elanie

 

 

 

 

Molly scratches at the door of the antique shop, and I jump up to open the door for her. Light from inside the store illuminates the doorway, and immediately I can tell something’s wrong with her. She’s mewling at me like usual, but it sounds different. Like she’s scared or hurt. Her eyes are wild, and as I move toward the door she backs up and hisses. And that’s when I see it. Blood.

I can’t tell where it’s coming from, but I know she’s hurt. “Hey, it’s OK,” I whisper, slowly opening the door so I don’t spook her. I make gentle clucking sounds with my tongue, but as soon as the door opens she backs away even more.

“Shhhh. I’ll help you. Don’t run away.”

But she does, and I catch a glimpse of her back leg, mangled and bloody.

Shit. I feel sick, my head dizzy and light, and I start after her but she disappears into the dark along the side of the building, sprinting fast despite her injury. She’s gone. And I need to find her.

I lock up the shop and pull out my phone. I need someone to help me look, someone with a car. My mom’s out of the question. And I don’t have Jake’s number. But I know where he lives, so I turn the corner and stand outside his three-flat, hoping he doesn’t think I’m bothering him for something stupid when I tell him what I need.

He’s not home. I knock for several minutes, but his apartment windows are dark and nobody responds.

Think, Melanie. Where else could he be? Anywhere, really. Maybe in another town having dinner at another Baker’s Square or Denny’s or something like that. If he’s in town, there aren’t that many options.

Maybe Lucky’s? Lucy’s. Whatever you want to call it.

I take off, jogging at a steady pace until the old garish sign, the “k” unlit, is in sight. Jake told me not to go there again, and I don’t want to get Jones in trouble, but I’m only going to peek my head in, just for a second to check if Jake is there.

I grasp the worn wooden handle and pull the door open, the warmth and light, however dim, as well as the smell of stale beer from inside greeting me. I quickly scan the people at the bar—no Jake.

Just as I’m about to step all the way inside I see him. At a table with a woman. Their faces are close together and her hand is on his thigh, his hand on top of hers.

It’s like a semi truck hit me, knocked me right over and kept going. My lungs have stopped working, or it feels like that at least. I need to leave before he sees me, before I have to look him in the eyes and know I was just a piece of ass and nothing more.

