Enigma: The Rise of an Urban Legend

by Ryan Schow

  “The board is for your brother. We’re dating now.”

  “I don’t have a brother.”

  Grinning, I say, “Oh, so Todd’s not your brother?”

  Her mouth falls open.

  “Yeah, me and him we’re…a thing. And you and I? We’re probably going to be sisters one day so I’d think very carefully about how you start our relationship.”

  “You’re full of it.”

  “You’re right. Todd’s not into girls, but you already knew that, didn’t you?”

  “My brother’s not gay,” she harsh-whispered, glancing around the restaurant in a panic wondering if anyone heard me.

  “I didn’t say that,” I say, my voice ever so sugary.

  “You said he was gay,” she challenged. Her eyes are so hard at this point, honestly, they could scratch diamonds.

  “He is.”

  “No, he’s not.”

  “I know he’s not,” I say, purposely confusing her. This is gas-lighting 101, but in small more obvious doses, and though it’s effective as hell in psychological sabotage, it’s not nice.

  It’s not nice at all, and I know later I’ll be ashamed of myself.

  “But you…”

  Lowering my voice, stepping into her sacred circle, I let the ratchet edge of my voice come out. “You lost Sebastian when you fucked that dirt bag Darren Laffer. Dirty, dirty Derek. Even the thought of him sits in your head like a sour apple.”

  Now all the sudden we’re super quiet, which maybe makes the anger that much worse. “So he told you that? Sebastian? Is that what you two talked about? Derek freaking Laffer?”

  “It was your first time with a man with an uncircumcised dick. You found it ugly. If he wasn’t so…pretty, you’d have left that overpriced hotel room, ditched the Champaign and strawberries, the chocolates he brought you that you left in the hotel bathroom’s garbage can at check out.”

  “You can’t know that,” she hissed.

  “You were naked before you could change your mind about dirty Derek. Naked and ready. You’d crossed the sexual starting line. Came too far to turn back. You knew what dirty Derek wanted and Sebastian wasn’t giving it to you, so you took what you thought you wanted and it wasn’t what you wanted at all, was it Corey?”

  That was Derek’s pet name for her: Corey.

  “Have you been talking to Derek?” she says on a startled, nearly breathless exhale. “Is that who told you these things?”

  Corrine starts to back away, but I grab her arm and squeeze, holding her against her will. Snaking up to her, booby to booby, I blow snarling death in her face: “You put him in your mouth, then you stuffed him deeper inside you. And when you were done, when you were creep-crawling with shame and overflowing with remorse—when you were wrapped in those silky-soft sheets watching Darren get his unflattering gizmo into those fresh tighty-whities—you swallowed an upsurge of puke, bit back those huge crocodile tears, then thought of running away even though you can never run from you, can you, Corey? You have to suffer your mistakes. But I don’t. Sebastian is mine if he wants me and if you try to interfere, I’ll fucking kill you.”

  I hear someone blanch behind me. The hostess. Or maybe one of the blue-hairs that love these places because of the handicap ramp, the slow pace, and the bitter coffee.

  Letting go of Corrine, giving her the slightest shove away from me, she stumbles, knocks into a polished wooden wall, then staggers off like a drunk for a few steps before walking normal. The hostess is standing there, mouth flopped open, not a single word sitting in that pretty hole in her face.

  Wow, I thought to myself, these bitch claws are sharp. Perhaps too sharp.

  Now I’m embarrassed.

  The hostess, she said, “Did you just threaten to kill her?”

  “Why would you say such a thing?” I ask, sounding mortified. The sweet and innocent version of me is back. It’s like a Southern smile, but not. It’s me being one hundred percent California-girl, but not in a snotty, entitled way.

  She leans in, then says, “I heard you,” in the most accusing way. Uh…rude!

  “You said it first.”

  “No I didn’t,” she replies, aghast.

  “You shouldn’t threaten your customers,” I announce. People start to look at us. Well, the people who weren’t already looking at us.

