Death, Dickinson, and the Demented Life of Frenchie Garcia

by Jenny Torres Sanchez

  And here is the cherry on top of the sundae that is Lily. She’s good. Like someday, she will definitely make it big it’s-just-a-matter-of-time good.

  I look over at Robyn who grabs my blue drink from my hand and chugs it down. “Come on, Frenchie!” she yells as she starts dancing. “Have some fun!”

  I try to get into the music and enjoy myself, but I can’t. I feel stiff and out of sync. I trudge on, and pretend I’m having a great time, but I’m pretty sure I look like some kind of demented girl version of Frankenstein’s monster. The band goes right from the first song to the second. And nobody misses a beat. Except me.

  The second song is even better. The catchy drumbeat at the beginning pumps up the crowd even more. A bony elbow catches me right in the ribs and I lose my footing. I bump into some big brute of a guy who steps on my foot with his big steel-toe boot. I shove him hard, but he doesn’t even notice. I bite my lip, and try to ignore the throbbing that’s starting in my toe. More people crowd in around me as the lights onstage flash and swirl faster. I feel like I can barely breathe.

  I start pushing people out of my way and force my way out of the mob. By the time I get to the doors to the main room, I have a strange sense of not really being here. A fleeting worry that maybe I was trampled on the dance floor and I’m now having an out-of-body experience runs through my mind. I glance over to see if Joel or Robyn noticed that I left, but Joel is too enthralled by Lily, and Robyn is too busy dancing to care.

  The main room is now less crowded because most people are outside listening to Sugar. I make my way over to a wall and lean up against it, trying to pull myself together.

  “Having fun?” I look over to find Colin next to me. “You’re seriously going to have to tone it down or I’ll have to throw you out,” he says and laughs.

  This is probably where a normal girl might giggle and say something profound like, “Haha, yeah . . .”

  But I don’t. I just ignore him and keep looking out at the small crowd of people who have opted out of Sugar and are dancing to the music here instead.

  “Ahh, the strong, silent type I see,” he says. He doesn’t leave, but instead leans up against the wall next to me and watches the crowd also. I have nothing to say, but he’s not leaving.

  “So why aren’t you out back listening to the band?” he asks.

  I shrug.

  “I guess it is pretty crowded out there. I prefer more quiet places myself,” he says. He turns to look at me, and just then “I Don’t Mind” by the Blurs comes on. I lean my head back and try to focus on the song. It’s one that most people like because it sounds good, but they never stop to listen to the words, which are beautiful and quite poetic. People sing them, but without realizing their meaning.

  “This is one of my favorites,” Colin says. I can hear him singing along and try to tune him out.

  “Are you okay?” he asks. “You seem bummed. Did you just break up with your boyfriend or something?”

  I sigh and just shake my head.

  He nudges his shoulder into mine, trying to be playful, I think.

  “The whole love-at-first-sight thing seems overdone and all, but it seems original in this song. Don’t you think?” he says. “I guess I believe in that kind of love, to some extent. You?”

  I look over at him to see if he seriously thinks I’m going to fall for this crap. I may not know much about guys, but I’m pretty sure that anytime one asks you if you believe in love at first sight, he’s probably some kind of weirdo you should avoid.

  “Nope,” I say. “But I believe in assholes at first sight.”

  He stares at me with an expression I can’t quite read, and for a short moment, I feel triumphant. He says nothing for a while. And then the room starts feeling small and stifled. I can feel myself getting flushed and hot as he looks at me, trying to figure me out. I’m relieved when he finally turns his attention back to the people on the dance floor.

  “Wow. Assholes at first sight,” he says with a laugh that makes me feel foolish. I wish I could just walk away now, but my body won’t comply and I stay there, like I’m Velcroed to the wall.

  “That’s pretty genius,” he says, smiling. “You should put that on a T-shirt or something. Sell them for ten dollars each.”

  “Listen,” I say, “I really just want to be alone right now.”

  He acts as if he’s mulling this over. Like he’s giving careful consideration to what I’ve just said.

  I try again. “I think I just need to leave,” I tell him. “Could you make sure Robyn gets a ride from Joel? Can you just tell her I had to go?”