Like my feet are made of lead, I pick up my feet and turn. I force myself to walk as the door shuts behind me and I’m outside, alone, in the dark.

~~~~

Through foggy eyes I bring up Stacey’s number as I walk back to Main Street. I know she won’t really understand, but hopefully she’ll help me because we’re friends. Or used to be at least. And I realize it’s stupid; it’s not like we’ll be able to find a cat just by driving around. Cats are notoriously good at hiding, and in the back of my mind I know it’s useless. But I can’t just give up. Sometimes, even if you know something’s a lost cause, you still have to try, at the very least to prove you’re still human.

“What’s up?” Stacey’s talking loud, and I can hear music and voices in the background.

“Stacey? I need your help.”

“You OK? Wait. Let me go to a quieter room.” She’s silent for a few moments, then I hear a door closing and she’s talking once more. “Robby and Sam are being stupid loud. Ugh. What’s going on, Mel?”

“This is going to sound dumb, but there’s this cat? I’ve been feeding her outside the antique shop. And today when she came by she was hurt. Like, her leg is messed up and she was bleeding. She ran off, but I want to look for her. Is there any way you could, I don’t know, drive me around?”

There’s a long silence. “A cat? You want to go look for a cat?”

God. I knew she’d think it was stupid. It is ridiculous. Suddenly all I want is to be home and in bed with the covers up over my head.

But then anger flares up in my stomach. “Remember when you said you owed me?” My voice is hard. “You said you were sorry, and you’d have my back, and I need your help right now.”

She hesitates. “I really can’t, like, drive right now? I’m so stoned!” She giggles, then hiccups. “I could, like, get in trouble if I got pulled over driving like this.”

“Stacey.”

There’s a longish pause, and she finally says, “You know what? I’ll just send Sam. I mean, we were going to start a movie, but it’s fine.”

“No, forget it…”

“He really likes you, Melanie. Even though you’ve been ignoring his calls.”

“It’s really all right.” I’m walking fast, hurrying to the antique shop, because maybe Molly’s back now.

“Where are you? Meet him at the store, OK? I’ll send him over. Anyway, Robby and I need some alone time.”

She hangs up. When I reach the antique shop, I call quietly for Molly, but there’s no sign of her except the few drops of drying blood on the pavement outside the store.

Where, exactly, are we going to drive? How do you even look for a cat? This is stupid. I’m stupid. But the one thing that keeps me going right now, that spurs me on to look for the cat is what I saw at the bar. I’ll do almost anything to forget about that.

Sam pulls up in Stacey’s Range Rover. “What’s going on?” He gets out and comes over to me, enfolding me in a hug. He smells vaguely of beer—has he been drinking and driving?—but I’m glad someone’s here to help me.

“Thanks for coming,” I say, pulling out of his embrace. “There’s this cat? I feed her sometimes at work. She’s hurt. I tried to get her to come inside, but she ran off, and I’m worried she won’t be OK out there all night.”

“So she usually comes here?” He puts his hands like binoculars to his eyes and peers into the shop, right up against the glass.

“Yeah.”

“All right. Let’s put out some food and water. Just on the sidewalk. And then we’ll walk around the area and see if we see anything. Sound good?”

“Yeah.” I unlock the door and Sam follows me in, picking up items and setting them back down as I get the bowls and food.

“You’ve been ignoring me.” He doesn’t sound angry, just surprised. As though he’s not used to being ignored.

“I’ve been busy.” I hand him the bowl of water and we go back outside, setting the dishes down.

“I’m heading back to school soon. And I feel like we didn’t really get a chance to hang out.” He takes my hand and looks into my eyes, a half grin on his face. He’s cute. Like, collegiate and smart and preppy cute. But he’s leaving soon, and anyway, my heart was broken into a million tiny pieces no more than an hour ago, and I’m barely hanging on.

“Let’s look for Molly, OK?” I pull my hand from his.

“Right.”

For about twenty minutes we walk along Main Street and in the alley that runs behind it, quietly calling and listening for any sound, looking for any movement. But there’s no sign of her. The food and water sits untouched in front of the shop.

“We could drive around,” says Sam, “but honestly? I don’t think it’s going to help.” His voice sounds sympathetic.

He’s right. I know it. It was stupid for me to even call Stacey in the first place. “Thanks for trying,” I say. “And, I don’t know, have a good trip back to school.”

“I’ll drive you home. You can’t walk alone this late.”

Home. It doesn’t feel like home. Just earlier, I was thinking about getting in bed and covering myself up, but suddenly I realize that home should also be where you have people who love you. Who look out for you. And maybe I don’t have that. Maybe I don’t have that anywhere.

“Or,” he continues, “you could come over to Stacey’s. Her parents are out of town, so Robby and I are hanging out there. You could sleep over there. I’m sure Stacey would let you borrow, like, clothes or whatever.” He puts one hand closer to me, hovering near my thigh, just waiting for the all-clear. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Yeah, OK.” I don’t want to lead him on, but I don’t want to be by myself tonight. It’s not like Stacey’s any closer to home than my own house and mom, but at least we can drink and laugh and I won’t be alone.

~~~~

We’re two episodes of Supernatural and one bottle of vodka in, hanging out in Stacey’s rec room. I don’t even know what time it is. Two, maybe? Three? It doesn’t matter. I haven’t been drinking, though the others have, but my head’s spinning nonetheless, going over and over what I saw in the bar. Images of her face; his expression. Their bodies. I feel like vomiting.

