by Sara Hosey
Corinne rolled her eyes. “Bundling up is not gonna cut it in January, Iffy. It’s not even gonna cut it in October. You’ll definitely freeze to death.” She was serious but then stopped with her hands, clawlike, grasping at the air, as though she had been frozen in place. “Like Hansel and Gretel or whatever.”
“I don’t think they froze to death,” Anthony said.
“Well, that’s because they moved in with the witch,” Corinne answered.
“That didn’t really work out for them either, though,” I said.
“You people,” Corinne shuddered. “You are so literal.”
“It’s just hard to imagine now,” I said. My forehead was beaded with sweat. “In this weather.”
“Just ’cause it’s hard to imagine doesn’t mean it isn’t true,” she said, and I saw a flash of anger for a moment, an impatience. “It’s serious, Iffy. We have got to figure something out.”
“Maybe you should head south or something,” Anthony said.
“Yeah,” I said. “I thought of that.” We sat quietly for a minute and then I added, “You know, I once heard about this guy who walked all the way to Florida by just going down the coast.”
“That’s not possible,” Corinne said.
“It is, though,” I protested. “Some places are people’s private beaches and stuff so you have to be careful, but you could follow the coast all the way down.”
“That sounds awesome,” said Anthony. “If you do that, maybe I’ll come with you.”
I felt the blood rush into my cheeks, and I couldn’t help it, my lips turned themselves up in what I can only imagine was the goofiest smile.
Corinne cut her eyes to me, but thankfully said nothing.
Then, something occurred to me. “What’s the date, anyway?” I asked.
“Today?” Corinne said. “No idea.”
“It’s the twenty-first,” Anthony said. We looked at him. “Of July,” he added.
“We knew that,” Corinne said. “Just kidding.”
“It’s my birthday,” I said.
“What?” Corinne shouted.
“Yeah,” I said. “I totally forgot.”
“This is your sweet sixteen, isn’t it, Iffy?”
I nodded, smiling. “Wow.”
“You are such a …” Corinne began. “Who forgets their own birthday?”
“It’s not that I forgot,” I explained. “I just lost track of the days.”
“Happy birthday,” Anthony offered. He reached out and patted me.
“Happy birthday, you b-i-t-c-h,” said Corinne, punctuating each letter with a little punch on the shoulder. “I am totally unprepared for this. Thanks a lot.”
“Sorry,” I said. “I mean, whatever. I didn’t mean to make a big deal.”
“Stop it! Sixteen is a big deal! A huge deal!” Corinne cried, looking to Anthony for confirmation.
“It is a pretty big deal,” he agreed.
I shrugged. Smiled. My face was hurting from all this smiling.
Corinne clapped her hands. Angel leapt up. “We should do a cookout tonight. Commandeer one of those grills over on the other side of Woodhaven, get us some hot dogs or something.”
“That sounds great,” Anthony said.
And it did sound great, but I had my reservations.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea, Corinne?”
She looked at Anthony. “Iffy and I are incognito,” she said. “Hiding out and all that. I mean, now that you know her real-fake-name—you don’t think her name is ‘Iffy’ do you?—we might have to kill you.” She widened her eyes at Anthony. “So, Iffy, we’ll have to wear disguises. Do you have an extra mustache, Anthony?”
“I guess I could try and grow a first one real quick,” he answered. “Not sure about a spare, though.”
“Corinne,” I groaned, warningly.
“It’ll be fine, Iff,” she cajoled. “We’ll start late. Wear baseball caps. Pleeeease!”
Of course I couldn’t resist. Corinne was irresistible.
So, it was arranged. We gave Anthony the most recent twenty bucks we’d gotten from Ann and it was his job to go to the store and get some charcoal, hot dogs, buns, and—extravagance!—sodas. He would steal ketchup and mustard from McDonald’s. He said he had a couple of bucks too and that if he could afford it and they didn’t proof, he’d also get some tall boys. In the meantime, Corinne and I would pick up other supplies from our stash and meet him by the picnic area on the other side of the park.
As soon as Anthony was out of sight, Corinne said, “Do you think he’ll just take off with our money?”
“Nah,” I said. “He brought our book back.”
“Besides,” she said, “he’s in love.”
“Yeah, right,” I made a face at her, sticking out my tongue and rolling my eyes. For real, though, I had butterflies in my stomach just thinking about Anthony’s face. I didn’t know if he was in love, but I had a feeling I might be.
Chapter 27
“You just have no idea what you are missing,” I said, nose in the air.
Anthony laughed, despite the fact that I had made that remark about a dozen times already.
“Um, ketchup and mustard together on a hot dog is just vile,” said Corinne. “I think it might be a fact.”
“Must be Jersey thing,” I said, shaking my head. “And upstate. Only people in Queens understand how to do a hot dog.”
Corinne started in on her third dog. I had had two myself, even though Anthony hadn’t been able to get mustard, which I was maintaining was a key condiment. The hot dogs tasted so good, actually, that they didn’t really need toppings at all—or even a bun for that matter.
“Say it again,” Anthony teased.
“Oh my god, leave me alone!” I cried.
