Carter's Unfocused, One-Track Mind

by Brent Crawford

  “They did? Those bitches. Why am I the last to know everything?”

  “Nobody wants you to get cocky,” she explains. “And you know Mom didn’t want you to feel bad about the remedial stuff. She just enrolled you in regular classes because we all knew that you’d rise to the occasion. And you will again and again. And I will come and visit you. I’ll probably have to be there all the time, bailing you out of trouble. It might actually make sense for me to transfer to a school out there just to save time.”

  I roll my eyes at her and she rolls hers right back to mock me. I ask, “You really think I’m ready?”

  “Absolutely not,” she replies. “But anybody who says they’re ready to leave home is full of crap. How do you know until you actually go? You’d have to be delusional not to be scared.”

  The mention of fear seems to conjure Scary Terry back to Merrian High. My sister and I turn toward the circle drive, where trunk bolts are rattling and the headlights of an old car loom a hundred yards away at the top of the hill. Everyone seems to have heard about Terry’s return. We’re all wondering if we’re about to die (that could be just me). I look at EJ and, with my eyes, try to ask him if we should run for it, but he’s obviously not getting it, because he starts rooting around in Aunt Jenny’s trunk.

  I tell my sister, “I bet that psycho got kicked out of the navy.”

  She replies, “No, he would have told me. He’s just on leave.”

  I look away from the car to glare at her.

  “What?” she asks. “He sends me e-mails.”

  “And you read them?!”

  “I don’t respond…very often,” she assures me.

  I sound like I’m doing an impression of my dad when I say, “You reply to Scary Terry’s messages?”

  She doesn’t say anything because EJ has just thrown a bottle of beer at the thumping car and yells, “Come on down, you pussies!!!”

  EJ’s got a great arm. The bottle smashes right in front of the bumper and sends suds spraying into the high beams.

  I yell, “What are you doing?! Don’t antagonize that nut ball!”

  “That’s not a Cutlass!” EJ replies. “It’s a friggin’ Corsica! Those Nortest d-bags are coming to jack with our school again!”

  Two other cars that no one recognizes approach and are almost hit by the rattling and retreating Corsica. They are way outnumbered tonight, so the three of them drive away, fast. We argue whether or not to give chase, but as long as I’ve got Aunt Jenny’s keys, she’s not taking part in any vigilante justice. Thankfully, the debate goes on for too long, and it becomes obvious that they’ve gotten away.

  I tell my boys I’m going to park Aunt Jenny in the student lot. No one will come with me, so I pretend to run them over as I whip the old boat around. I almost nail Abby by accident, though. She’s making a face when I lean out the window and say, “Sorry about that. This ol’ ship is hard to keep on course.”

  “Do you need a first mate to help you navigate, Captain?” she asks.

  “I believe I do!”

  “What’s your destination?” she asks.

  “I’m gonna dock in the student lot so we aren’t trapped back here when those Nortest guys come back or the cops show up.”

  Abby climbs in through the passenger window and slides right up next to me. She kisses me on the cheek and says, “Don’t forget about Scary Terry.”

  “I almost did; thank you for reminding me.”

  Abby yells out the window to her friends, “Anybody else wanna come?”

  The drill teamers don’t move, and Jeremy replies, “No, thank you, my mother warned me about getting into sketchy cars like that.”

  “No, it’s okay, your mom won’t find out,” I assure him. “I’ve got a puppy under my seat…and I’ve got candy too!”

  “Candy?” Jeremy asks.

  I nod. “Snickers…king-size.”

  He smiles. “That’s not what I heard!”

  Abby snort-laughs, but the rest of the girls scowl because they don’t get the “child molester in a van” improv that Jeremy and I are doing. They seem to think I’m making fun of them and their love of candy bars. I put my arm around Abby like an old-time pimp. I don’t know who decided that bench seats were uncool. They obviously never had a girl like Abby snuggled up next to them while they drove. I suddenly understand why they call that middle section the “bitch seat,” but I don’t share the revelation with Abby.

  I wink at EJ as we rumble past him, and make a sex face (eyes closed, biting my lower lip while nodding). He yells, “Carter, no, wait—” as I hit the gas and squeal Aunt Jenny’s tires.

