The Truth of Right Now

by Kara Lee Corthron

  “Come on,” Lily whispers.

  “Come on where?”

  Lily looks all around. With no direction, they walk briskly, hand in hand away from the ocean, desperate for a way to be alone. Now. At the same time they notice a tiny abandoned building. A storage space for playground equipment perhaps? They race over. Shit. Door’s locked. Dari heaves a giant sigh-grunt, but Lily notices something both alarming and delightful: A window next to a side door has been busted. She bravely sticks her arm inside and fumbles around until she finds the door’s lock and pops it open. They are inside. He touches her gingerly, afraid of bumping wounds he can’t see, but she guides his hands to move faster, hold tighter. They’re kissing with greater intensity now. With freedom. They are making music. Dari somehow reaches around to his back pocket to get his wallet and from that, a condom. Lily waits breathlessly for him to open the plastic and slip it on. She reaches down to help him, but it’s dark. It’s too dark in here, and that is regrettable. They’d both like to see each other now more than ever, but they have to make do with what they’ve been given. Dari slides his mouth over Lily’s neck and the smallest squawking sound escapes from her throat, which startles him. And prompts their first exchange of dialogue since the beach.

  “Are you sure?” he whispers into her ear.

  “Yes.”

  * * *

  An ancient man glares at them—specifically him—on the Q train. He looks like he’s about ninety and he does not like what he sees. Dari holds Lily’s hand in his lap and he’s not about to let go of it. So this old piece of shit can glare until he drops dead. It’s the 21st century, asshole! Dari briefly considers making some obscene tongue gestures at the old man, but he’s not feeling especially prankish at the moment. He feels peaceful. Lily smiles though her eyes are somewhere far away. He decides not to disturb her in her quiet place. He leans back, closing his eyes to the parade of freaks, bigots, and hipsters that is the Q train after midnight. He can still taste her Burt’s Bees lip balm on his lips. He’s never been with a girl his age before. They’ve always been older. He liked it. He likes her. It’s not like being with Kendra. Being with Kendra was like being with a distant star, and when she lost the distance, he lost interest. Lily has no pretentions. She is who she is and nothing more or less than that. She’s what he needs right now.

  “Hey, Lily,” Dari whispers.

  “Hmm?” She returns from her mental quiet place, and her eyes sparkle.

  Dari removes his jacket and lifts his shirt. On the right side of his torso, near his rib cage, is a large D that looks like it’s been shaded with a black crayon. Inside the D’s empty space is a crude, smirking cow with black spots. The tattoo isn’t so big, but detailed. Must have taken some time.

  “That’s my tag,” he says shyly. Lily runs her finger over it. And then she cracks up. The old man across from them mumbles something and finds another seat.

  “Is it bad if I think it’s funny?” Lily’s genuinely concerned.

  “I hope you think it’s hilarious.”

  She laughs for a few seconds and then stops. The echo of her laughter hangs in the car.

  “I love it,” she says.

  * * *

  They walk to the door. Dari lights a cigarette. Feels like he’s been holding Lily’s hand for hours. Dari’s phone buzzes, and he gently pulls away to check it. He reads the words Thank you and smiles.

  “Who’s that?” Lily asks.

  Dari shakes his head, brushing it off, and blows bluish smoke though his nostrils. So what if he sent a few texts to Savannah over the course of the evening? He’s a guest in her home. He couldn’t have her worried about her only child. So he set her mind at ease. No big deal.

  “I don’t know what to say to you,” Lily tells him in a dreamy way. Like maybe this is a good problem to have.

  “Then don’t say anything,” he replies. He gradually finishes his cigarette, stomps it out, and they turn to go inside. The night is eerily quiet. He playfully nibbles her fingers before checking his watch: 2:24 a.m. Wow. Getting up in four and a half hours is going to be a freakin’ blast.

  “Dari?”

  “What’s up?”

  “Do you remember when you told me you were an asshole?”

  Dari presses the button for the elevator, unable to stifle an epic yawn.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “What did you mean by that?”

  “That’s what you’re thinking about right now?”

