Winter Town

by Stephen Emond

  Lucy was out drunk with her friends when she cut and dyed her hair and pierced her nose. Take that, Bill. He’d told her she looked like a clown, but no punishment—he didn’t say much else on the subject.

  Lucy stayed with Ian for two weeks at the end of August when his parents were away on vacation, and she and Ian were drugged out of their minds for the majority of the time. When she came home from this blissful vacation, her mom informed her that she and Bill would like her to leave. “We tried, Lucy. You know we did,” she’d said, standing across from the couch with Bill, who was looking smug and victorious while Lucy sat.

  “Leave?” Lucy asked. “And go where?” Her dad was away for Navy business most of the year, and her grandparents were either dead or in nursing homes. For better or for worse, this was her family.

  “Well, you didn’t have any trouble finding a place to stay the last two weeks while I was looking all over for you.” She’d said it so coldly. She wouldn’t even give Lucy the courtesy of looking at her while she essentially made her homeless. And Bill was worse, standing there silently, his arms crossed. It was all his doing.

  So Lucy stayed with Tess in her loud and violent home, and she stayed with Jennifer and her seven brothers and sisters, and she dated Ian, though she felt cold toward him now, and she failed classes in school. She got quiet, very quiet. She didn’t know what to do with her hair. And she smoked and drank and cried and did her best to forget it all, and then it was December. And then she kissed Evan.

  HEROES AND VILLAINS

  Lucy caught Evan glancing at her as she sat in his parents’ living room, her legs curled under her on a comfortable, blue, cushioned chair, reading Brian Wilson’s autobiography, Wouldn’t It Be Nice: My Own Story. Evan looked back at his book (Peepshow: The Cartoon Diary of Joe Matt) and smiled, not a wide goofy grin but a respectable acknowledgment of the perfectness of the moment. The fire swirled in the fireplace and snow fell softly outside the window. Lucy smiled a bit herself, but barely perceptibly, just a curl around the edges of the mouth. She watched Evan. He was so cute, his hair all a mess from that hat he wore all the time, his shirt half untucked under his sweater. He was sprawled out on the couch, his feet up on the armrest.

  “Come here for a second,” Evan said, scrunching up on the couch. He leaned over toward Lucy’s chair.

  “What?”

  “Nothing, just—” Evan pulled himself clumsily over the armrest and kissed Lucy on the lips—what would have been a romantic moment if Lucy hadn’t pulled away.

  “Let’s not…” Lucy said. She put her book down on the coffee table. Lucy was comfortable coming over as long as his parents were away. She still felt like an evil succubus in the Owenses’ household. “What if your mom walks in or something?”

  “So?” Evan said, his face a contortion of happy and confused. “They’ll be happy. I mean, my dad might have something to say, but my mom would be through the roof about it. And if we needed a tiebreaker, Gram is all about you, definitely.”

  “No, I mean, I just feel weird about it myself.”

  “About us?”

  “No. Yeah. I don’t know.” The truth was, Lucy had always had a little crush on Evan, and kissing him didn’t feel as strange as she’d thought it might. Even when they were both kids, Lucy had imagined they’d end up married someday. Every time she visited for Christmas she thought of it as a fun flirtation, not that anything could ever happen, but it was something she thought of often and it made her smile. And here they were, a bona fide—what? Couple? Boyfriend and girlfriend? Friends with benefits? Or was it still just a fun flirtation?

  “Well, what do you think?” Lucy asked Evan.

  “What do—I don’t know. I mean… we did kiss,” Evan said, with kiss being an odd mumbling like if he said it too loud it might not have happened.

  “Yeah,” Lucy said with a smile.

  “We’ll take it slow,” Evan said, and looked her right in the eyes when he said it.

  Lucy smiled and nodded, and Evan touched her knee and smiled before picking his book back up and sliding into a recline on the couch.

  “What are you reading?” Evan asked, still looking at his own book.

  “Brian Wilson’s autobiography,” Lucy said, looking at hers.

  “Is he in the sandbox yet?” Evan asked, referring to the infamous sandbox the former Beach Boy had built for his piano.

