Winter Town
Page 12
“Evan Owens! This is certainly a new side of you.”
“Hey, this is your fantasy here. I’m just trying to get a full view,” Evan said.
“Yeah you are,” Lucy countered, and smiled. “If you think you’re getting any this week, keep dreaming.”
“I’ll take that as permission to do just that, then,” Evan said, and Lucy was both embarrassed and impressed by his sudden bravado. “So yeah, count me in. Of course we’ll have to go to school first.”
Lucy knew it would come up at some point. Evan wanted to coordinate their list of schools, and his consisted of Brown and Dartmouth and places Lucy knew she no longer stood a chance of getting into. Even before Bill and the Year from Hell, Lucy’s grades had slipped. She wasn’t the straight-A student she used to be.
Lucy wasn’t interested in talking about school, or about how close New York is to New England—really just a train ride away—and now her head was full of thoughts of being separated and alone again and of the doomed nature of the future. Lucy wanted to leave life up to this point behind, and run to New York or California or maybe even out of the United States, maybe go to Paris or Italy or somewhere romantic, and start fresh. Anywhere she hadn’t been before.
“New England isn’t the same for me as it is for you,” Lucy said, afraid to make eye contact. She feared Evan wouldn’t understand or that this would be a deal breaker. He was a homeboy. The type to wear some stupid New England sweatshirt with a maple leaf on it or something.
“It’s beautiful here,” Evan said, once again looking up at the lights and the water. It was beautiful, Lucy agreed silently. “I thought you were excited to come back.”
“I’m always excited to come back, but mostly to see you.” She slipped her hand into his. “My family broke up here. My thoughts of this place involve a lot of fighting and not fitting in and wanting to disappear. It’s not a happy place for me.”
“They’re just locations, you know,” Evan said. “New York and New England or Georgia or wherever, they’re all just places. The fighting and not fitting in and all that, that’s in your head, it’s your history. It’s going to be wherever you go.”
He was right. She had thought coming back here would help her forget about her summer in Georgia, but it had followed her. It was only the scenery that changed. Neither place ensured any kind of happiness. She’d be miserable anywhere. Poor Evan.
They reached the theater and Lucy leaned into Evan under the marquee, which was brightly lit and rendered them silhouettes. People came out of the theater and passed them on either side, but Lucy just stood there in Evan’s arms, weak and just okay for now.
The theater was a small downtown arts cinema. It had only two screens and usually played stuff the megaplexes didn’t touch: low-budget indies, the occasional Oscar-bait drama, and sometimes—sacre bleu!—something with subtitles. It was an old-school theater, the kind with a window kiosk for tickets and a long ramp leading in. It was quaint, and cute. Despite its antiquated feel, lack of variety, and small size, it was always full because of its prime spot downtown, and because it showed films that moviegoers often couldn’t find anywhere else.
Evan’s school friends John and Mitch were working this night. John was tall and outspoken, and Mitch looked to Lucy like a young Woody Allen with the nebbish qualities to boot. Not bad. Evan told her they were both movie buffs and could get them in for free.
“Owens,” John said, and he shook Evan’s hand. “What are you seeing?”
“Hey, John. We’re thinking of Mickey Lee,” Evan said, referring to an indie that the theater was replaying.
“It’s good,” Mitch said with a smile, ready to review it.
“But not great,” John quickly added. “Frankly, I think he phoned in a lot of favors to get it made, because the script feels half-assed at best.”
“We’re playing it here after several years,” Mitch added. “So someone liked it.”
“I said it isn’t great. But it is good.”
Evan introduced Lucy and told Mitch and John that she used to go to school with them. No one remembered her. Lucy gave Evan points for playing it cool and not being hands all over with his supposed new girlfriend in front of his friends. Lucy wasn’t surprised they didn’t remember her, though she did have recollections of Mitch and John, who hadn’t changed much. John seemed to have sported some facial hair. Truth was, Lucy wasn’t ever highly visible and often went out of her way to keep it that way. She liked people, but she liked them as an observer or as an anonymous participant, she liked to watch from the outside—a wallflower. Evan was the one who would know everyone by name, learn their stories, and keep up with them over time. True fact—Lucy’s Facebook friend total: 37. Evan’s Facebook friend total: 574.
