by Dawn Klehr
“Oh, pitter patter.” She slides her walker—with bright orange tennis balls on the ends—into the living room. “It’s daytime, Jonah, and this neighborhood is just as safe as on the day I moved in fifty years ago.”
“I doubt that,” Jonah says.
“So, what do you have for me today, and who is this handsome young man?”
“Chicken and gravy, and this is my friend Desmond.” He gestures to me.
“Oh, how nice.” She laughs and winks in my direction. “Two gentlemen callers. Well, now we have enough players for Parcheesi.”
I raise my eyebrows at Jonah but he ignores me and says, “Sure, we have time before our next stop.”
We spend the rest of the afternoon playing board games with Miss Clara, fixing a piece of wood flooring for Mrs. Rose, sitting for a hand of blackjack with Denny, and eating cookies with the Klingles.
It’s a good day.
Yet I can’t fool myself. I’ll never be like Jonah.
To quote Fight Club, “Sticking feathers up your butt does not make you a chicken.”
Who can argue with that? One good deed will not erase what I’ve done.
RILEY
With only a week left before the festival, everyone is working around the clock to get everything done. I want my audition for the Guthrie scouts to be perfect, so I head up to school to run through it on the stage.
Dad helped me choose all of my college audition monologues. The selection for Guthrie is from Oscar Wilde’s A Woman of No Importance. Something that seemed so fitting a few weeks ago.
I’m surprised to find the auditorium buzzing with people, even on a Saturday.
So much for rehearsing.
Still, I don’t want to leave. I find a quiet place back with the stage crew and everyone leaves me alone. The crew is moving things and setting up for the festival. I grab a spot and roll into a ball of calm.
Someone sits next to me and puts a hand lightly on my leg. I close my eyes tighter, not wanting to talk to anyone right now.
I lift my head and find Stella.
“Hi, Riley,” she says.
“Oh, Stella.” It’s a pleasant surprise. “Hi.”
“Awesome screening last night.” She smiles. “Your part in the film kicks ass.”
I laugh. Her easy way is contagious.
“Thanks. It was great. Definitely a team effort.”
“So, hiding out here for a while?” she asks.
“Yeah, I was hoping to rehearse my monologue for the audition next weekend.”
“That’s great news about the Guthrie scouts coming. Are you nervous?”
I shrug, not wanting to think about it.
“Well, you’re welcome to hang out here anytime,” she says. “I can be your bodyguard and keep the public away.”
“Thanks, I appreciate it.”
“So, have you talked to Libby? I know she was desperately trying to get in touch with you last night.”
“She did, but we didn’t talk long. How was she when you saw her?”
“She’s fine, you know her. She just misses you, Riley.”
“I miss her too, but she has to learn that she can’t stomp all over my life.”
“Yeah, about that. It seems you have a new love?”
“It’s not what you think, Stella.”
“So, you don’t have something going with Dez?”
“Truthfully?”
“Is there any other way?”
“Well, I’m not sure what’s going on with Dez yet. I wish I knew. I wish I could be sure.”
“Nobody can be completely sure of anything, Riley. We’re all just trying to figure it out. You know, I dated boys all my sophomore year before I realized it wasn’t working.”
Whoa, wait. What?
“Sorry, I’m late to the game here, but did you just tell me you’re gay?”
Stella laughs. “Yeah, I guess I did.”
How did I not see that coming?
“That must be nice,” I say. “To really know.”
“I don’t know. I’m not too hung up on labels—that’s how Tori thinks. She wants everyone in a nice little box so she can decide who is worthy of her time and who isn’t. Everything is so black and white to people like that. I just think you like who you like and you love who you love. Simple as that.”
Yeah, but what if you can’t tell the difference between like and love?
“I guess I just realized that I love girls.” She wiggles her eyebrows.
“You make it sound so easy.”
“Maybe it is.” Stella shrugs. “But I do get what you’re going through.” She’s more serious this time. “I’m here if you ever want to talk.”
“Thanks,” I say as my head spins. “That helps more than you know.”
I spend a few hours at the auditorium, helping Stella and working on my audition. Dez meets me in the driveway when I get home.
“Hey, I was just coming to get you.”
I raise my eyebrows at him.
“Dinner, remember?” He sounds a little panicked.
“Yeah, yeah. I know. I just need to clean up a little. See you in an hour?”
“Oh, okay. Yeah, that’ll give me time to have the food delivered and stuff. Wontons or cream puffs?”
“Wontons,” I tell him before running across the yard.
My talk with Stella has made me feel better about the whole boys-versus-girls situation. I decide I’m ready to be with Dez. I just need a little courage first.
Mom and Dad have another thing at the college tonight, trying to drum up donations. It’s been nonstop the past few weeks and I’m starting to miss them. But their absence gives me the opportunity to hit the liquor cabinet. There’s not much to choose from: just a little brandy, a bottle of Baileys, a half-bottle of Jameson, and a practically untouched liter of vodka. Of course, there’s the wine in the cellar, but that would be too obvious.
I take the vodka and head to the kitchen. In a glass, I make a huge screwdriver. Heavy on the vodka with a splash of OJ. I slam it and make another one. This time not as strong. I’ve made a pretty big dent in the bottle, so I replenish it with water and put it back in the cabinet.
