I'm Thinking of Ending Things (14 page)

“What's a school doing out here in the middle of nowhere?”

“There'll be somewhere to get rid of these cups.” Jake slows the car as we pull up in front and drive by.

“There,” I say. “Right there.”

There's a bike rack with a single-gear bike locked up and a green garbage bin up in front of a bank of windows.

“Precisely,” he says. “ 'Kay, I'll be right back.”

He grabs both cups in one hand, using his thumb and index finger as pincers. He knees open his door, gets out, and swings it shut with a loud thud. He leaves the car running.

I watch Jake walk past the bike rack toward the garbage can. That pigeon-toed walk, stooped shoulders, head bent. If I saw him for the first time right now, I'd assume his hunch was because of the cold, the snow. But that's just him. I
know
his walk, his posture. I recognize it. It's a lope, indelicately long, slow strides. Put him and a few others on treadmills and show me their legs and feet. I could pick him out of a police lineup based only on his walk.

I look through the windshield at the wipers. They make this motorized friction sound. They're too tight on the glass. Jake's holding the cups in one hand. He has the lid of the garbage can in his other hand. He's looking into the bin. Come on, hurry up, throw them out.

He's just standing there. What's he doing?

He looks back at the car, at me. He shrugs. He puts the top back on the garbage and walks straight ahead, away from the car. Where's he going? He stops at the corner of the school for a moment, then continues right, out of sight around the side of the school. He still has the cups.

Why didn't he throw them out?

It's dark. There are no streetlights. I guess there haven't been since we turned onto this back road. I hadn't really noticed. The
only light is a single yellow flood from the school's roof. Jake had mentioned how dark it is in the country. I was less aware of it at the farm. Here it's definitely dark.

Where is he going? I lean over to my left and flip the headlights off. The lot in front of me disappears. Only a lone light for the entire school yard. So much darkness, so much space. The snow is getting really heavy.

I haven't spent much time outside of any school at night, let alone such a rural one in the middle of nowhere. Who actually goes to this school? Must be farmers' kids. They must be bussed in. But there are no houses around. There's nothing here. One road, trees, and fields and fields.

I remember once I had to go back to my high school late at night. I was sometimes there during the first hour or so after school for events or meetings. That never felt much different from normal school hours. But once I returned after supper, when everyone was gone, when it was dark. No teachers. No students. I'd forgotten something, but I can't remember what it was.

I was surprised the front door was open. At first I'd knocked on the double doors, assuming they were locked. It seemed weird to knock on the school doors, but I tried anyhow. Then I grabbed the handle, and it was open. I slipped inside. It was so quiet and deserted and the very opposite of what school was normally like. I'd never been alone in school.

My locker was at the other side of the school, so I had to walk along the empty halls. I came up to my English classroom. I was going to walk right by, but stopped at the door. All the chairs were
up on the desks. The garbage cans were out in the hall, near me. A custodian was in there, cleaning up. I knew I wasn't supposed to be in there, but lingered anyway. For a moment, I watched him.

He had glasses and shaggy hair. He was sweeping. He wasn't moving fast. He was taking his time. I'd never considered before how our classrooms were perpetually tidy. We came in every day for our lesson, occupied the room, and then left for home, leaving our mess behind. The next day, we'd arrive and the classroom was clean. We'd mess it up again. And the next day, all traces of our mess were gone. I didn't even notice. None of us did. I would have noticed only if the mess had not been cleaned.

The custodian was playing a tape on a ghetto-blaster thing. It wasn't music but a story, like a book on tape. It was cranked up so loud. A single voice. A narrator. The custodian was meticulous in his work. He didn't see me.

THOSE GIRLS. THE ONES FROM
the Dairy Queen. They are probably students at this school. Seems like a long way for them to come. But back where the Dairy Queen was must be the closest town. I flip the headlights back on. Where is Jake? What's he doing?

I open my door. It's snowing harder for sure, hard enough to land, melt, and wet the inside of the door. I lean out, squinting into the darkness.

