She pushed me inside. “Move it, the mosquitoes are all over me.”
She was quick about stripping down, out of her dress, the flashlight on the wooden floor in a circle. Folding her dress and slipping into a T-shirt and little shorts and everything, so I did the same, except I didn’t have anything to slip into so I just stood there in my boxers for a while.
“Get in, will you?” she said. “I think there’s a mosquito in here.”
“Just one?” I teased her, but got into the bunk. Which smelled like mothballs and old bug spray. And Neecie’s cake smell.
God, The Horn. But I didn’t touch her. Even though there wasn’t much room for both of us to lie there like that. It felt really good to lie down, though. The breeze from the lake had come up and it was cold, and being under the sleeping bag felt perfect. My head swam, thinking about how still and calm it was compared to the rest of the day.
“That was so fun, Sean,” she said. Her hand on my chest, then. Right in the hollow. Right where I wanted it.
I inhaled. Didn’t exhale for a while.
“I know.”
“I wish you didn’t have to leave.”
“Me neither.”
“Are you feeling weird? With me touching you?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“But we can’t have sex or anything,” I said. Blurting.
Neecie laughed. “Why not?”
“I didn’t bring any condoms.”
“You’re not very good at planning, Sean.”
“Well, did you bring any?”
“No.”
“Well, don’t give me shit about planning, then.”
“I’m a better planner than you, though.”
“Well, no shit. That hardly helps the current situation.”
She stretched beside me, her body finally touching mine. She kissed my neck. She smelled like cake. And sweat. And booze.
She said, “The current situation is what you’d call extraordinary. Extraordinary circumstances.”
“What does that mean?”
“Just what it means. It’s unique.”
“Because I’m leaving.”
“Yes. But also because of who we are.”
“You’re not my girlfriend.”
“And you’re not my boyfriend.”
“So, it’s just . . . what? Sexual?”
“Not tonight, obviously.”
“So what do you call it, then?” I was thinking a bunch of shitty things. Like, sad. Like, desperate. Like, friends with very few benefits
“No, we’re something else. Some other thing. I don’t know what you’d call it. Maybe there’s a word, though. Maybe I’ll think of it tomorrow, when it won’t matter and you’ll be . . .”
“Stop talking,” I said. And rolled over on her and kissed her. And we did a bunch of things for a long while, not sex, but still good things, for most of the rest of the night, we did all those things and we didn’t talk anymore, just touched each other, on and on, and I wasn’t even tired; when I woke up, I didn’t even remember falling asleep.
Chapter Twenty-One
It was weird, how busy and people-choked I’d been twenty-four hours earlier, with all the hugs and handshakes and well-wishes and stuff, everyone helping clean up the day after the wedding, my mother and Steven-Not-Steve and my dad, and Mrs. Albertson and Gary coming to get Neecie and meeting everyone while we all broke down chairs and tables and crap, everyone bossing and fussing and laughing and talking, and then I was all alone, going to my hotel room, my last day before boot camp, just a couple of things in my backpack.
And I was late; my mom had gotten turned around dropping me off at Sergeant Kendall’s and then she had to cry and kiss me good-bye and say she was sorry my dad hadn’t come with, but I didn’t think I could have handled that. I didn’t even want to be doing this in front of Sergeant Kendall. Even if it was with my mom.
Then Sergeant Kendall took me out to eat, with the vouchers I’d get for meals, anyway; he said there were other recruits flying out but they’d gone earlier and now it was late, almost nine, and we sat in his car for a minute before I went inside.
“Good luck, Sean,” Sergeant Kendall said.
We shook hands.
“You’re going to do fine,” he said. “I know it.”
“Thanks.”
“You have my e-mail and phone, right? Stay in touch.”
“I thought we couldn’t, though? Don’t they take everything away?”
“Right, yeah,” he said. “No, I mean, for when they give you privileges. And afterwards too. Okay?”
“Sure,” I said. Then I got out of the car and heaved my backpack onto my shoulders and went into the hotel lobby.
It was quiet and empty, kind of dark, with the weird mood lighting that hotels thought made them so swanky, though this place was just kind of regular, as far as I could see. I handed the lady at the counter my stuff that Sergeant Kendall had given me. Vouchers and crap, all paid for by the Marines.
She nodded at me and then started typing junk into the computer.
I stood there, my hands in my pockets.
“Sorry,” the lady at the counter said. “My computer is being so slow tonight.”
“That’s okay,” I said. I pulled out my phone; there was a new text from Neecie. She was at work, telling me how hungover and tired she still was. And about all sorts of dumb things people were doing, Kerry was bugging her, the usual.
put yr thing up on the shelf.
how does it look.
sad. it missed you.
sorry. tell it to toughen up.
I’d given her, finally, the morning after the wedding, the thing I’d found by the dead turtle aquarium that one day I was pissy at her. It was one of those fucking giant tea cans but instead of pitching it out the window or recycling it, someone had sliced out one side and built a little fucking dollhouse scene inside. Like you could see the people at the kitchen table and sitting on the couch, little metal stick people, curled up and bent into place. Because those iced tea cans were so colorful, so was everything about the little house, and it reminded me of the Albertsons’ house a lot. I guess it was weird; it wasn’t exactly perfect, except for the iced tea can, which wasn’t really that romantic, I guess, but like Neecie had said, we weren’t that way. Not something to recycle or trash. Not something shitty to say good-bye to and forget. Something else altogether.
“Here you are, Mr. Norwhalt,” the lady at the counter said, handing me my ID back.
Then she looked at me. Smiled.
