The Lighter Side of Life and Death

by C. K. Kelly Martin

  “All right.” Ian drapes his arm lazily around Miracle’s shoulders. “Have a good night.” He lifts his hand to flash us a wave.

  Colette and I continue in our direction, our bodies hunching like they want to melt into the sidewalk. “Who was that?” Colette whispers urgently. “An ex or a friend? Can you trust her?”

  “She’s not going to say anything,” I say. “You know that guy is, like, thirty years old. I don’t think she wants anyone to know about him either.” Colette casts an impatient look in my direction and I know that sounds stupid coming from me, of all people, but it’s different, right? That’s a thirteen-year age gap.

  “So you think we can trust her?” Colette asks.

  “Don’t worry. I’m positive she won’t say anything. Even if she wasn’t with Ian.”

  Colette folds her arms across her midriff and digs her fingernails into her skin. “So much for thinking there’s anywhere safe we can go together.”

  “Yeah.” I’m disproportionately disappointed. She didn’t say we couldn’t see each other. We just have to keep it indoors.

  “We should go back to the car.” Colette looks over her shoulder, as though Ian and Miracle or any one of a hundred other people we know could be trailing us through Queen Street, snapping photos on their cell phones.

  “It’s okay.” I stretch my hand across her back. “It’s nothing. I’m more worried about her.”

  “Why are you worried about her?” Colette’s brown eyes peer at me in suspicion. For a second I think she’s jealous.

  “We’re pretty good friends. When we saw that play she was so intimidated by his talent that she didn’t even want to speak to him afterwards. I’m not saying that he took advantage of her or anything but—”

  “That sounds exactly like what you’re saying,” Colette counters. “She seemed pretty capable to me. Or is it only okay when the guy’s younger?” She sighs and leans into my arm. “I’m getting defensive. Can we skip this discussion?” She stares distractedly at a trio of girls with dyed black hair begging in front of a convenience store. “I wish we’d at least had time for coffee. I think I’m in caffeine withdrawal.”

  “We can get coffee,” I say. “What’re the odds we’ll run into them again? You heard them—they were getting food.”

  So we go to this funky little coffeehouse we spotted earlier and there’s no sign of Ian and Miracle but Colette orders takeout. We drink our coffee in the car, on the way back to her place, and I know better than to say I wish we could’ve stayed in the coffeehouse, but for the first few minutes I’m definitely thinking it.

  seventeen

  Two things weigh heavy on my mind Friday morning—my run-in with Miracle the night before and my history essay on the United Nations. The essay is typo-free with comprehensive footnotes and credible arguments. It’s at least a B-plus paper and I’ve left it on the kitchen table—or maybe the counter. I explain that to Mr. Echler at the start of first period history but he balances himself on the edge of his desk and says, “You’re well aware that late papers lose ten percent a day, Mason.”

  “I’ll get it at lunch,” I tell him. “Will that cost me anything?”

  Mr. Echler nods like that’s fine with him and I sit down, ultra-aware of Kat’s eyes focused in my direction. They give me a guilt pang, like they always do lately, and I wish that she’d stop but then what would be left between us? “What’s up?” I say, turning to look at her.

  “Not much,” she says quickly. “You?”

  “Same.”

  She blinks her thick eyelashes at me and grips her pen. It’s like a code that I’m not meant to decipher and I glance back at her as nonchalantly as I can. “You didn’t finish your essay?” she asks.

  “I did,” I tell her. “It’s at home.” I don’t know how to have a natural conversation with her anymore. I sound like Dustin before he started working on the play. It’s painful.

  Kat almost smiles. “I thought you only did that with your phone.”

  Me too. I’m tired and distracted. Summer will be easier. At least then I won’t have to worry about how to deal with Kat staring at me and the gnawing feeling that I’ve let her down. I still need to find a job, though. According to Christopher, The Java Bean is overstaffed. Some ex-employee with a humanities degree and heavy student loan came back last week. Maybe I should ask Charlie Kady to find out how much Whole Foods pays.