  “I…I—”

  “I’d like table nine,” my mouth says while my mind circles her brain the same way a python circles its prey before choking it to death and swallowing it whole. Crawling her mind, not out of spite or meanness, I say, “I understand the view is just delightful.”

  She just stands there.

  I snap my fingers in her face and say, “Table nine.”

  The hostess, whose name is Mindy, escorts me to my table. A few minutes later I’m ordering a waffle, two eggs, two strips of extra crispy bacon and a big glass of orange juice. After that it’s all about figuring out how to make Sebastian mine without him putting up too much of a fight over the now-flushed-down-the-NY-drain Raven. Or that pestilence, Corrine. I.e. Corey, if you’re dirty, dirty Darren.

  5

  Later that day, I stop into the surf shop and Sebastian’s not up front. I’m thinking he’s working on my board. Well, not mine. It’s going to be a gift. When I step into the shop, I’m met with the toothy grin of an older man, a guy with the kind of splotchy skin and still-long hair that looks like he’s surfing well into his fifties. He’s got the body for it, not that I’m into old looking dudes these days. Maybe in another hundred years…

  “What’s up, little lady?” the man says, making me smile because he has no idea he’s the younger of us two.

  “Sebastian here? He’s making me a board.”

  “You surf?” he asks, giving me the once over, but not in a creepy way. More like he’s intrigued. Ten bucks says I’m not blonde enough or tan enough or in skimpy enough clothes to be someone he’d think of as “a regular.”

  “It’s a gift for a friend.”

  “A little thing like you has no business being in Huntington Beach and not knowing how to surf. We give lessons if you want to learn—”

  “I might. When the summer sun comes out again.”

  “You’d be surprised how warm you feel in a wetsuit,” he replies with a grin.

  “You’re a man of many answers.”

  “That’s why I’m the boss,” he says. “Hang on a sec, lemme grab Sebastian.” He walks in back, leaving me feeling good about him, but strangely nervous about seeing Sebastian. Hadn’t I gotten over the new boy jitters like fifty years ago?

  Jeez…

  Sebastian appears looking powder-coated and filthy, yet still every bit as handsome as last night. There’s a heavy duty breathing mask resting on his forehead, his hair is coated in white dust and he has the white shadowing around his face that says he’s been sanding the board down for more than a minute.

  “Hey,” he says.

  “Hi.”

  “Not done yet,” he tells me. “Getting close, though.”

  “That’s no problem. I didn’t think it’d be ready yet. In fact, I was just thinking when you break for lunch, maybe you’d want to grab a bite together.”

  His body language changes; it’s how one looks right before they lay out the big, disappointing “no.”

  “I’m actually going to skip lunch. I have to finish today because I’m going to be off for a few days. Well, four to be exact. It’s the season.”

  His boss hadn’t come out front yet. Perhaps he was in back, browsing a surfing magazine and rolling a spliff. He had that kind of air about him.

  Not that I’m judging…

  Sebastian didn’t expect to be taking off the time, I realize. The seasonal layoff just hit him. He didn’t expect that, either, since he and his boss were the only employees in the slow season. Now it’s just his boss and Sebastian’s on call. He doesn’t tell me this. I tip-toe inside his brain for a second, long enough to find what I need.

  “You’r
e going to be exhausted tonight, then. And hungry.”

  “Most likely,” he says, his face warming.

  “I’ll make dinner and you can bring me my board, how’s that?”

  “It’s gonna be late, I’m afraid.”

  “Good news, I’m a night owl. So do you have plans or what?” I ask, cocking an eyebrow, the kind that says I’ll know if you start bullshitting me.

  “Um, probably gonna need a long shower.”

  “And after that?”

  “I guess nothing really.”

  “Good. You can shower at my place.” He starts to object, but I hold up my hand and say, “Quit being such a buzz kill and just let me make you dinner already. I’ll even say it’s not a date if that makes you feel better.”

  “It would.”

  “What time?” I ask.

  “Eight?”

