Amanda’s Life in Hell (opened to her last entry)
Saturday, Foxy’s last day away (she began a new post)
She’ll be home tomorrow. I’m surprised to say this, but I’ll be glad when she does get back. Knot’s okay I guess. He made a good dinner last night. But his “friend” is kind of weird. Like he’s not living his own life or something. And then there’s MY friend. Boy, today was really strange. So what is going on anyway? I mean if he doesn’t want this woman chasing around after him, why doesn’t he just tell her to get lost? I don’t understand it at all. I don’t even want to know what’s happening anymore.
No, that’s not really true. I do want to know, but I’m afraid to find out what it is. I mean she’s so . . . bizarre. And when she looked at me, it was so evil. Like she was threatening me or something. You hear all kinds of stuff about kids disappearing and cults and those sex freaks out there. But if she’s some kind of sex freak why would she be so out in the open chasing Nick? Well, even if he calls me, I’m not going to talk to him for one second unless he explains himself. What kind of a guy would let some woman . . . I mean come on, she’s old, I mean really. At least 30 or maybe even 35. OMG, Foxy’s 32! So why would a seventeen-year-old guy let some woman like that chase after him?
Maybe I should just text him and tell him to call and tell me what’s up with that. I haven’t exactly asked for an explanation. Not really. Just let him tell me what he wants. But I mean, it’s not up to me to squeeze the truth out of him like toothpaste out of a tube or anything.
One thing’s for sure − I’m not riding to school with him on Monday. No way. I’d rather take the Metro and the bus, even if it’s a pain and even if it means not seeing him anymore. Except at school. He seemed like such a nice guy. I mean everyone says he is. I mean he’s cute and I like him and all. But if you can’t trust a guy, then what can you think? It’s like with Foxy. Married all those years and then finds out the guy’s a loser. Not that I’m getting married, but you don’t want to spend all this time with a guy and then find out something awful. But if he comes back now and still wants me to – I mean if he’s still interested in me – well, he has to come clean or no dice. NO DICE. For sure.
I guess I still have some hope about all this. But what if he’s using me in some way? Just how I don’t know. If he is, then it’ll be better to end it here. Oh, my cell’s ringing.
Amanda held it up to the light to see who was calling, and it was Nick. She hesitated before answering it.
“Hi,” he said and stopped. He waited, but Amanda didn’t say anything because she didn’t know what to say. “I’m downstairs outside your house,” he continued. “I need to talk to you.” He waited.
Amanda was not sure what to say or do. Knot was in the store. Myron was upstairs, she imagined, but she was not sure about that. She felt a little tremor of fear, like she might have been putting herself in harm’s way somehow if she let him into the house.
“Amanda?” Nick said. His voice sounded faraway and a little plaintive. She was confused and couldn’t understand how she could so desperately want to see him and want to tell him to go to hell all at the same time. She was pretty sure she didn’t want him to come in the house. What happened the night before might happen again. And it might go too far and yet, part of her would have loved to drop her defenses, let him in and see where things go, no matter how far. She had almost no experience with boys. Not like the other girls at school. Most of them talked about sex all the time. That had been one of the reasons she’d kept to herself these past couple of years. It’d been lonely. And sometimes she felt like an outcast. But she was thinking of the future and what she wanted out of life.
“I’ll come out and meet you,” she said finally and grabbed her jacket and scarf.
She saw him before she got out the door, standing with his hands in his pockets and his collar turned up. The street light shone on his hair and a light breeze blew it a little against his forehead. He paced back and forth, five steps this way, five steps the other way, always keeping in sight of Amanda’s doorway. When he saw her behind the glass window watching him, he walked quickly over to the door to wait for her to open it. When they made eye contact, he smiled a wan little smile and tilted his head to one side like a puppy. Amanda thought once again how cute he was and remembered why she fell for him in the beginning. All of a sudden she wanted to change her mind and lead him back upstairs and sit with him on the couch and let him kiss her again. She fought this feeling, remembered she was still angry, that he was hiding something, that he’d been, if not exactly sneaking around with an older woman, at least leading her on. She was afraid to find out the worst. The worst would be that he was having sex with this woman. But Amanda couldn’t imagine what else it could be. What would be less bad? She pushed open the door and stepped outside the safety of her house.
