Ten Times Fast

by Mallory Lopez

  After a while, we pull apart. My lips are tingly and puffy. He takes a small step back.

  “I’m sorry, Ramona. I don’t think I’ve ever been so sorry in my life.”

  “Good. What you did really hurt,” I say weakly.

  “I know and I’m so sorry for everything. All of it. I wish I could re-do the entire thing,” he says, taking another step back so we can really look at each other.

  “What did Jimmy say when you talked to him?” I know full and well that Jimmy would forgive him.

  “What did Jimmy say about what?” He looks at me, bewildered.

  He can’t be serious.

  “Are you kidding me right now?” I take a few steps back.

  “What? No. What do you mean about Jimmy? Did you tell him we kissed?” He is staring at me nervously as if I’m speaking a different language.

  “Brett, I can’t believe you’re being so stubborn about this,” I tell him with my voice hardening.

  He backpedals. “Ramona, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just apologized to you. Tell me what’s wrong,” he pleads.

  I start to get on my bike. I thought he fixed things, but he didn’t. He still doesn’t understand how he made Jimmy feel.

  “Look, Brett, you’re apologizing to me but you should first be apologizing to someone that has counted on you since we were kids, someone that you hurt just as much as me, maybe even worse. How can you not understand that?”

  “Ramona, I’m just trying to do what you want me to do. Why are you leaving?” His frustration is surfacing and his voice gets louder.

  “I want you to do the right thing, Brett. You have to want to do the right thing. You have to figure out what that is on your own. You can start by being less self-involved.” I shake my head and pedal away without looking back.

  ***

  I’M SO IN MY head by the time I get home, I jump and let out a short deep-throated “agh!” when I see my dad sitting on the sofa with a glass of amber liquid and ice. I expected the house to be deserted.

  “Hey, Bean,” he says tiredly. His voice turns concerned. “I’ve been waiting up for you. Where you been?"

  He’s not mad, he’s hardly ever mad. I’m glad he’s still up. Seeing him makes me realize that he’s the exact person I need to talk to right now.

  “Hey, Dad. I was with Brett down at the park. We needed to talk.”

  He’s completely unfazed. “How is he? Still oblivious?” I laugh at the harmless jab.

  “He’s been incredibly frustrating lately. I’m not really sure what to do about it.” I take a seat next to him on the sofa, curling my legs into my chest.

  He takes one look at me and asks, “What to do about Brett or what to do about your feelings?”

  Dang, he’s good.

  I sigh.

  “Both. Got any good advice?” I lean my head against his shoulder and he kisses the top of my head.

  He hesitates, thinking. “You can’t always control a situation but you can control your reactions to them. You’re feelings are always valid, Bean. You need to feel them. I can’t tell you what to do or how to feel, nobody can.

  "You’re a mastermind, Bean. You know what you want and how you feel, I can see it in your face. You either won’t admit it to yourself because you’re stubborn like your father, or you’re meticulously over-thinking it, like your mother. It’s buried beneath the surface but you’ll figure it out. Also, like I said, Brett is oblivious, so…patience is key.” He winks. I grin.

  “Maybe, but I’m still confused,” I say, seeping in all the prolific wisdom he spouted.

  “You’re a young adult. It’s normal. Allow the confusion. Don’t let it consume you. Trust me, Bean, there are things I’m still stubborn about and it can––and will––eat away at you.” He looks distantly at his whiskey.

  “Do you really think Mom is going to get better?” I ask quietly. He studies me.

  “Yes, Bean. She will get better. She has a new doctor and she really likes him. We just have to help her get through this. And she will get through this, okay?”

  I nod my head somberly.

  He crosses to the record player across the room. “Here, we haven’t listened to this in awhile.”

  He changes the record and places the needle accordingly. After a short moment of fuzzy sounds, Simon and Garfunkel’s Bridge Over Troubled Water[13] plays.

  I make it almost to the end the song before I rest my head on the sofa armrest and let the heaviness of my eyes take over. I vaguely feel my dad kiss my head and cover me with a heavy blanket while telling me he loves me.

