“Just please, I need you to do something for me,” he pleaded.
“What?” I asked, seeing just how frightened he looked. Whatever this was, it was bigger than Lily and me and the whole Basic Eight. “What?”
“I need to cover this up, of course, that’s what,” he said, pointing to his neck and looking around like a spy. “Do you have something, makeup or something? I can’t let Lily see this! What would she think?”
“Probably what I’m thinking,” I said. “I don’t know, Douglas. I’m not going to help you cover up for something unless I know what it is.”
“Look,” he said, running his hand through his hair. “I’m not seeing another woman, OK? Is that what you want to hear? That isn’t what’s happening. But Lily will think that’s what’s happening, and I need you to cover up for me! Please!”
“Just buy a turtleneck,” I said. “Don’t get me involved in this, Douglas! Lily’s my friend, and she’s paranoid enough about the two of us without this.”
“I can’t,” he said. “This thing will take a few days–”
“Hickey,” I said. “Love bite. Just say what it is. You have a hickey that comes from someone who isn’t–”
“It will take several days to wear off, and I can’t wear turtlenecks for several days in a row. Everyone’s used to seeing me in these suits! What will they think?” He was getting absolutely panicky.
“Well then, go buy some makeup.”
“I can’t do that,” he said. “I can’t do that, I can’t do that, I can’t do that, I can’t do that–”
“Calm down, Douglas. Jesus.”
“You’ve got to help me.”
“I don’t know.”
Douglas’s face grew angular, his eyes squinty. “Listen, Flannery,” he said in a low voice. “No one’s supposed to tell you this, but on Thursday Bodin called some of us into his office. Me, and V__, and Flora and I forget who else.”
I blinked, trying to keep up with the changing subject. “What did our good principal want?”
“Well, he’d heard the rumor about you setting the fruit flies free, and he called in some friends of yours to sort of grill them.”
“Flora’s not a friend of mine.”
“Yes, she is, Flan. But you’re missing the point.”
“Who else did he call in? Gabriel?”
“No.”
“Natasha?”
“No, she wasn’t there that day, remember? In fact, you weren’t, either, which is what saved you. But you’re missing the point.”
“What do you mean, I wasn’t?”
“Well, everybody knows you were there that day, but for some reason you were officially marked absent. Dodd must have spaced out–”
“Or got me and Natasha confused–”
“Whatever. But what that meant was you couldn’t have done anything if you weren’t there. But you’re missing the point.”
“Did you guys back up my story?”
“Yes. We told Bodin we’d heard the rumor, too, but that we didn’t think there was any truth to it. Of course, we didn’t say that you weren’t there that day, because we didn’t know, but Bodin seemed too dim to really catch that, plus Carr was chomping at the bit to fire that assistant–”
“Carr was there?”
“Yes. But you’re missing the point.”
“OK, OK,” I said. “What is the point?”
“The point was, we backed you up even though we didn’t know the story. All we heard was that you had done something kooky in a classroom, and knowing your love of panache we guessed it was probably true. But even though we were suspicious we backed you up, because we’re your friends. We trusted you; we knew that even if you had done something wrong you had a good reason. And once Kate had the opportunity to fill us in it turns out you did have a good reason.”
“So what does this have to do with you?”
“I’m telling you. Sometime you’ll be filled in, and you’ll know I have a good reason. But right now I need your help and you have to trust me.” He actually started to cry, right there. Just a few tears, but that’s a lot for a boy, even one who can tell Shostakovich from Tchaikovsky and wears linen suits to school. “Please.”
So I helped him. But I didn’t feel good about it. Something in the way he told me about the scene in Bodin’s office made me feel obliged to help him. Like my friends, unbeknownst to me, had made a move, and I had to follow. They had upped the loyalty ante of the Basic Eight, and now I followed. OK, I didn’t feel that way until later, but it could fit in this situation. It took forever–Douglas was really paranoid, so we had to drive to some desolate neighborhood, and I went in by myself and bought a bunch of different shades of base, and then back at my place, with the shades down, I tested them until I found the right one (surprisingly, a fairly dark one, considering how pale I consider Douglas to be) and blended his neck until the bruise faded. He made me promise to meet him early, before school every day, until it faded. We compromised, and he said he’d drive to my house to do it, and that he’d fill me in as soon as he possibly could. I can’t even imagine.
