Head in the Box

by C.P. Kemabia

  “You find anything worth reading in there?” Carol asked casually while her palm popped the bottom of the syrup until it flowed out into a small dip bowl.

  “I was just curious about what happened in the World Series. I didn’t catch it yesterday.”

  “What a bummer,” Jen said.

  “It really is when you’re a St. Louis Cardinals fanatic.”

  Jen began unfolding the newspaper, but Carol tugged it out of her hands and put it aside. She picked up one strawberry and dipped it into the syrup, blackening its bright red color.

  “Try this,” she said to Jen, holding the chocolate-coated fruit up between her thumb and forefinger. Peter watched as Jen reluctantly opened her mouth and nibbled at it, the juice wetting her lips. The savory explosion of sweet flavors seemed to have seized her tongue by storm, because next thing Carol knew, Jen was now helping herself, rather ravenously.

  Tentatively, Carol turned to Peter and gladly offered, “Care for a bite?”

  V

  Simon was known not to easily succumb to a giggle, no matter how good a joke was. He had one of those hard mouths whose corners never curved upward, even slightly, to let on a smile. And his wan face, dominated by two sullen cavities passing off as eyeballs set rather closely, always gave him the appearance of being unapproachable.

  Alvin, who viewed himself as handsome in looks and bright in demeanor, had often wondered how come Charlie had fallen for Simon. Not that his best friend was without charms; some college girls still fancied the quiet and mysterious type to sustain their misplaced idea of the fantasy male. But deep down, Alvin had never quite figured out what drew Charlie to Simon.

  It may have been his eyes; they were cold when seen from afar, but up close, one could see a low-key blue light burning in them, burning like some dying pale star at twilight. His eyes were haunting for sure; yet seductive if you were a romantic. Chances were Charlie had been smitten with them, so much, in fact, that she wasn’t put off by the harsh and inadequate manners of the man they belonged to. Rarely would Simon engage socially—even with the people he liked—unless he absolutely had to. And a lot of guys on campus either resented him for that or hated his guts altogether, sometimes simply out of principle. But Alvin loved Simon like a brother and had grown accustomed to his social shortcomings.

  They had been bunkmates in their teens back in a private boarding school upstate and despite their differences, they had maintained a long-standing friendship. So it didn’t come as a surprise when Simon didn’t laugh at the joke Alvin had successfully tested several times during the party.

  “I don’t really see how it’s funny,” Simon said, his hand moving systematically through scores of trinkets sitting on one of the beam wall-shelves of the kitchen.

  “C’mon, it’s the funniest thing,” Alvin said, cracking up next to him. “She outwitted the guy with her remark; a nun for chrissake! I was this close to stepping up and smacking some respect into that jerkoff’s head, but I didn’t even have to.”

  Half listening, Simon searched through a decorative wooden vessel filled with stationery while Alvin went on:

  “’If that’s divine love, I know all about it’… Aw man, you should’ve seen the way she said it… It was like she was intentionally beaning his pride.”

  “I’m sure she was,” Simon conceded, leaving the vessel alone and patting the pockets of his washed-out jeans pants.

  “And you bet he felt it, the sucker… He thought he’d offend—or wow—that pretty little sister by bragging the supposedly huge size of his … you know, manhood… And she just came back at him, straight from the shoulder: ‘If that’s divine love, I know all about it.’ God, you—hey, are you listening? You lost something? ”

  “I can’t find my wallet.”

  “It’s probably somewhere around here.” A red rubber ball dropped from Alvin’s palm, hit the hardwood floor and bounced back up into his hand.

  “I’ve looked everywhere,” Simon said.

  “You must’ve been pretty wasted last night if you can’t remember where you put it,” Alvin supplied, dropping the rubber ball and catching it in midair. Simon didn’t seem to cheer at the comment. “Don’t worry, it’ll turn up. It didn’t suddenly grow a pair of legs of its own, did it?”

  The natural effusion of Simon’s face was obviously disturbed by an undercurrent of displeasure.