  “Please,” Lucy said, placing the book on her lap. “You’ve never even listened to Pet Sounds, so you don’t get to talk about Brian Wilson.”

  Evan put his book down and turned around to show Lucy his puppy-dog expression. “I’m just playing. Tell me about it.”

  “It’s actually really interesting,” Lucy said, crossing her legs and getting comfortable. “The book itself is devastating and beautiful, but the kinda interesting thing is that the entire book was written under the supervision of Eugene Landy. Now this guy was a psychotherapist hired to help Brian Wilson out of this crippling depression he was in—he was on drugs and overweight and afraid of water and barely making music at this point. So you read this book, and you’d think this Eugene Landy is a saint or some kind of miracle man. He fixes Brian’s life, gets him off drugs and to lose weight, and even gets him making music again. Both of the other Wilson brothers died and by all rights Brian should have, too, but he’s saved by this Landy fellow. And in the book the Beach Boys come off as evil, trying to keep Brian suffering and miserable, and they just want him to write hit songs and whatever. But in reality, like I said, Eugene Landy was heavily involved in the writing of the book. He actually was in control of everything in Brian Wilson’s life—he controlled his money, who he could see; Landy was living big off this one client. He was successfully sued by the other Beach Boys and lost all contact rights with Brian Wilson. So in the end you can’t tell whether this guy saved or ruined Brian Wilson’s life, or if it’s a little of both. Brian Wilson has pretty much disowned the book entirely, which is a shame because it’s absolutely heartbreaking.”

  Evan smiled. “So should I listen to Pet Sounds or read this book?”

  “Both, duh.”

  There was silence for a moment before Evan said, “I still think it’s funny”—he rolled over on the couch, now hanging over the armrest—“I mean you were named after a Beatles song. I’d think you’d be more into them. Forget that, even without the birth-name tie-in, how is anyone just not into the Beatles?”

  “They’re fine,” Lucy said. “ ‘Goo goo g’joob’ and all that. ‘I wanna hold your hand,’ good stuff.”

  Evan smiled like he was thinking, You must be a closet fan. Lucy actually was, but she found Evan’s taking offense at the situation humorous.

  “They’re, like, the greatest band of all time,” Evan continued, as if this time he’d convince her. “Who else in history has accomplished a tenth of what they did? They rewrote music! They were everything for a full decade and barely repeated themselves the entire time. Even after breaking up, they went on to distinctively successful solo careers. Who else can claim that?”

  “I suppose only they can,” Lucy entertained Evan. “Eminem sells a lot of records, too. I guess I should become a fan.”

  “You’re totally a fan,” Evan said, and Lucy laughed.

  “Just because my parents named me after an ode to acid,” Lucy said, “doesn’t mean I have to be a Beatles fanatic. Look, they’re all right. I don’t even dislike them. I’m a casual fan!”

  “No.” Evan dismissed the idea. “There’s no casual Beatles fandom; you’re either a fan or you’re off the bus.”

  “All right, bye, then!” Lucy waved the bus good-bye.

  Lucy had been shooting down Evan’s Beatles obsession for quite a while—when he tried to convince her the surreal “Yellow Submarine” was like no other song in existence, or had her listen to the pretty, acoustic “Blackbird,” and she listened and liked them. She liked early Beatles. She liked “In My Life” a lot, and she liked “The Fool on the Hill,” which re
minded her of Evan, tying the music into her life. The best music for her was always the stuff you could relate to, the stuff that spoke directly to you and twisted and knotted itself so far into your life you couldn’t tell where art ended and reality began. Evan liked the Beatles so much because their music was the soundtrack to his youth; it was what was playing when she’d come over all summer and his mom would be cleaning the house, and she was sure it was what he had heard on long family road trips. It was his mom and dad’s music, so it was there for all the key moments, all the defining memories. The Beatles were his mom and dad, so they were him, too.

  Lucy liked the Beatles. But she loved the Beach Boys. That’s what she grew up with.

