Field-Tripped

by Nicole Archer

  The moon has vanished behind the mountain range, and the cold pinches my nostrils. The air is so thin and clean it hurts to inhale. Every step takes twice as much effort.

  The smell out here—burning pine and metallic wind—it brings back awful memories. This is where life ends.

  My collar feels like a noose. I tug at it the whole way back to the lodge.

  Instead of using the front door, I hop over the lower deck. In the dark, a hot tub bubbles and steams. Someone must have forgotten to put the cover on.

  I shed my clothes where I’m at and step into the tub. The brisk air and hot liquid prick my limbs as I settle into a corner seat in front of the jets.

  I sink under the water and listen to the motor churn above me, searching for the chill motherfucker who has completely abandoned me in my hour of need.

  When I come up for air, there’s a naked woman on the other side with her eyes closed.

  Charlie.

  I study her like a painting at a museum. Her body is just as succulent as it was in college. Full breasts and long, lean legs. She’s thinner now; her ribs are showing. Giant black and yellow bruises cover her shoulder and chest.

  Who did that to her? Was it her boyfriend? Her husband? My mind goes crazy, and I rise up from the steam on fire.

  An unholy scream rips out of her lungs. She splashes and slips, attempting to flee for her life.

  “Shh! Charlie. It’s me, Eli.”

  Bare ass facing me, she hugs herself and lowers back under the bubbles. “Jesus! Why didn’t you say something?”

  I don’t have a reason I feel like admitting, so I don’t give her one. “What happened?” I nod to her injury.

  “I dislocated my shoulder hang gliding.”

  Her happy adventure injury upsets me even more. She’s been living the dream apparently—running her own business, hang gliding.

  I reply with controlled ambivalence. “Pretty dangerous sport.”

  She skips over the subject and grabs her throat. “I almost had a heart attack when I saw you earlier. I think I’m still in shock.” A weird laughter tumbles out of her. Nervous laughter. Fake laughter.

  I push a hand through my wet hair. “Same here. Uh, I mean, the heart attack part. I see myself every day.” Ugh, what the hell am I saying? I’m eleven years old again.

  Another weird giggle froths up. Then silence stretches between us.

  “It’s good to see you again, Elliott. I guess you go by Eli now?”

  “And you’re not Charlie anymore.” There’s hostility in my tone. It’s on purpose.

  A glazed look floods her expression. “After the accident, I started using my full name.”

  The hot water is now a sea of ice. The accident. I was hoping I’d never hear that word again.

  She sees something in my expression and changes the topic. “So what have you been up to for the last ten years? Thought you’d end up a being a rock star.” She laughs again. “You and Patrick and your grunge band that you wouldn’t let me join.” She curls a fist and shakes it at me.

  I allow myself a smile. “I’m still a musician.” I leave out the part where I’m a retired club DJ. “What about you? Thought you were going to be a veterinarian?”

  Her mouth sags. “I was, but my parents didn’t leave a will, and I had to pay off their debt. I went to community college instead.”

  The wind blows snow off a nearby tree branch onto my head. I leave it melting on the back of my neck.

  I want to ask her more, but I can’t, because it hurts.

  “Is it weird to be back in the motherland?” she asks.

  “Yeah.”

  “Lots of memories, I’m sure.”

  I glance up at the black sky.

  “Do you miss it here?”

  The question has a deeper meaning. She wants to know if I’ve missed her. I meet her gaze. Charlie can say five things at once with one look. Right now she’s telling me her life hasn’t been that great. And it’s my fault.

  “No,” I say and leave it at that.

  Her hand flies to her shoulder like I’ve just shot a poison arrow in it, but her tone is still fruity and light. “Soo…are you and the pretty blonde dating? The one who can’t take her eyes off of you?”

  A bolt of anger zaps me. I surge up from the water, clutching my exposed balls, and try not to shout when the cold air smacks my nuts.

  “Don’t go,” she pleads.

  I jerk on my jeans over my wet body and zip up my jacket over my bare chest. Chilled all the way to my soul, I stand with my back facing her. “I can’t do this, Charlie. I just…can’t.”

