by A. E. Cannon
“So,” she begins, “you don’t really speak Portuguese?”
“No. But I would like to.” Like THAT also matters.
Ellie’s arms are folded tight against her chest as though she’s protecting herself. From me. She stares at the ground.
“Why did you lie to me?” she asks, still looking down.
I cut directly to the chase. “Because—because I’m a jerk.”
Although her head is still bowed, Ellie raises her eyes, and I go on.
“When you walked through the doors that first night, I thought you were the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen, and when you noticed my name tag—well, I decided to go for it. I turned into Sergio.”
Ellie thinks about this. “How do you know I wouldn’t have liked Ed just as much as I liked Sergio?”
I let rip with a ripe royal snort. “Give me a break.”
She looks at me with surprise.
“Girls like you don’t notice guys like me.”
For a split second, Ellie looks wounded—like she’s been smacked hard across the face. Then she recovers.
“You may think you know all about girls like me,” she says, biting off each word. “But that’s not the same thing as actually knowing me, now is it?”
No doubt about it. An icy breeze is blowing my way.
“Who knows?” Ellie says. “Maybe I could have walked through the door and thought you were pretty cute. Maybe I could have said, ‘Your name is Ed? Well, I’m Ellie Fenn from Santa Clara, and I’m very pleased to meet you!’ Maybe you could have said something funny and made me laugh and maybe you would have laughed, too, in which case I would have noticed that you’re even better looking when you smile, that actually you have a smile to die for. Maybe we could have been friends. Maybe we could have been more. Maybe.
“But now we’ll never know how it could have been between us, will we, Sergio?”
She spins sharply on her heel and walks off without looking back.
As final exits go, it’s absolutely perfect—controlled, well-timed, brutally elegant.
So this is what I do. I start to walk and I do not stop, and as I walk I take a good hard look at all the scumbag things I’ve been up to lately. Here’s a list in case you want to review for a quiz later.
Lying to Ellie.
Making Ellie fall in love with Sergio.
Two-timing Ellie with Scout in her brother’s Mustang convertible.
Kissing Scout after Quark has confessed that he himself is in love with Scout.
Making Scout furious enough to toss me out of her brother’s Mustang.
Shooting Bambi’s mother.
J/k about Bambi’s mother. Even I’m not that bad. Not yet.
Slap. Slap. Slap.
My shoes pound the ground as I walk down sidewalks and across streets. The hot sun sits on the horizon like a white all-seeing eye, staring down on me (the Guilty One) so that my lovely frilly white shirt is soon soaked in sweat. Ed sweat.
An old Firebird with a throbbing stereo slows down. Someone inside shouts something at me in Spanish, then follows up by making little kissing noises. Everybody laughs. Ha! Ha! Ha! The car, still vibrating with bass, peels off and leaves me and my limp frilly shirt in the dust.
That’s when I look up and notice where I am—in the heart of Salt Lake’s Central City neighborhood where the phrase Se habla español appears on most of the signs.
And that’s when I notice the shrine next to the bus stop.
I’ve heard about the shrine on the news. About two or three years ago, the city decided it was a lawsuit waiting to happen and made a move to shut it down, but so many people protested that the mayor backed off. Now here it is, right before my naked eyes.
The shrine is actually this huge old tree where the image of Jesus supposedly appeared. Some of the local residents were pretty excited about this event and built a little platform around the tree’s trunk so that people can get a better look at the exact spot where Jesus showed up. There’s also a small covered bench for kneeling and praying in front of the tree, as well as two low tables covered with burning candles that flicker in the breeze. Everything is covered with faded pictures of Jesus and Mary, as well as garlands and bouquets of pink and orange and yellow plastic flowers. There are other things, too, like balloons and stuffed animals and old school photos—things a kid would leave if he wanted to give Jesus a present so that Jesus would do him a favor in return.
It’s the kind of place you don’t expect to find in the heart of downtown Salt Lake City. It’s the kind of place where Sergio, lonely and homesick for the hot air of Brazil, would probably feel comfortable.
