One Lonely Degree

by C. K. Kelly Martin

  “Come on in, Finn.” Mom beckons from the couch. “Say hello to Mrs. Mikulski.”

  “Anna,” Mrs. Mikulski corrects, smiling.

  “Hi.” I dip my head at her as I step into the living room.

  “Finn.” Mrs. Mikulski pronounces my name like it’s a happy surprise. “You’re so grown up.”

  “Tall,” I say, because isn’t that what she means?

  “That too,” Mrs. Mikulski says with a gentle laugh. She turns to my mother. “Where did the time go?”

  “It’s a surprise to me every time I look at her.” Mom shakes her head. “I don’t feel old enough to have a fifteen-year-old.”

  Actually, she’s one of the youngest mothers around. She had me when she was almost twenty-one. That’s why she never got around to finishing drama school and only starred in a single commercial—a tampon ad about a girl in a yellow bikini at the beach. I watched it a zillion times on video when I was a kid. I was so impressed that I wouldn’t be surprised if I played it for Jersy all those years ago.

  My heart sinks at the thought of him. Why couldn’t he have come along? I know I’m an antisocial weirdo, but should that matter to someone who used to pick his scabs in front of you and throw his arms around you all the time when you were six?

  The mental burp surprises me. I shouldn’t let myself think about Jersy too much. I have a hard enough time trying to deal with my unrequited crush feelings for Ryan.

  “Finn, call your brother, please.” Mom sips her tea, waiting for me to do her bidding.

  I drag Daniel away from some stupid reality TV show he shouldn’t be watching, wondering why no one in this house pays any attention to what he’s doing. Then I go up to my room, put Sam Roberts on my sound system, and IM Audrey. Our current record is nine hours and twenty-seven minutes, but I’m sure we’ll beat it one day. For two antisocial people we do a lot of typing and talking.

  Normally I tell Audrey everything. She knows that I would gladly donate my virginity to Raine Maida if he wasn’t married to Chantal. She knows I mean it too (or at least that months ago I did mean it), and not because I’m a shallow celebrity whore but because Raine Maida is the most beautiful of all the Beautiful Boys, and that’s not just a physical thing.

  Everyone knows Audrey and I are like two sides of a coin. Our homeroom teacher even refers to Audrey as my “better half.” It’s true, she is my better half—more confident, prettier, and three times as talented. I’m so proud that she’s my best friend that mostly I don’t even think I need anyone else.

  Considering all of that, you’d think I’d mention some of the things I’ve been thinking about Jersy Mikulski, but you’d be wrong.

  The weekend is as warm as mid-November, although the calendar says February. Audrey has a raging cold, but I get Dad to drive me over to her house, where she sucks on a succession of Popsicles like it’s summer. Her parents like me because I’m quiet around them and never seem to get into any trouble. What they don’t understand is that all kinds of people get into trouble without ever meaning to.

  Getting into trouble doesn’t necessarily make you a bad person. It could just be bad luck. It could be a lot of things. But I don’t want my mind slipping onto that track again. I want to sit around eating Popsicles in wintertime with my best friend like there’s nothing wrong in the whole world.

  Audrey’s wearing fuzzy duck slippers and hasn’t washed her hair since Thursday, but she smiles at me and says, “Thank God you’re here. I’m going crazy cooped up like this. Steven keeps telling me I should be in bed.” Steven is the cop stepfather that I mentioned before. Her mom worships him, but he has a way of really dragging Audrey down. “I mean, it’s not Ebola, it’s the common cold. He should just admit he’s a dictator—it would make more sense than pretending he’s concerned with my health.”

  Steven understands Audrey even less than my mother understands me. If he was a different kind of person, he’d have already figured out that it’s not worth sweating the small stuff. Unfortunately, the chances of him easing up on Audrey are slim, and I nod sympathetically and ask if she wants to continue in her current state of squalor or if I should help her wash her hair.

  “Do I look that bad?” she says, tugging her fingers through a mass of tangles.

  “You look like a bundle of sickness,” I say truthfully. “You look how I look when I’m sick and don’t have the energy to take a shower.”