  “Uh, yeah, sure . . . ,” Colin says, the bemused look on his face replaced with confusion.

  “Thanks,” I say as I start walking away. “Just make sure she has a ride, okay? Please,” I call out to him. “And tell her . . .” I try to come up with a plausible excuse, but Robyn will know it’s a lie. “Just tell her I’m sorry.”

  “Okay,” he yells back since I’m already far away, but not fast enough. As soon as I step outside I’m practically running to my car. I try not to think of the strange expression on Colin’s face as I left.

  When I get in my car I light a cigarette. I’m surprised my hands are trembling a little. I take a long drag and open the windows as I pull out of the parking lot, feeling only slightly more relaxed. The streets are dark and deserted and the air rushing in as I drive is warm and humid. And while I try not to think of him at all, I can’t help it. This night. This drive. All of this.

  It reminds me of Andy.

  Chapter 5

  “Get up, Loser!” Robyn’s incessant voice booms. She jumps on my bed and I flop up and down. “Get up, get up, get up, get up! Why are you still in bed?”

  I groan and resist the urge to grab her ankle and send her flying onto the floor. “Leave me alone!” I yell, pulling my blanket over my head.

  She leaps off the bed, and for a moment in my half-conscious stupor, I think she might actually leave. But of course, she doesn’t.

  “Shitty trick you pulled on me last night! Have you ever heard of date rape, huh? Roofies? What if he’d taken me to some deserted place and killed me?”

  I sit up in bed, rubbing my eyes. “What are you talking about?”

  “I couldn’t find Joel after the show, or at least I think I couldn’t find him. You might say I went on a bit of a blue drink frenzy.” She shakes her head as if clearing it. “Anyway, I ended up getting a ride home with Colin.”

  I rub my forehead. “Oh,” I say. Realizing she’s talking about last night, which already feels like ages ago. “Uh, so what’s the big deal. I thought you knew him.”

  “Well, I do. But I don’t know him, know him.”

  “Wait,” I say, “But didn’t you try setting me up with him?”

  “Oh yeah.” She laughs. “But like that’ll happen now, hearing as you were your usual charming self.”

  “What?”

  “He told me all about it. That you believe in assholes at first sight?” Robyn says and goes to my window. She pulls on the string that opens my shades and lets an ungodly amount of light in.

  “Close those!”

  “You really are a child of darkness,” she says. “Now get ready. We’re going to Harold’s. Joel and I have been calling you for the past hour.” I reach for my phone. No charge.

  “How’d you get here anyway?” I ask Robyn since I’m basically her unofficial taxi driver.

  “Um, hello, I have legs,” she says gesturing to them as if I had any doubt.

  “You walked?” I say in shock.

  “God, French, you’re really slow in the morning. Now come on, get up. You’re going to Harold’s. You owe me at least that much.”

  “Fine,” I say and reluctantly roll out of bed and go brush my teeth. When I come back I see Robyn pulling clothes out of my closet. “What are you doing?” I ask her.

  “Aren’t you going to change?” she asks.

  I shrug, but change from the T-shirt a
nd jeans I fell asleep in last night to the fresher T-shirt and jeans that I find on my floor.

  “Let’s go,” I say.

  We get to Harold’s and after ordering the usual, I sit on the couch and wait for Robyn while her drink is being made.

  I take a sip of my iced coffee and stare out the large glass windows in front of the shop.

  Across the street, a young boy with a Goofy shirt runs down the steps of a house and pulls at the locked door of a car. His parents, both with sunglasses on and water bottles in hand, stand at the front door and talk to someone in pajamas in the doorway.

  Tourists. On their way to Disney no doubt. Their gleaming white socks and tennis shoes are almost as blinding as the stucco walls of the house from which they just emerged.

  I watch as they continue talking to Pajama Lady. They say their farewells before finally unlocking the car with a beep, beep for the poor kid who’s still pulling at the handle.

