by T. Torrest
The next day, we found out that Trip had gotten the job at Totally Videos and was scheduled to start on Monday!
Our thoughts on that news were that it was best to keep our association under wraps in order to remain employed. But Martin, sleuthing genius that he was, became hip to the fact that we were friends on that very first day. I suppose we weren’t necessarily as stealth about our relationship as we had hoped to be.
Trip had become easily bored with register duty, a detail compounded by the fact that the store was having a slow day. He decided to make better use of his time by hiding behind the display racks of the drama section and flinging Skittles at me.
I tried to ignore him until the candies started coming by the handful, causing me to drop the pile of tapes I’d been returning to their proper spots on the shelves.
I grabbed the empty box of Terms of Endearment off the shelf and chucked it at him, just narrowly grazing his head as he ducked out of the way, knocking over a bin of rolled movie posters.
That prompted him to hurl the entire, theatre-sized bag of Skittles in retaliation, sending a rainbow of tiny projectiles pinging off the shelves and scattering across the floor.
Martin had been in his office during our little war, but he must have been watching us on the security cameras, because he chose that moment to come storming out the door. Upon seeing the two of us laughing our asses off amidst a pile of videos, posters and candy, we guessed the jig was up. He commanded us in a booming voice to, “Clean up this mess before any customers come in and see it!”
At first, I thought that Martin could have refrained from jumping down our throats. I mean, obviously we were planning on cleaning up our mess, and we sure didn’t need some dorky kid just out of high school chastising us like he thought he was actually some sort of authority figure. I thought that maybe if he slathered on some Oxy every once in a while and got himself a decent haircut, he could find himself a girlfriend and lighten up a little.
But then suddenly, I kind of felt bad for him. The poor guy was only trying to do his job while having to deal with us two idiots all day.
Trip must have been thinking the same thing, because neither one of us busted his balls and just went about the chore of picking Skittles off the carpet.
But even scouring about the floor on our hands and knees was actually pretty fun. Trip made working there bearable for the first time, even if from then on, we toned it down a bit for Martin’s sake. Having him there proved to make work less of a trial and more of an adventure.
Who am I kidding? If I’m going to be honest, I’ll admit that Trip proved to make my life less of a trial and more of an adventure!
Week Two of our film collaboration had us trying out the pilfered camera for the first time. It took us a little longer than expected to learn how to use the clunky thing, a task that probably would have been made much easier had I thought to grab the accompanying User Guide during my heist. But after affixing the camera to my father’s tripod (also “borrowed”), we managed to get off some very educational test shots of Trip doing cannonballs in my pool. It was at that point that I realized Mason wasn’t going to be grading me on my ability to watch Trip Wilmington strut around my backyard in his swimming trunks. I wouldn’t have traded that sight for a 4.0 if my life depended on it, but I knew we’d eventually be expected to do some actual work.
Week Three, we decided we were going to need to learn how to edit our film (that we had yet to start shooting). It was my brainchild to “borrow” Bruce’s VCR and rig it up to mine. With some advice from Roger Vreeland at the AV club, we (legitimately) borrowed some of his cable wires and spent the better part of our afternoon getting the primitive editing station set up and running. We’d practiced splicing our films by playing the raw footage in one VCR while recording selected scenes in the other. But after about an hour of this, Bruce came home from football practice and confiscated his VCR from Trip and me, leaving us back at square one.
Before I could risk the implications of “borrowing” another tape player from my father’s room or the den, Trip came up with a way to hook the camera directly into my VCR. That system turned out to be way better than our original one, so we thanked Bruce for his inadvertent help by spending the rest of the afternoon in the kitchen, baking him some chocolate chip cookies.
The following Thursday was my birthday.
Chapter 12
POSTCARDS FROM THE EDGE
I woke up before dawn, a bundle of nervous energy, and hopped right into the shower. My appointment at the DMV wasn’t until ten o’clock, but I didn’t want to be a minute late. My father had agreed to let me play hooky from school so that I could go down and take my driving test. I’d waited seventeen whole years to get my license and there was no way I was going to wait an extra minute.
My dad knew that I was excited, but he was still surprised that I had gotten up as early as I did. I met up with him in the kitchen, where he was sitting at the table with a coffee and hidden behind the Star Ledger. He lowered the newspaper just enough to peek over the top.
He gave a quick glance toward the clock on the stove and said, “Well, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think it was someone’s birthday.”
I kissed him on the cheek and said, “Not just any birthday, Dad. It’s someone’s seventeenth birthday.”
He pretended to have forgotten. “Is that so?”
I grabbed a glass from the cabinet and answered, “Yep.”
As I was pouring juice into my glass, Dad said, “Well, then I guess it’s a good thing I bought this.”
I looked over my shoulder to see him sliding a small, square box toward the center of the table.
The box was black velvet and sporting a little pink bow on top. I didn’t know if it was on purpose, but pink and black were my favorite colors.
I pulled out a chair and joined him at the table. “Is that for me?”
Dad folded the paper and laid it next to his coffee mug. “Nope. It’s for Bruce. You know how much he likes the color pink.”
