1981: Jessie's Girl (Love in the 80s #2)

by Lindy Zart

  Softly, Hannah says, “Why are you never able to realize when it is past time to keep your mouth shut?”

  He loudly replies, “I can say stuff like that. I’m the asshole, remember?”

  “No one said you had to be,” Dickie says matter-of-factly.

  A flash of a smile graces my lips at that, soon fading back into a frown. My shoulders droop as I shut the door on their conversation. The room smells like mothballs and it’s chillier than I thought it would be in the summertime. I find the light switch, turning the murky black into a white-walled room with thick maroon carpet and two beds cloaked in pink blankets. Realizing my bag is in the car, I pause by the door and then move further into the room. I’ll get it later.

  I wash my bloodied hand in the avocado green bathroom. My knuckles are swollen and red, the skin split. I imagine Jessie’s chin hurts worse. The face that looks back from the chipped oval mirror is haggard, my visage run through by emotions. Hannah. And Jessie. Hannah. She doesn’t owe me anything. I have no right to be upset. I leave the bathroom and sit on the edge of the bed closest to the door, head bowed, studying the white laces of my shoes.

  If anything, I’m upset with me. I was blind, and now I’m not. Realizing what was going on around me doesn’t make me feel relieved to finally know—it just makes me feel stupid for not being aware sooner.

  When I get past the two of them together, and how the thought of it makes my stomach twisted and sick, my brain goes to the other words Jessie said. About Hannah. And me. Hannah. I vault to my feet at the sound of a light knock, opening the door to a stricken and pale-faced Catherine. Disappointment slashes across me and my shoulders droop. I wanted it to be Hannah.

  She smiles unhappily and steps around me, holding her suitcase to her chest like a shield. I don’t know what to say to her, and when she quietly steps into the bathroom and closes the door, it’s apparent she doesn’t want me to say anything. Dickie comes in next, sitting beside me on the bed. The bed shifts with his weight, his sweat and deodorant smell invading the room.

  Neither of us speak.

  Jessie’s entrance is hesitant, and he stops and leans his back to the door. He watches me and Dickie with a closed expression on his bruised face. I look back, thinking of our jacked up friendship, and how a lot of the time, he seems more like a foe than my friend. Everything is a competition with him, but I never thought that extended to me—or maybe I subconsciously was competing right along with him.

  Catherine leaves the bathroom, and her presence makes it glaringly evident to me that I was trying to outdo him. I’m not any better than Jessie. Could be I’m worse. Did I really want her, or did I want her because she was Jessie’s girl?

  Her fine hair is pulled back in a ponytail, the prominence of her cheekbones highlighted, her eyes bright with clarity and resolution. She stands straight with her shoulders back. “I’m…I’m dumping you,” Catherine tells Jessie in a voice that wavers.

  Jessie’s eyes are dark as they lift to hers. His tone lacks its usual arrogance as he responds, “I’m surprised you didn’t sooner.”

  A small frown forms between her dainty eyebrows. “You are?”

  I stand and look at Dickie. “How’s a walk sound, Dickie?”

  He stumbles to his feet, putting out a hand on the wall to halt the progression of his face to the carpet. “Oh. I…yeah. A walk. Great. I love…walking. Exercise is my thing.”

  “I’m not good at apologizing. I usually don’t.” Jessie moves away from the door. “I was a jerk to you. I really only wanted you to come along to make Hannah jealous, but…that didn’t really work out. I deserve for you to break up with me.”

  She shifts her feet. “And you’re okay with it?”

  One broad shoulder lifts in a shrug. “I guess I have to be. But, yeah, it’s okay.”

  “Oh. Okay.” Catherine exhales. “Good.”

  I reach for the doorknob and Jessie steps in front of me. I sigh, worn out from the drive, the late hour, and people in general. I want quiet—the only person I need around me is Hannah. “Jessie, move out of the way. I don’t want to fight with you anymore. It happened, and it’s over. You said what you felt you had to say, and I don’t want either one of us to say anymore.”

  “I don’t want to fight either. I just…I want you to know that I’m done. I won’t stand in anyone’s way of anything. And…I’m going to try to be a better friend.” Jessie smiles faintly, the swelling of his nose and chin contorting his features. “I’m not sure I’ll be any good at it, but I’m going to try. I guess I needed to be hit a few times to realize some things.”