  Audrey slouches wearily back against the bed. “That’s exactly how I feel—and completely bored with everything. Sometimes I feel like I’m going to be stuck here forever.”

  I’m permanently bored. Everywhere I go, I see people laughing at things they think are supposed to be funny or buying outfits they hope will make them look like their favorite celebrity. The sameness is enough to bore anyone. But since September everything isn’t exactly the same as before. Remember Adam and me in the laundry room. That ugly voice in the back of my head won’t let it go.

  “You’re not going to be stuck here,” I tell her. “Two and a half more years and you’ll be miles away at university.”

  “Maybe UBC.” Audrey perks up a bit as she says that. She keeps changing her mind about where she wants to go to school, and the University of British Columbia is clear across the country. In the future most of our conversations will talk place over IM or a long-distance line. A second’s sadness whips through me at the thought. I want the next two and half years to pass at the speed of light— except when it comes to that.

  I think of the time, two years ago at the lakefront festival, when we spotted this guy who looked like a younger, tanner version of Gerard Way from My Chemical Romance. He was buying a chili dog and we followed him around for about fifteen minutes, until he noticed and pointed us out to his friend. We got embarrassed and took off, but later we couldn’t stop talking about him, and we listened to “Famous Last Words,” “I’m Not Okay (I Promise),” and “I Don’t Love You” at least three times each (even though Audrey usually says she doesn’t like guys in makeup).

  I can’t imagine that day playing out in exactly the same way with anyone but Audrey. Even though we felt like idiots at first, somehow it still ended up being all right, the way it almost always does when we’re together.

  “So let’s fix my hair,” Audrey says, standing up on her duck-head feet. “So I don’t feel like a tenth-grade bag lady.”

  We invade the upstairs bathroom, where I battle with her hair. I think I win—but not by much. I have to use so much conditioner to cut through the tangles that I’m afraid her hair will come out oily. I rinse it for ages, Audrey grumbling steadily away underneath me: “My neck’s killing me—do you take this long to wash your hair?”

  When I wash my own hair I do it fast, but now I’m trying to do a good job. “You’re lucky I’m doing this,” I joke. “No one else would want to touch your head today.”

  Afterwards Audrey slides a comb easily through her hair. It’s not lank at all—just clean—and she thanks me and says it’s perfect. I dry it for her like we’re at the hairdresser’s, and later, when Audrey climbs back into bed to nurse her Ebola, Mrs. Lepage drives me home.

  As I step inside my front door, Samsam careens down the hall towards me as though I’m the most important person in the world. He’s such a good dog, and I get down on the ground with him and scratch his ears and stroke his back like I have an eternity to do it. Then I kiss him on top of the head, snap on his leash, and bound outside with him. The truth is that I have the best friend in the universe and the best dog. I try to remind myself of that when I’m feeling low, and when I forget, Samsam reminds me. He lies down in front of me at the foot of the couch or nuzzles his head into my lap like the overgrown puppy that he is.

  Between the warm air and Samsam jogging along beside me, I feel free. At times like this I absolutely believe everything’s okay with me. The feeling’s so strong that I’m amazed I ever have any doubt. My face feels like it’s bursting with the strength of a hundred smiles. My body�
�s in tune with the entire universe. I run with Samsam until I can’t run anymore, until my legs blur beneath me. Then I slow down, sweating in my winter jacket and struggling to catch my breath. I’m an earth girl after all, not a ray of light or a gust of wind.

  It’s a beautiful day, though. People smile at us as they pass with their own dogs—pugs, terriers, shepherds, Labs. A family of cyclists weave around Samsam and me, and then, before I have a moment to mentally prepare myself, I’m face to face with Jersy Mikulski pushing a dirt bike up the sidewalk. His coat is hanging open, his jeans are flecked with mud, and his hair looks damp. It’s a shock and I don’t like how it feels, but that’s only because I do.

