Outcast

by Susan Oloier

  “You’re going to get me fired,” I hissed through a clenched jaw.

  “That would be a blessing.” P waited for me to comply with her wishes. I didn’t know why she was jeopardizing my job. Just because she didn’t have to lift a finger for money didn’t mean the rest of us possessed the same good fortune she did. I had no idea why she even cared that I was working at Mean Jean’s. Most adults would view my job as an act of responsibility, not an embarrassment.

  I glared at Aunt P, hoping my look would push her away, knowing deep down it wouldn’t.

  “Lady, if you don’t leave now I’m calling mall security.”

  I knew my Aunt P, Lois didn’t. Nothing stopped her from getting what she wanted. In that way, she was very much my mother’s sister. No one told her what to do, especially a thirty-five year old manager of a fast food restaurant. Aunt P had money, and she felt it could get her out of any sticky situation into which she had been placed. Even though she was the creator of this outburst, she would find a way to blame it on someone else. There was only one way to resolve the conflict before it grew ugly.

  With the unmade order in front of me, I took off my hat and nametag and handed them to Lois. “Sorry.”

  “You’re quitting?”

  I said nothing. I turned to Aunt P who glowered with triumph. Little did she know that she was going to pay for forcing me to quit my job.

  The walk to the car was silent. As soon as we set foot in the parking garage, I laid into her.

  “How dare you do that to me! How am I supposed to earn money for a car now?”

  She said nothing until we were inside the air-conditioned Mercedes.

  “Look at you. Your hair’s a greasy mess, you have mustard stains on your shirt, and you smell like dead pig. That’s no way to show the world you’re a success. You have outcast slopped all over you.”

  “Well, I’m too young to marry someone, get a divorce, and demand alimony.”

  Her hand flew out and struck me across the face. Aunt P had never hit me before, and I knew I would never allow her to do it again. A cry choked in my throat, but I willed back the tears. I refused to let her see me blubber. Even my own mother never hit me.

  I stared at her for what seemed like minutes while she measured my reaction. I grabbed my purse and threw open the car door. I heard her beckon to me, but I kept moving. The last thing I wanted was to speak to her or hear her explanation. I couldn’t go back to work, begging for a second chance at a place like that. It would be far too humiliating. My father planned to pick me up at ten-thirty when the restaurant closed. It was only six-fifteen. I lacked the energy to call and explain what had happened. Though I knew Aunt P should suffer the wrath of my mother at some point.

  I fished in my purse for a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. I maneuvered through the parking garage while I lit the Camel, barely avoiding a collision with a Lexus. The tobacco and nicotine poured into my lungs, relaxing me. I needed to go to a place I felt safe, away from the maliciousness of people. I instantly thought of Chad. His house was at least two miles away—a torturous walk in the heat of an Arizona summer night.

  As I made my way onto the street, the Mercedes pulled up next to me.

  “Noelle, get in the car.”

  I continued to walk, sucking more deeply on the cigarette tightly gripped between my fingers. She followed me. People honked their horns and violently sped around her as she held up traffic. She didn’t care. Just as before, she wouldn’t give up until she got what she wanted. I tossed the cigarette underfoot and stamped it out. With sweat staining the armpits of my work shirt and beading on my face, I stepped into the vehicle. I refused to look at her, only seeing the windshield.

  The western sun painted a mirage of ripples on the pavement.

  “Let’s get something to drink.” It was her way of apologizing without having to say it.

  I sat on the restaurant patio, my arms crossed in defiance. The server set a second Long Island iced tea in front of Aunt P. I nursed a glass of water.

  P ordered a sampler platter of hors d’oeuvres. I refused to touch it even though I was starving. The last meal I had was lunch. I had planned to buy a chili dog at break. Now I couldn’t. I remained obstinate. The last thing I wanted was her coaxing me into submission with food. She wouldn’t break me that easily.

  Aunt P already bored me with her lecture on the keys to success. All I wanted was a car. I didn’t work at Mean Jean’s with the intent of making it my career. There was no point in arguing with her. She’d always find some way to make herself right and me wrong.