I rolled my eyes at his teasing. “Can I open it?”
“I don’t know. Can you?”
“Dad...”
“Yes, of course. Go ahead.”
We were both giggling as I cracked open the velvet jewelers box. Inside was a small, gold medallion on a thin chain.
“Oh, how pretty! Wow, Dad. Thanks.”
I started to lift the necklace out of the box as Dad said, “It’s a St. Christopher medal. The patron saint of travel.”
I could already tell where this was going as he added, “I was hoping he could watch over you every time you get behind the wheel and keep you safe.”
I don’t know why, but I started to well up. I was able to hide my teary eyes under the guise of lowering my head to put the necklace on. I rubbed my fingers over it and said, “It’s perfect. Thank you, I love it.” And then, to avoid getting too sappy, I added, “Wow. You must have some pretty strong faith that I’ll pass my test today, huh?”
Dad shook his head. “Don’t need faith today, Layla-Loo. You’ve got this one in the bag all on your own.”
At that, we high-fived and I got up in search of some breakfast.
After Dad left for the office- assuring me that he’d be back to pick me up by nine thirty- I was left to eat my cereal in silence.
The Thought came then, as it did from time to time, but always at my birthday or at Christmastime. The Thought- the one I’d played with in my mind for the better part of nearly five years- The Thought that maybe my mother, wherever she was, was thinking about me that day.
I wondered if even though she left us to start some big, new life, that maybe, just maybe, she hadn’t completely forgotten about her old one. Did she remember that it was my birthday? Did she know that Bruce had started high school? Did she even think about us at all?
I had this delusional fantasy that my father was in possession of a stockpile of letters and postcards from my mother. That he’d intercepted a mass of co
rrespondence that she’d penned over the years and hidden it away under a floorboard in his closet or something, thinking that he was protecting Bruce and me. That one day, maybe even my birthday, he’d come to the realization that we were entitled to read what our mother had written. He’d hand over a stack of unopened envelopes, tied with a ribbon as if they were a gift.
The postcards would be brief but witty, with pictures on the front of exotic places that she had visited. She’d write how she was always thinking of us, how we were with her in every corner of the world, and how she missed us terribly. The letters would be long and flowery, explaining why she left and letting me know that she loved me.
I’d find out that even though she left us, it wasn’t because her life with us wasn’t good enough. Maybe she had left because she loved us, because she didn’t think she was good enough.
I swiped the tears from my cheeks as I threw my empty cereal bowl into the sink. Bruce staggered in just then, grumbling to himself about something or another.
Bruce wasn’t much of a morning person, so normally, I steered clear of him until he was fully awake and could act like a normal human being. But that day, I interrupted him on his way to the fridge, said, “Good morning,” and wrapped my arms around him for a hug.
We weren’t normally so touchy-feely with each other, so his first reaction was, “What the...?” But then, it came to him as he hugged me back. “Oh, hey, happy birthday.”
I pulled back to give him a kiss on the cheek. I had to stand on my tiptoes in order to reach his face. When did he get so much taller than me?
I gave him a big smile and a punch in the arm. “Thanks, Bruce. I’m glad you remembered.”
* * *
That night, Dad let me borrow the car so I could drive myself to work. It was so liberating, to finally be behind the wheel on my own. No Dad, no driving instructor! I immediately reprogrammed all of my father’s radio stations, but then set them all back to his original choices, thinking that if I ever wanted to borrow the car again, I’d better not push my luck.
I parked in the employee lot and went in the rear entrance to Totally Videos, where Martin was in the storeroom ready to greet me.
“So?” he asked.
I couldn’t contain my smile. “Yeah. I passed.”
He offered a pat on the back and, “Well, congratulations. And happy birthday!”
“Thanks, Martin.”
“Now help me unpack these boxes.”
And at that, my birthday party was over.
I spent a good hour unpacking the new shipment of movies, re-packaging them from their original video covers into barcoded clear cases, then stuffing bricks of Styrofoam into a few of the empty covers before shrink-wrapping them. I knew that in a few months, I’d be expected to reverse this process, returning the videos back into their original covers for sale in our “Previously Viewed” bin. It was a vicious cycle.
It wasn’t until about seven o’clock or so when Trip showed up to surprise me. It was a pretty slow night and I had just been daydreaming about him from behind my post at the front register. I was envisioning a Sixteen Candles-type scenario; Trip and me sitting on his dining room table, sharing our first kiss over my birthday cake. And suddenly, poof! there he was, right there in the flesh. Okay, maybe I spent a lot of my time thinking about him, so it’s not like he just happened to show up at some fluky moment or something, but I still like to think that I psychically willed him to manifest at that exact instant.
I watched him stroll in wearing black jeans, a grey jacket and a shit-eating grin. “Happy birthday!”
I must have been smiling ear to ear when I told him, “I knew you’d come.”
He came over and leaned his forearms against the counter I was standing behind. “So... Do I even need to ask?”
I dug underneath the shelf into my purse, coming up with my father’s keys and jangling them in front of his eyes in answer.
“Awesome! You passed! I knew you would.”