  “Good, it’s a date.”

  “No it’s not,” he says.

  “Okay, it’s not,” I say, heading out, but as the front door’s shutting—over my shoulder—I yell, “but it is!”

  Later that night, when he arrives at my place, I’m in shorts and a thin t-shirt (no bra, because I feel like being cruel), white sandals with my hair pulled up. It’s not fair, but who ever played to win and thought playing fair was somehow the brightest idea?

  “That’s not right,” he says, looking at me (and my chest), then looking at himself. He sets my board down inside the front door and it’s gorgeous.

  “Wow,” I say, looking it over, touching it, “it’s beautiful!”

  I look up at him and he’s just staring at me. When the time is right, if I can ever pull this thing off, the whole me once being Raven thing, I’ll give him the board. After all, it’s a gift to him and not some imaginary friend.

  “What?” I ask, moving out of the way to let him in.

  “You look amazing and I look like a professional chalk board cleaner.”

  “You stink, too. I bought you some clothes. They’re in the bathroom. Follow me.” If he’s surprised, he doesn’t show it. I walk him in back, then say, “Is it going to bother you if I watch?” and he doesn’t know what to say.

  “Just kidding, I’ve got food on the stove, so take as long as you want, but no more than a half an hour. Dinner will be ready in about forty-five minutes and I want you to be able to properly do your hair.”

  He laughs and I laugh because, honestly, he could towel dry his hair, tease it just a bit, and it would look perfect. The natural beauty that boy has, the fact that he’s not genetically modified like yours truly, baffles me. Or maybe he’s loaded with mods and I’m none the wiser.

  Um…can anyone say Professor Jake Teller? The things you don’t know about some people could fill a library!

  I pull the door shut almost all the way, then steal a peek while he’s undressing. As he’s pulling his boxers down, he catches me looking, then shuts the door in my face and I’m like, “That’s not you being a very good guest!”

  Dinner is delightful, but he breaks away after dinner for a second while I sit on the couch and go through the cable guide to see if there’s anything on TV. I really want him to stay, but he’s in the other room right now, feeling a bit restless. Like he’s contemplating leaving. It’s a battle that’s fast becoming a war inside his head. Me or Raven? He’s been texting Raven, but Raven isn’t answering.

  A few minutes later, a text comes in. It’s from him. He’s texting her. Me.

  Yep, it’s for Raven.

  The message is asking me why I’m not texting him back, if something happened. He’s telling me he’s worried now. That it’s been days.

  My finger hovers over the digital keyboard. What should I say? Anything?

  “Hey,” he says, reappearing.

  I put the phone away.

  “Hey.”

  “Anything good on?”

  “A couple of chick flicks,” I say. “Boner killers mostly, for a real man, that is.” He laughs and it’s the first unguarded thing he’s done since I met him as Savannah.

  “Anything with blood and guts in it?” he asks. “Something with sex and f-bombs?”

  I start clicking through the premium movie channels. That’s when I see Fifty Shades of Grey and my heart sinks a bit. Tavares. He was supposed to watch that movie with me. We were going to have the best sex ever, but I went and killed him, so it was kind of…not what I’d hoped for.

  It’s crazy how his death still sits with me after all these years. How much it continues to affect me. Maybe he would have been my one and only. Or perhaps that was always his destiny. God what a clusterfu—

  “Are we watching it or not?” he asks, and I realize I haven’t taken the cursor off the movie title.

  “Not.”

  I scroll through a few more shows, then turn it to a music channel, something slow and sultry, like lounge. Something to really set the mood. Or at least pull me out of the Tavares funk.

  “If I play this music, if I talk to you and we get cozy, please don’t read this the wrong way, I’m into you but I’m not going to sleep with you.”

  He stiffens. “I’m not trying to sleep with you—”

  Acting put off, I say, “What’s wrong with me that you don’t want to sleep with me?”

  “Nothing, I just—”

  “Look, it’s no biggie. I just didn’t want you to think…well, you know what they say, a man can’t be friends with a woman without eventually wanting to sleep with her.”

