Fade Into You Page 7

  “You what?” he spits in his haughty fake British accent that comes and goes.

  I don’t know why but I can’t find the words to lie and all I can think to do is tell the truth. I just want him to leave me alone. I want everyone to leave me alone. I open my mouth and the car releases, hurtling so many miles an hour down the drop. I wipe my cheeks trying to pretend they aren’t wet. I pray that he lets me go but he persists.

  “You what?” he shouts again.

  “I threw up on my shirt.”

  “You vomited on your shirt? Is that your final answer?”

  “Yeah, I barfed.” I can hear the students behind me laugh. Fuck, fucking fuck.

  “You’re not excused, but you’re excused from the exercise. You can sit at the piano until class is over and then you and I are going to have a talk, understood?”

  “Yes, Mr. Hessler.”

  “Get water if you need and come back.”

  “Thank you, thank you so much.”

  He turns around toward the class and I slink quietly to sit on the old peeling piano bench and hang my head in shame. Blue hotel, on a lonely highway. Blue hotel, life don’t work out my way. Blue hotel, every room is lonely.

  “Everyone resume positions!” The lot of them, the whole sweaty lot raise their right legs in unison. Mr. Hessler slams the cane gesticulating grandly for them to begin marching. They march in a circle, their heads don’t bob, their arms out straight at their sides. They reek. They stink.

  “Recite!” he yells, and they all freeze, their mouths open, and he slams the cane again. They stomp once then yell together, a great thundering chorus.

  ×

  “I know what you’re doing,” says Dan, sliding up at my locker. He punches my butt with his fist.

  “Ow, you asshole.”

  “I get it now, I get you. You’re just like my fucking mother.”

  “What are you talking about, dick breath? Get out of my way, I’m meeting someone.”

  “I know it isn’t Chelo cos I had Figure Drawing with her Tuesday and she said you guys haven’t kicked it in a minute.”

  “So what? We had a fight, big deal. It’s over, we’re good.”

  “Nuh-uh. I have your number, I finally have it.”

  “Shut up, stupid,” I say, throwing the plastic bag with my theater clothes into my backpack. “Of course you have my number, I’m your fucking carpool.”

  “It’s an expression, estúpida, and I was your carpool, and don’t forget this.” He shoves his arm into my locker as I slam it shut.

  “Your fucking History book bitch! Jesus! You smashed my arm.” He looks at me, rubs his elbow. “We have History in the morning.”

  “Thanks,” I say, grabbing the book and heading down the hallway. He chases after me.

  “Hey, man, what’s your enchilada? Relax, dude.” Dan sticks out his injured arm again like I’m crossing the street and a car’s about to hit me.

  “What, stinko? Can I, like, help you?”

  “Yeah. Let’s go to my place and get stoned. My mom’s at Dr. Green’s.”

  “Clean the ass wax out of your ears. I’m meeting someone.” I walk again toward the bright outdoors.

  “No, you’re not. I saw him get into some dude’s car. An old Falcon or something gross pulled up and he got in.” I stop and grab my pager. It only reads 4:30. I sigh and look around the hallway, the orange-and-yellow lockers close in like suffocating hands around my throat. “Come on. Let’s go to my place. I’ll drive, you won’t have to take the bus.” He takes my arm and starts to pull me and I yank it away.

  “Who do you think you are?” I yell. My feet pick me up and I run out into the cool outdoors, into the blinding sun.

  “Nicole!” he shouts, but I hurry down the steps toward F lot. I can hear him behind me but I don’t give a fuck. My eyes unhinge from my face and for the second time in two hours I’m sobbing. They’re floating orbs bouncing on salty brine, lifting up into the white light that pierces from the inside out. I am distinctly aware that this might be the most dramatic moment of my life thus far. In all my sixteen years on earth I have never been so overwhelmed by my own emotion. How could Mike leave with another man. How could he leave me when we had plans? I step outside and watch myself running. I’m floating on top. Sailing above myself. I push past the dancers in their leotards standing in a circle at the bottom of the stairs.

  “Hey, watch it!” shouts Tanya from English. We’ve exchanged notes before and I knock her off her pirouette. She turns around and sees it’s me. “Nikki!” she yells. “You okay?” But I don’t stop. They keep dancing. This shit is so dramatic even I pause to look up at the sky, take a giant gulp of air, shake my head and look back down.

  “Swear to god you’re like my fucking mother,” Dan says, grabbing my arm from behind and pulling me down the parking lot aisle. I’m snotting and dripping and I let him take me.

  “You smell bad,” I say, wiping at my face.

  “Come on. Get in,” he shoves me toward his small blue hatchback. I open the door and collapse onto the sticky plastic interior. “Jesus Christ, hold it together.” He pops the glove compartment and pulls out a small rolled-up plastic sandwich bag. “You ever taken a Xanax before?” I shake my head. “Swallow this and wipe your face, you’ll be okay. Do you want ice cream?” I shake my head again. “Yes, you do. I do. Let’s go to Thrifty. I’ll buy.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “I don’t care. I am.” He starts the engine and shoves into first gear. He shakes his head, mumbling curses under his breath. “What’s your problem? Why are you chasing after him? He’s gay, what part of fucks men don’t you understand?”

  “I will jump out of this car if you even try to talk to me about this.”

  “I’m talking to you as your friend.”

  “Shut the fuck up you narcissistic asshole. All you want is to know that I want to fuck you. You don’t give a shit about me. So what? Fine, yeah, I’d fuck you, you fucking asshole. You don’t even want to fuck me anyway so what’s the fucking point except to jack off your massive ego?”

  “That’s a lot of fucks for a virgin.”

