Field-Tripped

by Nicole Archer

  “Okay, text if you need me.”

  I no longer feel like feel like coming. I feel like punching.

  His footsteps shuffle off, and we stand in front of the mirror, side-by-side.

  I turn to the sink and wash up. When I try to dry my hands, the paper towel comes out in shreds. “Shit.” I slam the handle and yank out more useless slivers. “Fuck.”

  She reaches around me and waves a hand in front of the sensor. A perfect sheet slides out.

  “What’s with that guy?” I ask. “If you’re dating him, why are you in here with me?”

  “You followed me here.” She sighs. “What are you doing, Elliott?”

  I rub a hand over the dull ache in my chest. “I don’t know.”

  She massages the back of her shoulder.

  I caress the spot she’s touching. “Did I hurt you?”

  She flicks me off. “When are you going to talk to me? Really talk to me. About what happened?”

  Oh, sure! Let’s break it down right now. Let’s chat about how I killed your whole family, and you cheated on me and then I left, and now I’m feeling you up ten years later in the fucking john.

  The ache spreads to my back. I heave out a breath and rub my fists in my eyes. “What’s the point?”

  Her pink post-coital glow mutates to red rage. “You coward.”

  I double over like I’ve been shot by a sniper’s bullet. “What do you want from me, Charlotte?”

  She marches off to a stall and slams the door. “Nothing!” A second later she pops it open and glares at me. “Maybe another orgasm. That was fucking hot, until you ruined it.”

  Immensely relieved by this quick change in subject, I strut to the door. “Next one is on you.”

  FIFTEEN

  Charlie Loses Her Cherry

  September 2002

  ELI TOOK me to his parent’s cabin for the weekend, and he finally, FINALLY, made love to me. Now, every time I look at him out of the corner of my eye he gets this unstoppable smile.

  My favorite part was afterward, when he threw me over his shoulder and ran naked around the room, smacking my butt and shouting, “I want to make sure I can save your life when the time comes.”

  Later at dinner, I confessed my diabolical plan to get him in the sack. I thought he’d be mad, but he welled up with tears and thanked God.

  I love him.

  SIXTEEN

  Charlie Fakes A Smile

  Eli’s Mixtape: Killavesi, “Unlikely”

  MY JAWS ACHE from the plastic smile I’ve worn for hours. After my public bathroom orgasm, you’d think I’d be grinning for real.

  I’m not.

  I’ve been pretending to read a book by the fire for over an hour. What I’ve really been doing is cataloging my life.

  Every sexual experience I’ve had since Elliott has left me feeling unsatisfied and full of shame. Why don’t I feel like that now?

  I come to a sad conclusion—it’s because he knows me.

  To him, I’m beautiful. He doesn’t even have to say it. It’s the way he looks at me, like I’m a priceless object, even though he’s seen me at my worst. He was there during my awkward teenage years. He’s seen me sick as a dog and drowning with grief. He was with me when I got my first period.

  Only with him have I ever felt comfortable enough to make ugly “O” faces and let loose.

  I look over at him. Sabrina, who’s hanging on his every word, shrieks out a laugh.

  I can’t be around them for one more second.

  Quietly, I slip on my boots and sneak out the door with the dogs.

  Snow flutters to the earth like goose down as I make my way down to the dock.

  All at once, I can’t hold it in anymore. Warm tears flow down my frozen cheeks and cling to the fur around my hood.

  What is wrong with me?

  I haven’t cried in years. But in the last few days, I’ve shed tears at least twenty times.

  I’m shivering violently. My body has no idea what to do with all this emotion.

  Julius Seizure paws my leg.

  “Maybe I should adopt another dog,” I tell him, scrubbing behind his ears.

  Thom Yorkie yaps, and I pick him up and tuck him inside my jacket. Instantly, his Frito smell comforts me.

  Orion shines down from a clear patch of black in the sky. “Dad?” I whisper. “Are you there? I’ve got boy problems.”

