Rule Eleven: Beeeee Yourself!!
“No, don’t—“
The grinding of the gears was so loud the car actually shuddered frightfully before switching to third.
Liz cringed and looked at me through half slit eyes, as if expecting me to wallop her. “Sorry! Sorry! Sorry!” She looked like a bedraggled puppy. The kind that accidently slips into its own water bowl and pees on the floor at the same time.
I massaged my forehead, trying to erase the booming headache that was forming. “It’s fine. Put it in neutral and roll up to the stop sign.”
Liz nervously followed my commands; she came to a complete stop and then looked up at me desperately. “Now what do I do?” The engine immediately died and the person behind us gave a long winded honk.
“Put it in park. Put on the parking brake and get out of the car. I’m driving.”
“No! I want to do this.”
“Five minutes ago you were going to trade your questionable virginity for a chance to sit in the passenger seat. What changed?”
“My willingness to learn? I have such an excellent teacher.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere.”
The car behind us honked again, and I stuck my hand out the open window and flipped him the bird. The driver turned into the opposite lane and illegally swung past us, yelling something that sounded suspiciously like “fucking assholes.”
“You are a sourpuss aren’t you?” The fear of driving was gone from her eyes and replaced by something imminently more scary; amusement.
I glared at her. “Switch. Now.”
“Fine, but when we get the mall, you are so buying me a pretzel.” She slammed the door loudly when she got out and it rattled the side mirrors.
“Good luck Chuck.” Liz clapped me heartily on the shoulder when I passed her to claim the driver’s seat. And then blew me a kiss. How her comment and action went together is completely beyond the scope of my acumen.
I ducked low getting into the car, to avoid hitting my head against the door framing. It was an awkward car to get into. Liz was blabbering on about something not important, it sounded vaguely like a movie outline or maybe she was talking about talking animals and wizards because she had snorted crack when I wasn’t looking. “Liz, would you do me a huge favor and just shut up for a bit.”
I looked straight ahead to avoid her accusing eyes and her chosen reaction was to turn on the radio and crank up “Don’t Fear the Reaper”. This consequently just brought images of Will Ferrell in a too small shirt smacking loudly on a cowbell and didn’t help my head at all.
We merged onto the highway, heading towards the Centerfield Mall. Our town had a strip mall and an open air cinema, but nothing that would be appropriate for the cold breeze blowing southward. Though the baseball season came unwaveringly with springtime, there were always the occasional wintry storms.
“So,” the song was winding down to an end and the steady speed of seventy five was easing the grip of tension in my hands. “Sorry about that.”
Liz didn’t say a word for a moment and then. “PMSing, it’s okay, I completely understand.”
I turned the dial on the radio and spared a quick glance her way. “We good?”
She had her arms tight around her abdomen and her jaw was jutted out, distinctly showing dislike. But finally, after passing another mile marker, she closed her eyes and relaxed her rigid body posture. “Yeah, yeah. We’re fine, just please stop being a girl. I’m getting really sick of it. There is only room in this car for one estrogen filled,” she stopped and seemingly couldn’t come up with a better word than “person.”
I for once didn’t know exactly what to say. I didn’t really want the advice that she had been so excited to give and anything that I opened up with would surely get her on that track. It turns out I didn’t need to say anything at all.
“So, let’s get you all spiffed up for the ladies.”
“You’re touchin’ my gag complex.” I really was wishing that I’d turned down the entire ‘let’s go to a party’ thing right about now, but we were already driving to the mall. If that isn’t commitment, I don’t know what is.
“Don’t be silly. Hmm, how do I start this… discussion?”Liz pondered and then the words came out, slowly and purposefully. “Before you date a girl, you have to talk to her—reel her in. It’s like,” she paused for a moment, a panel of light moving across her body. I could see her hand twist her hair and then she pushed it resolutely behind her ear. “It’s like fishing. You can’t just toss a string in the water. You need a hook and you need bait.”
“Thanks Yoda.”
“No, I mean it. You need to compliment her, touch her, keep eye focus, talk intelligently, it’s an art.”
