Anna Begins

By Jennifer Davenport

 

Her kindness bangs a gong

It’s moving me along

And Anna begins to fade away
It’s chasing me away
She disappears and
Oh lord, I'm not ready for this sort of thing

 

–Anna Begins, Counting Crows

 

 

 

 

PROLOGUE

           

            U2.

            I haven’t heard this song in forever.  Ain’t love the sweetest thing. 

            I had to get out.  I hate lying.

            “What’s this?” She asked when she picked up my box of Correctol.

            I’d just gone grocery shopping and picked up a case of Strawberry Ultra Slim-Fast for her.  My mother is a size five.  I’m allowed an indulgence too.

            I didn’t pause. “Laxatives.”

            She looked at me blankly.  I smiled.  Then, I did the confidential best friend thing. I leaned in.

            “Problems.”  I said this quietly.  When I was younger, I used to get sick a lot.  She nodded and smiled.  She seemed almost comfortable with the illusion that things hadn’t changed.  She walked back into the kitchen.  Have another shake, Ma.

            But now I have to pick up Em at Church.

            Church.  I’m not sure what I think about that.  I don’t doubt there is a God or anything.  I just doubt myself.

            I write.  Mostly poetry.

            A lot of it is about wanting to be young again.

            I want to be five again.

            Before I knew what fat was.  Before I knew what a year was.  Before I knew what sex was.  And I want to stay there because I was innocent and smart and pretty.

            I want only to feel guilt for things outside myself.  I want to feel guilt for breaking dishes and losing my sister’s blue elephant.  I don’t want that guilt where the only person who is disappointed in myself is me.

            Does Jeremy feel that guilt?  Does Lauren?  Does my mother?  How about Katie?  Do they ever get that sick feeling in the pit of their stomachs when they think about themselves?  Do they ever regret themselves?

            I can’t suppose that Katie does.  Maybe she feels regret for me.  Maybe she regrets Jeremy – or Lauren.  But I don’t think she regrets herself.

            I think only because I’ve stopped knowing about Katie.

            I could call her my best friend.  Or maybe I wouldn’t call her anything at all – it’s been two months since any calling has taken place.  Our last conversation: November at Wendy’s.

            “We haven’t gone out in so long.”  I said this while I was playing with a plate of nacho salad.

            “Oh, I know.  Well, I’ve been really busy with stuff, you know?”

            Stuff.

            “Yeah.”

            Stuff happened to her.  Stuff kept happening.  And so, we had to stop being so she could continue to have stuff happen.  What do you do when you have no one to talk things over with?  I write.

            I can see Emily’s breath when she leans in the passenger side “You’re late.  Mom didn’t want to pick me up?”

            “No.  She forgot and then asked me to do it for her.  She’s busy.  Talking to someone on the phone.”           

            “Mike?”

            Mike.  Or maybe Jim.  I shrug. “Maybe.  I didn’t ask.”  Boyfriends.

            This is what boyfriends remind me of:

            Mommy closes the door.  There is a party outside.

            “Don’t tell Tom what I’m doing, Lissy.”

            I look at her and she strips.  In my bedroom.  With people outside.  Tom is out there too.  Tom is nice.

            “What’s that?”

            It’s a garter belt.  I have no idea what purpose it serves.  I think it’s white.  She puts her clothing back on over this complicated contraption.

            Shhh. Don’t tell Tom, Lissy.  It’s a surprise for him.

            I don’t understand.  Someday I will.  But for now, I’m five.

 

JEREMY

 

            He spent the drive home alternating his hand with mine between his legs.  My hand at stop lights, and his the rest of the drive.  Twice after a green, he gently placed my hand back between my own legs and told me softly to keep busy.  We needed a place to park.

            I told him we’d use my father’s driveway.  What the heck.  We’d just been at Dave’s house doing the same thing under a pink blanket in a small room populated by five other people.  Katie was on the couch right next to him – his head on her shoulder.  His ex and my best friend.  Either way, we still needed a place to park.

            I suppose details aren’t necessary.  In my mind, it all happened at once – he put his car in park, I lifted my dress.  His right hand immediately on my left breast and his left hand between my legs.  His tongue in my mouth, my tongue in his, and my left hand groping for his crotch – an area of his anatomy I’d only just become familiar with under that pink blanket.  He fingered me, I jerked him off, then I tucked myself back into my dress and ran up the icy driveway to get him a pen so I could write out directions for him to get home.

            I came back to his car and he looked sick.

            I was cold and forgot how to draw a map.

            I ended up getting in my car and leading him back to a main road. 

            I hate every word I just wrote.

I’m seventeen and my name is Melissa.

 

            Less than nineteen hours later, I find  myself listening to my mother give me the birth control talk.

            “You’re going to college next year,” She says, “And you’re going to get involved with people sexually.”

            I nod. I smile.  Thanks mom.  Thanks.

            For seventeen years, sex in college, let alone sex with anyone at all in the near future was a foreign idea to me.  That was two weeks ago.  Between now and then, Jeremy happened.

            I’m best friends with Katie.  He’s best friends with Katie, too.  We might even be called best friends.  But only since he and Katie broke up.  We’re secret.  We’re sly.  We’re amazing. We’re horny.  We’re fuck-buddies without the fuck and until tonight, without anything but kissing.

            I was kind of in a daze when he took my hand from between my legs and brought it over between his legs.  I can tell you exactly what went through my head when I realized what it was I was touching.  No fireworks or anything like I thought there’d be.  Just the thought of:

            “Hard...dick...”

            I swear to God.

 

 

ERIC

 

            At around two AM, I get out of my car and slide up the icy driveway slowly in five-inch platforms, wondering why I hadn’t taken them off before.  I don’t notice until later that the back of my dress is still partially unzipped.  It is fifteen degrees with wind-chill and I am wearing a semi-formal dress with no jacket.  I barely notice the extra draft.

            Stumbling inside, I grab a croissant from the kitchen counter and shiver as I walk upstairs.  The light is on in the TV room.  I peek in and Eric is sitting on the floor in front of the TV, his back against the end of the lounge.

            I walk into the room, attempting to maintain an air of situational and emotional control; “Do you know what time it is?”

            “I was hoping you could tell me.”

            He is nineteen.  He is my step-brother.  He has been a god since I was twelve.

            “Nope.  It was 1:30 when I left Dave’s – but that was a long time ago.”

            One finger-fuck ago.

            “Oh.  I bought a new game.”

            “Really?”

            “Yeah.  Gran Tourismo.  Car racing.  Wanna race me?”

            “Yeah.  I just wanna get some dinner.”

            I have finished the croissant already.

            “You haven’t had any?”

            “Of course not.”  I fluff my wrinkled dress. “Never eat before or during a dance.  It’s a girl thing.”

            He laughs. “That’s stupid.”

            Watching him laugh makes me smile. “I know.”

            I  change quickly in my room.  Addidas pants, bra, T-shirt, socks.  With the dress, shoes and shaper gone, I down two Correctol tablets and run downstairs to microwave a slice of pizza.  I grab another croissant and run back upstairs to lie down at the end of the lounge, my head an inch or so from his.  I’m starving.    

            “Did you hear me run in fifteen minutes ago?”

            “No.  Didn’t you just get home?”

            He hadn’t noticed us in the driveway.  I was relieved and now almost wanted to tell him.  Almost.

            “Yeah.  But I had to lead Jeremy home, so I was in for a second about fifteen minutes ago for my keys.”

            “You had to lead him home?”

            “He wasn’t feeling well and I couldn’t give coherent directions.”

            He pauses the game and turns to study me for a second. “You look tired.”

            “I am.”

            “You okay?  How was the dance?”

            “Less gay than I thought it would be.  But my friends are boring.”

            “Oh?” He smiles.  The heavens shine.

            “They all sat around after the dance.  We didn’t do anything exciting.  Austin Powers out-takes.”  I sigh dramatically and continue briefly, “Not even the actual movie – just the out-takes.”

            He nods. “After I finish this race, you want to race me?”

            I smile. “I’d be honored.” He un-pauses and goes back to playing.

            I eat a little and then stare at the back of his neck.

            Someday, I hope.

            Then, I put my pizza down, suddenly tasting Jeremy back in my mouth.

            I console myself.  At least I’ll have had experience.

            He turns his head slightly and my eyes droop watching the muscles in his neck change their position.  Everything suddenly begins to happen in slow motion.  He smiles softly and I watch in awe at the turning up of his mouth.  From far away, he says something that takes me a minute to understand.

            “If you were bored, I would have gone to pick you up, you know.”

            I smile and nod.  My eyes droop again and the world disappears into the pillow at the end of the lounge.

 

MOM

 

            “You’re getting so skinny!”  My mother smiles proudly.

            “Thanks.”

            “So,” She says in a confidential best-friends manner, “what’s your secret?”

            Laxatives.

            “Nothing.  Guess I’m just eating less.”

            The smile widens, “Pretty soon, there will be nothing left!”  Joking laugh.  Great.  My mother actually loves me now that I’m an anorexic.

            You know that whole social concept about weight not mattering and how it’s the person inside that counts?  Bullshit.  If you’re thin, the world loves you.  And I hate it.  I talk my way out of taking the compliment.

            “Maybe it’s just the pants.  They’re flares.  In think they’re supposed to make you look thinner.”

            Disappointed look followed by a recovery smile. “No, I really think you’re losing a bunch of weight.”

            Yup.  Lemme go take another Correctol.