  “Elliott.” Her voice barely rises above the sound of the jets.

  I bundle the rest of my clothes under my arm and race to the door. Just before I shut it behind me, I catch her mumbling.

  “Fuck off then, you fucking hot son-of-a-bitch. Why don’t you get some more hot tattoos and work out some more on your hot body, you hot fucking shitbag. Fucker. Fuck face. God, I’m such an idiot.”

  A wide grin engulfs my face. That’s better. That’s the Charlie I remember.

  That night, I don’t sleep. All I can think about is her—the last woman I want to think about.

  SEVEN

  Charlie Knows Sex

  November 1997

  DEAR DIARY: I know about sex. It’s where two people get naked and kiss. Some people do it over and over again. You can get sick and die of AIDS. See ya later!

  Later that week

  I’ve been thinking Elliott and I should do “it.” We’ve already kissed. He’s the most beautiful man alive. He’s so nice and wonderful. I love him. He loves me. We should just do it and get it over with. Then we can be boyfriend and girlfriend for reals.

  I stole The Joy of Sex from my parents’ room. The couple in the book is super ugly and has lots of hair. They look like Cro-Magnons. I wonder if Elliott has hair down there? I have three.

  Later that same week

  Mom found my diary and grounded me for a week. I’ve never been so humiliated in all my life. She said I’m too young to have sex, and she called Elliott’s mom and dad. He told me he didn’t get in trouble. I asked him if he was mad at me, and all he did was smile.

  EIGHT

  Charlie Just Can’t

  Eli’s Mixtape: Portugal. The Man, “Feel It Still”

  ALL NIGHT, flashbacks shook me like bomb blasts. PTSD—triggered by him.

  It’s scary how much I blocked out from back then. But one thing I remember like it was yesterday: Elliott walking out on me.

  It was a terrible time. And I made a terrible mistake. But I was blinded by grief. What was his excuse?

  “I just can’t, Charlie.”

  Can’t what? Explain why he left me when my whole family died? Dick.

  I thought he’d be there for me, no matter what. That was back when I believed in love. Mistakes aren’t allowed in real relationships. Forgiveness is a figment of fairy tales.

  In real life, it’s either love or hate.

  And right now, it’s hate. Hate is the only thing fueling me. Otherwise, I’d stay in bed all day.

  I’m the last one at the breakfast table. A buffet is set up in the corner, and I pile my plate with food I won’t eat.

  “How’d you sleep?” Alan asks.

  The black circles under my eyes should be a dead giveaway. He’s so clueless. “Great!” I say and find a seat away from him.

  “I slept like crap,” Joy says. “Wang’s snores broke the sound barrier last night. It was like a herd of elephants trampling through my brain.”

  Wang’s my Google guy. I imported him from China. He’s a genius when it comes to search optimization. He and Joy are like brother and sister. They remind me a lot of Patrick and I.

  Wang pushes his glasses up on his nose. “Was that before or after you watched porn on your iPad?”

  “Shh!” Joy checks to see if Burt heard at the other end. “I am not giving up my iPad. There’s too much incriminating evidence on
that thing.”

  “I’ll be knocking on your room tonight at twenty-hundred, then,” he informs her.

  Their banter is usually the highlight of my day. It’s like a comedy routine. Today, I want them to shut up and stop having fun.

  I sneak a peek at Elliott. He’s chatting with Avery and her little boy. They’re having a grand ole time, laughing and playing.

  He catches me staring at him, and the cheer slides off his face like melted butter.

  Hear that? It’s the echo of his screams when I shank him later.

  I wave my team in. “Let me make it clear to you all right now—nothing, I repeat, nothing is more important than winning this business. I want heads in the game, people. This is no joke.” I bang my knife on my plate for emphasis.

  My receptionist, Christine, makes a horrible suggestion. “How about we all take hands and pray?”

  I tap the knife against my temple. “How about we get our heads in the game instead.”