  Lucy picked up her book. She looked at the page but couldn’t remember where she’d left off. She looked at the page before—nothing. No, none of this page looks familiar, she thought. She turned another page back. And another. I didn’t read any of this. She’d been moving her eyes and a few words had been registering and the pages had been turning, but Lucy hadn’t actually been reading at all. I was in my head that entire time, she thought. Well, of course I was, look at what’s going on. Forget the book. This is all crazy.

  She watched Evan, reading contentedly on the couch, and breathing suddenly became difficult.

  No, I’m what’s crazy. Like I could sit here and read when I’m going to ruin his life. I’m with someone. Someone who’d beat Evan to a primordial soup if he knew we had kissed, let alone if he knew how I actually felt. I’m a crazy nobody who’s dating a ’roided pothead and I’m going to mess up things with my best friend. He’ll never talk to me again. If he knew half of what I’ve done the past year he wouldn’t be talking to me now. And he’s looking at me like that and touching my leg and smiling like he knows who I am, like I’m cute little Lucy and everything’s worked out just right for us, fate and destiny and true love.

  Evan turned the page of his book slowly. Oblivious to everything. Lucy couldn’t bear the sight of him and closed her eyes tightly.

  And now I’m completely making up how he feels. I’m projecting. He’s probably just playing it by ear; it just happened for him. I’m the one with the stupid fantasies. I’m the one who needs to grow up.

  Lucy’s eyes opened and darted back and forth across the page of her book, trying to will some kind of focus, but nothing was coming. She was too far gone.

  I’m here for less than a week more. And then I’ll be off again, back to the land of Bills and Ians. I won’t see Evan again for another year at least, and he’ll be in college then, far away from here, and what am I going to do? Evan’s going to be in some Ivy League school, and I ruined my chances of going to any college with the way my grades are. I can’t ask him to not go to school. And I can’t go with him and drag him down and pull him away from his schoolwork. I can’t and wouldn’t.

  I act like I’m good for Evan and like he’ll be so happy with me, but I’m messing up his life. I’m lying to him. I’m lying about every little thing, and when he finds out he’s going to see me for the disgusting, worthless rodent I am.

  Lucy took a deep, sudden breath, like she’d been punched in the gut. Evan glanced over at her, and she pretended it was a yawn.

  “Tired?” Evan said.

  “No,” Lucy said, trying to hide all the fear inside. She gave him a brief smile. “Just trouble focusing on this book.”

  “I thought you were engrossed in that thing.”

  “No, I am, I just… I don’t know.”

  Hearing him speak and seeing the calmness in his eyes helped. Just breathe, Lucy thought. This is going to be okay. Just enjoy this. You’ve earned it.

  Lucy stared at Evan vacantly for a brief moment, and just before Evan could ask if anything was wrong, she asked, “Do you want to go to a movie?”

  Evan looked at her for a moment while the idea clicked into place. He picked his phone up off the coffee table to check the time. “We could.”

  “I think some air would wake me up.”

  Dear God, I hope some air wakes me up, Lucy thought.

  LET’ GO AWAY FOR A WHILE

  The cold outside gave Lucy a quick shiver and a burst of energy, and the angst she had felt only minutes earlier quickly shattered away. It wasn’t long before the energy became a spike of mania and Lucy couldn’t walk fast enough, almost prancing through the slush scattered over the street. She was anxious to get downtown.

  The afternoon had turned to evening, and the sky, which had been full of dull light, monotonously matching the land, was now a dark blue. Lucy liked the contrasts against the dark sky as they reached downtown—the bright whites and yellows of the streetlights and apartment windows, the neon of the storefronts, which spilled color into the streets. White Christmas lights were still strung around store windows and sidewalk trees, and they crossed streets like a festive spider that had scurried through town. The buildings came to Evan and Lucy like old friends, and the harbor behind them reflected light in joyous squiggly lines. The activity and number of people out shopping or getting dinner or coffee increased with each street passed.

  As they got farther downtown, traffic picked up, and cars stopped at each red light, headlights casting sharp shadows and brightening features. Lucy grabbed Evan’s hand and he looked down at her, and it was a little different this time. Lucy closed her eyes and leaned up to give Evan a real kiss like the one they’d shared Christmas night. To her great relief, it felt wonderful.