Stacey’s fallen asleep on the couch, and Robby’s in the kitchen putting a frozen pizza in the oven after lamenting the fact that there’s nowhere around here to order from except Sausage Sausage, and their food sucks.

“Tired?” Sam’s next to me on the couch not occupied by Stacey’s sprawled figure, and he pulls me into a side hug. All night he’s been making excuses to touch me; I’ve been carefully extricating myself.

“Exhausted. Yeah.”

“Let’s go upstairs. Find a bed to sleep in.”

“Sam…”

“Sleep. All right?”

“Use the guest room,” mutters Stacey, half-asleep. “Do not use my parents’ room.”

“Got it.” Sam grabs my hand and pulls me to a standing position. “Come on.”

The bed in the guest room is perfectly made. Like the rest of Stacey’s home, it’s decorated like something in a magazine. But I don’t care about the décor right now—all I want to do is get under the covers and drift away, let my mind go blank for at least a few hours.

I crawl into the bed, fully clothed, and sigh.

Sam gets in bed next to me, the mattress shaking slightly with his weight. My body tenses, and I hope he plans to keep his promise that we’re just going to sleep. Nothing else. Because I definitely don’t want anything else from him. I don’t want anything from anyone. Not even Jake. Not after what I saw.

For a few moments we lie in silence. And then he shifts his body closer to mine, draping an arm over me. His hand snakes across my chest, and he begins to massage my right boob.

I roll onto my stomach. “Stop,” I whisper.

“Sorry.”

Another couple of minutes pass, quiet again, but then he says, “Can we talk for a minute?”

I roll my eyes in the dark and turn over onto my back. “What, Sam? I’m tired.”

“Me too,” he murmurs, moving his body on top of mine. He kisses me, and for one second I kiss him back. Maybe I can do this. Maybe I can forget about Jake and the cat and everything else, even if it’s just for a little while.

But I don’t want to. “No. Stop,” I mutter against his lips, which are hungry on mine.

“You’re so hot, Melanie. Just a little…”

“No!” I push harder.

“I’m leaving tomorrow,” he says, resisting my efforts to get him off of me. “Let’s take advantage of an opportunity to have some fun.” He shoves his hand up under my shirt.

“Get. The fuck. Off of me!” I push with all my might, and this time he sits back while I extract myself from under him and jump off the bed, standing next to it and glaring at him. “What the hell?”

“Yeah, what the hell?” His eyes are sparking with anger—I can see them even in the dark room.

“I fucking said no, asshole.”

“Asshole?” He laughs, a dark and questioning chuckle.

“Yes. You’re being a fucking dick right now.”

“Shit.” He rubs his face with both hands. “I’m sorry. You’re right.”

I look at him questioningly, not sure if he’s being serious or sarcastic.

“No, for real,” he affirms. “No means no. I’m, you know, a gentleman. And shit.”

I can’t help a half-laugh.

“Look, I can’t drive you home. I’m kind of drunk? But if you want to sleep here, the room’s yours. I’ll go downstairs. I’m sorry about before.”

Still hesitant, I sit back on the bed. “Thanks.”

“Listen.” He gazes at me, his eyes filled with genuine concern but bleary from the vodka. “You’re, uh, nice. Smart. You deserve better friends than Stacey. I shouldn’t say that, because she’s my cousin’s girlfriend. But just, you know, watch out around her.”

“What do you mean?” My heart picks up, like my body knows he’s going to tell me something I don’t want to hear.

“Melanie, Stacey’s not a very good friend. Supposedly the only reason she started hanging out with you again is so you wouldn’t tell the truth about the drugs. She thought pretending to be your friend again and hooking you up with me would distract you.”

“Oh.” I bite my lip. I’m not really surprised, but I feel like all the energy’s leaking out of me.

He puts his hand on my shoulder gently. “There’s more.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, then open them and look at him. “Tell me.”

He actually looks sad as he speaks. “She’s the one who told the scholarship foundation that you got caught in a drug-related offense.”

