by John Cariani
Sandrine slowly turned and headed toward the front of the Moose Paddy and out onto the dance floor to be with the girls who had thrown her her bachelorette party.
And Jimmy was so sad. Because all that had been lost had been found—but lost again. For good.
Jimmy saw the girls welcome Sandrine back with a joyful roar. And they all hopped and bopped to the song about girls wanting to have fun and made Sandrine drink something purplish-pink. And she did. And the girls cheered. Jimmy witnessed all this joy from afar. And it washed over him and made him feel about as joyless as he had ever felt.
Then he sat back down in his chair and was about to finish his Bud when the waitress returned and said, “Hey! Sorry! Somebody said you were wavin’ me down!” She was a bit out of breath. “I didn’t see you,” she continued, a little frazzled, “but it’s so busy! Friday night! Whew!” Another round of joyful whoops emanated from the bachelorette party as the song about girls wanting to have fun faded out, replaced by a song about a guy who said he had friends in low places.
“God. That bachelorette party!” moaned the waitress, looking back at the girls. “Those girls! Good thing it’s not ‘Drink free if you’re glad,’ ’cause those girls are wicked glad.” The waitress laughed and looked off toward the dance floor and marveled at all that gladness those girls were feeling. And she turned to Jimmy and cheered, “Good for them, huh?! Everybody oughta be glad like that, right?”
And Jimmy and the waitress watched the revelers swaying to the song about the guy who has friends in low places, and they both wondered if they’d ever be glad like that again in their lives.
And then the waitress smiled and turned back to Jimmy and got back to work. “Anyway—sorry if I forgot about ya for a second. Hoo—wee! I had to fight my way through to find ya again, way back here! But I did it! I found ya! So, what do you need? What can I do ya for?” She clapped her hands together once and put them on her hips, ready for whatever Jimmy might need her to get or do for him.
But Jimmy wasn’t listening to her. He was watching Sandrine, the happy bride-to-be, and her girls, dancing and singing about having friends in low places.
He was happy for her. Happy she had found someone.
But also so sad. Because he was wondering if he’d ever find someone.
There weren’t many single women his age in Almost.
Maybe he’d just wait till the first wave of divorces hit his age group.
It’d be comin’ up soon, he thought.
And then he scolded himself for getting so sour.
And then his face just looked like pain as he gazed at Sandrine on the dance floor.
And his eyes started to look like tears were about to fall out of them.
And the waitress followed Jimmy’s gaze. And saw all the girls dancing around Sandrine.
And she saw one of them put a tiara on her head.
And the waitress put two and two together and started to realize that the woman who she thought at first was Jimmy’s date wasn’t Jimmy’s date at all.
She was the bachelorette.
And Jimmy wasn’t her guy.
The waitress inhaled sharply as she understood what was going on and didn’t breathe for a second as she tried to figure out what to do. “Oh, pal…” She finally exhaled. “Um … Oh, God. I am so sorry.”
She desperately tried to figure out how to help Jimmy, because he needed help. Bad. “Oh, boy.” She sat in the chair that Sandrine had been sitting in and tried to make the best of the terrible situation. “Um … Well, remember, like I said, Moose Paddy special: Drinks are free if you’re sad. Okay? Just tell me you’re sad, and you’ll drink free.”
Jimmy may have heard the offer. But he didn’t respond. He just continued to let all the joy from the bachelorette party up front wash over him and turn into sorrow.
The waitress continued. “Just say the word. And you’ll drink free. Let me know. ’Cause I know from sad, and you’re lookin’ pretty sad.”
And Jimmy was lookin’ pretty sad.
Tears were falling out of his eyes.
And snot was falling out of his nose.
But he didn’t realize either of those things were happening.
The waitress slapped some napkins in Jimmy’s hand, hoping he’d wipe his nose, and said, “Okay, well … I gotta get back to work, so…” She paused and gave him a chance to tell her that he wanted to drink for free. But Jimmy didn’t take the chance. “Okay,” she said, giving up on her sad customer. “Well, my name’s Villian, if you need anything. Just ask for Villian.”
