Honeysuckle Love

by S. Walden

  ***

  “Did you make any friends today?” Beatrice asked. She sat at the kitchen table helping Clara clip coupons.

  “What? Are you my mother?” Clara replied.

  “No, it’s the other way around,” Beatrice said grinning. Clara smirked.

  The girls sat at the table in their underwear again that night since the house was hot. They cooked dinner with the wood stove because they had gone too many nights eating sandwiches. Clara knew they weren’t eating healthily and decided to heat vegetables to go along with canned chicken. They took ice cold baths after dinner—a temporary relief—but found themselves sweating all over again the moment they got out.

  “I don’t know if I made friends today,” Clara admitted. “But I think I may have.”

  Beatrice’s face lit up. “Oh do tell, Clara!” she squealed.

  “Well, three girls approached me in the cafeteria today,” Clara began.

  “Uh huh.”

  “They asked me my name and told me I was pretty. They said I was a rock star and that rock stars put bitches in their places,” Clara said. Her brows furrowed in reflection.

  Beatrice furrowed her own brows. “I don’t know what that means.”

  “Me neither,” Clara admitted. “But they were nice to me. They told me I have a lot to learn. I think they want to teach me things, but I don’t know if I want to learn them.”

  “They sound very worldly, Clara,” Beatrice said. “I don’t see that as being bad.”

  “Oh, you don’t?” Clara asked amused.

  “Not at all,” Beatrice replied. “Be their friend and let them teach you. I wish I had friends to teach me things. I’m always the one instructing others and it gets so terribly . . . monotonous.” She looked at Clara expectantly.

  “Congratulations on learning a new word today, Bea,” Clara said.

  Beatrice clapped her hands and giggled. “Isn’t it a beautiful word, Clara? Even though it means something boring? I just love saying it!”

  Clara laughed, accidentally slicing through the bar code of one of her coupons.

  “Darn it,” she said. “You think tape will be alright?”

  “I don’t know,” Beatrice said. “I don’t know anything about coupons.”

  Clara got up from the table and went in search of tape. She rifled through the kitchen drawers as Beatrice talked.

  “Josey wants me to spend the night Friday night,” she said. “May I?”

  “Sure,” Clara replied though it made her heart ache just a bit. She hated when Beatrice was gone. The house was too quiet, too lonely, and Clara got easily scared.

  “You should hang out with your new friends,” Beatrice suggested.

  “Bea, I don’t know that they’re my friends. And they didn’t invite me to do anything with them,” Clara said giving up on her search for tape. She walked back to the table and stuck the mangled coupon in the recipe box.

  “Well, it was only a suggestion,” Beatrice said putting down her scissors. “Can we be done with this already? It’s so monotonous.”

  Clara grinned. “Yes, Bea, we can be done with it.” She gathered the rest of the flyers and stacked them neatly on the floor. Beatrice finished placing the clipped coupons in the recipe box then looked at the clock hanging on the wall. Too early for bed.

  “Clara?” she asked tentatively.

  “Yes?”

  “May we have a séance?”

  “No.”

  Beatrice sighed her disappointment.

  ***

  Clara was caught off guard again when the three girls approached her at her locker Friday afternoon.

  “You’ll probably say no, but we’ll be insistent,” Jen began. “Do you want to come with us to the mall this afternoon and then hang out at my house?”

  Clara thought she misheard. “I’m sorry?”

  “The mall, Clara,” Jen said. “You know that huge building that houses lots of stores and a food court? Most teenagers hang out there on the weekends because they’ve got nothing better to do.”

  “I don’t know . . .”

  “Oh for fuck’s sake, Clara,” Jen said. “Do you have a job?”

  “Yes,” Clara replied confused.

  “And do you have to go to it this afternoon?” Jen asked.

  “No.”

  “All right then. You’re coming with us. Leave your car here. I’ll drive you to pick it up later,” Jen said.

