Random Acts Of Crazy

by Kent, Julia

  It really was close to the end now. I thought about Jane and Jared as I drove toward the truck stop. If I could just avoid being trapped then I…I what? I’d live like this? Shit. Maybe I was trapped, too, and just didn’t know it. It didn’t take a baby or two or an abusive husband to make you feel like you had no options. It didn’t take a disabled mama or no money either. It was all about your own core, what you thought you could do. Trevor and Joe were just as trapped as I was. The question was: how could we break free?

  * * *

  I wasn’t looking forward to the trip between Joe’s hotel and picking up Trevor. The last thing I needed was another ten minutes of grief in my life, and snobbish grief was really the last thing I needed. So, as I drove to the hotel, I paused and realized that what I really did need was a quick phone chat with my aunt. I had Josie on autodial and thankfully she picked up, the phone ringing twice before I heard her say, “Darla, what the hell are you doing calling me?”

  “Oh, just slumming.”

  She laughed. “You OK? You finally going to take me up on my offer to move out here?”

  “Nope,” I said. Yup, I thought. Where the hell did that come from? There was no way I could actually move out to Boston. She’d been trying to get me out there for years. Mama needed me but now, with Trevor living right outside the city and Joe…

  “That’s not what I want to talk about.”

  “You talk about what you want to talk about, then.”

  “I need to talk about a man.”

  “A man? How can you talk about a man? There aren’t any men out there.”

  “No kidding,” I muttered, “but I actually managed to find one.” Maybe two.

  “So, who is this man you found?”

  “I literally found him, Josie. He was naked, wearing nothing but a guitar on the side of the road.”

  Silence.

  “What?”

  “I’m not kidding.” Why did I always have to say that to her, all the time, and Mama too? “I’m not kidding” had become as commonplace in my daily vocabulary as “Sure, let me help you.”

  “He was just standing there on I-76, wearing a guitar and a collar and sticking his thumb out, and so I stopped.”

  “Did you fuck him?”

  “Wow, way to be blunt Josie. Yeah, of course.”

  “How can I be blunt if I’m right?”

  “You can be both.”

  “I often am but don’t accuse me of being too blunt when, in the end, the direct question I’m asking relates exactly to what you’ve actually done.”

  “I don’t want to talk about that, either,” I snapped.

  “So, what do you want to talk about?”

  “I want to talk about this man.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Trevor.”

  “Trevor what?”

  “Trevor Connor,” I said, struggling to keep the grin out of my voice.

  “Trevor Connor…where have I heard that name? Why is that so familiar?” she said. I paused, giving her a taste of her own silence. “Wait a minute!” she practically screamed. “Trevor Connor? From Random Acts of Crazy?”

  “Yup.”

  “Darla.” Calm seeped into her voice, the kind of placid, dulcet tones you use with a florid schizophrenic. Or a drunk redneck.

  “Yeah?”

  “Are you on something? Because you don’t just conjure a naked man on the interstate, wearing nothing but a guitar, who happens to be the lead singer of your favorite band. Honey, do you need me to call someone?”

  “I swear to God, Josie, I am not making this up.”

  “Okayyy,” she said, skeptically. “And you fucked him?”

  “Yup.”

  “Any good?”

  “Hoo boy,” I said.

  “That good?”

  “Yup.”

  “So what’s your problem?”

  What’s my problem? I thought. What’s my problem? Great question. That’s why I called her, right? She always knew how to get to the heart of something. The problem was that I didn’t know what my problem was. So, I said that.

  “My problem is that I don’t know what my problem is and Trevor is about to leave any minute now and I’m going to pick up his friend Joe, who – ”

  “Joe? Joe as in Joe Ross, the bass player?”

  “Yup.”

  “Quit saying yup.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Is that better?”

  “Actually, yes.”

  “OK then, ma’am.”

  “You’re telling me that you’re hanging out with the bass player and the lead singer of your favorite band in the middle of Peters?”

  “Yup – yes, ma’am, I mean,” I corrected myself.

  “You know they’re from Boston, right?

  “Well, outside of Boston, some suburb named Sudborough.”

  Josie snorted. “More like Snob-borough.”

  “I picked up on that,” I said as I pulled into the hotel, right in front of Joe’s room.

  “Are they being assholes?” she said, coldly. “Because if you need me to – ”

  “What? What are you going to do, Josie. You’re a hundred pounds soaking wet. You gonna go and raspberry them to death? Shake your finger in their faces extra hard?”

  Silence.

  “Fair enough,” she said. Her voice softened, “So, what’s really going on?”

  “Well, you knew I already had a fangirl crush on Trevor so the problem is that now that I’ve spent most of the past twenty-four hours with him, I don’t want to let him go.” I could feel the mournful tone in my voice and willed away the choking, salty tears that filled my throat.

  “So, don’t.”

  “Don’t what?”

  “Don’t let him get away. Come to Boston. Live with me here in Cambridge.”

  “You know I can’t do that,” I said through gritted teeth. Her response was the best antidote to my tears and I could feel a defensive tension form in my neck and upper back.