            “Well, I gotta go work on my report now.”  I hold up a bunch of books, the top one titled Gay Rights in big white letters.  There are two guys on the cover sitting in a cafי. 

            “Wait.  Before you go,” She pauses to see if I care.

            “Yeah?”  It’s not like my room is that far away.  I turn my head and look longingly down the hall at it.  She takes the point, but keeps going.

            “Are you and Jeremy...dating?”  The word sounds dirty.

            “No.” I turn to go.

            “Because it seems to me that...”

            “I mean, he’s Jeremy.  Of course not.  If you were in high school, would you date Jeremy?”

            Please shut up, please shut up.  She doesn’t.

            “Yes.  He’s a very nice boy.  I wish I had met some nice boys like him when I was in High School.”

            You mean when you were fat.  I know what you mean.  I’m fat.  I meet a nice boy.  Hang on to him.  Whatever.

            “Whatever.” I turn once more, showing her a flash of the back of HOMOSEXUALITY: Lesbians, Gays and You, and start down the hall.  But she just can’t let me go.

            “Melissa.”

            Grrr.

            “What?”

            “Do you have, maybe, eight minutes?”

            “No.  I only have seven.  I’ll talk later.”

            She winces, but chooses not to pounce at my comment.

            “Seven is fine.  We should have a talk.”

            I stay standing where I had stopped.  She looks at me.

            “I really have to do this report.”  Gay Rights makes another appearance from under my arm to emphasize my point. She ignores my pleas and walks past me into the living room.  She sits and pats the cushion next to her, her hand asking me to take a seat.

            “Come on, it’ll just take a second.”

            “I don’t have a second.”           

            “Yes you do.  Come on, sweetie.”

            I sit on an ottoman across the room from her.

            “What?”

            “Can’t you sit next to me?  What happened to my sweet Lissy who liked talking to her mommy?”

            “She was five.  She was young.  She was stupid.”

            “Lis.  Sit down next to me.”

            I don’t want an argument over seats.  I drag my feet and sit down next to her with the most possible noise.

            “What?”

            “Well, when I was your age, my mother never talked to me about anything.  I had to learn about it all on my own.  Of course, you can get hurt very easily by learning things on your own, so I thought I’d help you out by talking to you about things you may not know very much about – especially in the world outside of health class.”

            Very sneaky.  It’s a sex talk.  I try to avoid it.

            “Mom.  I know how to put a Tampon in.  In fact, I have on in right now.  I’m fine.  I swear.”  PMS.  Sarcasm.  Can’t she tell I’m not worth it?

            “You’re going to college next year,” she says sweetly, “And you’re going to get involved with people sexually.”

            I nod.  I smile.  Thanks mom.  Thanks.

 

LAUREN

 

            History.

            “I’d like all the boys on this side of the room to be the Supreme Court.” He motions to spit the room in half.  The males on my half of the room get up and move their desks to the front and haphazardly form Mr. Keyes’ imaginary Supreme Court.  The rest of the class is left as audience.  I immediately get up and move a seat back to sit near Katie and Lauren.  Jeremy, who had been sitting next to me, is already up front.

            “Lauren.” I whisper loudly at her.  She turns to look at me.

            She smiles and whispers back, “I have to tell you something.  I have issues.”

            I look at her.  I raise my eyebrows.

            Rich?

            She nods.

            Yeah.

            I smile, then turn serious again, “I have something to tell you too.”

            Now it’s her turn to raise her eyebrows and she does so knowingly.  But I can’t read her expression.

            I smile, feeling clueless. “What?”

            “How was Saturday?”

            “Fine.  That’s what I have to tell you about.”

            She raises her eyebrows again.  Same reaction.  She knows.

            “What?  You and Jeremy?”

            Yes, but how did she...

            “No.”

            “Oh.  Tell me later.”

            “You too.”

            Katie turns to look at us.

            “What’s up?”

            We look at each other.

            “Nothing.”

            “Nothing.”

            Jinx.  We smile sweetly.

            “So, Katie,” Lauren says, attempting a very smooth save, “How was Saturday?”

            “Boring.  Afterwards, we went to Dave’s house and watched Austin Powers out takes.  I fell asleep.”  She shrugs and turns back.

            I sigh.  She hadn’t noticed us on the couch.  Amazing as it is.  Then, I hear Lauren whisper at the back of my head.

            “You two hooked up.”

            Yes.

            No.

            “No.”

            I suppose it doesn’t matter if she knows.  She’s out of our “group.”  Now if Katie were to find out, that would be against the rules.

            I give her one more look before turning back around.

            Yes.

 

EMILY

 

            Male voice.

            “Is Emily there?”

            “Hold on.”  I say this in my most monotonous of voices.  It’s Chris.  I bring the phone into Emily’s room, “Em, for you.”  I hold the phone out like a dead animal.  She smiles and grabs it, greeting the male voice.

            “Hello?  Oh!” She smiles brightly. “It’s you!”  Yep, it’s him.  Get over it.  You’ve got a sign taped to your mirror that clearly states: Don’t date Chris.  Follow your own advice and get off the phone with the asshole.  She is fifteen.

            I shuffle back into the kitchen.  My mom look s up from her paperwork.

            “Chris?”  She looks at me.  I nod.

            “Yup.”

            She frowns and I sit back down to finish my soup.  She doesn’t approve.  I smirk at my bowl and she sees it.  I know and so does she.  Her boyfriends were never any better.  She can’t blame us for making bad choices.

            I look at her.  She glares.  Yeah, she knows it.  I lean back over my bowl and return to revising my report.

            I barely notice when she gets up and retrieves the school phone directory and the Bell Atlantic User’s Guide from the counter across the kitchen.

            “Christophe – not very Greek, is it?”  I look up and see her looking at the phone directory.  I look down at it.  Tsilas, Christophe.

            “Mom, I think the directory only had room for the letters up to E.  It’s Christopher.”

            “Oh.”  She runs her finger across the line to his telephone number and then opens her Bell Atlantic Users Guide.  What is she...suddenly, it clicks.

            “You’re not--”

            “Don’t tell her.”

            “I won’t tell her.  But she’s gonna figure it out.”

            “I don’t care.  She won’t know how to un-do it.”

            “Alright.  Whatever works.”  I walk out of the kitchen to staple my report.

            She calls after me. “You can tape signs to your mirror all you want, but in the end you’re gonna do what you want anyway.  Someone needs to intervene.”

            Emily is depressed.  She has been since they broke up.  Does mom know she cuts?  Maybe she has only once.  A year in counseling and she still talks to him on the phone everyday.  I probably would have blocked his number myself if my mom hadn’t already taken the initiative.

            I walk by Emily’s room again and I hear her laugh.

            Gay Rights.  Think Gay Rights. 

            I stop myself from going into her room.

 

JEREMY

           

            School parking lot.  He makes a joke. “I’m sure Saturday made up for that though.”  He laughs.  I look at him.  It’s Tuesday.

            “Uh, yeah.”  I am beyond unamused.

            “Oh, right.  We should talk about that.” We haven’t made mention of it since it happened.

            I hate being the girl. “Yeah, we probably should.”  I look at him carefully.  It’s the same friendly face that I have met every time I look.  He looks right back at me.  I put the car in park.

            “So,” He waits.  I look out the windshield and think for a moment.

            “You looked sick when I came back to write you directions.”

            “I was just tired.  It was catching up with me.  Nothing to do with you.”

            “Okay, just making sure.”

            “What did you think?”

            I hadn’t really thought about what I thought, so I pause to think.

            “You know when something happens to you, and when you think about it later, you can’t believe it really happened to you, so you keep rewinding it in your memory?”  I realize this statement sounds ditzy.

            “So it was positive?”

            I guess.  I can’t say no.

            “Yeah.”

            He nods.  “I liked it too.” Pause. “But I kinda had mixed feelings about some things.”

            Mixed is a kind word.

            “Katie was on the couch.”

            “Yeah.  Like that.”

            We sit in agreement for a moment.

            I suddenly want to suggest an idea, “Although, the idea of getting away with that in a room full of people is kind of a turn on.”

            He looks at me and almost cracks a smile as his hand slips between my legs.  “Yeah, that too.”

            I look at him.  What are we doing?  Again, that friendly face.  I can never read it.  I’m wearing gloves, so I hold off on making any sort of move.  I try to keep talking.

            “I was tired too, when I got in.  I changed and went in to watch TV with Eric.”

            “Did he notice?”

            Did he notice what?  Behavior?  I think, trying to ignore the hand.  Oh, yes, that. 

            “No, I asked him if he had heard me come in to get my keys.  He hadn’t.  He was playing a video game.  He was oblivious.  No one saw us out there.”  I’m sick and embarrassed that I chose the driveway.  I want to take that decision back.  I want to say more.  I’m panicking. I’m being awkward.  I want to leave my skin.

            The friendly face only looks relieved and the hand is all the way up my inner thigh.

            The student lot is empty.

            “I wrote something about it.  Did you want to read it?”

            He smiles, “You wrote something about it?”

            “Yeah.  It’s what I do.  I write.  It’s what I have to do.  It’s not finished yet.  I hope you don’t mind.”

            “No.”  He smiles, “Do I get part of the profits when it’s published?”

            “How about just the satisfaction of making enough of an impact on my life for me to want to include you in a story.”

            He smiles. “.01% of the profits?”

            I laugh. “Okay, fine.  Just don’t tell any of the other characters.”