  Lily nods. If she’s worried, it doesn’t show. She seems to be framed in a soft glow.

  “Because I am,” Dari says and they get into the elevator.

  “I don’t think so. I think you just maybe want people to think you are,” Lily surmises. The doors close. Dari turns to Lily and wraps a few of her curls around his fingers.

  “You think too much.”

  Lily giggles and reaches up to kiss him just as the doors open. She barely gets a peck in before he jerks away, moving toward the apartment door.

  “Really? You’re still weirded out because of my mom?”

  “Shh!” Dari takes out his newly acquired set of keys, but Lily stops him.

  “Tomorrow. We’re telling Mom about us.”

  “Telling her what?” Dari asks, alarmed. The idea of sitting Savannah down and telling her that he just had sex with her daughter in an abandoned public building in Brighton Beach fills him with terror.

  “That we’re intimate. We can’t pretend we’re not.” Lily is firm. If she weren’t smiling so sweetly, Dari would be convinced that this was a threat.

  “I just don’t . . . I want to respect her daughter in her home. Does that make sense?” Dari is desperate. He’s worried Lily’s idea of declaring their intimacy might include sloppy PDAs at the breakfast table.

  Lily grabs his face and kisses him assertively. Not assertively—aggressively. She releases him.

  “We’ll talk about it tomorrow.” Having closed the subject, she allows him to open the door.

  The living room is dark, which seems to surprise Lily. She was probably expecting a lecture of some kind. Dari smiles to himself. She has no idea how lucky she is that the worst punishment she’ll ever get is a lecture. Maybe a grounding, though he doubts it.

  Lily flips on the light in her room and sees a sheet of a paper on her bed.

  I am asleep. But I am aware that you’re coming home at an unreasonably late hour. You will be punished. It’s only fair. —Mom

  She doesn’t seem upset or anything. Dari then gives her hand a quick squeeze and vanishes down the hall to the guest room without so much as a sound.

  Moments later, Dari falls into a deep slumber and dreams that the ocean pulls him down to the seafloor, where he can see lost shoes, bracelets, eyeglasses, jump ropes, and a painting. Naturally, the painting intrigues him, and he tries to get close to it, but it stays beyond reach. He just wants to see it, but he can’t. He keeps chasing it. Junk from everywhere begins to pour into the sea on top of him. Bottles, DVDs, loose change, dirty laundry, books. He tries to swim up to the surface, but the junk hides the light, creating a blanket of darkness. A darkness of crap. The things are heavy and they cover him and weigh him down and the wet sea darkness drags him back to the bottom. But then a light appears! And a sound. A loud, high-pitched, grating sound. It is an ambulance with its lights flashing and sirens blaring, crashing down amidst the junk into the sea and heading straight for Dariomauritius. He wakes up to learn that the blaring sound is his alarm clock because—holy shit—it’s already seven a.m. He hits the snooze button and turns over and thinks of Lily’s soft mouth. And the ocean. And being buried alive.

  * * *

  He has to get out of here.

  SLIPPERY

  I wake up around seven out of habit, and then I remember I’m suspended. I’m glad. I’m happy to be suspended. I know I could use a shower, but I want to hold off as long as I can. Keep last night on my skin as long as I can. I think of him and his fingers slipping up between my—
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  “Lily, get up,” Mom interrupts. She’s wearing the stone face. She wears this face when she has to be stern with me, and there’s no penetrating it, so I don’t argue. I sit up, and once she’s sure I won’t sneak back under the covers, she leaves me alone.

  It’s a challenge to have the guy that you want to look your absolute best for in your house in the morning when you look your worst. Usually, I try to wait him out. I can hear him coming past my room and then, when his shower starts, I get all my stuff together so the minute he reenters the guest room, I can zip into the bathroom and lock the door. The only problem is sometimes I barely get any breakfast because by the time I’m ready, he’s finished eating, and if I stayed behind to eat, I wouldn’t get to go to school with him. But then again, maybe he wants that sometimes? I have to be careful. Don’t wanna scare him. . . .