“Jesus, Sam! What the hell?” Stacey comes around the corner. “What the hell are you doing? You weren’t supposed to…” She turns to me. “Melanie. I’m sorry, OK? He’s being stupid, and he’s been drinking. Don’t listen to him.”

My stomach swirls with nausea, and I swallow, fighting down the urge to vomit. “Is it true? Just tell me the fucking truth, Stacey.” My words are surprisingly steady.

“Get out, Sam.” She turns to him, her face angry. “Just get the fuck out of here.”

He mutters something under his breath and leaves, slamming the door behind him. Stacey plops down on the bed and glances up at me, a beseeching look in her eyes.

I shake my head. “Tell me, Stacey. Just tell me. Is it true?”

Her eyes leave mine, like she can’t bear to look at me. “Which part?” she finally asks. “Which part do you want to know about?”

My body starts trembling, shaking so hard I can barely speak. “Is it true that you were the one who notified the scholarship organization that I got in trouble?”

Head down, she responds. “You’re my best friend.”

“That’s not an answer, Stacey. Don’t lie to me. I’m not your best friend, and you’re not mine. We haven’t been friends for a really long time. Longer than I even knew. The only reason you’ve been hanging out with me again is because you’re scared I’ll tell the truth, that the drugs in my locker were actually yours. Just tell me the rest of it, Stacey.”

She looks up now, holding her head high and haughty, and I know it’s over. Everything between us is over. The last nine years of friendship, gone, like a tiny scrap of paper in a gust of wind.

Sucking in a deep breath, she nods. The worst part is she looks almost proud. “Yes. OK, yes. I tried hard to be friends with you again because I was worried you’d come forward and tell the truth after you lost the scholarship. But it’s not like we didn’t have fun together again! You know it’s true.”

I shake my head. “And the scholarship? Are you the one who notified them? Principal Evans said they called her, told her they’d received an anonymous email and she was under obligation to tell the truth. Was the email from you?”

Stacey squeezes her eyes shut, and for a second I want to say, Forget it. I don’t really want to know. But I need to be strong. The truth is, at the end of the day, the only thing we’ve got.

“Yes.” Her voice is small.

“God, Stacey! Why would you do that? Like, seriously? Why?”

“I was jealous. Melanie, I was so freaking jealous of you. I couldn’t stand it! You got into pretty much an Ivy League, and I didn’t. Like, you’ve always been the smarter one. And I just… I was tired of it. I wanted to be the one doing something better this time.”

“I don’t... I can’t… What the hell are you even talking about? U of I is an amazing school! And what does it matter that I was going somewhere else, somewhere supposedly better? Who cares? Why couldn’t you let me have this? You know I have nothing, Stacey. Nothing. My dad is the fuck in prison. You know that. My mom? Do you have any idea how many bottles of wine she drinks a week? How she spends all her money on that instead of groceries or clothes? You know I wear whatever rejects I can find at the antique shop before they get donated. When people bring in bags of old clothes? That’s how I shop. You’ve been my friend for, like, ever. You know these things. How could you? How the fuck could you?”

Her eyes are wide. Stunned. Slowly she shakes her head. “I don’t know.”

“And why didn’t you just go ahead and notify the university while you were at it? Why stop at the scholarship foundation?”

She looks at me, her eyes meeting mine. “I’m not that awful. I’m not that much of a bitch. Besides.” There’s a beat, and she doesn’t look at me. “I read a thing that they don’t, uh, actually care about some misdemeanors all that much. Sometimes. So.”

I burst out laughing, my body racked with hilarity.

“I said I was sorry. You’re not going to tell people the drugs were mine, are you?”

“Maybe I will.” I give her a defiant look. “What would you do, Stacey, if I did that?”

Her eyes widen. “I’ll deny it. And you know my dad can hire the best lawyers, if we need to, right? And you can’t? I just, like, want to save you the embarrassment of making some kind of ridiculous claim against me. Nobody would ever believe you over me.” She licks her lips. “So you won’t say anything, right?”

