HARLAN

by David Whitman

  "Of course it's a compliment," she said. "What you think I'm going to ask you to come out with me just so that I can insult you?"

  "No, Samantha," I was already screwing this up. "I'm just nervous that's all. Believe it or not, I don't do the date thing often."

  "Don't I know it. Call me Sam—all my friends do. You're like a mystery at school. I've had a crush on you all year, you know. Didn't you ever see me looking at you?"

  "No," I said, and I really didn't. "I'm kind of weird at school. I'm usually lost somewhere inside my head. I'm not well liked there."

  "Oh, I wouldn't say that you're not well liked. I think it's more like feared. You're the closest thing to a celebrity at our school. Put it this way. Everybody in school knows who you are. Everybody thinks you're going to go off someday and kill us all. You seem so quiet and relaxed now. At school you're always terrorizing poor teachers and students. You hanging out with Gary now?"

  "Gary?" I said, puzzled. "Oh, you mean Vlad? Yeah, we just started to hang around. He just clicked with Julian and I."

  On the stage some short black guy was doing a funky rendition of Steve Miller's "Fly Like a Eagle". He was spinning around in a blur, holding his arms out like wings. The crowd loved him.

  "I followed you to the fountain today," she said, her eyes looking down at the table. "Here I was grieving for a girl I don't even know, surrounded by people crying all over the place, and I'm trying to get a date with you. Shallow, isn't it?"

  I smiled. "Shallow or not, I'm glad you did. I don't regret a damn thing. Do you?"

  "Not at all. I'd like to do it again."

  For some reason I didn't even blush. I was getting better at this. "Oh, I'm sure we will."

  She was nodding intently and for a second I almost did get up and kiss her. "So what was that thing all about with Ross Morrissey?"

  I frowned. "Ross Morrissey is going to kill us. Me, Julian and Vlad are dead. Vlad threw paint at him. Me and Julian stole his car and then he got his ass kicked at a gay bar because of us."

  She laughed. "Is that all?" she asked sarcastically. "I certainly can't see why he would want to hurt you guys. He's an asshole, but it sounds like he has a right to be pissed off. What were you doing in a gay bar, by the way? Are you being entirely truthful, Harlan? You're not gay, I hope."

  "Jesus, this subject's coming up and awful lot lately. No, I'm not gay and neither is Julian. Vlad's gay, or he's bi anyway. We didn't know it was a gay bar until we were already inside. It was in Farleyville."

  "You sound awfully defensive," She said in a teasing tone that was beginning to feel familiar. "By the way, Allison, my friend, likes Julian. Think he'd be interested?"

  "I think Julian would be beyond interested. Things haven't been going good for him in the relationship department."

  "Don't let my intensity mess your hair up, baby?" she said, trying not to giggle.

  Oh my God, she heard me. I'm so fucking screwed.

  "You heard that?" I asked. The more I tried not to blush, the worse it got. I took a long sip of cappuccino in an effort to rescue myself, but choked on it instead.

  "What in the hell were you talking about?"

  "It's a joke between me and a friend of mine. It was written on a piece of paper and I read from it absentmindedly right before I called you," I lied.

  She just sat there and stared at me intently, her beautiful smile practically barreling into me. "I liked it, it sounded cool. It's a hell of a line to start off a relationship with, I'll tell you that. We're already starting off on an original bend. I'll try not to let your intensity mess up my hair, okay, Harlan?"

  We both burst out laughing. It sounded even more cartoonishly ridiculous when she said it.

  "Why don't you go up and sing me a song, Harlan?" she asked when we were done laughing.

  "I'd shut up if I was you, Sam, because I will. Then you'll be so embarrassed, you'll never want to see me again."

  "You wouldn't," she said, slapping my hand.

  "Okay," I said, getting up. "You asked for it."

  And I was really going to do it. Sometimes I feel like living for the moment. There are times that I get overcome by a nearly psychotic urge to embarrass the living fuck out of myself in public. This was one of those times.

  As I looked back at her I could see that she was terrified and filled with glee at the same time. I could see her smile, like it was a light.

