Know Not Why: A Novel

by Hannah Johnson

  “Nose,” he replies.

  Lipstick. You could even say it glowed (like a lightbulb!). “Oh, yeah.”

  I go into the bathroom, wet some toilet paper under the sink, and set to work trying to get my nose unred. It’s way harder than it should be. It’s not glaring crimson anymore, but there’s a distinct ruddiness that definitely isn’t there under normal circumstances. Just fantastic.

  I see something out of the corner of my eye, and when I look over, Arthur’s leaning against the doorframe.

  “Having trouble?” he asks – harmlessly, though. If he’s mocking me, he’s at least being subtle about it.

  “She could have mentioned this was gonna be permanent before she attacked me,” I grumble, swiping at my nose again.

  “Kristy,” Arthur says, in a way that pretty much sums it all up.

  “Kristy,” I agree.

  “Speaking of – thank you for lending her the DVDs.”

  “No problem.” I’d never really counted on a thank you. If I’d thought of expecting one, I probably wouldn’t have done it. “So, uh. Why are you still suffering through Kristy’s TV, anyway? Apartment hunting not going well?”

  “To be honest, I haven’t gotten started yet.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah. I think I might be being lazy.” He says it like he can’t quite know for sure, like he doesn’t have any prior experience.

  I can’t help it, I find that delightful. “Really? I didn’t know you were wired for laziness.”

  “Apparently,” he says, chuckling.

  “Just like the rest of us,” I mock-marvel.

  I lean nearer to the mirror, scrunching up my nose experimentally. It’s starting to look okay. Which is good, because if I have to keep this up much longer, I’m going to rub off my whole nose, and there’s no way Kristy’s not gonna feel super-guilty—

  Out of nowhere, Arthur starts laughing. It’s quiet at first, and then he really starts going.

  I look over at him, tossing the lipstick-stained toilet paper into the trash. “What?”

  For a long time, he doesn’t say anything – just shakes his head like I’m going to politely ignore him. I keep staring, and finally he goes, by way of explanation, “‘You have to ride him.’”

  Immediately, I feel myself blushing.

  “Oh, shit,” I groan – it’s all I can come up with. Despite myself, I start to smile.

  “I think I should have been surprised,” he continues, still laughing. “But honestly, after all of this that’s gone on, I wasn’t. It was more like – of course. Of course, at this point. Why not?”

  “Exactly! What is up with that?”

  “I have no idea! I don’t think I want to know.”

  “I’m so tired of it, aren’t you?” I gesture back and forth between us. “Like, you and me and there’s this – like – you know what I mean? This awkward crap. I’m so sick of it. It’s making me nuts.”

  “God, yes,” Arthur sighs. “Me too.”

  “Good,” I say. “Good.”

  We laugh for a little bit longer. It’s such a goddamn relief to do it.

  When the laughter dies down, it’s in that way that sort of pleasantly fades into quiet. Somewhere along the line, without quite noticing, I turned around. I’m facing him now instead of the mirror.

  He’s got this slight, relaxed smile on his face, like he probably doesn’t even know he’s smiling, like it’s laughter left over. And for the first time, I really just like him.

  There’s at least two feet between him and me, and it’s not like he makes a move to come closer, but all of a sudden, I’m struck by this big feeling. It turns right away into a panicked feeling.

  “I better get back out front,” I say, not looking at him anymore. I brush past him, really feeling it as I do it. My hand grazes his for just a second, and it’s like– whatever.

  “Apron,” Cora says as soon as she sees me. “Get back there, babydoll.”

  “You wanna go somewhere after work?” I ask with so much conviction that it doesn’t even sound like me.

  Her eyebrows shoot up.

  “Like, with you?” she finally asks.

  “Yeah,” I say. I’m breathing a little heavy; here’s hoping she doesn’t notice. “With me. You know. Somewhere. After work.”

  She stares at me for a long time. An excruciatingly long time. I have no idea what she’s thinking.

