Room check, Wilson said, sweeping the room with a grim gaze I’d never seen; there were cookie crumbs on the floor, wrappers crammed beneath the pillow. I was propped up against the wall, my knees making a tent beneath the blanket.
You should be asleep, she said.
I was, I replied, gulping air. She strode toward me, her hand raised over the blanket.
Give it to me, she said.
I didn’t move.
Give you what? I said.
Whatever you’ve got under there.
I could feel him panting between my thighs. I don’t have anything, I said.
Amber, she warned.
I don’t have my shorts on, I said.
I need you to make the right choice, she hissed.
No, I said. She snatched at the sheet; I snatched it back.
Get out of that bed, she said.
For chrissake, you can’t get her in trouble for masturbating, Lauren said, loud. Wilson’s hand flew back from the blanket. I flinched.
You girls—Wilson started. She swallowed, her hand to her chest, her face slack as if she had just been slapped. I stared at her without wanting to; she looked away.
You girls should be asleep, she finished.
Okay, I said, and she left.
I wasn’t doing what you said I was doing, I said to Lauren in the dark, heat thick in my face.
I don’t want to know what you’re doing, she said. She turned over and I thought about all her weight above me, straining the mattress, suffocating us.
I lifted the blanket so he could breathe. The moonlight from the window hit his eyes, turning them green. His nose quivered between my breasts, his fur slick with my sweat. His tail flicked against my legs again. We can keep going, he meant, but I shook my head. We waited. Finally I heard Lauren snore and I lifted my head to his; he took my bottom lip, very gently, between his teeth.
Good night, I whispered, and he slipped through the window, his tail bunching beneath the sill.
* * *
All during Circle Wilson kept giving me mournful little looks, her forehead puckered, like I’d hurt her feelings on purpose and she couldn’t figure out why. I picked a piece of rubber from the sole of my shoe and rolled it between my fingers and when it was time for me to say something I just sat there like an idiot.
Amber? Wilson prompted, her knees poking from the hem of her shorts like two bony fists.
Pass, I said, pinching the ball of rubber between my fingers as hard as I could. There was a long pause. Ray sniffed. Marcie glanced at Lauren. Wilson cleared her throat.
Pass! I yelled.
* * *
After showers Lauren announced that there was going to be a “little party” in our room. I was sitting on my bed, combing my wet hair; she stood in front of me, hands on hips, her considerable midriff at eye level. Our dorm was the farthest from Wilson’s room, and so the safest, sound-wise, to break rules in, or so she told me. Someone would find beers somewhere, someone else could maybe rustle up some snacks, we could relax.
Can’t you do it outside or something? I protested. I don’t want to get caught. We already got in trouble once.
We? she echoed, one pencil-thin brow arched as high as it could go. I wasn’t allowed to pluck my eyebrows at home and I had the urge to touch one of them, to see if it was as thick as I suspected it was.
Fine, I said, and went on combing my hair, wondering how late they would stay, how long he would wait for them to leave.
It turned out they brought just one beer to share, along with a snack-size bag of chips. Also a roll of mints and a soggy napkin full of watermelon Jell-O cubes Ben had smuggled from dinner. Ray and Lauren sat on my bed; the rest of us sat on the floor. They were all, I guess, good-looking, aside from being fat; Marcie had a waist, Lauren had the best hair, and Ben was tall, the only one of us who walked without hunching over. Probably some other girls would be really happy to have been there, hanging out with what passed for Camp Covenant’s popular crowd, but I just sat there sucking on a Jell-O cube, glancing at the window.
It smells weird in here, Marcie said, wrinkling her tiny nose.
Yeah, Ray said. They looked at me and I shrugged. It seemed like everyone was expecting Lauren to say or do something but she just stared, combing her hair back with her hand. It was hot with the window closed but no one made a move to open it and I realized that even though I had lost more weight than any of the girls I was still the biggest one in the room.
You want some? Ben asked, holding out the beer. I took a sip, wiping my lips on the back of my wrist, and handed the bottle to Lauren, who drained it in one long gulp before announcing a game of Spin the Bottle.
Three seconds, on the lips, she said.
What if it’s girl-girl or guy-guy? Ben asked.
Same rules, Lauren replied. She spun first: the mouth of the bottle pointed at me, the butt at Ben. He smiled.
No, I said.