  I made my way up to the stage and I asked the guy who was running the computer if they had the song in their inventory. He nodded. "No one's ever done that one before."

  I got up to the stage and I looked to the back where Sam was trying to hide in her seat. The first tribal beats came across the stage and I ran my hands through my hair and messed it all up. The song was the Doors' "Five to One"—one of my favorites. I didn't sing it exactly, but kind of whispered and spoke it flamboyantly. Julian was going to die when he heard about this. We did it once before, although not the same song.

  "Five to one, baby," I growled. "One in five. No one here gets out alive, now. You get yours—I'll get mine. Gonna make it baby if we try."

  As I shrieked the song out, I was surprised at myself. Sometimes I'm the quietest person on the planet. It felt good and I wasn't embarrassed in the slightest. Sometimes you have to just walk the edge and not care. Especially if you're living on borrowed time like me.

  I could see that Sam was enjoying the hell out of it. She was clapping her hands and laughing every time I tried to make myself sound like Jim Morrison, although I wasn't even close. When I was done the place was quiet and then I got a few claps and one very tired whistle. I think that they thought I was making fun of them, and I was, sort of. I was having fun, though, and that's what really mattered.

  As I walked back to the table, Sam was laughing. "You're absolutely insane, Harlan. I was only kidding about going up there. I'm impressed and horrifyingly embarrassed at the same time. At least I see that things are never going to be boring when we're together."

  "No they aren't," I said, holding out my hand. "You ready to ditch this place?"

  "Is Elvis leaving the building?" she said, grabbing my hand.

  "Yep. Always leave a crowd wanting more. That's entertainment."

  As we got back into her jeep, I began to feel nervous again. It was one thing when we were sitting in a crowded coffeehouse full of people, it was quite another when we were alone. I was also a little shocked at myself for doing that little performance. I mean, I've lip synced like a goof in front of a mirror. Who hasn't? Julian and me sang what we like to call a powerful rendition of the Violent Femmes "Kiss Off" there once when a girl broke up with him. Now, sitting here next to Sam, I kind of feel embarrassed. She hadn't yet started the car.

  "Well, that little performance shocked the hell out of me," Sam said, as if she was reading my thoughts. "I don't mean that in a bad way. Actually, I was pretty impressed. You're a pretty spontaneous person, Harlan."

  "I'm sorry if I embarrassed you," I said, putting my hand on her arm. I pulled it away quickly, though. I didn't want to seem like I was going to be all over her. There was a small crackle of electricity when I touched her. Must have been the static. Now I know that sounds like I made it up, but I swear it's true.

  She laughed, filling me with pleasure. "Well, Mr. Sexton, you did embarrass me all right. However, since you were so entertaining, I'm going to forgive you." She looked over at me and I felt like little men were in my stomach doing pratfalls. "Thank God none of my friends were there. Then I really would have been embarrassed."

  "I think they were mad at me in there. They felt as if I was making fun of them."

  "You did seem to be in your own little world. When you said, 'No one here gets out alive' everybody looked around nervously as if you really meant what you said." She started up the jeep. "So, where to now? It's eleven-thirty. My mother is on a Caribbean cruise and she doesn't come back until Sunday. I really don't want to be alone tonight after what happened to Alisa and all. Yo
u want to go there?"

  Of course I had no objections to that. In five minutes, we were pulling into her driveway. The caffeine was rushing through my veins making me feel more nervous then I should have been. As we pulled into her driveway the lights came on automatically. The house was Victorian—it almost looked like a dollhouse. I was very impressed.

  We entered and the inside was even nicer than I would have imagined. The furniture and decorations were so expensive looking I was afraid to touch anything. Most of the furniture looked ancient.

  "My mother has a thing for antique and Victorian furniture," Sam said, throwing her keys haphazardly onto the table and once again eerily answering my thoughts. "I hate it myself. Makes me feel like I live in a museum." She walked into the kitchen and flipped on the light. "Come on in here and sit down. You want anything to drink?"

  "Sure. Whatever you have," I said, pulling a chair carefully and sitting down.