As Evan talked to John and Mitch, going back and forth from light conversation to quickly escalated heated debates, Lucy walked down the aisle and looked at the art on the walls. It was all done by one person, a local artist, she figured. The pieces seemed to all belong to the same series of paintings of distorted perspectives and chaotic lines. They were really eye-catching. Lucy thought downtown was quite a venue for local artists, with the theater and all the coffee shops and store windows offering a large amount of space for art displays. The comic-book store alone was a gold mine. Lucy came back to Evan, who was having a tough time with John.
“I’ll get you guys in,” John was saying, “but you have to come to my Hitchcock marathon.”
“All right, all right,” Evan said. “Just e-mail me a reminder.When is it?”
“Oh, whenever you’re free,” John said.
“I can clear my calendar,” Mitch added. These guys weren’t quite at Tim and Marshall’s level of coolness, Lucy thought. But friends at the theater and free shows? Not bad, Owens.
Evan turned to Lucy. “You ready? The movie’s going to start.”
“I’m ready,” Lucy said, and gave Evan a kiss on the cheek. Why not give the fellows a little show.
Mitch gave a virginal smile and John elbowed him. Knock it off.
Lucy’s heartstrings were more than tugged as she sat in the darkened theater—they were yanked and torn. She was trying hard to hold in tears, unsure why she wanted so badly to cry in the first place. Lucy glanced over at Evan, who was watching, enthralled. Maybe it was just a really good, powerful movie.
Lucy wasn’t fully paying attention anymore, though. She’d disappeared into her head. She was thinking about Evan, and how he liked these movies. But he was strictly a spectator. Evan liked art, but he couldn’t write it. He was afraid to make it. He could draw these amazing things and then hide them in a box as if he were ashamed of them. Lucy thought of their talk with Tim and Marshall, and how they were so right. There’s a human need to make art, and she wasn’t great but she had it, and Marshall sure as hell had it, so what was wrong with Evan that he was so content and willing to just blend in? It’s not that every artist has to come from a broken home, and it’s not like he was perfect anyway. She loved the guy, but she could list a dozen things wrong with him. The problem was that he liked art, but he never suffered for it. He liked it, but he never lived it. And that’s why he couldn’t write it or make it. Lucy had an Evan break-through. She stared at him from the corner of her eye, but his eyes stayed fixed on the screen. He could watch the images on the screen and appreciate them just fine but he couldn’t invest in them. He couldn’t fully understand them, even if he thought he could. He didn’t know pain enough to relate to it honestly. Lucy felt dirty examining him like this. She couldn’t stop, though. She felt an urge she wanted badly to resist—an urge to hurt Evan, not just to hurt him and not in a mean-spirited way, but to hurt him so he could feel alive, so he could have a full life experience, so he could appreciate these beautiful moments, so he could understand her. So he could be full, and complete. And in a weird way it might work for them as a couple. They’d be equal then.
Somewhere in Lucy’s mind a seed had been planted, to break Evan’s heart. And
it made her sob uncontrollably then, and loudly, and Evan held her hand tightly, looking concerned. People began to turn in their seats to look at them.
“Shh, shh, shh,” Evan whispered. “It’s just a movie.”
Lucy came home to a cluttered living room that seemed to be missing a floor. You know, those things for walking on. In place of the floor were a million tiny fragments of computer guts. In the center of them was Lucy’s father, with the shell of the computer opened like a book. Only the living room was lit, and sparsely. The house was barely decorated for the holidays. There was one small Christmas tree that fit on a tabletop. Lucy tiptoed through the computer parts to the couch, which she fell onto heavily, flat on her face. She moaned to herself for a moment.
“Hi, pumpkin,” her dad said.
Lucy turned her face sideways. “Whatcha doin’?” she asked.