  “When Harry Met Sally,” he says.

  I feel myself perking up. “Wow, you’re not really old enough to have remembered that.”

  “I’m a sucker for those Nora Ephron movies, especially the ones with Meg Ryan.”

  “What’s your favorite one?”

  “You’ve Got Mail. I’m sure it was some sort of promotion for AOL’s email or something, but I still got a kick out of it. You know, how she learns he’s the big book store owner putting her little book store out of business, and how it throws them into major conflict, but then, in the end, they work it all out and still get together…I sort of liked that.”

  “Do you think love is like that? True love, I mean? How it makes no sense, how against all odds and circumstances, that original bud of love can bloom?”

  “I thought I was in love, once,” he says. “It was wonderful, but then I heard Corrine slept with a co-worker. After that, love just…well, it felt more like the big wind-up that would eventually lead to a long walk off a steep cliff.”

  “My last boyfriend died.”

  He coughed out a “What?” like that was the last thing he expected me to say. Hell, it was the last thing I expected me to say.

  “What happened?”

  “His heart failed in the middle of sex. I had to tell his father. It was horrible.”

  “Jesus,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “When was this?”

  “Sometimes it feels like it was just yesterday, other times it feels like it happened a hundred years ago. You don’t get over something like that.”

  “Is that why you said you didn’t want me to get the wrong idea about you?” I nod my head, feel myself longing for him for noticing that. “What is the right idea? The idea you want me to have about you?”

  “That I’m unattainable to you.”

  “And are you?”

  “No.”

  Right then he leans forward, his eyes locked on mine, his hand on my cheek, brushing a strand of hair off my face, tucking it behind my ear.

  “Sebastian…”

  “Shhh,” he says, then slowly, so there is choice in the matter if I need it, he leans in and kisses me. Oh. My. God. I breathe in the freshly washed scent of him, feel his soft, warm mouth on mine and I taste him, savor him, draw his body against mine.

  He’s respectful enough to not put his hands on my tits while we’re making out, or try to undo my pants and slide his hands into my underwear. So he’s not perfect. I guess I can live with that. Because the truth is, I’ve been
dying to have him in bed again, to have another night like the one we shared when I was Raven and he was with Corrine.

  What an amazing evening.

  Pulling back, slowly pulling his mouth off mine, he just looks at me, smiling, but not smiling. “You kiss like her,” he says.

  Uh, oh. Kiss like Corrine?

  “Like who?”

  “Raven.”

  “Oh,” I say, not sure how I feel about the comparison. “That girl who isn’t calling you back.”

  “Yes,” he says, serious, “that’s the one.”

  “Is everything okay?”

  “I’m not sure. It’s been a few days and I’m sort of starting to worry.”

  “Girls are like that,” I find myself saying. “One minute we want chocolate, but then that first bite doesn’t taste the way you expect it to so the next minute we’re looking for the perfect glass of wine. If there’s anything I can tell you about women, it’s that you pretty much can’t relax around them because most of them your age couldn’t tell you what they want at gunpoint.”

  His chest jumps with a couple of heartless laughs, like he gets it, but he doesn’t get it.

  “You talk like you’re older than you look. I know it’s not polite to ask, but…how old are you?”

  “Just a few years older than you,” I lie. “Maybe the same age. Who knows? Then again, who cares? You like me, and I think I might like you based on that kiss…”

  “How is it that you’ve done so much with your life already? And how come you sound so smart and capable, yet so…alone? But not in a bad way. Is it because your former boyfriend?”

  “I’ve had an interesting life. Listen, since you’re not going back to work for a few days, I want to do something for you, rather with you. Will you let me?”

  “I will,” he says, and I can see he’s slowly starting to let Raven go.

  “Pack an overnight bag when you go home, and I’ll pick you up in the morning.”

  “Really?” he says. I nod, grinning. “Where are we going?”

  “I’m going to show you something special.”

  “Which is?”