  “Your Mama’s fine,” she said, soothingly. “You can come out here, you can go on Darla. You can move on.”

  “I don’t wanna talk about that.”

  “Well, I do,” she insisted. “And now you have a place to live, you have a guy – ”

  “Two guys,” I interrupted – might as well change the subject.

  “Two guys? You fucked them both?”

  “No… no,” I protested. Not yet, I thought. Where the hell did that thought come from? “Look, it’s complicated,” I said.

  “It’s always complicated,” she said with an acid tone.

  “No, actually it’s not,” I replied, puzzled. “My life’s pretty fuckin’ simple Josie. I go to my gas station job, I help Mama with her sugars and I try to find somebody to spend time with who doesn’t think that Killer Karaoke is the height of American culture. Other than that, I don’t have a complicated life and now, suddenly, in twenty-four hours it’s become more twisted and more confusing than anything else in my entire life probably since I was four.”

  Something in my words or my tone made her change her entire approach and her voice went soft and gentle. “I’m sorry,” she said. “It sounds like whatever you’re going through, it’s pretty big.”

  “Yup…uh, yes ma’am,” I said.

  “How can I help?”

  “Tell me what to do,” I joked. “I don’t want Trevor to leave – Joe’s about to take him away. Uncle Mike’s gonna fix his car.”

  “Joe’s car is broken?”

  “Yeah, he got here and then came into my little purple passion place – ”

  “Your purple what?”

  “Oh, nevermind.” I hadn’t told her about the shed, she ha
d no idea what I was talkin’ about.

  “If you’ve got a place on your body that’s turning purple from passion, Darla, then there are medications for that.”

  “It’s not like that.”

  “Ookaaayyy.” Again, she drew the word out with extreme skepticism. It was getting annoying.

  “I don’t want Trevor to leave and Joe’s an asshole but he’s a really, really, really attractive asshole and I just,” Ahh, I sighed. “I guess it’s all on me, isn’t it.”

  “Yes,” she said. “It’s all on you. I can’t really help you. I’m here to listen, I’m here to give you whatever advice I can, and I’m here to caution you to please, please use condoms.”

  “We did,” I said. “No worries.”

  “OK, good because the last thing you need is to add a baby to this mix.”

  “I know. I know, Josie, I’m watching Jane go through it. Trust me, I do not wanna add a baby to anything right now.”

  “Good girl. I’m going to start clearing out my guest room just in case you wanted to, you know, visit. Or uproot your entire life and move in.”

  I snorted. “Fat chance.”

  “Oh, I think the chance is better than you think, Darla,” she said.

  I looked up and Joe had stepped outside, the glow of the security lamps illuminating that perfect, wavy tousled hair, his face well rested and neutral, his body moving with a languid grace that made me just want to – “I gotta go, Josie,” I said. “Things are about to get even more complicated.”

  “Just remember one thing, Darla,” she said before I hung up.

  “What’s that?”

  “Whatever you do, it’s your life – not anybody else’s. You get to pick what happens next.”

  * * *

  The hair at the nape of Joe’s neck was damp and he smelled like industrial soap, the scent you get after spending the night in a hotel, with a hint of bleach. “Hey,” he said.

  “Hey,” I mimicked, and as I backed out of the parking lot there was just silence between us until I turned out onto the main road to head home. It was awkward, I won’t deny it, but I wasn’t about to break first. He had been the asshole and I sure as hell wasn’t gonna play that nicey-nice game where I would pretend that the assholery was fair and balanced and we were equally responsible. Fuck that. He was the jerk and if anybody was gonna say anything, it had to be him.

  That made for three minutes of tense, quiet that was so thick it was like swimming in Davey’s brain. Finally Joe cracked and said, “Look, I’m sorry.”

  I let the words hang in the air because I wanted to savor them. How many times are you right in this world and someone actually acknowledges it? If I replied with, “It’s OK,” I’d be lying because the way he was acting wasn’t OK. If I said, “I understand,” that would be a lie too, because I didn’t understand. Snobbery seemed so ridiculous to me because unless you earned the money yourself you were just piggybacking off of someone else’s luck or fortune and looking down on other people. To me, that just made you a douchebag. Finally I settled on a grunt of, “Huh.”

  He smiled a little. “Well said.”

  “I may not be eloquent, but I get my point across.”

  He studied me; I could feel his eyes crawling over my profile as we drove along, the headlights illuminating a possum that barely escaped my tire, the backs of road signs shining in a quick glare as the headlights bounced off them. Just outside the beams, the thin, spindly twigs and branches of trees still mostly bare between their spring buds gave the whole night the suggestion of a horror movie, except I wasn’t creeped out so much as unsure about what the rest of the night held.

  “It helps to have gotten a few hours of sleep and a quick shower,” he said, a congenial tone that I had not heard yet in his voice. Relenting a bit, I relaxed and smiled, turning toward him and just nodding.

  “I’m gonna imagine that there’s no class at your college for what to do when your best friend disappears and reappears six hundred miles away…naked.”

  “If there were such a class,” he said, “that would be at Hampshire College.” He laughed. The puzzled look on my face must have told him that I had no idea what the joke meant and he said, “You guys have Oberlin College around here, right?”