The glass of the window shield made strange popping noises at the shrewd oncoming air, but it didn’t completely drown out Liz’s advice. Advice, though sound and well thought out, terrified me beyond talking to Lisa Knocker. She talked of things that I would never, could never, be able to conquer.
I tightened my grip on the wheel as she continued tireless; pausing less often than a travel time audio book.
“So, lesson one.” She began, adjusting the heater to point at her face, the ropes of hair that had broken free from her ponytail, wisped past her lips as she spoke. “Understanding women. What do you know about girls?”
“They have vaginas?”
“Great Scott! He’s a genius,” she gave me a withering look. “You know that’s not what I meant. We aren’t so unlike men. Competitive? Well why on earth do you think we put makeup on? Sure it’s to impress men, but much more so to compete with other women. Selfish? Completely and even more we are extremely jealous--of each other. We think we want love, but we really don’t know what that means. And our thoughts of sex, though probably not as vivid and graphic as yours, are still there prominently enough.”
I wasn’t sure if she was talking about herself or in general. From the glassiness of her eyes I couldn’t tell which it was; reliving or thinking deeply.
“Liz, I don’t really need the definition.” I interrupted her and she stopped short and sighed.
“I was just giving you a prologue and a point of reference.”
“Reference?”
“Yeah. Show you what’s going on in our head.”
“Though I’m sure it’s really interesting, I’m not going to gain any more insight into the girl mind tonight than I would if I were to read an entire library shelf on it. Skip to the application, please.” I wanted action. I felt like I was listening to coach discuss tactics. I didn’t need tactics; I needed to be out there, putting words into unflinching movement.
“Fine. Have it your way.” Liz tapped her fingers and then clicked her tongue. “Lesson two, how to approach a woman or see if she’s approachable. Okay, the whole eyes across the bar thing, I don’t think it really applies to a high school setting. Cosmo really only helps people in their mid twenties other than the sex moves stuff.” She tutted softly, “so, what you have to do to approach a high school girl is talk to her. But that means you need an icebreaker.”
“Are you just making this up as you go?”
“Completely. Now let me think. What’s a good icebreaker?”
“Taking my clothes off?”
She laughed. “I think that may be a tad too forward.”
“Squeeze her ass?”
“Hell, you should just stick your dick in her. That’s a greeting you can’t miss.”
I choked on my own laughter and Liz instantly sobered up.
“I was thinking more like a compliment or maybe something interesting, make her come to you sort of thing. Like, hmmm,” she tilted her head sideways. “Ask her something she wouldn’t expect. Ask her opinion of something--something funny.”
“Right. Give me some examples please.”
“What parts do you find attractive in a woman?” She shot back.
“Boobs, Ass--”
“You’re wrong.”
“I can’t be wrong, you asked for my opinion.”
“Well if you go around telling a girl she has a fantastic pair of knockers, you can’t exactly expect her to want to go out with you, now can you?”
“Fine. Eyes and face better for you?”
She closed her own eyes and giggled rather girlishly. “Yeah, but that suggests no ingenuity.”
“Will you please just tell me what you mean instead of having me guess? We only have twenty minutes left.” We had just passed mile marker eighty four and a big sign that promised Motel eight and Bob Evans at exit eight nine.
“Compliment her hair. Like how it looks nice a particular way. Seriously, guys just take it for granted that our hair looks nice and don’t think about how long it takes us to make it that way. Don’t ever compliment her shoes, she’s going to think that you’re gay. Tell her you noticed her laugh or her smile. Maybe that a gesture she did reminded you of celebrity.” She turned to me and narrowed her eyes. “And an attractive celebrity Art. Don’t go telling a girl she reminds you of Ugly Betty. Or tell her that you really like her confidence or sense of humor.”
“How do I even spot anything like that?” I couldn’t imagine myself saying anything like that to a girl without stuttering like a fool and looking straight at her cleavage.
“We’ll practice at the mall.”
A sharp icicle of dread stabbed into my stomach, but I tried my best to ignore it. “What do I do after I break the ice if I don’t know how to swim?”
Liz grinned eerily at me. “We toss you in the water and see if you float."
sixty long minutes later, she was tring to do just that.
“What would you say to that one?”
This had gone on for over half an hour. Whenever a woman within a couple of years of our age walked by she would ask me, hypothetically, what I would do to “reel her in”.
