Lola is missing. Again.
It has officially been a week since Lola found out that her estranged mother is getting married to some random in a few weeks. Since hearing this Lola has done three things;
1. Drink excessively
2. Smoke excessively
3. Drink and smoke excessively
No one said anything before because that is just how Lola deals with things she doesn’t want to confront. But, now no one has seen or heard from her since last night. She hasn’t been to class, didn’t go to therapy, and now she isn’t at detention.
“She just needs her space.” Logan –Whom Mrs. Barnes has released from her office to help us in the library- sighs, folding his arms across his chest and leaving the stack of books he was supposed to be filing on the table. He really is more productive when he’s with Mrs. Barnes.
“I agree. She usually doesn’t like to talk about these things. She likes to drink and think alone.” Charlie agrees before turning back on the vacuum to finish cleaning the blue carpet.
Joyce nods in agreement, but I just can’t get rid of the feeling that we should be doing more. I, of all people, know what it’s like when a parent gets remarried and let me tell you, it is not something I would want to be alone for. She’s probably hiding somewhere, drowning her sorrows in vodka, and throwing darts at a photo of her mom’s face. Not that I blame her.
I just don’t want her to feel alone. God knows how long she has been alone in her life.
I run my fingers down my face and begrudgingly continue to organize the books in their proper shelves. I try not to think of her stormy eyes that penetrate into my core, her perfectly kissable lips, or her raven hair that makes me envious of the wind that gets to run its fingers through it every day.
But, I am the dog and she is the choke chain and I can’t help my mind from being yanked back into thoughts of her.
Logan starts to delve into details about how “wild” Mrs. Barnes is, but no one is really listening besides Charlie who practically sits there like a kid during story time. I make idle chat with Joyce as she dusts aimlessly and we all just wait out the hour until Mrs. Barnes comes and dismisses us.
“Noah, you’re mother called my office, but I informed her that you could not take any phone calls during your punishment. You can call her now if you’d like.” Mrs. Barnes purses her lips at me and I sigh at my mother’s ruthlessness.
She stopped calling me after my outburst and I thought she had finally given up, until I got another call yesterday. I run a hand down my face in exasperation and notice that everyone is sending me weary looks; clearly knowing that my mother and I aren’t on the best of terms.
“No that’s okay.” I say through gritted teeth and Mrs. Barnes sends me a look that is clearly displeased at the fact that I won’t talk to my mother. Everyone exchanges glances with each other, but I ignore them and make my way out into the hallway.
I hear feet scuffling behind me and I only make it halfway to the cafeteria before Charlie’s hand on my shoulder stops me. When I twirl around to face him I am surprised to see everyone staring at me with sympathetic and understanding gazes.
“We’re not really good with the mushy feelings stuff, but I just wanted to say that we get it. Your mommy issues, I mean.” Charlie scratches the back of his neck awkwardly and Joyce nods her head furiously.
“My mom treats me like I’m riddled with STDs. I wouldn’t be surprised if my name in her phone is ‘whore’.” Joyce bites her lip and cringes at her statement, making herself and me uncomfortable.
“I haven’t even spoken to my mom in three years,” Logan shrugs, before adding in a harsher voice, “But, she’s a bitch.”
I look at Charlie expectantly, seeing as we’re all sharing, but he only points to himself in shock before simply stating, “Oh, my mom’s dead and has been since I was four."
I’m shocked at this, seeing how happy Charlie is all the time I really would have never guessed that he had lost someone that close to him. My eyes graze over the trio in front of me and notice just how uncomfortable everyone seems at the mention of their mothers and their sharings of personal feelings. I guess this wasn’t something that we were really comfortable with.
“Uhm, thanks. I guess.” I mumble awkwardly, but really do mean it. I actually appreciate that they are trying to make me feel better about my mom, even if they have no clue what really happened between us. Charlie sighs in relief like he solved all my problems and pats me on the back with a reassuring smile.