I gain control of my body and look at her hard, because I honestly don’t get it. I don’t get her. “Seriously? You seriously just asked me that?”

“Yeah. I mean, I don’t want to get into trouble, Melanie. You already are, but that doesn’t mean we both have to be, you know?”

It takes all my energy, every single bit of it, not to throw myself at her and claw her eyes out. Instead I stay calm, steady. “Stacey?” I say.

“Yeah?”

“Go fuck yourself.” I walk right past her on my way to the door, so close she must feel the breeze of me leaving. And I don’t look back. Because I no longer care. Fuck her. Fuck everyone.

~~~~

I have no idea what time it is, and I don’t have a plan. The gravel on the side of the road crunches under my feet as I make my way toward town. Stacey’s subdivision is a few miles out, but the air is cool with an undertone of spring, and the moon is bright, and I’m not scared of being alone on a desolate road in the middle of nowhere. What’s there left for me to be afraid of?

In the tall brush that separates the road from the fields beyond, unplanted and waiting for warmer weather, animals scurry away as I approach. Crickets chirp, and it’s almost melodic. It almost feels nice out here, like I’m taking a leisurely walk to enjoy nature.

But that couldn’t be farther from the truth. I half expect someone from Stacey’s house to drive up and slow down in her Range Rover, urge me to get in so at least I don’t have to walk the whole way back to town. But the road is silent and vacant, and I don’t see a single vehicle until I get into town.

Pink and orange fight the blackness along the horizon, rising slowly and steadily before the sun, by the time I get to my house. I walk up the sagging front steps and open the front door, unlocked as usual.

The sweet and sour smell of wine greets me as I step inside, and I’m somewhat surprised to see my mom at her computer. Her hours are strange, though, and inconsistent. Sometimes she stays up all night, only to crash as I’m leaving for school. Sometimes she goes to bed early, exhausted and drunk after a day of cheap wine and wakes up before I do. I have no idea what’s the case today; all I know is I don’t want to talk to her. I don’t want to talk to anyone.

“Where’ve you been?” She doesn’t turn around as she asks the question.

“Out.”

“Well, I figured you were out, honey, when I went to check on you and you weren’t in your bed.”

“I’m going there now.” I start moving past her.

“Can I show you something?” she asks.

I take a deep breath. “Later, OK? I’m tired.”

“Oh please? This one’s my best yet!” She clicks away, then brings up YouTube and starts playing her video. This one is a slideshow of photographs of cats with scared looks on their faces while a dance beat plays in the background with a voice on repeat saying, “Toot, toot, kitty. Hello! Hello! Toot, toot, kitty. Hello! Hello!” The photographs aren’t even switching in time to the beat.

I look away, because it’s hard to understand how this is my life, how the one person I’m supposed to count on the most spends her life drinking wine and making absurd videos.

“Do you like it? It’s kind of funny, right? And you won’t believe how many views…”

“Stop.”

“What?” She picks up her tumbler of wine and takes a big sip, then sets the glass down.

“Just stop, Mom, OK?”

“I don’t understand…”

“And that’s the problem!” I know I shouldn’t start saying what I think, because if I do, I’ll never stop. But it’s too late now. It’s like these things will keep building and building and explode inside me if I don’t get them out.

She frowns. “What’s the problem, Melanie?”

“The problem? The problem is that you’re my mom. You’re supposed to, I don’t know, buy groceries once in a while…”

“I do!” she interrupts.

“And maybe make my lunch sometimes? Drive me to school? But wait. You can’t! You can’t drive me to school because you’re too drunk all the time. It doesn’t even matter what time of day it is. You’re always drunk and you’re always drinking.”

“Melanie…”

“No. I don’t want to hear it! I don’t want to hear anything, and I don’t want to see your videos anymore. You’re wasting your time, and you know what else? They’re stupid! Your videos are horrible. The photos are pixilated and the music is terrible, and most of it? You don’t even have the legal right to use! You’re one of those people who thinks they know how to use Photoshop, but all you do is crop pictures and put them into a video. You don’t know anything!”