I was making progress, but not enough to make me feel any better about the possibility of running into Lisa tonight.
“She cute?” We were propped behind a large fake tree at Auntie Anne’s Pretzels, and Liz had half an eaten doughy contraption dangling on one of her fingers.
“She’s a butterball.”
“That’s rude, it’s puppy fat.”
The girl we were staring down was really short and I couldn’t tell if it was pregnancy that made her stomach appear so round or her diet. “Maybe, to strike up conversation, I could ask her what trimester she was in.”
“Stop being skin deep.” Liz set her pretzel down on the napkin with a loud crinkle. “I told you to not focus so much on looks.”
“How on earth am I supposed to tell from a distance if she has a good personality? Oh look, she threw her can in the recycle bin—clearly pro environment—we have so much in common.”
Liz rolled her eyes and muttered, “thought this would be going so much better.”
“Looks like you’re not as much as a relationship guru as you thought you were.”
She measured me up and then smirked. “Darling, you’re the screw up, not me. How about her?”
This girl was a lot more attractive than the last one. Her hair was curly and she had a genuine smile on her face, however she was pushing a stroller. “She has a child.”
“Forget that part,” she said exasperatedly.
“Something things can’t be overlooked.” A loud noise interrupted our conversation, a laugh like curdled milk and then a long ‘Oh no he didn’t!’. The woman who created the disruption came into view and I raised my eyebrows. “Now she’s hot.”
“Honestly?” Liz followed my gaze and then laughed sadly. “She’s a total bitch Art.”
“You can’t say that, you don’t know her.”
“But I know her type. Big boobs, low cut shirt, bedazzled phone? Guys bang people like that, they don’t date them.” She shook her head and then gave me a pitied look. “C’mon Art, you can’t be serious? You’re thinking with your dick again.”
“No, I’m not. You’re just judging by what you see. What if she’s a really nice person? You’d never know because you wouldn’t go up and talk to her in the first place.” I crossed my arms and watched the girl walk into Victoria’s Secret.
“You’re just saying what you think I want to hear. I know you. You’re not that noble.”
I didn’t say anything—because Liz was one hundred percent right and I didn’t want to see satisfaction spread across her face.
She finished her pretzel and crumpled up the wrapper, her head cocked curiously at me. “Okay, okay, I won’t pry,” she stood up and brushed the escaped salt cubes from her jeans, then slid her phone open and checked the time. “We have half an hour until the mall closes, let’s get my dress.”
The idea of talking to Lisa tonight was feeling quite disastrous. I was sure to get my balls handed to me on a silver platter.
“Where are we going?” I asked as Liz pulled me straight past Victoria’s and deeper into the catacombs of manly destruction.
“Goodwill.” I don’t know what made the mall allow a Goodwill to set up shop in their bowels, but at least it was better than wandering around Express or Forever Twenty One. I had spent way too much time in either of them to be considered a man. God would probably bring it up when he was deciding whether to send me to heaven or hell.
“Goodwill has dresses?”
“Don’t be thick, Goodwill has everything.” And then, as if she had been struck by lightning she stopped and I ran into her back.
“Liz—“
“Shhh!” She shook my shoulder harder than necessary. “Approach her,” Liz hissed. She nudged me and I had to grasp the railing in order to prevent myself from pitching forward.
“I’m not ready.” I slapped her hand away when she went to shove me again. “I’m not going to make a fool of myself.”
“I can tell when you’re ready. You are now.”
The girl was blonde and tall, but not as leggy as Lisa. She had too much makeup on and her lips were scrunched in a permanent pout. It reminded me of a toddler peeking behind their mother at a candy store and since I’m not a pedophile, I felt more repulsed than turned on. “She’s not my type.”
“I don’t care if she’s your type or not. Lose the training wheels, buddy.”
I gulped and the girl started to walk away from the escalator. Her boobs hardly bounced, meaning either she strapped those suckers in there or she’d stuffed her shirt with Kleenex. “You’re losing your chance.” Liz chimed and when I didn’t do anything, she rolled her eyes, wolf whistled loudly and ducked behind the St. Ives display case.
