by Don Calame
I AM IN TOTAL PANIC MODE, desperately searching for something that could substitute for clothing. A cardboard box? A rolled-up carpet? A paper bag I can put over my head? Anything I could use to get me home.
But there’s nothing.
And just when I think things couldn’t possibly get any worse . . .
There are voices in the distance. Muffled, echoing, girls’ voices.
I have to hide. Anyone who walks by will see me crouched here behind this dumpster. Where? Where can I hide? I’ll never make it to the fence in time. Even if I did, I wouldn’t be able to scale it. I could dash out into the parking lot, pray that I get lucky, and hide between parked cars before anyone spots me.
But before I can take off, I hear the girls’ voices getting closer. Much closer. Like they’re just on the other side of the WAL-MART EMPLOYEES ONLY door.
Crap!
Desperately I leap up, grab the ledge of the empty dumpster, and clamber up the side, scraping the hell out of my knees as I go. I manage to drop inside just in time to hear the snick of the push bar on the door followed by girls’ laughter spilling out into the open air.
“So, what are you guys up to tonight?” One of the girls asks.
“Kyle’s parents are out of town,” another girl says. “He was supposed to have a party, but he totally pussied out.”
There’s the skritch of lighters being lit and soon the pungent smell of cigarettes mixes with the nasty wet-dog-farts-and-blue-cheese dumpster stink around me.
Who the hell’s going to take their cigarette break by a dumpster? Oh, man, I could strangle Coop. It’s okay. It’s okay. I’ll just wait them out. A cigarette break is what, fifteen minutes? Surely I can make it that long.
“We’re going to try and scalp tickets for Angel’s Womb,” a third girl says. “They’re playing Nocturnal Submissions over in Dowling.”
That voice.
I know that voice. Know it as well as my own.
Cathy.
“They’re completely sold out,” I hear another familiar voice add. Nessa! “But there’s always someone on the corner selling tickets.”
Good Gandalf! How could I have forgotten that they both work at Wal-Mart? It didn’t even cross my mind. Not with everything else I’ve been dealing with.
All right. All right. No need to panic. They don’t know I’m in here. They’re going to smoke their cigarettes and then leave. There’s no reason for them to look in the dumpster.
“No matter what, though,” Cathy says, “I am not staying home tonight. My mom is driving me fucking nuts. I don’t know if it’s all the baby hormones or what, but suddenly she’s become a complete psycho bitch from hell.”
“Oh, my God.” One of the other girls laughs. “My mom was a major train wreck when she was pregnant with my little brother. One minute she was crying because she spilled something on the counter, and the next she was screaming at my dad for leaving his socks on the coffee table.”
“Yup.” I hear Cathy take a drag on a cigarette. “That about sums it up.”
“Do you guys know if it’s a boy or a girl yet?”
“Like I even care,” Cathy answers. “I don’t even want the stupid thing in the first place, right? I mean, I know that sounds totally bratty, but it’s true.” She takes another puff on her smoke. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll feel different when it’s finally here, but right now? It’s like everything is ‘the baby, the baby, the baby.’ It makes me want to puke. And don’t get me started on the freakin’ room situation. I’m still trying to pretend that’s not actually going to happen.”
It’s weird listening to my sister say all this. On one hand, it sounds so horrible and mean. On the other hand, I know exactly how she feels.
“Speaking of your brother.” One of them giggles. “Has he . . . you know . . . come out yet?”
Jesus Christ. She’s gone public with that? I grip my knees even tighter, feeling my entire body flush with heat.
“Not yet,” Cathy says. “But I’m working on it.” I hear the unmistakable sound of Cathy-Nessa laughter.
If I needed proof that they are conspiring against me, their evil cackling certainly seems like a smoking gun.
I clench my eyes shut. Just go away. Just go back inside so I can get out of this reeking dumpster and cling to my last shred of dignity.
“Goddamn it! What a freakin’ rip-off!” one of their coworkers grouses. “This latte’s not even hot.”
A millisecond later, I feel something lukewarm and liquid hit my stomach. My eyes spring open and a surprised squeal escapes my lips before I can stop it. I lose my balance and fall back, my shoulder hitting the side of the dumpster. I look down to see a brown puddle spreading across my stomach and soaking my boxers, making it look like I just squirshed my shorts.