            He nods and smiles, “Deal.”  I reach into the back seat, grab it out of my bag, and hold it for a second, looking at it.  I can’t believe I wrote this.  I rationalized that Toni Morrison and a lot of other great women writers have more explicit things in their books.  I’ll be fine.  Why do I feel sick?

            “It can’t be that bad...”  He tries to look over my shoulder at it.  Nervously, I hand it to him.  He takes it and it’s no longer just mine.  He begins reading and his hand moves to my crotch.

            “In the story, your character’s name is Jeremy,” I say this weakly.  I lean over to read my own words, which now look so foreign to me.

            He spent the drive home alternating his hand with mine between his legs...

            I slowly take my gloves off.  I rest my head gently on his shoulder and let it happen again.

 

MOM

           

            I hang my gym pants on the back of my kitchen chair.  They still smell like me.

            “Little surprises are nice, aren’t they?”  It’s dark in the kitchen and my mother is cleaning the stove.  I hadn’t realized how old she has gotten until right now.  She used to be the most beautiful person in the world.

            “Yeah.”  I’m running my hands along my gym pants because I had forgotten how nice they feel.

            “You should have invited Katie in, you know.”

            “She had to get home and do homework.  She has other stuff to do.”

            Stuff.

            “Oh right.  And you wanted to go to bed.”

            “Yeah.  But it was nice of her to stop over for a sec.”  She came to return my gym pants.

            “Little surprises are nice.”

            “They are.”

            She re-folds the dishcloth. “If we take Emily’s friends skiing on Saturday, you may have to drive up behind us.  We need your car to put the skis in.”

            “That’s fine.”  Everything is experience.

            “Or I could ask Mike to come and you could ride up with him.”  That works too. “You like Mike, right?”  Yeah, I do.  I nod.  Like Mike.  Drink Gatorade.

            She’s always asking me if I like him cos she knows I do.  Right now, they are “just friends.”  I like Mike enough to hope that he avoids becoming a boyfriend.

            “Whatever works out best for everyone.”  I say this.  Truthfully, my mind’s made up.  Driving up with Mike would be fun.

            I wander out of the kitchen and into the basement.  I put some wet clothing into the dryer and walk back up into the dark kitchen.  I almost walk out, but stop by the TV.  There’s a pile of my mom’s mail on the counter.

            Dear Insured: Our Plan Administrator has recently completed an audit of your Financial Institution’s Accidental Death and Dismemberment Insurance Plan.

            Death and Dismemberment.  I picture an unsuspecting office employee being decapitated by a pencil sharpener gone haywire.  What a fun thing to get in the mail.  I can’t wait until I’m old so I can get mail like this.  I want to say something witty about the letter, but she says something first.

            “I called a couple of times this afternoon– no one picked up and the phone kept on ringing.”

            I knew it was you.  I ignored the Call Waiting.

            “I’m sorry.  The phone got left off the hook.”  All wit killed, I turn away from the stack of mail to look at her.  The dishcloth she is wiping the stove with is faded.  It used to be blue.

            “I really wanted to get through.”  You always want to get through.  Can’t leave us alone.

            “Yeah.”  I want to go out the door and return to my bedroom, but I keep watching her.

            “You know the reason I wanted to get through...” She starts her statement and then stops it to wipe the handle of the coffeepot.  None of us drink coffee and I don’t want to know her reason for wanting to get through.  Mike drinks coffee.  I wait for her to finish.

            “The reason I wanted to get through was because I wanted to tell you how much I’m going to miss you in the next year.”

            And how much you feel like you’ve missed us growing up.

            “And how I really feel like I missed out on you growing up.”

            The reason I waited so long to have kids was so I could stay home and take care of them.

            “The reason I waited so long to have my babies was so I could stay home with them and take care of them.”

            And now you’re going away and I haven’t been able to do that.

            “And you’re going to college in the fall and I’ve never had a chance to do that with you.”

            I just wish things could have been different.

            “I don’t think you know how much I wish that things could have been different.”

            And how much I wish your father hadn’t taken that away from me.

            She says nothing.

            Bastard.

            She puts the dishcloth under the faucet and wets it again.  It bothers me that it’s so faded.

            “Yeah.”  I say softly. “I know.” I walk out of the room and don’t wait for her to blame him.

 

JEREMY

 

            “Yeah, something did bother me.”

            Monday evening.  My house.  I wait for him to continue.

            “Do you really think you need to take laxatives?”

            Why does everyone pick on the laxatives?

            I raise my eyebrows and look at him.

            “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

            I don’t.  But I do it anyway.

            “I do it because starvation, bulimia and caffeine pills didn’t work.”  There.  It’s out.

            “You mean you’ve tried other methods?”

            I nod. “My mom has had me on diets since I was nine.  It’s kind of ingrained in my nature.  I’m ugly.”  I shrug.  I’m serious.

            “No,” He suddenly looks frustrated.  “Lis – I would never kiss an ugly girl. I don’t think I could do it.” He’s serious too.

            “I guess I know I’m not.  I just feel that way.”  I try to smile.

            Contradictions.  I wasn’t fishing for compliments.

            I wonder why I’m subjecting myself to this.  No secrets for Melissa.  I want to go back to Sunday and ignore the impulse to write.

            I sigh and focus the conversation.  His opinion is most important. “I was really just asking about the parts with you in it.  Did any of that upset you?”

            “Oh.  No, I think it’s pretty accurate...of course, there’s a lot more to me.”

            “I know.  Well, there’s more to me too.  But I’m not going to write anymore details about our...”  I pause, not wanting to say thing, “...relationship.”

            He nods again.  He seems relieved.  I continue.

            “It’s not necessary.  I just needed it for the beginning.”

            His expression changes and he laughs. “You mean you used me?”  I laugh too.

            “God, no.  That’s why I’m not writing about it anymore.”

            In some ways, I regret having let him read it.  I don’t want to hurt his feelings by showing him only parts of my own.

            “I suppose I’d have to read it again.  I didn’t really pay attention the first time.”

            He says this with a smile and I smile too.

            “Understandable.”  At least it seems we’re comfortable with the thing now.

            With that, there is nothing more to say and I look at him.  He says nothing.  We lean in and kiss.  Then, something brings us back apart and he gets up from the bed.

            “I guess I can’t just hang out at Melissa’s anymore.”  He wanders a few feet away to look at a picture frame.

            Something twinges in my heart.  I suddenly want to take it all back.  I feel briefly panicked.

            “Well, maybe we could stop?”  It’s a pointless suggestion.  I’m suddenly confused as to why I’ve even said it.

            He looks up from the picture and over at me. “I don’t think so.”

            “I don’t want this to keep us from hanging out, though.  I like being around you.”

            He walks back over to me. “Lis!  We’re best friends!  The thing is just a thing.”

            I smile weakly.  “Yeah, I know.  I just – got worried.  Sorry.”

            He laughs.

 

LAUREN

 

I am drama queen.  Lauren isn’t listening.

            “I think I’m getting an ulcer.”

            “Lis, I can’t put this down.”

            “My life – the marking period ended, you know.  I’m going to die.”

            “This is really good.”

            I stop and look at her.

            “What?”

            She stops too and nods slightly, waving the sheets of white. “This.”

            I look at her. “The story?”

            “Yeah.  Is this real?  I know it is.”

            “Parts of it.” I lie. “I take parts of my life and add it to fiction.”

            “Yeah, I noticed.  I mean, Dad’s girlfriend’s son?  Come on, you put him in everything.”

            I smile.  “He’s a good topic.  He’s allowed.  Plus, this time I’m keeping it real.”

            She laughs. “Whatever.  Who’s Jeremy?”

            “No-one.”  It’s 8:30 on Monday night.  Two hours ago, No-one was on my bed.  Now Lauren is.

            “Oh, come on!  Who is he?”  She nudges me.

            I look at her, half cracking a smile.  I can’t believe she didn’t figure it out.  Maybe she’s in denial.  She doesn’t really need to know who he is.  He’s No-one.

            “No-one!”  I say this with a smile. “He’s the fiction part.  This didn’t really happened.  I got the name from the Pearl Jam song.”  She loves Pearl Jam.

            “Okay, okay!”  She drops it and goes on. “Lauren and Katie – who are they?”

            “The names I got from two girls where I work.  Lauren and Katie.  I like Lauren.  I--” I think Katie is a bitch.  But I pick my words carefully. “I tend to get annoyed by Katie.”

            She smiles.  I add, “You’re Lauren, actually.  Her character.” I hold my hands out as if demonstrating the obvious. “You.”

            She smiles. “Oh, and Katie– they were doing it on the couch.  That’s so bad.  You’re so bad.  That is so something that would actually happen.”

            I smile and smooth the comforter.  I remind myself to be objective.  It’s not me. “I thought putting that in would make it pretty interesting.  I tried to make it real.”

            Real. I look around.  I smell him.  I think it’s my sweatshirt.  Maybe I’m paranoid.

            “It is, it is!  It so is!  I like, love this story.  Can I have a copy?”

            “Yeah, you can keep that one.” I smell him when I’m in English class too.  I must be paranoid.  I hold my sleeve up to my nose and sniff it.  It always smells like him.  Even after I wash it.

            “I want to show this to Meg.  Is that okay?  I’m always talking about you to her.”

            She really likes it.  I can tell.  That makes me happy.  Does she smell him?  I must really be losing it.  Maybe my mom changed detergents.

            “Yeah, I’d be honored to have Meg read it.  Please do.”  I smile.

            Then, I take my sweatshirt off.

 

JEREMY

 

            English room.  After school.

            “I haven’t look at it for a week.”

