earthgirl

by Jennifer Cowan

  Something I had to recover from pretty quickly when Tom spotted me.

  “Sabine, Natalka went home with the flu so there’s a dozen boxes for the body aisles. Sorry to swamp you, but it’s gotta get done,” he said as I marched solemnly toward the stockroom to ditch my coat and backpack. “Hey, you okay? You look a bit pasty yourself.”

  “I’m fine,” I nodded. I mean, technically from a physical health standpoint, I was. From a mental health perspective, not so much. Plus I doubted a slight dose of lovesickness counted as a real illness.

  “Take it easy and do what you can,” he said. “Can’t afford to have everyone around here knocked out.”

  Tom was a nice guy and a good boss. Concerned and conscientious without being bossy or nosy. He trusted you to do what he asked without much fuss. I bet he was a great dad to his little twin boys.

  For a nanosecond I considered asking him what to do about Vray before realizing how immature and silly, not to mention inappropriate, it would sound asking my boss for boyfriend advice.

  So it was me and the teatree shampoo and verbena conditioner for the night. And some weird tribal music CD I might enjoy at any other point in my life. I wished Ruby was around but she’d gone to Costa Rica with Hayley on a last-minute deal. That was both a good and bad thing. Bad because I couldn’t solicit her advice. Good because I wouldn’t be dragging her into my drama, which was probably only dramatic to me anyway.

  Surprisingly, the shelf stocking was very soothing. Meditative, even. Before I’d even realized, Tom lowered the front lights, a sign the store would soon be closing. Four hours had disappeared in a blink.

  I finished up the row I was working on, closed the last half-empty (half-full?) carton of body lotions and carried it to the stockroom.

  “Your boyfriend’s here,” Tom said, leaning into the back where I was pulling on my jacket.

  For a second I didn’t know what he was talking about, but then Vray poked his curly head through the storeroom door.

  “Car’s out front, I’ll meet you there,” he said normally. Like I’d seen him five minutes ago and everything was absolutely fine. Or like I’d just woken up from a coma or a bout of amnesia or something. “Thought you’d like a ride home,” he smiled, heading back out, the door swinging in his wake.

  Vray was in his mom’s silver hybrid, pulled up to the curb in the No Stopping zone. He reached across the seat to get the passenger door from the inside, reminding me how polite and thoughtful he could be.

  When he wanted to be. The hypocrite.

  “Your mom said you were working,” he practically chirped. “Figured I’d surprise you.”

  “I thought you never drive in a car alone,” I said, wondering if I should have walked past him to catch the bus. If getting in was giving in, or simply my desire to hear him out like the civilized person I was.

  “I’m not alone,” he beamed, leaning over to kiss my cheek. I pulled away, practically bumping my head on the window.

  I glared at him.

  “What?” he asked, huffing into his cupped hand. “Bad breath?”

  “Bad manners,” I snorted.

  “Am I missing something?” he asked as he pulled out and started driving.

  “I’m sorry,” I answered flatly.

  “For what?” He seemed genuinely mystified, which left me more than a bit mystified.

  “Didn’t we have a fight?” I asked, now wondering if I had imagined the whole thing.

  “Why? Because you told me some big secret plot and I pointed out it was half-baked?”

  “Well, it’s evolved since then.”

  “Oh yeah, to what?”

  “Spraypaint,” I announced, surprising myself with the big announcement. Not to mention how quickly all was forgiven.

  “Nice,” he nodded as he signaled and pulled into a church parking lot. “Not quite what the guys and I had in mind, but closer.”

  “You told them?” I was floored. “That was private. What else did you tell them about us?”

  “Relax,” he said softly as he ran his hand up my arm. “I said you had an idea and we started jamming and came up with a way to seriously pull it off.”

  I just stared at his hand, which was now wrapped around my wrist like a bracelet. My breath came loudly out of my nose as I yanked my arm back.

  “You’re unbelievable. First you make fun of my idea. Then instead of apologizing for being rude and snippy, you betray me to your friends.”

