Ache

by P. J. Post

  “So, you’re the new arbiter of virtue?” she says angrily.

  “I saved your ass, didn’t I?” I say without thinking.

  Her eyes narrow again and I know I’ve hurt her, but she ignores the dig. “If we all suck so much, then why are you here?” she asks accusingly.

  I feel like shit. I can’t believe I pushed it this far, I have to learn to shut the fuck up. “I’m sorry.”

  “You’re just drunk,” she says dismissively, but her tone is still irritable.

  “No, wrong answer. That’s the second time in five minutes you’ve said that. Drunk is never an excuse, never. Hey, look at me. I’m sorry, really.”

  She just nods.

  “That doesn’t look like forgiveness,” I encourage.

  “Do you think you made a mistake, just now, helping me?” she asks, her eyes are glassy.

  “I’d have let that dude pound on me all night if it meant you were safe. I really am sorry. My mouth gets ahead of my brain sometimes.”

  There’s something about Bethany, something I can’t quite put my finger on and even though I want to stick around all night, I’m thinking I’ve worn out my welcome here.

  I fucked this up too.

  “Hey, you may not have noticed it, but there was another fight a little while back out in the front yard, right there for God and everyone to see, and with the music and beer everywhere, I’m pretty sure the cops are going to be here fairly soon, so I have to split, you know; the hoodlum thing. You going to be okay if I go?” I ask.

  I look into her eyes and even with our argument, I regret the question. Welcome or not, no way is she okay.

  “Yeah,” she says, holding her chin up. Her display of confidence is almost believable and her courage is touching.

  “You want me to help you up to the house or go get your friends?”

  “God no!”

  “Okay, is there someplace you want to go or we could go?” I ask.

  “I’m not in the partying mood anymore.” She looks away, back toward Kyle’s.

  “How about I hang with you then, until you figure it out? We can maybe just walk down a few houses and sit on the curb or something?”

  “Thanks.” She’s slowly getting her composure back. I can tell she’s been drinking too, but dealing with dick-face must have sobered her up pretty quick.

  “Pound on you all night, huh?” she asks through a grin.

  “Yeah, but hey, it only took him about a minute. That leaves us more time to, you know, talk or whatever. Am I forgiven?”

  “No,” she says, but smiles anyway.

  I put my arm around her and give her a sideways, non-threatening brotherly hug. I hold her for a minute and she squeezes my arm and then pulls away.

  “For all your arrogance, you did save me. I’ll give you that. And you are arrogant,” she says, leveling a stare. “It’s funny though, someone like you saving me from someone like that.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “Well, he’s, and you’re — no one would believe that you helped someone like me. People would think it would have been the other way around.”

  “Why’s that? Oh yeah, the hood thing. Tell you what, I won’t make fun of your name or money anymore if you won’t think of me as a hood. Think of me as a time-displaced pirate instead.”

  “Time-displaced pirate?” she asks through a smirk.

  “I read science-fiction, among other stuff, so sue me.”

  “You can read? Will wonders never cease?” She grins.

  “Keep it up, I’d rather people not be very agreeable, as it saves me the trouble of liking them a great deal,” I say.

  She pauses. “What was that?”

  “Jane Austen, she wrote some clever shit. So, what say ye?”

  “Okay, okay. I’m sorry. But does that mean I’m supposed to be more or less agreeable?”

  I give her my own serious look and say, “I think I’d like to be very troubled by you.”

  She takes a deep breath and steps away from the tree and then turns, wearing just a wisp of a smile. “You know, I don’t live far. You could walk me home; it’s only a couple of blocks over on Oak. If you want to, that is...” She looks up sheepishly.

  I pretend to ponder the idea over, like I have pressing business somewhere else, but I can think of nowhere I’d rather be than escorting Bethany home, it’s like something out of the books I read — sort of. “I can do that, but only on one condition,” I say as I push my hair back over my shoulders.

  “What’s that?”

  “Help me find my hat.”