  “Fuck…” he muttered, putting his shoulder against the wall-shelf unit.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “I had two tickets in it, for today’s music expo at the Times-Union Center.”

  “I never knew you held me so dearly in your heart to spare no expense,” Alvin said, still playing drop-and-catch with his ball. He saw a little smile break the stoic façade of Simon’s expression and smiled along. “You’re going with Charlie?”

  “That’s the plan… If I can find my wallet.”

  Alvin glanced at Simon. The look was coming back to him; the quiet, distant-yet-close look.

  Lately, Alvin thought, whenever Charlie had been in Simon’s mind, there was always this soft quietness that originated in his friend and then cascaded out into the environment around him. Alvin prided himself on this insight, something he’d acquired through occasionally being the third wheel at their trysts, or by hitting hot joints with Simon (when he showed up) on boys’ night out throughout which the latter always remained unmoved, even in the company of women drawn by his unenthusiastic energy. And looking at his face beset with the jovial sunburst streaming through the kitchen window, Alvin could tell without doubt that his friend was now moved by the mysterious force of love. And though it had taken a sweet while, Charlie was responsible for this miracle.

  “I’m happy things worked out for you and Charlie, after what happened,” Alvin finally said, smiling wholeheartedly. He’d also quit fiddling with the rubber ball to set a serious tone to their next conversation. He said, “Who knows, in a few years you’ll be planning on getting an American foursquare, a large family car; I personally recommend a Prius, it’s quite roomy and perfect for experimental quickies, you know, if you ever get bored in the conventional setting of the master bedroom; I know I will.”

  Simon turned a knowing eye on Alvin; the latter added with the same seriousness, “Because what’s the bottom line in this life? Well, I believe—for some of us anyway—it is to become the patriarch of your own little tribe.”

  “You’ve got my life all worked out for me, huh?”

  Alvin nodded. “Why do you think I’m your wingman?”

  Simon slowly detached himself from the wall-shelf unit and dusted a speck off of Alvin’s tweed sport coat.

  He said, “Wonder what I’d do without your proper counsel.”

  “You’d still do all right.”

  They both traded a friendship look for a moment. And as if a covenant, an unspoken bond made to last a lifetime, had been struck visible onto a sacred stone, they grinned to one another at their understanding, their mutual trust. And this was one of those rare occurrences where Simon’s face would beam wholly.

  “So what’s going down for you today?” Simon asked Alvin, leaving the kitchen area to join the rest of the group in the living room.

  “While you guys enjoy yourselves at the Time-Union Center, I’ll be home hitting nothing but books,” Alvin said, following up and resuming his play with the rubber ball.

  “You studying on a Sunday?” Simon said, disbelieving, and Alvin nodded wearily.

  “Midterms?”

  Alvin nodded again.

  “I hear you…”

  “Same boat?” Alvin asked in turn while glancing around the living area to see whatever the others were up to.

  “Grad review,” Simon said.

  Dominic, who was still going through Tara’s massaging treatment, cut in. “Yeah? When are you passing that?”

  “In a month,” Simon answered.

  “Wish I had a month,” Alvin said, flopping down on the slope arm of the slip
-covered couch where Jen and Carol sat. “I think I’ve reached this point of saturation where my brain can no longer absorb important stuff.”

  “Maybe it’s time you revise your definition of important stuff,” Simon suggested and everybody smirked almost all at once.

  VI

  In her bedroom, Charlie wore shiny tapered pants and a sleeveless vest top over a casual royal-blue shirt. Then she gently fingered her lightly-bruised cheekbone. At times, the pain came and went, inadvertently—like a lost friend one doesn’t particularly long to see again—though, more often than not, it was her imagining. But today, the pain was real. And it was round-tripping back and forth all over her face, hurting it as it went along, even dying prematurely on one spot, only to reemerge twice as painfully on the next. Charlie didn’t cringe from the pain though; instead, she marked it to the bad feeling which was growing more and more inside her.