  I pity them because here’s the thing nobody says in brochures: Florida isn’t so much the Sunshine State as it is a crematorium. And as you walk down Disney World’s Main Street, as you melt and the soles of your shoes stick to the asphalt, you and ten thousand other visitors will walk aimlessly about in a heat-induced hallucinatory state, wondering how something so wonderful, so promising, could be so absolutely fucking miserable. But you slap on a happy face because “It’s a Small World” plays somewhere and makes you buy into that happiness. And if you can’t be happy here, then where can you be happy?

  The family drives away. I’m about to turn my attention when I notice a guy walking his dog along the sidewalk in front of the house. The dog stops and does his business on Pajama Lady’s lawn. And then the owner looks around and tugs at its leash without picking up the mess.

  And here’s what I picture happening later on today: The kid will step in it. He’ll probably come home, unaware of the misery that is a theme park in the dead of summer, still believing in a safe, fake little world. He’ll rush up to tell Aunt Pajama Lady all about it and as he relays the thrill of the vertigo-inducing rides, they’ll all smell it.

  And they’ll all see how it’s been tracked into the house and onto the beige-colored carpet. As they all figure out he’s the culprit, he’ll feel terrible. And when he thinks about it ten years from now, the memory of make-believe lands, he’ll always remember how he stepped in shit and ruined his aunt’s carpet.

  When I look away, I’ve been staring at the blinding light so long, all I see are black dots as Robyn plops down on one of the oversized beanbags. I try to focus on her.

  “So, what the hell?” Robyn asks, expecting some kind of answer to this vague question. “About last night?” she reminds me.

  “What about it?”

  “Um, hello, why’d you bail?”

  “I just wasn’t in the mood for more Sugar. I’m on Sugar detox,” I say.

  “You could’ve gotten me. I would’ve left, too,” she says.

  “Well, you didn’t exactly look like you wanted to leave,” I say as I rub at my eyes and Robyn’s face comes into more focus.

  “Okay, you’re right,” she says. “But it looks like I’ve finally got something going on with Bobby.” Bobby is Sugar’s drummer, and Robyn has been after him ever since we first saw Sugar play. “Did you see the way he looked at me last night? He looked good.”

  “Doesn’t he have a girlfriend?”

  “Not anymore,” she says, and smiles in a way that lets me know she likely had something to do with that.

  “You’re terrible,” I say.

  “I know.” She grins, but then her attention is suddenly drawn to the door and she gets the crazy-eyed look that alerts me to Robyn’s no-good schemes.

  “Okay, French, don’t lose your shit. And remember how much you love me.”

  “What?” I ask, following Robyn’s gaze and turning around just in time to see Joel, Lily, and Colin walk in.

  “Why is Colin here?” I ask Robyn, who is now waving madly at everyone and completely ignoring me. I meet Colin’s eyes for a second, but then avoid any further eye contact with him. Now that we’re away from the darkness and reverberating music of Zylos, I’m slightly ashamed of my behavior last night.

  Joel smiles at us. “Hey, guys,” he says, walking over.

  Lily hugs Robyn and despite my refusal to get up from the couch, she manages to somehow hug me while I’m sitting down.

  “Hey, French,” she says as she squeezes me.

  “Hey,” I say weakly. As she pulls away I look down and unintentionally notice her toes peeking out of her open-toed shoes. Her toenails have this cutesy red-and-pink-striped design on them with sparkles.

  “Oh, wow. Uh . . . nice toes,” I say more to myself, but she overhears.

  “Oh, thanks,” she says and smiles. “It’s super easy. You could totally do it.” I force a smile.

  Lily looks around Harold’s and sighs. “I love this place,” she says. “There’s such a cool vibe here.”

  “Right,” I say. I shift my attention to the newspapers and magazines sprawled out on the coffee table next to me and I start to reorganize them. As I do this, Colin comes over and sits next to me—a little too closely. I move my leg away so we’re not touching.

  “Hey there,” he says. “I got your girl here home last night.”

  “Oh, yeah, I heard. You’re a hero,” I say without thinking.

  “I’ll take that as a thank you?” he says.

  Joel and Lily go to order their drinks but Colin stays where he is.

