Dear Life, You Suck (22 page)

Her eyes are glowing green like they’re plugged into something, but I don’t get much time to appreciate them on account of a distracting crotch rigor mortis that boinks me south of the border. Normally, I wouldn’t care about a little beach time chubitation, but the way Wynona’s positioned, her hoo-ha sensor’s gonna set off a warning alarm with the slightest twitch.

I try to mind-wrestle the blood flow with thoughts of nuns, bran muffins, and horse manure, but Wynona shifts her hips and the friction is too much, and it happens. Cricket Junior repositions himself. He’s like,
Hey, what’s going on up there?

Now there’s blood rushing to my face as fast as other places, and I’m waiting for Wynona to jump up and slap my cheek, but she doesn’t. Instead, she presses her chest hard into mine and starts kissing me hot and heavy with tongue and everything.
Oh, shit, this is trouble. Definitely not gonna slow the flag-raising ceremony down in Stiffytown
.

Suddenly, she pulls her lips from mine and stares at me hard and cold.

I brace for the impact.

Then she says it. “I’m a virgin.”

That’s what she says.
I’m a virgin
. You believe that secret-slipping hullabaloo? I’m expecting to get tally-whacked across the face, and she tells me something all personal and intimate like that.

I’m so shocked and relieved, I respond without thinking. “Me, too.”

Her face crinkles. “Yeah, right.”

Shit, maybe I shouldn’t have leaked that. Do girls think that’s faggy and lame? Damn it, why did I say that?

“You’re joking, right?”

Shit, what do I do? Lie? Make up some steamy story? Spin some freaky shit about some chick I hooked up with in the walk-in cooler at
Duckies?
As I’m scrambling for a juicy lie, my crotch rocket shifts again, but this time in a deflating direction. My mind runs out of fuel, and my imagination deflates too.
Fuck it. I’m a horseback rider now.
“Sorry, no. I’ve never done that.”

Her face softens. “Why’d you say sorry?”

“I don’t know. You had this expression like you expected me to be all experienced with girls and shit.”

Then the strangest thing happens. She lowers her body onto me like she’s tired. She starts kissing my chest through my shirt and unbuttoning a few buttons, and it feels really good what she’s doing, and I’m really getting into it and so is Cricket Junior, who’s preparing backstage for another surprise appearance, when Wynona suddenly sits up and screeches like Captain Jumptoattention poked her in Naughtytown.

“What the hell is that?” she screams.

Jeez Louise, I didn’t think the mini ironman was that powerful. Then I realize she’s pointing at my chest.

I peer at my wound through the gap in my shirt. No wonder she screamed. It looks gross. It hasn’t scabbed over much on account of I think it’s infected. It’s red and raw, with a damp scab that’s like six inches long. I try to lighten things up. “Just a flesh wound.”

“Jesus, what happened?”

“It’s just a scratch. From yardwork and stuff.”

“Yardwork, my ass. That thing is friggin’ huge. Did you get in a knife fight or something?”

“No, seriously, it’s from a tree branch.”

“Bullshit! Tell me the truth. What happened?”

“I didn’t get in a knife fight, I swear.”

She crosses her arms over her huffing chest. She looks like she did that day in Principal LaChance’s waiting area.

“I cut myself on a tree limb that day after I scratched your face.”

“What do you mean? Like on purpose?”

“No. Sorta, but no.”

Her face starts to shake.

“It wasn’t on purpose, I swear. I’m not like some . . . It just happened. I was so freaked out by what happened . . . by the cut on your cheek . . . I was just so pissed at myself for hurting you. I just freaked out. But not on purpose. I think I was just trying to . . . even things up.”

Tears start dripping down her face. “Even things up? My cut was an accident.”

“I know. This was too, I swear. It just . . . I just . . .”

Her tears start coming faster. She opens my shirt and looks more closely at the gash. Her face scrunches, and the tears become a waterfall. Some of them land on the wound. I imagine them miraculously healing it like in a science fiction movie, but they mostly just sting.

She dries her eyes and stares into my face. “Can I tell you a secret?”

I nod.

“I don’t like fighting, but I was secretly rooting for you.”