  She was too sensitive to those sorts of things, her father never missed a chance to point out; “Just like your mother,” he would then add. But Charlie had come to never ignore those tingling feelings after her father had been forced away out of their lives and, somewhat, she’d known it would happen, that they’d get separated that way. And today, even after the anticipated moment of the pregnancy test result, the same feeling was persisting. Something else was amiss. But what? Charlie applied a bruise cream to her cheek. It eased the pain out, along with any foreboding thoughts, from her system. The people she cherished most were all gathered in the living room. The party last night had been great thanks to all of them. And she felt less uneasy knowing they were still there…

  Charlie walked out of the bedroom and they all turned when they saw her.

  II

  “Somebody slept in,” Dom said upon seeing Charlie coming toward them.

  She gave little smiles around to all the company, wondering what hour of the morning it was. She hadn’t gotten a chance to look at the time. Another thing was, with the sunlight pouring into the room through a quartet of double-leaf windows looking out on the skyline of a neighboring district, she could plainly see how littered the place was.

  Remnants of the party lay around in the forms of empty bottles, pitchers of liquor, shredded pieces of gift wrapper… Tara and Jen were no doubt procrastinating, avoiding the cleaning up. And she could sympathize with that. Waking up to this much hugger-mugger made you want to be a lazybones and just let it as is.

  She was mentally assessing the scale of the cleanup job when someone lovingly stroked her hand; it was Simon. “Feeling older already?”

  “Not older than usual; it’s just one year.”

  “And it’s minus 365 days in the overall days of your lifespan,” Tara said. “At this point time starts flying past your nose so quick you hardly feel its passing.”

  “Until you notice your first wrinkle,” Dom said, directing his comment to Tara.

  He meant it as a compliment, but she pinched at his ear in response. Tara had prominent dimples which outwardly showed her veracity when she pulled a face. A pity she didn’t see it that way, Dom thought.

  Charlie cleared her throat, rather coyly, and said, “Guys, I’d like to thank you all for the surprise party. Means a lot that you went to great lengths to keep it a surprise, considering the crowd that turned out. I didn’t see it coming, and the karaoke certainly spiced things up—”

  “—No offense, but your singing skills suck,” Carol cut in.

  “I know,” Charlie added, “that’s because I have the vocal range of a whale. Thought you guys knew that.”

  Alvin said, turning an amused eye on Carol, “If she sings like a whale, then I know someone who’s more on the parrot-y side.”

  Carol rolled her eyes and Charlie resumed, “At any rate, I just want to say thanks. It was great and it’s not something I will forget.”

  Looking at Simon then at Charlie with a funny expression as if to impart some secret love message to her, Jen said, “If you’re gonna thank someone, thank Simon. The surprise party was his idea.”

  Simon seemed to blush. He wasn’t a very demonstrative kind of guy and this show of sentimentality was a little embarrassing. He quickly said, “Come on, we all chipped in.”

  Charlie looked at him, took his hand in hers and mouthed, “Thank you.” Then to all, she said, with feeling, “Haven’t had a party thrown for me in years.”

  Tara said, “Well, I think you deserve a bit of solace after the car crash and everything.”

  Peter took up on that thread and said, compassionately, “I heard about it…”

  Last night, apart from wishing Charlie a happy birthday, Peter and she had barely exchanged a word. Now was good a time as any to remediate.

  “An unfortunate event,” he continued. “I know it can leave a rather traumatic impact on the injured when the crash is severe.”

  “It wasn’t severe or anything,” Charlie said, touching the fading bruise on her cheek. “Just a small graze is all.”

  “Tara tells me you have a strong character. I can easily see that.”

  “Thanks…” Charlie said, then she hesitated at calling his name.

  “Peter…” he reminded her, not taking any offense. He wasn’t good with names either. And this was, more or less, their first full-on conversation.

  “Peter… That’s right.” Charlie added, “Glad to see you’re still with us.”

  “Yeah, thanks for having me; it’s really cool of you.”