I bring the drink upstairs and sip on it while I get ready.
I take a quick shower, shave my legs and pits, and stare into my underwear drawer. Not like I’m ready to go that far, but I want to wear something nice. I can’t explain it. I find some pink undies with a little lace—quite a change from my normal Hanes boyshorts—and a bra to match.
After lubing up with Mom’s industrial-size generic body lotion, I cover my underwear with my favorite green tunic.
I choose my most comfy jeans from the closet, and have to do a little dance to get into them. My legs are still wet from the lotion and too sticky to slide into my pants easily. I struggle, rolling on my bed, jumping up and down on the floor.
When I finally get my jeans on, I check the clock. I’m running late—it’s time to move.
I leave my hair down and run a quick comb through it.
I finish the rest of my drink and brush my teeth for like the third time.
Then, I’m ready to make my way to Dez.
DEZ
INT. THE BRANDT HOUSE—EVENING
DESMOND fusses with candles in the dining room. He lights them and blows them out five times. He paces around the house and runs his hands through his hair.
He goes to the closet and pulls out a blanket. Then, in the living room, he lays it out on the floor.
Giving up on the table and candles, I grab a blanket instead and put it on the floor. We’ll have a picnic, not over-the-top but still thoughtful and romantic. I want tonight to be special, but I don’t want to ruin it. Riley is getting spooked, I can tell. I told her I wouldn’t pressure her and I’ll live up to my word. I’ve come
so far. I’m not going to mess it up now.
I put the Pad Thai, spring rolls, and wontons in the oven so they’ll stay warm. But who am I kidding? I doubt I’ll eat much of anything.
There’s a knock on the door and then Riley’s voice. “Hey, Dez. It’s me.”
She joins me in the kitchen. She looks beautiful. I love when she wears her hair down—it looks like silk. As I get closer, I can see that her eyes are glassy.
“Did you get Tru Thai?” She opens the oven. “It smells amazing. I’m starved.”
“Nothing but the best for you.” I lead her out to the living room.
Once again, I’m having trouble coming up with conversation. I keep busy, bringing out food and drinks, playing host. It’s awkward.
“Let’s eat,” I say, finally sitting down.
Riley does. She attacks the Pad Thai and has a smile on her face that doesn’t seem to leave. It relaxes me a little, but I find it a bit odd.
I’ve seen that look before. The summer after ninth grade, when I stole a twelve-pack from Bernie’s stash in the garage. I was freaking out because Mom had just told me that she and Bernie were getting married. I liked Bernie and all, but I was waiting for the other shoe to drop. I knew it was coming—something bad. Like he had another family somewhere or had the IRS after him or was a closet druggie. He couldn’t be that perfect. Mom had been close before, and we’d seen all kinds.
Like with most of the important memories of my childhood, Riley was there. Those scenes are always perfectly clear. But as it plays in my brain, it looks like it was filmed with a hand-held camera. Jumpy and chaotic, but very intimate.
FLASHBACK SEQUENCE
EXT. BRANDTS’ DRIVEWAY—EVENING
DESMOND puts beer in his backpack, jumps on his bike, and heads off to the caves, a place by the river where kids drink, make out, and basically try to escape. RILEY follows on her skateboard.
RILEY
Dez, wait up. Wait.
CUT TO:
RILEY and DESMOND in the caves together, drinking beer and talking and laughing.
RILEY
(finishes her third beer)
Good things do happen, ya know.
DEZ
(shakes his head)
Maybe for you, Rye.
RILEY
(finishes her fourth beer)
Dez, you just need to believe
in the good.
DESMOND and RILEY chum it up like two guys who just got back from the war. They’re plastered.
CUT TO:
DESMOND AND RILEY weaving down the road on their bike and skateboard. With the occasional fall and laughing fit, it takes them forever to get home.
END FLASHBACK
Now, Riley’s eyes give her away. Drunk and dreamy, just like they were at the caves.
“Rye, were you drinking tonight?”
“Moi? I’m not that kind of girl, Dez.” She bats her eyes.
“Mmm hmmm. Maybe you’re not plastered like that night at the caves, but I’d say you’re happily buzzed right now.”
“I know, sorry. I just needed to take the edge off. With the festival and the scouts coming next weekend, I’m a wreck.” She chuckles, then proceeds to go into a hysterical laughing fit.
“Well, aren’t you Miss Romance,” I say, a little pissed. I want her to want me like I want her.
“I’m sorry, but this is crazy, isn’t it?” she says. “I mean, come on. Did you ever imagine being here? With me?”
“Well, not really,” I admit. I grab her hands, then, feeling them, so soft and small. “But I guess on some level, I’ve always hoped.”
Riley leans over and puts her lips on mine. In an instant, I’m turned on. I really don’t care about how we got here or where we’re going. All that matters now is that she wants me.
I kiss her back, long and deep, until my brain goes fuzzy.
Then Jonah’s questions begin to seep into my head and I start second-guessing myself.
What if she’s grossed out by kissing a guy? I’m definitely not soft or small or gentle. What if I’m too rough? What if she’ll never like it?
