I went inside the store and edged up to the counter. I eyed the endless varieties of cigarettes along the wall—menthols, one hundreds slims, non-filtered, lights, ultra lights—all delivering the same power-packed nicotine punch that I craved. In the end I went with a pack of Marlboro Ultra Lights. The clerk eyed me wondering if I met the age requirement for this purchase. I dumped my change into his hand, apologetically, as he handed me the pack of cigarettes, obviously abandoning the need to see if I was of legal age...Wheww!
I sat in my car and fumbled with the box. I tore the plastic wrap off, and ripped the box open. I pulled out a single long white filtered cigarette. It looked glorious. I took the green lighter I’d purchased and placed my thumb in the ready position. I placed the filtered end between my lips and pressed them firmly together. I moved the red-hot flame closer to the end, and when I made contact, I inhaled deeply, then—cough, cough. My lungs hurt, but I shook it off. Who knew my lungs would have bounced back to health so quickly? I took another long drag. This time the smoke filled my lungs, and as I exhaled I felt every bit of stress leave my body.
Now that I was thinking more clearly, I began to understand the ramifications of what I had done. I couldn’t go back to the house, it was too soon. What was I supposed to do, drive around the city all night? Not likely.
I checked the clock on the dash. It was only twelve-thirty. It wasn’t that late. I’d gone to bed so early that I had already been sleeping quite a while before my nightmare woke me up. I hated when I painted myself into a corner. It seemed as though I would just have to go back with my tail tucked between my legs. In a small town like this everything was closed down—there was no place to go!
As I continued to drive around I pondered my options. I grabbed my cell phone and decided I’d call Evan. Nope, changed my mind. It was too late, plus I didn’t want to get her in trouble.
I criss-crossed the streets, and motored down side streets, and then circled back around to repeat the same pattern. It was nearly two a.m. I had several missed calls on my just purchased cell, all from Audrey.
Half a pack of Ultra Lights later, and I felt calmer. I knew that I had irrevocably changed things with Audrey. That difficult conversation that I’d been avoiding, well let’s just say I’d brought it front and center.
As I drove mindlessly up and down the streets, I came across that same strange alley that I had passed by during my first week in town. Nestled between two dilapidated buildings in the middle of filth were wildflowers. They seemed to spring up from the cement. It was hard to imagine that there was anything but concrete in such a dank and dirty alleyway.
I pulled the VW over to the curb. There was next to no crime in this area, so I wasn’t afraid of getting hurt—even at this time of night...or was it morning? My only goal was to use up a little more time before the inevitable return back to the house. This was going to be an all-nighter, I thought as the hollow sound of the car door shut behind me.
There was a large floodlight that illuminated the alley, and as I approached a stream of light reflected of the ground and bounced back, hitting me directly in the face.
There it was... just a small area over flowing with happy Shasta daisies. I moved closer to inspect the ground. Their sweet smell fought past the stink of the food scraps and waste. There in the throes of garbage and stink bloomed these strong testaments to life. They sprung from the gaps in the hard stone. I was enraptured, I didn’t want to move. I didn’t want to go back to that house. I didn’t want the complications of life. I knelt over and plucked a single white and yellow daisy. I tucked it inside my jacket, and headed back to the Volkswagen. It was time to face the music. I cringed.
Chapter Nine
I shut off the lights on the VW a good hundred yards before the driveway. I was trying to go undetected. It was all in vain of course.
I pulled into the driveway, and checked the clock on the dash—it read three o’clock in the morning. Every light was on inside the tiny house. Hmph. It was like going to my own execution, I thought as I hid the box filled with only ten cigarettes now. I sat there and tried to figure out what to do. There really was nothing to do, but face the music, um, executioner.
I apprehensively made my way up the steps, and as I fumbled for my keys to unlock the front door, I could feel a tug on the other side of the door.
Audrey swung open the solid pine door, and we stood there face to face. She didn’t look angry, more worried than anything. I felt deflated and tired like I’d been body slammed and then dragged through the mud. I stepped through the front door as she stepped to the side.