  I smile at Kat but she’s already looked away. There’s a big possibility we’ll spend the entire summer apart, for the first time in three years. With her and Jamie avoiding each other too, there’s no reason to think our paths will cross much.

  That feels wrong, but then most everything about us has felt wrong since that night. Maybe I’d take it back if I could. One night can’t be worth all this awkwardness. Technically it wasn’t even a night, more like two hours. A couple of hours shouldn’t have the power to cripple our friendship.

  This is why I don’t like to think about Kat; it doesn’t go anywhere. I just get messed up and there’s no reason for that when I’m in a totally different situation now.

  On my way to the cafeteria later (to beg someone with a car to make an essay run with me) it happens again when I spy her walking by, shoulder to shoulder with this guy named Sanjay. He’s not her usual type. His build’s kind of similar to mine and he won the tenth grade Media Arts Award last year. Sanjay has a reputation for being funny and Kat’s smiling when I see them. It gives me a chill, even though I know they’re not together (not yet). If it’s not him, it’ll be someone else. It’s only a matter of time.

  Kat drops her gaze when she sees me and I hope I look normal enough but I’m not so sure. I’m not Miracle. I don’t have enough talent to cover all the cracks.

  Anyway, I go into the cafeteria and head for our regular table, edging Kat out of my head with thoughts of the here and now—or more specifically, here, now and yesterday. Miracle’s sitting next to Y and Z and she’s the perfect person to chauffeur me home. We can discuss our Queen Street encounter on the way. “Hey, Mason,” Yolanda and Zoe chime, looking up at me.

  “Hey, guys,” I say. “I have to borrow Miracle for a while.”

  Miracle bugs her eyes out at me. “Borrow me for what?”

  I explain about my abandoned United Nations essay and she grabs her sandwich and brings it out to the parking lot with us. So far neither of us has brought up yesterday and I start to wonder if I should let it go. But like I said, I’m not Miracle. I can’t pretend I’m not curious.

  “Thanks for doing this,” I say as we get into the van. “I’d never have made it back in time.” I stare out the window and lick my lips. “So you guys had a good time yesterday? You and Ian?”

  “We didn’t have much time together. He had an eight o’clock performance.” Miracle glances over at me with her razor-sharp Meryl Streep eyes. “You want to ask me about it, right? You want to know the story of me and Ian? Did you really forget your essay?”

  I laugh and say, “Yes, I forgot my essay. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. I just couldn’t believe running into you guys like that. You never mentioned anything about him.”

  “Just like you never mentioned Colette,” Miracle notes. “You want to talk about that?” I laugh again and this time she says, “Are you getting giddy on me?”

  “Maybe,” I admit. “You went back to see the play again, didn’t you?”

  “Obviously. What about you? Where’d you find her?”

  “My kitchen.” I tell her about Nina’s shower and give an abbreviated version of what happened after. We pull up outside my house and Miracle, still listening, follows me inside. There’s leftover stir-fry in the fridge and she helps me eat it as we talk about Colette. This time I don’t bring up Ari. Lately his existence gives me a bad feeling, and besides, there are plenty of other things to talk about.

  “So Ian Chappell,” I say, finally steering the topic back to Miracle. “Is he as cool as he seems? All actorly and clever?
” I can’t ask for the juiciest details, like the difference between a sixteen-year-old and thirty-year-old in bed. Miracle and I don’t have that kind of relationship.

  Miracle rinses her dirty fork in the sink as she stares at me. “He’s not like anybody I’ve ever met,” she confesses.

  “And is it serious? Are you going to see him again?”

  Miracle’s expression tells me I’ve gone too far but she says, “Whenever I can, but no, I wouldn’t say it’s serious. He has a kid in Montreal. He meets people all the time, you know?”

  “You mean he’s seeing other people?”

  “Not now.” Miracle’s eyebrows spring together. “You think I’d hang around if he was hooking up with other people? I just mean he’s not the type to settle down at twenty-nine. He’s got this amazing energy, like he’s in a constant state of evolution.” Her eyes shine as she talks about him. “It’s inspiring to be around someone like that who’s willing to take risks just to be able to find the truth in something.”

