“Why’d you, like, act like I imagined the pounding?”
“I don’t know.”
Barbey saw Rave as a project, like a helpless dog that was covered in fleas that only she, as his soul mate, could pick off. At the time, she didn’t put a lot of conscious thought into the plans for her de-fleaing project, but she naturally took on the role as savior.
The project was sort of like when Barbey, as a child, tried to pick all the fleas off of her mother’s Standard Poodles. There were many fleas, but they were hard to find in all that pouffy and sometimes matted fur. When she found one, usually it slipped away before she was able to get it. She would chase after it with her fingers, separating the fur, making little flesh paths that she hoped would trap the flea. If and when she found one, she would saw it in half with her fingernails and flick its dead parts on the floor. The hunt for new fleas would continue, but it seemed that during the process, the fleas were multiplying; there was a never ending breeding process going on with eggs hatching and all sorts of procreation. And then there were the new fleas hopping on the dog. The process was never ending.
These fleas were like the wounds in Rave’s mind—she could catch a few wounds and kill them, but most of them would get away and transform into new more elusive wounds. Because of his behavior, new wounds would jump on him and breed with the old wounds. Her work as his savior was futile, but she was confident that someday she would succeed even if she had to force his entire body into a tank of flea solution. But, dogs like that don’t go under water without a fight.
Barbey and Rave were standing there in the parking lot and Rave was staring at her fixedly, his pupils dilated, his black bangs hanging furtively over his brows. A boy had never gazed into her eyes so comfortably, so unwaveringly—without physically touching her. This aroused her, stirring her internally, connecting her to him. She leaned against the car, touched her blonde hair, sliding her hand to her neck self-consciously, attempting to mask her desires. For the first time in her life, she felt understood. The sequins on her white cami scratched at her chest. She tried to reposition the blouse against her body. Though this connection felt more genuine than anything she had ever experienced, she felt a surge of childish embarrassment overtake her and couldn’t help but turn away self-consciously with a nervous giggle. When she turned back to him, expecting to see a nurturing expression on his face, to her surprise, she saw a conflicted sadness. She almost thought for a second that he hated her.
This reminded her of a TV sci-fi movie she saw once with a female character that reminded her of Marcia Brady from the television show, “The Brady Bunch,” and a male character who reminded her of Heathcliff, from a novel that she was forced to read in high school called, Wuthering Heights. Marcia Brady and Heathcliff were kissing in a dirt parking lot and suddenly the parking lot opened up and Heathcliff fell in. Marcia Brady was standing there terrified and alone, so she started easing her way down the side of the dirt opening to find him. She was crying and the dirt and rocks were scratching up her legs. Then Heathcliff reached up to her and gently eased her down on top of him into this warm, dark grave at the bottom.
Marcia looked up at the lid and appeared to suddenly realize that they were in a coffin because she screamed. Then she giggled for a second as the lid came down over them and she said, “This must be a fun Halloween game because things like this don’t happen in real life.”
Heathcliff didn’t respond—his face appearing cold and accepting. And there they were nestled up against each other with the coffin sealed shut. It was silent in the coffin except that they could hear someone shoveling dirt on top. The thud, thud, thud of dirt sounded from above and before Marcia realized that this wasn’t a Halloween trick, they were buried too deep to ever get out. Then, she said, sniffing and wiping her nose with her hand, “If the ground opened up once, it will open again.”
Heathcliff said, “Even if the ground opens up again, the memory will haunt us worse than the actual event.”
Marcia kissed him passionately and said, “I don’t know what you mean.”
When Barbey saw this movie, she thought it was so romantic how even in death they would be together.
Smiling at Rave, Barbey felt a relaxed calmness come over her as she said, ‘I’m ready to go now.” Agreeing to let him drive her Jeep, she got in the back seat because Sage was in the front seat with headphones on, listening to music. It seemed apparent to Barbey that she didn’t want to talk to them. She thought maybe she was angry because Rave chose her, but she wasn’t sure because it was obvious that she was enamored with Parker. After a moment of thought, Barbey decided to not tell her about the Mexican man that Parker had smuggled across the border. She assumed she must have figured out what was going on, but didn’t want to deal with the turmoil. Mostly, she just wanted her to like Parker, so that she didn’t feel guilty for taking Rave.
****
The ocean was cold and eerie, but Barbey felt an excitement rush through her as if the waves were splashing in her stomach. She thought this must be what people mean by having butterflies in your stomach. While Sage and Parker walked along the shore, Rave and Barbey sat on a bench on the pier. The night breeze was cool coming off the water, so she wrapped a beach towel around her shoulders to keep warm. It was not clear to her whether the chills were from the wind or from her mind. The only thing she was certain of was that she was happy.
