by Andi Loveall
Yeah, recalling the time Ryan Gomez made him eat mud was less troubling.
He shared that and a few other good bully stories, even conjuring up a few tears for added effect. Raven seemed satisfied, and she asked him to come along to help sell some of the herbs from her gardens. He figured it was better than spending the day alone in the woods wailing and masturbating.
After an hour or so of helping set up, he sat in a folding chair, daydreaming and staring at the sky as the bags of vegetables and clusters of herbs disappeared from all around him. He saw the entire cycle: seed, plant, harvest, sell, kitchen, food, stomach, and shit. He couldn’t see the last part, but he didn’t have to. It was a life—chopped, chewed, and digested. Just like his wretched, lonely heart.
The thought made him snicker to himself. God, he was pathetic.
The walkways between the stalls were growing crowded. There was laughter and shouting coming from the area where the band was playing, but it all sounded far away like he was listening to it through water. People stopped and talked to Walter and Raven. Devin was introduced around as Walter’s “best woofer.” Everyone oohed and aahed over his plans to go to India, and there were so many handshakes, faces, and names, none of which he was going to remember. He didn’t care about any of this stuff anymore. It all was dirt.
They packed up and left around five thirty, Raven at the wheel. She watched him in the rearview mirror.
“Cora just needs space, honey. I promise if you give it to her, she’ll come around.”
“Let me guess. You saw it in a flash?”
“No,” she said. “I just know her.”
Walter twisted around, looking him in the eye.
“You know, son, the wife here needed space, once upon a day. And I had to let her go.”
Great, an inspirational story.
“We hit a rough patch, not long in,” Walter went on. “We’d been at each other’s throats—”
“That’s not true,” Raven said. “I was just a little sad because I was homesick. I’d been living with him in Europe for six months. I needed to see my family. I needed to get back to my life. And he wasn’t prepared to move to America at that time.”
“I had to watch the most beautiful thing in my entire life get on a plane and fly away,” Walter said. “How do you think that felt?”
“Like acid,” Devin said. “Burning its way through your stomach lining and into your chest cavity.”
“I would have gone with a rusted dagger to the heart, but that’s about right, I’d say. I tried to move on, but I knew no one else would compare. I cursed her for it.”
“He did not.” Raven laughed, shaking her head. “He’s kidding.”
“Eventually, I had the classic epiphany and got on a plane. Found my way right to her doorstep in Georgia. You should have seen the look on her face.”
“I was very surprised and impressed. We got married and moved out here the following year.”
“Lovely story.” Devin shrugged and looked out the window. Was this supposed to be reassuring him of something? Was he supposed to go to India for six months, return to Cora, and one day end up growing marijuana?
He kept his eyes fixed on the passing scenery, unable to think about it anymore. Walter and Raven seemed to take the hint and were kind enough to grant him his silence.
***
When he first moved his things into Panky’s room, he was too heated to think about the inappropriateness, but now, he was stuck in a strange situation with implications he hadn’t considered. He examined himself, asking whether he had consciously done this to make Cora jealous, and the scary part was, he didn’t think he had. That possible benefit only occurred to him later.
Panky’s life was like an artsy denim commercial. She painted her nails while smoking a cigarette in the doorway, she read magazines while hanging upside down off the side of the bed, and she played hip music and grooved around, taking pictures of the light hitting the room at different angles. She was quiet a lot, and for someone who supposedly had a thing for him, she seemed pretty disinterested. When they did talk, they talked about one thing only: Rocky.
In the aftermath of the fight, Panky had decided that her friendship with Devin outweighed her lust for Rocky’s physical form. She stood by Devin and relished in their mutual distaste, and he had to admit, it was making him like her a lot more. She didn’t pretend to be nice or spiritual or treat everyone with love. She didn’t give a shit, and it was awesome. They mocked Rocky every chance they got, pulling each other aside, and laughing hysterically at his latest display of stupidity. For example, there was the other night at dinner, when Walter was talking about the fate of the world had the Cuban missile crisis gone differently, and Rocky asked if there could still be a nuclear winter now that there was global warming. Or the previous morning, when everyone was in the house because it was raining, and Raven was sharing the history behind some of the artwork. She explained that the woman in the painting over the mantle was her great grandmother. Rocky responded with, “Whoa. I didn’t know they had cameras in the seventeen hundreds.”
It was a depressive, bitter sort of laughter, but it still felt good.
On Tuesday night, he was lying on his bed, and Panky came in the cabin door, tossing her backpack onto his lap.
“Just got back from town,” she said, pulling out a large bottle of vodka, another of orange juice, a carton of cigarettes, and a pile of magazines.
“I needed to get stuck in something vile. This place is so healthy it’s starting to kill me.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I kind of know what you mean.”
“Do you want to get fucked up?”
He blinked and looked at the bottle and then back at his notebook. It wasn’t like writing was going anywhere. Over the past few days, his once-romantic story had deteriorated into a graphic saga in which the supposed heroine had attempted to murder his protagonist by bludgeoning him with a stick. It was probably best to trash the whole thing and start over. And he would. Just not tonight. Tonight, he was going to get fucked up.