            In story-land, a week is a long time.  But even after a long time, sometimes, things don’t change much.  I ended up inviting Jeremy to go skiing.  We drove up separately from my mom, Em and her friends.  We skied.  We drove home.  We had fun.  Nothing happened.  Nor did I want it to.

            “Maybe I need a new character.”

            “You could write about the restaurant on Saturday night.”

            “Yeah – character interaction.  I thought that would be good, too.  Jeremy and Lauren talking about the story.  Problem is, nothing that you guys said was really that interesting.  It was all like, ‘Yeah, I like it, do you?’, ‘Yeah. It’s good.’” Jeremy nods. “And anyway, it’s Wednesday.  I was tired after skiing and I don’t remember Saturday night that well.”

            “Make it up.”

            “Not when everything else is real.”

            “So now what?”

            “Kim says I should create a lesbian character.”

            “Are you a lesbian?”

            “No.  But you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

            Guys and lesbians.  He shrugs and smiles. “Makes things interesting.”

            Interesting. “Maybe that’s why Melissa was carrying the Gay Rights books.”

            Finding symbolism in my own life.  Creepy.

            He watches my expression with a smile on his face. “Was that the reason Melissa was carrying Gay Rights books?”

            I laugh. “No.  I just happened to be carrying Gay Rights books when it happened.”

            “Oh.” Mock disappointment.  He smiles.

            “I’ll get you in on it if there’s some lesbian action, I promise.”

            His smile widens.  I laugh.

            “Lauren says I need another guy.  I don’t want another guy though, unless it’s Melissa’s dad.  Otherwise, she really will look like a slut.  Which I’m not.”

            I even confuse myself sometimes.

            “No.  You’re not.” He nods thoughtfully.  I continue.

            “Problem with this method of writing is that if my life’s not interesting, I can’t write my story.”  I laugh. “I have to actually go out and do things now!”

            He nods again.

            “Although, I really can’t, cos then it will all look planned and it’s supposed to be slice-of-life.”  I stop.  I’m blabbering.  I’m boring myself.

            “Oh, did I tell you?  My dad thought I had a hangover Sunday morning.”

            Jeremy out drinking.  With me.  I laugh.  It’s a funny thought.

            “Oh yeah.  Out all night drinking with Lissa.”

            “He didn’t know I was out with you.  He just knew I didn’t wake up until twelve-thirty!  That, and my clothes smelled like smoke.  I went to put them on this morning and I was like, what’s that smell?  I realized it was my pants.”

            “Well, it was a bar.  What did you expect?  Anyway, didn’t your dad know you were skiing all day?  One would assume you’d be tired.”

            “Probably.  I don’t know.  Waking up at twelve-thirty isn’t too unusual for me.  My waking up at twelve-thirty in a daze with red, swollen eyes and smokey clothing is somewhat unusual.  He always thinks I’m out drinking.”

            I think for a moment.

            “I woke up with a hang-over once.”

            The room is suddenly silent.  I look around with a self-aware smile.  English teacher acknowledges private conversation and I wait for her to ignore us again.  I laugh slightly and white noise returns.

            “As I was saying, yeah, I did it just once.  Never again.”

            He nods. “When was this?”

            “With Jess.  We were at a concert.”

            “How much did you drink?”

            Does it matter?

            “It doesn’t really matter.  Point is, waking up is nasty.” 

            “No, I’d really like to know.”

            “I know you’d like to know.”

            “What, was it like, three or four?”

            “It doesn’t matter!”  I know I’m not going to escape spilling.  I prolong it anyway.

            “But I want to know!”

            “We were at a concert and Jess sees this older guy she thinks is hot.  I’m not myself and I go up to him and ask him for a sip of his drink.  He says fine.  He buys us some.  We both end up a little off.”

            Conspiratorial smile. “So how much?”

            Numbers.

            “Total?”

            “Total.”

            I don’t even remember.

            “I don’t remember.”  I say this with a smile.  Mistake.

            “Yes you do!”

            Now I feel like I’d disappoint him if I don’t.  I estimate.          

            “Three.  Plus, I had some sips from a few other guys’.”

            Upon reflection, little Date Rape Pill warning signs go off in my head.

            “Whoa, Lis!”

            “On top of that, my mom picked us up.  We were sitting in the back-seat looking at each other trying not to laugh.  No one really knew about that ‘cept Jess.  Congrats for you.”

            “Thanks.”

 

            Twenty minutes later, I drive him to his car in the student lot.

            “You look tired.” I smile slightly.

            “I am.” He kisses the palm of his hand and taps my cheek lightly. “I should go home and sleep.”

            “Yeah.”  I agree.

            He kisses the palm of his hand and taps my cheek again.  I smile.

            “Thanks.  Now get home.”

            He unbuckles his seatbelt and sits there for a second.  I watch him.

            “Follow me home?”

            I was going to anyway.  He passed out in the middle of our conversation five minutes ago.

            “Of course.  If you swerve off the road and cause and accident, I’ll be right behind you to paste myself to your bumper.”  I smile softly.

            He nods.  He kisses the palm of his hand and taps my cheek.  I laugh.

            “How many times are you going to do that?”

            He shakes his head. “I should get home.”  He gets out of the car and shuts the passenger side door.  He starts getting into his car and then walks back tom y car and opens the door to the back seat.

            “Forgot my bag.”

            He crawls across the backseat and grabs his bag from behind me.  He stops on his crawl backwards to look at me.  I smile and kiss him quickly and lightly.  A friend kiss.

            “Now get home.  Go to sleep.” Take care of yourself.  I care.

            He smiles.  He leans through to the front seat.  We kiss again.  And again.  My foot is still on the brake and my seatbelt is still on.  A hand is down my shirt and I don’t care.

            “Maybe I’ll just sleep here.”

            “If you want.”

            I’m not sure what I mean.

            Nothing really changes.  I decide not to write tonight.

                                                                                                           

THE GIRLS IN THE BATHROOM

           

            Ninth-period statistics class.

            Her blue eye-shadow is bothering me.  I decide to say something.

            “You have pretty eyes.”

            Except for that god-damned eye-shadow.  It’s cookie-monster blue.  And she put it on heavy.

            She smiles. “Thanks.  They change color.”

            So do mine.  But I’m not wearing ground Muppet.

            “Yeah.  Mine do that sometimes too.  Depends on the color I’m wearing.”

            She pulls at her magenta fleece vest.

            “Pink usually makes mine look more blue.”

            What possessed you to buy a magenta fleece?

            “Oh, I like that!” I say enthusiastically. “Where’d you buy it?”  Like hell, I’m interested.

            She smiles, happy someone approves of her trendy purchase.

            “Old Navy.  That’s, like, my favorite store.”

            Oh, yay.  They shouldn’t allow you to purchase such a hideous garment.  You’re too ugly to pull it off.

            Fake smile.  Thanks for the advice. “Wow.  Maybe I should take a look in there.  I never go in there.” For reasons now made especially obvious to me.

            “Oh!  You should!  It’s so cheap!”  I can tell.

            I smile amiably and look back down at my desk.  She stays turned to face me.  Don’t you have some statistics to learn, woman?  Turn around in your seat!  But Ms. Daniels is too absorbed in her TI-83 to ask her to leave me alone.

            “Oh my god, Lis, you have to hear this.”    

            No, I don’t.  I lean in to listen like a good female.  Gossip, baby.

            “Kay.”

            “You know how I left for the bathroom before?” Yeah.  In fact, go do it again, please.

            I nod. “Yeah.”

            “Well, I go in and there are all these sophomore girls in the bathroom.  Two outside and two in the handicapped stall.”

            Oh, Christine, two to a stall!  You’ve uncovered the school’s underground lesbian ring!  I’ve got to leave!  Jeremy needs to know!

            I really don’t need to hear about this.

            “That’s weird.” I say this with a mildly concerned expression to match hers.

            “Yeah, and, like, the other stall was broken, so I had to wait for them and they were taking forever.”

            I nod slowly.  Okay.  You may continue.

            “And two of their friends were outside with me.  And they were fixing their hair in the mirror.”

            Unnecessary details.  You’re wasting air.  Get to the gratuitous sex part.  I try not to sigh in boredom.

            “And they were taking so long!” You already said that. “So finally, I was alike, ‘Hey, I have to use the bathroom!’ because, you know, I had to.” Duh. “And their friends were like, ‘Come on guys, you’re taking too long.  Let’s go!’” Observant little lesbians, aren’t they? “So they finally came out.”  Smoking cigarettes?  She puts her hand on mine and suddenly looks as if she is about to inform me of the apocalypse. “They were in there throwing up.”  Oh God, no!  Not bulimia!  I nod casually.

            I say: “It happens.”  Because it does.

            “But Lis, that’s disgusting!”

            “How else do you think they stay so thin?”

            Thin.  Maybe you should try it.

            “Well, I don’t know.  But why did they need two to a stall?”

            Didn’t you ever see Heathers?

            “To hold each-other’s hair back?”  I mean to say this as a guess, but the question mark gets lost in my attempt to seem unfazed.  She takes it ask if I’m stating a fact.

            “I can’t believe that!”  You just witnessed it.  Believe it.  I shrug.

            “Welcome to High School.”

            Some people shouldn’t be allowed out of the house.

 

KATIE

 

            History.

            Someone is whispering.

            “Lissa!”

            I turn around to look.

            Lauren.

            What?

            She mouths something and points to Katie.

            I can’t understand her.  I furrow my eyebrows.

            What??

            She smiles and mouths more slowly, pointing to Katie again.