She’s quiet for a few moments. Then she starts clicking again, bringing Photoshop up onto her screen. “You think I don’t know how to use Photoshop? Watch. Just watch, Melanie. I’ll show you what I can do.” Her words are low, quiet, but filled with something, a strange mixture of anger and desperation. I know that feeling all too well.

I want to leave the room. I want to go away from here. But I stand still, frozen in my spot, watching as she brings up a photo onto her screen. It’s an old one that I’ve never seen, but I recognize the young version of my mom instantly. She’s holding a baby—me—and we’re standing on a beach. She’s slim, her legs long and pretty, and her hand is on my head to keep the little white bonnet I’m wearing from flying away. Her hair blows back in the wind, and she’s smiling broadly.

But when she clicks on something, a man appears next to us. My dad. He stands close to her but not touching, not quite. He’s not smiling, and he looks like he doesn’t want to be there with us.

She clicks him back in, then out of the photo once more. Where he was is ocean and sand, background that matches the rest of the photo. It’s like magic, and I’m startled she can do something like that.

“See? Do you know how hard it is to cut out a person flawlessly like this? To leave the background perfect? See the water? The clouds? You’d never even know he was there.”

“Mom…”

“You think I’m stupid. I know you do. Getting into University of Chicago, well, I’m proud of you, of course, but it doesn’t mean you’re smarter than I am, Melanie.” Her eyes dart to mine, and she looks like she’s scared.

“I never said I was smarter than you.”

“Yeah, well, you didn’t have to.”

“I’m sorry if I made you feel that way,” I stammer. How did this get turned around? Why am I suddenly the one apologizing? It’s crazy; I feel like I’m in some weird alternate universe or dream where nothing makes sense.

“I make the videos because they’re fun, Melanie. I enjoy it, all right? But don’t for a second think that I have no real skills, because I do.”

“Then why don’t you use them? Why do you sit here all day long and drink and make those… videos? Why? Why don’t you do something else? Something real?”

At first she doesn’t answer. We stare at each other for a long time before her face loses its anger and she looks only sad and confused. “I don’t know,” she finally says. “I just don’t know. I can’t. I don’t know.”

“You could if you wanted. All these years you’ve been getting your disability checks, and the whole time you’ve had the skills to do something real, to make actually money instead of getting just enough to buy your stupid wine. Maybe you could, I don’t know, help me pay for college? I just… I don’t get it, Mom.”

“I’m sorry.” She shakes her head, then finishes the wine in her glass. At least she could have the decency to stop drinking while we’re having this discussion.

I shake my head. “You’re not, though. If you were really sorry, you’d do something about it.”

“I can’t,” she says again.

“Whatever.” As I head to my room, I hear the splash of liquid as she fills up her glass again.

Once I throw all the books from my backpack, I stuff it with a change of clothes, some basic toiletries, my phone and charger, and all the money I’ve saved from working at the antique shop. I know I should have opened up a bank account, but instead I’ve stashed it in a tampon box at the back of my underwear drawer. It’s not a lot of money—$750 in total—but it’s enough to last me a little while. Where, exactly, I’m not sure. I have no idea where I’m going. But I know I can’t stay here.

I strip out of my clothes; there’s no time to shower, but I can put on clean stuff, at least. It’s stupid, and I hate him now, but I can’t help pulling on the Station Gray T Jake gave me. There’s a mostly clean pair of jeans on the floor, and I put those on, along with warm socks and my Converse sneakers.

Then I head out into the living room.

“Oh, honey, isn’t it too early to go to school?” She’s still there, still drinking, still working on her videos. Like nothing happened between us just a few minutes ago.

“I’m fine.” I continue past her to the front door. As I open it and step outside I hear her call after me, “Have a nice day!”