After one drink, he felt a little happier. After three, he was starting to think things might turn around. At five, they were out of orange juice and things had come full circle. Why was he ever contemplating sulking away to a foreign country with his tail between his legs? He was moderately good looking, a little talented, and apparently pretty funny—and now, he had vodka.
“Panky,” he slurred, dropping the bottle onto his lap. “A long time ago, I totally had sex on your bed.”
She didn’t appear as shocked as he hoped she would. “When?”
“I don’t remember the day. What do you think I am, a calendar in my brain?”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well then,” she said, nodding as if this were a satisfactory answer. “Neither of you have HIV, do you?”
His face fell. “No … Oh my God. Why would you ask that?”
“Because.” She paused to take a drag. “I don’t want HIV in my bed.”
“You can’t catch it that way.”
“You can’t catch it from an HIV-scented candle either, but that doesn’t mean I’d want one burning at the supper table.”
He cracked up laughing, taking a swig from the bottle, and wiping the dribbles from his chin.
“You’re funny,” he said. “I didn’t really have sex on your bed. I just always wanted to tell you I did.”
“Glad to help you accomplish your dreams,” she said, raising an eyebrow and snatching the bottle from his hands. “I think you’ve had enough.”
He grinned, reaching for it. She jerked it away, leaning over and setting it on the shelf.
“You girls are always telling me what to do,” he said, frowning. “But you don’t know what to do either. And neither does she. She doesn’t even know if she loves someone, or likes someone, or … I lost my train of thought.”
“She has low self-esteem. She’s not in the place to know what she wa
nts.”
“No, no, no,” he slurred. “Her self-esteem is good. Very selfish and s-steamy.”
“There’s a difference between knowing one’s beauty and having good self-esteem. Why do you think she’s always prancing around in cute little outfits and making up stories about herself? Why do you think she can’t bear that you’re actually kind to her?”
“That’s not true,” he said. “You prance around in outfits too.”
“It rhymed!”
“Oh shit … outfits too, it’s a zoo, get in my way and I’ll do some kung fu, coming soon to a theater near you, a song about a movie ’bout a broken hearted Jew, who’s surviving cuz of ganja—oh and vodka too …”
She laughed. “I love it.”
“I made it up just now.”
“I figured that much. You’re spectacular.”
He grinned and fell over, forehead smashing against the flannel blanket on the bed. The room was starting to spin a little.
“Spectacular,” he repeated.
“I don’t ‘prance’ around in outfits, by the way. I dress very conservatively.”
“Oh yeah right,” he teased. “You’re like a sexy young professor on an archeological dig.”
She laughed, lighting a cigarette. “You’re absolutely ridiculous.”
“Didn’t you say you were gonna quit those?”
“I’m going with a no on that one.”
“Yes you did.”
“I’ve said that thousands of times. And if it’s going to happen, it’s certainly not going to happen after I’ve consumed vodka, is it now?”
He tried to snatch it from her.
“I’m going to burn you,” she said, pulling back.
“I don’t care.” He giggled. “I’m drunk.”
He lunged at her and plucked it from her fingers before sticking it between his lips.
“Oh yeah,” he said. “Like a ninja.”
It tasted like old tires, but he didn’t care. He took a drag, the buzz hitting him immediately.
“Whoa … ”
“Enough.” She snatched it back. “I’m not letting you start smoking.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s a terrible habit.”
“Then why do you do it?”
“I haven’t been able to stop.”
“You could stop. You just don’t want to.”
“Exactly. That’s the problem.”
“Oh shit,” he said, holding his head. “I think the room is turning.”
“I told you to stop drinking,” she said. “You’re about to be really fucked up.”
“Uh oh,” he said, laughing and reaching for her. “Help me.”
“You want help?” She crawled over to him. “What sort of help?”
He looked at her, and she didn’t break his gaze. Her smell was rich and complex, like a blend of cinnamon and cigarette smoke.
“Uh.” He swallowed. “What?”
“I’m tired of beating around the bush,” she said. “I want to shag you, Devin.”
He blinked, trying to contemplate the statement. The spins were growing worse, and the nausea was rising in his gut. Before he could say anything else, her lips were on his. Shocked, he grabbed her by the shoulders and moved her back.
“W-what are you doing?”
She went for the button on his shorts. “What do you think?”
“Panky,” he said. “I’m drunk.”
“So what? I am too.”
“You’re my friend.”
She gave him a dirty little look. “What was that bit about the sexy professor, then?”
“I’m not saying you’re not sexy—”
She kissed him again, harder this time. For a second, he kissed back. Then, another wave of nausea hit him.
“No,” he said, pulling away. “Stop.”
He saw something move in the window. His eyes focused. Cora was standing just outside. They looked at each other, the curtains dancing between them on the breeze.
“Cora!” He jumped up, stumbling into the shelf.
Her form was barely illuminated by the dim light, but he could see the horror on her face. It was like she had just come upon a real-life hell, something bad like 10,000 slaughtered puppies or the aftermath of a suicide bombing.