  “And shot,” I add.

  “And shot,” he agrees.

  “I could have been a better friend too.” I glance behind me to Catherine.

  Dickie steps forward, lifting his chin to look Jessie directly in the eyes. He’s steadily becoming comfortable with himself. “I feel I should be upfront with you about my intentions. I want to ask Catherine out on a date.”

  Something flickers in Jessie’s eyes. Surprise, respect, humor? He looks behind Dickie and lifts his eyebrows. “You’ll have to talk to Cat about that. I can still call you Cat, can’t I?”

  “Um…sure. Yes.” Catherine takes a deep breath. “I’d like that, Richard—to go on a date with you. Do you prefer Dickie, or may I call you Richard?”

  “Yes, you may call me Richard. I’d like that,” Dickie responds immediately, taking a few steps closer to Catherine.

  Things are not one hundred percent okay, but they are better. I close the space from me to the door, needing to find Hannah. I’m tense without her, fear shooting up my throat at where we stand with one another. I leave the three of them, looking out at a dark parking lot swirled with white haze and blurred lighting. I start for the car, lowering my head as I walk. The cold makes mincemeat out of my clothes as I move.

  She sits on the blacktop with her back to the car, facing the street and the buildings on the other side of it. I silently sit beside her, close enough that our shoulders touch. That small contact is a sliver of unity. Her body shivers in the night, and I press myself to her side, trying to give her whatever warmth I can.

  Sliding a finger along the rough, cold ground, I finally speak. “I lied. I didn’t know.”

  “Yeah? I figured. Thanks for trying to be chivalrous or whatever you want to call it.” Hannah takes a swig from the beer in her hand, grimacing. “Warm beer tastes like liquefied roadkill.”

  “How many times have you eaten liquefied roadkill?” I joke weakly.

  Hannah doesn’t reply, choking down another mouthful of warm beer.

  I take the beer can from her hand and drink the rest of it, trying not to think about how disgusting it truly is. Rolling the beer can back and forth between my hands, my voice is low as I tell her, “I’m not upset with you.”

  “Gee, thanks. Because you have a right to be.” Hannah rolls her eyes and grabs another beer from the stash on her right.

  “But I know you are.” I take the beer from her hand and set it down on the ground between our legs. “Don’t be.”

  Hannah turns tormented eyes my way, and I want to take away her pain. “I was feeling sorry for myself, and I messed up. I felt lonely, and there he was, beside me.” She gestures with a hand. “All I did was hurt Jessie, and me. It was stupid, and childish, and I wish I could take it back.”

  I touch my forehead to hers. “It doesn’t matter.”

  This time, when I say it, I believe it. Telling her that, and meaning it, is enough to dull the ache in her. Hannah hears the truth in my tone, and it eases her anxiety. I feel it seep from her as her shoulders loosen and she rests her cheek on my shoulder.

  Hannah breathes deeply, once, twice, before sitting up. “I don’t know how or when it happened, but it was like, one day, out of nowhere, I noticed how green your eyes really are. They shine, and they’re warm, like your heart.

  “When you wink at me, my stomach spins,” she whispers. “And your smile makes me want
to smile. And the thought of leaving you hurts—not leaving my family or friends, not leaving the town, but you.”

  Picking up the full beer can like it’s a weapon, Hannah jumps to her feet and stares down at me. “But you don’t want me, not that way. You want Catherine.”

  I stand up, wondering what she intends to do with the beer can. “No. You’re wrong. I don’t want her. I thought I did, but…no.”

  “You compare me to her. I see it.” She’s hurt, her mouth trembling around the pain in her heart.

  I open my mouth to argue, and then I pause. “You’re right. I have been comparing you to her.”

  Hannah winds back her arm and lands a fist to my shoulder. “You jerk. You’re supposed to be different, Sam. You’re supposed to be better than Jessie.”

  “Stop abusing me and let me finish,” I demand when she takes another swing at me. I grab her shoulders, locking her in place. Leveling a steely-eyed look at her, I say, “Stop. And listen.”