  “I hope my nose isn’t runny,” Evan said, touching it with his gloves and sniffling. “I can’t feel it.”

  “It’s not,” Lucy said. Her breath hung brightly in the air before floating off like a ghost. She got on her tiptoes and kissed his nose. “Don’t you feel alive?” Lucy asked Evan. She took a great big breath and smiled fully. She talked loudly over the murmurs of dialogue and the sounds of cars stopping and starting and all the running engines. “There’s so much going on, so many people!”

  “There are a lot of people,” Evan said, looking around as though unsure how to contribute.

  “Like, even if we don’t know any of them, we don’t need to. Just being in the same space and time with them feels less lonely, feels like we’re a part of something.”

  “I wasn’t lonely,” Evan said with a sheepish smile. He pulled Lucy closer to him. “Were you lonely?”

  “No, that’s not what I—” Lucy felt a pinch of guilt. “You know what I mean. Come on, I’m in a rare good mood. Let me enjoy it.”

  Evan hung an arm around Lucy and looked up at all the light. “Sorry. Enjoy.”

  “Sometimes back home—other home—sometimes I’d go into the city just to get out and feel like I’m a part of it. Sometimes I’d go alone and do my homework in Five Points or I would go with my friend Tess, and we’d go shopping or to the museum, but mostly we’d just sit and people-watch and walk around with everyone.” She did miss some things from back home. She did have a few close friends, as was her way. Tess was trouble, too, probably the only person to have it worse than Lucy did, but she was as loyal as friends got. Lucy preferred to keep her northern and southern lives separate, though.

  “That sounds nice,” Evan said, and Lucy wasn’t sure if it did sound nice to Evan or if he was just saying it to appease her. She decided he meant it.

  “They were filming a movie this summer,” Lucy said. “I might be in the background. I can’t remember the name of it, but if you hear of a movie that’s a Breakfast Club for today’s kids, look for me.”

  “Am I looking for short-hair Lucy or long-hair Lucy?”

  “Long hair,” Lucy said. “They had to come talk to Tess and me because we kept moving with each shot to try and get in the background again, and one of the assistants said if we were going to stay and watch we had to pick one spot and stick there. But we’d been doing that for thirty minutes already by that point.”

  Evan laughed.

  “It was fun. Something you don’t see every day. But there’s always something going
on there that you don’t see every day.” Lucy nestled her head into Evan for a moment and then perked up. “I wish I could take you back with me,” she said. Not that she would. She didn’t want to go back herself. She would take Evan back to a more ideal Georgia—a postapocalyptic version, where they were the only two living humans left.

  “I don’t know. I don’t have a lot of desire to migrate south,” Evan said, scratching his head. He adjusted his hat. “Maybe you should come back here.”

  “We need someplace new,” Lucy said, looking ahead at nothing in particular, and then she smiled. “I want to go to New York. We can live there with Tim and Marshall, in a rad loft apartment.”

  “Can we afford it?” Evan said.

  “Oh yeah. Well, you’re the big moneymaker. We write our comic together, and it takes off, and we print some collections, start a few new books, Hollywood comes calling, because, I mean, every comic book gets at least optioned these days, and we get a movie made, and suddenly we’re in demand, but you’re painting, too. You’re not satisfied with our hacky stories. You find you have too much to say.”

  “I’m liking this,” Evan said, and Lucy beamed.

  “We’ll have to film our own movies, ’cause Hollywood doesn’t get us right, so we shoot things and Marshall is our set designer and costume guy, Tim is our director, we write and star in it, and look, I’ll be honest with you, it’s not a hit. But it’s a cult hit, because not everyone’s going to get us, and that’s just a sign of how awesome we are. And we write and draw and make stuff, and we live very fulfilled lives.” This was the most optimism she’d felt in a while. She’d forgotten how good it could feel. She felt physically lighter.

  “Is there anything else we do…?” Evan asked, and Lucy felt herself blushing.