“Sorry.” I apologetically curled my lips together and widened my eyes until they were nearly perfect concentric circles.
“I think we need to talk—but not now—tomorrow.” She continued bleary-eyed, “I’m glad you’re safe.”
I didn’t respond. There was really nothing to say. It seemed as though all of the adrenaline that had fueled my anger had diminished, and I was left with complete and total exhaustion coupled with a decent amount of embarrassment.
I figured that I would still have to drag myself to school in the morning. I doubted that Audrey would have much sympathy for me because she had to get up and function at work on the same amount of sleep. I worked out that I could get around four more hours of sleep and still be semi-functional the next day. I changed into a ratty T-shirt and nestled underneath the covers, glad to be resting, as I attempted not to think about the unavoidable conversation I would have the next day.
The slope of the sunlight streaming through the blinds woke me instantaneously. Ugh, I overslept! I tiptoed out the back door. Audrey’s car was gone. Whew! I could get ready for school without feeling stressed.
I stepped into a steaming hot shower. The hot water was just on the verge of scalding; it took a few seconds for my skin to adjust to the heat.
I brushed me teeth, threw on some lip gloss, and contemplated whether I should blow dry or air dry my hair. I checked the clock—air dry won.
I rushed back into my room and threw on the jeans and the white blouse that I had set out the night before. In my fit of anger, I’d neglected to put them into my running away bag. If I’d decided not to come home I would have been in some serious trouble. My duffel only contained a toothbrush, lotion, and a few T-shirts. I would have been walking around without pants, underwear, or socks. I realized how silly I’d been, ran my fingers through my damp tangles and headed out the door.
As I drove, I contemplated that constantly running late had its benefits—one being it didn’t give me a lot of time to think about the events from last night. How I had lost my temper and left the house in an adrenaline-fueled rage. If I’d been anywhere else, I would have never come back—pants or no pants. But this little town in this faraway place gave me absolutely no options for a quick escape. I was more than six hours away from any decent-sized city.
Before, it had always been easy to stay out all night when I couldn’t go back to my foster parent’s house. Louisville had its share of all night restaurants and bars were open until four in the morning. Here in Charlevoix, twenty-four hour establishments were few and far between, to say the least. The town was only about four square miles—not a lot of room for adventure.
The VW coughed and sputtered its way down the pothole-infested streets. I swear driving around here most certainly gave me the credentials to drive for NASCAR, I thought as I expertly swerved around the gigantic holes in the cement.
I took the corner like a pro as I pulled into school parking lot, and found a spot close to the building...sweet! I grabbed my books from the seat yanking the strap fiercely. I was unaware that my bag was stuck on the emergency brake...rip...there went my book bag...crap, I thought as I breezed away from the car.
Caustic was the best word I could use to describe the front office secretary, Mrs. Dixon. She wasn’t nearly as kind as Mrs. Tyler, the attendance secretary with whom I spent third period every day.
I ambled in j
ust shy of the tardy bell. Mrs. Dixon was on the phone engaging in her own particular form of the Spanish Inquisition. I couldn’t help but to listen in on her conversation.
“Your child has missed the last ten days, Ma’am.”
“Well, that’s not really my fault, now is it?
“This will go on his permanent record, do you understand?”
“Whoa, what a tool,” I whispered softly.
She glared at me through her reading glasses, which were situated firmly on the end of her pointy nose, which was attached to her possum-like face.
“May I help you dear?” she said with a hint of disdain.
“Yeah. I mean yes. May I have a tardy slip please?”
“May I inquire as to why you are tardy again? Astrid, is it?”
I plastered a plastic smile across my face and answered, “My alarm didn’t go off. That’s the last time I buy an alarm clock just because it’s pink and fuzzy,” I said with an attempt at humor.
Mrs. Dixon grabbed a pad and pen as she lobbed a judgmental gaze my way.