  Clara followed the girls out of the school building to Jen’s car. It was an old Honda Civic littered with papers, used food containers, and empty Slurpie cups. Clara climbed in the back with Katy while Meredith sat up front with Jen. She felt herself sweating and took deep, inconspicuous breaths to try and steady her nerves. She wished at this moment that she was Beatrice. Beatrice would be talking and laughing and excited about going shopping, even if it was only window shopping.

  “Don’t you just love Fridays, Clara?” Katy asked. Her hair was especially pixie-ish today, and she looked like a fairy out of a book of legends the way her pale pink gauzy shirt shimmered on her body.

  “I suppose,” Clara said, though every day felt the same to her. She looked out the window as the girls made their way to the mall. She hoped Jen was a good driver. She didn’t want her last moments on earth to be spent with these girls.

  “Fridays are the best,” Meredith said. “No school for two days. Absolute freedom, and it’s just the beginning. Sunday evenings are the worst when it all comes to an end.”

  “I get total anxiety Sunday nights,” Jen confessed. “It takes me all of Monday to get used to school again.”

  Clara listened with curiosity.

  “What are your favorite stores in the mall, Clara?” Katy asked. “I like Forever 21, The Gap, Express, and Charlotte Russe.”

  “Charlotte Russe is a store for whores,” Jen said.

  “Whatever, Jen,” Katy replied. “Not all of the clothes are slutty.”

  “Actually, hon, they are,” Meredith said.

  “What do you think, Clara?” Katy asked.

  “I don’t know,” Clara confessed. “I don’t shop at Charlotte Russe.”

  “Oh. Well, where do you shop?” Katy asked observing Clara’s outfit.

  Clara wore a pair of jean shorts she bought at Wal-Mart and a gray T-shirt she got on sale for five dollars at Old Navy.

  “I don’t really shop,” she said quietly. She felt her face go red.

  “It doesn’t matter,” Meredith said noting Clara’s embarrassment. “Clothes are completely overrated. I’d rather spend my time in a candle store.”

  “You’re going to be that sad woman with cats and candles when you grow up,” Jen teased.

  “Shut up,” Meredith laughed.

  “Just playing. I prefer jewelry shops,” Jen said. “Cheap fashion jewelry. Over-the-top jewelry. Have you seen my ring?” she asked holding up her right hand. Her index finger sported a large flower that spanned three quarters of the length of her finger.

  “Very dramatic,” Meredith said.

  “Well, I like clothes,” Katy said. “And I like buying them. And I wish my dad would give me more money to buy them.”

  “We know,” Jen and Meredith said simultaneously.

  “Why don’t you just buy consignment?” Jen asked Katy. “You get way more for your money, and the clothes are still designer.”

  “Hmm, I never thought of that,” Katy said.

  “That’s because you’re a snob,” Jen replied.

  “Not fair, Jen,” Katy huffed. “I’m a very sweet girl. Aren’t I sweet, Clara? I mean, just because I like trendy outfits doesn’t make me a snob.”

  “You’re nice,” Clara offered, and Jen laughed.

  “That sounds about as genuine as if Evan told Amy he’s still in love with her,” Jen noted.

  “Ugh, I’m so glad he dumped her and likes Clara,” Katy said. She took Clara’s hand in hers.

  “He didn’t dump her. She dumped him,” Meredith corrected.


  “It doesn’t matter,” Jen said. “The point is that he’s in love with Clara, and it’s our job to get the two together.”

  Clara felt her heartbeat quicken. “I don’t think that—”

  “Clara, we’re getting you a new outfit for school,” Meredith said excitedly. “And you’re going to wear it on Monday and look totally hot and make Evan come in his pants!”

  “Oh God, Meredith!” Katy exclaimed. “You had to go there?” She turned to Clara and squeezed her hand. “Don’t listen to her.”

  “I don’t want a new outfit,” Clara said nervously. She thought about the five dollar bill in her purse and the money in her checking account that had to go to the electric bill.

  “Don’t argue,” Meredith said. “We’re doing it and it’s going to be awesome. My treat!”

  Clara shook her head. “I can’t let you—”

  “Don’t argue,” Meredith repeated.

  “Jesus, Meredith,” Jen said. “If she doesn’t want a new outfit, she doesn’t want a new outfit. Leave the poor girl alone. You’re scaring the shit out of her.”