All this mom talk suddenly reminds me of Lola and how she just found out about a life altering decision her mother made. They should really be reassuring Lola, not me. I was content with my mommy issues. I had somewhat accepted them. She, on the other hand, definitely still ached over her mother’s rejection and whatever else she’s done to her.
“I need to… finish some homework, but I’ll catch up with you guys later.” I tell the group just as they are walking away, Charlie sends me a sympathetic look as if he thinks I am going to go cry about my mom in my room. But, I let it slide in my haste to find Lola.
I can’t really explain it since the most obvious places to look would be her room and the pit, but I somehow found myself bypassing those two places and climbing the staircase that leads to the roof. Maybe I’m remembering the drunken night on this roof with the ten questions or the night in New York City when she found out about Marty passing away.
But, for whatever reason I bounded right up the flight of stairs and thrust open the squeaky door to the roof. My eyes grazed over the rocks and air ducts that could barely be seen in hazy gray of sky fall and land right on the mass of dark hair lying on the gravel, staring up at the sky.
Lola definitely has a thing for rooftops.
I silently let out a sigh of relief and make my way over to her, my feet crunching on the gravel. The breeze is strong enough to make me regret not bringing a jacket outside when its winter and I can feel the weather growing colder as night descends over the city.
Only a few stars litter the sky, most hiding away from the bright lights of the city -clearly visible from the height of this building. The sound of leaves rustling and birds chirping is mixed with the far-off noise of honking horns and sirens that make a beautiful melody I had become accustomed too.
I gingerly take a seat next to Lola on the uncomfortable rocks and look down to see her flashing me a lazy, drunken smile. It’s then, when I see a bottle of whiskey tightly cradled in her grasp, that I realized I was right. She is drowning her sorrows alone.
“Welcome to my kingdom, Noah. I would hold you up like Mustafa, but I’m afraid you’re just too heavy.” She laughs, and I feign my disappointment. She holds the bottle out to me in offering and I greedily take a swig, the liquor scorching my throat and warming my body slightly.
Lola’s dressed in just jeans and a t-shirt, her lips almost as blue as the rest of her frail body and I can’t help but wonder just how long she has been up here. I begrudgingly take off my cardigan and lay it across her chest and arms, which she immediately snuggles into.
“Mmmm… smells like mint and aftershave.” She hums, absentmindedly burying her face in the cotton material. A blush creeps up my cheeks at the fact that Lola is currently sniffing my cardigan, unashamedly.
I lay down next her, barely a foot between our freezing bodies. She wordlessly raises an unlit smoke in the air and I mechanically grab my lighter to light it. She looks at me as if I had just saved her newborn, sucking in the toxic fumes greedily.
“My hero to the rescue. My lighter ran out of gas three hours ago and I’ve been too knackered to grab my spare.” She blows out smoke into the air, the tendrils curling up into the sky before dissipating and billowing out around us, creating a veil of smoke.
“What are you doing out here?” Lola looks at me for a long time, her cerulean eyes glazed over and dazed before answering.
“Thinking.”
“About what?” I press and Lola gives me a sly smirk.
“Is that one of your questions?”
“What?”
“From the game. You do have two left.” She offers me a cigarette, but I decline and finally understand what she is saying. The game we played on this roof, practically in the same spot, only a month or two after I arrived. I still have two questions left. But, did I really want to use one on this?
“Yes. What are you thinking about?” Lola’s eyes roam over my face, scrutinizing every detail, and making me squirm for what seems like hours, but was probably only a few minutes.
She breathes out a heavy sigh before turning her head away from me and dragging her body across the distance between us until her shoulder is brushing mine. My breath hitches in my throat as she pulls my cardigan across her body until it is half covering the both of us.
My heart jumps in my throat and I try to steady my breathing from how close we are to each other. My face is mere inches from hers that if I so much as leaned over, my lips would graze her soft freckled cheeks. Her left side is completely pressed up against mine; every slender curve and dip felt by my body. I gulp audibly and try to resist the urge to sniff her hair, since I suspect that would be a bit creepy.