So I stand awhile in front of the shrine, just looking at all the pictures and the flowers and smelling the thick scent of burning white candles. Then I notice the undershirt tucked between fistfuls of flowers. It’s very small, with snaps on the side—the kind that brand-new babies in the hospital wear.
Suddenly I find myself wondering about who had left it and when and why, and before I know it I can see the whole thing like a movie in my head—a mom and a dad leaving the tiny undershirt at the tree, making all kinds of promises to God so that their baby will be okay.
Sadness burbles up inside of me. Probably it wasn’t the parents’ fault that the baby had problems. Probably that baby was born with some condition—like a hole in its heart, for example. That’s what happened to my second-grade teacher’s baby boy. It wasn’t anybody’s fault, she explained to us after. Sometimes stuff like that just happens in life.
ON THE OTHER HAND, there are certain things in life that are definitely a person’s fault. I think of Ellie. Scout. Quark. Remember their faces. Feel my sadness turn to remorse.
Out of the blue it’s like I hear Jesus-in-the-Tree doing a voice-over in my head.
You hurt them, Ed.
I bow my head a little—enough to be respectful but not enough to look like I’ve suddenly morphed into T. Monroe. I say a prayer.
I promise to make it up to Scout and Quark and Ellie. I promise to make them happy.
THE EMAIL ELLIE WANTED TO SEND
SUBJECT: Déjà vu
To J.
How did this happen again?
Will I be like Mom’s coworker LaDawna Ashton Young Dewey Niilsen Dewey (she married the Dewey husband twice) Woodruff, who keeps marrying different versions of the exact same jerk? Each time she says, “But this one’s different.”
WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?
I found out about YOU by accident late one night at the college library. I’d stopped there on my way home from the mall so I could dash in and check out a book.
At first I couldn’t believe it was really you, hidden in a corner behind the stacks. I almost waved and called out your name. Hey you! I thought you said you were working tonight!
But then I realized you weren’t alone.
I heard her laugh first—a low, throaty laugh. And then I saw her lean into you and you cup her eager face in your hands.
I headed straight for the bathroom. Locked myself in a stall. Threw up until I was dizzy. And then I cried.
I thought about confronting you that very night beneath the blooms of apricot and almond trees. I wanted you to comfort me, tell me I’d gotten everything wrong.
But it was already too late. Your mask had slipped away and I had seen you for who you really are.
Angrily yours,
Ellie Fenn
JUNE 21
Scout’s Take
Surprise!
When I’m online this morning, Ellie IMs me.
ELLIE: Hey, it’s me, Ellie.
Seeing her name pop up makes me feel all guilty, like I’ve been caught checking out Regency romances from the library by my AP English teacher. I cannot believe I let Ed kiss me. That I wanted him to kiss me. That I still want him to kiss me, even though I hate him with all my heart. WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?
ME: Hey, Ellie, what’s up?
ELLIE: Not much. Just wondering if you want to do s
omething later. I finish my voice lesson at 5.
Ali’s party is tonight. I don’t think I’ll go, though. I can’t avoid Ed for the rest of my life (sadly), but at least we don’t have to bump into each other at the same social events.
ME: Sounds great!
Stupid Ed. He’s ruined EVERYTHING. First my life. Now Ali’s party.
ELLIE: What should we do?
Last year Ali hired Mazza restaurant to cater. I still think about the baba ghanoush and how great it was. No kidding. My mouth is watering right now. I love baba ghanoush. I LOVE ALI’S PARTY.
ME: Maybe we could go to the dollar movie.
The dollar movie? Now there’s a brilliant idea—watching someone else have a life instead of having one of my own. Stupid Ed! Why should I miss out on baba ghanoush when he’s the one who’s been acting like an idiot?
ELLIE: Sounds fun. Which one? What time?
Maybe Ed won’t go to the party. If he has any decency at all he’ll stay home. And if he’s there, I’ll totally ignore him. Meanwhile, I can introduce Ellie to a few more people.
