The F Word

by Liza Palmer

  “Oh. Oh. Right—”

  “Do you know movies?” Louisa’s follow-up question doesn’t sting as much as her tone. She’s talking to me with the terrified kindness of someone who honestly doesn’t know what the monster in front of them is capable of.

  “I know movies. In fact, I’m Groot. From … from that one movie,” I say. Shit. Louisa’s eyes narrow. She knows. She waits. Ben stands back up and is now holding all but one of Tilly’s goldfish.

  “Which one movie?” Ben asks, absently redoing Louisa’s elaborate ponytail configuration. Tilly pulls her black dress up, tugs a piece of candy out of her little jeans underneath, and then sits down next to me.

  “It was actually a comic first,” I say, stalling. Tilly sighs, pops the candy in her mouth, and leans back against me.

  “Oh, good. They found you,” Myrna says, walking up in a Snow White costume.

  “Mom, you remember Olivia Morten,” Ben says.

  “Yes, honey. What about her?” Myrna asks, taking back all of the baggies of fish from Ben.

  “Would you like to say hello to her?” Ben asks, gesturing to me. Myrna’s look of utter disbelief as she turns her gaze to me is less about me being dressed as a tree and more about me no longer weighing a thousand pounds.

  “Oh, yes. Yes. I’m so sorry.” Myrna collects herself and regroups. “Of course. Hello again, Olivia.” Myrna extends her hand and I shake it as best I can.

  “Thank you for making a place for Caroline,” I say.

  “It’s our pleasure. She’s been lovely,” Myrna says. Myrna looks at the little girls. “You ladies ready to head back?” Tilly hands the candy wrapper to Ben and lifts her one remaining goldfish high.

  “No more playing at the goldfish table, Señorita Tillyweather McStubbins,” Ben says. Tilly smiles wide and hugs him around his neck.

  “Señorita Tillyweather McStubbins is not her real name.” Louisa is concerned. I nod. “It’s just a nickname,” she whispers. “Dad makes up crazy nicknames all the time.” She’s leaning on her little staff as she speaks.

  “What’s his nickname for you?” I ask.

  “Commander Louisa Smarty-pants of the Seventh Brigade,” Louisa says, saluting.

  Oh my god.

  “That’s a good one,” I say. Louisa beams.

  “The kids are loving Gus,” Myrna says, motioning to the field. Tilly’s dress is still hitched up above her jeans as she takes her grandmother’s hand.

  “Oh, so sorry. I forgot to tell you about him,” I say, looking from Myrna to Ben.

  “His people called,” Ben says.

  “His people?” I ask.

  “I know. I say things like that now because of you,” he says.

  “Lovely seeing you again, Olivia. But, it seems we have a cakewalk to get to,” Myrna says, as the girls go wild. I smile and wave as they begin to walk away. Louisa looks over her shoulder. She comes running back and takes my hand in hers.

  “Guardians of the Galaxy. That’s the movie you’re from,” she says. “In case anyone else asks.” Louisa nods. “Bye, Dad. Love you.” Ben leans down and Louisa gives him a quick kiss. Louisa catches up to Myrna and Tilly and we follow them down to the field where the fair is.

  As we make our way to the field, I can’t look over at him. I actually can’t. It’s too much. This—well, not exactly this—is the fantasy I had in high school: Ben and I walking into an event somewhere. He’s wearing that uniform and I’m thin and beautiful and, you know, not trapped in a tree. But, even now as we make our way down the stairs, he’s talking so easily with me. He’s animated and familiar. That part of the fantasy feels almost eerie. I knew he’d be like this. Friendly and open. Not the sarcastic bro version of him from high school. Of course, I’m not making fun of him either, which might also be a factor.

  “Gus dressed up as his character from the movie. The kids love it. He brought tons of toys and stuff,” Ben says. We get to the bottom of the stairs and the whole fair opens up in front of us. “Put on your head before the kids see.”

  “Oh, right.” I plop the head on. “Um. Okay. I…” I fiddle with the head and finally get it situated so I can see out of the weird black marble eyes. “I can barely see anything.”

  “Here.” Ben takes my arm. “I got you.”