And then she turned and left.
And Jimmy stopped breathing. And felt that strange lightness he had felt earlier—when he was about to walk into the Moose Paddy. And it made him feel like he had the glow of a thousand fired-up pellet stoves inside him. And like he had a thousand butterflies in his stomach. And he felt like he was levitating—even though he wasn’t.
He couldn’t believe what he’d just heard.
Had the waitress just said that her name was Villian?
Jimmy slowly lifted his head, dumbfounded, and watched the waitress walk away and called after her. “Villian?”
The waitress stopped and turned.
“Yeah?” she asked as she hustled back to Jimmy—who was just staring at her. “What’s up?” she asked.
Jimmy continued to stare at the waitress.
“You okay, pal?”
“Yeah. I would just like … another Bud. That I’ll pay for. Because I’m not sad.”
“All right.” Villian smiled and turned and was about to go get Jimmy another Bud.
“In fact I’m really glad right now!” called Jimmy.
“Okay,” said Villian, turning back to the guy with the hangdog eyes. And then she smiled and turned and made her way back to the front of the bar.
And Jimmy hollered to her again. “Villian!!!”
Villian stopped and turned to Jimmy. “What?!?” she asked, a little exasperated as she made her way back to him.
“I’ve just … I’ve never seen you. Before. Around.”
“Well, I just moved here. Couple weeks ago.”
“Oh.” Almost wasn’t a place people moved to. It was a place people left. But Villian had read in a Maine lifestyle magazine that Aroostook County was one of the best places for a fresh start. And she needed a fresh start.
Villian turned and went to get Jimmy his Bud, but as she did so, Jimmy stopped her again and yelled, “Villian!”
Villian stopped. Again. She was getting annoyed. “Dude, I’m workin’ here. What?!?”
“I’m just … I’m glad you found me.”
Villian screwed up her face and wondered if this “I’m glad you found me” business was some sort of newfangled pickup line. Half-charmed, she said, “All right.” And then she headed to the bar.
As she did, she mumbled, “I’m glad you found me,” to herself. And really hoped it was a pickup line.
And then she felt a strange lightness inside her. It felt like a spark. And a tingle. And gave her a bounce in her step. And it took her breath away.
But she soon got herself breathing again and went to get Jimmy another Bud.
Jimmy watched Villian head toward the bar.
And then he looked down at his “Villian” tattoo.
And put his hand on it.
And squeezed it.
And tried to make sense of what had just happened.
And then stopped trying—because he couldn’t make sense of it.
And he felt like something great was about to happen—extraordinary even.
Which is scary for someone who isn’t used to having extraordinary things happen to them.
Because what if it doesn’t happen?
6
As Ginette made her way past the Moose Paddy, she tried to ignore the guy and the girl who were laughing and hugging and kissing in the parking lot.
But she couldn’t.
And she watched them make their way toward the Moo
se Paddy’s entrance. They were holding each other close. And it looked like the guy was saying something in the girl’s ear.
Ginette bet that the guy wasn’t saying to the girl that, even though they were about as close to one another as they could possibly have been, they were actually about as far away from each other as they could possibly be.
And she continued on her way and wondered why Pete had shared his asinine theory on what it means to be close—at such an inopportune time.
And she was happy to be leaving the theory behind—but not the theorist.
* * *
At ten past eight, Ginette found herself approaching the Rec Center, which was about a quarter of a mile down the road from the Moose Paddy. An A-frame sign illuminated by a clamp light was perched on a snowbank in front of the one-story brick building. It announced:
COUNTRY SWING!
TONITE!
5 BUCKS!
It seemed to Ginette that there was a whole lot of dancing going on in Almost on the night when all the extraordinary things did or didn’t happen. And that irked her. Because she wished that she and Pete were at Country Swing, dancing.
But they weren’t.