“You better be careful young lady. You’ll be looking at detention if this happens again.”
She wrote out the slip and thrust it at me.
“Thank you, Mrs. Dixon. Have a nice day,” I said with as much sincerity as I could muster.
I breezed through the first three class periods. Time was going unusually fast, maybe because I was so completely tired. I was able during third period to adjust my attendance record in the office. I loved working in the attendance office during third period. I especially loved getting one over on Mrs. Dixon.
The lunch bell tolled, and I buzzed to the girls’ bathroom to check my face. Oh...my...god...my face looked terrible. I had dark bluish circles under my eyes, and it looked as though the left one was slightly puffy. I pressed my cool fingers against my skin in hopes that it would wake me up. I took out my lip gloss and applied it to my dry lips, and then took a cool wet cloth, hoping to wipe away the weariness. Sheesh. My face looked like it just hit the griddle at a pancake breakfast. There was nothing I could do to alleviate the exhaustion that was displayed across my face. I strode out the door and headed for the cafeteria.
Evan was waiting for me at our usual table along with Chase. I wondered how on earth they’d gotten there before I had.
I rushed over to beat the line to get my daily fix of curly fries and a Diet Coke, or as people said in Michigan with an irritating clipped accent, paaap.
I stood impatiently in line and scanned the cafeteria for Will. For the past few weeks I’d engaged in the same course of events, find Will, avoid Will. I knew exactly why I was avoiding him, I was utterly, totally, and wholly attracted to him. My body was drawn to his, without any concept of why, just that it was. I didn’t want to take the risk of rejection, so it was just easier to be the rejecter rather than the rejected, which I would assume I would be if I gave in to my feelings.
I stood there resolute, focused on the faces of the swarm spilling into the cafeteria, whirring like bees.
I felt a tap on my shoulder. I whirled around, and there he stood; the object of my attraction–avoidance.
Today he was wearing worn and slightly faded black pants that once again blazoned out for the use of an iron. His sky-blue button down shirt exposed a small but decidedly masculine patch of chest hair.
I could feel myself starting to sweat.
His princely golden brown hair twisting in all different directions was constantly being pushed back by his large virile hand.
Whew. My heart felt like a hummingbird had taken refuge in my chest.
His eyes seemed bluer than before, like pools of melted sapphires edged in black coal.
Oh my god. I was most definitely sweating now! I only hoped he couldn’t see the beads of nervous anticipation forming along my collarbone.
“Hey, thief,” he said with his charming crooked smile.
“H-a-ay,” I said with my not-so-charming southern drawl.
“Have you been avoiding me,” he quipped in a half-joking, half-accusatory tone.
“Naw,” I responded out loud while simultaneously I answered yes to myself, while thinking about ripping his shirt off.
I grabbed my fries and a handful of ketchup packets. “I’ll see you next period,” I said as I dashed off to my table, my nerves getting the better of me.
I looked back at him and watched his befuddled gaze. He looked Apollonian with his book of short stories and his long fingers, which were perfect for striking the white and black keys of a piano. Oh, how I longed to be those keys being caressed by his deft fingertips. Settle down, I ordered myself.
He must think that I’m an absolute nut job, in which case he would be right. I felt like a swooning stupid girl. I hated swoony girls, and here I was about to go into cardiac arrest over his chest hair!
I made my way back to my table where Chase and Evan were engaged in a lively debate over what band was the quintessential seventies punk rock group. Evan stood by the obvious choice, Sex Pistols, while Chase argued the attributes of The Clash. Me—I had a love-hate thing going on with Nico and The Velvet Underground. It was both chaotic and melodic. When I listened to them I was spellbound. I’d felt the bizarre and beautiful lyrics penetrate my senses. Many times, I would listen to it until I couldn’t stand it anymore. I’d put it away, and then just a few weeks later would start digging for it obsessively.
I listened to them banter back and forth, while keeping my opinion to myself. I didn’t want to appear to be weird. I was pretty sure they had never heard of Nico, since their argument was based on the obvious choices that people argued when they were ignorant of the subject.