            She’s pissing me off.  She’s so snobby!

            I nod and smile.  I get it.

            I point to myself.

            I agree.

            Then, I point to Jeremy.

            So does he.

            We smile at each other.  Katie looks up from between us.  She smiles uncomfortably.

            “What?” she looks at both of us.  We smile and I turn back up front.  I hear her behind me. “What’s going on?”

            Jeremy looks at me, Katie and then Lauren and shakes his head.

            Shut up.

            I look down at my notebook and realize I’ve completely lost the lecture.  I decide to inform Jeremy of the recent events.  I rip a piece of paper from my notebook and write:

            “She’s pissing me of.  She’s so snobby!” - Lauren

            I sign it M.  I fold it and toss it on Jeremy’s desk.  I look forward again trying to pick up on what is being said.  I hear a laugh next to me.  Fuck it.  I look at Jeremy and smile.  He points to the note with a grin.

            She said this?

            I nod.

            He holds his hands out briefly.

            When?

            I point backwards at her.

            Just now.

            Lauren has been watching.  He turns and points to the note, nods, then gives Lauren a thumbs up.  She smiles.  He leans back so he’s not talking directly through Katie.  He whispers.

            “I think so too.”

            I suddenly see what is unfolding.  I look at Lauren.  I look at Jeremy.  I grin. “This is too good.”  They look at me. I pull my pen cap off and write KATIE in my notebook.  Jeremy raises his eyebrows and smiles.  “Lauren.  Bitch and destroyer of writer’s block.”  Lauren gives me a thumbs up.

            Katie looks up again.  Conspiracy in History class.  She holds up her hands.

            WHAT IS GOING ON?

            We turn forward.

            Hah.

 

MOM

 

            “I think we need to talk.”

            Again.

            I’m already out of the room when she says that.  The dishwasher is going in the kitchen.  Maybe I didn’t hear her.  I close my bedroom door.  She opens it.

            “The best way to get a retreat from my children.”  She laughs.

            Ha, fucking, Ha, bitch.

            “What?” I was innocently walking away when your voice was drowned out by the dishwasher, I swear.

            “I said, we need to talk.”

            Fuck.  Report Card. “Oh?”

            “Yeah.  Why don’t you come into my bedroom?”

            Double fuck.  I’ve avoided her successfully for forty-eight hours and now I’m trapped.

            “Okay.”  I try to reply as innocently as possible.  Ds?  What Ds?

            I follow her into the bedroom and sit down on the Laz-E-Boy just because she offers me a spot on the bed next to her.  I fold my legs under me and start braiding my hair.

            “Will you look at me?”

            “What?” I look at her through several sections of hair.

            “Stop doing that.”

            “Kay.” I leave the hair in front of my face.

            “Be rational.”

            I shrug.  What?

            “What?”

            She shakes her head.

            “What’s been going on with you and Katie?”

            I’m suddenly very relieved and I move the hair out of my face.  Stuff.  Lots of stuff.

            “She’s been kinda nasty to everyone lately.”

            “Oh?”

            “Yeah.”

            “Does this have anything to do with how much time you’ve been spending with Jeremy lately?”

            What time?  It hasn’t been that much time– has it?

            “No.”

            “They did used to go out, didn’t they?”

            “Yeah.”

            “And when did they break up?”

            “I dunno...October?”

            “Oh.  Because you know, she has been a very good friend to you for so long, I’d hate to see you loose her.”

            Yeah, me too.  But the person I’m friends with seems to be missing.

            “She’s been really different lately.  She’s been nasty to everyone and just sort of ignoring me.”

            “Are you sure it isn’t you?”

            “Believe me, mom.”

            “Maybe you should talk to her.”

            I don’t know how.

            “A few people have already tried.”

            “And?”

            And nothing.

            “And she was better for a few days.  Then, she was nasty again.”

            “Oh.  Are you sure this has nothing to do with Jeremy?”

            “She was my best friend, she was Jeremy’s best friend.  Suddenly, she wasn’t anymore and we had no one.  It was sort of a result of her actions.”

            She nods.

            “I was kinda dependent on her for everything.” I really was. “And I recognize that wasn’t healthy, but there was nothing I knew to do about it.” Helpless. “I thought it was just me she was ignoring, but Lisa’s been friends with her since kindergarten and she’s ignoring Lisa too.”

            I pause to find my direction. “It all started around the time she and Jeremy broke up.  She had no reason for breaking up with him–“

            I sigh.  I don’t really want to tell this story.  As many times as I’ve asked Katie for her side, she hasn’t said a word about her reasons.  “Stupid stuff.  She told him that it was because he wasn’t acting like a real boyfriend.”

            Stupid stuff.

            My mom nods.  I’m boring myself. “The point is – we started hanging out after she started ignoring us.”

            “Shouldn’t you talk to her about that yourself?  She’s been a good friend to you.  She deserves the same.” I nod thoughtfully.

            “When they were going out, she told Jeremy that she didn’t want to tell me anything cos she thinks I have enough of my own problems.” You’re one of them.  I sit in my own uncomfortable silence for a moment.

            “You know, Lis, guys can come and go in life, but friends like Katie are friends you’ll have for the rest of your life.  You really should try and see what’s wrong.”

            I sigh.  She doesn’t understand.  She’s too focused on Jeremy.  He has nothing to do with this.

            “I know mom.  We’re just growing apart, I guess.  It happens.”

            I suddenly want to call her.

            My mom looks as if she’s taking all I have said into consideration and I’m finally getting relaxed.

            “So what do you have to say about your report card?”

            Ambushed.

 

DAD

 

            The joys of report cards.  My mom just tried her quarter-annual report-card talk.  I pull into my dad’s driveway.  I didn’t pack anything for the weekend and I leave my books in the car.  Last time she tried to give her report card talk, I ran away for two days.  This time, I’m not planning on scaring anyone.  I go inside.

            “Hello –“ I look around for signs of human life as I walk in.

            Dad is on the phone and sees me. “Oh!” He says and then cuts himself short.  I put a finger to my mouth and he nods.

            Who is it?

            He takes the receiver away from his face and mouths Mom.

            I nod and make a cutting motion with my hand.  I’m not here.  As far as she is concerned, I’m never anywhere.  He nods and keeps talking.  I can hear her yelling through the phone.  His side is only a series of “Okay’s.”  I’m assuming she’s upset.  If she’s upset, it’s because of me.

            He hangs up.  We don’t talk about their conversation.

            “How was your week?”

            “Mom tried to talk about my report card.” He nods.

            “How’d you do?” He looks worried.  I hate disappointing him.

            “Not well.”

            “Okay.”  He’s not sure what else to say.

            “I have a bad habit of cutting second marking period.  Happens every year.  Doesn’t help my grades, really.”

            He nods.  At least I’m being honest.

            “Is this going to affect college?”

            “They only get my final transcript.  I just better work my ass off the next two marking periods.”

            “Why do you think you do this?”

            I have to defend myself again.  There is no defense, really.  I just don’t care sometimes.

            “I don’t know.  I care, but sometimes, I stop caring.”

            He nods.  He’s not perfect either.

            “Mom said I should go get counseling for that.  I asked her if she cared all the time when she was in high school.  She said she was in the top ten-percent of her class.”  She really said that.

            He smiles. “Yeah, but was she?”

            Good question.  I laugh slightly. “I dunno.  Last marking period, she said she barely graduated.”  She really said that, too.

            He shakes his head. “Whatever is convenient for her.”

            “She tried to give me a pep-talk.  I don’t need a pep-talk.  I’m just getting tired of high school.  She tried to tell me how she worked her ass off to get her degree the last four years and how she’s at the top of her class and all that.  I don’t need that.  If I were forty-six, I’d be at the top, too.  And I’m not forty-six.”

            “No, you’re not.”

            Good thing, too.

            “She’s had forty-six years to learn things.  Let me make mistakes.”

            “Well, hopefully not too many mistakes.”

            “Right.”  He is right, after all.  “It’s not like I don’t care.  I get really upset when I don’t do well.”  I really do. “But I slack off anyway.” I do that, too. “So I’m not sure what that means.” Who would be?

            My dad shrugs.  He doesn’t know.  And that’s the end.

            We won’t talk about this again until I need to.  Probably next marking period.

            He acknowledges the end by smiling.

            “It’s nice to see you, sweetheart.”

            I love him.

            Especially since he loves me.

            I smile too.

 

 

CHARLES

 

            American Beauty, fourth time around.  It’s eleven o’clock at night and I’m ready to get home.

            Charles looks at me.  I don’t look back.  I’m flooring it up the on-ramp.

            “Don’t you think you’re going a little fast?”

            “No.” 55...60...

            “Oh.”

            Merging...

            “I don’t think Jeremy likes talking to me anymore.”

            I nod. “What makes you think that?”

            “Now, he only calls me for school-work.”

            Hmm.  Big hint.

            “I think he’s tired of talking about computer games.”

            “But I like games!”

            “Do you ever talk to anyone about anything other than computers?”

            “No.”

            “What about me?”

            “Well, you’re different.  We talk about life.”

            “And you can’t do that with other people?”

            “The guy who writes Dilbert, Scott Adams,” He pauses and I want to bash my head on the steering wheel.  Fucking Dilbert.  He continues after a moment of silence.  “He says that engineers say what is needed and nothing more.  We don’t like chit-chat.” You’re not an engineer, you’re a senior in high school.  Get over it.

            “So you get pissed off when you talk to me?” Mock-insult.