  “I can’t win against her,” she whispers, bowing her head. She shakes around my touch and the knowledge digs into me like a prickly bur.

  “It’s not a competition, Hannah.” I drop my hands from her, fearing if I continue to hold her, it’ll turn into more than just that. “Do you want to know what comparing you two has made me see?”

  “Not really. I don’t need you to point out all the ways I fall short against your blonde Barbie doll fantasy.”

  I clap a hand to her mouth. “No more talking. Listen to me. You don’t fall short, not to anyone.”

  Rolling her eyes, she gestures with the beer can for me to speak.

  “It didn’t make me see you less, or make me see faults in you.” I remove my hand. “It opened my eyes to everything that’s been here the whole time, things I should have seen but didn’t. I compared you to her, yes, and it made me see you more. See your value. See you.

  “Catherine’s pretty, and she’s sweet. But she’s muted where you shine. Soft while you’re fierce. She’s rain and you’re fire.” I take her hand and press it to my chest. “And you blaze, here, in my heart.”

  “A sappy historian who spouts poetry, who would have guessed it?” Hannah muses quietly right before she launches herself at me.

  The beer can hits the ground and is punctured, liquid spraying our legs. We pause with our lips a breath away from one another. Hannah laughs, and I laugh with her, wanting to share in her joy. What she said about my smile making her want to smile makes sense. I feel the same.

  I take her face within my hands, and simply look at her. I smile. And then I kiss her.

  * * *

  The last of the beer is consumed inside the motel room. We’re out of alcohol for the rest of the trip, but tonight deserved a beer or five. It helped relax us, and in the talking and laughter that accompanied it, we finally found that comradery that was elusive until now. It was after three by the time we all settled down and tried to sleep.

  Dickie and Jessie share one of the beds and Catherine has the other. Hannah and I are camped out on the carpet—not the cleanest nor most comfortable spot to sleep, but I am content where I am. Hands behind my head, Hannah curled up to my side—this is all I need right now.

  “My dad is the biggest dick I know,” Jessie announces in the dark, startling me. I didn’t realize he was still awake. He snorts. “But Dickie has the biggest dick I know.”

  Hannah giggles, her hand pausing on my stomach before she resumes her quiet exploration of my torso.

  “You need to move on from that,” I declare good-naturedly.

  “I think we should talk about it more. All I have are big muscles—that I work my ass off for and don’t do steroids to get, Hannah—and Dickie just exists and what does he get? It’s not fair.”

  Dickie groans, alerting us to his wakefulness as well. “It’s not as if I have a choice in the matter.”

  “You’re gifted, man. Be proud of that shit. If I were you, I’d be showing it off to anyone and everyone. I would get a shirt made with an arrow that pointed down and read: Ask me about what I’m packing in Australia. Get it? You know, down under?” He laughs at himself.

  “Luckily for Dickie, he’s not you,” Hannah tells Jessie, trailing her fingers across my forehead and down the side of my face.

  I land a kiss on her shoulder and she snuggles closer.

  “Unluckily for me, you mean,” Jessie grumbles.

  Catherine’s soft voice breaks the illusion of her slumber. “Why is your dad…not nice?”

  It takes Jessie a moment to answer. “He was in the Vietnam War, got wounded and sent home. Being there messed with his head. My mom says he was different before. I only got to know him after.”

  “If we had women rulers, there wouldn’t be wars,” Hannah states, gently nipping my bicep and causing my already aroused body to become excruciatingly tense.

  “Why do you think that?” I ask her, sounding out of breath.

  “Because women pull hair and slap at each other,” Jessie intervenes. “They don’t really know how to fight.”

  “Because women realize fighting doesn’t accomplish anything, other than strife, loss, and death. Men rule the world, and men know little about communication. Women know it’s best to talk through our differences, not fight them out. Look at you three. Perfect example,” Hannah says with a sniff.

  “Feminist,” Jessie mutters like it’s a vile thing.

  “I agree with you, Hannah.”

  “Thank you, Catherine.”

  “I think all parents get on their kids’ cases, to some extent. Take mine, for instance,” I say conversationally. “My dad thinks I’m an idiot. Dickie’s mom follows him around like he’s made of glass. Hannah’s mom criticizes everything about her that she doesn’t agree with.” I inhale. “But I also think they’re trying to do their best, whatever mistakes they make.”