“Taking a look at this old computer.” Her dad held up a board of some sort. “The idea is to take it all apart, see how it all works, and then put it back together.”
“Does that ever work?”
“Not so much, not yet, anyway. Feeling okay?”
Lucy groaned again. “Emotional.”
“Enjoy it,” he said, his attention mostly on a multitude of computer chips on boards in front of him. “You’ll never feel quite so emotional again. Not as you get older and stop caring about everything so much.”
“Is that true?” Lucy asked.
Dad was quiet for a minute, thinking about it. “Nah,” he said.
“I want to get old,” Lucy said, and sluggishly lifted her arm to the small Christmas tree and snapped on the lights. She looked up at the blue and orange and green and red lights, and let them fall out of focus. “I want to take computers apart and put them back together.”
Lucy looked at her phone. Life is so boring w/o u! Plz come save me. Luv u. She had received seven texts from Tess back home that she still had to reply to, and one from Ian that gave her shivers. The farther she was from that situation, the more she couldn’t believe she’d ever gotten herself into it. When she’d lived here full time, she’d never have imagined her life where it was now. She shut her eyes tight. She was on vacation and didn’t want to deal with Georgia matters. She wasn’t without guilt, though. She had no shortage of that lately. She did hope Tess was okay. Lucy drooped her arm to the ground and picked up a computer part at random.
“What’s this one do?” she asked.
“Honey, I really haven’t the foggiest.”
“You’re weird, Dad.”
“You wonder why I hung on to your mother. Not many women would put up with me.” He gave a sad smile.
Lucy shut her eyes and rubbed her feet together, kicking off her shoes.
“Dating any boys at school?” Dad asked.
Lucy groaned.
“I only see you once a year, I have to ask. Indulge me.”
“Boys are stupid,” Lucy said sleepily, figuring it was a true enough answer to his question. If not factually true, it was emotionally true.
“We are, aren’t we?” Her dad studied a piece of plastic before tossing it behind him, dismissing it as not useful.
“Have you heard from Mom at all this year?” Lucy asked, and opened her eyes again.
“Not so much, no. We don’t really talk much, Lucy. I’d like it if she would contact me, but I trust her with you. And you’re here now after all, aren’t you?” He turned his head to face Lucy and smiled, and she smiled slightly herself.
“Would you take Mom back if she asked nicely?”
He put down his toys. “Well, I don’t know. It depends on whether or not I’d think she’d really changed at all, I suppose.”
“Do you think someone can change? Like maybe in a year or two? Like, do you think if maybe two people aren’t right for each other right now, maybe they could be later?” Lucy walked her fingers along the carpet.
“I don’t know, pumpkin. It’s a nice thought, though, isn’t it? I can’t figure out how a computer works. Human beings are far more complicated, I’m afraid.” Dad smiled again, as if this were somehow a warm and encouraging statement. “You’re really not dating anyone?”
“I told you boys are dumb.”
“And… girls?” he asked, and adjusted his glasses.
“Dad…”
“I’m just asking, that’s all.” He looked with distaste at the large mess he’d made. “I think this computer is about rubbish now, don’t you?”
Lucy mumbled an agreement.
“You look different this year,” Dad said, not quite facing Lucy. “Do you think you’ve changed?”
“I don’t feel very different,” Lucy said. “I feel like the same old. Do you think I have?”
“Oh, I think you’ve changed every time I see you,” he said with confidence. “It’s easier when you’re young, of course.”
This was comforting to Lucy, and she smiled. “Did you have dinner?”
“Oh, I might step out and get something to eat in a bit.”
“Dad, it’s ten o’clock.”
“Is it?” He seemed surprised. “Damn.”
Lucy sat up. “I’ll make something for us.”