Carefully, Barbey watched Rave for a moment staring out at the ocean, resting a bottle of beer on his thigh. “When I look at you…” she said, “I see this weird sadness screaming inside. It’s weird ’cause it, like, seems like you’re possessed with something painful that I can’t explain. I know I’m talking like a freak, but that’s what I noticed.” Suddenly, she realized that she wasn’t acting in character as Elsie Marina. In fact, she had nearly forgotten all about the role she had planned to play. Frightened, she worried that she might have lost her chance with him.
Turning to her, he took a swig of beer. “You ok? You…you look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”
“I’m fine.” She searched her mind, trying to connect back into character, but she felt overwhelmed with confusion. The ocean waves under the pier splashed against the support pillars. She thought she could feel the vibrations from beneath. “Who’s your favorite actor?”
He gazed ahead peering out over the black ocean. “Some people say I look like Jason Patrick from The Lost Boys.”
She laughed nervously. “You don’t look like him. He has a curly, puffy hairdo. Do you like him?”
“Well…” He looked at her and said smoothly, “…I guess not.”
“So how come you don’t live at home with your parents?”
“I…I moved in with Parker and…and his mom because I hate my parents.” He laughed looking up at the sky, his creamy white skin appearing pale as the moon. “My…my dad is a…a real religious fanatic and my mom… Well…” His eyes welled up. “She’s cruel.”
“She is?”
“Nah…” He took another gulp of beer. “They’re all right. It’s just me. I don’t like parents.”
“Do you ever talk to them?”
“Nah.”
“Why not?”
“They’re just different than me.” He looked down at the palm of his hand for a minute and then looked at his shoes. “I crashed their car,” he said angrily. “It was a real piece of Tijuana crap anyhow, so I don’t see what their problem was. I bet they think I’m such a…a loser for working at Luigis Pizza Palace as a busboy. I’m…I’m glad they think it.”
Barbey tried to comfort Rave by offering suggestions on how to improve his situation. “You know, you could take the GED, apply for student loans and get a college degree. Your parents would never expect it from you and you’d, like, end up more successful than them.” Her showgirl eyes widened, violet and hopeful, searching for his approval, like a child looking to Daddy for recognition after winning a spelling bee.
“I doubt that. They’re…they
’re pretty loaded as it is. My holier than thou father used to own the…the hottest nightclub in town. Now he’s got the leather shop and the pharmacies.” He guzzled the rest of his beer and tossed the empty bottle over the rail and into the ocean. “Let’s…let’s not talk about this crap,” he was looking down and brooding, but then with his head still turned downward, he raised his eyes up and smiled at her.
A gush of wind seemed to blow through her body and she tightened the towel around her shoulders. In her giddy, high-pitched Marilyn voice, she squealed in glee, “I’m so glad I had this beach towel in my car.” She was hoping Rave would ask why she had it in there, but he didn’t even seem to notice. Tightening the towel around her shoulders, she took in a deep, exaggerated breath and shivered dramatically. As she exhaled, she said, “Burr, the wind is so refreshing.” She looked at Rave, but he didn’t seem to take notice of her playful seduction, so she raised the towel over her head giggling as she watched it blow in the wind. “Weeeee…” She stood up and spun around with the towel flying in the wind above her head.
He smiled at her, seemingly entertained by her dance. “You’re quite…quite a dancer.”
This was enough for her, so she sat down, satisfied with her performance. “Thanks,” she smiled coyly. Did he see me dance at the Janet Jackson audition? She wanted to ask him, but she was too embarrassed. Instead she said, “I left this towel in the trunk from, like, a week before when I had modeled in this modeling shoot in La Jolla.”
“You’re a model?” Rave asked, opening another beer. “I’m not surprised—you’re…you’re beautiful.”
Blushing, she enjoyed the compliment. Until now, she hadn’t noticed that he had a stutter. She thought there was something unique and sexy about the way he repeated some of his words twice. “I’m not really a model. I just met this guy at the grocery store.”
“I’m jealous,” he said facetiously, running his hand over his dark mop of hair.
“It’s not like that,” she said. “I don’t even remember the guy’s name, but he paid me, like, fifty dollars and a copy of the photos to do just a few poses in my bathing suit on the beach. I was so glad to have the extra money and I figured if I ever decided to go into modeling, I could put that job on my resume.”
“I thought…I thought you wanted to be a beautician?”
“Well, yeah, a cosmetologist,” she responded, breathing heavily from excitement. “I don’t, like, have any real plans to be a model and I’m probably not tall enough anyway, even if I did.” She frowned childishly, pushing her lower lip out into an exaggerated pout.
“I’m glad. Models are sluts,” he said adamantly. “They’re…they’re plastic and phony with breasts as hard as doorknobs and makeup as thick as their brains. You’re not like that.”