  Before she has a chance to guilt-trip me, Art stands at the head of the table. His bald head is polished to a shine. “All right, gang, while you’re finishing up, I’ll go over the rules for today’s broomball game.”

  “Yes!” Jerry, the steroidal dude on the other team, tries to fist bump Skip.

  Skip volleys back a blank stare.

  Art lists a bunch of mumbo jumbo. When he’s done droning on, Malcolm drags in a huge pile of rubber and drops it on the floor.

  Burt blows an ear-shattering whistle. “Get suited up and head down to the lake.”

  “What are those?” I ask Wang.

  “They want us to wear sumo wrestler costumes.” He gives me a pleading look. “Please don’t make me do this.”

  “What? No way!” I march over to Burt. “I’m not wearing that.”

  “You forfeit the business, then?”

  “This is unprofessional,” I snarl.

  “So what?” he says.

  Art rests a hand on Burt’s shoulder, cutting off his abrasiveness. “Charlotte, loosen up for once. It’ll be fun.”

  The meathead cackles. “That’s what she said.”

  Skip slices a hand through the air like a cleaver. “Shut it, Jerry.”

  Art continues. “Once you’re pumped up, head on down to the lake, and we’ll get started.”

  “That’s what sh—”

  Sam, Shimura’s edgy developer, shoves Jerry. “Stop talking.”

  That Jerry dude’s chest may look like a Thanksgiving turkey, but I wouldn’t want to mess with Sam. That guy looks like he knows about a hundred and fifty ways to assassinate.

  Twenty-minutes later, sixteen fools, plus one toddler, roll down the hill in fat suits.

  Joy falls flat on her face and struggles to get up.

  I try to help her up and fall too.

  Avery slips and slides into our pile.

  I laugh so hard it comes out as silent gasps.

  “Austin, help mama up.” Avery reaches for her boy.

  He jumps on top of her like she’s a human bouncy house. It dislodges her from our pile and she zooms down to the lake with her boy on her bloated stomach, like she’s a flesh-colored Frosty the Snowman.

  Joy wipes away happy tears. “I haven’t laughed this much since that time in college when I ate mushrooms and hung out with an Elvis impersonator.”

  I don’t ask her to elaborate. That’s just asking for trouble. “It’s been a while for me, too.”

  Eli waddles by, then stops and lifts a corner of his mouth. A falcon flies overhead and screeches at the exact same moment. The deadly St. James smirk—breaking hearts for decades.

  “Need help?” he asks.

  “No!” I shout.

  Joy holds out her mittened hand.

  He takes it and jerks her to standing.

  She flutters her eyelashes. “My hero!”

  He politely offers a hand to me.

  I blast him with a look so bloodthirsty it hurts my face.

  The sexy smirk vanishes, as does he.

  Joy watches him amble down the hill. “How does he manage to swagger in that sumo suit?”

  “He’s the enemy, Joy. Head in the game.”

  She pokes her tongue in her cheek. “Are you PMS-ing?”

  I grit my teeth and toddle down to the ice, where the rest of my team awaits my orders.

  My instructions are as follows: kill!

  NINE

  Eli is Once Bitten, Twice Shy

  Survival Tip: If you are bitten at any time, even if the bite heals and the wound seems benign, you MUST have it checked.

  Eli’s Mixtape: The Kinks, “You Really Got Me (Remastered)”

  IN THE SHELTER on the side of the lake, Skip calls us in for a huddle. “I have no clue how to play hockey, but I’m half Japanese, so I’m going to sumo the shit out of everyone while the rest of you win the game. Don’t pass the ball to me.”

  Jerry proceeds to enlighten Skip about the rules of the game.

  “Shut it, Jerry,” he says, then pulls out his vape and takes a couple of tokes.

  “Are you getting high in front of my child?” Avery whispers through her teeth.

  Skip looks down at the kid and waves.

  A whistle blows, and we put on our helmets and teeter out onto the ice with our brooms.

  I scan the other team in search of Charlie. Oh, there she is, staring right at me. My stomach flips. For the rest of the game, she’s invisible.