  I hear him leaving the bathroom, but I’m still not dying to get a shower. I rake a comb through my hair, throw on my slippers, and briefly consider making a surprise visit to his room. Is he dressed yet? (Hope not.) Will he be happy to see me? (Hope so.) But I do look like shit. I wish I could get over my vanity. I just wish I didn’t care. Or more specifically, I wish I didn’t have to care. I just wish nature would take care of all that beauty nonsense so I could concentrate on other things, like how I’m going to convince my mother to let us sleep in the same room together despite the fact that I’m currently in some degree of trouble.

  I open my drawer to find an old sweatshirt to throw on, and I reach for my heather-gray standby without thinking. I shake it out and I look at it. It’s old and about three sizes too big for me. DARTMOUTH 1769. It was his. HIS. Bobby’s. I take a small breath. I inspect my face in the mirror. I look normal. Not good, but not pale or unhealthy. I feel fine too. I feel . . . good. Like if I step outside of myself and really look at how I am compared to how I was just a couple of months ago, I’m different. I smile at myself in the mirror because I have a strange thought: What if the person staring back at me right this very second is the person I’m really meant to be? A person who can easily smile at seven a.m. even though she hates mornings. A person who feels okay just to . . . be. I have an idea. I look down at his stupid shirt. I am not wearing this thing ever again. I know what I have to do.

  She opens the door. “What are you doing?”

  I shrug, caught off guard. “Dari was in the shower and I didn’t want to—”

  “Just get out here.”

  “But, Mom, I’m not—”

  “Now, Lily.” She is not playing around. I quickly arrange my hair so that it sort of hides my face. She leads the way and, as I walk behind her, I check out my morning breath. It’s bad, but I come into the living room and it’s all for naught. He’s gone already.

  “Dari already left?”

  “Obviously.”

  “He didn’t say bye or anything.”

  Mom stares at me, really trying to make her stone face do the work she isn’t prepared to do.

  “I’m thinking I should ground you, except I’m afraid you’d like that too much,” she begins. “Clearly I’m out of my element. But I have to do something, Lily.”

  “Why?”

  “Because nothing’s working! Therapy, finally making a new friend? I feel like you’re just getting angrier.” And then come the tears. I was dreading those.

  “Come on, Mom. Don’t cry.”

  “Dari might have to go back home.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I don’t know how else to punish you.” She wipes at her eyes and stares at the floor. She has to know how unfair this suggestion is.

  “I’m sorry. I’ll do whatever you want. Just don’t do that,” I plead. “I won’t get into any more trouble, Mom. And I won’t stay out late or be sad anymore. Just please let him stay.” My own voice starts breaking. I am so tired of crying. It never ends.

  “For now. I know it isn’t fair to Dari. I just don’t know what to do.”

  I feel a slight shiver. I’ve never known Mom to use somebody like a bargaining chip.

  “You could shut down the wireless again.”

  She shakes her head, resigned. “You should eat something. Do you want to do the Guggenheim today?” she asks, trying, and failing, to shift gears.

  “I promise I won’t get into any trouble, but I was wondering if maybe I could, uh, be alone today?”

  She looks doubtful and still vulnerable enough to roll up into a ball of tears if I’m not careful.

  “Dr. Maalouf asked me to write a journal. To write my story. Like the bad things that happened, I guess. I haven’t had much time to write in it, and I don’t always want to even when I do have time. Can I go to the library and write in it today? Please?”

  She sniffs, brushes her hair out of her eyes.

  “How do I know you’re telling me the truth?”

  I run back to my room to get my book bag. I pull out the notebook and bring it to her.

  “It’s real.” I even show her a few pages. “It might not seem like it, but I think it might . . . be helping. I don’t know why. But when I write in it, I feel calm. Less angry.”

  “Why can’t you write in it here?”

  Good question.

  “I can, I guess. The library just puts me in a good mood. Reminds me of going there for story hour when I was little. When I felt happy. That’s probably dumb.”

  And there are those pesky tears again. How did I upset her this time?

  “I’m sorry,” I say, confused.