The girl turned slowly, scanning the mall for the source of noise and then her eyes finally settled on me. They were her only redeeming quality. She overdid the black stuff, but their coloration was electric blue. The possibility that they were colored contacts was debatable.
All the tips and rules Liz had set down skittered across the lake of my mind and then sunk like heavy stones; there was no way I would be able to fish them out.
I went for the complement tactic, though immediately forgot the one crucial thing Liz had told me; don’t focus on looks. “Hey there…Eyes.”
She raised her eyebrows, but said nothing. I couldn’t believe I was floundering this helplessly with a girl I didn’t know; at least I wasn’t staring at her (fake) boobs. After the awkward silence had developed into a tension, I broke it with the only thing I knew how to: classic bar scene pickup lines. She didn’t look drunk, but it was Friday evening, so the timing was right. “You come here often? I definitely haven’t seen you around.”
I heard hysterical laughter behind me and the girl cocked her head before saying, “I have a boyfriend.”
How is one supposed to regroup from that? I winked and replied, “well I don’t see him here, do you?” I’d seen it done on TV shows and chick flicks Liz had conned me into watching, but she didn’t take to the scripted approach.
She muttered, “jerk” and walked away, not even sparing me a glance of sympathy.
“Oh,” the whole mall must’ve heard Liz’s laughter, “my” her “God” was indistinguishable from her garbled cackling.
“Yeah, real funny. Haha,” I wanted to tip the display case on her head.
“Sorry Art, but you’re just so bad at this.” She wiped tears from her eyes and slid down so that she was sitting on the ground. “You can call girls blue eyes, sapphire eyes, baby blues, but you can’t just call her eyes!” She roared with this newfound humor and was once again lost to the world.
At least the mall was mostly empty, but I still got a few strange glances. I could feel my face heating up and turn a flaming red.
“Shut up Liz,” I said when she still hadn’t pulled herself up off the floor. She completely ignored me and shook her hair out of her face. “If you don’t stop in oh, ten seconds, I’m walking away and you can find your own ride home.”
She let a last peel of a giggle out and then looked up, her cheeks flush and her eyes flashing with excitement. “You’re such a joy killer.” The gum that she had been chewing almost fell out of her mouth and she carefully bit down with her teeth and moved it further back with her tongue.
“Only when I’m the butt of the joke.”
“Party pooper,” she whispered to me, and held out her hand for me to pull her up.
“I’m not helping you up. Not only did you insult me, but you made fun of me. You’re a terrible friend.” The longer she pouted at me, the cuter she became, but my resolve was coated in concrete. “Liz,” I warned and she pushed up so fast that it caught me off guard.
“Fine then, have it your way,” she tapped my nose with her finger and it burned, but not from embarrassment. Her face was so close to mine that if I tipped my head down, just a little, our noses would touch, just a little bit further and—her breath tiptoed across my lips and then I could taste it on my tongue. I parted my lips, unconsciously trying to get more of her, as if a beautiful portion of her soul was coming out with every exhale. I brought my hands towards her waist and—she moved away and gave me a strange look I couldn’t read.
“The smell of pretzel is driving me crazy. Let’s go and find Goodwill before I spend all my dress money on food.” She turned away from me, her gaze lingering on my face longer than needed.
I followed her, half in a trance, and very curious about what she meant about the pretzels because there was only one fragrance I noticed.
Bubble gum mint.
The dressing room was oddly stifling—there was plenty of area to lounge around. Six plush chairs were pushed cheek to cheek and three white slatted doors lined either side. The lights were fluorescent, but somehow they seemed to crank the heat up at least ten degrees. I pulled uncomfortably at the neckline of my shirt, but I could still feel some damp perspiration darkening the polyester of my sleeves.
“I’m coming out,” Liz called. I wasn’t going anywhere.
I set down a four month old edition of Instyle and narrowed my eyes at her choice of dress.
“Well?” She straightened the skirt part and tugged her hair out from underneath the top. “What do you think?”
Honestly it wasn’t my first choice. It wouldn’t be my last either — it would’ve been past last. The neck came up to high, the frill was fifties in a bad way and the top portion was filled with flapper fringe-thingies. A line of crooked stitches created a faux choker of thread teeth.
