Happy That It's Not True (6 page)

              “You heard me, right?  You don’t tell anyone.”

              Luciano went into the kitchen to pour several different powders in a blender.  The racket of milk, ice and muscle mix gave Alex a moment to release anger, huffing and cursing as he paced the bedroom. 

              A cat commercial came on and brought a grin to Luciano’s face and then laughter.  He slurped his sports drink and then nodded with self-satisfaction.  “Ha—they’re so stupid—they believe me.  Que gente más comemierdas.”  Then he raised his voice so Alex would hear him.  “Your mother is sick of Cara’s drawings.  I might have to go in her room and take away her drawings.”

              An image of Cara’s drawing book sinking into a canal flashed in Alex’s mind.  He quietly went into Cara’s room, took the drawing book off Cara’s nightstand and walked back into his room, hastily slipping it under his mattress.

The storyteller shouted above the din of the rain.  The men huddled closely together for warmth.  One of the men, no longer able to contain his mumbling, spoke out loud. 

              Some people are born evil!  And it is the bad ones that take over the world.  One man loves his wife and loses her.  Another man is a monster and yet he keeps the woman a good man can’t have.  Oh I hate life.  I hate this miserable life.

              The large man nods sympathetically. 

              There is no trying to understand the way things are.  Trying to understand will only make one bitter.  Do you really think that the finite human mind can understand the fabric of the cosmos?  We only see a tiny strand.  Our minds, our thoughts are like little bugs with short lifespans, clumsily flying around and laying eggs.  I’d rather be at peace and accept my limitations.  Perhaps in the future they might have a cure for Luciano, but all your thinking is serving no purpose.  You judge and you judge and you become angrier and angrier.  But all you are seeing is a tiny strand in the complex fabric of the cosmos.

              Some of the men look insulted that their right to judge and think had been questioned.  The storyteller looked away with concern for his soul and continued the story.

Chapter Six

            
 
The yachts glimmered in the lights of the marina, the tang of the sea air reminding Cara that there were other worlds as vast as the oceans, delights untempered by dysfunctional families and tyrannical district managers.  The reflections in the black and cutting waters, the unseen horizon, the Big Dipper, all features of a time machine, bringing Cara back, closer to her girlhood, moments away from seeing Matt again. 

              Cara and Alex arrived at the marina after having encountered heavy US-1 traffic and the difficulty of finding Friday night parking in the Grove for the old gray Hyundai.  Walking along the floating docks, the laughter and reggae music indicated which of the moored yachts held a sendoff party.  Alex was nervous, not wanting to annoy the college crowd with his under-age presence.  Cara was eager to be seen in her flower print wrap-top with jeans.  Her hair was down and holding together in spite of the humidity.  She wore a sterling y-necklace with a pear shaped sapphire and matching earrings.  A touch of makeup on her tawny porcelain skin.

              “There it is...the Grace Quintessence,” Cara said looking at the Art Nouveau lettering.

              “That’s a big boat,” Alex pointed out.

              A large shiny mural of underwater dolphins in shades of turquoise and blue covered the hull, airbrushed scribbles of light riding their bodies.  They walked to the other side to see the rest of the mural and noticed a young man, drinking from a bottle, sitting and holding the guardrail.

              “You here for Matt?” he said.

              “Yes,” Alex answered.

              The young man never took his eyes off of Cara, motioning her to walk across the boarding ramp, approaching to greet her and taking her by the hand.

              “Let me help you across the plank,” he said in a pirate’s voice.  “Welcome aboard the Grace Quintessence.”

              After Cara had boarded and his eyes had sufficiently feasted, he looked at Alex with an inquisitive expression.

              “How old are you?”

              “Fifteen,” Alex said, petulantly looking away, sensing a long, humiliating evening.

              Inside the galley covered in stained mahogany was a table and cushioned seating arrangement with six casually dressed young people.  The sight of Matt made it hard for Cara to keep her balance inside the boat, which was bobbing in the light choppy water.  She noticed the redhead sitting next to him and instantly knew who she was—Sheryl Janzovich, the girl who had been a legend for her life of pain at an early age.  Her hair was like fire, her eyes like flowers, her body delicate, her smile welcoming. 

              Matt looked up at Cara and Alex, his face bursting with excitement.  “Hey!”  He stood up and embraced Cara and Alex at the same time. 

              Cara felt her back tingle, wishing that it would be unobjectionable to hold him forever, and for a moment wishing that Alex had not come.

              “Look at you two—it’s been so long.”  Matt smiled in astonishment.  “Cara—you’re so beautiful—Alex, you’re a big guy.  Let me introduce you—this is—”

              “I think we know each other,” Sheryl beamed.  “Remember me from elementary?”

              “Sheryl Janzovich, right?” Cara said, smiling, trying to match her enthusiasm.

              More introductions were made.  The son of the third generation lawyer whose father owned the yacht.  The girl who laughed and drank and didn’t say a word.  The couple that couldn’t keep their hands off each other.  The pirate who wanted to run off with Cara and toss Alex overboard. 

              “So this is your sendoff party?” Cara asked Matt.

              “Actually, I won’t be leaving for a while; it’s just an excuse for a little get together.”

              “Nice boat—might get a little sea sick,” Alex admitted.

              “He’s not man enough to sail the high seas,” the pirate voice yowled to several giggles.

              “Leave him alone,” Matt said, his smile indicating that he enjoyed defending Alex.

              “Hey, Cara—want to go up for some fresh air?  We have a lot of catching up to do,” Sheryl said.

              “Sure let’s go,” Cara acquiesced, thinking to herself that they barely knew each other and there was nothing of the past to catch up on.