  “No, no, no.” She weeps and then she hugs me. “I’m just proud of you. You know? I’ve been wanting you to do this for years, it seems. But maybe you just weren’t ready yet. This is good, Lily. This is a step.” She smiles through her tears and grants me permission. The trade-off being that I have to come home by dinnertime, and then I’m grounded for the rest of the week. By “grounded” she means no Dari. How I’ll be able to avoid him while we’re living under the same roof will be interesting, but I don’t argue with her.

  On the train, I open my notebook. I have an important question and I don’t know the answer. Perhaps if I write it down, an answer will come.

  I feel freer and stronger than I have in months. I don’t feel his hold over me anymore. Is this because of Dari or is it something else entirely? Dari seems like the easy answer. Passage of time, easier still. Something’s going on inside of me and it’s way different from what was going on inside of me when school began and I can’t help but think that, in my case, different is definitely better.

  I get off the train and make my way through the crowd. Before moving any farther I stop, right in the middle of everything. A few idiots bump into me and curse me, but I ignore them. I don’t want to live my life today on autopilot. If I’m going to do this, I want to make sure it is exactly what I want to do. I close my eyes, and I breathe in, and I breathe out, and I smile. Opening my eyes to the cold sun, I know what I have to do. So I follow the throngs like I have so many times before and I don’t have to wait more than a minute before the next ferry hits the dock.

  Staring out the window on the S48, I briefly think about how well I lied to my mother and feel guilty. Today, I know what’s best for me, though. As much as she’d like to, she can’t possibly have this knowledge. It’s better that she isn’t involved in this anyway. For her sake.

  It’s cold out here, closer to the water. I’m wishing I wore my heavy jacket now, especially since it’s a hike from Forest Avenue. It’s been a long time, which is why I took the wrong bus at first, but there it is. Red brick. White siding. Purple swing set. Toyota Corolla in the driveway. I had an idea. I had an idea that I’d come out here and say, You hurt me, but you don’t hurt me anymore or You’ve disappointed me. You’ve disappointed everyone in your life. Something devastating like that. But now I’m looking at his house and his sad little yard and it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t fucking matter.

  Before I can bail, before I can think, he comes out onto the porch. My heart pounds. He could
call the police right now and I’d be toast, but he doesn’t seem to be reaching for his phone. He just stands there. I don’t move closer. At least I’m not in the yard. I’m on the sidewalk, outside looking in.

  “What are you doing here?” he finally calls.

  I just stare at him. I know why I came here, but nothing about this scenario is the way I imagined it.

  “Speak or I call the authorities,” he threatens.

  I’m looking for something familiar. Something to remind me of why I thought my life was over not so long ago. Why he mattered so much to me. I can’t find anything. Not only does he seem shorter, he’s gained weight in all the wrong places and . . . is his Mets cap hiding a rapidly receding hairline? I see nothing in his face or his diminutive form to suggest that I should’ve thought about him twice.

  “I remembered you differently,” I tell him.

  “So?”

  “I think you want to believe that you ruined me. You didn’t. You may have damaged me, but I’m not ruined at all. You’re ruined.” I feel electricity vibrating through my pores. I had no idea it felt this good to tell someone off. I don’t even feel angry. I feel righteous. I feel superior to him.

  “Get out of here.” He then tries to open his door. It’s locked. He struggles with the knob then searches his pockets for keys. He’s locked himself out! His struggle quickly morphs into panic as he pounds on the door.

  I can’t help but laugh. Just a little. He turns slowly and glances over his shoulder to see if I’m still watching and drops his head in humiliation once our eyes meet. He curses and bangs and kicks the door. I leave before anyone opens it for him. I almost feel sorry for Mr. Wright. Without the adoration of students, he’s just some unemployed man-child with a paunch who’s locked himself out of his own house in broad daylight.

  Unconsciously, I start to skip. I stop because how dumb must I look? But for some crazy reason, I do it again. I skip for a good seven minutes, maybe longer. I feel so light, I bet I could jump high enough to dunk a basketball right now. I whistle and come close to singing “It’s Such a Good Feeling” from Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood, but as a damn-near adult, I decide there are limits. But I’m smiling. Yep. Smiling again. Because it is a good feeling.