  “Hey,” he says, a grin biting into his cheeks. “Who is this?” He kicks the bike’s kickstand out, crouches down in front of Samsam and loves him all up. Samsam slurps at Jersy’s face, but Jersy doesn’t flinch or say that’s gross; he just laughs like it’s all fantastic.

  “Samsam.” I shake my head and correct myself. “Samson.”

  “Which one?” Jersy asks, laughing up at me as he scratches Samsam’s ears.

  “Both. My brother was really young when we first got him.” I graze my fingers across the top of Samsam’s head, and he looks up at me, like he knows I’m talking about him. “He couldn’t pronounce his name. ‘Samsam’ was the closest he could get, so we all started calling him Samsam too, you know, because we thought it was cute. I guess it kind of stuck.”

  Jersy nods and I look down at his brown hair and imagine digging my fingers into it, pulling his head towards mine, and burying my nose in his hair like I do with Samsam. I want to do it so much that it feels like temporary insanity. “This your bike?” I croak.

  “Yeah.” Jersy stands up next to it and looks into my eyes. His own seem more blue than green in the sunlight, and I blink and drop my right hand down to Samsam’s head again so I won’t feel like a moron for standing there looking into Jersy’s eyes like I’m searching for the meaning of life or something.

  “Your mom came over,” I say.

  “I heard.” Jersy rubs his eyes like he’s tired. “They used to be really good friends.”

  “I know.” Maybe if his family never moved away, they’d still be good friends now. Maybe we’d be friends or something too. But that’s a stupid thing to think. I don’t even know what he’s like— except that he’s been sitting with Billy Young in art class for the past few days. Does that make him a stoner?

  “So, Finn,” Jersy says, abruptly changing his tone and bending his head towards mine, “do you have a thing for Billy Young?”

  “Billy Young?” I repeat incredulously. Now I sound like a parrot. A parrot that’s searching for the meaning of life in Jersy Mikulski’s eyes. “We’ve said, like, two words to each other since seventh grade.”

  “So what were the two words?” He smiles widely, all impressed with himself.

  I bulge my eyes out at him like he’s being an idiot. “Does Billy Young think I have a thing for him?”

  Jersy shrugs. “I don’t know what he thinks. I’ve just seen you checking him out lately.”

  “I’m not checking him out.” I don’t know where my calm tone comes from, but I definitely appreciate it. “I was just thinking about him. He used to be really different. I just wondered what happened—to make him the way he is now.”

  “What’s wrong with the way he is now?” Jersy asks. The way he says it makes me wonder if I’m acting freakish again, but there’s nothing I can do about it. It’s not like I can tell him the truth. I’m not ready to feel this way about Jersy. Even if I knew him better. Even if there was a chance he’d feel the same. I just can’t.

  “Nothing. It’s just different.” I’m getting tired of explaining. It only makes me sound even weirder.

  “People change,” Jersy says, cocking his head. “Look at you, you’ve changed too.”

  I don’t know what he means by that, but I nod. “I barely even remember what I was like back then.”

  “Man.” Jersy shakes his head. “You always wanted to play some wild game. Something with alien invasions or ghosts. It used to scare the shit out of me.” He laughs at the memory.

  “No way. You weren’t scared of anything. You were always doing something crazy—jumping off buildings and holding your breath in the pool.”

  “Buildings?” Jersy wrinkles his eyebrows. “That’s Superman, Finn. It was stairs, wasn’t it? That time I messed up my ankle?”

  “It was stairs,” I agree, the memory shifting slowly back into focus. He tried to tackle a whole flight at his parents’ house while we were there for dinner one night—almost made it too. “The point is, you were psycho.”

  “You were psycho,” he jokes, bending down to pet Samsam all over again. “I was a normal kid.”

  “Yeah, you just keep telling yourself that,” I say.

  He smirks as he gets up. I don’t want him to go yet, but I can sense the conversation coming to an end. Jersy kicks his kickstand up as he grabs the handlebars. “Don’t worry,” he says slyly. “I won’t tell Billy you’re crazy and ruin your chances.” He starts pushing his bike again, then looks back at me over his shoulder. “See you Monday.”