Nick immediately came to her side and tried to put his arms around her, but she backed up.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
“You’re kidding, right?” Amanda held up a hand that implied not to mess with her.
Nick looked down at the sidewalk. He shook his head. “So you don’t want me to come in, right?”
“Right,” said Amanda. “But we can walk to the circle and talk over there. I guess you must have something to tell me.”
“Yeah,” he said, but she could tell he was reluctant.
They walked in silence. At the light, when they crossed he took her arm and she let him. After that he kept his arm hooked in hers until they reached the park at the circle. He found an empty bench and they sat beside each other, but Amanda made sure there was space between them.
After a few minutes of silence with only traffic sounds in the background, he asked, “Are you angry with me?”
“You think?”
“Why?”
“Uh, you’re telling me you like me, but you’re having sex with some woman who’s old enough to be . . .” Amanda didn’t know for sure how old she was, so she stopped. “What is it with you?” Amanda saw no reason to be cautious anymore.
“I’m not . . .” he sighed and looked around the circle. “THAT’S not it,” Nick said and Amanda noticed he was blushing.
“Then what is going on?” Amanda’s voice rose with frustration. Were all guys so hard to get information out of, or was it just Nick? “Just tell me what it is. If you’re not having sex with her then nothing else could be as bad.”
Nick was silent. He stared out at the people walking along the paths crossing DuPont Circle. People going here and there, shoppers, tourists, a group of nuns, a few vagrants. One of them searched through a trash can. The fountain water gushed and ran over the edge of the big bowl above the statues of – what are they anyway, nymphs, Greek gods and goddesses – three people draped in robes and holding stuff.
“Remember when we went to Rock Creek Park?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Remember we started to talk about that note?”
“Yes. Was it from her?”
He nodded. “She left it in my car. And this afternoon, before I met you for dinner, she left another one.”
“I don’t understand. If she’s bothering you, why don’t you just tell her to get lost?”
“This is really hard, Amanda.” He said her name in such a way that Amanda immediately stopped talking. It was almost a reprimand, as if she was a child and he was taking great pains to explain something to her in a way that she could understand it. “I don’t think you can really grasp my situation. I mean unless you’ve been in the same boat, you can’t possibly. That woman . . .” He stopped again and took a deep breath.
Amanda was getting exasperated. She impatiently tapped her fingers on the bench and sniffed as if she needed more air in her lungs. “That woman what?” she asked. Her tone was impertinent. She was tired of all this talking without saying anything. She looked straight at Nick, who was staring at his worn sneakers. Worn from miles and miles of running. Worn from weath
er and pounding and scratching against sticks and rocks on the paths he frequented in the mornings before the sun showed its golden face. He used to run for practice. But that changed. Now he ran to get away.
“She’s a vampire.” He said it flatly. He could have been saying, “That’s a Chevy,” while pointing to a car. But his voice was so devoid of emotion that Amanda assumed he was just stalling again.
Furious, she jumped up from the bench. “That’s it. I gave you more than one chance to be honest with me. That is really it.” She took off down the path that led as directly to her street as possible. She almost ran. But outrunning Nick was impossible, and he was by her side in a few seconds.
“It’s true. She is. I’m telling you the truth.” He was pleading and she kept walking fast, her head down to hide the angry tears that were streaming down her face.
“Just leave me alone,” she said and brushed his hand away as he tried to hold her back. She rushed forward, broke into a run, reached the street just as the light changed to green, and ran across to the opposite side. Nick stayed right with her.
“Amanda, please listen to me. It’s true. That’s why she keeps following me.”