Once he’d left, I cleaned up the coffee mugs, and noticed that Douglas had left his hat at my house. I took it upstairs and put it on a chair in my room, on top of Kate’s blue sweater. I checked the answering machine, thinking there’d be a message from Gabriel, hoping there’d be one from Adam, but I had forgotten to leave it on.
It was getting on toward six o’clock. I considered calling other people, asking them what the plan was for tonight, but then I realized they’d probably planned something to leave Gabriel and me alone, so I just sat in the living room, listening to the Bach that Douglas put on and writing this all down. It’s now ten o’clock–the latest showing of the movie was nine-thirty. So I think it’s safe to say that I don’t have a date with Gabriel this evening. Or Adam, for that matter, or even some coffee date with Natasha or someone. I’m alone. There’s a poem in that, but I don’t want to write it. I don’t want to be someone who spends Saturday night alone at home, writing poems about being alone.
Vocabulary:
LIMP-WRISTED
GALLIVANTING
ELOCUTION
DROSOPHILA*
*May be difficult to find in some dictionaries.
Study Questions:
1. In this chapter, Flannery writes: “I lead a ridiculous life.” Do you agree with her assessment? Why or why not? Do you lead a ridiculous life? Why or why not?
2. Is it rude to bring an uninvited guest to a dinner party? Should you be excused if it’s your boyfriend? What if he’s dumb?
3. Do you think Flannery did the right thing with Douglas at the Golden Gate Bridge? Do you think Douglas did the right thing with Flannery at the Golden Gate Bridge? Do you think Bodin did the right thing with Douglas and the others in his office? Did Douglas and the others do the right thing with Bodin, and Flannery, in Bodin’s office? Do you generally do the right thing? Questions like these will be repeated several times throughout this journal, but write down an answer each time, so it’s fresh.
Monday September 27th
Super Student was almost late to homeroom today, because it took longer than I thought to blend Douglas’s neck at my house. If you can believe it, I had to duck when we entered the student parking lot because Lily was right there and Douglas didn’t want for her to see us together. I had to run down the hall to Dodd’s room, wondering why. I mean, if he marked me absent again I could cause a little more havoc and not get caught. But not me, oh no. I’m Super Student, remember? Don’t you remember on Friday, how I sat in the library and wrote out a pledge to be Super Student, all the while missing my fucking Calc test?
Well, don’t feel bad, I didn’t realize it either until I showed up late for Calculus and everybody was getting their tests back. Baker didn’t even look at me until the bell rang and everybody left us alone.
“Are you going to try the I Have A Really Good Reason For This approach, or just skip directly to Hav
e Mercy On Me Mr. Baker?” he asked, erasing the board.
I swallowed. “That would be the latter,” I said.
He turned around. “You know, based on the score for your last test, you could form a cohesive argument that statistically you had a chance of a better score if you didn’t show up, but even so I take it as a personal insult.”
If there’s one thing that drives me nuts it’s when teachers take it as a personal insult when you screw up. I mean, I was already taking it as a personal insult to myself, getting an F on a Calc test and thus keeping my F average at an even keel and ending up living under a bridge, and now, Mr. Baker was insulted, too. Bring on the Fs, leave out the bonus guilt, thanks very much. “I didn’t mean it as a personal insult,” I said, standing up and getting my books together. “I was stressed out, I cut class, I forgot there was a test. I’m sorry. I’ll send you a balloon-o-gram or something so you’ll feel better about giving me an F.”
“You know,” he said, “your attitude isn’t going to help you get anywhere, either.”