I hold my breath. The girls are silent and there’s a brief hopeful moment where I think that maybe they didn’t hear me. Maybe my lucky boxer shorts are finally starting to kick in.
And then I hear Cathy: “What the hell was that?”
A PAIR OF HANDS grasps the side of the dumpster.
I cover my drenched junk with my hands and curl into a tight little ball in the corner of the empty bin, like if I make myself small enough, maybe I won’t be seen.
A mop of black hair starts to peek over the ledge in torturous slow motion.
Oh, God. I cannot believe this is happening to me. I will never be able to live this down. Not ever. Not in a million years.
I watch as the hair becomes a forehead, becomes eyes, and then becomes an entire face.
It’s Nessa, and as soon as she catches sight of me, her eyes bug. “Holy shit!” she blurts.
“What?” I hear Cathy ask. “What is it?”
I lock eyes with Nessa and press my hands together. “Please,” I mouth. “Don’t.”
Nessa hops down from the dumpster and I hold my breath, waiting for the worst. There’ll be laughter and finger pointing and shooting of cell-phone videos for sure.
I’ll have to go into hiding. Join an ashram or something.
But then I hear Nessa say, “It’s just a raccoon. It scared me at first, but he’s really just a pathetic little guy.”
I don’t even mind the slight dig. I’m far too grateful.
“Seriously?” one of the other girls says. “I want to see.”
“Oh, I don’t think you do,” Nessa warns her quickly. “You nailed it with your latte and it looks pretty pissed. It’s all red-eyed and frothing at the mouth. I think it might be rabid, actually.”
Oh, Nessa. Oh, my God. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
I take the cue and make what I imagine to be a loud rabid raccoon sound, kind of a hiss-howl thing.
“Jesus,” the coffee hurler says. “You think it’d attack us from the bottom of a dumpster?”
“Are you kidding?” Nessa argues. “They’ve got back legs like a kangaroo. He’ll launch himself at you and bite the shit out of your face.”
“Reeeeeeek!” I screech, scraping the side of the metal of the bin with my fingernails.
The girls shriek. “Let’s get the fuck out of here!” Cathy says. “We can call animal control from the break room.”
The girls’ shoes crunch through the snow as they stampede away. I listen for the sound of the EMPLOYEES ONLY door clinking shut. It does, and after waiting another few just-to-be-safe minutes, I finally brave getting to my feet. I grab the ledge of the dumpster and pull myself up to have a look.
There’s no one around.
I can’t believe it. Nessa totally saved me. I don’t get it. One minute I think she’s in cahoots with Cathy, and the next she’s bailing me out of the most embarrassing situation of my life.
I swing my leg up, climb over the side, and jump to the ground.
Only to see the Wal-Mart door start to push open again.
Goddamn it, here they come. Probably armed with cameras or harpoons or something. I knew Nessa’s turnaround seemed too good to be true.
I dive
behind the dumpster, flop to the ground, and try to shimmy underneath. Gravel pokes into my naked chest, arms, and thighs. But there’s no way I’ll fit. It’s too low. Too tight.
I’m screwed.
A second later, I hear laughter. This time it’s of just the Nessa-only variety.
“What the hell are you doing down there?”
I look up from the ground to see Nessa standing there, partially silhouetted against the sun, with something wadded up in her right hand. She appears to be alone.
“I was just . . . I thought . . .” I mutter. “I dropped something.”
“Really?” Nessa says. “Like, all of your clothes?”
“It’s a long story.” I get to my feet, covering the front of my clinging, clammy coffee-browned boxers with one hand and brushing the embedded pebbles from my skin with the other.
“No kidding,” she says. She glances down at my crotch. “You need medical attention there?”
“Uh . . . no. I’ll be okay.” My neck and ears burn. “It wasn’t that hot.”
Nessa takes a step closer. “You sure you don’t want me to take a look? You know, just to make sure?”