“Oh for God’s sake. What do you take me for anyway? I may be naïve about a lot of things. You may have chosen me because you thought you could get away with stuff you couldn’t with other girls. Okay. I get that. But at least be honest enough to tell me the truth. I never want to see you again.” She ran up to her house and pulled out her key but Nick was still by her side.
“But that is the truth. I swear it is.”
Amanda unlocked the door. She turned to look at him one more time. Tears had run black mascara lines down her face. She blinked a few times and shook her head. “I really thought you liked me. I really did – I thought you liked me as much as I liked you.”
Chapter Forty-Two
Myron awakened to the sound of rain pattering against his window. It was not yet a driving rain, but it was a steady November wash, forewarning snow to come soon enough. He looked up at the clock ticking away on the kitchen wall and he tossed off the heavy blanket he used to dispel the chill when he slept. At other times, there was no way to warm himself. He had known this for so long, yet sometimes, when he was among others, especially younger ones like Amanda and her friend Nick, he almost recalled a time in the distant past when he, too, was full of the warmth of life. But those times had receded so far back into memory that today, in times that were so different from what was once his prime of life, he could barely see himself like the ones around him. And he was filled with a kind of loathing. Not of them, but of himself and those like him. And yet. There was the mission he had undertaken for so many, many years. He was close. So close he could feel it. At least in the way he was able to feel. If he had to describe that feeling to someone, say someone like the Anders woman, such a nice kind lady, so generous, yes, if he had to describe this feeling to her, what would he say about it?
He could not point to a place on his person where he actually could feel. And if he had to tell her about his emotions, he would have a hard time there, as well. He could tell her only of a kind of rushing sensation. Yes, that would be almost close enough. A sensation like rushing water in a stream. Always flowing in one direction, always moving toward the open water. Yes, he nodded to himself, Myron would be like the stream joining the river. It was inevitable. Like the tide and the waxing and waning of the moon. He was a force, and the feeling he had was the push of that force.
He stood slowly on wobbly legs. He had not walked in two days. Not since he enrobed himself inside the blanket in the bed that now seemed stifling. It got that way after so much sleep. It became a burden. The river within him forced him up and out. And when it did, when he felt it was time to make his rounds, he was sick inside, sick with himself and with his mission. He went to the refrigerator and opened the door slowly. His hand was cold, the skin pale. Inside, the trays were empty, and Myron knew he must return to the world.
As he walked past the laptop open on the kitchen counter, he touched it and the screen came to life. There was the house plan as he’d left it. Except for the garden apartment, he had tapped and tapped throughout the house, but to no conclusion. He was sure he had the right house. As sure as he was of anything he had ever known. And yet this house refused to give up its secret. He had to find another way. Time was running away fast. He donned his coat and hat, picked up the small Igloo cooler, and walked clumsily down the stairs, for he was weak and felt it most acutely in the legs.
As he reached the small lobby, there was Foxy, all out of breath, with suitcases and a sun-kissed face. Her hair was a bit straggly from the rain, and she was struggling to hold the door open and pull her bags in at the same time. Myron reached out and pulled the door for her.
“What . . . am I, not a gentleman?” he queried as she fell forward a little and steadied herself as she dragged her bags into the hallway.
“Oh, Mr. Standlish. Thank you. It’s so cold and nasty. What I wouldn’t give to be back on that beach in the sun.”
She let go the bag handles and fluffed out her hair. She looked even better with a little sun color on her face. She blinked a few times. A few droplets of rain appeared on her eyelashes.
“So, a nice trip it vas?” Myron inquired politely. He needed to be on his way. His hand was still on the door, holding it open a little.
“Yes,” Foxy nodded, but there was something in her eyes that looked unhappy, and Myron noticed right away. “Yes, it was a very good trip. Bought all the antiques we need. Very good prices, too. The dealers were hungry. I don’t know why they have that show so early, before everyone’s really there for the season. Oh well, better for me, right? Not much of a day for a picnic.” She nodded toward the cooler he held in one hand.