  I laugh like a gust of wind.

  What the hell am I doing? Talking to my dead father? This isn’t me.

  Elliott has me all flustered.

  I trudge back to the lodge. Inside, it’s dark except for the few glowing embers in the fireplace. I shrug off my coat and warm my hands.

  “I was worried about you.”

  I flinch and spin.

  Alan’s on the couch with a brandy snifter.

  “How long have you been there?” I ask.

  “Since you left. I was about to join you out by the lake, but I could tell something was on your mind.”

  He’s not the one I want to care. “Just needed some alone time. I’m not used to living around a bunch of people.”

  He swirls the drink, his gaze as hard as the dark liquor in his glass. “Were you thinking”—he pauses—“about us?”

  The question rams a thousand pound ball of lint down my throat. I say nothing.

  Then he punches me again. “Is something going on between you and that Eli guy?”

  I lunge for the bottle of brandy on the table and take a hearty swig. “Woo! That lit a fire in me.”

  His mouth ticks up then falls flat. “Sit next to me.” He pats the cushion. “I miss your smell.”

  I down more brandy and completely ignore his comment. “Looks like we’re going to win this business, partner.”

  “Does that make you happy?” he asks.

  Not really. “Of course.”

  He stares into space for a second.

  “Something on your mind, buddy?” I emphasize the buddy.

  “You’re on my mind. All the time.” He sounds tortured.

  I’m trapped. If I kick him to the curb now, in the middle of these games, it would be an unmitigated disaster.

  Why can’t he get the frickin’ hint? He probably thinks I want him to chase me. Men are so stupid.

  “Al,” I say after a long silence.

  “Char.”

  “I don’t do this…” I wave a hand between us. “I told you that.”

  He places a hand on my cheek. It feels like bat wings. “I can take care of you, Charlotte.”

  Just tell him. Tell him you don’t want him. Spit it out. But the words get stuck in my throat. I can’t do this right now. How can I be so cruel to a man who’s been so good to me?

  Why, oh, why can’t I fall in love with a good guy like Alan?

  “I’m sorry,” is all I manage to say. “I’m not…relationship material.”

  His demeanor turns to marble. Without a word, he sets down his glass and staggers off to his room.

  I know how he feels. The person I loved rejected me, too.

  But once I’m in bed, I barely give him a second thought.

  My mind is on the big blond man two doors down. There just isn’t any room for anyone else in my brain. Elliott takes up too much space.

  SEVENTEEN

  Charlie Cheers for a Loser

  February 2000

  ELLIOTT JUST BEAT the world record in racing. If this keeps up, he’s going to get a big head and forget about me.

  Last night, I made a sign with rainbows and glitter that said “Go Loser,” and I held it up the end of the finish line.

  I think that’s what made him go faster. I’m a genius.

  EIGHTEEN

  Charlie Makes a Hard Dick

  Eli’s Mixtape: Sweet, “Blockbuster”

  THE WORLD LOOKS like a giant white pillow outside the lodge. The agencies stand across from each other, in the field next to the lake, while Burt delivers the rules of the next game.

 
“First half of the morning, your teams will build a snow fort. You will be judged on the design and strength of the fort,” he says. “The second half of the day, we’ll play a modified game of capture the flag. First team to capture the most flags and tear down the opponents’ forts with snow weaponry wins—”

  Sabrina raises her hand. “What’s snow weaponry?”

  Skip yanks her arm down. “We’ve got it, Burt, thanks.”

  My godfather gives everyone a crinkly-eyed smile. “You have one hour. Then we’ll break for lunch and have us a snowball fight.”

  Art grins demonically next to him and dips his shades. “Bonus points for creativity.” Then the two walk arm-in-arm back to the lodge, laughing like hyenas.

  I glance at Elliott. He’s deep in conversation with his team.

  Everyone on mine looks bored.

  “All right, people!” I shout. “We are undefeated, untouchable, unstoppable and—”

  “Unsterile.” Joy nods to Wang.