“Jake? What are you doing? Come on.”

No answer. I hold the door open for several seconds, face in the wind, listening.

“Jake, let's go!”

Nothing.

I close the door. I have no idea where I am. I don't think I could point out my location on a map. I know I couldn't. This place probably isn't on a map. And Jake has left me. I'm alone now. By myself. In this car. I haven't seen a single vehicle pass, not that I've been paying attention. But clearly no cars come down this road, not at night. I can't remember the last time I was sitting in a car in an unknown place. I lean over to honk the horn, once, twice. A third, long, aggressive honk. I should have been in bed hours ago.

Nowhere. This is nowhere. This isn't a city or town. This is fields, trees, snow, wind, sky, but it isn't anything. What would those girls at the Dairy Queen think if they saw us here? The one with the rash on her arm. The raised bumps. She would wonder why we'd stopped here at this time of night, why we were at her high school. I felt for that girl. I would have liked to talk to her more. Why did she say that to me? Why was she scared? Maybe I could have helped her. Maybe I should have done something.

I imagine school isn't a nice place for her. It's probably lonely. I bet she doesn't like being here. She's smart and capable, but for various reasons prefers leaving school to arriving. School should be a place she likes, where she feels welcome. I bet it's not. That's just my feeling. Maybe I'm reading into things.

I open the glove box. It's full. Not with the usual maps and documents. Balled-up Kleenex. Are they used? Or just balled up?
There are lots of them. One has something red on it. Spots of blood? I move the Kleenex around. There's a pencil in here, too. A notepad. Under the notepad are some photographs, and a couple of discarded candy wrappers.

“What are you doing?”

He's leaning into the car, about to sit, red-faced, snow on his shoulders and head.

“Jake! Jesus, you scared me.” I shut the glove box. “What were you doing out there for so long? Where'd you go?”

“I was getting rid of the cups.”

“Come on,” I say. “Get in, quick. Let's go.”

He closes his door, then reaches across me and opens the glove box. He looks in, and then shuts it again. The snow on him is melting. His bangs are messy and stuck to his forehead. His glasses fog up from the warmth of the car. He is pretty handsome, especially with red cheeks.

“Why didn't you just throw the cups out in that garbage can? You were right there. I saw you.”

“It wasn't a garbage can. What were you looking for in the glove box?”

“Nothing. I wasn't looking. I was waiting for you. What do you mean it wasn't a garbage can?”

“It's filled with road salt. For when it's icy. I figured there was probably a Dumpster back there,” he says, removing his glasses. It takes him a few tries to find a piece of satisfactory shirt, under his coat, to dry and defog his glasses. I've seen him do this before, dry his glasses on his shirt.

“And then there it was. The Dumpster. But I went a little farther. It's a huge field back there. It just seems to keep going on and on forever. I couldn't see anything beyond it.”

“I don't like it here,” I say. “I had no clue what you were doing. You must be freezing. Why is there such a big school out in the middle of nowhere, anyway, with no houses around? You need to have houses and people and kids if you're gonna have a school.”

“This school's old. It's been here forever. That's why it's in such rough shape. Every farm kid in a forty-mile radius goes here.”

“Or did.”

“What do you mean?”

“We don't know whether it's still open, do we? Maybe this school is closed and hasn't been torn down yet. You just said it's in crap condition. I don't know. It feels empty here. Void.”

“It might just be closed for the holidays. That could be. Have schools started up again?”

“I don't know. I'm just saying it's the feeling I get.”

“Why would they have road salt in the bin if the school wasn't operational?”

This is true. I can't explain it.

“It's very humid in here,” Jake says. He's using the bottom of his shirt to dry his face now, still holding his glasses in one hand. “There was a truck back there. So, sadly, your theory that the school is derelict and void of life is bunk.”

He's the only guy I know who uses the word
sadly
in conversation like he just did. And
bunk
.

“Back where?”