  “Okay, okay, sorry. But come on, Sabine, you wanted to put stickers on cars like a little girl,” he said calmly. “So last night me and the boys looked at the lot you mentioned. And you’re right. No cameras, not to mention some sketch lighting out back. So we started thinking, why go for kiddie shit when we could really fuck ‘em over by torching a few cars.” His eyes were practically twinkling in the dark as he talked. “Same effort really, but much bigger effect.”

  “Ha, ha, very funny.”

  “The E-L-F took down a Hummer dealership in California and got away with it. No reason we couldn’t do the same thing here.”

  “Those cars, that dealership, that’s someone’s business,” I said, matching his even tone.

  “Yeah, and spraypainting is vandalizing someone’s business,” he replied, equally calm.

  “It’s not blowing things up. I think that’s called terrorism.”

  “Not if we’re the good guys. Besides, you’re the one who keeps saying someone has to protect and defend the earth.”

  “Stop acting like it’s logical! It’s completely insane. And why are you acting like it was my idea? This was not remotely what I had in mind and you know it.”

  “I think it’s exactly what you had in mind. You were just afraid to go there so soon.”

  “Oh sure, hijack my idea and twist it into something crazy destructive, not to mention totally illegal and dangerous and I started it?”

  “It’s not against the law if it’s against society and the laws of nature,” he said calmly. “There’s something much bigger at work here. I know you see it. Admit it, if not to me at least to yourself.”

  I sat staring straight ahead. I was afraid to look at him. Afraid of what else he might say and what I might say back. Afraid he would twist my words again and throw them back in my face. Afraid of what he was capable of doing.

  And of what I might discover I was capable of, too.

  “Please take me home,” I said quietly.

  Vray started the car and we drove to my house in silence.

  “I know it’s big,” he said in a soothing voice as he pulled into the driveway. “Sleep on it. You’ll see, you’ll feel different tomorrow.”

  He leaned toward me to kiss me goodnight. I wanted so, so badly to move away, but the way he hovered drew me in. Hypnotized me. Instead I tried not to kiss back, but it was like my lips had a mind of their own.

  I hoped my mind didn’t have a mind of its own.

  “Just promise me you’ll at least think about it,” Vray said gently.

  I took a deep breath and nodded as I snapped the car door open, slid out and slammed it behind me. He waved, like everything was completely normal as he peeled away into the night. The car fishtailed on the slush and snow-covered street, leaving behind squiggly black marks.

  Big. Shocking. Confusing. Exciting. Terrifying. I could keep listing things, but mostly the list was a way to fill the space between us as it grew larger and larger.

  •••

  I didn’t sleep on it. Not that I didn’t try. I tossed and turned and flipped and flopped like a rowboat on a stormy ocean.

  And in the morning, I did feel different. Completely exhausted and so anxious I thought I might puke. But I felt different in other ways, too. In more surprising and even frightening ways, I understood what he wanted and why (though he really should have asked me before blabbing to his buddies). And even though what he was proposing was completely outrageous and verging on totally insane, in some small ways I could also see his point.


  I could see the truth of it. The intention behind the insanity. And maybe he was right, and all he’d really done was take my idea to the next level. Take it somewhere relevant and significant. Take it to the place where any clear-thinking, truly radical mind would go. A place my own intentions and actions were struggling to get to.

  Yes, it was mega. It was reactionary. It was dangerous. It was criminal. It was wrong. It was all those things and so much more.

  It was also too complicated to just dismiss outright. Even if it was an act of destruction, it was also in a backward way an act of creation. If they (or we?) pulled it off, it would create something, too.

  Controversy. Outrage. Discussion. Change. And wasn’t all that what I wanted the earthgirl to stand for? Maybe this was the logical culmination of my own re-evolution from my growing anti-consumer insights, to gravitating toward things like the Suzuki Foundation and Ruckus Society. From encouraging my friends and schoolmates into behaving more responsibly, to my own small gestures of civil disgust and disobedience.