  “Joy.” I shake a finger at her. “Would you please be serious for a moment?”

  “When am I not serious? He’s got a dirty dick.”

  Alan speaks up. “Let’s not discuss genital hygiene on the job.”

  “Yes, let’s not talk about your filthy premarital sex lives in front of Jesus,” Christine says.

  We all stop and stare at her.

  Joy rolls her eyes. “Fine. What do we do about this igloo?”

  Exhausted from lack of sleep, I’m sorely tempted to tell my team to make a pile of snow and call it a day.

  Wang pulls a calculator out of his jacket and punches in some numbers.

  Stanley snorts. “What kind of geek brings a calculator outside?”

  “A geek who got 700 on the SATs and a full ride to Harvard.”

  Joy snickers. “Why the hell are you in advertising, then? In Denver, no less.”

  “Because my mom’s sick and she needs help with my little sisters.”

  Joy’s smugness stalls out. “You never told me that.”

  “You never asked.”

  “The clock is ticking, dudes,” Duffy points out.

  I shout my orders. “Start shoveling!”

  “We need water to pack the snow. This powder isn’t going to hold,” Wang tells us, as if he’s the authority on snow forts.

  I grab a bucket and head to the hot tub.

  Someone closes in behind me.

  “You’re gonna fall in,” says a sexy, gruff voice.

  I whip around and see Elliott. He’s like a radiator, the way he heats up my body.

  “Mind your own business, Loser.” I turn my back on him and fill up the pail. Once the task is done, I muster up my intimidating look.

  His lips twitch then he doubles over and laughs.

  I feel violent all of a sudden. “Am I amusing you?”

  He muffles a snort behind his hand. “It’s just…” He bends over again. “You should see your face.”

  I push past him, sloshing water everywhere.

  “Let me get that for you,” he says.

  “Go away!”

  “Charlie, let me help you.”

  Alan lunges for me. “Need some help, babe?” he says. “Don’t want you to strain your shoulder.”

  Elliott’s fists clench as if he’s preparing for a battle.

  A slight groan escapes my tight jaw. “Don’t call me babe, Alan.” I desperately need to rid myself of this albatross coworker of mine.

  But also, I need to win.

  Snorting and grunting like a wooly mammoth, I lumber back to our fort, spilling half the bucket on the way.

  Shimura’s fort is coming along.

  Ours has barely begun.

  “What is the hold up, Wang?” I shout.

  “Hush!” His brow is furrowed in deep concentration. “You can’t rush perfection.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Get down,” he shouts. “You’re going to cave this thing in.”

  “Wang!”

  “Go!”

  Never put a perfectionist in charge of building a snow fort.

  We need a backup plan in case this fails. I need female brains to save us from this catastrophe. “Christine, Joy. Get over here.”

  Laughs erupt from the other side.

  I tear off my jacket and start ordering them to build my vision. “Chop! Chop! Christine. Work those muscles.”

  Halfway through, my receptionist figures out what we’re building. “I want no part of this profanity.”

  Joy scoffs. “Is it painful?”

  “Is what painful?” Christine asks.

  “That big stick in your ass?”

  Duffy chuckles then ducks behind the pagoda, which is still nowhere close to being done.

  I tilt my head back and try to blind myself with the sun. What would the CEO of Grayson Advertising say if he saw me now? I’ll tell you what he’d say. “You’re cracking, Charlotte.”

  Because I am.

  I take a deep breath. “Christine, if you could perhaps put aside your delicate sensibilities and take one for the team, I’d really appreciate it.”

  My receptionist frowns and strokes her cross for another moment, then goes back to work.

  In the meantime, Proton sets up a folding table with industrial-sized canisters of hot, spiked cider.

  I almost drop to my knees like Christine and give thanks to Jesus.

  Art blows a whistle. “Time’s up!”

  “Great,” Duffy grumbles. “We don’t even have a roof.”

  “Should have built a simple igloo,” Stanley laments.

