All My Life

Copyright
©
2013 by Rucy Ban

This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, distributed, stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, without express permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes. Your support and respect for the property of this author is appreciated.

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The time you’ll spend reading this book is precious to me.

More than you’ll ever know.

I stare at the .22 pointed at my junk and my only regret is not having had the yolks with my egg whites that morning. But who considers being zapped as an eventuality when charting out a diet plan?

The heavens outside give an angry roar and my sternum vibrates right along with it. I look out through my bedroom window as lightning fractures through the sky, blinding me with its silver streak of light. And then. Everything around me goes really quiet.

It’s unbelievable how quiet it is. So quiet I can hear the clock ticking all the way downstairs. I can feel the palpable silence of the stoic walls, almost taste the static trapped within. And it’s like everything is waiting.

I watch the moonlight misting around the dark silhouette looming over me and a horrible dread starts simmering in me. Tiny rivulets of sweat trickle down my heated skin and my heart thumps in my ears.

Always look the opponent in his face, my father had told me. That geriatric jerk and his useless crap advice.

The sharp click of the revolver echoes in the silence, snapping me back to the present. Death at the wiry hands of a girl? Who would’ve thought? My old man would have laughed.

The shot rings like a thousand screams inside my skull and the last thing I see is the smile playing on her pretty face.

My day starts like they often do now. I wake up early, pack my bag, eat my cereal, wear my trusty Blundstones and leave a note reminding my Mom it’s her turn to scrounge up dinner tonight.

With the opening riff of a Prince song playing in my ear, I step off the curb and cross the road. That’s when I notice a new signage on the two-story building just opposite our house. Six months ago, an art gallery had shut shop there. But today as I look up at the new signage my mouth falls open. I stand there for a moment staring at it, not believing my eyes. On a black metal plate, in cursive red are inscribed the words –
The Prick
. I look around wondering if this is one of those candid camera things when I notice a woman inside the shop. Middle-aged, halter-necked, blood red lips, pierced-eyebrow and eyes staring straight…
at me.

Not wishing to tread from harmless gawker territory into the psychotic stalker zone, I manage to give her an awkward nod before hurrying on my way.

The massive maple trees lining the streets are bursting with hues and for a change walking towards the subway doesn’t make me feel like a total crapshoot. September has always been the month when things changed. From fierce green to tinged mustard, from willowy linen to soft yarn, from a dreamy early morning stroll to being slammed and pushed smack onto the sidewalk!

“Whattt-daa…!” A male voice shouts. I lie there listening to my assailant belting away a string of curses and I frown. Why is
he
cursing?!  He’s not the one sprawled up with his ass in the air!

My cheek resting a bit too comfortably on the grimy sidewalk, I wonder about his next move. Will he shove his knee into my back and scramble through my pockets? Will he kick me in the stomach and dig a muzzle into my skull?

I’m still thinking of all the CSI-fueled scenarios when I realize that instead of being mugged, I’m actually being cradled!  With one hand under my knees and the other under my shoulders, my lame-ass assailant places me gently on the sidewalk. It’s only when he crouches in front of me that I get a good look at his face.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

I raise a hand over my eyes and try to focus on him. It’s Eddie! Eddie Jameson.

Who is definitely…not
an assailant. In fact, he used to be a senior in my school. I
know
him. Heck, everyone I know 
knows
him. He had graced our school alumnus session last month where he’d been animatedly introduced by our Principal as someone who’d achieved the impossible task of landing himself into an Ivy League.

An achievement that made him worthy of being waved like an organic, farm-fresh carrot in front of our Glee-obsessed minds. But by the end of that session even my hard-to-impress besties, Ian and Becky, had proclaimed him as Eddie, the Geek-God.

Six-foot frame covered with faded jeans, plaid shirt, a rugged square jaw and spectacled eyes topped with delectable bed head hair. Admittedly, they are not far off the mark.

“Hey, did I get you bad?”

I try to ignore all the connotations my brain immediately comes up with but then the inky black curls peeking from his collar catch my eye. I look away hastily only to be fascinated by how his jeans tighten over his thighs as he hunkers right in front of me.
Christ!

I do the only thing I can to stop myself from behaving like a complete and total pervert. I squeeze my eyes shut.

“Er…yes. I mean no, really, I’m okay. Umm…what…happened?” Yes, talk like you’ve just learnt the beauty of the opposable thumb. Way to go, Kari.

I open my eyes and find him frowning down at me. “My bad. I think my Dad’s life-long wish just came true.”

“
What?!”

“Yeah, he’s been telling me since I was seven that skateboarding is for wannabe aspiring felons…think I almost made it today.”

I shake my head and smile. “The operative word being ‘just’. You still have a long way to go because I am completely unscathed.”

“Damn. It’s not an easy task, is it…becoming a felon? Well, just you wait, Henry Higgins.” He mockingly pumps his fist in the air but then halts mid-way as he sees me scrunching up my face.