Lola seems highly unfazed by our contact and only breathes in her cigarette and takes another swig of her faithful lover Jack Daniels. I’m pretty sure that she is so highly flammable from all the alcohol that she has consumed that if she did try to light her own cigarette she would burst into flames.
A serene look passes over her face and I am beginning to suspect that she didn’t hear what I asked or is choosing to ignore it. But, before I can open my mouth to say anything, she starts talking so quietly that I have to lean in even more to hear her.
“My dad had a thing for hamburgers. More importantly, he had an obsession in finding the perfect hamburger, a hobby of his really. Something he fixated on when he wasn’t sat in a cubicle all day. It was practically what we ate every single day for every meal. When we went on vacation, camping, or even to the beach he wouldn’t let us eat anything else other than a hamburger he made or a hamburger from a restaurant. He never trusted the ones in McDonalds.”
A small smile tugs at her lips, but her eyes look sad, almost pained. I was expecting her to talk about her parent, just not this one. But I listen to every word that falls from her delicate lips because this is the first time she has even mentioned her father and I can’t help but notice that she is speaking in past tense.
“People used to bully me about it a lot, too. I guess I smelled like hamburger grease and I ate one every day during lunch because that was basically all we had since my mom didn’t cook and my dad only knew how to make hamburgers. So, I used to come home and cry a lot. I blamed my dad; yelled at him, told him he was the worst father, told him his obsession was stupid, basically everything I knew would hurt him. But, every time, without fail, he would always come up into my room with my favorite takeout from the Chinese place down the street. And he would apologize and cheer me up even though I know that my words had buried themselves deep in his heart.”
The smile on her face is gone now and she looks as if she is fighting back tears. Her rose petal lips are pulled into her mouth and she looks pained, filled with long resonated guilt. It takes everything in me not to pull her into my arms.
“But, he never did end his chase for the perfect burger. It sounds silly. Even saying it now, it sounds like a joke, but it was one of the few things in his life he could hold out hope for,” She sighs before turning to me, tying the story back to her mother, “I can’t even look at a burger now without wanting to vomit. Birthdays, parties, anniversaries always involved burgers. That was even the main course at his and my mom’s wedding.”
And we’re back to the wedding.
I want to ask her about her dad, if he ever found the perfect burger, why he and her mom aren’t together anymore. The whole thing seemed like something from a comedy to me and I expected Lola to laugh about it, but after she finishes her story she doesn’t even crack a smile.
I have a feeling she is going to regret saying all of this to me in the morning. A drunk Lola is an honest Lola, but she would never spill her guts sober.
I keep my eyes trained on her face, looking for any sign or emotion, but her expression remains neutral. A comfortable silence blankets us since I am not sure how to reply to her story, worried that the wrong thing might set her off or make her want to leave. She doesn’t dare look at me and only snubs out her cigarette in the rubble next to her.
“My mother is getting married again in less than two weeks.” She sounds spiteful and angry and I want to ask her what happened to her dad, but I bite my tongue.
“I know.” I whisper, my eyes never leaving her face.
“I have to go.”
“I know.”
“They won’t be serving burgers.”
“I know.” I can’t help but chuckle at this and am relieved when I see that Lola is grinning too. But, it’s gone in a flash and a scowl settles onto her face.
I want to say more, wish I could somehow say something that would wipe that pained and livid look from her face, but I can only lay next to her and provide shelter against the cruel winter.
We sit in silence until the sky turns black and the birds stop chirping. The moon barely serves as any source of light, only illuminating half the side of Lola’s face I can see. The weather only grows colder and the breeze harsher until I am shivering uncontrollably. Lola seems completely unfazed by the weather, her face pulled together, indicating that she is thinking hard about something.
As if a light bulb goes off inside her head, Lola’s eyes widen and she jolts up, swaying slightly in her inebriated state. She swivels to face me, a desperate look in her eyes and an excited smile on her face. I feel my mouth turning down into a frown because I was becoming way too familiar with that look.
“Noah, would you please come with me to my mother’s wedding?”