  “Yeah, okay,” she says at last. Her mouth twists into a smile that is decidedly Cheshire Catlike. I don’t care, you know? She can bust out all the Cheshire Cat grins she wants to. That doesn’t matter. All that matters is that in an hour and forty-five minutes, she and I are gonna be out of here, and we’re gonna go somewhere alone, together, and, shit, my car smells like McDonald’s, doesn’t it?, because Mitch and I went through the drive-thru a couple nights ago and then didn’t bother throwing the trash away, and that’s not exactly conducive to good times of the backseat variety, if you know what I mean, but, hell, you know what, it doesn’t matter, she can deal. She can deal with the McAphrodesiac that is the scent of old French fries and sweet ‘n sour sauce.

  With God as my witness, I am getting some tonight. And if it requires a slutty elf to get me there, that’s a step I’m willing to take.

  At this point.

  Chapter Nine

  That hour and forty-five minutes goes by fast and slow all at once, like, there’s a part of me that’s just itching to get out of there, an individual itch for every single second, and there’s another part that feels weird when all the lights are off and I’m actually walking out the door with Cora a few steps ahead of me. She glances back at me and gives me this little smirk that in all likelihood means impending sex.

  Cool.

  Fuck yeah.

  At last.

  And stuff.

  Or maybe she’s just smug because she’s got me carrying the garbage bag of costumes for her. I’m feeling sort of winded already, but I’m trying my goddamndest not to show it. Revealing you can’t carry a garbage bag of clothes doesn’t seem like the kind of thing that makes a girl want to jump your bones. Sure, it suggests a certain sensitivity (feebleness, sensitivity, it’s all the same in the grand scheme of things), but Cora doesn’t strike me as the sort to go for the sensitive fellows. She’d probably beat up Hans Christian Andersen and steal his lunch money.

  Arthur follows us out. I haven’t talked to him since the bathroom earlier, and I’m not planning on doing it anymore. I’ve learned my lesson.

  But then, while he’s locking up, he says “Goodnight,” and it’d be kind of rude to ignore him altogether.

  “Yeah, ‘night,” I say, glancing back at him for a second and putting exactly no feeling into the words. It’s mostly dark out, so I like to think I’m imagining the look on his face. It’s not, like, a facial contortion of misery, but he looks sort of baffled, like he can’t understand how we’ve gone from buddy-buddy to grunting monosyllables in two hours.

  I feel kinda shitty about it, but – well. Too bad.

  “Jenkins, you coming or not?” Cora calls. She’s already next to her car, because she’s tiny and spry and, oh yeah, not being dragged down by The Garbage Bag of Infinite Evil.

  Arthur stops looking at me, so I stop looking at him – not that I was looking at him, I was just, you know, your eyes have to be somewhere – and hurry to catch up to her. The bag thuds into me with every step, threatening to send me face-down onto the icy pavement, but whatever, that’s cool, it’ll take more than a garbage bag to stop me tonight. Hell, I’d like to see a garbage truck try.

  “Just put that in here,” Cora says when I finally reach her. She’s got the door to her back seat propped open. I fight the garbage bag in. There may be some grunting and some finger-smashing and one brief, terrible urge to weep manly tears of manly pain, but let’s not dwell on that. Cora seems pretty amused while she watches, and she doesn’t tell me to remove myself from her presence once I’m done, so I figure we’re good. />
  I slam the door triumphantly, then turn to look at her. She’s standing there, tiny and fierce: her hair’s pulled back, but it’s still exploding all over the place. It’s not that she’s not nice-looking, or whatever: she’s kind of cute in her own extremely pierced way. Especially when she’s not scowling. Now, she’s just looking at me, dead on, with this hint of a smile. Tiny wisps of breath dance from her lips and then fade.

  I’m probably spending too much time contemplating wisps of breath.

  Whatever, it’s not like I’m freaking out. I’m cool. I have spent time alone with a non-Amber, non-my-mom girl before. Not for awhile, sure, if I’m being perfectly honest, but hey, it’s like riding a bike, right? It’s all just … riding things.

  But to be honest, I haven’t been with a girl – ya know, Been With, capital letters – since Lindsay. And Lindsay was kind of awhile ago. And way less Cora-y than Cora.

  But. Not a problem. Just a casual observation.