            “No.  Like I said, you’re different.”

            “You gotta learn to talk to other people like you talk to me.”

            “Maybe I don’t want to.”

            “Okay, fine.”   

            I laugh.  He makes me laugh. “Alright.” Ice is broken.

            “You know,” He pauses, “I thought Jeremy was going to ask you out.”

            I smile at this. “Really?  Why would you think something like that?”

            “I dunno.  He’s always looking for you.  It’s just something I noticed.”  He’s a quick one.

            “Oh.  Yeah, I guess we’re spending some time together.  We’re not gonna go out, though.  Geeze!  What made you bring that up?” I can’t help but laugh.

            “I don’t know anything about relationships. I was just kinda curious how you would respond.”

            I laugh even harder. “What a question!  Don’t worry.  I don’t know anything about them either.  Never had one in my life.”

            He smiles. “Well, that’s different.”

            “What?  For me? Nah.  No one’s ever asked me out.  Simple as that.”

            “Me neither.”

            “I know – you gotta learn to talk about more than just computers.”

            “Ev likes computers.” Ev is his love.  She lives in Taiwan.

            “Yeah, but what’s that to base a relationship on?  Huh?” I’m still laughing periodically.

            “I dunno.  I’d do anything for her.”

            “Yeah, but that’s a sad existence.  We need to find you someone.”

            “We?”

            “Yeah, we.  We’ll get you a nice girl to settle down with.”  I’m still giggling.  I’m finding myself deliriously funny.

            “Ev is nice.”  His suggestion.  I laugh even harder.  Not at him.  I’m just laughing at this point.

            “Pomona is nice this time of year.”  That’s where Ev is applying to college.  Damn, I’m funny.

            “I know, I know.”

            “Go after her!”

            “I would but--”

            “Come on!  Throw caution to the wind!  Pomona has very nice wind.”

            He sighs, laughing, but frustrated.  I turn on my blinker to get off the highway.  Time to go home.  It gets quiet.

            “You could go out with someone if you wanted.”  He’s talking about Jeremy.  He’s talking about Eric.  He might even be talking about himself.  I play dumb.

            “Who?  John?  Yeah, but I’d never ask him out.”  John’s cute.  I don’t know much else about him.  He’s my token crush.

            He shakes his head. “I’ll do it for you!”

            “Will you?  Really?” Three-quarters of me would love this.  I could eliminate all this Jeremy stuff in one fell swoop.  And I’d be a heck of a lot less confused.

            “Yeah.  I see him sometimes.”

            “Do it.” I’m serious for the moment.

            “Okay.”

            “Good.”

            I start laughing again. “Or just tell him I’d fuck him.”

            He buries his head in his hands.  I’m too much.

            “So is that what you think about in school all day?”

            I stop laughing. “No.  There’s a lot of stuff I do think about – sex isn’t really one of them.”  I pause, wanting to tread lightly. “Why, what do you think about?”

            “Well...” He stops.

            “Ev?”

            “Yeah, of course.”

            Of course.

            “All the time?”

            “Yeah.” He smiles. I can feel it.  I don’t even have to look at him. “But I didn’t tell you what I think about.”

            Oh god.  I almost swerve into a mailbox.  I know what he’s going to say.  I just pray he doesn’t say it.

            “What?”

            “Her tying me to my bed.”

            Goodbye, mailbox.  I slam on the brakes.  He’s laughing.

            “I didn’t need to hear that.”

            He’s still laughing.  We’re stopped in the middle of the street.

            “Did I surprise you?”

            No, actually. “No.  I kind of expected it.”  You horny little geek-boy.  Jesus!

            “Then why’d you stop like that?

            “I didn’t want to hit a mailbox.” I say this with what I’m sure is some sort of bizarre grin.

            He’s laughing harder.  I ease on the gas again.  We’re both laughing, and I’m shaking my head.  Good lord, what a weird conversation.

            After that, there’s little to say and despite my occasional “Oh God...” upon the realization of what has been said, and some momentary laughter, there is silence.

            I pull into his driveway and he looks at me.

            I sigh.  There’s a million things I want to say to an unbiased ear.

            “I don’t like Jeremy.” Now there’s a weird one.

            Charles gives a short laugh. “What?  So you love him?”

            I shake my head. “No.  I like him as a friend.  I don’t like him, though.”

            He nods. “Do you think he feels the same?”

            “Yeah.  I’m pretty sure of it.”

            So why do we keep hooking up?  I don’t say that.

            “Okay – I don’t know what to say to that?”

            “You’re not supposed to. I didn’t finish my thought.” So why do we keep hooking up?

            “Okay.  What was the rest of your thought?” So why do we keep hooking up?

            “I dunno if I want to finish it.” So why do we keep hooking up?

            “If you want to finish it, go ahead.” So why do we keep hooking up?

            “No.  I don’t think I do.” Silence.  He looks like he expects something.  If it were Jeremy, this would be the point that we’d –

            “Goodnight.” I hear myself say this abruptly.  Get out.  Before I mistake you for someone else.

            He nods and looks as if he feels his evening isn’t complete. “This is when I get out now, huh?”

            “Uh...yeah.  We’re at your house.” I suddenly feel badly that I’m being so abrupt.  “Do you want me to call?”

            “Tonight?”

            “Yeah, sure.  I have to wait up for Em to call anyway.  She’s at a party and I have to pick her up at around one.  Might as well spend my time constructively.”

            He shakes his head. “No.  Maybe later this week.”

            I nod. “Sure.” Now it’s me that feels rejected. “Sure.”

            “I’ll talk to you later.” He doesn’t get out of the car.  He just looks at me.  So why do we keep hooking up?

            “Goodnight.”

            He gets out of the car and slams the door.

            So why do we keep–

            He walks up to his front door and I pull away.

            You whore.

 

FEEDBACK

“But I want to put you in.”

            He shakes his head

            “Oh, come on.  I’ll just use your name.  I have a feedback section and the person is nameless.  You don’t even have to say anything important. It’s already been said for you.”

            “No, it’s okay.”

            “No, really, it’s not a problem.”

            “Don’t worry about it.”

            I nod. Alright, alright.

            “Eric’s coming home this weekend.” I volunteer this because it makes me happy.

            He shakes his head again. “Then I suppose you’ll be busy on Friday.”

            “Not ‘til later.  I got a new rug for my room.  I wouldn’t protest too violently if I had company picking it up.”

            He shrugs. “It’s something to do.”

            “Yeah.  But I want to be back by seven.  ETA is eight o’clock sharp.”

            “Ah.  Okay.  Right. Er-ic.” He smiles.

            “Shut up!” I hit him lightly. “You just wish you were as perfect.”

            “Uh-huh.”

            I shake my head. “Shut up.”

            “I didn’t say anything!”

            “I know.  You were going to though.”

            He smiles “And how do you know what that was?”

            “I just know.  I have a keen sense of...knowing...stuff...”

            “Uh-huh, right.  You wish.”

            “Shut up!”

            “Okay, okay!  I understand.  I won’t say anything more.”

            “Shut up, you know I’m kidding.”

            “You better be careful, or else people are gonna stop talking to you and you’re gonna wonder why.”

            The only reply I seem to have for this is: “Shut up!”

            I’m frustrated and we laugh.

            And then we don’t say anything.  We’re walking.  On grass.  Across the municipal soccer field.  Towards town.  I’m happy. 

            Eric. “Have you ever been in love?”  I love Eric.

            “Shut up!”

            I’m never living that down,“No, I’m serious.”

            “Okay.  I don’t know then.  I think I was.”

            “Cos I was just wondering.”

            “Why?”

            “I thought maybe you might know how to tell.”

            “What?”

            “If something is love.”

            “I might.  How long?”

            “Six years?”

            He nods. “You’re in love.” He says this with authority.

            “You sure?  How do you know?”

            “Are you stupid?”

            “Well, I thought maybe it was just a really long crush.”

            “No.  Crushes don’t last that long.”

            “Oh.  Okay.”

            “Does he know?”

            “No.”

            “Are you stupid?”

            “Shut up!

           

MOM

 

            ERIC.

            I’m picking at a slice of pizza.

            I’m also sitting at a kitchen table.

            Then, my mom walks in.  I close the file I’m working in and look at her.

            “What?”

            She stands in the doorway and looks at me.

            “What?” I repeat this.

            “Oh, I don’t know.  I’m just looking at you. You’re so pretty sometimes.”

            Sometimes.

            “Uh...yeah.  I’m gonna go back to work.”

            “You don’t realize how pretty you are, do you?”

            “No, guess not.” I’m short in my answers.  I’m slightly annoyed.  I hate interruptions when I’m composing.

            “What are you working on?”

            “Essay.  For English.  We have to write a Science fiction story.” What I should really be working on.  I add: “ Pain in the ass.  Don’t want to ruin my concentration.”

            “Okay.  I’ll just watch you work”

            Nooo...It doesn’t work that way.

            “Mom...”

            She looks at me. “Have you seen your face lately?”

            “Mommm....”

            “No, really.  It looks terrible...You know, you can take medication for bad acne like you have.”

            “Mom, I don’t have bad acne.  It’s just a breakout.”

            “I know, but you get pimples a lot.”

            “Mom, I’m a teenager.”

            “And you don’t want to take birth control pills for it or anything.”

            “MOM.” I almost shout this.

            I do have to admit, my skin has been bad.

            “Have you still been taking those laxatives?”

            “Only sometimes.”

            Three times a day.

            “You know, those things dehydrate you.  It can really ruin your skin.”