ME: How about this instead. There’s a party at Ali’s house tonight….
ED’S TURN
It’s Thursday night—the night of Ali’s Midsummer Eve’s Costume Ball. Helena the Stalking Cat is sitting on my dresser, watching me get ready. Normally I would have tossed her out the window by now, but I don’t want to alienate the very few friends I have left. Even the ones I’m allergic to.
“Thank you, Helena,” I say, “for loving me in spite of myself.”
She gives me a yellow-eyed, blissed-out purr.
I don’t even know if Quark is still planning to go with me to the party. We haven’t spoken since he decked me in the ear.
The phone rings as I pull on my Starship Enterprise uniform, which I found “reduced for quick sale” at the the Costume Shoppe on Thirty-third South.
I fumble for the receiver. “Hello?”
It’s Mr. O’Rourke. “Quentin wants me to tell you to be ready at nine p.m., Ed. He’ll drive.”
“If you’re calling, he must not be speaking to me yet,” I say.
“I don’t know anything about that,” Mr. O’Rourke lies smoothly.
“Quark’s a stand-up guy,” I say. Not everyone would go to a party with someone they weren’t speaking to. Quark, however, would go out of a pure sense of duty. “Please let me talk to him.”
I hear Mr. O’Rourke say in muffled tones, “For Pete’s sake, hold still! I’m almost done.” He gets back on the phone and says mysteriously, “Ed, Quentin can’t talk right now….”
All is made clear when Quark honks out front and I join him. He’s sitting in his car, wrapped in gauze bandages from head to toe. The only actual body parts I can see are his eyes and a little bit of his nose.
“You missed part of your left nostril,” I inform him.
“Mmmmmmmmmmmmm,” Quark says, which (no doubt) means “piss off” in ancient Egyptian.
I should have guessed that Quark would show up dressed like a mummy. He was always a mummy for Halloween, whereas I was always a ninja.
“Okay, Quark,” I say as we hurtle down the street, “I’ve got two very important things I want to say to you before you get us killed. The first is that I’m sorry I kissed your girlfriend. That was wrong of me to do. Wrong, wrong, wrong. I’m sorry for acting like such a jerk.”
“Mmmmmmmmmmmmmm,” says the mummy to my left.
“The second thing I want to say is that I am going to do everything in my power to bring you and Scout together. It’s my new mission in life.” I pause for a minute to let my words sink through all those bandages. “Scout will be there tonight, by the way.”
Scout. Saying her name is like taking a knife to the heart.
I sink back in the passenger seat, hoping that nobility will feel really great.
Only it doesn’t. Being noble pretty much sucks, actually. But you know how it is: A Klingon’s gotta do what a Klingon’s gotta do.
Scout’s Take
There are cars up and down the street when Ellie and I arrive at Ali’s house. We drive around the block a few times and finally park around the corner. Neither one of us gets out of Ben’s Mustang right away, however, because we’ve been having so much fun just talking.
Who knew a thing like that could happen? Just goes to show how deceiving first impressions can be.
“Look,” Ellie finally says, settling back against the bucket seat, “I want to tell you that I know all about ‘Sergio.’”
She makes little quotation marks with her fingers when she says the word “Sergio.”
I cover my face with my hands and groan with shame. “I am so sorry I didn’t tell you the truth.” I peek at her through my fingers and discover she’s smiling. “How did you find out?”
Ellie tells me the story, and I groan again. Trust Ed to break the news to her in the parking lot. What do I see in this boy?
Ellie laughs. “It’s okay, Scout. I promise. When he told me yesterday afternoon, I was so mad I just wanted to grab him and pull out all his hair and—oh, I don’t know—punch him in the face over and over.”
“I don’t blame you. Ed makes me feel that way too, sometimes.”
“After I cooled down last night, I had to admit I hadn’t been completely honest with him either.”
I won’t lie—I felt something like hope stir inside me. Hope. Can you believe it? In spite of everything?
“What do you mean?”
Ellie sighs. “I was distracting myself with Sergio in the hopes of forgetting somebody else.”