  “That sounds cool,” I say. It’s good to see her excited about something real for a change. If I didn’t know better I’d think we were stuck inside a musical and she was about to belt out a torch song.

  “Yeah, well …” Miracle nods and rinses her fork a second time. “You and Colette looked good together. She’s really pretty—in that classic, sophisticated way.”

  “Thanks.” We both know this conversation stays between us. That’s understood. “She’s really cool too.” I smile as I remember Colette that first day in my kitchen, raving about cheesecake. Miracle smiles too and it’s a nice moment, this secret between us, but I feel like I lied somewhere along the way. Miracle’s story had a kid in Montreal but mine didn’t have an Ari.

  I don’t have a clue who Ari Lightman really is. I wouldn’t let Colette tell me anything about him so now I just wonder. Maybe he’s an ex-member of Lunatic Fringe, one of those lean guitarist types with dirty hair and agile fingers. Maybe he’s some rich guy that can’t stand to see his middle-aged wife naked anymore. Or maybe he’s an intellectual sex symbol, working on his PhD on pastoral poetry. I don’t know. The only thing I can be sure of is that come Sunday his prescription’s no longer in Colette’s bathroom. I check the garbage, her drug cabinet and the collection of bath oils and body butters that surround the bathtub. I try to remember how many pills were left in the bottle the last time I looked. Has he been coming around enough to finish them off? Have they stopped seeing each other?

  The scenarios could make me ballistic if I let them.

  I could ask Colette for the truth but I won’t do that either. It feels too late. So I stand in her kitchen, put my arms around her and whisper something dirty in her ear. She laughs and lets me spread my hands over her breasts but her eyes look distracted. I assured her about Miracle again the last time I was here. It can’t be that.

  “You want to go out?” I ask. “Drive somewhere?”

  “How about California?” Colette quips, one hand on my chest. “Go west, young man!”

  “Now you’re talking. I’ll take the first shift at the wheel.” I curl a hand around her waist and squeeze. “We can learn to surf—get jobs selling sunglasses and Che Guevara T-shirts on Venice Beach.”

  Colette smiles as she pulls away. “You’ll end up there eventually, you know, making movies and getting laid by a succession of blond starlets.”

  “So you’ve got my future all plotted out,” I say with a grin. “How about you? What happens to the future hotshot lawyer?”

  “Who knows?” Colette says mysteriously. “That’s a long way off.” She taps her foot against mine and says, “I saw my parents the other day. Did I tell you?”

  Nope. She must’ve told Ari. I fight the temptation to give in to jealousy. If I can’t beat it, Colette and I won’t work. That’s the deal. She’s been pretty clear about it.

  I shake my head and she continues: “It was my aunt Rachel’s funeral and of course—”

  “I didn’t know your aunt died,” I cut in. “I’m sorry.”

  I stroke her arm and she says, “I’m okay, thanks. It was sudden, a heart attack, so my mom was pretty much in pieces but the weirdest thing is that it looks like they’ll be raising her daughter, Shan.”

  “What about your uncle?”

  “No one knows where he is. They went through this long, complicated adoption process to bring Shan over from China and then he disappeared when she was five—didn’t leave a note or anything, just packed his suitcase one night three years ago and that was it. But the really funny thing is that he would’ve hated for my parents to take Shan. He used to be part of my parents’ church too but he couldn’t stand it. He and my aunt got out.”

  “You make it sound like a cult.”

  “I guess it feels like that if you don’t believe in it,” she says. “Maybe all religions feel like that if you don’t believe them. I don’t know.” She shrugs and fits her fingers between mine. “It was just so weird being back in the church with all these people I used to know. They seemed the same as ever and I felt like a totally different person.”

  “I’ve never even been to a funeral,” I say softly. “That must be really hard.” I know there’s nothing I could’ve done but I wish she’d told me about her aunt sooner.

  Colette skims her fingers slowly across my cheek and looks into my eyes. “Sometimes I forget about how young you are and other times that’s all I can see.”

  I get that she’s in a contemplative mood but I hate when we talk about this.