“Back behind the school. Where I found the Dumpster. There's a black truck.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, a rusty old black pickup.”

“Maybe it's abandoned. If it's a beater, behind an old shitty school way out in the middle of nowhere, this would be an ideal place to trash it. Maybe the best place.”

Jake looks at me. He's thinking. I've seen this expression before. Seeing these mannerisms of his that I know, that I like, am attracted to, it's endearing and comforting. It makes me glad he's here. He puts his glasses back on.

“The exhaust was dripping.”

“So?”

“So, the truck has been driven. Condensation from the exhaust pipe means the engine was running recently. It hasn't just been sitting there. I think there were tracks in the snow, too, maybe. But definitely exhaust drips.”

I'm not sure what to say. I'm losing interest. Fast. “What does that mean anyway, a truck?”

“
Means
someone's in there,” he says. “Like a worker, maybe, I don't know, something like that. Someone's in the school, that's all.”

I wait for a while before I speak. Jake's tense, I can tell. I don't know why.

“No, it could be anything. Could be—”

“No,” he snaps. “That's what it is. Someone is in there. Someone who wouldn't be here if he didn't have to be. If he could be somewhere else, anywhere else, that's where he'd be.”

“Okay, I'm just saying. I don't know. Maybe there was a car pool and a vehicle was left behind. Or something.”

“He's in there alone, working. A janitor. Cleaning up after all those kids. That's what he does all night while everyone sleeps. Clogged toilets. Garbage bags. Wasted food. Teenage boys piss on a bathroom floor for fun. Think about it.”

I look away from Jake, out my window to the school. It must be hard to keep this big building clean. After all those students have spent a day in there, it would be in shambles. Especially the bathrooms and cafeteria. And then it's up to one person to clean the whole thing? In just a few hours? “Anyway, who cares, let's just go. We're already late as is. You have to work tomorrow.”

And my head. It's starting to throb again. For the first time since we've left Dairy Queen, Jake removes the key from the ignition and pockets it. I forgot we were still idling. Sometimes you don't notice sound until it's gone. “What's the rush all of a sudden? It's not even midnight.”

“What?”

“It's not that late. And with the snow. We're already out here. It's kinda nice and private. Let's just wait for a bit.”

I don't want to get into an argument. Not now, not here. Not when I've made my decision about Jake, about us. I turn away again and look out my window. How did I end up in this situation? I laugh out loud.

“What?” he asks.

“Nothing, it's just . . .”

“Just what?”

“Really, it's nothing. I was thinking about something funny that happened at work.”

He looks at me like he can't believe I could tell such an obvious lie.

“What did you think of the farm? Of my parents?”

Now he asks me? After all this time? I hesitate. “It was fun to see where you grew up. I told you that.”

“Did you think it would be like that? Was it how you pictured it?”

“I don't know what I thought. I haven't spent much time in the country, or on a farm. I didn't really have an idea of what it would be like. It was about what I thought, I guess, sure.”

“Did it surprise you?”

I shift in my seat, to the left, toward Jake. Strange questions. Out of character for Jake. Of course it was not really what I thought it would be like. “Why would you think it surprised me? Why?”

“I'm just curious what you thought. Did it seem like a nice place to grow up?”

“Your parents were sweet. It was kind of them to invite me. I liked your dad's glasses string. He has an old-timey appeal to him. He invited us to stay over.”

“He did?”

“Yeah. He said he'd make coffee.”

“Did they seem happy to you?”

“Your folks?”

“Yeah, I'm curious. I've been wondering about them lately.
How happy they are. They've been under stress. I worry about them.”

“They seemed fine. Your mom is having a tough time, but your dad is supportive.”

Were they happy? I'm not sure. His parents didn't seem explicitly unhappy. There was that argument, the stuff I overheard. The vague bickering after dinner. It's hard to say what happy is. Something did seem a little off. Maybe it had to do with Jake's brother. I don't know. As he said, they seemed to be under stress.