Then she tells me the true and terrible story about the college boy who broke her heart.
Even though the night air is warm, Ellie shivers and wraps her arms around herself like a cloak of flesh. “What is wrong with me, Scout? You’d think I’d learn.”
I feel completely sick inside. And, say what you will about Ed, if he heard Ellie’s story, he’d feel sick inside too.
ED’S TURN
Fourth Avenue is clogged with cars. Clearly, half the population of Salt Lake City has shown up for Ali’s stupid Midsummer Eve’s Costume Ball. It’s hard to believe no one has complained about this party to the cops over the years. Quark manages to squeeze into a space between T. Monroe’s minivan and a rusted hunk of junk plastered with bumper stickers that say things like MEAT IS MURDER and MY KARMA JUST RAN OVER YOUR DOGMA.
Quark and I climb out of the car and start walking toward Ali’s midnight blue, mosaic-covered house (which is straight across the street from the old Salt Lake Cemetery) when I make two equally terrible discoveries, thanks to a pair of very fine-looking girls who are currently ringing Ali’s doorbell.
First Terrible Discovery: THE GIRLS ARE NOT IN COSTUME. Neither are the people who greet the girls at the door. Suddenly I have a Midsummer Eve’s epiphany.
DUH! THIS ISN’T A COSTUME PARTY!
I’m sure you’ve all had the experience of showing up some place wearing a suit, only to discover that everybody else is wearing jeans. Actually, you probably haven’t. But I have. Mom made me wear a suit to my friend Jacob Kahn’s bar mitzvah party.
Mom didn’t know the first thing about bar mitzvah parties, okay? Probably because she grew up on a potato farm in southern Idaho, where there are just not a lot of bar mitzvah parties going on. The only thing Mom knew is that she wanted us to be respectful. So she made me wear the same suit I wore (respectfully) to my grandfather’s funeral earlier that spring.
I’ll never forget how I felt when I walked into Jacob’s house and saw all those kids wearing T-shirts and Nike shorts, waiting for the party to start.
“Dude!” one of them shouted. “You’re going bowling in a suit?”
I wanted to walk straight into the bathroom and stick my head down the toilet.
Anyway, I’m having SERIOUS déjà vu all over again in front of Ali’s house. Hey!
How could I have gotten this so wrong? How could I have gotten everything so wr
ong?
I start to make little strangling sounds, while Quark becomes supremely agitated. He jumps up and down and flaps his bandage-swathed arms around like he’s trying out for head cheerleader.
“Mmmmmmmmmm! Mmmmmmmmmm!” he says, which is how you express extreme agitation in Ancient Egyptian.
“Jeez! Stop bending my ear, why don’t you, Quark!” I snap. “A Klingon can’t hear himself think with you yakking all the time!”
Time to think is exactly what I need, too. I have to formulate a quick plan because of the Second Terrible Discovery I have just made. You know those very fine-looking girls not wearing costumes who just walked into Ali’s house?
Well, one of them for sure is Scout. Scout as in my-best-friend’s-would-be-girlfriend-even-though-I-want-her-for-my-own-girlfriend Scout. I’m serious. I would recognize that amazing hair anywhere. And although I didn’t see the other girl’s face, I think it might be Ellie.
Ellie? Scout? Ellie and Scout together? When did those two get to be such good buddies?
“Look, Quark,” I say. “I am NOT going in there dressed like this, so let’s just turn around and go home right now. Who cares if Ali fires me for missing his party?”
I’m assuming here, of course, that beneath all his bandages, Quark feels the exact same way I do at this moment, which is that I would rather do combat mano a mano with a rogue Romulan officer rather than have the Girl of our Mutual Dreams (that would be Scout) see us dressed up in our Dork Clothes.
I make a move to leave, but Quark stays rooted to the spot like a tree. An extremely stubborn, mummified, Ancient Egyptian tree.
“Quark!”
He ignores me because he’s so very busy staring at the front door through which our MDG (Mutual Dream Girl) just walked.