  Brett Dixon

  Tuesday, 10/29

  I just can’t win. My mom says that all the time and now I finally get how she feels.

  I had one of the most perfect moments of my life tonight with Ramona and somehow I messed it up.

  AGAIN.

  When I saw her by our oak tree I thought I was dreaming. She kissed me flawlessly. She gave me these kisses that I wish I could bottle and keep for the rest of my life. They were delicate and sensitive and more than enough to fill me up entirely. It sounds so dorky, but I don’t even care.

  And then I screwed it up because apparently that’s what I do best.

  Honestly, I was in such a daze I could barely understand what she was saying. She brought up Jimmy and got all pissed. Watching her turn away from me nearly tore me apart. I didn’t know what to do. I still don’t.

  It feels like Freddie Krueger is ripping up my insides. I feel sick. Is this what love feels like, Mr. Chan? Because I’m pretty sure I love her.

  I’m pretty sure I always have.

  CHAPTER 21

  “RAMONA!”

  I LET OUT A short but very loud scream when I wake up from my after-school nap to my mother in my bedroom hovering inches above my face. I sit up reflexively and smack my head against hers.

  “Ow,” I say grumpily, rubbing my forehead.

  It’s Halloween evening and her face is painted white with black blush and black eye shadow. She’s colored in her eyebrows black and even has on huge, false eyelashes. Her face is framed by long shiny polyester black strands that part from the middle of her forehead. Once she moves her face away, I sit up to see her full costume. She’s wearing a tight black dress with a plunging neckline and long flared sleeves.

  Morticia Adaams.

  “How do I look?” she asks, somberly playing her part.

  My heart is still recovering from the scare she just pulled. She looks so mortifying and terrific that I can’t even be mad that she woke me up. In fact, I applaud the flawless costume.

  “You look dreadfully seductive, Mother,” I say, copying her tone. She giggles and claps her hands.

  “I put your Wednesday Adaams costume in your bathroom. Get up and get dressed. Dinner is almost ready and then the trick-or-treaters are going to start coming.” She floats out of the room with her black train slinking behind her.

  I throw the covers off and hop to it. Some time last night between studying paintings by Edouard Manet and Vincent Van Gogh, I nestled into my bed and fell asleep. Thankfully, there’s no drool on my eighty pound Art History book. I throw on my black dress and hop down to dinner, finishing my braids on the way.

  “There she is! Look, Morticia, it’s our beautiful daughter, Wednesday!” My dad is standing with his arms open wide in a black and white thick striped suit, hair plastered down with a small, drawn on mustache. I can’t help but laugh and walk into his arms.

  “My Gomez and my Wednesday! You’re the best family anyone could ask for,” she says, joining our hug.

  We look great together. It’s fun and light-hearted times like this that I wish I did have a sibling. It would be nice to round out the Addams family with a Pugsley.

  We eat my Mom’s homemade chili as my dad tries to tell us “true” scary stories and is failing miserably. The doorbell rings and the first wave of trick-or-treaters begin. I smile and jump to help my parents pass out candy.

&nbs
p; Sometimes, like tonight, we seem like a perfect family. In fact, I forget that we’re imperfect as soon as I see the half empty tequila bottle from the festive purple margarita’s she’s been making all night. I’ve been so absorbed in passing out candy and laughing with them that I haven’t even noticed that she’s had a drink in her hand all night. I push down my concern and unease.

  We’re having fun together and right now…

  Maybe that’s all that matters.

  Brett Dixon

  Thursday, 10/31

  Happy Halloween, Mr. Chan. I didn’t have to dress up today because I’ve been walking around looking like a zombie since I screwed things up again with Ramona. I just wish someone could tell me what to do so I can do it.

  I had her. She was right there in front of me and then she mentioned Jimmy.

  OH MY GOD

  I’M SUCH AN IDIOT

  (No wise cracks, Mr. Chan.)

  I have to talk to Ramona.

