Crazy Girl

by B. N. Toler

  “Easy. Just sitting you on the tailgate. Chill.” My blood pressure was rising. Being around someone so…intense was equally exhausting and frustrating. So damn fidgety. I was trying to help her and she was still acting like I was a threat. What did she think? That I’d douse her ass in gasoline? Good grief. Someone’s been watching too much damn television.

  Leaving her, I rounded to the passenger side and tossed my glasses on the dashboard before grabbing the water I had behind the seat. When I reached her again, she still had her eyes closed, though not as tightly, and her hands were gripping the tailgate, her head hung.

  Setting the jug down, I took her wrist. “I’m going to lay you down so I can rinse your eyes out.” To my surprise, she didn’t argue. Holding her wrist, I placed my other hand behind her neck and helped her lie back. She had black smeared all over her face and hands from her makeup. Looked like war paint. I’d like to be that guy every girl dreams of, and say she still looked beautiful, but that’s not what was running through my mind as I stared at her. She looked…beat. It wasn’t just her puffy eyes and dirty face that made me feel that way either. When I really thought about it, she’d looked that way since the moment I’d laid eyes on her in the bar. Just plain beat. The cold hard bat of life had taken a few swings at her. That’s not to say she wasn’t attractive—Hannah was a beautiful woman—but something hung around her…a weight you couldn’t see but knew was there by the way she carried herself.

  All the red flags that warned a man he should steer clear of a woman had been raised long before and were still flapping in the breeze. Now there were sirens, like the kind you hear when a tornado is about to hit. Loud, blaring warnings screamed to stay away. This woman was damaged goods; burned, scorned, and very likely too far gone.

  It was a pity, too. Because damn, she was beautiful. Yes, physically she kicked ass, but there was more. A few times, amidst all the crazy talk, she’d laughed. Her smile was bright and genuine when she gave way to it. She did know how to have a good time. And her eyes were intense. When I spoke, she watched me, she listened—she was invested in hearing me. Those were things a man liked—a man like me, anyway.

  “I want you to tilt your head back, and I’m going to slowly pour the water. Okay?” Nodding, she did as I instructed. “You’re going to have to try to open your eyes so we can flush them out. I’ll help.”

  With my left hand, I pried her right eyelid open and winced. Her eyeball was red as hell. Damn, it looked bad. I wondered if maybe I didn’t need to get her to the emergency room. “Okay, here it goes.” Slowly, I poured the water with my right hand, and she clenched her eyes closed. “Just a few more times on each eye.” We did this process a few times on each side before she was finally able to keep them open a bit longer. Everything was going well until she shifted unexpectedly and the water poured over her face. Jerking up, she started hacking and coughing, her face turning bright red.

  “I got water up my nose.” She wheezed between gasps for air.

  This poor girl was a train wreck.

  Her rosy face was wet, straggly strands of wet hair stuck to her forehead and neck, her eyes clenched closed. In that moment her spirit animal would have been a raccoon. She was so pitiful it was kind of cute—in a drowned animal kind of way. Going back to the passenger side of my truck, I dug in my gym bag and found the towel I’d used after my shower that day. I hated giving her my damp gym towel, but I figured it was better than nothing. When I handed it to her, she murmured, “Thank you,” before dabbing her face.

  “Smells good,” she noted. I smirked, again containing my laughter. The woman was blind, and in a panic, but still noted the scent of my towel. Who does that? Opening her eyes, she widened them attempting to keep them open. My desire to laugh evaporated as I winced, noting how awful her eyes looked. They were redder than before. Her macing herself—funny. Her potentially losing her eyesight—not funny.

  “Maybe we should take you to the ER,” I suggested, my voice cool and even, attempting to hide the concern I felt. The last thing I wanted to do was freak her out.

  “No.” She waved a dismissive hand. “I’ll be fine. I just need to get home and use some eye drops.”

  “You can’t drive like this. At least let me give you a ride home.” I waited for her to say no.

  Burying her face in the towel for a moment, she mumbled, “I would appreciate that,” and it honestly shocked the hell out of me.