  Maybe, even though it was obviously absolutely the wrong thing to do, it was also the right thing. The very thing that should be done.

  e a r t h g i r l

  [ January 22nd | 1:03am ]

  [ mood | pooped ]

  [ music | i hear noises — tegan + sara ]

  Some questions to ponder on the rocky radical road to re-evolutionary thought...

  When is being different really just being the same? How far is too far? Is it ever okay to break the law? Is fear a good motivation? Is love a better one? What does it take? How far will you take it?

  If not you, WHO?

  If not now, WHEN?

  THE END JUSTIFIES THE MEANS. But does it? Does it really?

  link read 5 | post

  www.wikipedia.org/wiki/Activism

  altalake 01-23 03:36

  Oooooooo, existential crisis alert. Sorry, I’m staying away from this one, already got four of my own!

  onederful 01-23 06:39

  Don’t know if the end justifies the means but justification is the means to justify almost everything in the end.

  Vague-a-bond 01-24 10:04

  BIG questions and chaos. Just remember chaos is growth. And growth is change. And yes, change is scary, but it’s also necessary and inevitable. Without growth there is stagnation. So embrace the chaos. Hug it close.

  I wasn’t exactly feeling like myself. Who I was feeling like was altogether another mystery.

  If I were a smoker, I’d be smoking. Chugging on butts the way Ella did and my life depended on it. If I were a nail-biter, I’d have gnawed my fingertips bloody. If I were a cutter, I’d be scratching and twitching. If I were a binger, I’d be purging. Yeah, if I were more like so many of my majorly messed-up schoolmates, I’d be screwing things up to the very best of my rather significant abilities.

  Except I wasn’t any of those things. I wasn’t over the edge, even though it seemed like I might fall off it. Even if I was standing on the brink, staring into this new infinite abyss of possibility that was both terrifyingly awesome and awesomely terrifying. I just wanted to be sure my decision was mine. Not motivated by love or loyalty or hormones or peer pressure or stupidity.

  It was lunchtime, but I had no appetite. So I walked out into the brisk, gray January day and let the shock of the cold burn my throat and nostrils.

  There weren’t many people outside, but under the stoner tree I saw Shane McCardle.

  Good old weatherproof Shane.

  He was bundled up in his Guatemalan jacket, which he’d winterized with a puffy vest. On his head he wore a sheepskin aviator hat and his glittens had the fingers cut out (no doubt for fast access). I wandered toward him silently pointing at his pack on the bench beside him. He moved it out of the way and patted the seat.

  “Ah, the bold and controversial Ms. Solomon. To what do I owe this honor?”

  “Can I ask you something, confidentially?”

  “Absolutely. I owe you. All the annoying stuff you’ve been up to has really taken the heat off me.”

  “What would you do if someone you cared about wanted you to do something illegal?”

  “Ah, Sabine, if you wanted some smoke, you just had to ask,” Shane smiled, pulling a baggy of spongy green weed from his pocket.

  “It’s more illegal than that,” I said, watching his fingers, which though extremely long were also amazingly nimble as he expertly and efficiently whipped up a rollie before my eyes.

  “More illegal?” he said, raising his eyebrow. “Some people would say breaking the law is breaking the law, end of story.”

  “Says the guy breaking the law,” I answered too quickly, realizing if I insulted him he probably wouldn’t be terribly helpful.

  “We talking about that oooh edgy boyfriend of yours?” he asked, giving me the sideways eyeball.

  “How do you even know about him?”

  “I know things,” he answered tapping his temple.

  “It’s not him. It’s one of his idiot friends,” I said. “That’s why I can’t talk to him about it. He’s not exactly objective.” Whew, that sounded even feasible for thinking on the fly.

  Shane nodded like he understood and believed me. “F-Y-I, this is me protesting outdated laws. Draconian, repressive, regressive legislation.”

  “By supporting biker gangs and criminals?”

  “I grow my own. I’m an eco-preneur.” He passed me the spliffy and for a second I was tempted. “I call this one Tumbleweed. Go easy or you might fall down.”

  I nodded him off.

  “Nature’s gift,” he sighed, popping it into his mouth and flicking a lighter to life. “Okay, will this thing hurt anybody, besides if this person or people get nailed for it?”