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  “Before I check in with Gus and Caroline, can you take me to Rocket?” I ask, my words muffled.

  “She’s right over here.” Ben’s hand clamps around my arm and I let him lead me through the chaos of the fair. As we walk, I realize that being stuck inside this costume mutes all of my senses, except for my hearing. And the only thing I can hear is what it must be like to be Ben Dunn, even for one day.

  “Looking good in that uniform, Ben,” a woman coos.

  “Oh, you know, gotta pull the old relic out from time to time,” Ben says, his voice laced with sugar.

  “Well, you’ve definitely still got it,” the woman says. Ben’s hand shifts and tightens on my arm as they exchange what I can only imagine are sexy, wanton glances at one another. All the while ignoring the enormous tree he’s dragging along with him.

  My breath echoes around in the giant tree head. Quick, shallow breaths as I sink into the old familiar invisible status of my youth. How quickly this sensation returns. I wobble a bit in the costume. Ben is quick to catch me.

  “You okay in there?”

  “Yep,” I say, instead of blurting out I am having quite the mental breakdown. One of many, apparently. Cue: hysterical laughter that no one could hear because I’m trapped in a motherfucking tree. I start walking. The faster I meet up with Rocket, the faster I can take this infernal costume off and the faster I can get back to whatever is left of the life I’ve built over the last ten years.

  “We’ll take it slow,” Ben says. I nod. He takes my arm once again and I can feel his other hand on my back, steadying me. We are getting ever closer to the fair. Finally. And right on cue:

  “I wish it were Halloween every day.” Another woman. “If it means I get to see you in those pants.”

  “Now you’ve got me all embarrassed,” Ben says, his voice loud and confident, not embarrassed at all. I can’t help but scoff at that one, which probably sounded like a low elephantine bleat from where Ben and the lady are standing.

  “My friend still asks about you,” the woman says, now farther away. “You never texted her back.”

  “Ooh, gotta go!” And I can feel Ben motioning to me.

  “She really likes you!” The woman’s voice fades. And then all I can hear are the kids going crazy for my costume.

  “Wave. Wave to the kids,” Ben says. I let go of Ben and the kids mob me. I take several pictures. I even strike a few poses. Tree poses, sure, but I’m getting better at this and it’s helping. The ghost of my past is receding as the joy of the right-now takes over. “Okay, guys. Let Groot find Rocket.” The kids love this.

  “Rocket’s over there!!!!!!!” they all shout. I wave my goodbyes, Ben takes my arm once more, and we head over to where Rocket is apparently doing the cakewalk. And then I hear it.

  “Groooooooooooot!!!” A little girl. Somewhere off in the distance.

  “Steady yourself. She’s running toward you right now,” Ben says.

  “Take a picture. Take a picture,” I say, handing him my cell phone.

  “I’m going to let you go, okay? Okay?” Ben asks.

  “Yes. I’ve got it. I think—” He lets go and I see this blur of brown and black and orange coming at me.

  “I knew you’d come, Groot! I knew you’d come!” And I feel her hugging my legs. So tight. I lean down—or really it’s more like falling down ever so gracefully—and wrap my arms around her. I manage to kneel down. And when I do …

  “Thank you for coming,” she says into my ear. I can finally see her little face. Her hair is in braids, each one held together by a brightly colored barrette. Her skin has been painted to look like a raccoon, the gray muzzle and whiskers now streaking a bi
t from sweat. The raccoon ears are crooked from running around and the costume that Gus so lovingly picked out fits her perfectly.

  “Let me get a picture of you two,” Ben says. “Jordan, sweetie.” Jordan is just staring at me. “Sweetie, look toward the camera.” She begrudgingly turns to Ben. “Okay, now smile.” Her little arm feels so tight around my waist. Then Ben takes another picture and she’s now striking a very superherolike pose. “That’s great! Do you want to see it?”

  “No! I know it’s beautiful!” And with that, Jordan skips off.