What do you mean, no? Lauren snapped, quick, like she’d been expecting me to resist.
We don’t have to, Ben said.
Yes, you have to, Lauren insisted. Otherwise what’s the point?
This is so childish, I said. Marcie rolled her eyes.
Like you’re so mature. She was about to say something else but Lauren shot her a look and Marcie shut up. I stood and headed for the door.
Where are you going?
To the bathroom, I said.
You can’t—
But I could and I did. I was barefoot and my hair was still damp and I knew they wouldn’t come after me because they weren’t my friends and they weren’t really my enemies. They were just bored. I opened the back door.
There he was, on top of the Dumpster, sitting still. I took a step back, wiping my hands on the seat of my bike shorts. The tip of his tail rose and fell against the Dumpster lid.
You scared me, I said.
He cocked his head. Near his back foot was a marshmallow pie, mostly intact. With his nose he pushed it toward me: this was his way of saying Here or Please or Eat. Tonight I thought it meant For you.
We ate the pie in the light cast by the security lamp over the kitchen door; when we finished he licked his paws, then licked my hands.
Take me somewhere, I said.
He looked at me, his eyes almost all black. This was a new look, one I couldn’t read; I thought maybe he didn’t understand.
Show me where you live, I clarified.
His fur rippled and his eyes got even darker. I touched the place behind his ear that was so sensitive; he turned his face into my palm.
Please. So we can be alone.
Again he just looked at me. The night was cooling, peppered with the sound of insects and leaves slipping against each other, the air with a smell of dirt so strong it was almost a taste.
Please, I said again. There was a rustle in the dorms; a head popped out of a window beyond the Dumpster—Lauren looking for me. He jumped down into the dirt and I ducked. Someone laughed, then was shushed. He put his paws on my knee and lifted his face to mine.
I closed my eyes, kneeling. His whiskers twitched in my hair, his nose against my ear. The woods were so close, and the camp seemed like a blight in the middle of it, along with Lauren and Ray and Marcie and Wilson and all the rest of them. And what was I? Something in between the camp and the woods, something between a blight and whatever the fox was. Beyond us I heard glass cracking and Lauren’s harsh whisper, Ben’s hysterical giggle.
Do you love me? I said, looking at the dirt, stirring my finger in it. He stopped my finger with his paw. I didn’t want to look at him. I just looked down at my finger and his paw, the thinnest parts of us, trying to imagine a universe where they could be part of the same body.
I just want to go, I said, but we stayed right there.
* * *
He didn’t come Monday night, or Tuesday; by midnight on Wednesday my stomach was the size of a walnut, shriveled and queasy. I tried to think: What eats foxes? How long do they liv
e? How old was he? What diseases could he get? He could have been shot by some jerk with nothing better to do. He could be decaying in a pile of leaves or dragging a damaged limb through the underbrush, dying a slow dripping death, and I wouldn’t know or be able to do anything about it.
I didn’t sleep. Every sound sounded like him coming through the screen; the pillow against my cheek could have been his fur. The temperature dropped again and Lauren demanded we close the window; I told her no.
Why not? It’s freezing, she complained.
I have asthma, I said. I can’t breathe.
Bull, she said, but the window stayed open and he didn’t come and I imagined the worst.
* * *
In the cafeteria the next morning everyone was going crazy over their rations of turkey bacon; the cook dropped some onto my plate, even though I didn’t ask for it. I pushed my fork into the tough strips of flesh, expecting blood.
You need your protein, Wilson said, tapping me on the shoulder as she walked by. I pushed my tray away.
What’s wrong? Lauren whispered, bending over her tray, and she seemed genuinely concerned. I closed my eyes, my arms crossed around my stomach. I could hear everyone chewing and swallowing and gulping and cutting and I wondered how I could have ever thought eating was a good idea.
I think she’s sick, Lauren told Patton, and when he put his hand on my forehead I fainted.
* * *
I spent the day in the nurse’s office. I ate half a chicken cutlet and sweet potato fries at dinner and Wilson smiled; when I got back to my room the window screen had been replaced and the sash was locked. I looked at Lauren and she shrugged. I stomped out and threw up everything into the toilet, pinning my hair to my chest with my arm.
* * *
We were running in the woods. A quarter mile from camp I saw him, tail high, slipping through some trees. I stopped, the front of my shirt soaked through; a weird noise escaped my throat, a little cry or part of a word, a word that started out to be his name before I realized his name didn’t exist.