“What do you mean?” she asked, widening her eyes, seemingly distressed. She was embarrassed now that she had told him about her modeling job on the beach. And now, she became ashamed of herself, but she didn’t know why she felt this way. A flicker of fear kindled in her mind and tickled her nose causing it to elongate slightly, indiscernibly, at the thought of how he might respond if he ever discovered her cosmetic surgeries.
“You’re pure, Barbey.” He turned toward her and looked at her directly in the eyes, which made the waves splash harder in her stomach. “You’re…you’re like an angel that has never been touched.”
Magnificent white angel wings spread in her mind. She could see the harp music like animated notes tumbling out of the heavens.
“You don’t need makeup and fake blonde hair. The more real you are, the more…more beautiful you’ll become.”
She couldn’t speak. She felt like she had been swept away by the wind. And the person saying this wasn’t some shallow high school dork that was quoting a poem from English class, but rather, a real live Rebel without a Cause making his own poetry. And he liked her!
“Want to go in the water?” he asked as he stood up taking off his coat.
“Right now? At night?” She gasped in terror.
He had a crazed look in his eyes like he had been suddenly ignited. “I saw you on the dance floor at El Figurado.”
She thought it was sexy how whenever he said a word in Spanish he pronounced it in a Mexican dialect.
“You didn’t think I was watching you—but…but I was.”
She laughed a puerile, nervous laugh, “You saw me?” She put her hand over her mouth; her violet eyes popped open like a morning flower.
“Yes,” he said.
She stood up and they were facing each other.
“And…and I know why…why you were dancing.” He leaned in closer to her and she thought he was going to kiss her. Her knees weakened, but then he straightened back up and shook his head side to side, looking at her in her dewy eyes, like he was on fire and she was too pure to touch. Backing up, he quickly pulled off his jeans and shoes and t-shirt. He was standing there just in his boxer shorts and then he jumped up on the pier rail and stood up, trying to hold his balance.
She screamed. “Get down from there! It’s dangerous!”
He laughed with his arms held out, still balancing himself.
“Get down,” she pleaded. “It’s not funny! You’re too high up! Please!” If he fell, he could kill himself—the pier was fairly high above the ocean and there could be rocks or some other obstruction below. Then he lifted up one leg and was balancing on the other. The night wind thrashed through his hair. He had a maniacal look in his eyes and was laughing like a madman. She reached for him to pull him back onto the pier, but when she reached for him, the touch of her hand made him lose his balance and he fell off the rail into the ocean. She heard him scream.
11
Rave’s scream as he fell into the ocean was the most terrifying sound Barbey had ever heard. It was as if she had died inside. Her very essence seemed to collapse and then disappear. She leaned over the rail and there was nothing below—just cold black water. She waited to see if maybe his head would pop up and he’d still be laughing, but it didn’t. The ocean seemed so cruel to her with its cold knuckle ripples punching her in the face with every nauseating swing. Maybe she should jump in after him, she thought. The water splashed rhythmically, as if apathetic, against the massive cement pillars that held up the pier. She lifted one foot onto the rail and tried to pull herself up, but a monstrous black cloud of fear smothered her and she fell back onto the pier. She couldn’t cry; she was in shock. At last, she had found her soul mate and instead of it being a beautiful and magical happily ever-after story, it had become a murderous ocean hell. That’s when she realized that she had murdered him. She pushed Rave off the rail. It was by mistake, but it was her fault, she thought.
Rave’s clothes were spread out on the pier, so she gathered them up and put on his coat. The coat was heavy with the other beers that he stole from the restaurant still in the pockets. For awhile, she sat there in shock. She thought maybe she should find a lifeguard, but then she remembered that there were no lifeguards on the beach at two in the morning. Maybe she should go to the police department. She didn’t know what to do and she didn’t know where the police department was, so she walked back to the car, hoping that she would find Sage and Parker along the way. She didn’t see them on the beach, but as she was walking up to the parking lot, she saw a red Trans Am drive out of the lot. She thought maybe for a second that that was Parker, but then she remembered he drove a station wagon. To her dismay, when she got closer to her Jeep, she saw that Parker’s station wagon, which had been parked next to her Jeep, was gone. She felt that cold steel knife slicing up through her body carving out an empty space. She touched her head and it felt plastic and empty like a doll. I can’t be held responsible for this; I am just a plastic doll spin, spin, spinning in one place.
Parker’s station wagon was gone. He must have taken Sage home. She felt a heavy loneliness envelop her. The entire night had seemed so unreal. She had found true love and lost it all in the same night. She reali
zed she didn’t know anything about Rave. Who were his parents? Did he have any siblings? Do they even care about him? Somehow, she couldn’t really imagine him with a family, but he said he had a mother and father. And how could she explain his death to them. They must have already suffered such a devastating loss when he was kidnapped as a child. To lose him again could be more than they could bear. On the other hand, they had kicked him out, so maybe they didn’t care.
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