  “Whatever,” Meredith mumbled. “I thought it would be nice.”

  Clara squirmed in her seat, trapped in Katy’s hand and exasperated with Meredith’s insistence. How the fuck long does it take to get to the mall? she thought. She planned to ditch the girls and use her five dollars to take a city bus back to school to get her car.

  But she didn’t. She was dragged into the mall by three determined girls who wanted to be her new pushy friends. They strolled the large open corridor, and Clara tried to remember the last time she was in the mall. It had that mall smell she remembered, the promise of walking out with something new folded neatly in a brown shopping bag.

  She was dragged from store to store and listened to Katy blather on about the newest trends in fashion. She sat outside of the dressing rooms with Jen and Meredith and watched as Katy put on a fashion show, always coming out with a new top on saying the same thing: “Well, what do you think?” And Clara always replied, “It’s nice.”

  Clara tried hard to push down the feelings of jealousy, knowing she would have to watch Katy dump an armload of clothes at the register and not think twice about whether she had enough money to pay for it all.

  “Get yourself something, Clara,” Katy insisted. “You need to treat yourself.”

  Clara had taken all she could handle. She wanted to scream. She didn’t have money to treat herself. And she was tired of Katy’s oblivious cheerfulness. She wanted to go home. She had no idea why these girls invited her out. She didn’t belong with them, and she wasn’t sure she wanted any friends after all. Why had she wished for a friend amidst the honeysuckle vines last spring? She felt like God was playing a cruel joke on her. “You wanted friends, I’m giving you friends,” she could hear him say as he snickered on his golden throne.

  “Well, at least a pair of earrings,” Katy persisted. “Or this adorable necklace!” she squealed fingering the accessory hanging on a jewelry stand.

  Clara exploded. “I can’t! Okay? I can’t afford clothes or candles or earrings!”

  The three girls stood staring at her wide-eyed.

  “Or necklaces! I can’t afford anything!” she went on. “Not even a fucking Coke from the food court!”

  She turned on her heel and walked out of the store passing by several students she recognized from school. They gawked and whispered, and she didn’t care.

  “Not even a Coke, huh?” a burly boy asked teasingly at the entrance of the store she just exited.

  “Fuck you,” Clara spat and stalked towards the nearest mall exit. She heard laughter erupt behind her.

  She walked the parking lot aimlessly until a mall security golf cart pulled up alongside her.

  “Forgot where you parked?” the man asked.

  “No,” Clara replied. “I’m looking for the bus stop.”

  “Hop on and I’ll take you,” he said.

  Clara thanked him. She turned around thinking that Jen, Meredith, and Katy would have come outside to look for her. But they didn’t. She snorted disdainfully. Not even bothered to make sure I get back to my car, she thought. But they’re not the bitches. Right.

  Clara was too wound up to even cry though she felt completely humiliated. She was so tired of feeling humiliated all the time and wondered if it wouldn’t just be better to home school herself. Could she do that? How does home school work exactly?

  “Bad day?” the security guard asked looking over at Clara.

  “Something like that,” she mumbled.

  “Well, the world is nothing but shit when you’re a teenager,” he explained. “But it gets better.”

  “Does it?”

  He opened his mouth to try for something positive, but then decided against it after glancing at Clara’s face. “I don’t know what the hell I’m talking about,” he admitted. “Look at me. I’m a fucking mall security guard.”

  Clara smiled at that.

  “Better than being an unpopular sixteen-year-old girl with no money,” Clara said. “I can’t even buy a Coke.” She looked down at her lap, ashamed to feel so sorry for herself in front of a stranger.

  The guard stopped his golf cart and reached down on the floor. He flipped the lid of a tiny cooler and pulled out an unopened 20 ounce bottle of Coke. He handed it to Clara then continued driving.

  “Well, now you don’t have to,” he said.

  ***

  The house was lonely when Clara finally got home. The bus was off schedule; she didn’t get back to the school parking lot until an hour and a half after saying goodbye to the security guard. She drank her Coke on the bus and decided to save the bottle. She didn’t know why, but she thought it was the right thing to do. That way every time she saw it she would be reminded of the security guard’s kindness. Reminded that nice people still existed and in the most unlikely places.