  “It’s impenetrable,” Wang shoots back.

  “Like your cold, dead heart,” Joy mumbles.

  I scurry over to the table and hold out my Styrofoam cup for Malcolm. “All the way to the top. I mean it.”

  While I’m guzzling the scorching hot drink, Proton tours the forts, whispering and marking things off on an official-looking clipboard. They deliberate for a few more minutes then blow the whistle again.

  I’m going to rip that thing out of Burt’s hand if doesn’t quit.

  “Looks like we have a tie this round,” Art says.

  Avery cries, “They didn’t even finish!”

  I’m as shocked as she is.

  “Look again.” Malcolm points to our sculpture off to the side. “The penis hut is finished. We took off a point, because it will only hold a small child, but nevertheless it’s still a fort. And it’s creative.”

  Skip’s arms fly out. “For fuck’s sake.”

  I send a suspicious glance over to Art.

  He shrugs.

  Why is he doing this? Why not just cut Shimura loose? Hell, why not cut me loose?

  I ponder this for four more ciders, and then stop caring on the fifth.

  NINETEEN

  Eli Kicks A Dog

  Survival Tip: If a collision seems inevitable, stay with it, and if possible, drive into something soft. If this option isn’t available, brace yourself.

  Eli’s Mixtape: Soft Cell, “Tainted Love”

  HYPERSEXUAL RADIATION BEAMS out from Charlie’s bronze orbs throughout lunch.

  At least I think that’s what it is. I’m kind of drunk off that cider. Everyone is.

  That tool, Alan, is staring at her with the same burn.

  I wad my napkin into the shape of a bullet and watch him watch her stroll to the kitchen.

  Her little dog stays behind and barks at him. First he checks to see if anyone’s looking, then he gives the mutt a swift kick.

  In no time, I’m in his face, fisting his stupid sweater and shoving him against the wall. “You little shit. I see you hurt an innocent animal again, and I’ll hurt you.”

  I let go, and he slumps to the floor.

  “What are you talking about? I didn’t kick her dog.”

  I shove my foot in his ass and stomp off.

  My edginess is coming back with a vengeance. I’m off-kilter, like blood is pumping through my arteries at
an unnatural rate.

  This feeling, like the earth is moving under my feet? I’ve felt it a dozen times before. The common denominator is always Charlie.

  TWENTY

  Eli Gets A Tattoo

  Boulder, Colorado, 2004

  ONE BRIGHT BLUE AUTUMN MORNING, Patrick and I were happily eating brunch at a cafe on Pearl Street, when Charlie and her roommate breezed by our table and wrecked my entire life.

  “Squirt!” Patrick called out to his sister.

  The girls spun around and sat down at our table.

  Something was off about Charlie that day. She wouldn’t look me in the eye.

  Patrick seemed equally puzzled. He pinched his sister’s cheek. “What’s up, dudette? Hungover?”

  Whilst browsing the menu, her roommate casually announced, “She’s sore from a night of hot sex.”

  My hand jerked out and knocked over my Bloody Mary.

  Patrick dropped his fork on his plate with a loud clang. “What the fuck do you mean, you’re sore?”

  “Yeah, what do you fucking mean, you’re sore?” I said.

  Charlie punched her friend’s shoulder so hard the girl fell out of her seat.

  Once she got back in her chair, her roommate lifted a glass. “Shall we have a toast? To your sister’s womanhood?” She glanced at me and quickly lowered the glass. “Never mind.”

  It must have looked like I’d been punched in the nuts. Because I had been.

  Patrick knocked down Charlie’s menu. “What is she talking about?”

  “So what did you guys have?” Charlie asked. “I’m thinking about the eggs Benedict.”

  Oh, you mean the breakfast that’s about to burst out of my mouth? No, as a matter of fact, it tastes a lot like burning betrayal.

  Someone had popped her cherry. Someone besides me. I covered my mouth as the nightmarish scene played through my mind—Charlie in bed with another man.