  She laughs and steps out into the street, looks around for a moment, disappears behind Meat’s pick-up and then returns with my fedora. She starts to hand it to me and then flips it back, rolling it up her arm and puts it on her head in one quick, stylish move.

  “What was that? You on the spirit or dance team or whatever you call it?”

  “Something like that,” she says as she runs her fingers along the brim.

  “Fine, it looks better on you anyway, but then I figure most things would. So, Oak Street?”

  “Yes, please.” She grins.

  I push off the tree and stagger. “Maybe you should walk me home?”

  She puts her arm around me and it feels warm, comforting, and different than when I hugged her a minute ago — not brotherly at all, or sisterly for that matter.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” she asks.

  “Yeah, I’m fine, let’s go,” I say.

  We cross the street and as we step up onto the sidewalk, she takes my hand, lacing our fingers together. I squeeze back, assuming she needs the reassurance, the connection with safety and hope she’s forgiven me for being a prick earlier.

  It’s really nice.

  “Kyle is going to be in so much trouble,” she says.

  I’m also guessing she needs to babble about whatever to take her mind off of what just nearly happened, so I go along. Besides, I like to hear her talk, I like her voice.

  “So?” I ask.

  “Karen, she’s Kyle’s sister, she’s having her Sweet Sixteen party next weekend. His parents are out of town and when they get back, they’re going to be pissed. Kyle’s going to have to clean everything up. It’s kind of funny, but it’s going to be awful for him too. He should have known better.”

  “Sweet Sixteen?” I ask.

  “Yeah, it’s a big fancy party, all the girls have them. Do you live under a rock, you’ve never heard of a Sweet Sixteen party? And no jokes!”

  “No jokes. I never get invited to parties, sweet or otherwise, so I wouldn’t know.”

  “If I knew you then, I would have invited you to mine.” She squeezes my hand. “It was last year, it was wonderful. I felt like Cinderella.”

  “Yeah, I can see Cinderella. It’s probably that beautiful thing you have all over your face.”

  She just grins and then watches her feet.

  “You said, ‘last year,’ so are you going to be a Senior?” I ask.

  “No, I graduated early. I just turned seventeen.”

  “Sweet,” I say.

  “I guess. I’m looking forward to going to college though, you know — all that hard work?” She looks pointedly at me.

  Not forgiven just yet.

  “I’m sorry, but I wasn’t judging you. I get the hard work thing, I do.”

  “So why are you really here, Mister Connor Clay?” she asks again.

  “Really? I was looking for beer and trouble, not necessarily in that order.”

  “You’re already drunk and it looks like trouble already found you, so where were you?”

  “I’m in a band.”

  “Yeah, I’d heard that.”

  I grin again. It’s hard not to around her. “Well, I was in a band I should say, not anymore. We were playing over at the Holiday Lounge; we play there most every week.”

  “The Holiday Lounge? Should that sound familiar?”

  “Yeah, it’s that pretentious jazz cl
ub over on twenty-third, behind the pharmacy. Anyway, lots of posers show up there, smoking their clove cigarettes and drinking martinis. They try to act cool, like they are in the scene, but they’re just trying to get lucky like rutting rodents.”

  “Rodents don’t rut, that’s deer,” she grins at me.

  “What-the-fuck-ever, they’re assholes — fake.”

  “If it’s a bar, how did you get in? You’re not eighteen.”

  “I lied and they never carded me, besides, I think the rules bend some for the band.”

  “So what happened?” she asks.

  “The owner was being a dick, so I said to him, ‘why don’t you give children a break and go fuck yourself for a change.’”

  “You didn’t! Why did you say that?” she asks in surprise.

  “That’s what our singer asked, why, why, why — why does there always have to be a ‘why' — sometimes shit just is. He’s a creepy fuck.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He didn’t say anything, he punched me. And then I threw a beer bottle at him, but I missed and it shattered the mirror behind the bar. He told me he was calling the police, and then I told him he just assaulted a minor, so he told the band that either I was gone or they all were. So they fired me. I think that about sums it up.”