  “Asterhouse tries to place the kids with relatives if they can. My mom said that her aunt flew in last week from Houston. That whole side of the family didn’t even know about her,” Ben says, taking my arm and lifting me back up into a standing position. I see Jordan bolt over to a young woman in a flowery dress. Jordan is pointing over at me, pointing over at me! The woman nods and smiles, then hands Jordan a raspado that’s colored Dodger blue, bright red, and sunlight yellow. Jordan leaps into the air, punching her fist to the sky.

  “My favorite!” She takes the raspado from her aunt and dives into the delicious shaved ice.

  “Please tell me—”

  “Oh, absolutely. She’s already started adoption proceedings,” Ben says.

  “Thank god. Because…”

  “I know.”

  “Is that really you in there?” asks Gus. His superhero outfit is spectacular in real life. He’s all muscular arms and molded body armor. I nod and he laughs. “I can’t believe you actually did it.”

  “You said Rocket needs a Groot.”

  “I know! Didn’t know you’d go through with it,” he says.

  “I wish I’d known what a Groot was before I did!” Gus lets out a giant belly laugh.

  “Hey, man. Can you take a picture of us?” Gus hands Ben his phone.

  “Sure. Sure.”

  “Nice costume. Looks real,” Gus says to Ben.

  “It is real,” Ben says.

  “Hahahaha, right. So’s this,” Gus says, motioning to his superhero costume. Ben lets go of my arm and takes the phone from Gus. His motions are jerky and rough. I’m waiting for Gus to come get in the shot, when I see Ben ever so slightly come up onto his tiptoes. Gus bounds over to me, but I stay focused on Ben. Lips pursed. Jaw tensed. As Gus tucks in next to me, Ben settles back into the height I’ve always found perfectly lovely. Apparently he felt he needed to be a little taller standing next to Gus Ford.

  “Can you get Jordan?” I ask. Gus calls over to Jordan and she comes running. A crowd gathers and we pose for several photographs. I want this picture of Gus in his superhero costume + cute kids to make Caroline’s divorce news slide even further down the gossip food chain and not unintentionally start a rumor that just because Caroline and Gus were at the same event, they must be sleeping together. I make a mental note to text Ellen later so we can track that. Jordan says her goodbyes to us and runs back to the booth where she can win one of the goldfish Tilly decided to return.

  “I’m heading out right after this,” Gus says.

  “Good,” I say, nodding.

  “From now on, you should do all of your inspirational talks as a tree,” Gus says, lunging into me for a hug. Ben walks over and hands Gus his phone.

  “Oh, thanks,” he says, taking it. Gus laughs. Like really laughs.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Tree hugger. Get it? I’m a tree hugger.” I can’t help but laugh simply because Gus thinks this is hysterical. I see Ben roll his eyes. “I’ll check in before I go, but until then I have some kids to beat at Skee-Ball.” A quick wave to Ben and Gus is off.

  “He’s something,” Ben says as we walk around the fair. I nod. “Taller than I thought he’d be.”

  We walk in silence toward the photo booth. Caroline looks like she’s having the best time in the world. Of course, I’m not sure if that’s actually what she’s feeling or if she’s just acting. She sees me, holds up her cell phone, and gives me a thumbs-up. The look on her face is one of someone who’s done something they can’t take back. Her divorce has been filed, it’s all over the Internet, and all she can do now is focus on making sure a little kid who’s dressed up as a fireman gets the picture he wants. I wave my giant tree arm at her. She laughs, of course. Because I’m a hilarious animal.

  “Is there somewhere I can change out of this?” I finally ask.

  “Oh, sure. Up here.” Ben pulls my arm in whatever direction. More pictures. More near stumbles. I’m sweating so profusely at this point the slick spandex long-sleeve shirt has now rolled all the way up my back. Another set of stairs and now we’re inside. “Mom set aside one of the conference rooms for the volunteers.” Ben opens the door and I immediately pull the Groot head off.

  “Finally,” I say. My hair is stuck to my forehead and I’m positive every ounce of makeup I carefully applied this morning is running down my face. “Can you?” I turn around. “Unzip me, please?”