  DaD anD DanIeL are at the Y when Gran calls on Sunday afternoon. My sixty-eight-year-old grandmother has a heart of gold. That’s what everyone says about her. She never pries into other people’s business or offers unwanted advice, and she has the even kind of voice that makes you want to trust her, especially over a long-distance line. I know because I almost confessed an awful secret to her four months ago. I thought my heart was going to burst out of my chest or that my lungs would collapse. I thought I was standing at a point where everything would change.

  Then another phone call came through on call waiting—some woman with a heavy Italian accent wanting me to take a nutrition survey. I was halfway through the thing, in a kind of daze, when I got a call from Gran, wondering why I’d deserted her on the other line.

  This is the kind of thing that happens to me a lot, even with the iron pills. But the truth is, I didn’t entirely forget about Gran on the phone; I changed my mind and couldn’t go through with what I was about to say. Now whenever she calls, I make sure to get her talking about her friend Veronica’s Alzheimer’s or her other two grandchildren, who live lots closer to her than we do. I don’t allow for any quiet time over the phone during which I could get stupid ideas.

  But Mom’s the one who answers the phone when the original Fionnuala, my grandmother, calls on Sunday. I’m sprawled out on the sofa eating a bagel iced with red pepper cream cheese, half listening to the one side of the conversation I can hear, when Mom walks out of the family room with the cordless pressed to her ear. I think I hear her voice crack in the hall.

  Her throat could be dry or it could be my imagination, but I flick on the TV and hike up the volume, just in case. I watch videos for close to an hour, until I’m nearly sure it’s safe, and then I head into the kitchen to rummage around for Popsicles. It’s deranged to eat Popsicles in winter, I know, but watching Audrey yesterday must’ve put me in the mood. My head’s buried in the fridge when Mom steps into the kitchen wearing her favorite perfume, looking like an Elizabeth Arden ad come to life. I’m afraid to examine her too closely, but I skim a look over my shoulder and say, “So how’s Gran?”

  “I’m sorry,” Mom says absently. “I should’ve put you on to speak to her.” Gran lives five and a half hours north of Glenashton, which means we don’t see her very often. Between Veronica, the two cousins I mentioned, plus an unmarried daughter who can barely afford them, Gran has her hands full. My grandmother doesn’t like to complain, but my dad must seem like a golden boy in comparison.

  Mom swings the top cupboard open and pulls out a box of wheat crackers. “Why don’t you pig out on Oreos like a normal person?” I ask. Her snacks are strictly crackers or yogurt. I’ve never once seen her chomp into a Krispy Kreme doughnut or a Mars bar.

  “I’m not fifteen anymore,” Mom
says. “They’d go straight to my hips.”

  My mother has perfect hips, not too bony or too big. I think it’d take more than a couple Oreos on a Sunday afternoon to destroy that, but what do I know, I am fifteen and I don’t have hips like that.

  Dad and Daniel burst into the house before I can contradict her. Samsam barks and follows them into the kitchen, wagging his tail like a wild thing. He’s happiest when we’re all together, and he’s so happy now that it makes me smile. It’s the happiest I’ve felt since yesterday’s natural high. Seeing Jersy out there was good too. It reminded me of the way I used to feel when Record Store Guy would sidle up to me in HMV. The hair-smelling thing was new, though, and thinking about it makes me feel good-crazy all over again. It feels so fantastic that it seems wrong to be fantasizing about in my kitchen, surrounded by my family.

  “I’m gonna call Audrey,” I announce, dashing into the hall. “See how she’s feeling.”

  I don’t know what I’m really going to do when I get upstairs, only that I’m burning up with Jersy thoughts. My room is cold, how I like it, and I want to savor the good feeling now that I’m alone, but it’s already changing.

  Downstairs a door slams. I go over to the window and stare down at my father in his black turtleneck, gazing past our melting front yard. My mother comes out after him. She stands directly in front of him, her arms knotted against her chest. It’s like watching TV on mute, only there’s nothing to hear because no one says anything. My dad turns and goes inside, but Mom keeps staring at that empty space like something else is supposed to happen.