  She didn’t live far from the bar where we met, and she was quiet all the way to her house except for directions she’d murmur to me as I drove. When I pulled in her driveway, it was dead-of-night dark; she hadn’t left a porch light on. But even the dark depth of night couldn’t hide the state of her house. My headlights showcased its poor form. The gate to the fence leading to the backyard was barely hanging on, halfway fallen; her shutters were crooked, and some of the siding was missing. A tarp lay over part of the roof, a strong indication there was a leak. The place was a dump. Why the hell was she living here? I wondered if living here had anything to do with her attitude. The house certainly matched a huge chunk of her personality.

  “I’m going to help you to the door,” I informed her and climbed out before she had a chance to argue with me. She was already halfway out of the truck when I reached her side, one eye squeezed shut. I rested my case.

  “I think I can manage, Wren.”

  “You’re practically blind, and it’s dark out. I’m helping you.” She didn’t argue when I took her arm and led her up the porch stairs. It took her a few moments to find her house key on her keyring as she was feeling for it more than she was trying to see it. The headlights from my truck were still on, but they only offered limited lighting. When she managed to get the front door open, she reached her arm inside and found the light switch, turning on a lamp. Stumbling inside, she dropped her purse and went straight to the kitchen. I glanced down the path she’d walked but made sure to stay with my hand on the door, not sure if I was overstepping my bounds by coming in or not. The living room was large and led into the kitchen and dining area. I couldn’t decide if the rooms looked big because they actually were, or if it was because they were empty. Something seemed off. There was no furniture. Not even a damn folding chair. Even the lamp she’d turned on when she’d entered was sitting on the floor. There were stacks of books piled up against the wall, tons of them. She’d mentioned when we chatted on the app that she loved reading so that wasn’t that surprising. Maybe a little weird that she had them stacked in her living room, but no furniture.

  When she returned to the living room dabbing her face with a paper towel, I didn’t think before I spoke and in hindsight, I wished I had. “Did you just move in or something?”

  I could only describe what she did next as herding. Stretching her arms out, she closed in on me, causing me to step back. She herded me out of the house by taking the door and closing it so she was wedged between it and the doorframe, limiting my view inside. “No,” she answered simply. No, she wasn’t weird at all… I waited a moment, thinking she’d offer some explanation, still somewhat thrown by how she’d managed to move me so effectively before I even realized it had happened, but she didn’t add anything more. Instead, she bobbed her head once and said, “Thank you for being so nice to me after…” she motioned one hand haphazardly, “after I left the bar that way,” she finished. “I appreciate it.”

  “Um…yeah,” I snorted. “It was a bit of a rough night, huh?” I couldn’t seem to stop giving her more chances.

  Lowering her head for a moment, she raised it and met my gaze. “Be safe getting home.” Now who was the one avoiding answering questions?

  I stood there, watching her, not realizing how awkward it was. She was telling me to get the hell out of there, and I was just standing there like a goon. I knew that was my cue to leave, that it was time for me to hit the road, but something kept me from moving. I didn’t want to go. Why in the hell wasn’t I hauling ass back to my truck and hightailing it outta there?<
br />
  I didn’t want to leave her.

  But that was crazy.

  When I didn’t move, she cleared her throat, which snapped me out of it.

  “Right, yes,” I blurted as I raised a hand to wave. “Rinse those eyes some more. Or something…” I started to walk backwards away from the door, giving her the chance to ask me to stay longer.

  “I will. Thanks again.” Nope. She waited until I was down the steps before she shut the door. Turning, I made the last few steps to my truck and hopped in.

  As I backed my truck out of her driveway, I felt something knotted in my stomach. I told myself it was guilt…that I was a good guy and was just worried about her because that is what a decent person would do for anyone. The girl didn’t look well. She couldn’t even completely see straight yet. Her bloodshot eyes gave her the appearance of someone who’d cried for hours, though I knew that wasn’t true. One minute she was cordial, and the next she was flipping out. I felt bad for her.

  And maybe it was that…in part.

  But it was more.

  I liked the crazy girl.