He had something in his mouth: a sandwich, maybe one of the tuna fish triangles from yesterday’s lunch. Whoever was on garbage duty must have dropped it, or else he’d found his way inside the kitchens and snagged it himself. The group was moving ahead, and I dropped to my knee, pretending to tie my shoe.
You okay? Patton called, looking over his shoulder. I nodded, waving to signal that I would catch up. I watched Patton’s butt jump through the woods and then took off sideways into the brush, stepping fast through the trees where I’d seen him last.
He hadn’t gone far; he was only a little ways from the path, circling a hole at the base of a rotting tree trunk, the sandwich in his mouth. Something snapped beneath my foot; he turned. Our eyes met.
He wasn’t alone.
Clustered near the den was another fox, smaller and redder than him, and two kits, pressed against her side. Littered all around were candy wrappers and crusts and pits and cores: Food trash. Familiar trash. My trash.
What the fuck, I breathed. The kits reached their snouts to the sandwich; he dipped it to their mouths, not taking his eyes off mine as his kids nibbled the tuna fish from his lips.
I thought you were dead! I shouted, shaking. I was hot all over, my throat tight, like someone was stepping on it.
Who are they? I demanded, pointing at the others. Did you have them the whole time? Were you ever going to bother to even tell me?
He looked at me, so still except for the soft movement of his sides as he breathed. The other fox flicked her tail. The kits’ eyes gleamed like glass beads. Garbage garbage garbage was all they heard when I opened my mouth. Gobblegobblegobble.
You’re an asshole, I said, my palm sliding against a trunk, splitting away a tiny piece of skin. I picked up a twig and threw it. The other fox hissed; the kits curled behind her. He just stared.
Do something! I yelled.
He did nothing.
Crouching, I looked for a rock and I found one, a big one, sharp all over the top. Even with both hands I could barely lift it.
I ate deer meat once, I said, swallowing hard. I kicked a dog when I was ten. Don’t think I can’t do it. I can. I will.
What do you want from me, his eyes said. I dropped the rock. He blinked. It was dinnertime and they would be looking for me and when they found me I would be in so much trouble.
I put out my hand. He came close. I dug my fists into his fur.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Many, many thanks to my literary foxmother, Kathe Koja, whose work shaped my own so many years ago. You continue to set the bar. Thank you for lighting the way.
To fairy godfathers H. Peter Steeves and Matthew Specktor, whose faith opened doors, thank you.
To Meredith Kaffel and Emily Bell, the dream team, for all your guts and grace and wisdom. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Thanks to all at FSG for making this book a book. To Joachim Brohm for spotting those cars on fire.
To my father, and the little one lost along the way, thank you for being.
To William and Charlotte, my good ones, you are my joy.
And to my twin, my muse, without whom these stories would and could never be—this is all, always, for you.
A NOTE ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Maryse Meijer’s work has appeared in Meridian, The Saint Ann’s Review, Reunion: The Dallas Review, Portland Review, and actual paper. She lives in Chicago. You can sign up for email updates here.
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CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Home
Love, Lucy
Heartbreaker
Stiletto
Shop Lady
The Fire
Fugue
Jailbait
Whole Life Ahead
The Daddy
Rapture
Stones
The Cheat
Acknowledgments
A Note About the Author
Copyright
Farrar, Straus and Giroux
18 West 18th Street, New York 10011
Copyright © 2016 by Maryse Meijer
All rights reserved
First edition, 2016
Grateful acknowledgment is made to the publications in which these stories first appeared, in slightly different form: 580 Split (“Whole Life Ahead”), Joyland (“Fugue”), Meridian (“Home”), Portland Review (“Heartbreaker”), and Reunion: The Dallas Review (“Shop Lady”).
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Meijer, Maryse, 1982– author.
Title: Heartbreaker: stories / Maryse Meijer.
Description: New York: FSG Originals, 2016.
Identifiers: LCCN 2015041556|ISBN 9780374536060 (paperback)|ISBN 9780374714840 (e-book)
Subjects:|BISAC: FICTION / Literary.|FICTION / Short Stories (single author).|FICTION / Psychological.
Classification: LCC PS3613.E4264 A6 2016|DDC 813/.6—dc23
LC record available at http://lccn.loc.gov/2015041556
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Heartbreaker Page 12