I pull away, and Riley’s eyes narrow.
“What is it?” She frowns. “Is something wrong?”
“Shit. No, Rye, no. It’s perfect. I just need to catch up a little. Mind if I grab a drink?”
She motions with her hand. “Be my guest.”
I look in the cupboard above the fridge, where Mom keeps the booze. Beer won’t cut it tonight. The first row is Kahlua, amaretto, and a bunch of other girly mixes, but there in the back, way back, is a bottle of Bacardi.
“Hang on, Riley,” I shout out. “I have to get something from the garage.” I walk out slowly, letting the cool air calm me down. I search the garage refrigerator for a pop, taking my time.
When I’m finally ready, I mix up a Bacardi Coke, heavy on the rum, and go back to Riley.
She’s hunched over, head on the couch, sleeping.
I’m beginning to think it’s never going to happen with us. I kneel down beside her. “Riley?” I whisper, pushing her hair off her face.
“Emma?” she slurs.
“No, it’s me.” I rest my head on the couch while my heart breaks a little.
So much for that.
I go back into the kitchen and dump out my drink. I pick up Riley’s shoes and coat, stuff them under one arm, and use the other to throw Rye over my shoulder.
I carry her home.
When I get her in bed, I lean over and pull her shoes off. She has her hands on my shoulders, pulling me to her. I can feel her breath on my face and I want to taste it. Swim in it.
Riley has come to me. I don’t even care that she said Emma’s name earlier—there are bound to be some scars left after everything that’s happened. Even so, I feel that the pieces are finally in place. The stars have aligned and all that crap.
I move to her, and that’s when I see it. That look again. Fear. That crushing look that tells me it’s not going to work. Not this way. Not tonight. That’s a line I won’t cross.
So, nothing happens. But as I pull away Riley says, “Stay, Dez. Stay.”
I do.
On top of her covers.
I’m so pathetic.
RILEY
My throbbing head wakes me. I struggle to open my eyes, and the light shining through my window forces them to close again. I shift to my side and feel my bra strap digging into my skin. I’m still in my clothes and have no idea how I got into bed.
I slip out of my bra, pulling it through the sleeve of my shirt and throwing it on the floor. Then I unbutton my jeans and look around my room, trying to put the pieces of last night’s puzzle together.
The clock says ten a.m.
That means I’ve lost about twelve hours.
On my bedside table, a large tumbler of water calls for me—as well as the bottle of ibuprofen sitting next to it. I take both of them and make an oath that if my head stops pounding, I’ll never drink again.
I lay my head back on the pillow and pinch the skin between my thumb and forefinger, putting pressure on the web of flesh. We had an acupuncturist come to the community center one night to talk about the power of pressure points. I try to imagine the pain subsiding, breathing in good feelings and breathing out the bad. Then I try to go back to sleep.
It’s no use.
I’m up and I’m miserable.
My mouth starts to water, so I get out of bed and run. On my way into the bathroom, I trip over a small trash can. That’s when recollection begins to drip into my brain, drop by drop.
“Rye, I have a bucket by the edge of your bed in case you get sick,” Dez said when he tucked me in last night. “It’s right here.” He took my hand and ran it across the rim of the can, like you would with a blind person. “There’s water and aspirin
on your table.”
My face flushes at the memory. What a child I am. A few drinks and I have to be put to bed. I lean over the toilet but nothing happens. So I move to a sitting position to pee. I sit there awhile, holding my head in my palms.
I slowly get vertical, holding the wall for balance, and shuffle over to the sink.
Drip.
Another memory surfaces.
“Don’t go, Dez. Stay with me.” I actually said that to him last night. How freaking embarrassing.
The water runs into my hands and I splash my face and scoop the rest into my mouth. I swish it around like mouthwash—I don’t think my stomach could take the real thing—and try to get rid of the rancid taste.
Drip.
I remember more.
The. Kiss. With. Dez.
I was all over him.
This time, he pulled away. I can see his face.
I bang my head on the wall, trying to shake the image.
When I lean over the toilet this time, I really do throw up.
I crawl back to my bedroom and see a note on the floor. It must have fallen in my rush to get out of bed.
I have to squint to read the scrawl.
It’s from Dez.
Riley,
Hope you’re feeling better. I wanted to be there when you woke but I didn’t think Joan and Ken would appreciate finding me in your bed.
I know this weekend didn’t turn out as planned but please don’t second guess this. I mean, please don’t second guess us.
I promise you, it will be worth the wait.
Yours,
—D
I hug the note to my chest and pull the covers over my head.
The day continues with slow drips of memories. I try to bury them with me under the covers but my phone keeps ringing. Dez and Libby tag-team all morning with interruptions. I manage to put Dez off, but Libby is relentless.
I decide to get it over with and meet up with her at Java.
The bite in the air helps clear my head as I wait for the bus. Libby wanted to pick me up, but I thought it’d be better if we met on neutral ground.
Inside, Libby sits there at our favorite table and I’m shocked; she’s always running late and I’m the one who’s always waiting on her. I stand in the doorway for a moment, trying to drum up the energy to deal with this latest drama.