  She poured two Cokes and sat down across from me. I took a sip from the glass and noticed that my hands were shaking. I quickly put the glass down and prayed that she hadn't seen a thing.

  "So, who's the friend?" she asked, sipping her drink from a red and white straw.

  "Huh?"

  "The friend," she said slyly, playing with her straw. "The friend that made up that intensity thing with you. Is she pretty?"

  Uh oh. This was going to be difficult. "How do you know it's a she?" I asked, stalling.

  "Is it?"

  "Yes. Her name is Suzanne. She's my thirty-something neighbor. She's a good friend of mine. I go to her for advice."

  And that was all the information that she was going to get out of me.

  She seemed to accept that explanation. She took another sip of the Coke. The thing with the straw was driving me mad. What is it with males and oral sex? A female puts anything even vaguely phallic shaped into her mouth and we're going crazy and imagining blow jobs. I can't even bear to watch a girl lick an ice cream cone.

  She smiled at me again as if she knew something that I didn't. "Why are you scared of me, Harlan? You attack every teacher in school like a bulldog and become fearful in front of little old me."

  I began to chew on my ice. "I'm not scared of you, Samantha, er, Sam. The caffeine is making me jittery. I've had a stressful weekend."

  "I should be the one that's scared of you. After all you may even be the serial killer for all I know. Your hands are shaking, you know."

  Jesus! Does anything slip by?

  "So," I said, quickly changing the subject. "Does your mom often leave you alone like this?"

  "Well, I am sixteen years old," She said defensively as if she was an adult. "But, yes, she leaves me like this about five times a year. I like it actually. I think everyone needs to be alone once in a while. It's healthy."

  I couldn't argue with that. "I'm glad we did this."

  She beamed at me. "Seriously? You don't find me boring?"

  "God, no. You're going to have to make me leave. It's going to take force to get me out of here. Violence will probably be necessary."

  She got up, grabbed my hand, and led me upstairs. "I want to show you my room." She stared back at me coyly. "Don't get any ideas, Mr. Sexton. If we're ever going to have actual sex, it's certainly months away."

  Her room was just plain cool. Posters of many of my favorite bands plastered the walls. Her bedroom was absolutely huge, about three times the size of mine. Her stereo system simply put mine to shame; it must have been at least two thousand-dollars.

  She walked over to her stereo, grabbed a cassette and stuck it in. The last part of Elvis Costello's "Poisoned Rose" immediately filled the room. I was extremely surprised she like Costello. I thought I was the only one in town who had even heard of him. I was also surprised at her enormous bookshelf filled with many of the same books that I owned. Burroughs, Vonnegut, even Philip K. Dick, my absolute favorite.

  "It feels good to be in here," she said. "All that antique stuff down there makes me feel old. That's why I wanted to be up here."

  The phone rang and she immediately picked it up. "Hello? I can't talk right now. Yes, he's here." She laughed out loud, making me feel awkward. "Please. I have to go now, okay? I'll call you tomorrow, okay? Bye." She looked over at me as she turned off the ringer. "Sorry."

  I was looking over her books. "So you like Philip K. Dick? He's my favorite. I've read his stuff dozens of time."

  "I love PKD. My cousin got me into him. He's weird and paranoid, but I really relate to him in some way. I guess I'm weird as well."

  Modern English's "I Melt I with You" came on the stereo next, which is also a song that I've always loved. I walked over to the stereo and turned it up a little.

  Samantha got up quickly and went over to her dresser. "I have a picture of you. I'm a photographer, I'm always taking them."

  That surprised me. I hated having my picture taken and couldn't for the life of me remember it ever being taken. She pulled a large photo album out, brought it over to the bed, and sat down. I sat down next to her, enjoying the feel of being so close to her.

  "I have a couple of them actually. One just of you, and one of you and Julian." She was flipping through the pages rapidly. All of the pictures were in black and white and most of them were quite good. They had all captured something about whoever was in the picture. "Here it is!"