  Cora wiggles her fingers in a wave, and I look over to see that it’s for Arthur, who’s driving out. Even the vague, shadowy sight of him is enough to rejuvenate me, to remind me of the noble purpose that’s propelling me forward, carrying me valiantly into the arms and the pants of this badass, scary-ass lady leprechaun of easy virtue.

  Cora seems to be thinking along the same lines, because she slips an arm through mine and says, “You gonna take me somewhere, Jenkins?”

  Panic jolts through me. “Where do you wanna go?”

  Cora squeezes my arm, leans in closer. “How ‘bout you surprise me?”

  Surprise her. I can do that.

  +

  “Two, please.”

  “Sure, Howie,” says Stuart, the only guy working behind the counter at The (unfortunately named) Mystic Sunbreeze. We were in the same grade in school. In fact, I’m pretty sure he’s worked here since high school. I’d be sad for him, but, well. Kinda busy.

  The Mystic Sunbreeze, despite its unfortunate moniker, is probably the most beloved movie theatre in town. Sure, it gets its movies a couple months late, but admission’s only three bucks. They play old classics a whole lot, too. Mitchy and I have cherished many a Star Wars night within these walls.

  “Hey, Stuie,” I ask, “what’s playing tonight?”

  “Old Yeller,” Stuart replies.

  … well, damn it.

  I look over at Cora, expecting at least a derisive snort. But nope: good ol’ Lady Mockbeth just keeps on smiling that same smile, that everything-is-so-funny-in-my-head smile that is bound to drive me nuts before the evening is over.

  Old Yeller??

  “Why the hell are you showing that?” I demand.

  “I dunno, man,” Stuart says, shrugging. “It’s like family night or something.”

  Family night. Family night. Oh, Christ.

  I turn to Cora. “We can go—”

  But Cora, wee evil lass that she is, is forking over six bucks to Stuart!

  “Thanks,” he says, smiling at us.

  “You don’t have to pay,” I blurt out, but it’s too late.

  “It’s six bucks, dude,” Cora says, having the nerve to look at me like I’m crazy. I probably shouldn’t seem crazy. Who wants to do a crazy dude? (Well, actually, that seems right up this girl’s alley.) “It is in no way a big deal.”

  “Oh,” I say weakly, because it’s not like I want to get on her bad side. “Okay. How many other people have come?” I add to Stuart, trying to sound casual.

  “Oh, just a couple,” he replies. With a sly little smile, he adds, “Don’t worry. It will be nice and private.”

  Perv.

  “Cora, seriously, we can—”

  “I want some Nerds,” Cora interrupts, hopping over to the concessions stand.

  Great.

  Jesus, what horrors must a guy endure? Mitch never has problems like this, and he always has girls.

  But, whatever. Cora gets her Nerds, and we head into the darkened theatre, and I try really hard not to think about when I was five and I watched this movie and I cried every time I saw a dog afterwards for like three months. This movie is the cruelest thing anyone could ever do to children.

  It also doesn’t really get a guy in the mood.

  Not that I’m not in the mood. Oh, I am in the mood. For some sex. Believe it.

  The movie’s already playing, and sure enough, the first two rows have got people in them. Some of the people are so little you can barely see their heads over the backs of the seats.

  Why did I take her to the movies? Why? Why? Why couldn’t the surprise destination be the back seat of my car? Then we could’ve just – gotten it over with, gotten to it, whatever. Right there in the parking lot of Artie Kraft’s, a big glorious FUCK YOU! to every single slightly less-than-lady-loving feeling I have ever experienced within its walls—

  “You wanna sit here?” Cora asks. It’s the back row.

  “Yeah, sure.”

  We inch to the middle of the row. She plops down and opens her box of Nerds. I sit next to her. She seems pretty happy with the Nerds, like she’s suddenly forgotten my existence. Maybe I’m not as upset about this as I should be.

  I stare up at the screen, but its technicolor glory, its sappy music does nothing to help me out. Instead, I find myself missing five year old me. Five year old me’s only problem was getting called Dennis all the time by Miss Temple the kindergarten teacher. That, I could deal with. Hell, at this point, getting mixed up with Dennis would be like an honor.

  My attention is caught by a sudden rattling sound. I look over to see Cora bringing the box of Nerds to her mouth and tipping them in.

  Hot.