  I popped a Camel out of its casing and fired up the end of it. The gesture stopped her in mid sentence.

  “Smoking?” Judgment peppered her voice. “Since when do you smoke?”

  “You’re not my mother, all right.” I took a long drag on the cigarette.

  “No I’m not. But I’m sure she wouldn’t be pleased to know you’re smoking. Besides, this is a restaurant. You can’t smoke in here.”

  “My mother also wouldn’t be pleased to know that you made me lose my job.” Just like a pound of flesh and survival of the fittest, I had to defend myself.

  Instead of arguing, Aunt P took the cigarette right out of my hand and stubbed it out in the water glass. She guzzled her Long Island iced tea like it was a container of Gatorade, then ordered another.

  “Let’s end this now, whatever’s going on between us. How can I make it up to you?”

  “I don’t want anything from you,” I finally told her. “I’m tired of you making things up to me. Why are you always meddling in my life?”

  “You’re the one who comes to me for help, in case you’ve forgotten.”

  “Not this time.”

  The waiter delivered Aunt P’s third drink. I was unsure about how much alcohol was inside that iced tea, but it seemed to be a lot. She was beginning to slur her speech. The table suddenly became a crutch, which she used to steady herself.

  “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Noelle.”

  “Like what?” I leaned in. The liquor was causing her to lose her inhibitions.

  “Your sister…” It was as though I was no longer there. She spoke to the potted palm. I felt like the therapist, and the wrought iron furniture was the couch on which she lay. I grabbed a mozzarella stick and put it to my lips just like a therapist would a pencil.

  I wanted Aunt P to continue. What did she have to say about Becca?

  “I took her to Chicago with me after the—”

  A shade of jealousy washed over me in viridian hues. Chicago was for me. As horrible as that trip was, in some way it held some form of sacredness. Now it was tainted by the fact that P shared it with someone else.

  P scattered her confession with sips of her brew. “We were getting along great, things were going fine, and then all of a sudden…”

  All of a sudden what? I wanted her to complete her thought. What happened in Chicago? It was as though she was reliving whatever occurred in the Windy City.

  The waiter came over, interrupting our conversation with idol questions about the quality of our appetizers. All I could think was Go away so she can finish her story!

  P finally broke the spell that the palm fronds held over her. She looked at me. “She’s still there, Noelle.”

  “In Chicago?” Now I was spellbound.

  “It’s a long story. I took her there to take her mind off of things. She went through a very traumatic experience, and Joyce is not an understanding person. I know,” she said, raising her eyebrows. She never referred to my mother by her first name when we spoke. The booze was definitely affecting her.

  “We went out to dinner, and I introduced her to Doug. You remember him, right?”

  How could I forget? Porcelain Teeth, the infamous, cheating husband who ruined our trip to Chicago. Unfortunately, I would always remember him. I didn’t answer. I was afraid if I interrupted her thought, she would realize she was talking to me and stop.

  “A
nyway, we were there for a month. We saw a lot of Doug over the four weeks. They hit it off. It was as though I wasn’t even there.” She swallowed the rest of her drink and held a finger up for another.

  Aunt P grew angry and bitter as she explored more deeply the details of her trip with Becca. I failed to hear all the intricacies because I already knew what had happened. Becca was still in Chicago. With Doug. She stayed there to be his newer, younger mistress. I didn’t have to be on the honor roll to figure that one out.

  “He’s leaving his wife for her. Can you believe it?”

  The server deposited a fourth drink. My eyes lingered on it. But P didn’t notice because it was quickly lifted to her lips and guzzled down.

  I had never seen Aunt P so distraught. I needed to get her out of the restaurant. It was not the place to unload misery. That was reserved for pubs and taverns. Fridays was a family place.

  “We need to get you home.”

