided. “But I always preferred red.”
“I had to wear pink last week,” I confided in return. “I didn’t even know they made pink shirts for men.”
She held out a sparkly red dress for inspection.
“I bet you looked very handsome in pink.”
Pretty sure I had looked foolish. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
She carried the dress to a dressing room and disappeared inside. A few minutes later, she pirouetted from the dressing room looking all jangly and glowing in the red dress.
“You go, girl!” Diane shouted from across the store.
Aiko blushed as she admired herself in a mirror.
“Yes, I will take it,” she confirmed.
Diane waved me back over to the bathing suit area.
“Well, what do you think?” she asked.
Mildred held a one-piece bathing suit up to herself in front of a mirror on the wall.
What did I think? Well, I loved the way the bathing suit was still on the hanger and not being modeled for real. “Looks good.”
“If Stu approves, then you’re all good to go,” Diane said.
“Yes, it looks good,” Mildred repeated, “for a woman of my advanced years. I think I can swim laps in this thing all right.”
The ladies paid at the register, and then Diane swept them for the door.
“Time for a late lunch, girls,” she called.
The door swung shut with a happy clang as they made their way next door to the Sunshine Café.
Elsa returned just before two.
“I got it all lined up,” she said, beaming. “It’s going to be perfect. Just perfect. Thanks for all your help.”
What exactly had I done? “Sure.”
That evening Ben and I popped a couple root beers, sat back, and reflected on our start to the summer.
“We’re a couple of working stiffs,” Ben said, taking a big swig from the can in his hand. “Like, how did that happen?”
“Well, for you I think it had a lot to do with not turning in your homework all year.”
“Yeah, but if I’d done that, I’d be sleeping in and playing Death Intruders every day instead of ‘learning quality life lessons out in the real world.’” Ben quoted the last part in his father’s voice.
“I get you being punished, but I didn’t even do anything wrong,” I complained.
“Your grandmother’s out to get you.”
“Yeah, that’s what I keep thinking.”
“She’ll do anything to force you into wearing pink and waiting on little old ladies.”
“Yeah, she’s cruel that way.”
“And cunning. Who else could pull off such a dastardly evil plan?”
“Seriously, who thinks to break their hip in order to make their grandson suffer?”
“Genius, when you think about it.”
“Yep, my grandmother’s a diabolical genius.”
After a quick hour of Death Intruders, I said good night and headed home. The sugar buzz had me in high spirits, that and having thoroughly spanked Ben at zombie football. The two combined to make the first half block of my walk pure pleasure. That is, right up until the world tilted. Jackson stood leaning against one of the columns on Becca’s porch, his lone chin hair gleaming in the moonlight.
“See you tomorrow,” he said to the figure in the doorway.
The sight stopped me cold. What was he doing there? Maybe it was the root beer talking, but I had the sudden urge to throw that no-good, bicep-flexing poser off the steps. If only the zombie warlord in my chest would stop flailing about like an undead petulant baby.
Instead, I ducked low and ran. Sure, there might have been more mature ways to handle the situation. Like joining them on the porch. Or sucker-punching Jackson when he wasn’t looking. But none of those ideas ran through my head until after I slammed the door shut to my room and buried my head under my pillow.
Last night in Harley’s barn returned to mind. Had I misunderstood the moment? Had she really been about to kiss me? Or had I imagined the look in her eyes? What if I’d imagined everything? What if she’s never seen me as more than a friend? What if it’s all been made-up fantasies like my nightly rescues in the woods? Or, worse yet, what if she had liked me but not anymore?
When I thought about it, I had lied to her all spring. And spurted blood all over her at the square-dancing assembly. And made a fool of myself in front of everyone on my father’s float. And, to top it off, the moment she leaned in for a kiss, I hesitated just long enough for the whole thing to be ruined. No wonder she wanted someone smarter, and studlier, and with infinitely more chin hair.
Maybe I shouldn’t feel too bad. Ryan and Tyler hadn’t lasted two weeks before they got dumped. Depending on how you figured it, Becca and I had gone out twice as long before she got wise and found a bigger, better, more normal boyfriend.
Strangely, that didn’t make me feel better. All that really mattered was that Jackson had been standing on her porch while I stood below unseen and unwanted.
Figured.
I hid my feelings over the next few days by focusing on work. Not really.
“Stu, is something the matter?” Elsa asked for the umpteenth time.
I sulkily stared down at the unfolded blouse in my hands. “No.”
One thing I’d discovered is that the art of sulking takes practice. It had taken over a week for me to reach the point where I could hold a blouse for hours and still not find the willpower to fold it.
“Stu,” Elsa said, guiding me away from the pile of unfolded garments. “Let’s talk. What’s up?”
It would ruin the whole sulking thing to actually talk to someone.
“Is this about Becca?” she prodded.
No, of course not. I couldn’t possibly be feeling this crummy just because of a girl. “Maybe.”
“Did you guys have a fight?”
I wished. A fight would have only involved the two of us, not that flexing poser Jackson. “No, not exactly.” I dug deep for the courage to say what needed to be said. “I think she likes someone else.”
A tiny gasp caught in Elsa’s throat. I had been having similar gasps lately every time I took a breath.
“Oh, I see.”
She looked around as if to make sure we weren’t being spied on.
“What makes you say that?”
Now that it was out in the open, I couldn’t stop myself from telling her about that muscle-bloated party crasher J
ackson. I ended the story with what I’d seen and heard walking home from Ben’s house.
Elsa’s head bobbed up and down as she thought.
“Sometimes when we care about someone it’s easy to jump to a wrong conclusion. Have you talked to her?”
What sort of crazy advice was that? Did Elsa actually think I should sit down with Becca, tell her what I’d seen, and ask for an explanation? Sure, that seemed reasonable. But if I asked, she might respond. And I wasn’t ready to hear the answer.
Two p.m. rolled around and I shuffled out the front door still wrapped in my cloak of sulkiness. I should have known better than to talk to an adult. All Elsa had done was leave me feeling more unsure about things than ever. Talk to Becca about my concerns? Seriously, who did that? She made it sound so simple, but when was the last time she had talked out an issue with anyone?
I stepped into the sunlight, and there stood Becca waiting for me on the sidewalk.
“Hi,” she said.
My cloak fell to the ground, leaving me exposed in my own uncomfortable skin. “Hi.”
She headed away from the store, and I followed like the obedient puppy dog I had become.
“I had to take care of my sister all morning while my mom was at a doctor’s appointment. Carly’s the worst. Want to get some ice cream?”
There was probably something important I needed to be doing, like running away, but my mind had gone totally blank. “Sure.”
Becca reached up as if to touch the sunlight as we walked.
“The weather here is so beautiful in the summer,” she said. “We used to live in LA, and it would be so hot we couldn’t even go outside sometimes.”
“Wow, I’ve never really thought about what it’s like in other places. I’d die in that kind of heat.”
“Yeah,” she giggled. “Sometimes I thought I’d melt.”
We reached the ice cream shop and entered. All the same flavors of ice cream beckoned from inside the glass case. I went with my old standby, chocolate chocolate-chip, while Becca agonized over whether vanilla was better paired with a caramel or raspberry swirl.
“It’s so hard to choose,” she said.
I taste tested the two tubs of ice cream fueling her debate.
“Not for me. Just get a scoop of each and call it good.”