  “Writers aren’t exactly people…

  They’re a whole bunch of people trying to be one person.”

  -F. Scott Fitzgerald

  I’d hit a new low. I stared at myself in the mirror that hung on the back of my bathroom door. My sight was a bit hazy, but not so much that I couldn’t make out the mess of a woman staring back at me. My hair was frizzed, curled on one side and knotted on the other, my eyes red and swollen and my eyeliner smeared everywhere. Absolutely ridiculous. There was no other way to describe it. Taking my cell phone, I video-called Courtney. It rang a few times and when she finally answered and caught sight of me on her screen, her head reared back. Her bright hair was tied up in a messy knot on her head and her teacher-glasses were perched on her nose. Now she looked relaxed. Not at all like the hot mess that plastered her phone screen. She started to laugh, but stopped short before creasing her brows in concern. God, I was pathetic.

  “Uh…are you okay?”

  “Do I look okay?”

  This time she couldn’t stop the snicker she let out. “No,” she answered honestly. “You look like shit.” Like I said, she was the brutally truthful friend.

  “I’m well aware, Court. I video-called you because I needed you to actually see what a disaster tonight was. I’m not cut out for this dating business.” I explained in great detail the events that transpired, earning several winces, face scrunches, and the sound of her sucking air through her teeth in pity for me throughout. By the time I finished, I had washed my face and tied my hair up. And though I knew she sympathized, she was also going to let me have it.

  “Hannah,” she sighed my name. “Why in the hell would you take mace with you?”

  “For protection,” I answered with a “duh” tone. “I didn’t’ know this man. What if he was a serial rapist or something?”

  “I agree you should always be cautious, but Hannah…you were meeting him in public.”

  “I took it…just in case. I don’t know. I didn’t put a lot of thought into it.”

  She rubbed her forehead, exasperated by me. “So you basically got drunk, verbally vomited your baggage, and then walked out on him on the first date?”

  Well, that was one way of putting it. I didn’t agree. I had just lay down and propped my phone up so she could still see me before I continued. “He was being a flake.” My voice rose in defense. “I got mad, and I decided to have a drink or two before he got there. I thought it would chill me out, but…I don’t know.” I closed my eyes as the embarrassment flooded me. They still burned like hell. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll never see him again.”

  She snorted. “I want to be the friend that tells you it wasn’t that bad, he’ll call, but I’d never lie to you.”

  “I don’t know what happened. It was like everything I said, he’d make some comment about me being…bitter.”

  “He called you bitter?”

  “No, not that word exactly. But he implied it. A lot.”

  “How so?”

  “It was just the way he was. He made me feel like I was…too forceful or…asking too much, too fast.”

  “Were you?” She tilted her head. “Coming on too strong?”

  I let out a groan. “No…” I knew that wasn’t exactly true. “Snarky, maybe,” I admitted. “But my comments weren’t so extreme, they were more…little quips. They were hardly worth acknowledging.”

  “Apparently they were enough for him.”

  “Well the more he mentioned them, the snarkier I got. I was saying all these things to him, but I couldn’t stop myself. It was like I was outside my body watching me act insane, and I knew I sounded crazy, but I literally couldn’t stop myself. They seemed to make sense at the time.”

  “Hannah.” She said my name softly. “You gotta get outside of your head. It’s a little high-strung in there. That’s not you, babe.”

  Her words hit hard. I liked to think of myself as a rational woman with realistic ideas and expectations. A realist. That’s the best word I’d use to describe myself. I relied on facts because blind faith was too much. Too many people in my life had said they were one way when really they were another. I couldn’t just take someone at their word anymore—I looked to facts. And with Wren, the facts didn’t look so great.

  Fact One: He had a job he wouldn’t discuss that apparently he rarely got time off from. Maybe he was telling the truth, or maybe he was a clever man using his employment as a tool to keep women at bay.

  Fact Two: He found it difficult to give a time frame. Probably was waiting to see if he could line up something better for the evening, and if he didn’t, he’d agree to meet me.