  During the face-off, Jerry tells Stanley he’s a pansy and then smacks the ball down the ice.

  Sam runs after it and passes it to me.

  I steady it with the broom and waddle down to the other team’s net. Right as I’m about to smack it in, someone jumps on my back and topples me.

  I roll over and see Charlie staring down at me with a wicked grin. “Loser,” she mumbles and lumbers off.

  It takes me a while to stand in the fat suit.

  Meanwhile, Jerry steals the ball from the other team and scores.

  Skip high-fives our finance guy. “Fuck yeah, Reno. Good work.”

  Skip’s use of his last name makes Jerry work twice as hard on the ice, and he scores another right after that.

  Later, Skip shoulders Wang, Orion’s SEO guy, to the ground.

  Wang makes the time out sign. “Penalty!”

  Burt shouts back, “There are no rules in this game, boy. Get up and play.”

  A shoving match follows—Jerry against Duffy, the Deadhead on the other team.

  While they’re shouting obscenities at each other, Sam steals the ball and passes it to Avery.

  She kicks it to Sabrina, who delivers it to me.

  Once again, I line up the shot. Out of nowhere, Charlie rams into me and sends my broom flying across the lake.

  She clutches her huge sumo belly and cackles. Abruptly, she stops and sneers. “You suck.”

  I meet her glare head on. “You’re messing with the wrong fat man, sister. Don’t turn your back.”

  “Ha!” She wobbles away with her gloved middle finger high above her head.

  The whistle blows, and we’re at it again. Five more times, Charlie body-checks me.

  Every time she knocks me on my ass, Burt and Art laugh hysterically. “Ooof! That had to hurt! Hahaha! Get up, Beaver Beard, you big wussie. Hahaha!”

  That’s it!

  Next time, I’m ready for her. Just as she’s about to lunge, I step out of the way.

  She crashes onto her shoulder and hisses.

  The whistle blows.

  I flop beside her. “Are you okay?”

  Her teammate, Alan, rushes over and pushes me. “Are you hurt, honey?”

  An angry red fog blows into my mind. Typical Charlie. She’s with that clown, and yet she’s hell-bent on making an ass of out of me.

  “Charlotte and Bearded Clam!” Burt bellows. “You’re out of the game.”

  “What!” I shout. “You said there weren’t any rules.”

  Burt points to the lodge. “Out. Both of y
ou.”

  I rip off my helmet and consider throwing it down on the ice. But that would make me look like even more of a doofus.

  Charlotte flaps to her feet and waddles up the hill, gripping her shoulder.

  I stomp after her, trip, roll down the hill, and get back up.

  Burt and Art crack up again. “Watch yourself, Beaver Beard. Hahaha!”

  I tear off the fat suit and leave it in the snow.

  Back at the lodge, Charlotte can’t lift her shoulder to take off the costume.

  I reach for the Velcro fasteners on her back.

  She smacks my hand away. “Don’t touch me.”

  “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

  Her dark daggers slice into me. I step back. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I’m used to being hurt by you.”

  I scoff. “Oh, really? Is that what you told your boyfriend out there? That I’m the one who hurt you?”

  She inches closer and rams a finger into my chest. “He’s not my boyfriend, you…butthole!”

  “What are we, in junior high again?”

  “You son of a—!” She barrels into me, knocking me back on my ass. Then she piles on top of me and tries to punch my face.

  I belly laugh. “You’re like a Tyrannosaurus Rex. You can’t hit me wearing that thing.”

  She bounces on top of me, trying to smother me with her sumo suit.

  “You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

  Tears sprout from the corners of her eyes. “I hate you.”

  “Hey.” I brush a tear off her cheek.

  She leans into my palm and closes her eyes. Her hair dangles in my face. It smells just like I remember—like strawberry bubble bath.

  It comes rushing back—that horrible pang—the Charlie addiction. “Get off me.”

  She sniffles. “Not until you talk to me.”

  I flip her over and pin her arms.

  Underneath me, she thrashes like a wild animal.

  “Settle down, woman.”