“It looks like someone took a chunk out of your trachea.”
She looked down and absently plucked at the knotted fabric. “In what way? I think it’s cute.”
“Liz, if you wear that, no one is going to talk to you. They’re going to be too busy laughing.”
“Like you’re such a fashion expert. You wouldn’t know good fashion if it spat you in the eye and called you a hooker.”
I looked her up and down and shook my head. “Yeah. You wouldn’t either.”
She crossed her arms, threw me a disgusted look and then glanced at her reflection in the mirror. Turning backwards and then sideways, she pulled the dress up so I could see her bare feet and ankles. “What’s so bad about it?”
“I’m not going to answer that.”
Liz let go of the skirt with a loud sigh. “Fuck. I was going for boho chic.”
I raised my eyebrows and barely held in a loud guffaw. “Think you might’ve gotten the boho part right.”
“Don’t you look at me like that Arthur Heart.” Her intimidation didn’t reach the wrinkled confusion on her face. “Would you grab me that yellow dress from the clearance rack?”
“No. I have no idea where that is.”
“Art we were just there.”
“Everything here looks the same to me. You want a dress?” I pointed to a pile that had been discarded by a previous customer. “Take your pick.”
“None of those are my size dimwit.”
“Put a belt on.”
“You can’t put a belt on a dress.”
“Yeah you can, I’ve seen it done.” I held up the Instyle and pointed to the cover where a celebrity (what was her name again?) wore a raggedy dress and a thick brown belt.
She closed her eyes, clearly frustrated with me and then, “go to the dress section and grab as many size two and four as you can fit in your arms.”
“Where is that again?”
“By the scarves.” She pointed towards the back of the store. “Something springy?” She said hopefully as she shooed me away, still measuring at her reflection.
Any clothing store was foreign to me—Grams did most of my shopping for me and since Matt was a couple of inches taller than me, I got basically all my jeans from him once he grew out of them.
I passed the scarf display and saw a row of items labeled dresses, though many of them looked like long shirts and the other half prom dresses. A big black two was posted above some followed by a heavily battered four a couple of feet away, the dresses below them were nothing spectacular.
I pulled out the first one that didn’t look like a prom dress and wrinkled my nose. There were some rope things coming off of it and I couldn’t imagine if you were supposed to tie it around your waist or neck. I pushed it aside and glared angrily at the next one. At least it was better than the first; it was green and looked like it had a zipper.
I was a big fan of zippered anything—Matt had only just convinced me that I would be the laughing stock of the school if I showed up in zippered shoes. I think that I would’ve just started a new fad.
“Can I help you?”
It took me a moment to register that someone was talking to me, and once I saw that it was a girl, I dropped the dress like it was a roach infested pop tart. “Er… No. Actually, yeah. I need dresses in size two and four.”
“What’s the occasion?” She was almost as tall as me (which would make her almost six feet) and had her blonde hair in a tight pony tail, at least her smile was friendly.
“A party.”
“Then,” she picked the dress up off the floor that I had dropped. “This definitely won’t do.” She rifled professionally through the racks and pulled out seven dresses consecutively. “I’m assuming this is for the girl in fitting room two?”
“Yeah.”
“If she doesn’t like any of them, just give me a holler, I’m Jessica.” She pointed to her nametag and then gestured to checkout lines, “I’ll be over there. And we close in ten minutes, so I hope you find what you need!”
“Thanks,” I said gruffly and accepted the pile of dresses she set in my arms.
“Just remember if you or your girlfriend need help, just let me know!”
She left before I had time to tell her that Liz was in no way my girlfriend. I frowned at her back, wondering whether to yell to her that we weren’t and then thought maybe that was over reacting. It shouldn’t bother me that much—should it?
I made my way over to the dressing rooms to find Liz in a different, equally horrendous dress.
“You look like a pig,” I told her blankly and dropped the pile into her arms. “These are probably loads better.”
“I don’t look like a pig!”
“You’re pink, and it has a curly thing by your butt.”
“It does—“ she twirled around and saw the fabric there. “I’m gonna try on another one.” She stepped back into the changing room and shut the door with a gentle click.
“You do that, but you only have ten minutes.”