How wrong he turned out to be. I looked at him, and realizing that Super Student or no, it wasn’t a very good plan to alienate all of my teachers during the first semester of my senior year, I put my books back down. “I guess now wouldn’t be the right time to ask you for a letter of recommendation.” He and I looked sternly at each other, and then both shrugged, both smiled.
“Can I give you a makeup test?” he asked. I wanted to tell him I’d already had one this morning, with Douglas, but instead I just nodded. “Will you get an F on it anyway?” I nodded again.
“You know,” he said, “one of my students in fourth-period class has been doing some tutoring. The two of you could meet, after school or something. I don’t need to tell you that it’s an important semester, Flannery.”
“I know, I know. Who is this wunderkind?”
“Her name’s Flora Habstat. Do you know her?”
I’m sorry, I’m too miserable to write down the rest of the conversation. I’m missing what Hattie Lewis is saying, anyway. We’re starting Poe today. You know, ever since I heard Poe was manic-depressive, I’m thinking maybe I am too. Who knows? I mean, plenty of people purport to know, from Dr. Tert’s (in)expert testimony to talk-show queen Winnie Moprah: “I’m guessing that Flannery Culp had lots of pain in her life.” That’s really what she said, “lots of pain,” like I owned some undeveloped land somewhere, filled with prickly plants and broken glass. I’m guessing, Winnie, that you have lots of money in your life, but little else. Ah well, life goes on, I guess, as Hattie Lewis writes page numbers on the blackboard, and I look at Flora Habstat’s phone number which Baker scribbled on paper for me. All these numbers, assigned to me: numbers on dockets, prison record numbers, legal fees, where I fit into national statistics on teenagers, murder, witchcraft.
LATER
Gabriel was waiting for me outside of choir. You’d think that sweet would be a land far, far away from irritating, but as it turns out they’re right next door, and always having border disputes. Gabriel would do anything for me. Why don’t I want him to?
“Hi,” I said.
Gabriel looked at me for a moment before saying, “Hi. Can we talk?”
“Of course,” I said, leading him out the side entrance where Adam had led me. The comparisons were driving me nuts. I opened the door and we walked out and sat on a bench just as someone was getting up from it. A woman in her twenties, grinding out her cigarette with her bright red shoe, too old to be a student and too young to be a teacher; what was she doing here? What was I?
“I just wanted to say,” he said quickly, and my heart sank. He just wanted to say that he’d had too much to drink the other night, or that he’s had second thoughts and realized I’m a fat lesbian, or something. “I just wanted to say that it’s OK with me, I’m happy for you, and that I’m not angry at you, though I am a little angry at him, though just for Lily’s sake, not for mine. I just think it was bad timing for me, that’s all. That’s all I wanted to say. That’s all,” he said, and actually stood up like there was nothing else to say.
“What are you talking about?” I said.
“I know about you and Douglas,” he said. He smiled, weakly. “I think it’s great that you guys are back together. You always made a great couple.”
“We made a lousy couple,” I said, “but that’s not the point. We aren’t back together. What are you talking about?”
“Didn’t you guys have a date on Saturday?”
“Well, we walked across the bridge and talked. It wasn’t a date.”
“What did you talk about?”
“Gabriel!”
He shrugged sheepishly. “Sorry. I guess it was nothing.”
“How did you even hear about it?”
“From Kate.”
“And Douglas told Kate?” Douglas was getting odder by the moment.
“No. This will really sound like she’s a spy, but it’s true. Kate had some cousins in town, and they took some pictures Saturday afternoon at the bridge. They went to one of those one-hour development places and were showing them to Kate when she saw you and Douglas in the background.”
“No way.”
“It’s true.”
“Come on.”
“Really.”
“And so Kate called you right away, and you just decided to accept it as gospel, not even calling me?” I asked.
“Give me a break, Flan,” he said gently. “I was feeling delicate enough, and everybody knows the bridge was you guys’ big date thing.”
I put a hand on his shoulder. He smiled like I knew he would, instantly and from the eyes. “And you were going to give me up without a fight,” I said. “Shame on you.”