  “Hopefully not physically, but definitely financially,” I said carefully. “I mean, if it’s pulled off okay.”

  “Hmmm,” he mused as he hauled on the joint. “Well, if it were me deciding to play, and I think that’s really what you’re asking, basically I’d ask if I was going along for a cheap thrill or cause I was into it, too.”

  “I’m not talking about me,” I insisted, even though I was asking a guy well acquainted with the edge if I should step over it.

  “Whatever,” Shane said, leaning his head back against the tree. “You’re a smart girl. I think you already know what you’re gonna do.”

  And as he said it, I realized he might actually be right.

  e a r t h g i r l

  [ January 27th | 10:03pm ]

  [ mood | contemplative ]

  [ music | | Summon You - S/P/O/O/N ]

  The Daily Thought Bubble: TERRA-ism vs. Terrorism. Terrorism vs. TERRA-ism.

  Is defending the planet from destruction the same thing as attacking and destroying innocent people and targets? The FBI, CIA and CSIS say al-Qaeda and the ELF are the same.

  But how is killing innocent people riding the subway or on holiday or going to work the same as “inflicting economic damage to business and industry that threaten the planet”?

  That threaten our home? Our mother? Our very existence?

  link read 6 | post

  www.oeom.org

  lacklusterlulu 01-27 11:57

  So NOT the same! Apples and shoelaces. Ideology is personal and you can’t say one is even like the other. Unless you’re some fascist, self-centered Ayn Rand-ian.

  Stryker1988 01-28 00:23

  FuckOffLeftWingFuckFaceCommies!!! If U hate freedom and capitilism so much then leave and go to some communist dictater republic of hell! The only reason U can even bitch is cuz yer priviledged losers with to much time on yer hands! GOFUCKYERSELFS! www.lomborg.com/

  Vague-a-bond 01-28 00:43

  Sensing some minor hostility and difference of opinions from our new friend Stryker. Careful, stress causes heart disease and other ailments. Try some yoga, meditation or visualization. Namaste.

  Stryker1988 01-28 01:06

  VISUALIZE MYFOOT KICKING YER FAT ASS!

/>   earthbound01 01-28

  Why don’t you block this scary neanderthal from posting here?

  onederful 01-29 16:23 (link) Select Freedom of speech also includes the freedom to be an idiot.

  e a r t h g i r l

  [ January 28th | 03:51pm ]

  And who knows, maybe some of our ideas and actions will influence his.

  nineteen_

  “Told you she’d go for it,” Vray boasted to Finn and Eric as we gathered in his room for the first “official” confab. His mom was lecturing at yet another conference in California and his dad was working late at the university, again.

  “Do you even have parents?” I asked him once. “Or did you just make them up like your name?”

  “Raised by wolves,” he growled.

  As for his supposed brainiac brother, I’d yet to meet him either, since he was always at a lab or the library studying. If I hadn’t seen actual family photos, I might have thought Vray lived in this big gorgeous house all by his lonesome. Or with his perma-guest pals.

  Eric the conspiracy theorist glared at me sideways like he was still doubtful about my decision. I didn’t blame him. I’d probably be suspicious of me, too. Heck, I was me and I was suspicious of me.

  “It was my idea,” I reminded him.

  “Hardly,” Eric scoffed. “You were just carrying a germ which you happened to cough onto a higher organism. Us!”

  “Nice visual,” Finn laughed as he stumbled around the room fake coughing and wiping his hands on the chair, Vray’s head, duvet and stacks of books.

  “No, good metaphor,” Vray said. “Sabine’s like Patient Zero for the virus and she passed it onto us and it mutated into a new super virus.”

  “Too powerful for conventional forces to destroy,” Eric agreed. “Even stockpiled vaccines can’t stop us cause there are too many of us out there, mutating and ready for action.”

  “But not yet. I think we should do it around Earth Day,” I said. “Contrast all the happy cuddly organized stuff.”

  “End of April’s too far off,” Vray said. “Too risky to wait.”