I heard a loud zippering noise and then saw the hideous pink thing hit the floor from the half inch exposed under the door.
There was only a small portion of calf I could see, but there was something magically about watching a girl get dressed even if I could only see her feet. They moved back and forth when she pulled something new on (blue maybe?) and then opened the door after ten seconds.
“Yay or nay?” She asked instantly.
I could already see that she hadn’t picked it out herself, it looked put together. The neck was way lower, the middle tighter and the sleeves no longer puffy. “Looks fine to me.”
She spun in the floor length mirror and then nodded. “Yeah, but it’s kind of boring isn’t it?” I yawned and then quickly hid it when I saw she was shooting me a knowing look. “You’re yawning!”
“I’m tired, it’s fine, you look” but the “beautiful” came out in another yawn; which was good, because I really hadn’t meant to say it out loud.
“You’re just trying to appease me so we can go,” she looked at her reflection and then her shoulders sagged in resignation. “I look like a blue heron.”
I tilted my head to the side and then shook it, “no, definitely a girl from my angle.”
“My legs look like sticks and if I crane my neck,” Liz did just that and then turned back towards me, “you see?”
“No,” I answered irritably. “I don’t see. You have nice legs, they’re hot.”
“Hot?” She was watching me strangely again, an air of unfamiliarity creeping between us. And I hastily found myself interested in their selection of ‘floral print cardigans’.
“You know what I mean,” I muttered under my breath, but I don’t think she heard.
“Whatever, I don’t care anymore. If people think I’m a bird then maybe I won’t get carded if the cops bust.”
I sank more dejectedly into my chair and gave her a very unconvincing laugh. “Let’s just go then. Don’t you have anything at home you can wear?”
“No.” We made eye contact for a brief second and then she hurriedly slipped into the dressing room and came out in her previous attire.
As she purchased her dress at the register I was reminded, once again, how much I hated shopping.
Back in the car wasn’t very fun either—not that I’m just depressed all the time or anything.
“I am not going to do that.”
“We’re in a dark car, at night, on a highway. No one is going to see or hear you.” Liz was grinning, I could just feel it and it made me feel as if someone had tipped a bag of ice chips down my shirt.
“You are.”
“Art, I’ve seen you naked, what’s more embarrassing than that?”
I gave her a glare she didn’t see, the glow of the streetlights lit up her profile; her eyes were glassed over by the heat that hit her face from the car vent. “If you don’t have anything to hide, being naked isn’t embarrassing.”
“Like I haven’t heard that before—you’re just trying to get me to switch topics.”
“Not at all.”
“I want to hear your best wolf whistle. Now.”
“It doesn’t matter if I can whistle or not.”
”That’s not the point Mr. Heart.”
Ever since I had very innocently asked her how she had wolf whistled at that girl earlier, she’d been keen on hearing mine. Very keen.
“How am I supposed to teach you how to do it, if I don’t know what I’m starting with?” She turned the heat down, but didn’t drop the subject. “C’mon Art!”
“No, I’m tired, it’s getting late and I don’t really need you laughing at me anymore tonight.”
“When did I laugh at you?”
“You know what you did,” I answered cryptically.
“You brought that on yourself,” she said hotly. “Besides, what respectable man doesn’t know how to wolf whistle?”
“Me.”
“That’s because you’re not a respectable man.”
“Yes I am.”
“Respectable men aren’t virgins.”
“That’s low.”
“It’s true.”
“There are many respectable men who are virgins. Tons in fact.”
“Name one.”
The only thing that I could think of was the Jonas Brothers. Who weren’t really men and who could never be called respectable while keeping a straight face. I didn’t want to say that aloud to Liz. “This is stupid. I’m not going to wolf whistle for you, end of story.”
“Then Lisa is never going to out with you.”
“I doubt that I need to wolf whistle in order to bang Lisa.”
“You never know.” When I didn’t say anything back to her, she forcefully turned the heat back on and crossed her arms. “You brought the subject up.”
“Yeah, well, I didn’t think you’d be as obnoxious as you are now.” She sounded like she was seven years old again, begging Matt and I to let her tag along to the arcade. “Let’s just give it a rest. Listen to some tunes.” I turned the radio up and both of us said nothing.