“No.” I stumble backward, visions of every porno nurse I’ve ever seen on the Internet popping up in my mind. And they’re not the only thing popping up. Damn it. Change the film, change the film. Hairy men’s butts. Ms. Luntz’s gazongas. Maggot-infested wampa guts. “I’m good, thanks. I, uh . . . I don’t think you want to get much closer. I kind of stink.”
Nessa sniffs the air. “Is that you? I thought it was the dumpster.”
“The rotten food is the dumpster. The bird shit and coffee, that’s me.”
She chuckles. “Okay, I’ll keep my distance.” Then she holds out the balled-up thing she’s been holding. “I got you an old uniform. I thought you could use it.”
I’ve never been so psyched about khakis and a polo in my entire life. “Wow, Nessa, thank you. That’s . . . that’s really nice of you. I guess I’m going to owe you.”
She smiles. “I guess so.”
I glance at the EMPLOYEES ONLY door. “Are you sure this is okay? I don’t want to get you into trouble.”
“Nobody’s going to miss it. Just give it back to me the next time I see you.”
“Great. Thanks again.” I quickly tug on the khakis and pull the polo over my head. It’s all a bit big, but it feels so damn good to be covered up again.
Nessa glances at her cell phone. “I’ve gotta go. But I want to hear all the details about this at our next writing session. I bet it ties in nicely with your tarot reading.”
“I don’t know about that,” I say. “I didn’t actually die of humiliation — though I came pretty close.”
Sure, it’s a lame joke. But Nessa doesn’t even crack a smile. “Tarot isn’t a science, Sean. It’s an art. You can’t expect it to be so literal.”
I worry that I’ve upset her by not taking it seriously enough, but after a second Nessa’s expression softens. “Anyway, I’d be willing to put good money on the fact that this whole disaster has something to do with that thing you’ve been so conflicted about.”
I can’t help it — my gaze immediately goes to her boobs. But then I clench my eyes shut and force myself to think of the real conflict in my life: Leyna and Evelyn. And I wonder how much worse this little bird-shit-tastrophy has made things with them.
“I’D ONLY GOTTEN HALFWAY through explaining how I’d just f-f-f-f-f-forgotten to p-p-p-p-pay,” Coop says, demonstrating the horrible stutter he pretended to have to get out of being prosecuted for shoplifting, “and the rent-a-cop got so frustrated with me that he finally just let me off.”
“You don’t even feel bad about it, do you?” I ask. “Exploiting a disability like that?”
Coop makes a face. “Please. If anyone should feel bad it’s Paul Blart. He’s the one who didn’t have the patience to wait for a poor stutterer to f-f-f-finish t-t-t-telling his s-s-s-story.”
Just then, my bedroom door bursts opens and Matt rushes in. “Holy crap,” he says, looking all bleary eyed, like he didn’t sleep a wink last night. “Evelyn is totally insane. You were right. I’m sorry I ever doubted you.”
Coop, Matt, and me have convened at my house today to finalize the casting for the movie and to organize our filming schedule for this week.
Well, that, and to debrief each other on what went down at the mall yesterday.
“So what the hell happened?” Coop laughs. “Your texts last night were incoherent.”
“Oh, my God, okay, so listen to this.” Matt hops up on my bed and leans forward. “After Evelyn tried calling Sean’s phone a billion times. And after we tried calling your phone, Coop.”
“I was being detained,” he explains.
“Yeah, well, when we couldn’t get in touch with you guys, Evelyn started getting more and more panicky, until at last she’s convinced something terrible’s happened to you. So we search every freakin’ store in the mall, including both restrooms, then she badgers security to announce your names over the PA system. And we wait and wait, and when I finally say that maybe we should just give up and go home, Evelyn goes absolutely ballistic. I might as well have suggested we strangle a couple of babies. She started screaming and wailing and blubbering that I was a terrible friend and that you both could be dead in a ditch somewhere.”
“Oh, man. It sounds like a total nightmare.” Coop bites his lower lip, trying not to crack up as he leans back in my desk chair. “You’re a real hero, there, Mattie.”