  CHAPTER 22

  “RAMONA...RAMONA...” THERE’S A rough tugging on my shoulder. I shrug it off and turn my head away. “Ramona, you need to get up for school,” the voice that belongs to my mother is actually stern.

  I lift my head and rub the sleep out of my eyes. I look down at myself and I’m still Wednesday Addams. I don’t think I’ve moved an inch all night. My mom is looming over me still with her hand on her hip.

  “Up and at ‘em, Ramona,” she claps loudly, which causes me to groan. “Get dressed and I’ll make your breakfast.”

  “Okay, okay, I’m up,” I tell her so she’ll get out.

  I look at my phone and cover my mouth in horror:

  Missed Call from Brett Dixon at 11:35 PM

  I glance at the time and realize I don’t have time to obsess or freak out. I get dressed, re-braid my brown hair and am downstairs just as my mom is setting down breakfast plates for her, my dad and myself.

  “Dad, how come you’re not at work?” I ask, pleasantly alarmed.

  “I’m going out of town. I’ll be up in Chicago meeting a potential high profile client.” He eats quickly and deliberately.

  “Yikes. Chicago? Don’t forget a jacket,” I warn. “And eat all the pizza for me.”

  He laughs. “Will do. What about you, honey? What do you want me to bring back for you?”

  My mom smiles sweetly at him. He looks back at her suggestively and it makes me want to up-chuck. “I want you to come back as soon as possible. That’s what I want.”

  So cheesy.

  He beams. “I think I can handle that.” He winks at her.

  “Ahem. I have a short day at school today, then I’m setting up for the Halloween Dance.”

  “Oh, that’s right, the dance!” my mom says excitedly. “You guys are all going to look so great!” She finishes the bacon that she was swirling around in excitement then takes two big gulps of her coffee for her pill. She coughs a little and sets her cup down firmly. A tiny drop of her coffee splashes out. Except the splash isn’t coffee...it’s a clear liquid. She wouldn’t be drinking water out of a mug, so why...

  There’s no way.

  My face gets pale and the rate of my chewing slows down to a dead stop. She’s drinking vodka…

  At 7:30 AM.

  Out of a coffee mug.

  I feel sick.

  “What time do you think you’ll be home after the dance?” she asks.

  I look at my plate to gather my thoughts and then push them down along with the growing anxiety and bacon. I lift my head and say, “By midnight, definitely.”

  “As long as you’re home by curfew. All right, Bean, you should get going to school. I have to go catch my flight,” my dad says, standing up and straightening his clothes. My mom immediately clears the table to see us off. My dad and I gather our respective bags and my mom gives us both hugs.

  “My two little birds leaving me in our nest,” she says, pouting.

  My dad kisses her and his body stiffens. He firmly grabs her elbow and whispers in her ear. She looks down to her slippers and meekly nods. Her frown is dramatic and her eyes watery. It’s clear she just got reprimanded.

  Good.

  He lifts his head and speaks louder this time. “All right, love you guys. Ramona, have fun this weekend. Remember what we talked about. Don’t get consumed and you’ll have a great time. Text me after the dance and let me know how it was. Love you, baby girl.”

  We reach our cars and head out to conquer our day while my mom stands against the front door frame holding her coffee mug, looking melancholy. I feel guilty for even going to school and leaving her alone. I wonder if Dad feels the same way. He tasted her mouth when they kissed and all he did was, what? Quietly and politely tell her to stop?

  I get in my car with a defeated huff. I shake my head to release my hostility. Maybe I should just trust that he does know best. If he didn’t freak out I probably shouldn’t either…

  Right?

  ***

  “HANGING THESE STREAMERS RIGHT now...not the way I want to be spending my Friday afternoon. Everything is consumed in wondering about my mother. I have this wretched feeling...” I admit with my head tilted back, looking at Veronica.

  “Yeah, Bean but your dad was there and if things weren’t fine I doubt he would’ve left. I know you’re worried but you’re a very anxious person. I’m sure she’s fine. Honestly, Ramona. I wouldn’t say that if I didn’t believe it's true.” Veronica’s words trickle down to me.