  “That sucks, but what did you expect?” she asks through a gentle laugh.

  “I didn’t expect anything. Expecting shit is wasted effort, takes up too much time. Spoils all the mystery.”

  “No expectations? None?”

  “Nope.”

  “What about the consequences?”

  “Fuck consequences,” I say, spitting out more blood.

  “Feel better?” she asks glancing at the sidewalk where I spit.

  I laugh. “Yeah, I got a pretty bad cut in my mouth.”

  She pouts for me slightly, but with an odd sincerity. “I’m sorry.”

  I wave the apology off.

  “So, you don’t even have dreams, nothing? I think that sounds like baloney,” she says.

  “I gave up hope when I was thirteen. I remember the night like it was yesterday. So, no, no dreams, no nothing. Hope is fucking evil, I’m more into survival.”

  “Well, that sounds dramatic, I’ll give you that. Maybe you need to work on your people skills.”

  “We can head over behind those bushes, and I can show you some people skills,” I say, leering at her.

  There I go again. “I’m sorry, that was a dick thing to say.”

  She laughs and softly pats my shoulder. “It’s fine.”

  She turns facing me and walks backward as she pulls me along by my hand. “Think about it, we have our whole future ahead of us, all of those years and opportunities, nothing to hold us back but ourselves. Now that is something to cherish.” She gives me another one of those sideways glances. “If we work at it, we can be whatever we want.”

  And she believes it. I can see it in her eyes, even in the darkness, they sparkle with unimagined dreams and possibility.

  I am jealous of this. “Maybe for some,” I say.

  She gives me a funny look and slips back by my side as we turn onto Fifth Avenue. We walk in silence. Her hand is warm and I can smell her perfume, it reminds me of honeysuckle. I sneak a look at her each time we cross under a street light. She makes me question my lack of dreams with every halo of light.

  “So you don’t even hope to see me again? Most heroes would be hoping for a kiss, like a reward.” There’s that sheepish grin again.

  “Yeah, like that’s going to happen, besides heroes can’t hope for stuff like that, otherwise they’d just be jerks. Heroes have to be selfless and shit.”

  She feigns a hurt look. “You never know unless you ask, tough guy.”

  “Didn’t you just break up with your boyfriend fifteen minutes ago? Besides, you’d never go out with a guy like me.”

  “I’ve broken up with him everyday for the last month. He just wasn’t getting it. And I don’t think you’re a bad guy. You talk tough, but you’re smarter than you let on, quoting Austen. I think you’re sweet.”

  I act like I’m plunging a dagger into my heart. “Why don’t you save us both a lot of time and go straight to the ‘but we can still be friends’ speech.”

  She stops and turns toward me as she takes my other hand. She looks at me for a moment with those serious brown eyes of hers and I see the tip of her tongue through her lips, like she’s trying to concentrate. She steps close and then lays her hands on my chest. She stands on her tip-toes and studies my face for a moment and then kisses me on the corner of my mouth. Her lips are the softest I can remember feeling, like a whisper, a ghost of a kiss. I can feel myself suddenly trembling, everything tingling at once.

  “Didn’t hurt, did it?” she asks with concern.

  “No,” I say softly. I’m glad it’s dark, because I can feel my cheeks burning.

  “I aimed for the least swollen part.”

  Suddenly, a spotlight hits us. We separate and shield our eyes.

  I knew they’d be heading over sooner or later, but I thought we’d avoided them.

  “Bethany, everything alright here?” a tall, average looking cop asks as he steps out of the cruiser.

  “Yes,” she says. I can tell she’s pissed.

  So am I.

  The cop walks in front of the light and nods. “Connor, what are you doing on this side of town?”

  I’m curious how the cop knows her and assume she’s thinking the same thing about me, but then again, maybe not.

  “Hey, Officer Dan-o. Just walking Beth here home.”

  “You two coming from the party?” Dan asks.

  “What party?” I ask.