“You know? Eliza Doolittle…My Fair Lady…Henry Higgins?”

“Oh! I get the reference. What I don’t get is somebody actually still using it.”

He chuckles. “True. But retro movies are like crack to me. And you? What’s your damage?”

I think about it for a second. Not about what he’s asking but the fact that…here I am, sitting on the sidewalk having a real conversation with Eddie, the proclaimed Geek-God who is…
still waiting
for my answer!

“Oh! Books. Yep. Books of any kind. Fantasy, Classics, catalogues, quirky Facebook updates, shitty movie reviews, the ingredients list on packaged food…you know…any and all kinds of…put-together words.”

Christ!
Was I just possessed by the God of the uncool?

Eddie grins and extends his hand. “Well, hello book-lover. I’m Eddie.”

I ignore the tingles his touch sends up my arm and try to keep a straight face as I reply, “I know. I used to be a junior in Central High…I mean I still go there but I’m sixteen so I’m not a junior anymore…I mean, not since last month. I’m the youngest in my class so I…”
Jeezus!
I make myself stop and suck in a sharp breath through my nose. “I’m Kari.”

“Really?!” he says and then pauses for effect. “How did I miss you, Kari?”

“I have a knack for evading wannabe felons,” I reply immediately with as much sass as I can muster, which is extremely difficult considering he still hasn’t let go of my hand. A few more seconds of this and my face will be as red as his sneakers.

Eddie’s voice interrupts my capricious contemplations. “So do you live around here?”

“Yeah, right across the road…you live close by?” I ask.

“No.”

I wait for him to elaborate but he doesn’t. Instead he finally decides to let go of my hand.
Humph
.

“Shall we head out?” he asks. I jump up on my feet, suddenly remembering my purpose in life. School, studies and a History class I just couldn’t afford to miss!

As we start walking towards the subway, I try my best to make a non-stalkerish attempt at small-talk. “So where are you headed?” See? Completely non-stalkerish.

“School. Gotta collect my certificates,” he tells me.

When we reach the subway, it’s just in time to see my usual scheduled train go whooshing past us. My luck being what it is, the next train also arrives ten minutes late and I finally end up missing my precious History class. But since this also meant more time spent with Eddie, I wasn’t one to complain.

After Eddie collects his certificates, we walk over to a coffee joint just off the campus. Then over the next two hours, I tell him about my parents, their less-than-amicable separation, my mother’s nine to seven slog at an indie news house and my favorite book,
A Tree Grows in Brooklyn
. He tells me about Maroon 5 and how the inflections of their synthesizer seemed to be inspired from The Police. Interesting that.

Before parting we exchange numbers and also agree on meeting the very next day after my school.

All through the rest of the day my mind is tripping on what it will be like. Of course, I’ve been on dates before with my first boyfriend. But they were the kind where he would come over to my place, we’d do homework, watch a movie, have popcorn and then try to make out on the couch. I’d be uneasy the whole time, either because of the constant fear of my Mom walking in or because of the whole ‘somebody else’s saliva in my mouth’ thing. And one time (I kid you not!) even a soggy piece of popcorn. Yuck!

Thing is I’ve never really enjoyed kissing a guy before. With the guys in my school it was all about sucking, grabbing and tweaking my recently developed assets. And all through these sundry activities, my mind would be on a checklist rampage. Hadn’t he just scratched his ass with those hands? The same hands that were now under my shirt? Also, was that drool or just plain ol’ saliva that he was sharing so generously with me? Because there had to be a level beyond which this turned unsanitary? And exactly how long did I have to put up with this? I had a term paper to finish, projects to deliver, a room to clean. A million things happening in my brain and zero in any part beyond.

I had never admitted all of this to anyone. High school can be cruelly damaging. Especially, to girls who don’t like kissing boys.

But now? I’m starting to think it may not be so horrible with a guy like Eddie. Just figuratively speaking, of course. Not that I’m going to kiss him. Not that he might possibly kiss me.
Jesus! What am I turning into?!

The next day Eddie meets me in front of my school and we spend time in the coffee shop again, talking for long about oh-so-important yet completely inconsequential things. Favorite songs, books, movies, places. Then Eddie tells me he lives with his Dad and that his Mom passed away when he was just six-years-old. I edge my hand towards his, he clasps it in a firm grip and we share, what is called in chick-lit movie parlance, a
moment
.

From that day on, we meet every day after my school. He tells me he has a temporary break from his course and that he’ll be going back in a month. To be honest it doesn’t bother me. I mean in this day and age? Twice-a-day Facebook sharing, minute-to-minute Twitter updates, Pinterest albums for voyeuristic peeks, Tumblr for a detailed low-down on mood swings. Quite possibly, I might be in better contact with him interstate than with him living next door in NY.

Two weeks later, I tell Mom about Eddie.