  Grudging agreement echoes through the room. It grows quiet once more, and when the sound of Dickie’s snoring picks up, I turn to Hannah. In the dark, I find her mouth, covering her body with mine, slowly, silently, softly, telling her how her fire lights me up. This feels natural, more than I dared to consider. Kissing Hannah makes my breath catch, and my body thrum with desire. Her mouth is greedy and giving. It makes me want to take more, and give more, and take more yet.

  I thread my fingers in the tresses of her thick hair and press my body firmly to hers. I love her mouth, not only literally, but figuratively. Her passion, her drive. Her courage and her heart. She is the spark I need to see how bright this world can really be. I tug my mouth away, a small sound of regret leaving her. If I don’t stop now, I won’t stop.

  “I love you,” I whisper into the blackness of night, meaning it as she meant it.

  “I love you too, Sam,” Jessie calls back in a singsong voice.

  Hannah laughs, and soon Jessie and I are too. The forceful manacle around our friendship releases a little more, becomes purer. In little bits and pieces, we’ll get to where we need to be, all of us. It’s too bad we won’t all be around one another to enjoy it. My hand tightens on Hannah’s. I don’t want to think about her going, but I have to. I can’t pretend it isn’t going to happen.

  “Come with me,” I tell her softly, moving to my knees as I pull her up with me.

  She nods, going where I go with hesitation. Her blind trust for me spears through me, causes pinpricks of an ache through my throat. We’ve been up for close to twenty-four hours and I’m pumped full of energy, alive in the certainty of my heart, and what it feels. I’m not denying it anymore. I’m not holding back.

  Without a goal in mind, or a destination, Hannah and I take in a new day just as it begins. Dressed in rumpled white shorts and a purple top, hair an unkempt mass of curls, she looks as luminous as the sun. We watch the ball of fire in the sky rise as we walk, our legs taking us past businesses and around curves in the road and up a small hill. Her hand is locked with mine, and I feel that connection through my heart and soul.

  “Do you th
ink this place is really haunted?” She tilts up her face, looking at me with focused concentration that used to make me nervous. I know the meaning behind it now, and I’d mourn it if it wasn’t there.

  “I think,” I begin slowly as we cross the street. “That any place that has suffered great loss has remnants of its tragedy locked within the soil of the land.”

  “I love it when you talk.” Her eyes are closed, a sweet smile on her face. “I always have.”

  We stop near a battlefield marked with cannons and monuments, a fence lining its route. Beyond the sprawling lawn with its sparse trees are slopes of hills and valleys, covered with tangible white as the fog lifts from the ground. Standing this close to it is euphoric and scary. I wonder who stood here before me, decades and centuries ago. And I wonder who will stand here after me, decades and centuries in the future.

  “What do you want to see while we’re here?”

  I smile. “I didn’t have a particular place in mind. I just wanted to be here, to stand where wars were fought and men fell. Breathe the same air they did, let them know I’m thinking of them. That others are thinking of them. They didn’t die unknown.”

  Hannah moves closer, her arm hot against mine. “Your mind is too beautiful to be a guy’s.”

  I turn and grip her waist with my hands, spinning her around to face me. “You keep flattering me and I won’t let you go off to your stewardess training.”

  The smile falls from Hannah’s face and she gently pushes on my arms until I release her. “The training won’t be longer than six months, and I’m sure it will be shorter. And Kansas isn’t that far away from Minnesota. I’m not going to another country, and I won’t be gone forever.” She places a hand on my wrist. “Don’t make me feel bad about my decision.”

  “I’m not trying to,” I insist. “But…what does this mean for us? Why are we starting something that’ll end in a few months?”

  Her eyes widen and Hannah’s lips curve down. “Why does it have to end?”

  I look into her cosmic eyes, dark as the galaxy and strong enough to capture all the stars inside them. I see my future with startling transparency, and it’s Hannah. I take her hands in mine and dip my head to press my lips to hers, the caress languid and sweet. A promise. She tastes faintly of mint, strongly of passion. She’s mine. My heart beats the pattern of the words, and I know them to be true.