I couldn’t keep the smile off my face or the satisfaction from my voice when I replied, “Thanks. Even aced parallel parking.”
“Thatta girl.”
He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a twin-pack of Twinkies. He tossed them on the counter saying, “I baked you a cake.”
It was no Jake Ryan move, but it was damn near close enough for me. I exaggerated my reaction when I said, “Oh, Trip! You shouldn’t have.”
He grinned. “Oh, don’t pretend like Twinkies aren’t your favorite. I went to a lot of trouble to get those for you.”
I said, “Oh, I’ll bet,” but he was right. I freakin’ loved Twinkies. I opened the cellophane wrapper and handed him one. “My father always taught me it was bad luck to twink alone.”
“Oh, that was bad.”
I giggled, clinked my cake to his and took a bite. Heaven.
“So, you had nothing better to do with your evening than come in here on your night off and fatten up an old lady?” That was only funny because I was officially the youngest member of our entire class.
He polished off the last of his Twinkie in his second bite and said sheepishly, “I just thought it would suck that you had to work on your birthday. Does it?”
I don’t know how I managed to get the words out, but I leaned forward and replied, “Well, it did... until now.”
He gave me a smirk and drummed the counter before saying, “Hey, look. I gotta go, but I’ll see you at school tomorrow, okay?”
“Yep. I’ll be there.”
He stood there for an extra second, just locked onto my eyes, and before I could ask him what was up, I watched as he leaned across the counter toward me. I was a statue as his hand slipped around my neck, his rough fingers at my nape, his knuckles brushing under my hair. As if that weren’t thrilling enough, the next thing I saw was his face coming closer to mine before his lips offered a sweet, slow kiss on my cheek. Just that small contact was like a lightning bolt through my body, a splash of ice water in my veins. I couldn’t breathe very well at that second, but I managed to catch the warm scent of him, all sugary and soapy and sending shivers down my skin.
He pulled back, looking almost as stunned as I felt, and I knew I wasn’t imagining things when I heard him actually stammer the slightest bit as he said, “H-happy birthday, Layla”.
He regained his composure quickly enough, because in the blink of an eye, his wide grin returned as he offered, “See you tomorrow.”
I stared as he walked out the door, hating to see him go but loving the view as I watched him walk away.
* * *
The next night, Trip and I punched out at Totally Videos around ten and he offered to drive me home. I was exhausted- Fridays were a big night for movie rentals- and all I wanted to do was crash for the next twelve hours. Football season was well under way and I was looking forward to watching our Lions kick a little Butler Bulldog ass the following afternoon.
On the way out to the parking lot, I took a shot and asked, “Hey, can I drive?” but Trip just looked at me like I was nuts and replied, “Nobody drives Beverly but me.”
So, I was sitting in the passenger seat of Trip’s Bronco, flipping through the radio stations, almost missing the fact that he’d turned in the opposite direction from my street.
I looked up from the stereo controls and asked, “Umm, what’s going on?”
Trip just pasted a smile on his face and said, “Don’t worry about it. Just shut up and let me drive.”
Once he turned down Trestle Ave, I knew exactly where we were headed.
The Barrens was an old, abandoned field in an area of town known as The Mud Hole. The lot was formed in a large C shape from a bend in the river, abutted by the nearby railroad tracks. Supposedly, there was once an actual house on that godforsaken property, but it had long since been torn to the ground. All that remained was a concrete slab, fractured and uneven, weeds growing through the cracks and covered in four decades’ worth of graffiti. Everyone in Norman a
ffectionately referred to the spot as “The Patio”, and it was the most popular destination at The Barrens for hanging out. For any underage kids who dared to cross the tracks, it was as good a place as any to sneak some beers or make out with their not-so-significant others.
Trip parked his truck amidst the trees behind the rusted-out cargo container, where I could see Coop’s Audi and Lisa’s LeBaron. I shot a look at Trip, who was grinning at me shamelessly before getting out. I walked around to the other side of the hold to The Patio, where Lisa, Pickford, Cooper, Rymer and Sargento were sitting in lawn chairs arranged in a circle. It was too early in autumn to need a fire, but they had one going anyway. It was just one of those things that you did at The Barrens.
Lisa spied me first, her eyes lighting up as she yelled, “Hey! Happy birthday!”
Everyone else turned toward Trip and me then, offering their own hellos and birthday greetings. Lisa got off her chair and ran over, welcoming me with a big hug before whispering in my ear, “I came here with Pickford!” She handed me a pink, plastic bowler hat covered in glitter and looped a black, feather boa around my neck. My birthday suit, apparently.
For a half-baked surprise party, my friends didn’t do such a bad job. They had a decent fire going, which we appreciated more for the light and to keep the bugs away than for any actual heat we’d hoped to garner. Someone brought a boombox, there were a couple cases of beer in actual cans and Lisa had even baked some peanut butter brownies. She’d put a few candles in the cake pan and lit them, but I wasn’t delusional enough to wait for anyone to start singing before blowing them out.
Amidst the swirling smoke, Trip asked, “Whadja wish for?”