I take her head in my hands and pull her lips to mine. Her heat melts into me like sunshine.

We kiss some more and ride some more and kiss some more and ride some more. We don’t do anything more than kiss, which I’m happy about. I’m nervous about the sex thing because I really like Wynona, and I don’t want to make some rookie sex mistake that might make her stop liking me. I mean, she likes me now, and we’re not doing anything more than kissing, so if she’s cool with it, why mess it up? One of those
if it ain’t broke don’t fix it
deals Caretaker’s always rambling about.

At the end of our date, I walk home really slow to savor the hot-cocoa-in-my-bloodstream sensation. My feet feel like they’re in stirrups.

Dinner that evening is my all-time favorite. A Monte Cristo sandwich. It’s ham and Swiss cheese stuffed between thick slices of French toast sprinkled with powdered sugar and served up with raspberry jam.
Sweety eaties.
I’m super hungry, so I eat two portions. I can put away food like a pregnant rhino. I probably have a parasite or something.

After dinner, we clean up and head to the storytime tower. The Little Ones settle in all comfy-cozy with pillows and blankets and ginormous bowls of popcorn. The room smells like a movie theater. If you didn’t look too closely, you might be fooled into thinking this was a real family room and the Little Ones were real family.

It’s easier than usual to slide into Storyland tonight, probably on account of that’s where I’ve been all day. I grab my notebook and flip it open. I scan my scribbles to refresh my memory. This is the first time I’ve ever written one of my stories out instead of just jotting down notes. Maybe I’ll show it to Moxie.

I tell the Little Ones more about the island Apollo Zipper got stranded on, which I call Kef. Like how the Kefian kids stay underground during the day because on Kef, sunshine makes kids grow older.

I’ve never seen the Little Ones listen so intently. They’re staring at me the same way Wynona did on the beach today. Like they’re seeing through me. A strange foreboding scrubwiggles the back of my neck, and I turn. There’s nothing behind me except my bright reflection in the black glass. My face morphs into an image of Wynona surrounded by a wheat-field frame. Her face is glowing like it did on Arabella today. She’s smiling her calm, confident smile. I feel the corners of my mouth rise. Her face disappears and my reflection returns. I’m wearing her calm, confident smile. I almost don’t recognize myself.

I hear a sniffle behind me and turn. The Little Ones are still staring. Maybe I look different to them, too. Or maybe it’s what I said about the Kefian kids wanting to stay young forever. Maybe they’re wondering if they’d want to stay young forever. Maybe they think the Kefian kids are crazy. Who in their right mind would wanna stay an orphan forever? Maybe they want to change too, and grow up under the singeing glare of the brilliant sun.

The silence rumbles like thunder. I place my hand on my chest. It’s not thunder. It’s my heart.

I tell the Little Ones how the Kefian kids work together to gather food and cook and clean, and how at night they go swimming in an underground grotto that’s warmed by an enormous bonfire. I tell them about the beautiful island girl Apollo meets, Wanony, and about her plans to steal a ship and sail far away from Kef, and how Apollo asks her if he can come along, and how she says yes.

The Little Ones sit perfectly still like they’re frozen in place.

The story room floods with light when Mother Mary enters. The Little Ones don’t get up right away, and Mother Mary doesn’t rush them. She sees they need to defrost before they can move.

After the Little Ones leave, I gaze at the dark, distant sea. I think about Apollo and Wynona. They both feel so real and yet so make-believe. I wonder what would happen if I believed in them. I wonder if believing in them would help me escape my island.

I recline in my fire-escape lounge chair and stare at the stars. A buried Dear Life Reason has been prickling my gray matter. One I never thought I’d write about. But that bumpy horseback ride jarred it loose from my underground vault, and it’s been bouncing around in my head like a ticking time bomb. I gotta get it out before it explodes.

Dear Life, You Suck
Reason Number Three
By Cricket Cherpin

IF CHRISTMAS SUCKS, WHAT HOPE IS THERE FOR THE OTHER
364
DAYS?