Until: “Do you think we’ll ever look back and regret everything we ever did?”
The engine of the old truck thrummed excitedly, I could feel it through the tips of my toes. It felt like a lifetime ago I had first climbed into its cab and Gramps had shown me how to push in the clutch. “Why do you say that?” I finally said.
“I was thinking of Kansas,” she stopped, as if I would yell at her for saying her name. I ignored the twinge of pain that twist tied my gut, but I’d been thinking of her too. Dust in the Wind by Kansas (the band) was playing—not really a happy mood setter.
“Thoughts like that can never lead anywhere good.”
“What happened to her Art?”
I could see by the innocence in her eyes that she really didn’t know, maybe I was too jaded these days to appreciate that. “When dad died,” my voice cracked, but I continued restlessly, “it didn’t really change her. It was like he’d already died. Like she’d anticipated her entire life—Liz it was like she was waiting for him to die and once he did, she was still waiting.” We passed a semi and it briefly blinded me. “She’s still waiting.”
“Why?”
I laughed like a deaf man hearing a joke. “That’s the big mystery isn’t it? I think something happened—something no one talks about. I don’t know if Grams and Gramps know, if they do, they’ve done a hell of a good job concealing it. Kansas definitely does, but then again she’s always liked to played games.”
“What do you think the mystery is?”
I swallowed hard and then clamped my teeth together. I had spent many nights awake pondering that question, too many to be healthy. At first I thought that I wasn’t really her child—I didn’t look a thing like her—but I found my birth certificate in the attic with her name clearly printed at the bottom. There were ways to forge those, but the idea was completely stamped out when I unearthed the home video of my birth. Definitely Kansas’s.
My idea’s turned more radical. After watching too many episodes of ER, I was sure that I had a genetic incurable disease that Kansas had and had also passed on to me (that would explain the death eyes). When my medical drama kick had subsided the idea had been abandoned and then was extinguished when I found her health records (made possible by HIPPA and her carelessness with her personal belongings).
The ideas after that ranged from Kansas being an ax murderer to a spy for the Russians. Everything in-between was equally as ridiculous.
“Liz, do you honestly think it would be eating me up like this if I had even a shadow of an idea?”
“We should find out.”
I was so startled; I almost drove straight off the road. “What?”
Liz looked stoically at me, her hand next to mine on the wheel—she’d steered us off the strip of shoulder. “We should find out,” she repeated slower and louder.
“I have no proof Liz. I’m probably just mad and paranoid.”
“What does your gut tell you? She’s a bitch and a whore Art, but she’s also very intelligent.”
I grinned at Liz talking about Kansas so violently, but I instantly became somber. This was Kansas we were talking about, deeply angered, flighty, dangerous Kansas. “I thought she killed my dad when I was younger.” I said very quietly, not taking my eyes from the road.
“Do you think she really could’ve done it?”
“Yeah,” I paused for a moment, “but I don’t think she did. She could’ve and that’s the point.”
“Your dad he died of a—“
“Heart attack, yeah.” I couldn’t even hear the music playing in the car, but I could make out Liz’s rattled breathing.
“I really think we should.”
I didn’t answer her, mainly because I’d had that thought thousands of times before, also because I didn’t want to know. Liz, however, wasn’t as daft as she sometimes seemed.
“You’re scared, aren’t you?” She said. “You really don’t know if you want to know.”
I nodded slowly.
“Art, what do you think is better? Living your whole life not knowing a secret that’s tearing you apart or find out what it is and live with the consequences be it good or bad?”
“That’s what you meant isn’t it?” I finally answered her and she looked at me, confused.
“What are you talking about?”
“Regretting things. You think that if I don’t search for that mystery now, I’m going to regret it for the rest of my life.”
Her eyes locked with mine for a brief moment. “Yes, that’s what I think.”
I let out a big gust of air and then chuckled without humor. “This conversation was terrible timing you know.”
“Why is that?”
“You better have been taking notes on this stick driving, because there is no way in hell I’m driving home tonight. I’m gonna drink all my problems away. Then maybe I’ll think about them the morning.” I thought about the terrible hang over I was bound to have, “or maybe the afternoon.”