“Basic training, huh?” she said.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, trying to sound the part. What a dork.
She smiled bigger, looked down at her computer. Then looked behind her, like she was going to say something naughty.
“I’m going do something for you,” she said. Typing more junk into the computer.
Fuck. Then I was nervous. She was a cute chick, no doubt. But fucking hell. I didn’t want to deal with this kind of weirdness. Neecie was still in my head, tumbling around in there, naked and otherwise, and I didn’t need another girl. And this wasn’t a girl; she was like a lady. Older. I still didn’t have any condoms.
Then she handed me a printout.
“Executive Suite,” she said. “Your room number’s on this card.” She handed me a keycard in a little envelope. “I figure, you might as well enjoy a good night’s rest, right?”
“Wait, do I have to pay extra or . . .?”
“No, it’s all good,” she said. “Late check-in. Complimentary. I’ve comped you dinner, too; just dial this number if you want something to eat and they’ll bring it up. And the Direct TV too. On us. Watch any movie you like.”
“Oh,” I said. I hefted my backpack over my shoulder, grabbed the keycard. “Okay. Thanks.”
“You’re very welcome,” she said, smiling down at her computer again. “Enjoy your stay. And thank you for your service.”
I nodded. I hadn’t done any service; she�
��d done the service around here, but I didn’t want to say that. She looked all pleased with herself, and I didn’t want to ruin it.
The Executive Suite wasn’t messing around.
A king-size bed. A shower with like eight different nozzles aiming in all directions. A TV in the bathroom and one in the bedroom. A giant sofa. A little refrigerator full of stuff to drink, and it wasn’t even a mini-bar but all free.
Everything smelled fresh and clean and kind of rich, really. Expensive. I set my backpack on the sofa. Looked at the printout. Looked at the menu on the coffee table. Laid on the sofa, laid on the bed. Took off my shoes. I was tired, but couldn’t imagine sleeping yet. My flight took off at 8:38, so I had to be up early, but not that early. I was within spitting distance of the airport.
I ordered a hamburger, fries, and some nachos and a giant Coke. A little while later, a dude brought it up and I ate the shit out of it while watching SportsCenter on the flatscreen above the giant bed. Then I felt all greasy and weird, so I took a long-ass shower. Put SportsCenter on in the bathroom, too, while I soaped my shit off. Thought about jerking it, but that felt weird because of the dudes talking about baseball and whatever just a few feet away.
Then I got in bed. Naked, because I only brought the one other pair of clean boxer shorts. I watched more TV, then I texted Neecie, asked what she was doing. Eddie sent me a photo of two tanks, one looking like it was humping the other one, like it had accidentally driven up the back of it.
“Good luck,” Eddie texted.
I flipped through channels. Watched part of a movie I’d liked a million years ago, when aliens attack the White House. Then I felt sleepy so I turned all that shit off; the TV and the lights all went off with the same remote.
I held my phone for a minute. Looked for new texts. Nothing. Then I had to charge my phone, so I put it up on the little nightstand thing. And laid there. Piled the pillows under my head all luxurious. Kicked my feet through the sheets so they hung out and weren’t completely strangled under the blankets. I liked my feet to hang out while I slept; I’d slept like that for years, since I had to sleep diagonal in most beds once I grew in ninth grade. This bed was the biggest one I’d ever slept in, and I could stretch out in any direction and fit.
A stoplight blinked through the windows, red, yellow, green, red, yellow, green. I waited a long time before I fell asleep.
Acknowledgments
The following people helped me immeasurably on issues regarding the Marine Corps:
Dennis Durand, Lance Corporal USMC, 1958–1962
Andrew Harris, Sergeant USMC, 1985–1991
Sean Green, Corporal USMC, 1997–2002
Thank you for your insight and service.
Early readers whose insight and attention I also appreciated include Erin Downing, Heather Weiss Zenzen, Trish Doller, Kristin Mesrobian, Ash Parsons, Meagan Macvie, and Betty-Jeanne Klobertanz.
Thank you to the Anderson Center in Red Wing, Minnesota, where I wrote early drafts of this story.
I can’t imagine a day without the love of my Secret Friend Cabal: Melanie Cannon, Maria Alisa Blum, Rachel Seres, Megan VanSchaick, Michelle Najarian, and Elizabeth Hutchin-Bellur.
Thank you to Andrew Smith and Christa Desir, for being so unfailingly honest with and kind to me.
Michael Bourret, I just like you so much! It’s so great having you in my corner, what with all your Knowing Of The Things, in particular, Things I Don’t Know Anything About. Your presence has given me such peace of mind; you don’t even know!
Andrew Karre, how did I get so lucky to have you as my editor? What gods did I inadvertently please to earn such rewards? In addition to you doing nice things like preventing me from literally tipping over on my face and buying me lunches at swanky places, you also watch Norman Reedus movies I recommend, visit my Loft classes looking extremely dapper while extemporaneously tossing off brilliant remarks to the youth of our fair state, and—perhaps more than anyone else—take my Tumblr posts extremely seriously. And then we get to discuss via e-mail the semiotics of oral sex! This relationship is like none I’ve ever had, and I’m grateful for everything you’ve taught me and continue to teach me.
About the Author
Carrie Mesrobian is an instructor at the Loft Literary Center in Minneapolis. Her debut novel, Sex & Violence, was called one of the best books of 2013 by Kirkus Reviews and Publishers Weekly and was a finalist for the American Library Association’s William C. Morris Award for best debut young adult novel. She was also Publishers Weekly’s “Flying Start” for 2013. Visit Carrie online at www.carriemesrobian.com.
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