            “I don’t think that’s the problem.  It’s just a breakout.”

            I sigh.  I don’t want to deal with this.  I need them.  To loose weight.

            She sighs too. “All right...”

            I raise my eyebrows and go back to pretending to write a science fiction story.  She continues to stand there.

            “May I help you?”

            “Were there any calls for me while I was out?”

            “Jon called for Emily three times, but other than that, no calls.”

            Jon is Chris’ replacement.  He calls five times a day.  Really.  Emily is glad to be going out with him because he had no friends and now he has one.  Really.

            She sighs and looks up at the ceiling.

            “You know, I don’t want to date Ethan.”

            What happened to Mike?

            I don’t ask this. “Um...who’s Ethan, mom?”

            “You know, Ethan.  From the bike club.”

            “Oh.” I still don’t know who Ethan is. “Then don’t go out with him.”

            “Yeah, I guess.  It’s just – I don’t want to date anyone right now.”

            “Then don’t.”  Duh.

            “But if I don’t date someone, I may never go out with anyone again.”

            Huh?

            “Okay then, fine.  Date him.”

            “I don’t know.”

            “Mom, if you don’t want to do something, then don’t do it.  It doesn’t make sense.  No one is holding a gun to your head and telling you to date people.”

            She looks at me and back up at the ceiling and I can tell she didn’t listen to a word I just said.  I don’t think the idea ever occurred to her, and now that I’ve mentioned it, she’s probably written it off as immature.

            “I don’t know...” She wanders back out into the hall.  She looks lost.

            I go back to my story.  The phone rings.  Sick of interruptions, I ignore it.  Emily is at track practice and my mom is still lost.  The answering machine decides to intervene.

            “Emily, It’s Jon...”

            The closest large object to me is Nellie Bly’s biography.  I throw it at the door in the hopes that it will shut.  When it does nothing but fall sadly short of the door, I get up and close it myself and move my night table in front of it.

            Where are...Earplugs...Earplugs.

            “So how’s life?”

            Eric.

 

ERIC

 

            I’m picking at a slice of pizza.

            I’m also sitting at a kitchen table.

            Did I mention I was nervous?

            “So how’s life?”

            Eric.

            “Life’s fine.  Life’s life.  Did you get the birthday present I sent you?” I remind myself I’m on a mission.

            “Yeah.  I’ve got so much reading to do, though.  It’s like, they fill your head with all these words you’re never going to use again.  I’m completely exhausted.  I’ll read the books you gave me when finals are over.  I’ve been meaning to read American Psycho.”

            I smile.  I gave him two books.  American Psycho and All The Pretty Horses.  The latter is my favorite.  The former was filler.

            “It’s an...interesting book.”  I pause.  Do it.  Now. “I was wondering...if I could ask you a question.”

            “Ask.” He re-adjusts his chair.

            “Well, I know it’s kind of far in advance, but I figured if you weren’t doing anything of consequence on the weekend of June second, you’d maybe hypothetically consider coming to a prom?”

            “A senior prom?”

            “A junior seems a bit young for you.”

            “Your senior prom?”

            “Well, that would certainly work out.  Mine just happens to fall on the 2nd.”

            “With you?”

            “If you had someone else in mind, I could deal with it..” I watch his expression. “...but I wouldn’t protest if you’d consider going with me.” Exhale, darling.

            He’s smiling. “Of course.”

            Six years and it was that easy?

            “Can I ask you a question now?”

            I nod, lifting the pizza to my mouth.  A catch?

            “Can’t you go with someone in your class?”

            I nod again, chewing.  No catch.  Of course I can, but why?  I’ve got you!

            “Have you asked anyone from your class?”

            I shake my head, still chewing.

            “So...” He’s waiting for an explanation with an interested smile.

            I swallow. “I asked you first – before anyone else.”

            He nods. “Why?”

            “Because they’re not you.  I dunno.  I have my reasons.”

            “And these reasons are...”

            I smile.  He’s so dense, I just want to hug him. “...Nothing of consequence.”

            “All right.” He shakes his head and laughs.

 

ANNA

           

            I’m sitting on the side of a small hill, tossing handfuls of pebbles down the slope into the scattered piles of leaves and snow below me.  A foot or two away, Jeremy is doing the same.  It’s Friday, so I guess wasting sunlight is a luxury we can spare on a late February afternoon.

            “It’s funny – a month ago, I think, I went out with Charles.  We saw a movie.  Anyway, we were talking and he said something – he said he thought you were going to ask me out.”

            “Really?”

            “Yeah.  He said it was cos you were – and I swear to God, this is exactly what he said – it seemed like you were always looking for me.”

            “I guess I am sometimes.”

            “Yeah.”

            “What’d you say to that?”

            “I just laughed – told him I thought that was funny.  Of course not!”

            “You still feel that way?”

            I didn’t feel that way even when I’d said it at first.  I wanted it.

            “Mmm-hmm.”  I look at him.

            “What?”

            “Nothing.”

            “No, what?  You’re thinking something.”

            He always does this.  How does he know?

            “No, it’s nothing, I swear.”  I laugh uncomfortably.

            “It’s not nothing, Lis.  Tell me what you’re thinking.”

            “Jeremy, it’s nothing.”

            He moves closer and tries to look at me.  I’m avoiding looking at him.

            “It’s never nothing.  You always think about everything.  Come on.”

            “No.  It’s okay.”

            “Just start with something.  I’ll wait.”

            I take a soft breath. “You know that Counting Crows song?  I think it’s track five.”

            “On their first album?”

            “Yeah.  I think it’s called Anna Begins.”

            I’ve been listening to it on repeat lately.

            He nods. “I think I know it.  How does it go?”

            I try to speak melodically – singing is not something I want to do. “Kindness falls like rain...it washes me away...Oh lord, I’m not ready for this sort of thing.  Something like that.”

            “I guess.”

            “Oh, well, I was just thinking.  It reminds me of you.”

            He laughs. “Oh wait.  I think I know.  Isn’t that the one where he don’t get no sleep?”

            I smile too. “Yeah, but that’s not why it reminds me of you.”

            “Oh.  Alright then.”  He doesn’t get it.

            “Never mind.  It was just a silly thought.”

            “That was it?”

            “Mostly, yeah.”

            “You sure?”

            “Well, that and...you remember freshman year?  When Katie tried to set you up with that girl who skis?”

            “Yeah.  I didn’t really like her.”

            “Well, I had this crush on you that same time...I was kinda jealous.”

            “You’re serious?”

            “Yeah.  I just didn’t say anything.  I thought Katie – I don’t know what I thought.  I just figured maybe it’d go away, so I didn’t say anything.”

            “Did it?”

            “Yeah.  I just didn’t think about it.”

            “Huh.”

            “Of course that has nothing to do with now – I just kind of wanted to tell you.  Different me, different you.”

            “Okay.” he nods. “Thanks.”

            “You’re welcome.”  It’s the only reply I can think of.

            “You shouldn’t let Katie tell you what to think.”

            “She didn’t.  She wasn’t – I was just...embarrassed.  I told her later – sophomore year.”

            “What’d she say?”

            “Nothing.”

            “How about when we were going out?”

            “Oh, that was fine. I told you, I was over it.”

            I thought they were cute.  A little weird, but cute.

            “Oh.  You’re silly sometimes, you know that?  You think about things too much.”

            “I don’t – I think just enough for what is required.  I think about what I’m going to say before I say it.  I plan.  Doesn’t everyone?”

            “I don’t.  I just say what I think.”

            “You’re different.”

            He laughs and shakes his head.

            “I asked Eric to the prom this weekend.”

            Brief silence. “Lissa’s trophy date.” And then, “I don’t know who I’m going with yet.”

            The thought doesn’t occur to me until later that maybe he had it in the back of his mind that we might go.

            This is what occurs to me now: “Please don’t go with Katie.”  I guess this is jealousy.

            “Of course not.”

            “Oh, I didn’t know.  I thought you mentioned it before.”

            He presses his lips together and looks at me.

            “You cold?”

            The sun is below the trees.

            “Not really.” I lie.

            “You’re shaking.  You want to go back?”

            “Do you?”

            “I could stay out, but you’re cold, so we’re going back.”

            “No, it’s okay.  We can stay if you want.”

            “That’s silly.  Come on.”

            We get up and I dust off my pants.

            On the way back, I scratch my right arm on a birch tree during a game of tag.  He caught me against the tree and I was so afraid he was going to kiss me, I swung around it, dragging my arm across a twig.

            Funny thing is, all I wanted right then was a kiss.

            When he pointed my injury out in the car later, I told him I didn’t remember where it came from.

            “That’s so weird. I don’t even remember it.”  

            “Does it hurt?” It did.  For three days.

            “No.  Didn’t even notice it ‘til you said something.”

            Monday morning, Katie noticed it too.

            My reply: “Huh...I didn’t even notice it until you said something.”

 

FEEDBACK

 

            I never feel well fourth period.

            “I think she should be a bisexual.”

            “You think it should get more complicated?”

            “It would make it more interesting.  Or at least make her a closet lesbian.”

            “Okay, okay, but I’m trying to keep it real.”

            “Have you watched Jerry Springer lately?”

            “I said real.”

            “All right, all right.  Calm down.”

            “What if she were your friend?”

            Kevin looks at the packet of paper and flips through.

            “I’m not sure I’d want a friend like this.  Too high maintenance.”

            I try to laugh, but my stomach feels like...I have no analogy.  It just feels yucky.