FAIRY-TALE MUSIC
Lucy hung out with Evan as he worked on his paper the following afternoon, sitting at the dining room table under the chandelier. She tried to keep herself busy and quiet, and found it very difficult. She was looking at Charlie’s village, which she’d seen a dozen times before, but she looked at it now with new eyes. She imagined herself as one of the—there must be a hundred of them—tiny people found on the circumference of the main set pieces. And as one of the tiny people, she started off skating across the lake. She walked along the pure white snow paths and under the bridge and followed the bright path lit by streetlamps; she followed them past the church and into town. Everyone was happy and singing, with their eyes shut and their homes unlocked. The cars here never evolved past 1945, and the policeman directed traffic with delight, the families walked the streets with glee, and little Joey didn’t mind shoveling the sidewalk one bit. There was a gigantic clock in the middle of town. They were all too happy for Lucy’s comfort and she stuck out like a sore thumb here. She was a Grinch, and no, her heart would not grow three sizes that day. All the people set their eyes on Lucy and it made her uncomfortable, so she grew into a giant and observed the town from a distance. She tromped through town at a quicker pace now, and she noticed all the churches here, and all the hospitals. Everyone seemed to live within a short distance of a hospital. Such a need for medical care suggested a lot. There was pain here, beneath those frozen grins. Maybe the pond didn’t quite hit the freezing point and bodies were drowning left and right. Maybe the outskirts in the corner of the room, where the light never fully reached, hid some secrets. Maybe there were gangs. Giant Lucy zoomed in on little Joey, holding his shovel, his face beaming—with menace?
Evan turned a page of his book and coughed. Mr. Studious. WinterHat BoringPants. Bookus Reporticus. Evan the Librarian. Shush! Silence! Lucy looked back at little Joey. Yes, she could see only evil in him now. Lucy groaned audibly. She was bored.
“Hey, Bookus Reporticus,” she called.
“What?” Evan asked with a smile, not looking up. “Is that me?”
“Yes. I think Joey killed the neighbor boy.”
“You’re getting really involved with my dad’s town, aren’t you?”
“Maybe.”
“Well, solve the crime, Nancy Drew,” Evan said, typing something into his new laptop.
Lucy began rotating all the figures in the front window display to face her. You have done well, little Joey. You are in my good graces. Lucy stood up, and they all stared at her in awe.
“I’m their god now,” Lucy said to no one in particular.
“Do you want me to put on the TV?” Evan asked.
“Blech,” Lucy said, and picked up a small figure and tossed it over her shoulder. It landed behind her and rolled across the floor. “This on
e doesn’t accept me.”
“Hey,” Evan said. “Careful.”
She threw another one. “It’s all right. I’m just making an example for the others.”
“Lucy, come on. Those are my dad’s.”
“You are the angry god. They fear you more.”
Evan got up from the table, picked up the two figures, and brought them back over to the village and placed them with the others.
“You are Mothra,” Lucy said, “and I’m Godzilla. We must fight.”
Evan sat in the nearby recliner and Lucy smiled at him.
“Which one’s Joey?” he asked, and Lucy faced Joey toward Evan. Joey grinned evilly, brandishing his shovel like a weapon. “Oh yeah, I see what you mean.”
“The real tough guys are in the corner over there,” Lucy said, and pointed toward the dark corner of the room.
Evan leaned forward and moved the jolly snowman over to where Joey was standing. “This is where he hid the murder weapon. It’s inside Frosty.” Frosty smiled innocently, his wooden arms outstretched. I got nothin’!
“They have no idea what’s going on,” Lucy said, “with their idyllic Christmas festivities day in and out. A murderer is among them, and they don’t even know to look for him, let alone who he is.”
“Oh, but they know,” Evan said, nudging two nearby Christmas carolers forward. “Mother and sis saw the whole thing.”
“Joseph!” Mother said, in a voice that sounded like Evan pretending to be a southern belle.
“Yes, Mother,” Joey said, a young British lad.
“Joseph, I see you’ve shoveled this nice little mound of snow, but I can’t figure out why, seeing as there’s no driveway to keep up.”
“Oh, yes, Mother.” Lucy wiggled Joey back and forth as he said this. “You see, I merely intended for me and my fellow children to have a little jump in the snow, see, young fun and whatnot!”
“Well, Joseph, you and I both know you have no friends now, so let’s not lie.”