Matt gives Coop a death stare. “Thanks for nothing, dipshit. But I’m still not finished.” Matt shakes his head like he can’t believe he actually survived this train wreck. “So we’re searching all the stores. Again. And Evelyn’s darting in and out asking all the employees — again — if maybe they’d seen you two. All this time, I’m trying to talk her down, but everything I say keeps making her madder and madder until finally, I swear to God, I see her jack a shirt from GUESS. Right after the store clerk blows her off. Evelyn’s totally steamed, ranting and raving, and she grabs this fancy blue guy’s shirt off the shelf and stuffs it into her purse.”
“What?” Coop says. “She doesn’t get caught and I do? That’s bullshit!”
“Yeah, well,” Matt goes on, “at this point I don’t know what the hell to do. I’m thinking maybe she was just so crazed she didn’t realize that she was stealing. So, when I try to casually ask her about it, Evelyn goes apocalyptic. She rips the arm off a sweater mannequin at H&M and starts clubbing me with it.”
That’s when Coop completely loses it. He doubles over, howling with laughter, tears rolling down his cheeks. And I can’t help it, I start cracking up too. The image of Evelyn whaling on Matt with a mannequin arm is just too priceless.
“Laugh it up, boys,” Matt says. “You weren’t the ones who got chased down an up escalator by an arm-wielding klepto psychopath.”
“Oh, man.” Coop is laughing so hard he can barely speak. “I would have paid good money to see that.” He sniffles, wiping the corners of his eyes.
“I’m so sorry, Matt,” I say, catching my breath. “God, she sure didn’t seem too concerned about me when I tried getting in touch with her last night. She wouldn’t even take my call.”
Matt grimaces. “Yeah, well, she was concerned. Until we were leaving the mall. We’re heading toward the bus stop, Evelyn’s blowing her nose, apologizing for wigging out on me, when suddenly she stops dead in her tracks. And her eyes narrow. Then she starts running after this bus and screaming at the top of her lungs, ‘Stop! Stop! Stop that bus!’”
Coop and I stare at Matt with identical you’ve-got-to-be-shitting-me faces.
Matt holds up his hand. “I swear to God, I had no freakin’ clue what the hell she was flipping out about until the bus pulled away and she came back. It was like she’d flicked a switch. She was totally calm. Eerily calm, especially after everything I’d just witnessed. She said that she’d just seen the girl you were flirting with
in drama class. Then she told me to have a good night and marched off.”
“Leyna?” I say, my lungs feeling like punctured balloons. “She saw Leyna? Holy shit!” I stand and start to pace the room. “You should have led with that information, Matt. It would have given me more time to go into hiding.”
Matt screws up his face. “What are you talking about?”
“Evelyn’s brother! Nick? Giant guy? Navy SEAL? Remember him? I’m sure she’s told him by now. Oh, God. I’m a dead man. That’s it. Forget the movie. Forget everything. I have to get out of here.” I bolt to my closet, grab a duffel bag, and start shoving clothes into it.
“What the hell, dawg?” Coop says. “Chillax. It’s not like she saw you two together. So she saw Leyna at the mall? Big whoop. That’s hardly incriminating. I seriously doubt Nick will do anything just based on that.”
As if on cue, there’s a pounding on the front door. The entire houseful of animals erupts into barks, hisses, and squawks.
I freeze. My eyes go wide. I look at Matt. At Coop. My hands start to shake.
Coop lets out a nervous laugh. “Come on. That’s so not him.”
Another set of bangs on the door. The sound of a massive fist beating on wood.
I gulp. “You guys, what the hell should I do?”
But Coop’s still in denial. “There’s no way. What are the chances of that? It’s like he followed Matt here and then waited for him to fill you in before —”
“I know you’re in there, Sean! You and your pals!”
There’s no doubt about it. That’s Nick’s voice.
He shouts again, and we have no trouble hearing him all the way up in my room: “You and me need to talk, guy, so get your ass down here right now!”
“ALONE, IF YOU DON’T MIND,” Nick says when I show up at the front door flanked by Matt and Coop.
“Whatever you need to say to Sean you can say to us,” Coop replies. He’s armed with a baseball bat. Matt wields my replica wakizashi sword. And I’m clutching my shillelagh like my life depends on it.
Which maybe it does.