  “You’re welcome. Tara’s friends are my friends. Besides, we’re roommates, so she’s the one who really put you up.”

  Charlie then glanced around the living area, as if expecting to see someone who evidently wasn’t there. She asked, “Where’s Max?”

  II

  Though Maxim was Charlie’s twin brother, they bore very little resemblance to one another and had very little in common besides their last name and their birthday. However, a strong sibling connection bound them closely together and everyone in the living room (save Peter) was aware of that.

  “I haven’t seen him this morning,” Alvin said.

  “Neither have I,” Tara volunteered.

  Carol chewed on the last bit of strawberry, saying, “Maybe he split without saying goodbye; that’s what he usually does. I mean he’s frankly a little loony in the head if you ask me.”

  Charlie did not answer. Jen turned a huffy eye on Carol. The colloquial manner in which her girlfriend picked on people often made her tick. But it wasn’t Carol’s fault. She was a bit of a superficial snob by nature who carried herself with the feeling of being a little above the common folk.

  Jen said, giving her a nudge, “Don’t go saying nasty things behind his back like that.”

  “Oh, come on…” Carol grumbled.

  Simon, who was still standing beside Charlie, said, “I don’t think he left; he’s probably out there snapping pictures or something. You know how he rolls. Look, it’s beautiful out.”

  Again, Charlie did not answer and simply pulled her cell phone out of her pants.

  Simon asked, “What are you doing?”

  “Calling him up.”

  “Come on, you worry too much.”

  “It’ll only take a second.”

  Charlie moved a few feet away and dialed Max’s number; Simon shrugged and found himself a seat.

  Finishing off the massage on Dom’s spine, Tara said, to no one in particular,

  “Well, for his sake, Max better have a good excuse for going AWOL like that.”

  Feeling physically repaired, Dom protested:

  “Christ, he doesn’t need any excuse. Last time I checked, this was a free country.”

  “He may be the captain of his own fleet, but you know her. She must know whatever floats his boat.”

  Peter easily said, “I wouldn’t mind if I had a sister who deeply cared about my comings and goings. Though it’s kind of emasculating for a guy.”

  Carol said, with genuine honesty, “Most of the time, the highlight in my fa
mily gatherings is when aunts and uncles jump at each other’s throat at dinner over anything and everything because, in their own words, they’re too caring.”

  Simon said, with a hint of surprise in his voice, “You have such an … elegant code of conduct that it’s hard to believe you’re not taking after your folk.”

  “Of course I take after them,” Carol proudly said. “But their siblings think otherwise. They always have some freaking argument about the correct manners by which offspring ought to be brought up so they become important assets to society. You should see it; the nitpicking doesn’t end. I mean, if that kind of hellish yakety-yaking is what siblinghood entails, I tell you I can’t thank God enough for being the only child to my parents.”

  Alvin grinned.

  “And we can all see just how it’s working out for you.”

  Tara stifled a giggle while Jen tried her best not to openly smile.

  Carol barked, her face seized in an upset expression which slightly misaligned her harmonious features, “Alvin, you just take care of yourself there, you know!”

  Charlie rejoined them.

  She said, “His cell phone’s off.”

  Simon beckoned her to him and sat her on his lap, saying, “Like I said, he’s out chilling somewhere, so relax, eh. I have plans for us today and I don’t want you to worry none about anything, okay?”

  He kissed her multiple times on the cheek where the bruise had almost toned up with her fair skin. She asked him to stop; though she liked it when he did that. It reminded her of how her father used to peck her face with kisses as a child, his beard-stubble always leaving a tickling sensation on her even long afterwards.

  Peter glanced at his wristwatch and drew himself up. He said, “Well, it’s already 15 past 10 … and I wouldn’t want to abuse your hospitality.”

  “Nonsense,” Tara said. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you please.”

  Peter picked a rucksack off the floor and said, “Thanks, Tara, but I really must take my leave. It was really nice of you to let me crash in here for the night. Hope we get a chance to hang out more.” He quickly added, “You guys are really awesome.”