  “Uh-huh. Tell you what, Bethany, why don’t you hop in and I’ll take you on home. Go on.”

  Bethany squeezes my arm and whispers, “Call me, I’m in the book, Bethany Warner, I have my own number.” And then she disappears behind the spotlight.

  “Staying out of trouble?” Dan asks me.

  “As far as you know, yeah.”

  Officer Dan steps closer, shielding me from the light and glowers as he studies my face. “Nice girl, huh?”

  “Bethany? Yeah, she is.”

  “How well do you know her?” he asks.

  “Dude, that’s a weird question. Why does it matter?”

  “Okay, it’s like this, Connor. You need to stay away from this one.”

  “Stay away? Why?” I ask.

  “She has a future,” he says, folding his arms across his chest.

  “You saying I don’t have a future?” I ask.

  “Bethany’s special. Her father and I go way back, I’ve known her since she was a kid. She’s going off to college on an athletic scholarship, and she doesn’t need anything or anyone messing that up. She doesn’t need you distracting her or getting her into trouble.”

  “Me, trouble? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say through a sarcastic grin, but also think back to what she said earlier about hard work and not just anyone getting scholarships. She really was cutting me a lot of slack.

  “I know inside there, somewhere,” he says, poking me in the chest, “is a good kid. I know you got handed a shit deal, Connor, and it’s not your fault, but she deserves better and you know it.”

  I just stare at him.

  He rests one hand on my shoulder and squeezes with fatherly concern. “If you do care about her, do her a favor and let her go. And if you’re just looking for some tail, do me a favor and let it go.”

  I think about what he’s saying, analyzing the words and letting them wash over me. I’m not hurt, because the words are true.

  Some shit just is.

  I nod. “Yeah, I know.”

  “Good. So, Mister What-Trouble, you’re drunk and it looks like you’ve been fighting, so why don’t you clear on out before you get arrested. I never saw you, got it?”

  “Got it,” I say and watch him slide back into the car and kill the spotli
ght.

  I have little glowing balls of after-glow dancing around my vision and can’t make Bethany out as the cruiser pulls a u-turn and drives back down Fifth.

  The entertainment didn’t last long, but it was nice just the same. Some strange feeling is pushing the rage off to the side. I think I’m feeling what the old folks call giddy. I can’t stop grinning.

  Just because Dan-o thinks it’s a good idea to make myself scarce, doesn’t mean I’m necessarily in agreement. Dan-o’s right, I’m not good enough for her or anyone like her, but then who’s to say what 'good enough' is anyway?

  Maybe she can help me be good enough — better, acceptable?

  I cut through backyards, one-hopping chain-link fences until I get to the far side of the neighborhood and take a seat on the concrete behind a U-totem convenience store. I light a cigarette and try to relax, tapping out drum beats in the air.

  I should be going home, but my dad is going to be pissed about losing the band income, so I’m in no hurry. I’d go over to Todd’s, but he’s away on a family vacation or something. And I’m not sure we’ve known each other long enough to just drop by this late.

  I lean back against the cinder-block wall thinking about Bethany, her eyes, her smile, holding her hand and that kiss. It was nothing really, just a little kiss, but it was special to me — she’s nothing like those other girls, the ones Dan-o thinks I’m 'good enough' for.

  I’m trying to figure out how to see her again when I pass out.

  §§§§§

  The sun wakes me as it rises over the dumpsters and it’s already hot. My head is throbbing way more than a hangover deserves, my knees are screaming in pain as I bend them and my face hurts, I can feel the swelling. I look around the alley — happy fucking birthday.

  I try to remember last night, but everything is hazy. I remember the Lounge and parts of the fight at Kyle’s. I remember big fists anyway and can feel what they did. Maybe I got a concussion? I remember a girl, a cute girl, a fun girl. I can remember bouncy blond curls and yellow clothes, but I can’t remember her name or what she looks like.

  What the fuck?

  And then I remember Officer Dan-o telling me something.

  Hey Dan-o, what are you saying there?