  She looks over at me, and I look away fast.

  Damn it, why does Kristy have a boyfriend? I miss Kristy. I miss Lindsay, and we had, like, negative chemistry. Innocent bystanders cringed when they saw us within five feet of each other.

  I miss her anyway.

  I’m entertaining the thought of getting up to get some popcorn, less because I yearn for poppy corny goodness and more because a temporary escape seems phenomenal, when all of a sudden, there’s a hand on my thigh.

  And apparently it missed with that initial grope, because then, there’s a hand on … not my thigh. If you get what I’m saying.

  I sit really, really still. I don’t know what else to do.

  This. This is not cool. This is public indecency. At Old Yeller. With kids sitting in the front row.

  Her hand’s not really doing anything, at least. Just … sitting there.

  Hanging out.

  “Um,” I whisper, “what are you …?”

  “I’m touching your dick, genius,” Cora whispers back. But in a way that’s way too loud to be a real whisper. Oh, God, oh, God, the kids are going to hear that, they’re going to need therapy, all of them, this plus Old Yeller? They’re doomed.

  “Technically, you’re touching my pants.” I don’t know why I just said that. It seemed like a good thing to say.

  She smirks at me. “Are you complaining?”

  “No, no!” I exclaim. It’s not like I wanna hurt her feelings. Tiny madwomen have feelings too. “I … just … you wanna leave?”

  “Aw, but we’re just getting to the good part,” she protests wickedly. About the movie, I have to assume, because even though her hand is there, we aren’t exactly getting anywhere, if you know what I mean.

  “Let’s go,” I say, grabbing her hand off my lap and dragging her out of her seat. Her box of Nerds falls out of her hands. They spill onto the floor, a friggin’ cacophony of little candies pitter-pattering against cement. The occupants of the first two rows turn around and look at us.

  Infinite, infinite shame.

  We hurry out of the theatre and leave through the back. The cold is so sudden it’s like a slap in the face all over. Maybe it’s good. Maybe it will wake my brain up. Help me realize that I should be into this, no matter how close it comes to scarring scores of kids for life.

  And then, out of
nowhere, Cora pounces. She throws her arms around me, stands up on tiptoe, drives me backwards ‘til I hit the freezing concrete of the building. She kisses me hard, all Nerd-flavored and unexpected. The metal of her lip ring is freezing cold, and even though some may think the whole piercings thing is a turn-on or whatever, I’m mostly just scared, because well, okay, it seems improbable that she could somehow rip apart my poor lip flesh with it, but not impossible, right? Right?? But this, I tell myself, is better than my last kiss.

  “Let’s go back to the car,” I pant.

  To my surprise, she doesn’t put up a fight, just breathlessly says, “Okay.” She darts upward really fast and nips me on the ear, then turns and skips toward the parking lot.

  I’m pretty sure my ear is bleeding. Maybe even really hard. Maybe she nicked an ear artery.

  But it’s not time for a pity party. Or a legitimate-concern-about-serious-ear-injuries party. I follow her, forcing myself to quicken my pace. I come to a stop outside the back door. It’s open, and I lean down and look in to find her draped across the seat, staring at me with that damn smile. The McDonald’s stuff has been pushed to the floor already and everything. In fact, one of the not-quite-empty sweet ‘n sour sauces is spilling, which, like, I get that my car isn’t a nice car, but it’s not like I’m in the habit of making it less nice by dumping food all over— But that, that is not what I need to be focusing on right now.

  I clamber inside, sort of on top of her already by necessity, and then turn to shut the door. I think I almost knee her in the face, but she’s not complaining. Since when does Cora not complain, anyway? Is she possessed? Is she a secret succubus? I can’t believe Arthur would be lax enough to hire a succubus. Why the hell did he hire this small and bountiful bucket of crazy?

  Why did he do this to me?

  She reaches up and clasps her hands behind my neck, pulling me into kissing her.

  Amber always says all this stuff about kissing and sex, about how technically, it’s unhygienic and ridiculous, and there must be some sort of magic there, that people are even capable of looking past how gross they’re being and enjoying it or thinking it’s so great or whatever. I always figured she was just saying it to make it okay that her life has always been kissing-and-sex-free.