  She forgot that Beatrice was spending the night with Josey. And the girls were going to a movie the following day. Clara was adamant that Beatrice take some of her dog-walking money with her to buy her ticket and any snacks she wanted at the theatre. She earned it, Clara said.

  She missed Beatrice already and would not see her until late in the afternoon the following day. She had no one to talk to and sat on the couch holding the empty Coke bottle in the deafening silence of the living room. She thought about the laughter that ensued behind her as she exited the shop in the mall. The humiliation bloomed red on her face all over again, and she jumped from the couch, tossing the bottle, and ran into the bathroom.

  She turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on her face. She looked at herself in the mirror and could only make out the charcoal gray coloring of her cheeks in the darkness of the room, but she knew the red was still there. She splashed her face again. And again she knew her cheeks were still flushed.

  She bent her head over the sink and screamed as loudly as she could. She let out all of her air with that scream and then did it again. And again until her throat went raw. She felt the warm tears trickle down her cheeks, flushed an angrier red now, and she splashed water over them once more.

  She looked at her dripping face in the mirror. “I’m fine,” she croaked, but she was shaking her head when she said it.

  Chapter 7

  Blessed relief finally came. A crisp, cool morning that made Clara feel hopeful, and for the first time in weeks, not awaken caked with sweat. She got out of bed and went to the window, pushing it up and feeling the instant chill on the breeze as it drifted inside her bedroom. She also felt hopeful about their debt. Because of Beatrice—sweet Beatrice!—they were well on their way to covering the cost of the outstanding electric bill. Clara was confident that by mid-November, they would have lights. And heat.

  She got dressed and went through the house in search of dirty laundry. She tried to go to the laundromat early Saturday mornings right when it opened to avoid the crowd. It was not her idea to spend hours there waiting for machines to op
en. Plus, the people who frequented the mat were strange, and she preferred to get in and out as quickly as possible.

  She headed into Beatrice’s room and hunted around for anything that looked like it needed washing. Once the basket was full, she made her way to the front door. She opened it to find Ms. Debbie standing there, her hand balled in a fist and poised, ready to knock. Ms. Debbie noted the basket in Clara’s arm and shook her head.

  “Not right now, Clara,” she said, pushing her way into the house. Clara backed away from the door and set the basket down. She was about to address her neighbor when she heard a truck pull up in front of the house. Ms. Debbie stood in the doorway as though she were expecting something. Clara was unsure why, but she felt safer standing at a distance, far on the other side of the living room.

  A man walked up to the front door and began a pleasant conversation with Ms. Debbie. Clara heard the words “church” and “charity” and thought that the two together didn’t sound half bad. In fact, she liked the way they sounded. She had the brief, exhilarating thought that donations were coming their way. A month and a half ago she would have scowled, would have been too proud to take anything from anyone, but she had learned in her desperation to be humble. To be poor and to beg. She walked up to stand next to her neighbor at the door.

  “I’m watching the girls while their mother is away,” Ms. Debbie explained, her bulky frame taking up most of the doorway so that it was impossible for the church representative to see inside. Her lies were silky smooth, and Clara wanted to hug her for them. “I know Ms. Greenwich would show you all the gratitude in the world if she were here. It is so good of you to think of this family. These are such good girls!”

  “Well, you know as well as I that the church loves to give all year round. Not just at holidays. We want you to know we care about you,”—he looked at Clara as he said this—“and Ms. Greenwich is always welcomed to service with her daughters,” he concluded looking at Ms. Debbie.

  “So kind,” Ms. Debbie replied. “I’ll let her know.”

  Clara smiled sweetly. The church representative chucked her under the chin then turned to the truck parked on the street in front of the house. He waved and two men emerged. They walked to the back and started unloading paper bags filled with groceries. Clara’s mouth watered instinctively at the thought of all that food. Something her precious money didn’t have to buy because there were still nice people in the world who wanted to do nice things for others.