  Fact Three: He was single. Okay, fine, I was single, too. But he was almost forty and according to him, had never married. It wasn’t so farfetched to believe he hadn’t met “the one,” but it still raised a red flag.

  Fact Four: He was socially dominant. Guys with that kind of personality were notorious for being players and/or hard to get to commit.

  I, more than anything in the world, wanted to not think about and analyze everything, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop myself. I knew Courtney was right. I did come on too strong. These “facts” weren’t deal breakers, I just made them that way. I would never be able to find happiness with anyone, whether it be Wren or another man, until I got out of my head and just went with it. But I wasn’t sure I could do it. I was cynical, and it was killing me. It kept me lonely, hiding. And it was destroying my career because I was incapable of writing about love when I couldn’t even make it through one measly date.

  “I know. My craziness aside, it wouldn’t have worked with him anyway.”

  “Why is that?” she asked, her tone sounding somewhat annoyed.

  “Because I’m…me. And he’s…him.”

  “Him?” I stared directly at the screen and sighed. Her mouth was flat and she was staring at me blankly.

  “Dominant, great-looking, successful…ya know…put together. Everything I’m not.”

  “Hannah, before right now he didn’t sound so perfect either. In my opinion, you both sound like nutjobs.”

  “I don’t know about him, but I am most definitely a nutjob,” I muttered. She mumbled in agreement, her tone equally remorse. I continued defending my case, “I’m being a realist. These are facts. I know I’m attractive, I’m smart…I know there are good things about me. But those few things don’t make me an ideal person to date. Not right now anyway. I’m not on his level, and the sooner I accept that, the better off I’ll be.”

  She smiled, but it lacked humor. It was more like she didn’t know what to do or say so she had no choice but to laugh. Jesus. I was bringing her down. “Hannah. One day you will see what we see.”

  I nodded but decided to try changing the subject. I didn’t want to talk about me or my insanity anymore. I gave positivity a chance for a change. “There were a few moments…a fe
w times where we seemed to sync. We did laugh, some.” I thought of his smile, our banter. Those had been good moments. Throughout the night, occasionally he’d touched me and I’d felt that thrill. I hadn’t minded him touching me…which was weird considering how on edge I’d been all night. A part of me wondered if it was because it had been quite some time since a man had touched me. Although I was guarded, that didn’t mean I didn’t have physical needs. It wasn’t just that, though. He didn’t touch me sexually—he touched me as if he were trying to say something to me. It was a bit baffling. Maybe, subconsciously, it was positive reinforcement? Maybe when the softer moments of the night arose, he felt safe to show me affection? I refused to admit it out loud, but I missed that affection. I missed being desired.

  “I’m going to bed.” Yawning, I waved. “My eyes hurt.”

  She laughed. “You gotta put that in a book, Hannah.”

  I chuckled even though I was embarrassed, but just how ridiculous the evening had been really was funny…now. I’d literally maced myself. Who does that? It was one date Wren wouldn’t forget for a long time. “Yeah…I think you’re right.”

  After we hung up, I switched my lamp off and closed my eyes, rubbing at the corners where I still felt the burning sensations. Then I sighed. There was a part of me that was sad the evening had gone the way it had, but even in the midst of my disappointment, I smiled a little. It really would make for a humorous scene in a book.

  Aftermath

  My best friend and coworker Kegs—pronounced Keegs, a shortening of his last name Kegels, which we busted his balls about almost daily—was bouncing slightly as he blew into his cupped hands. He looked like a kid who had to pee really bad. It was only five in the morning and the sun hadn’t risen yet, causing a crisp chill in the morning air. Standing cross-armed, I turned my attention from Kegs and stared at our students as they gathered and huddled together, talking quietly where Kegs and I couldn’t hear. I had no doubt they were talking shit about us. They thought we were assholes. Good. I wanted them to think that. My job wasn’t to coddle them and give everyone a trophy for participation. My job was to teach them how to protect their client and themselves. A few of the students would fail this course. Security at this level wasn’t meant for everyone. And that’s why we pushed and messed with them when they fucked up. Helped them grow a pair. This job could be life or death for them. We took that shit seriously.