  Abby asks, “What’s his problem?” because he’s chasing us around the parking lot.

  I keep speeding up and slowing down to mess with him while I explain, “He hasn’t had sex in this car yet, and he’s worried we’re about to beat him to it.”

  “Sure he has,” Abby says.

  “What?” I ask, looking in the rearview mirror.

  “He and Nicky have definitely used this backseat,” she says.

  “He didn’t tell me that.”

  “Maybe he’s a gentleman, Carter,” she adds.

  EJ is still running after us when I say, “Maybe Nicky is just pretending to be a slut. You should pretend to make out with me to freak him ouuuu—”

  Abby grabs my head and passionately cleans out my right ear. She may be goofing around, but the hairs on the back of my neck are dead serious, and so is my Snickers. I almost ram into the school, but turn the wheel just in time and step on the gas. Aunt Jenny fishtails onto the circle drive, and EJ gives up his chase.

  I reduce my speed as we cruise around the building. I’m kind of looking out for cops and Nortest cars and an old Cutlass, but then I realize, This may be my pimpest move yet! It happened by accident, but I’ve separated a girl from the herd and am driving her toward a dark empty parking lot, in a motel on wheels. I try to keep my cool and chat about school and RENT and how little Cinna is doing…something.…I’m not actually listening until Abby asks, “Are you wearing cologne?”

  “Oh…yeah. D-d-do you like it?”

  She gets in close to my neck and a sniffs me like a sexy Labrador. “Yeah, it’s nice. I know that scent. It’s very manly.”

  I am such a pimp I want to slap myself.

  “What is it?” she asks.

  “It’s uh, Drakur, Dracken, something Noir?”

  She stiffens. “Drakkar?”

  “Yeah, that’s it. You don’t like it?”

  “No,” she replies. “I love it…but…that’s what my dad wears.”

  “WHAT??!! Ahh, dang it!”

  She laughs. “He only puts it on like three times a year, but that’s definitely his brand. We buy it for him for Father’s Day. My mom says it was what everyone wore in the eighties.”

  I quickly park Aunt Jenny right in the middle of the lot and say, “Excuse me,” as I jump out and grab what’s left of my soda. I pop the trunk and frantically pour red ice onto a pair of EJ’s basketball shorts. I choose to believe that they are clean. Hopefully I’m not rubbing my neck and wrists raw with my best friend’s ball sweat. But the last thing I want in Abby’s mind right now is her FATHER!

  Once I’m disinfected, I toss the cup and soppy trunks back into the messy trunk. And I realize why EJ was chasing us. He doesn’t care if Abby and I hook up in his car. There is a whole case of Bud Light back here. Oh, well.

  I return to the car, where Abby is listening to NPR on the old AM radio. The dome light tries to reveal my red skin, so I shut the door quick. She touches my frozen neck and chuckles. “It’s not a big deal.”

  “Oh, I know. Is the smell gone?”

  She nuzzles in and sniffs me seductively. “Pretty much. It’s still musky, but the Code Red really rounds it out.”

  I hate myself for possibly forcing this beautiful young woman to kiss EJ’s gym shorts residue. I want to be a white knight and push her off of me, but if there is a time for chivalry…this
is not it!

  NPR isn’t the most romantic channel, but it’ll have to do. I take a deep breath and lift Abby’s chin with my left hand as I brush some hair out of her eyes with my right. The DJ tries to tell me about a heated Congressional debate. But there’s a hot girl touching my leg, so I am not listening. There is no debating it, this is happening!

  We make out intensely. I get right up her shirt, but I don’t just attack. How often do you get to touch a girl’s stomach and lower back? Not often enough! I’m not trying to rush, but eventually I’m drawn north. My elbow pushes into the steering wheel and Aunt Jenny blasts a time-out. HOOOONNNKKK!!!

  We laugh, but I’m still focused, so I ask, “Have you ever been in the backseat of a ’69 Dodge Dart? It’s pretty cool.”

  Abby warily turns to look at the enormous sofa and says, “I’ve heard of a lot of people using this backseat lately.”

  “What? Who? I haven’t. I think your friends are making stuff up to impress you, Abby.”

  “Yeah, that’s usually what girls do,” she says.

  “Really?”