  I took the last of her drink from her and placed it on my side of the table. I beckoned the waiter for the bill, wrangling P’s wallet and credit card to pay for her binge. Aunt P continued to wallow in her sadness. Frankly, I considered Doug’s absence a blessing. It was unfortunate that in order to accomplish that he had to hop into Becca’s life instead.

  “Want one?” I offered a Camel to Aunt P, thinking it might calm her down. She refused.

  When the waiter returned to the table with the slip, she drew a line representing her signature, and I helped her out of the restaurant. Families and couples stared as she leaned on me for support. She collided with the table corners, teetering soft drink glasses and upsetting dinner plates.

  “You’re a good kid, Noelle. You deserve so much better than to work in that greasy spoon.”

  We finally made it to her parking space. She was drunk, so there was no way she was driving. I had no other choice but to take her home myself. After all, I did pass Driver’s Ed.

  Driving on the road proved more difficult than I realized. There was so much to pay attention to. It didn’t help having P yapping the whole way, playing backseat driver in her drunken stupor. I managed, by the grace of God, to make it to her house safely. By the time I had pulled her Mercedes into the garage, she was fast asleep in the passenger’s seat.

  I needed to get myself back to the mall before ten-thirty. I considered taking the Mercedes, but there were a number of problems with that plan. The most obvious was that my aunt was still in the front seat. I thought I should call my mother and tell her the truth about the evening, but Aunt P had already been brutalized enough for one evening. Then I thought of Cassie. I only hoped that she was home.

  It was nine-thirty by the time Cassie arrived.

  I still had an hour before I needed to be back at the mall. Cassie and I decided to waste some time in the darkened corners of the Civic Center area. Tucked in our own secure corner, we smoked cigarettes as I recounted the evening to her.

  “I say losing that job calls for a celebration.”

  Cassie opened her purse and removed an envelope. In her other hand she held a pipe that resembled a totem. She packed the weed into the cylinder and lit it, taking a drag. While the smoke filtered through her lungs and wallowed in her throat, she closed her eyes, finally exhaling after several moments. It smelled like burning kindling from a campfire.

  “Take a hit.” She extended it to me.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “You’ll fall in love with it.”

  I hesitated, then took it from her and inhaled. After all, it had been a pretty bad night. The smoke attacked my nasal passages and stung my throat.

  It took us fifteen minutes to finish it off. We decided to walk around the park. By that time, I felt thirsty and famished, totally craving a Mean Jean’s chili dog and a large soda.

  We passed one of the gift shops along the perimeter of the center. In the window sat a sculpture of a man and woman enveloped in a kiss. I instantly thought of Chad. I possessed a strong urge to see him, to be wrapped in his arms, to be meshed with his lips.

  “I should drive you back to the mall now,” Cassie preempted my thoughts.

  “Take me somewhere else,” I said more to the sculpture than to her.

  I lost track of time when Cassie dropped me off. I also misplaced all responsibility. I knew I needed to be at the mall to meet my father, but I felt driven by desire rather than duty. The weed removed all culpability and fear of repercussion from me that night.

  I stood in the well-manicured yard, weighing whether to go to the door or to the window. I chose the window. It was on the first floor, providing easy access. The light was on. I knew he was inside. I tapped lightly on the glass, then a little harder, not realizing the force of my knock. He was there all right, and he opened it up.

  “Noelle? What…?”

  I only wanted to think of positive things, not negative ones like my father worrying over the fact that I was a missing person.

  “Can I come in?”

  He helped me inside his room—a place I had only been a few times before. He wore boxers, no shirt. Clothes littered the floor and car magazines dusted the bedside and the desk where homework normally lay. On the wall, a picture of a red Ferrari covered the place where a poster of a half-naked Sports Illustrated supermodel once resided. Faithful, reliable Chad.

  “Are you okay? You look a little … strange.”

  Instead of answering him with words, I placed my hand on his skin and kissed him on the lips. At first he seemed astonished, but then he gave in. I pushed him onto his unmade bed, hovering over him. I saw him quickly glance to the door where the lock was secured.