  “On the other side of the state, yeah.”

  And he said, “Well, Hampshire is similar.”

  I got the joke about drugs and nakedness in general, hedonism, and laughed politely. I may have manners so unpolished that if you brushed up against me you’d bleed from hitting a sharp edge but I knew when to shine somebody on as they extended an olive branch.

  “Why are you being so nice to Trevor?” he asked. It wasn’t an accusation; I could hear a genuine questioning in his voice and a little bit of prodding. He was curious and trying to figure out what he could and couldn’t talk to Trevor about. I needed to be guarded but open at the same time. Damn, if these men weren’t stretching me in new ways.

  “At first it was just because he was so strange standing there, caught in my headlights, totally naked, with those thighs flexing and the guitar covering his nether regions.” I slowed the car down and went an uncharacteristic thirty-five in a thirty-five zone, no need to speed. In fact, I wanted to stretch this conversation out. It was pleasant and I hadn’t done pleasant with Joe. Time to see where that could take us.

  “And then?” he asked.

  “And then it was hey, here’s this really hot guy and he’s into me so…” I shrugged. “Why not?”

  “Why not?” he echoed.

  “And then,” I shook my head a little, “he needed a place to stay, some clothes, some food, and once he called you everything sort of snowballed from there and we knew what was happening next. We didn’t do anything special, I didn’t know he was Trevor Connor from Random Acts of Crazy.”

  “Would that have changed anything?” Joe asked. “If you had known?”

  I bit my lower lip and thought about that for a minute. I frowned and shook my head, my hands firmly planted at ten and two o’clock on my steering wheel as we now went thirty in a thirty-five zone. Nobody was behind me so I didn’t worry about it.

  “Uhh… no.” My answer was indecisive at first and then clipped at the end, more a function of needing to think it through than of any actual hesitation about the emotional impact of his question. To the left I had an opportunity to take a road that would extend our journey but not get us unreasonably far from home, so I grabbed the chance. Might as well buy five or ten extra minutes.

  “Why do you think Trevor ended up out here?” I asked.

  “Because he’s a dumb fuck.”

  “Well, there’s that.” I laughed. “But why would he get so fucked up and then what – hit the road naked? I don’t get it. I don’t understand.”

  “Me neither,” Joe answered.

  “Why did he get so fucked up in the first place?”

  “You mean back home? I don’t know. It’s what we do, it’s what Trevor does especially. Eating that entire bag of peyote though…man,” Joe made a low whistle. “That’s some fucked up shit. I haven’t seen anyone do that before.”

  “Do you think that he was trying to get himself so deeply in trouble that someone would have to rescue him?”

  Joe pounded his chest with a flat palm and said, “It worked, didn’t it?”

  I smiled and we shared a conspiratorial grin and then I got serious. “No, I don’t mean that way. I mean more…maybe it was a cry for help.”

  Joe pulled his chin back, his face shocked. His eyes roamed down over the dashboard to the floor, he stared at his feet and then looked straight ahead at the horizon where my headlamp beams seemed to force the bare trees to part for us. “That’s not Trevor,” he said. “That’s not who he is. He’s never been like that. If he were gonna do something
like that he would just do it, he wouldn’t…” He seemed to struggle with his words and then said simply, “No.”

  A huge internal sigh of relief whooshed out of me but I couldn’t hint at it. “Good,” I said, nodding slowly.

  We drove in a nice sort of companion quiet, neither of us feeling the need to talk until Joe rested a warm hand, for the briefest of seconds, on my shoulder and then pulled back. “I see why he likes you,” Joe said.

  Something in my belly tightened and my throat went loose, my heart slamming against my ribcage as Joe’s words triggered a reaction that made me lick my lips and try to quell the butterflies that fluttered down below. This was not how it was supposed to be. I was supposed to be excited to go see Trevor and grab whatever little bit of time we had, wringing it until we squeezed out every last lustful drop. He could go back to Boston and live his life and I could stay here and live mine.

  And the way that the presence of these two men changed the execution of time for me would come to an end.

  Joe

  It just seemed so weird to me that I couldn’t keep my eyes off of her. Here we were, hurtling along these weird country roads, in her little rusted out box of a car. It looked like something from those Soviet era movies that we were forced to watch in AP World History, but with only the grimness, none of the fascination. She had a glow, a purpose and a grounding to her and she seemed to be completely unaware of it.

  At home, everyone, guys and girls, were so focused on making sure that they controlled as much as possible what other people thought of them and at the same time were thoroughly manipulated by what other people thought of them. The congruity of opinion was what helped you to stay popular, or at least to stay not not-popular. Being on the fringe was the kiss of death. In fact, I couldn’t really name anybody who wasn’t part of my circle. We were all the captains of the sports teams, the heads of debate clubs and outdoors clubs and Young Whatever Political party clubs. I was editor in chief of the newspaper and part of the academic decathlon team. Finding an answer to “What do you do?” was what we did. It was who we were, meeting these milestones, fighting for a high school resume that showed the world that we weren’t as inadequate as we thought we were on the inside.