I proceeded to layer a thin coating of ketchup over my fries as I listened to Chase and Evan move on from light-hearted debate to full on argument. They were always bickering. I thought there must have been something to that. Maybe it was a friendship either in trouble or on the verge of romance. I would definitely be the odd man out if romance was on the horizon. I mindfully ate my fries while guarding them from Chase. When I saw his hand float over to pluck a French fry, I promptly smacked it down.
“So I saw you talking to Will,” Chase said, rubbing his wounded hand.
I let out a sigh that puffed my cheeks out like a blowfish. “Yeah.”
“He’s a different kind of guy. Doesn’t really hang out with anybody in particular—”
“What, like us?” I quipped.
“Hey, we hang with each other,” Chase said in a defensive tone.
“Yeah, but we—” as I pointed to Evan and myself, “we don’t like you.” I chuckled as I looked into his eyes.
“L-O-L,” he said, using his fingers to simulate the letters.
“I think he likes you,” Chase said nodding over to Will, who was sitting at his usual table reading.
“Now I know you’ve got some kind of brain damage,” I said with a hint of self-deprecation.
“You know, he is kinda, I don’t know, cute, maybe under all that hair,” Evan chimed in.
Chase’s attention shifted immediately to Evan. It was obvious that her statement had made him a bit jealous. I was sure now that there probably was something romantic or on the verge of romantic going on with them.
“Will likes me in a ‘can I borrow your homework’ kind of way,” I said smiling and shoving a ketchup-covered fry into my mouth. I continued with my mouth full. “Plus, he looks like the type of guy who has a girlfriend in college or something. He looks much older than seventeen,” I admitted with a measure of fascination.
I was playing a game with myself. I didn’t really know why only that it came very naturally to me to take every impulse that I had about Will and then to say the complete and total opposite to the outside world
I was intrigued though—why had Chase said that about Will? Had he noticed something about Will’s behavior that had escaped my attention? I’d never thought about how Will felt about me, or if he even noticed me for that matter. I only was
aware of how much I noticed him. How he completely invaded my thoughts, and that I refused to be rejected by someone so beautiful, intelligent, introspective and artistic.
Lunch flew by, and I made my way to drama class following the same plan I’d conformed to for the last couple of weeks. Arrive tardy, and then take a seat in the back row, and when the bell rang, shoot out the door like a bullet.
I waited for the bell to ring in the bathroom, trying to brush my angry curls into submission. I fastened my hair in a loose ponytail on top of my head, and let the unruly curls spill over. I really needed a haircut, I thought as I wrapped the ragged elastic band around the brunette bundle.
I sauntered into class ready to go take my seat quietly at the back of the room. Mrs. Gooch was very agreeable toward my tardiness. She was a touchy feely enjoy your freedom hippie leftover kind of woman. She wasn’t old enough to be an original hippie, but I’d assumed she was one of the many knock off hippies that still listened to Phish and spent their summers in a classic VW bus touring with the band.
My eyes floated to my usual seat in the back of the theater. There, sitting alone like a cast off in my seat, was Will. I let out a deep sigh and took the end seat in my row. The tension in my body was palpable, or so I thought. I took out my notebook, preparing to take notes on the topic for today, blocking a scene. I managed to eke out a slight smile to Will, acknowledging his out-of-place presence.
I sat there peering straight ahead, as if I had blinders fastened onto the sides of my head. I was completely aware of his presence, every slight movement of his hand, the tilt of his head, or when he shifted in his body. My sense of smell was heightened, he smelled like fresh soap and lilacs. My head lowered, I secretively gave over to temptation, and allowed my eyes to float to the sides so I could sneak quick impulsive glances at him.
After what seemed like forever, Will leaned toward me. I was scribbling the words that came out of Mrs. Gooch’s mouth like a well-trained stenographer.
The Idyllic Chaos of My So-Called Life Page 9