“Just say it,” Corinne said. “You keep your underpants in your dresser …”
“Shut up,” I said.
“Draaaaw,” Corinne mimicked.
“What? It’s a draw.”
Corinne turned to Anthony, “Unbelievable.”
“I think it’s cute,” he said.
“Well, Iffy,” Corinne said. “Look no further. A man who find the Queens accent ‘cute.’”
“One in a million,” I conceded. “Unless, of course, the man is himself from Queens.”
“Ah, Queens guys are the pits,” Corinne said. “I should know.”
I made a face and tried to, like, guffaw, but it didn’t come out right.
I noticed that Anthony sat up a little straighter.
“Poor Angel,” I said, changing the subject. “She looks totally pooped.”
Anthony had bought a Frisbee, too, and he had thrown it for Angel and chased her for what seemed like hours. She was so happy playing, and he looked happy too, leaping around and falling down and rolling on the ground. It was almost normal for a few hours there. Just like we were three friends who decided to meet in the park to have a cookout, to play with the dog, to drink a few beers. Like after we had our cookout, we were each gonna go home to our houses, with our families, maybe watch some TV before going to sleep in beds, with sheets and pillows, with walls around us.
I didn’t know if I would even like sleeping in a bed anymore.
Maybe it was the beer, more than anything, that made me feel so sleepy and happy and okay. I’d never really drunk a lot and I was also, I knew, kind of skin and bones. I could just hear Lizette in my head, “I am so jealous,” she would say, and I’d try to explain, to be serious, “No, no, this is not a good diet, Lizette. This is not healthy,” but she’d insist, “Yeah, but, you know, if I lived in the park you think I would get that skinny?” Despite myself, I smiled just thinking about it.
So, I guess I was a little drunk.
It was night and, besides us, nobody was cooking anymore. Ther
e were three other groups at the barbecue spot, sitting at picnic tables, drinking and talking. Some people had a small, yappy dog that they had on a super long cord that the dog kept getting tangled around the picnic table. It would whine and bark until someone noticed and then the whole thing would start all over again.
Another group’s radio played hip-hop loud enough for us all to enjoy. They were kind of young, too, and had little kids with them. One of the kids had been asleep in a stroller literally for hours.
The group closest to us was all women, older types. They seemed to be drinking heavily and getting drunker and drunker as the evening turned to night. It was one of those great, weird, New York things, where all these strangers share the same spot and even sort of acknowledge one another but then go ahead and act like the others don’t exist at all.
“It’s totally unprofessional,” one of the drunk women was declaring loudly, “And I will tell her that to her face. I swear to god.”
One of her friends agreed, “Totally unprofessional.”
We all overheard and looked at each other and laughed. “Totally unprofessional!” Corinne mimicked in a whisper. I giggled. She popped the end of a dog in her mouth before she lit another cigarette.
Anthony cleared his throat. “We do have desert,” he said, and he got up and picked up a plastic grocery-store bag. “Corinne, if you would?”
“Don’t look, Iffy,” Corinne demanded and I rolled my eyes and smiled and got down on the ground with Angel, scratching her belly. I could hear them taking the Entenmann’s cake out of the box, messing with the candles, lighting them with Corinne’s lighter.
“We’re ready!” Corinne cried.
I stood and turned and they began to sing a loud, joyous version of “Happy Birthday,” Corinne harmonizing: “Happy birthday, dear Iffff-ieee, Happy birthday to you!” Angel roused herself and stood up, barking along and whining, putting her front paws on the picnic table bench and eyeing the cake.
Anthony took out one of those plastic disposable cameras. I laughed when I saw it, and he took a picture of me, laughing too, the little flash exploding at me, and then he slid the wheel to advance the camera and to get ready to take another picture of me blowing out the candles.
“You guys are the best,” I said, looking from one to the other of their sweet, smiling faces. I don’t know who was more pleased, them or me.
I blew out the candles. I wished. I wished so hard. I had learned my lesson from fairy tales, though, to never make your wish too specific. Like, if you wish for a lot of money, you might get a big check, but because, like, you lost your arm in an accident or something. So, I left it vague. I wish to be okay. I wish for us all to be okay.
“I didn’t know what kind you liked,” Anthony apologized. “I figured everyone likes chocolate?”
“Chocolate is perfect,” I said, smiling, taking the candles out one by one, careful not to waste any cake. “Thanks so much, you guys.”
They beamed back at me.
“Here,” said Corinne. “Take a picture of me and Iffy.” She slid her arm around me. We smiled big smiles for the camera.
“And one of you and Iffy,” she announced immediately and I stood next to Anthony and he put his arm around me and without thinking I leaned into him and Corinne snapped the photo.
“Not like we will ever see any of these pictures,” I remarked. “I mean, are we going to get them developed?”
Corinne stuck out her tongue at me and waved me back toward Anthony. “See if you can get Angel in the picture.”
“Come here, girl,” I called. She jumped up. Another flash.
“It was a stroke of brilliance to buy this, dude,” Corinne said to Anthony. “Hold up—one last one.” She left us there and approached the ladies at the neighboring table to ask if they’d take a photo for us. One agreed and returned with Corinne.