  “Oh, sure,” Ben says, stepping forward. Asking Ben to unzip me is the fantasy I didn’t even know I had. It sounds so sexy and like it should be in the movies. Instead, I’m in some wood-paneled, musty conference room surrounded by women’s purses, folding chairs, and card tables, asking him to free me from a tree costume under which he’ll find a sweaty T-shirt, some yoga pants, and a body that only I have seen completely naked. He unzips the back of the jumpsuit and the fresh air feels so good. I shrug my shoulders forward and loosen the costume as coolly as I can.

  “Thanks,” I say, turning around and trying to find some darkened corner or angle where Ben won’t be able to see if things go wrong. But, I’m stuck. The harsh fluorescent lighting and nowhere to hide forces me to take the costume off no matter what the clothes—or I—look like underneath. And Ben just keeps talking to me—like nothing earth-shattering is happening. He’s pacing around the conference room, going on and on about Gus and his generation and when he was their age—which wasn’t that long ago, he’ll have me know—as I peel off the costume, then carefully unthread the spandex long-sleeve shirt from underneath the oversized T-shirt, making sure it doesn’t ride up on my bra, exposing my belly with its stretch marks and surgery scars, faded and healed as they may be. Once I’m safely out of the costume, T-shirt smoothed down and hair tamed somewhat, I jump back into the conversation.

  “You’re just pissed he said that thing about your football uniform not being real.” I “fold” the costume as best I can and place the head on top of the unwieldy pile.

  “What?” Ben’s head snaps around as if he’s just realized there was another person in the room.

  “Because you were fine about Gus and the next generation while those women told you how hot you were in that outfit,” I say.

  “How hot I am in this outfit?” Ben asks, hitting the word “outfit” with particular disdain. What I don’t say is, I’m no different than those women: I think he looks hot in that outfit. Always have.

  “I wish it were Halloween every day so I could see you in them pants,” I repeat, my voice high and lilting. He flushes. “I get it. Getting older is tough.” I comb through the tree detritus and find my phone. I start scrolling through texts from Ellen. Gus is all moved out. Caroline’s divorce is hitting the Internet along with a few candids of her at the Halloween fair. Gus’s photo posing with Jordan and me is also making the rounds. I text about the whole Caroline + Gus thing and she says she’s already on it. She thought of that like a week ago, she’ll have me know. I let out a laugh and am about to text something else, when I notice Ben has stepped closer to me. I look up just as he’s setting his football helmet down on the table with a stern look on his face. Now, that’s the Ben Dunn I am used to.

  “This is not about getting old,” he says.

  “It absolutely is,” I say, settling right into our old patterns.

  “He’s a little shit who—”

  “Made you feel old,” I say. “Just admit it.”

  “Must be nice to know utterly everything.�
��

  “It is, actually.” I step forward. Ben laughs. “So, you’re not the most popular boy in school anymore. So what?” Ben’s smile fades.

  “Okay. That’s not what this is about, so…”

  “If you say so.” I pocket my phone, tuck the costume under my arm, and extend the Groot head to Ben. “Can you hold this?”

  “Just because you want everyone to forget who you were in high school, doesn’t mean I have to,” Ben says, snapping the head away from me.

  “Just because I want everyone to forget who I was in high school? What are you talking about?”

  “That’s what this really is about, isn’t it?”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “If you say so…”

  “Very funny.” I step closer to him. “You were a terrible person in high school. You really shouldn’t be painting that time in your life like it was the glory days.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I actually do, though. You may have been popular or whatever, but you were legitimately awful,” I say.

  “At least I had something to be proud of,” he says, elaborately tucking in his jersey.

  “Yeah, making fun of fat girls and being able to throw a ball should make you swell with pride.”

  “And what about you and that time you said I should be thankful that I could play football because there was certainly no other way I was getting into college.”

  “I did not say that.”

  “You absolutely did. We were in Mr. Moore’s English class and it was right at the end of the period. We were presenting our Crime and Punishment papers, remember? And I mispronounced fucking Dostoyevsky. You yelled the correct pronunciation from the back of the room and everyone laughed. As I was walking back to my seat you followed that up with the doozie about me not being able to get into college without football.”

  “Yeah, and then I went back to being me and you went back to being king of high school.”

  “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Context is everything.”

  “Are you still trying to wriggle out of taking responsibility for the things you said?”