  In the photograph I was up against the locker, my arms out before me in a crucifixion pose. I was looking off to the left, an evil look on my face. I actually seemed to be radiating intense anger. There was a dark shadow over the left half of my face. For a second, it was unreal because I didn't even remember doing it. Then I remembered that it was the same day that I had got into a fight with Joe Davis, one of the true assholes of our school. He had been harassing a girl in the hallway. She was Japanese and he was making racial comments. I freaked and attacked him, slamming his face repeatedly into the locker. I was dragged off him and promptly suspended. I was pissed that they hadn't even wanted to hear my side of the story.

  "They got me like Jesus," I had said to Julian. "Crucifixion at Rawley High."

  And then I had made that pose to illustrate my point to Julian.

  "This is one of my favorite pictures," she said. "You look so furious in it. Yet, there is a kind of desperation. A look of pain. I think it captures you well."

  "You think I'm in pain?" I asked, trying to hide my fear.

  How in the hell could she be so perceptive? She almost seemed psychic. I was almost waiting for her to say something about my suicidal tendencies.

  "Are you?" she asked, rubbing her finger over my face in the photo. "If this picture is right, you are. The camera always tells the truth, especially if it's a natural photo. That's why I like photography."

  "You said there was another picture?" I asked, quickly changing the subject. The last thing I wanted to do was get into all that depressing garbage again.

  "Yes," she said, turning the page.

  The picture was of me and Julian. In that one, we were sitting on a bench in front of the school. Julian must have said something funny because I was smiling. The really weird thing was that Vlad could be seen walking by in the background. She had captured all three of us.

  "See?" I said. "I'm smiling in that picture. No pain there."

  "Your eyes aren't smiling, Harlan. Look at them."

  She was right—I could see an odd glint in my eye, as if I needed to get away or something. I looked haunted.

  "It's one of the reasons that I'm so attracted to you. You seem lost. Like you need somebody. You have a look of desperation that, for some reason, I find incredibly attractive. You make me want to protect you."

  On the stereo The Smith's "There is a Light That Never Goes Out" came on. Great, a song can't be any more depressing than this. I looked over at her and I tried my best to hide the pain in my eyes. We sat there looking at each other and I wanted to kiss her so badly that was almost embarrassed.

  "See?" she said, she began to mo
ve her face closer to me. "There it goes again. That look in your eyes."

  She stopped when her lips were only inches away. I could feel her breath rushing against my face. She stopped there, brushing her lips softly against mine. I finally closed my eyes, lost in what seemed like a forbidden pleasure. Our lips finally came together and our tongues were brushing up against each other slowly. I wasn't even prepared for the intensity of it. We stayed that way for like an hour and then we just lay back and held each other. I didn't leave her side until 3 a.m. that morning.

  Now, as I sit at home writing this, I realize that beauty of tonight. There was no sex. We simply held each other and enjoyed the moment. In those hours, I totally forgot about everyone. I didn't think of my father. I didn't think of Julian or Suzanne. Most of all, I didn't think of dying. It is at this point that I really fear my attachment to Samantha. I got too close too fast. She told me that she wanted to protect me and the strange thing was—I wanted her to.

  The very thought was absolutely fucking terrifying.

  Chapter 6:

  A new God is born

  "Nothing happened, I swear," I said to Julian as we walked to convenience store where we would meet Vlad.

  "You're trying to tell me you stayed over at the girl's house until three o'clock in the morning and nothing happened?" Julian asked, pushing me off the sidewalk. "And to top it all off there was no one home except you two?"

  "That's exactly what I'm saying," I said, wishing he would just change the subject already. I wasn't quite ready to tell him what I thought of Sam. Hell, I barely knew myself.

  The day was pretty mild for late September and I had my jacket tied around my waist. It had to be in the seventies at least. The world looked so alive to me. I knew Samantha had a lot to do with that. I'm more scared now than ever before. What if she doesn't feel the same way about me? What could she possibly see in me?

  I'm just a strange, possibly insane man-child with suicidal tendencies.

  "Well, I think you definitely got laid," Julian said, continuing on the same maddening track. "You're acting too happy; too giddy. You even ate breakfast. You have an I-just-got-laid flush to your face, man."