Myron studied her closely. Now he realized it was not sadness he was seeing but a kind of defeat. He sensed this but said nothing, only nodded and before he walked outside into the rain, he said, “Just a little shopping to do, so I vouldn’t starve.”
“Odd little man,” Foxy said to herself and collected the mail Amanda had not picked up.
She trudged up the stairs bumping her smaller bag behind her step by step. Inside the apartment, she called out, “Amanda.” When there was no answer, she glanced around. Everything was clean and tidy. She thought how lucky she was to have a daughter like Amanda and that she should say so more often. “Amanda!” she called out again, louder. And then heard a door open and there was her daughter on the stairs, coming down from her room, looking preoccupied and a little rumpled, as if she’d been lying in bed.
“You’re home,” Amanda stopped on the bottom step. She ran her fingers through her hair. The black and green dyes had grown out, showing her medium brown roots. Foxy had almost forgotten that her daughter didn’t have black hair, that underneath that extreme look was just a teenager trying to hide.
“Yes. And I need help getting my bag up the stairs. I thought Knot was going to stay with you. Where is he?”
“I’ll get your bag,” Amanda stepped down and walked past her mother. But Foxy held out an arm and stopped her. She held her daughter by the arms and pulled her close. “I missed you, honey lamb,” she said softly. It didn’t sound at all like Foxy. It sounded to Amanda like someone else’s mother, but she didn’t know whose. “Next time maybe you can come with me. Would you like that?” She pulled back and studied her daughter’s face.
Amanda was more than perplexed now. She had no idea how to answer this new Foxy. The old Foxy, she knew what to say to her. Something like: “If we can afford the trip AND your shopping.” Instead she just nodded. She even managed a brief smile.
Chapter Forty-Three
It was a bleak Monday morning and a short school week because of Thanksgiving. Amanda got off at the Metro stop to meet the bus that would take her to school. She didn’t want to ride with Nick anymore. Didn’t even want to see him but couldn’t stop thinking about him. Yesterday she’d wanted
to talk to Foxy about him but couldn’t bring herself to do it. It was hard to talk to your mother when you’d always thought of her as a screwed-up older sister. Even if she could have talked to Foxy, she wouldn’t have known what to say. “I thought I had a boyfriend and then he dumped me because he’s screwing around with some older woman, but he won’t admit it and says she’s a vampire?” Well, yeah, she was a vampire. Any woman her age who wrote love notes to a high school boy was a vampire. Duh-uh.
Amanda trudged up the long Metro steps. Her backpack felt particularly heavy. And her feet moved like a camel’s in deep sand. She reached the top and the gray light of day seemed bright after the fluorescent lights underground. She started down the street toward the bus stop, watching her own feet taking one step, then another. Halfway to the bus stop, she saw another pair of feet directly in front of hers, facing her. She knew those sneakers.
“You’ve got to listen to me.” Nick said it softly but with determination. “Get in the car.” He took her by the arm and walked her to the passenger door. He almost shoved her in. She resisted but in a passive way. He shut the door, and while he was walking to the other side, Amanda could have jumped out and run, if she’d really wanted to. She could have done that. But she didn’t.
They sat in silence. He didn’t start the car. “We’re going to be late for school.” Amanda looked at her watch. “I have study hall first period.” She didn’t know why she told him that. She should have said she had to be in a class. Now he knew it didn’t matter if they got to school on time.
“I have Spanish,” he said. “But I’m getting an A, so it doesn’t matter if I’m late.”
They didn’t speak again until Nick said, “It’s true. What I told you. I know it sounds crazy and insane like some really, really stupid movie. I know it does. But it’s true. She’s . . . you know . . . a vampire.”
“Why are you doing this?” Amanda sniffled a little, like a hurt child. “You can drop me. I don’t really care anyway. Just drop me and let’s go about our separate lives. You don’t have to make up stupid stories just to dump me.”
Foxy's Tale Page 16