  “No. Shouldn’t we get back to the party?” she asks.

  “To do what? We don’t drink. The cops won’t show up for a while. I’d rather hang out here with you.”

  She smiles. Debate over! I know at this critical point in a make-out session, saying anything is just going to talk her out of it. Action is the only way forward, so I flop myself into the backseat like a scuba diver. She giggles and follows me over the wall! We wrestle around and kiss. I have to fight like hell not to giggle.

  I’ve dreamt of getting busy back here since EJ first told me his great-aunt was in the hospital. He said if she didn’t pull through we were going to inherit one hell of a car. But the geometry of the backseat is trickier than I’d imagined. The seat is kind of angled, so my abs have to be engaged the whole time, and it’s tough to not shake. This sucks because one of my goals is to not seem nervous. We’re in one of the largest backseats in the history of the automobile, but it’s still confining. My feet keep getting tangled under the front seats. Who knew you used your feet so much? Abby stops kissing me for a second and throws one of her legs over my waist.

  “Wow!” accidentally slips out of my mouth. An actual girl is straddling my lap! And I lie back a bit. The trembling in my stomach doesn’t shut off, however. I pull myself together enough to unclasp her bra on the first try! She gives a smile of surprise. She has no idea how much I’ve practiced. The windows are fogging up because we’re breathing so heavy. That’s some old-school privacy tint right there!

  The kissing is great. Her boobs are amazing, but I am programmed to try for more. My hands cautiously drop onto the waistband of her jeans. I wait for the karate chop…that doesn’t come. She just keeps kissing me. Am I being too sneaky or is this a green light? I go ahead and unbutton the top one. Still no defense. I tug down on the zipper and try to stop the trembling in my hands. My knuckles brush against lace.

  I should be allowed to celebrate this enormous victory, but there’s no time…and I seem to be stuck. Her straddle is damning all forward progress. There really is no casual way to remove someone’s clothing; everyone has to be on board. I start kissing her neck to give my poor tongue a break and try to figure out what to do while I build up some saliva. She pets my stubbly head like a dog. It’s obvious she’s thinking too. I’m pretty sure I shouldn’t allow her to think very much here, so I just pull down on the back pockets of the jeans. I’ve successfully given her hip-hop butt, but unfortunately, this is as low as I can go. The ball is in her court. I’ve made my intentions clear (for the past year and a half), so I stop kissing and look into the area where her eyeballs should be. I’m actually glad she can’t see me in the dark, because I bet I look like one of those dogs in a Humane Society ad, and that’s not sexy.

  I stop breathing when she rocks her weight to the side and dismounts. She does a hair flip as her hands drop to her waist. I’m not sure if she’s shutting things down or throwing gas on the fire, because just as she’s about to pull her pants down—or up—our love den is filled with blinding light.

  I cry, “Noooo!!!” as she puts her bra back together with ninja speed.

  I’m angrier than I’ve ever been in my life. My boys have crossed the line! They think they’re having fun with flashlights, but they just wrecked years of hard work. I roll down the window that works and stick my neck out, yelling, “We’re gonna fight! You ass-ho-ooo—Howdy officers!”

  “Are you kidding?” Abby asks.

  “’Fraid not.”

  Red and blue lights begin to swirl around Aunt Jenny’s interior.

  Abby gasps. “Oh God.”

  A cop’s deep voice comes over the loudspeaker. “Step out of the car, please.”

  After a few deep breaths and some clothing adjustment, Abby pushes me out. Two Merrian cops are waiting beside their cruiser. For this they get out of the car! They obviously know what sort of business they just wrecked, because they’re smirking.

  Cop #1 says, “Pretty sweet ol’ Dodge.”

  “Thanks,” I say. “We were enjoying it.” Abby pinches my arm. “Ow!”

  Cop #2 smooths his mustache before saying, “Let me get your license and registration, kid.”

  “Ohhh, um, I’m sorry. I don’t have either one.”

  “You’re sorry?” he says. “You lose your wallet?”

  “No…no…I’ve got it, I-I-I just don’t have a driver’s license yet and this isn’t my car.”

  Cop #1 asks, “So, how did you get here?”

  I run a few lies over in my mind, but they all suck and I don’t think we’re really in trouble here, so I go ahead and confess, “I drove it.”