  “Imagine this little girl coming all the way from China and ending up with my conservative, evangelical, suburban parents,” she says. “It feels like a cheat. I mean, what happens if she turns out to be a lesbian or gets pregnant at fourteen?”

  “Life is crazy.” Suddenly I’m thinking of Nina’s dead husband, and Burke and Brianna sprawled out on my basement couch. “Are your parents really that bad?”

  “No.” She sighs into her hand. “They just make so many things harder than they have to be.”

  “You turned out okay.”

  Colette’s cheeks swell until she erupts into laughter. “That’s debatable, right?” She motions towards me as evidence. Then she grabs the bottom of my shirt and pulls me towards her. She kisses me wetly on the mouth and says, “I’m picking up the puppy next week. You want to come?”

  What? Ari doesn’t want to go? “You mean actually go out in public together,” I tease. “I dunno.”

  “It’s a farm.” Colette twists my arm around my back, pretending to be impatient. “I’d hardly call it public.”

  “Sure, I’ll go. You pick out a name for her yet?” The last time I was here she was highlighting suggestions in baby name books. Allie. Molly. Sadie. Pretty much anything ending with an ee sound.

  “I was thinking of Gracie,” she says. “Not too cutesy but pretty.”

  What did I just say? “It’s nice,” I tell her. “Not trying too hard.” Unlike me. I’m still struggling to get past the mystery of the disappearing prescription bottle. I kiss her again to quiet my head. She’s wearing a thong and my fingers dip into her pants and stray back to the string. Incredible. The feel of her skin is exactly what I need right now. I unzip her pants and cup her ass in my hands. I’m amazed that she never gets tired of me grabbing at her, never tells me to stop. Maybe that’s why I haven’t pushed things along and asked her about sleeping together.

  Colette touches me over my jeans. She has this fierce-concentration look on her face and I know exactly what she’s about to do but this time I stop her. “Let’s lie down,” I tell her, my voice projecting testosterone. I brush her hair back behind her shoulders. “I want to be inside you.” Our eyes gulp each other in. The stare’s so intense that it makes my face burn. Before, everything else was enough. It’s not like that anymore.

  “Do you want that?” I ask, not quite whispering. For a second I feel like your typical hormonally driven sixteen-year-old guy trying to sell a generically reluctant gi
rl on the idea of sex. Only, I don’t think there’s anything generic about us and I know better than to think I could push Colette into anything.

  “It sounds fantastic.” Colette’s mouth transforms the word into undiluted longing. The tone makes me ache deeper. I’m the luckiest guy on the planet. My ego has swollen to Marlon Brando dimensions.

  Colette licks expertly at my ear. “But are you sure?”

  My face tingles with embarrassment. Jesus, I’ve got this all backwards. I thought I was giving her the space and time to come around to this moment. But all along she’s been waiting for me. “You know it’s not my first time,” I tell her. I don’t say that it’ll only be my second.

  “I know.” She looks into my eyes. “I just don’t want to feel like I’m influencing you one way or the other.” If she keeps talking about my age I won’t be able to do it. Would she notice if I covered my ears? “Pervert that I am, I don’t want you to blame all your future sexual kinks on me,” she jokes.

  Fine. Okay, that’s fine. I can handle the kidding around. It’s better if we don’t take this too seriously.

  “Do you have a room and position preference for this?” she asks slyly and my brain stalls. I gawk at her flawless lips and unzipped pants, racking my mind for something halfway clever to say.

  Colette doesn’t wait. She grabs my hand, leads me into the bedroom and throws every last pillow onto the floor, like we’ll need more space on the bed than usual. Then she strips off everything except her thong and stares at me with glowing eyes. I yank off my shirt, feel for the condom in my pocket and toss it onto the bedspread. Colette reclines on the bed, her weight on her arms. I tug off my socks and jeans and meet her stare. The excitement’s almost too much to take. I feel like a virgin, despite Kat.

  “Come here,” Colette murmurs, beckoning me forward. Her lips arch into a heady smile as I step towards her. “What are you waiting for?”

  I climb on the bed with her and finish what we’ve started.