            “No, really.”

            “Really?” He becomes serious. “Well, do you see what she’s doing to herself?”

            “Yeah.”  I pause and exhale.  I do not feel well.  “It goes on in this school all the time– If you knew her, what would you say?”

            He pauses and looks at me.  I must look absolutely pale.  I watch him blink twice.  My heart moves slowly to either my stomach or my throat.  Maybe my stomach rejected it and tossed it into my throat.  I can’t tell.

            “She – Melissa–I’d tell her...” He looks at me again and then takes a soft breath.  His expression has changed. “Be careful.  It’s not healthy.”

            I nod. “I know.”

            He hands the story back to me. “You don’t need this.”

            “You said it was good.”

            “I love it.  I think it’s great.”

            “But if people love it...”

            “Do you love it?”

            “Yes.  She’s the best character I’ve written.  I need to finish this.”

            “It’s not all true.”

            I nod.  “It makes good fiction.”

            “Then make it just that.”

            “I can’t.  I have to write it this way.”

            “Then don’t write it anymore.”

            “But it’s the best...”

            “Sacrifice?”

            “Experiment in writing.  And yes, sacrifice a little if I have to.  Writing is what I want to do.  I want to try this.  I’ve got to finish it.”

            “I care, you know.”

            “I know.”

            “A lot of people do.”

            “I know.” I hand the story back to him. “This is your copy.”

            “What’s his name?”

            “Does it matter?”

            “Do I know him?”

            “His name is Jeremy.”

            He tilts his head and waves the story slightly. “Yeah – so is his.”

            I feel sick.  I want to throw up.

            On the floor maybe?

            I look at Kevin.

            “Am I ugly?”

            “You look a little peeked.  But no, you’re cute.”

            “No.  I mean, am I an ugly person?”

            “You can’t be.”

            “Why not?”

            “I can’t think of how you could be.”

            “This doesn’t make you think any less of me?”

            I only realize after I’ve said it that this might need some clarification: the story, the pills, the thing, my need to write the whole mess down.

            He shakes his head.

            “You just look tired.”

            “I think I’m gonna puke.”  I only halfway mean this – right now.

            “Oh.  Do you want to go to the bathroom?”

            “No.  I want to hear what you have to say.”

            He looks at me, so I straighten myself a little.  Despite some dizziness.

            “Okay – then I’ll tell you what I think.” He’s quite good at being frank.  I lean over hoping my stomach will disappear.  “I’m jealous.  I wish I could write something like this...”

            I only half hear this.  I had to leave.

 

            On my way into one of the stalls, I pause to look in the mirror.  I see a pale girl with bad breakouts and size fourteen jeans – now four months old.

            Next time I see her, she has flushed 58 pink pills down the toilet.

            If I’m gonna be fat, I might as well have good skin.

 

MELISSA

 

            I don’t really want to talk about it.

            “Do you want a blow job?”

            There’s no respectable way for me to have asked it.  But then again, it’s not a respectable act.

            “That’s kind of hard for me to answer right now.”

            I had to take my hand out of his pants when his mom called a few minutes later.

            We talked briefly before he left.  I just wanted to hug him.  I felt silly.  I felt like a little girl.  I didn’t want him to go.  I felt so exposed.  I wanted someone to hold me.  I wanted someone to take care of me.

            He left the next day.

            Vacation.

            That’s how my February break began.

            I haven’t really talked to him much since.

            I had asked Lauren’s advice:

            “How far is too far?”

            She told me that it’s always too far unless I think I love someone.  I told myself I didn’t love him and wouldn’t – at least not in that sense.  I respect him.  I knew that.  I also knew we shouldn’t do this unless we were more than friends.  In most senses, we weren’t. 

            So, I reverted to someone else; Melissa before the Library.  Katie and I suddenly became pals again.  Jeremy was just Jeremy again.  There was no climax, no big moral.  No winners, no losers, no villains, no heros.  There was just me and an unfinished story.

            I tried to finish it officially.  I tried starting some sort of conversation, but figuring out the difference between avoidance and indifference with Jeremy was beyond me, so I buried it in my mind.  I’m not sure what I would have said to him anyway.  I wanted to cry–I had wanted something more and that’s why I didn’t want it to happen again.  I didn’t want to not feel anything but empty.  He made me happy.  I guess the thought of him still does.

            No one ever asked me if I liked who I had become or what I had created.

            Everyone thought of this as my fictional creation – even if they knew.

            To be perfectly honest, I like the person I became after this – or because of it.

            She is comfortable in her own skin.

            She is also in love with this story.

            Strange.

            I guess she was bound to find love somewhere.

            Jeremy might’ve been right when he said that I think too much about everything.

            “From, like, November until...oh, March, if you wanted to find Jeremy, you just had to find Melissa.” Katie says this with no emotion.  It’s a fact, I guess.

            I smile. “Yeah.  And then I ran out of things to say to him.  There was nothing more to say.” I don’t mention that I just couldn’t find the words for any of it.  Embarrassed, inevitable, finished, love, respect, think, value, we, us, me, you – friendship.

            She shrugs.  “When me and Jeremy broke up, I would walk through the halls and see him and I wouldn’t know what to do.  But now, he’s just Jeremy again– the one who threw green Jell-O at me freshman year.  It’s okay now.”  She smiles and kicks at the wood-chips we happen to be standing in.

            I’m digging a shallow hole in the dirt with my heel. “That’s good.”

            Thank you.

 

EPILOGUE(S)

 

KATIE

Lissy –

            I’m sure I’m supposed to respond to your story.  Beyond the fact that I thought it was a literary masterpiece, I’m stuck for words.  It reminded me of something wonderfully stream-of-conscience (however you spell that) like Vonnegut or Faulkner – but more Lissy.

            So, with literary accolades put aside, the story made me want to vomit.  That old feeling, the deep pit in my stomach that aches with some great hurt.  Maybe regret.  Maybe shame.  Maybe embarrassment.  Probably all of those things.

            I know that you deserved better than the treatment you got.  And that I am (or was) Katie, the sometimes bitch that did a little more than shut out as many people as I could to just try and survive 2nd and 3rd marking period.  So did I ever stop caring about you?  No.  Did I stop trying as hard as I should have?  Yes.  Guess that’s why I’m in therapy... :-)

            I guess I’m wallowing in my own self-pity.  Sorry – but I can’t help it.  Just another response to your story.  I should have broken up with Jeremy better.  I shouldn’t have had an internal breakdown where I decided that I couldn’t be anyone’s security blanket anymore.

            You know Lassie and White Fang?  The guy really cares about the dog but yells at it to make it run away and live on it’s own.  Bad analogy.  I know – but you should be used to it by now =)

            Maybe how I feel is a little better and the need to vomit has passed.  Could’ve been this little fan letter that I wrote you.  Maybe it was the American Girls Catalogue that my English teacher just passed around the class.

            Lissy, I’m sorry.  I should have been different.  I shouldn’t have been named after a bitch, I should have been named after a best friend that cared a great deal and never stopped loving her friend. And no matter what happens, I’m not going to stop thinking you’re great.  When I said I was embarrassed, it was for my behavior, not yours.  Strange that we have Jeremy in common.  Not good or bad.  Just bizarre. (your word again!)

            So that’s it...my letter of shoulds.  Regrets.  Pride – that someone I know is so gifted.  I’m a mess.

                                    The End

                                                Love,

                                                Katie

 

 

ERIC

 

            It’s been almost two years.  A week away from almost two years.  I feel like I should have a party – it’s the end, I can start to edit.

            Really, I’m just sitting on my bunk bed in my dorm room.  No parties.  It’s 9:37 in the morning.  I have nowhere to be except here and no one here would know how to celebrate this, anyway.  Lauren is in California, Jeremy is in Vermont, Charles is in Missouri, Katie is in New Jersey.  I am here.

             We were in the garage, I believe.  A few hundred feet away from the end of the driveway.  You all remember the driveway, right?

            It took me almost a week to say the words “So, what did you think of my story?” 

            I wanted to choke and cry and dance and run.  He only looked at me and I only stood there.  He looked longer than necessary and I stood silently because that was the only thing I could do.  He inhaled, he exhaled.  A halfhearted “It was good.” floated towards me.  I nodded and said something thoughtful as if I understood that what he had said was the most meaningful piece of literary criticism I’d heard.  He liked the dialogue – everyone likes the dialogue.  He didn’t really remember the character’s names – no one remembers the character’s names.  He didn’t really like it, actually – he’s the first one to be honest.  I want to tell him this but it would sound like I was fishing for a comliment.  I want to kiss the top of his head and jump and clap.  He didn’t like it.  I feel the need to thank him excessively for not liking it – thank him for even bothering to form an opinion.  I ask what I can fix.

            “Those sections, where people say what they think about the story?  Pointless.  You should take them out.”  I did that this morning.  I took out two.

            “Especially that one with Melissa and that guy where they’re talking about the rug.  Take that one out.”  I leave that one in.  It’s about him.  He doesn’t know that I need it.  He doesn’t know it’s not finished.  He knows it’s about him though.  He doesn’t let me know he knows.  But we both know.

            “The main problem I saw – and I have this problem in my writing too – my professors points this out all the time – is that there’s no real conflict.”  I understand.  We leave it at that.  We drop it.  We’re still in the garage.

            What you didn’t see:

            I love you.

            I love you, too.  But not like that.

            This doesn’t hurt because all I wanted was to say it once.  Because it took thirty-three pages to say it.  Because I couldn’t say it any other way.