  I stood while he continued to lie on the bed. He watched intently as I removed my stained, cherry-colored polo shirt. Aside from the night he unbuttoned my blouse on his living room couch, I never allowed him to do anything but kiss me. As I unfastened the clasps on the back of my bra, Chad remained still. I felt detached from myself as I removed my bra, exposing my colorless breasts to him. I liked the way he pored over me. As I undid all the buttons of my jeans, he propped himself up on his elbows to watch.

  My clothes slid to the floor, and I kicked them all the way off. I stood in front of him wearing only a tattered pair of cream underwear with yellow daisies and a hole in the seam.

  I crawled on top of him, allowing my nipples to brush against his chest. He slipped his hands beneath the waistband of my panties, and I let him because I felt high. He wriggled them off, leaving me completely exposed. He rolled on top of me, kissing the curve of my neck, exploring my unexplored areas with his hands. I peeled his boxers off of him, and we tossed naked within the sheets. I curled my legs around his waist, ready to give myself completely to him. I heard a knock in my head and ignored it. I continued to pull Chad toward me, but he stopped as though the two of us weren’t naked in his bed, ready to have sex.

  “Chad?” It was the voice of a man, his father.

  Chad gathered the sheet around me and pushed me toward the closet. “Coming.” Still aroused, he pressed himself into a pair of shorts. I waited in the darkness, kept company by piles of clothing, a copy of Playboy Magazine, and the scrolled poster of the supermodel.

  “Have you seen Noelle tonight? Mrs. Stark is on the phone.” His hair was tousled, his face colored from a brush with sex.

  “No,” he lied. “I think she’s at work.”

  “She wasn’t there when her father went to pick her up. Her mother’s wondering if you’ve seen her tonight. If you might know where to find her?”

  “No.” Chad sounded flustered. “Maybe she’s out with a friend?”

  “I’ll let Mrs. Stark know.”

  His parents were trusting. They didn’t interrogate him the way my mother cross-examined me. He was fortunate.

  Chad closed the door and immediately opened the closet.

  “You have to go.” The tone of his voice was a paradox to the way he looked. Of course he wanted to finish what we started, but he was conscientious. He’d m
ake me leave. I wanted to stay with him where I felt safe and secure. There would be no way to explain my whereabouts to my parents. I sunk into the sheet that enveloped me.

  “You don’t want me.”

  “Of course I do, but…”

  “What?”

  “Your parents.” He heaved a sigh and collected his thoughts. “Besides, we were acting crazy. We need to be safe. I don’t have any—protection.”

  “I bet you had protection when you were with Trina.” The buzz started to wear away.

  “I’m not getting into this with you.” He collected my clothing and handed it to me in a pile. He stood outside the closet door, expecting me to dress in front of him.

  “Turn around,” I snapped.

  “I just saw you naked.”

  “I don’t care.”

  Chad faced away from me. As I slipped back into my clothing, tears leaked from the corners of my eyes. I felt rejected as thoughts of Chad and Trina erupted in my mind. I bet if she was unclothed in his bedroom, he wouldn’t tell her she had to leave. I wiped the tears on my blemished shirt and pushed past Chad toward the window.

  “Noelle, wait!” He spun me around to face him. “I love you.”

  “Yeah, right.” I wanted to sting him, and I did.

  I stood at the edge of the driveway, afraid to go inside. The lights in the living room and kitchen illuminated the house like the eyes of a jack-o-lantern. A slight breeze like the heat from an oven moved over me. The moon was a crystal ball that filled the night sky. I wished I could gaze into it and read my future. Anything seemed preferable to the present moment.

  I walked up the stone pathway to the house. As I passed the narcissus, they tipped their heads away in shame. My head ached from the pot and the events of the night. Not a good time to crave a cigarette.

  With nothing to aid my nerves, I stepped inside the house. My mother immediately rushed at me and threw her arms around my neck. My father sat at the kitchen table, too depleted to get up. He looked tired. I guess he had something else in mind for himself than the life he led with us. He already had one daughter to worry over. Now another.