  I make eye contact with Robyn and scowl at her, but she just plays dumb and shrugs her shoulders. She and Colin exchange a brief but meaningful look, and then he kind of clears his throat and looks down at the floor. I suddenly get the feeling they know something I don’t. I grab one of the newspapers off the pile I’ve just organized and open up to the obituaries.

  “Dexter Mavree died yesterday at the age of eighty-one. He is survived by his three children,” I read aloud. I scan the rest of it. “Look, they used an exclamation point in his obituary. Doesn’t that seem wrong? I mean, shouldn’t there be a rule against using exclamation points in obituaries?” I ask.

  There’s a moment of silent awkwardness before Colin coughs and announces that he’s going to get some coffee. He leaves and I turn to Robyn.

  “What the hell is going on? Why are you still trying to set me up?” I hiss.

  “Please, Frenchie. You barely stood a chance after last night. And now, with your insightful and demented reflections on punctuation and death, well, let’s just say I don’t think I’ll have to hold the guy back. I mean, seriously?” She looks at me and shakes her head.

  I don’t respond.

  “Okay, listen. So, first stop this crazy bullshit.” She rips the obituaries out of my hands, which makes a loud tearing sound and leaves me holding a tiny strip of paper. Colin, Lily, and Joel look over at us. I can feel my face getting red. Robyn waves at them and offers a little smile before leaning closer to me. “Second, here’s what I’m thinking, you just need a boost, a little nudge is all, to get out of this funk. Go have some fun. Go be wild. Act like a normal person. Look,” she demands, “Colin is cute and he digs you, French. Despite your doomish and off-putting ways, he thinks you’re cool.”

  “He doesn’t even know me. How can he think I’m cool?”

  “We talked about you last night,” she says. Oh God. I can only imagine what Robyn told this guy, especially if she was sloshed on those blue drinks. “That despite your odd behavior, you really are a cool girl . . . when you’re not on your period.”

  “You told him I was on my period? Robyn!”

  “Come on, don’t be so close-minded, French. What’s the big deal?”

  I look over at Colin who is leaning against the counter. He smiles and kind of waves when he notices me looking at him.

  “It’s not like you gotta marry him. Look, you’re down because you and Joel used to hang out all the time and now there’s Lily. I get i
t.” The words hurt more than I thought they would. “And you guys had plans to move to Chicago before you got rejected from art school. . . .” Damn, was Robyn trying to make me feel better or worse? “But, you need to stop moping around like this. Life goes on.”

  I’m kind of speechless. I mean, feeling like a loser is one thing. Being told you’re a loser is another.

  “Have,” I say, finally. “We have plans to move to Chicago. That’s not changing.”

  Robyn looks at me. “Right. But until then”—she says and cocks her head in Colin’s direction—“I’m just saying.”

  Colin is heading back with his coffee, followed by Joel and Lily. Robyn leans back on the couch as if her work here is done.

  Lily sits next to me, and Joel sits on the armrest next to her. Colin looks around, and finally settles for a beanbag chair on the floor across from Robyn.

  Everyone keeps praising Lily about how fantastic she was last night. She’s all modest and shit, which irks me because, please, like she doesn’t know she’s good? Does she have to be convinced of it?

  And then everyone asks her all these questions about her music and stuff. You’d think Lily was getting interviewed by Rolling Stone. I mean, I don’t care what bands inspire Sugar or how they identify with the garage band/postpunk movement. . . . It all just seems so nonsensical and unimportant. After another five minutes, I can’t take it any more.

  “Sorry,” I say, “But I have to go. I’ve got stuff to do,” I say.

  “Again? Come on, what could be better than hanging out with us?” Joel asks.

  Giving blood, having surgery, passing a kidney stone . . .

  “Just . . . stuff, okay?” I say. Joel’s eyebrows go up. I realize my response might have come across a little more like an outburst.

  “Fine, go,” Joel says.

  I stand there a minute because everyone is looking at me.

  “Okay, then. I’ll see you guys later,” I say. I push open the door, aware that they’re all sitting there, quietly watching me go. I squint at the bright sun as I exit Harold’s, and once again head out into the hot, little, hellish inferno that is Florida. I have the lingering feeling that they all must think I’m a bit of a psycho. I almost care. Except I don’t.