I was eight years old. It was Christmas Eve. I only discovered it was Christmas Eve when I was led outside by the social worker and saw the sign in the liquor store window.
CHRISTMAS EVE SPECIAL! RUM EGGNOG!
$7.99! At first, the only blinking lights I saw were the ones on the police cars and the ambulance. But then I saw the colored lights in the upper-story windows of my apartment building and the lit-up Christmas tree on the fire escape. I couldn’t see any of that stuff from our apartment because we lived in the basement and didn’t have any windows. I knew Christmas was coming. I just didn’t know when.

Christmas music blared through the paper-thin walls from the apartment next door.

Silent night, holy night
All is calm, all is bright

Dad didn’t have money for a tree, so he dug up a shrub in the playground across the street. It didn’t need a plastic base because the dirt and roots held it up. The asshole had money for drugs and booze but not for a Christmas tree. It didn’t have any lights or ornaments. Mom and Dad got high and decorated it with shit they found around the apartment. Broken crayons, empty beer cans, plastic straws, razor blades. A spoon bent into a Z with a bronze burn mark on the bottom. The special ornaments, like my Matchbox cars and Eli’s pacifier, hung from shoelaces on the higher branches. At the peak of the Christmas shrub, five hypodermic needles were taped together in the shape of a star.

On the glass table beside the electric heater, Mom and Dad left Santa a few powdery lines and a cocktail.

The music from next door was so loud, it felt like it was playing inside my head.

Round yon Virgin Mother and Child
Holy Infant, so tender and mild

Eli screamed in the bathtub. Mom screamed back. Eli screamed louder. Dad couldn’t hear any of it over the bubbly sweet crackle of his pipe. I usually volunteered to give Eli his bath when Mom was high, but I didn’t volunteer that night. I didn’t want to leave the Christmas shrub. I knew it was only a shrub decorated with trash, but there was something magical about it. I thought maybe something magical would happen in my life if I knelt beside it long enough.

It was the silence that made me go to the bathroom. Silence scared me back then. I was used to crying and screaming.

The only sound besides the silence was the loud music playing in my head.

Silent night, holy night
Shepherds quake at the sight

Eli floated facedown in the tub. It was one of those old, white porcelain tubs with feet that look like lion paws. A giant, headless, hollowed-out porcelain lion.

The water was pink. Eli’s tiny bum looked like two bars of soap. His hair drifted like seaweed. I could hear the water draining. Mom had pulled the plug and was sitting on the toilet, waiting. What was she waiting for? I ran to the tub but her backhand stopped me.

Mom wasn’t crying. Her face was pale and hollow, her skin so taut it looked like her bones were about to rip through. The air in the bathroom was heavy. Heavy like that tub. White porcelain heavy. Pink water heavy.

I asked God to fix things. Change things, reverse things. Something. Anything. God didn’t answer—He just kept swallowing that heavy pink water.

The music played inside my head.

Holy Infant, so tender and mild
Sleep in heavenly peace

I didn’t hate her. I wasn’t mad at her. I hated me. I was mad at me. I never should have believed in that shrub. Why did I believe in that shrub? Maybe if I hadn’t believed in that shrub . . .

“What do you imagine awaits you on the flipside?”

Eli awaits me on the flipside. I wonder if he’s still a baby. I wonder if babies grow in heaven. I wonder if I’ll recognize him. I wonder if he’ll recognize me. I wonder if he’ll be mad at me. I wonder if he’ll forgive me.

Violent night, unholy night
All is gone, all is fright

I’m up early considering it’s a Saturday. I still have chores from Mother Mary’s list to finish before Grubs picks me up at noon. He said noon, which means one. He wanted to do the collecting tonight, but I told him I have plans.

I have another date with Wynona. Unlike our last date, I know what we’re doing this time. Well, partly. We’re gonna chow some eats at Pizza Palace downtown and then catch a movie, except I don’t know what movie. It’s sure to be something out of date on account of the cinema downtown has been around since the era of silent movies, and the flicks it plays are almost as ancient. Kids in school joke about going to Naskeag Theater like
Omigod, this wicked scary movie just came out about this killer shark on Cape Cod
. Or
Omigod, let’s go see that new movie about the cute little alien who can phone home using his finger
. There’s a big cinema complex at the mall with about ten theaters, but I’ve never been.