As per our pact, I tell Mom everything. Specially, since she has always returned the favor. She’s been open to me about so many things that other parents normally shy away from.
Mama, can I go to the North Pole to meet Santa Claus?
He’s shifted, sweetheart. We can visit him in the mall.
Where do kids come from?
From a place close to my wee-wee.
Mama, what happens on the wedding night?
Kissy-kissy-bang-bang.

Never the tame for my Mom. Not. Ever.

But I haven’t always been so thick with my Mom. It started only after that day. That burning June afternoon when my Dad announced he was leaving her. For someone else. A
 girl
 just ten years older than me. Me! Who’d just grown out of using ‘epic’ in each and every sentence that came out of my mouth. Me. Who’d snagged my first boyfriend scarcely six months back. Me. Who’d just embarked on an overbearing long-term relationship with the rag. 
Fine!
 Let’s not even talk about me. It had taken a whole two months for our 
neighbors
 to get over it. To think that in spite of all that church-attending, Swiffer-cleaning and coaster-using, our family had still set itself up for such a cliché! We were a complete snapping fail of the golden family rule-book.

I remember how after my parents’ separation, some of our neighbors had started avoiding us, terrified at the thought of their spouses catching on the infidelity virus. Others had glossed over the entire episode and treated us with the special enthusiasm they usually reserved for the mentally deficient. And my boyfriend? The noob had dumped me. Mom and I? We had decided to pack our bags and move to New York.

Now as I had expected, when I spill my guts in front of her, Mom insists on meeting Eddie.

I go through the whole ‘meet my folks’ coquetry that evening and Eddie is so motivated by my efforts that he turns up the next day, not just for a meeting but a boisterous Sunday brunch of pancakes, fresh cream and homemade blueberry sauce.

Mom greets him perfunctorily at first but one look at his slick hair, pinstriped shirt, ironed jeans and I have an A-Okay from her. In spite of all the attitude she throws around, Mom is a complete pushover when it comes to well-dressed boys who address her as Ma’am.

Who knows that could be one of the reasons why she caves in when Eddie asks her permission for taking me out that evening? Or maybe she could foresee
death due to boredom
as a potential cause of my early demise?

But the one thing I’m really sure of is that later, when Eddie clasps my hand and kisses me in the dark movie hall? There is nothing even microscopically gross about it. Hormones raging, skin burning, lips flaming, the only thing that stops us from exchanging more of our body fluids are the stern looks being thrown our way by the old couple sitting in front.

It’s only when the old lady actually looks back and clucks at me with disapproval, that I pull away from Eddie and we grudgingly leave the hall. Much heavy necking and petting later, he drops me back but not before telling me he
needed
to see me…soon. His house? Tomorrow?

The next morning in school is pure torture. Both Ian and Becky are away on a day trip, one which I hadn’t enrolled into, so I have no one to share my plans with. I wonder what I’ll be telling them tomorrow. After I’ve been…what? Deflowered? Scuzzed? Popped? What the heck should I call it? And how the hell will it feel any good with such horrible names attributed to it? Is it even the right time? Is he
the one
? The Neo to my Trinity?

But then. It’s Eddie! Everybody in school is ga-ga over him. Even Mom likes him! I can just imagine the envious looks on my friends faces when I tell them I’m seeing him. Then a fresh fear grips me.
Oh my God!
Am I being too easy?
I am!
I so am.
Maybe I should like…preserve myself. I imagine myself as a giant pickle jar with the label – ‘To be popped open
only
post nuptials’ or ‘If the lid doesn’t pop, don’t eat it’. Maybe even a warning ‘In case opened, consume within five days or tiny beings might germinate’.

For the next half an hour, Mom’s decree about how boys don’t respect fast girls, starts playing in a warbled loop inside my brain. But then I remember something.

Eddie’s face as he’d kissed me the day before. So passionate, so much fervor. He’d said he
needed
me. And what if I refuse today? He’ll be so disappointed! What if he doesn’t want to see me again?!
Oh God!!
Stop obsessing, or you’ll die a withering wrinkled virgin!

All through lunch, high definition images of cobwebs flourishing between my legs keep flashing before my eyes, making sure I’m not able to touch a single morsel of the delicious couscous that’s on offer today.  Counting the rest of the hours in the afternoon classes, imagining all the possibilities and the ways I can screw it all up, I just about manage to land at the front gate of my school. At least, he’s not there yet. I get to procrastinate for a few more minutes. I spend that precious time analyzing my outfit. Maybe I should have worn a plain shirt and jeans combo? A snug sweater and an A-line skirt? I catch my reflection in a passing car. Me dressed in my infallible attire of choice. Black dress, over-the-knee boots and a blotchy red face.
God!
I look up and see Eddie walking towards me. The surety of his gait doing nothing to ease the pandemonium in my heart. But then he does this thing. He gives me this innard-melting, honey-soaked smile and just like that, all my doubts melt away.