              Outside, the salty sea breeze whipped their hair, the darkness obscuring their features.  Sheryl, an attractive young woman with freckly white skin, ran her hands across the main boom, explored the rigging and came to sit against a small window, where she could watch Matt and the others with the anonymity of the night.  Cara sat next to her, also peering into the galley, shocked to see her brother drinking beer.

              “You know, sometimes I just like to say what’s on my mind,” Sheryl said.  “Whenever I see someone from my past, I always feel I need to do some damage control.  With the reputation I had, I know what you’re probably thinking, but don’t believe the things people said about me.”

              “I don’t really-.”

              “I’ll just get it over with, and tell you what I’m sure you’re just dying to know.  When I was little, one day I discovered that cutting myself made me feel good.  Eventually I cut myself with everything I could find, even scissors—it’s an addiction.”

              Cara tried to hide her alarm, spurring Sheryl on with her eyes. 

              “When the thing with the phone pictures happened, I wasn’t trying to kill myself, it just triggered a lot of cutting.  I cut myself so bad one day that I couldn’t go to school—and my Mom found out.  I went to counseling for a long time—and I haven’t done it in a while—anything can trigger it though.  I always hide my scars with long sleeves and hoodies.”

              “You hurt yourself physically to cover emotional pain,” Cara said.

              “Yes, exactly—that’s exactly what it is—it helps me feel numb.  I see you tonight and I have to ask myself—why did Matt invite you?”

              Sheryl ran her sentences together, not changing her cadence or tone.  Cara was unprepared for the change of subject and became ill at ease.

              “Bringing your brother was a nice move.  I definitely would‘ve flipped out if you had come alone.  You were always pretty.  What are you doing now?”

              Sheryl looked at Matt waving his arms like he was telling stories. 

              “I just handed in a resignation letter at work.  I’ll be looking for a new job.”

              “Are you going to school?”

              “No—I’m not.”

              “Well, just because you have a degree, that doesn’t mean you’re smart.  I’ll probably graduate and I don’t feel very smart at all.  Do you want to see my scars?”

              Cara had no desire to see them, but didn’t want to offend Sheryl.  With a halfhearted smile she softly moaned her indecision.

              “That’s okay—I don’t want to gross you out,” Sheryl said.

              Cara was beginning to wonder what Matt saw in her.  She noticed Alex had another beer can in front of him. 

              “Okay, I’m being paranoid.  You guys are Matt’s childhood friends and neighbors—he thought it would be cool to see you.  Hey, I know someone who can help you get a job.  They’re a headhunter from a staffing firm.  They find employees for tech companies.  Maybe you can work as a receptionist or something.”

              Cara nodded her interest, unsure whether she should accept the help of someone who inspired both her pity and jealousy.

              “Let me get your number...”

...

              Alex and Cara had made it as far as the Hyundai before Alex stumbled onto the grass and vomited.

              “What were you thinking, Alejandro?”

              “Oh—I feel so sick.” 

              “You’ve never had a drink before, what made you think you could drink all those beers?”

              “It was a social situation—there was social interaction and a social structure and I was trying to be social.”

              “I don’t think anyone else drank as much as you.”

              “Excuse me.”

              Alex walked up to a small thin tree, grabbed hold of its trunk and threw up again.  Cara leaned against the car, wincing in revulsion.

              “Okay—I feel better now,” Alex said, looking pale and wretched. 

              Northern Dade was traversed via I-95.  As they entered Broward County, the wind blasting against the open passenger side window, color returned to Alex’s face. 

              “Matt is really cool—I really like him,” Alex shouted.

              “Yeah—he’s a nice guy.”

              “You should find someone like him, instead of all those loser boyfriends you’ve had.”

              Cara decided not to acknowledge the suggestion and chose instead to replay Sheryl’s words in her mind.  ...Cutting...scissors...would have freaked out if you had come alone...paranoid... 

              A large white Sedan pulled up alongside the car matching its speed, subwoofers rattling a greeting.  Four young men wearing heavy winter coats and bandanas under their knit caps stared at Cara, who resolved to ignore them.

              “See—like those losers.  It’s ninety five degrees outside and those guys are dressed for Antarctica, because they want to be cool.  They’re gonna die of heat stroke—they’ll definitely lose their hearing,” Alex derided.

              “You sound like an old man,” Cara said.

              As the car sped up and the gawking ceased, Alex noticed that Cara’s eyes weren’t as bright as usual, darting between the road and some point either in the past or future, her soul torn between the two. 

              “You look tired, everything all right?”

              “Yeah—I’m okay.”

              Cara’s languor fell on Alex, piercing a mysterious place in his soul.  In her profile, he could see something of his eyes and it reminded him of the things they had in common.  The passing highway lights increased sobriety, each flash declaring that there is a dull pain to living, some boats are moored and never leave the harbor.

              Alex closed his window so he could speak softly.  “What do you think is gonna happen with Mom and Luciano?”

              “I don’t know—why do people fall in love with people who have serious problems?”

              “Well, uh—women like masculine men.  They don’t like girly men, so they’re attracted to masculine qualities.  I think sometimes they confuse scary men with masculinity.  That’s why those guys in that car looked so scary, so they can pick up more chicks.”

              “Come on Alex—I don’t think that’s true.”

              “Okay—then I have a second theory.  Actually it’s been proven scientifically—I think.  The skin produces chemicals—scents that trigger attraction.  If two people have the right body chemistry, then a guy won’t be able to stop sniffing a woman’s hair and women will actually enjoy wearing a guy’s shirt to bed and stuff like that.”