But Justin Legassie and Michelle Blackmore were—or they were about to be—or so they thought.
Michelle had just pulled her old black Buick LeSabre into the Rec Center parking lot. Because Justin had said that he wanted to go dancing. And he never thought he’d go dancing with Michelle again. Maybe because he never really thought he’d see her again. Because when he left Almost a couple of years ago, he had never planned on coming back.
But his uncle Clair had died a couple of days ago. And his uncle Clair and his aunt Belinda had raised him. And Justin loved his uncle Clair more than anyone in the world. So he was back in Almost for his funeral.
* * *
A couple of hours ago, going dancing was the last thing Justin thought he’d be doing on that Friday night when all the extraordinary things did or didn’t happen. He had been stretched out on the couch in the living room, sometimes staring up at the vaulted ceiling of his aunt’s A-frame house counting pine knots, and sometimes staring at his uncle’s big plaid puffy chair, and sometime staring at his uncle’s guitar, which was resting on its stand in the corner next to the TV—and which was the guitar Uncle Clair had taught him to play on.
Justin was now the guitarist in a band in Portland. And they were starting to do really well. The Portland Press Herald had done a big feature on them last fall.
“Justy?” Aunt Belinda was calling to Justin from the kitchen.
“Yeah?”
“Father Tom’s gonna be coming over soon to talk about funeral stuff. Just so you know.”
“Kay.”
Headlights from a car that had pulled into Aunt Belinda’s driveway flashed across the living room.
“I think he’s here!” called Justin. And he hopped off the couch and made his way to his room so he wouldn’t have to see Father Tom. Who was a good enough guy. Justin just didn’t want to see him right then. He’d see him tomorrow at the funeral.
He heard a knock on the back door. And he heard Aunt Belinda answer. “Oh! Hey, kiddo!”
And he heard a voice say, “Hi, Aunt B,” in that way people do when they’re greeting someone who’s lost a loved one.
Justin froze. The voice was Michelle’s. And he hadn’t seen her or been in touch with her since he left Almost. And not because she hadn’t tried to see him or be in touch with him.
He heard Michelle say that she was sorry about Uncle Clair—and that she had brought over a nine-layer casserole.
“Ooh!” gushed Aunt Belinda.
Justin wondered what the nine layers of a nine-layer casserole were.
“Justy!” called Aunt Belinda. “Michelle’s here! Come say hi!” And then she asked Michelle, “Can I freeze this?”
“Yeah,” said Michelle.
“Great. I’m gonna put it out on the porch.” Aunt Belinda brought the nine-layer casserole out onto the porch, where it joined a bevy of other casseroles and would be preserved by the cold for future consumption. (Porches become freezers in northern Maine in the winter.)
Justin had shuffled down the hall into the kitchen and said, “Hey.”
Michelle looked even bigger than he remembered. She had been six feet tall since she was thirteen. But she had never been one of those lanky tall people. She had always been sturdy. But she was sturdier now.
“Hi,” said Michelle. Justin looked skinnier than she remembered. And he probably was. Because he wanted to be. Being skinny made him feel powerful. So he smoked a lot and ate only a little.
Michelle bet she weighed close to twice what he did now. And she started to feel bad about her size, like she used to. But then remembered that she had found someone who liked her size. And she stopped feeling bad about herself.
“How ya doin’?” asked Michelle—and she immediately regretted asking the question, because nobody who’s just lost someone they love is doing okay. And she said, “Sorry,” meaning she was sorry that she had asked the question—and that she was sorry for his loss. “Listen,” she almost whispered, “can we go somewhere? Talk?”
“Um—” Justin didn’t want to go anywhere with Michelle. And he didn’t really want to talk to her.
“I just wanna—” Michelle was about to tell Justin that she had something she wanted to tell him. But she wasn’t able to tell him, because Aunt Belinda was returning from the porch. So she couldn’t tell him.
“So, Michelle: love your haircut!”
“Yeah. I chopped it off.”
“Cute! You see this one’s hair?”