  “Where did you ‘drive’ it from?” he asks.

  I point to the faculty parking lot. “Just around the school.”

  Cop #2 asks, “What’s going on in the faculty parking lot?”

  Dang it. I decide to keep rolling with the truth. “Uhhhh, it’s like, a sort of gathering?”

  “Like a party?” he says.

  “I don’t know if I’d call it that.…It’s just like, people standing around.”

  “Is alcohol present?” he asks.

  “You know…we took off so—”

  “So there are about how many kids trespassing back there?” Cop #2 says.

  Abby jumps in. “We go to school here, so I don’t think it’s tres—”

  “At eleven o’clock on a Saturday, I’m pretty sure you’re trespassing, young lady,” he says. “The school district doesn’t even own these parking lots.…They’re city property.”

  “Really?” I say. “Is that so the school doesn’t have to pay for snow removal?”

  Cop #2 says, “Yeah, and our street sweepers clean up your messes, and the Merrian P.D. has to patrol the lots.”

  “Ohhh.” I’d love to make fun of these guys for all of the vandalism and parties they have not stopped, but I don’t.

  Cop #1 gets us back on track when he says, “What’s your name, son?”

  “EJ.”

  Abby laughs because I said it without even thinking.

  Cop #2 asks, “Have you two been drinking?”

  Abby replies, “No. We just came down here to talk.”

  Cop #1 raises his eyebrows, and I give him a nod like, That’s right, playa.

  Cop #2 replies to my look by saying, “Put your hands against the car, EJ.”

  “Wait, no. I wasn’t saying that we were—”

  I’m pushed against Aunt Jenny’s trunk as he pats me down for weapons. Good thing that boner relaxed. I am not a fan of man hands on my junk.

  Cop #2 continues, “You know I put cuffs on a kid named EJ last year? A kid that looked a lot like you, but he ran away from the scene on me.”

  “E-E-EJ is a pretty common name,” I mutter.

  Abby adds, “I know another EJ.”

  Cop #2 pulls my wallet out of my pocket and says, “Save it.”

  Dang it. My studen
t ID is in there!

  “Mind if we look in the trunk, EJ?” Cop #1 asks.

  I say, “No…the keys are in the car.”

  He pulls them out of the ignition, and I suddenly remember what’s back there.

  All hope is not lost, because Cop #2 is seriously not very good at his job. He hasn’t even opened my wallet. He’s too busy looking over Cop #1’s shoulder as he shines a flashlight around the trunk, sniffing out clues. He says, “No dead bodies…that’s good. We got a hundred Taco Bell wrappers, wet clothing; that is disgusting.”

  Cop #2 picks up the investigation. “I see baseball gear, footballs, boxing gloves…and a case of Bud Light!”

  “What?!” I ask, as surprised as I can.

  “Uh-oh, EJ!” Cop #1 says.

  Abby gasps. “That’s not ours!” But I know it doesn’t matter. If a kid is even in the same neighborhood as a beer, the Merrian P.D. will nail them for being a minor in possession, and here we are—actual minors—in actual possession—of actual alcohol.

  I say, “She had no idea there was beer—” just as their radios crackle to life and a woman’s voice says, “We’ve got a six-forty-seven at Merrian High. What’s your twenty?”

  Cop #2 says to the dispatcher, “We’re at the high school.”

  The lady replies, “Neighbors are reporting a fire and a large group of kids. The fire department and two other units are en route.”

  Cop #1 says, “Ten-four. Send them to the west parking lot. I repeat, the faculty parking lot.”

  I smell the fire for the first time and hear sirens wailing in the distance.

  Cop #2 barks, “Hands behind your back, EJ.”

  Dang it. I do as I’m told, and cold steel pinches my left wrist. But Cop #1 says, “Come on, these kids are fine. Let’s get over to that back lot before the idiots burn the school down.” He grabs the beer out of the trunk and says, “This is your lucky night, EJ.”

  Seems like it’s his lucky night.

  The cuff comes off my wrist, and it feels almost as good as when Abby threw her leg over me. As he gets into his squad car, Cop #2 tosses me my wallet and says, “I’ll remember this Dodge, EJ.”

  “I’m really a pretty good guy.”