The lady squinted into the viewfinder. “All right now … ready?”
Corinne crammed me in between her and Anthony; Angel sat at our feet. It was perfect.
“And another—a goofy one!” Corinne announced and I stuck out my tongue and crossed my eyes, Anthony did big arms, and Corinne made a monster face. I blinked away the light spots on my eyes.
“Thanks so much,” Corinne said. “Want some cake?”
The lady declined and headed back to her friends.
So, we ate our cake and laughed, Anthony telling us stories about what Corinne called “the colorful characters of beautiful upstate New York”: the neighbor who hoarded dogs and played his drums all night long, the manager of a McDonald’s who sold drugs at the drive-through window.
“It takes a certain kind of person to live upstate,” Anthony informed us.
“I’ll say,” Corinne agreed.
“You seem normal,” I said.
“‘Seem’ is the important word there,” Anthony said.
“I’m gonna go pee,” Corinne said, dabbing her mouth with a napkin. “And maybe take Ang for a little stroll on this lovely evening.” She held up her beer in a “cheers.” The little slosh betrayed how little was left. “So, you two lovebirds, well, you know …” She did a funny little bow. Maybe Corinne was drunk too.
“Corinne,” I groaned. Anthony chuckled awkwardly.
She had to rouse Angel, who was conked out at my feet. “Come on, sweet doggie,” she said, tugging on her collar. “I need you to act as my guard dog.” Eventually Angel stood up and stretched and looked at me.
“You go ahead, Angel,” I said. “You have a good walk.”
“Ta-ta,” Corinne winked.
And of course it immediately became so weird being alone with Anthony. Like, five seconds before that, I couldn’t shut up, I was so comfortable and happy and then suddenly I was, like, racking my brain for something to say. I sipped my beer, looked at the ground. We were sitting next to each other with our backs to the picnic table, looking at the grill and, beyond that, the people with the little dog. Anthony leaned forward, put his chin in his hand.
“Corinne’s pretty funny.”
“Yeah,” I jumped on that, relieved to have something to talk about, “she’s great.”
“She’s not …” he hesitated. “I don’t care or anything. But she’s …”
“What?” I said, innocently.
“Is she, like, a guy?” Anthony asked, looking at me.
I shrugged. “No,” I answered a little sharply, perhaps to disguise my own confusion. She and I hadn’t really talked much about it, and I didn’t feel I was the right person to be answering these questions about her. “I mean, does it matter? She just is who she is.”
I shot him a look. I told myself it was fine he was wondering. But not being okay with Corinne being exactly who Corinne was would be a big problem. For real. I was nervous for a minute. I liked him a lot. I wanted him to say the right thing.
He did.
“No, I think Corinne is great,” he said quickly, apologetically.
“She’s, like, the best friend I’ve ever had.” I looked at him. “I love my friend Lizette and all—I’ve known her since I was a kid—but Corinne knows me better than anyone else on the planet.” I realized these words were true as I was saying them. I had never been able to talk to anybody the way I talked to Corinne.
“I mean it. I think she’s great. I really don’t care about any of that stuff. I was just, I don’t know, just asking.”
I nodded, relieved.
“You’re both great,” he said. “I never met anyone like either of you.”
I smiled, but I didn’t say anything.
“It’s weird,” he said, and I could feel him looking at me. “You guys didn’t know each other before, either?”
“No, we met in the park, too.”
“You must just draw people to you,” he said.
“What?”
“Well,
it must be you. You’re like the magnet. The spit that holds this whole operation together.”
“Nice …”
“Just kidding,” he said. “About the spit. But really. The dog, Corinne, me. That lady who leaves you stuff. Guess you don’t even notice it. People are drawn to you.”
“No,” I said, confused. “I never felt like that.”
It didn’t seem right to me, what he was saying, but at the same time, it did seem right. I had always been so alone in my life. I always felt so awkward, so dull, so lame. So invisible. But at the same time … at the same time … something else, too.
And while I sat there, enjoying what he had said, feeling embarrassed but also wonderful too, more wonderful than I had ever felt in my life before, he leaned over and kissed me.
I had never been really kissed before. Not like the way Anthony kissed me. I guess, in general, boys had kind of made me nervous—even more nervous than other people. I knew a couple of guys through skating, but they were different. We just skated together, didn’t talk.
To be honest, I was terrified of boys. Maybe I was also terrified that even if I really wanted to be kissed, that some part of me would shut down, that I wouldn’t be able to do it or enjoy it or anything like that.
But I guess I didn’t need to have worried so much. Kissing Anthony was a revelation. It was just right. Like listening to the Ramones that first time. It felt so good, I forgot to pay attention to it.
I didn’t want to stop, not ever, but eventually I opened my eyes and leaned back and looked at that face, already so dear to me. “That was nice,” I said.
He let me go and turned to face forward, but he put his arm around me.
“I’ve been wanting to do that since I first saw you.”
“Me too,” I blushed.
“That’s … that’s pretty cool.” He laughed a little. “So crazy.”
“It is crazy. Weird, right?”
“Yeah. What are the chances that we would find each other, you know? And the moment I saw you …” he trailed off.