  I nod my head. “I guess so. I’m going to leave soon.”

  “Veronica, those streamers seriously look hideous,” Jimmy shouts up at Veronica standing on a ladder, ignoring our conversation.

  “Well, I didn’t pick them out so what do you expect?”

  “But they would be less hideous if they were actually twirled properly and hung straight,” I tell her, taking Jimmy’s side as he and I both laugh.

  “Okay, that’s it. I’m done here. I’m going to cheer practice,” she says, stomping down the ladder that I’ve been spotting her on for the last thirty minutes.

  “Have fun. Don’t hurt anyone!” Jimmy yells after her. She snaps her head back and flips him off. He turns to the Decorating Committee, claps his hands once and says, “Honestly, her leaving is the best for everyone involved, including the dance itself.” Everyone laughs.

  Veronica has many talents but being artistic in any way is not one of them. Bless her heart.

  “I have to go too, Jimmy,” I tell him, nervous of his reaction.

  “Why is everyone abandoning me?!” He cries out to the heavens with his arms wide open so melodramatically it causes me to smile for the first time today.

  “I need to check on my mom and get ready for tonight,” I inform him as I frustratingly try to pluck a chunk of taped orange crepe paper from the bottom of my saddle shoe.

  “All right. I’ll see you later.”

  “Yeah, I’ll meet you guys back here in a few.” I turn away to make my way out.

  “Oh, and Bean?”

  I look back at him.

  “Everything will work out, okay?”

  “Thanks, Jimmy.” I walk out determined to get home in record time.

  Brett Dixon

  Friday, 11/1

  I found Jimmy as I was leaving practice today. I guess he was helping set up for the dance. I had been trying to talk to him all day but we don’t have classes together and I wanted to talk to him alone. I know Veronica would have throat punched me if I went anywhere near them.

  Anyways, we walked around school and talked about Jet. I apologized profusely. And I meant all of it. I told him that I was a shitty crappy friend and have been for the last few years. I told him that I want to hang out more before we leave for college. I told him that lacrosse ends soon and I want to spend that time with him, Ramona and Veronica...

  IF they’ll let me.

  He accepted my apology and told me that he would like it if I hung out more. He said he would work on Veronica but that I should apologize to her
too. Which is fine if it means we can all hang out again like we used to.

  Jimmy really is a good friend. I’m pretty lucky to have him in my life. I know he would take a beating for me. But I would never let him. He probably has no idea how to punch someone, anyway. It’s a pretty funny thought now that I think about it. Ha. Maybe I should show him how to, just in case.

  We hugged it out and now I’m DYING to talk to Ramona. I know she’ll be at the dance so I’m hoping I can snag her away for a few minutes and tell her that I apologized to Jimmy. Then I’ll apologize again for being an idiot and I’ll tell her how I really feel about her and hope that she feels the same.

  I know she’s been hooking up with Ryan, but she’s also kissed me so I know that there has to be some feelings there. I hope she at least gives us a chance.

  Here goes nothing, Mr. Chan.

  Wish me luck.

  CHAPTER 23

  MY HAND CONTINUES SHAKING over the door handle to my front door. They keys are dangling from the keyhole as if in limbo, just waiting to be pulled out, having served their purpose.

  I console myself.

  Just because she was drinking vodka at 7:30 AM does not mean anything other than she’s probably drunk or hungover. I’m sure she’s fine, Ramona. She’s just being her normal, weird self or sleeping off the hangover. Both I can totally handle.

  I can’t shake this icky feeling that’s buried inside of me. I take a deep breath and blow it out through puckered lips.

  Here goes nothing…

  I turn the knob and give it a good push, walking in.

  “Ramona? Is that you?” she asks in a sing-song-y voice. My entire chest relieves from a days worth of intense anxiety. I set my bag down in the entryway below the stairs.

  I’m so relieved that I joke and say, “Lucy, I’m home!”

  I hear a giggle followed by, “I’m in here!”