She turned and ran, disappearing into the darkness.
He tried to run after her, but the spins sent him plowing into the floor. He pushed through the screen door and collapsed at the edge of the porch, where he lurched up the rest of the vodka and some rice pasta he ate earlier.
When he was finished, he clutched himself and wailed up at the heavens.
“Cora!”
Panky’s hands were on his shoulders. “Devin, it’s okay. You just drank too much. ’Twas the fag, they hit you like a freight train when you’re not used to them.”
“Cora thinks … ” He pointed. “She saw …”
“Go lay down. I’ll get you some water.”
“No!” he shouted. “Why did you do that?”
Panky looked stung. “What’s the matter, Devin? Do you prefer unrequited love only?”
He didn’t know how to answer that, so he took off, running down the trail in search of Cora. As it turned out, his drunk legs were better at running than walking. He made it down to the front driveway just in time to see her car taking off.
“Cora!” he shouted. “I didn’t do it!”
Infuriated, he went back up to the cabins to ask why Panky wanted to ruin his life. He was tired from running, and he struggled to make it to the top, still overwhelmed with the need to puke. He went into the bathroom and dry heaved until he had nothing left to give.
After he brushed his teeth, grabbed a bottle of water, and returned to the cabin, Panky was gone. He had no clue where she went, and he no longer cared.
He crawled into bed, trembling and dirty. After a few minutes, he blacked out.
***
Wednesday was the worst day of the week. It had loomed on the horizon like a compassionless doctor about to give him a rabies shot, and now it had arrived, and he was hungover.
He lay in bed after waking, a semiconscious mix of fat, bones, and alcohol. The vodka had dehydrated him to his core. All he wanted to do was remain in this grimy leather flesh casket and avoid anything that reminded him of life.
He stared at the ceiling. A big gray spider was making his way across, tiptoeing over an upside-down wasteland with amazing determination as if anything was going to be different once he got to the other side. Devin envied him. Ignorance was bliss.
Sighing, he heaved upright, jumping when he saw Cora sitting on the floor near the foot of his bed.
“Oh my God,” he said. “You scared the crap out of me.”
He picked his pants up off the floor and began pulling them on. Her face was completely blank, like a robot. It freaked him out.
“I had no idea you were there. What were you doing, watching me sleep?”
“I was just checking on you,” she said, climbing to her feet. “Seeing how your head felt.”
“I’m fine,” he lied. He grabbed his bottle of water and gulped from it. “And I’m glad you’re here.”
“Oh really, why is that?”
“Because you’re mad at me for something I didn’t do. I ran after you last night. I tried to tell you, but you drove off.”
“Tried to tell me what? That you didn’t kiss her?” Her voice was shrill, and the blank face was now gone, replaced by a growing rage.
“She kissed me,” he said. “And if you were really watching us, you should have seen me shove her off.”
“Yeah, I saw you shove her off when you were about to puke. But you kissed her for a full minute at least—”
“I did not!”
“You were too drunk to remember.”
“Don’t tell me what I remember. She kissed me, I didn’t like it, and I pushed her off. That’s what happened.”
“I know what I saw.” She grimaced. “She’s a t
ramp, Devin. She’s done dirty, slutty things. She told me.”
“Okay, I don’t know why you’re telling me this. I just said that I didn’t do anything with her.”
“You didn’t move in with her? You didn’t get wasted with her alone in your room?”
“I didn’t move in with her. What did you want me to do, go sleep in the woods?”
“How about the guest room down at the house?”
“What? We can use the guest room? Walter and Raven never offered that to me.”
“You didn’t ask.”
“Why would I ask? I wouldn’t just ask if I could move into the guest room in someone’s house. As far as I knew, these cabins were my only option.”
“Sure,” Cora said, rolling her eyes. “You know, Panky wouldn’t even room with Lucius, and he’s a good friend of hers. She let you stay for one reason, and I think it’s pretty clear what that was. You knew she liked you. What did you think was going to happen if you started hanging out with her all the time? You have all these little jokes together, you’re getting drunk together—”
“I thought I was leaning on a friend,” he said. “Because that’s what I’m going to do if you don’t want me, Cora. Get drunk with my friends and try to forget how shitty I feel. Who are you to talk, anyway? Prancing around like little miss social butterfly, lady of the land—”
“What?”
“Like Rocky really needs four straight hours of your guidance every day.”
“Four hours? I’m not with him four hours! Where are you getting that?”
“I see what I see.” He walked past her and slumped against the door.
“You might want to have your eyes checked.”
“Yeah, well … I’m sorry that I told you I loved you.” He pushed on the metal screen with his finger. “Or that it made you uncomfortable or whatever.”
“It didn’t,” she said. “I mean, it did—but it wasn’t your fault.”
“This is stupid,” he said. “I miss you. Why can’t we just go back to how it was?”
“Things can’t move backward, Devin. They just can’t.”
She sat there a minute, staring at her hands. When she didn’t say anything else, he pushed out the door, heading for the bathroom to puke his guts out.