Aunt Belinda pulled her nephew’s hood back and revealed his long black hair. It had a streak of bright blue in it.
“Nice,” laughed Michelle. She had seen pictures of him since he had left, so she wasn’t surprised by his black—and blue—hair.
“It is, isn’t it?” asked Aunt Belinda. She genuinely liked Justin’s hair.
“Yeah!”
“So, listen,” said Aunt Belinda, “I hate to do this to you two, but if you wanna hang out, you can’t do it here, ’cause Father Tom’s comin’ by to go over some funeral stuff with me for tomorrow, so why don’t you get outta here and go do somethin’ fun?”
“Huh?” asked Justin, wondering why his aunt would have wanted them to go do something fun the night before his uncle’s funeral.
“For your uncle Clair,” explained Aunt Belinda. “It’d make him so happy to know you two were out havin’ fun somewhere the night before his funeral.”
This was hard to deny. Uncle Clair was fun. And wanted people to have fun. And he wouldn’t have wanted people to stop having fun just because he was dead. But Justin didn’t feel like—and Michelle didn’t feel right about—going out and doing something fun the night before his funeral.
But before they could say so, Aunt Belinda was giving Justin his uncle Clair’s old parka. “So get goin’. And make sure he wears this, Michelle. He only had his hoodie on when I picked him up at the bus stop in Caribou. Warm enough for Portland, maybe, but not here.”
“I’ll make sure,” said Michelle.
“I’ll wear it,” said Justin simultaneously, irked that Michelle and Aunt Belinda were talking about him like he wasn’t there. He grabbed the parka and pulled it on. It smelled like Uncle Clair. And made him look tiny because Uncle Clair was a much larger man than he was. Just about all men were.
“Thank you,” said Aunt Belinda. “Now go have fun. For your uncle Clair. Please.” And she grabbed her purse and slid Justin a twenty to help them have fun and patted the old friends on the backs and practically pushed them out the back door and onto the porch and closed the door behind them.
And the next thing they knew, Michelle and Justin were on the porch, standing among all the casseroles, and taking them—and the cold, quiet northern Maine night—in. And then Michelle sighed and shrugged. “So, I guess we’re gonna go have some fun tonight, huh
?” And then she laughed. She was trying to make the best of an awkward situation. She always made the best of awkward situations.
“I guess.” Justin shrugged back.
Justin and Michelle wondered why Aunt Belinda was so insistent that they go out and have some fun. They didn’t know that she wanted Justin gone so she could have some time to be sad by herself. She had been putting on a brave face because she was more worried about her nephew than she usually was. Because he seemed sad—and not just because his uncle Clair had died. This was a different, deeper sadness. And she hoped that Michelle might be able to help him through it. Because Michelle had known him since he was a kid. And people who knew you when you were a kid remind you what you used to be. And not what you’ve become. And Justin needed to remember what he used to be. Because he used to be fun. And full of joy.
And now he wasn’t.
Justin and Michelle made their way to Michelle’s LeSabre. They had spent a lot of time in that car.
When Justin got in the old sedan, he was met with the royal pine smell from the little tree air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror. He hadn’t smelled that smell since the last time he was in the LeSabre two and a half years ago.
Being in that car made him feel safe. And like he belonged. And he didn’t feel like he belonged many places.
Michelle started the car. “So what are we doin’? For ‘fun’?” she asked, quoting Aunt Belinda.
“I don’t know.” Justin had been so focused on his music and his band that he didn’t have much time for fun. So he didn’t do much for fun. And now he was wondering if he even knew how to have fun anymore. “You tell me.”
“I don’t know.” She thought for a second and then offered, “Tool around? See where we end up?”
“Tooling around” was one of the most popular pastimes for young people in northern Maine. Especially in winter. Because cars were warm—and, more important, private. The things that get talked about in cars are honest and true. Maybe because the things that are said in cars can’t escape into the world and be heard by anyone else. So what’s said in cars can only be known by the people in the car.