He turned toward me. We looked at each other, mouth to mouth. “So what are you saying?” he said. I hesitated, and that’s when the side door banged open and out came Adam, laughing with a couple of people I didn’t know. I suddenly felt like I needed a little room, like Adam had said to me.
“I gotta go,” I said. “I have Biology. I’ll talk to you soon.” I got up and brushed past Adam, who pretended like he was just noticing me. “Hey Flan,” he said. I looked at him and wished I had been marked absent so I could throw him down a well. But anyone could have thought that, Dr. Tert; it’s just in the context of my later actions that my wish becomes sinister.
I muttered all the way to Biology like a bag lady, and when I got there I had a small humiliating experience. I tried the door, found it locked and realized I was early. Sheepishly I realized why they were locking the doors, and as I backed up I ran into the science geeks who were sitting in the hallway, locked out of their study hall.
“Something you need to do in there?” one of them asked, and I did my best to maintain a dignified expression. Life goes on, I guess; when Biology finally began Carr introduced his new assistant. The woman grinding out her cigarette. Remember? With her bright red shoe.
Tuesday September 28th
Not one to wear much makeup, except during a brief period of unfortunate experiments with glitter eye shadow in seventh grade, I never got to experience the girls-in-front-of-the-bathroom-mirror-giggling-and-gossiping bonding that has been promised me on TV since I was very little, so having Douglas meet me every morning for Cover The Hickey is the closest thing. It gives me a sort of closure with him, too–first we were friends, then lovers (well, sort of–we never did much of that, Pusher), and now we meet every morning so I can help him hide his love bite from his love interest. Ah, the way of the world. Or this world, anyway; I don’t suppose peasants in Zaire are discussing Oscar Wilde and applying the right shade of base. Or are there even peasants in Zaire? Zaire’s in Africa, right? Just kidding, Peter Pusher, I just wanted to hear you gnash your teeth. I can hear it clearly, over the gurgling, even.
“Do you know what I’ve been thinking about?” Douglas asked me, craning his neck while I moved in for the kill. We were in my bathroom. If he had his eyes open, Douglas could have
seen my bedroom in the reflection in the bathroom mirror, seen his hat perched on Kate’s navy blue sweater. For some reason I haven’t gotten around to returning either of those things yet. I don’t know why. Douglas always keeps his eyes closed during this process, though.
“Telling me where you got this?” I asked, halfheartedly. There was no progress on that.
“No,” he said. “Absinthe. Oscar Wilde had it sometimes.”
“Oh yeah? Mrs. Lewis was telling us that Poe took it too. What about it?”
“Well, it might be fun to try some.”
I looked at him. Drugs weren’t usually something the Basic Eight did. Not out of any Puritan goody-goodiness, but because it just seems so uncouth. Marijuana conjures up unwashed longhaired men, LSD brings to mind a spirituality that we would consider immature even if it were genuine, and all those powdered things can’t help but make me think of men with slicked-back hair, wearing silk suits of ghastly colors, with tall thin blondes on their arm, high and dumb. But absinthe? Writers, artists and thinkers, lounging around salons, their thinking growing ever lucid thanks to some magical potion–that was pure us. “You know,” I said, “it might be. Where would we get some?”
“I don’t have the faintest idea.”
“Good,” Lily said at lunchtime when I told her about it. Natasha and Lily and Douglas and I were in the courtyard, discussing the possibility. Natasha, of course, was up for it right away, but Lily looked at us over her tortoiseshell glasses like we had gone mad. Do you think that transition from home to courtyard was a smooth one? “That stuff is supposed to fry your brain.”
“So’s coffee,” Natasha said carelessly. Today she was wearing, and getting away with, a cape. A cape. No one else could wear a cape to school; people would think they were pretending to be a wizard or something. But Natasha looked like a visiting countess, sexy and regal.
“It is not,” Lily said. “Absinthe messes with the chemicals in your head. Chemicals I would presume to say most of us want to keep intact.”
The Basic Eight Page 12