  “Shut up!” I scream at the top of my lungs.

  “What do you want?” he asks, looking at me. He pops the glove compartment again and grabs the smokes.

  “My life is so déjà vu.”

  “How so?” he asks, grabbing the pack and pushing in the lighter. I wait till it pops. He holds it up and I lean in, inhale, and trace my lip looking out the window. “Tell me.”

  “Stupid fights in cars, people asking me what I want. What do you want, dick face? Huh? You’re sixteen, tell me right now everything you want until you die.”

  “I’m seventeen. I was held back, remember? And I don’t know.”

  “Exactly. So how come everyone expects me to have an answer?”

  “Because you’re smart and it’s obvious you aren’t trying.”

  “Oh, Jesus Christ, you’re my mother too now?”

  “Your mom is cool.”

  “I don’t want to barf twice in one day.”

  “You threw up today?”

  “Yeah, while changing for Arts.”

  “Oh man. For real?”

  “Mike and I took the bus to school together. We whipped till three a.m. I didn’t sleep. I ate French fries for lunch and barfed.”

  “Nikki, what the fuck.”

  “We were supposed to get pancakes after class.”

  “So what, you’re doing speed now?”

  “No. You do speed and big deal if I am.”

  “I do coke. Not tweak. I’m not interested in getting ass raped by dirty old men.”

  “How come you two get to do whatever the fuck you want?”

  “Because no one’s at home waiting for us.”

  “Well, see there? Look, you just said it yourself. I get to do speed too, then. No one’s at home waiting for me. Sell me an eight ball, I’m wounded.”

  “Pass the tissues we all hav
e issues. You know what I mean.”

  “No, you think you know what you mean. You don’t get shit, Dan. You think you’re some Zen Buddha that can sail through life not hurting people and not getting hurt but you live in such a twisted world of disillusionment. You’re seventeen, and I give you ten years before your liver is a spongy piece of shit. Like, like a flag blowing through the wind, a sail or whatever.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know, with holes in it! You’re an alcoholic!”

  “What do you want from me, man? You want to date me, is that it? You want to fuck me and we can hold hands or something? Chill out, like right now. I mean it. Get that? Chill out, I’m losing my patience.”

  I don’t say anything and look out the window again. Trying to count the helicopters over downtown, far far far in the distance, and the stars I cannot see yet know are there, and the UFOs. Strange things are afoot at the Circle K.

  “Do you know when the Mongols ruled China?” he asks, turning and smiling at me, reciting our favorite line from Bill and Ted.

  “How did you know I was just thinking that?”

  “Okay, then what number am I thinking of?” he asks, keeping it going.

  “Sixty-nine!” I shout, then smile a little, exhale. Maybe he’s right. Maybe everything is just okay. “You’re clever,” I say, looking at him.

  “Wanna trash the San Dimas football field with TP?”

  “No,” I say laughing.

  “Wanna break into Raging Waters and look for Napoleon?”

  “No!” I say sternly and amused. “You’re crazy. We’d get arrested. What would be our defense?”

  “Sorry dudes, we were wheezing the juice.”

  “Eww, no. How dare you mix-quote Encino Tard with Bill and Ted? How could you betray the SGV like that?”

  “How could I betray good taste like that. Shit, I’m sorry, that’s like comparing elevator music to Bach.”

  “Yeah, clearly elevator music—”

  “Is better!” we shout in unison.

  “Do you feel Mexican?”

  He shakes his head and laughs softly, pulls a smoke and lights it. “You’re so weird. What kind of question is that? You don’t?”

  “No.”

  “Well, you shouldn’t. You aren’t. I mean, not like me and Chelo. You’re, you know, American.”

  “You’re American.”

  “You and Jess are American.”

  “Jess is Jewish.”

  “And other stuff. My kids will be like you. I live in the United States but the United States doesn’t want me. Look, you live in Pasadena. I live in El Monte. It’s not the same.”

  “And you live in South Pasadena.”

  “Yeah, but that’s not my house. That’s my mom’s boyfriend’s house, ya know?”

  “You live there. You were born here.”

  “Yeah and my brother was born in Jalisco. I’m an immigrant. Doesn’t matter if I’m not actually. Doesn’t matter what you really are. You know that. It’s how people see you. What difference does it make if I was born here if my father gets talked down to like a piece of dogshit under someone’s shoe and I have to watch it? That’s my father.”

  “You’re weirdly wise.”

  “Duh.”

  “Your mom though—”

  “Is beautiful. She’s got that. Now’s she’s got Dr. Green to pay her bills. Good for her.”

  “And so what, you’re supposed to be like Peter Pan now or whatever?”

  “She comes home. She leaves money. I’m not mad.”

  “I find that hard to believe. When was the last time she came home?”

  “A week ago.” Dan turns the corner with one hand and reaches into the back seat with his other and grabs his backpack. He unzips it and pulls out a tape. “My War,” he says, holding up the Black Flag cassette.

  I nod and smile, give a thumbs-up. “He’s like me.”

  “Mike? Yeah. He looks like a gringo.”

  “You’re American, too. Mexico is in America.”

  “Tell that to the gabachos. You know what I mean.”

  “Yeah. I do. Mike surfs.”

  “I know. I’ve seen him. He goes out to Point Dume. He’s good. He surfs alone.”

  “Is that supposed to be some sort of weird metaphor?”

  Dan laughs and shakes his head. “You’re a real character, kiddo.”

  “Don’t call me kiddo.”

  “His mother is blond.”

  “His mother’s dead.”

  “I know that, too.”

  “They make him sleep in the garage.”

  “You can’t start this shit. God, it’s like I’m watching your bad dude habits in their infancy. Don’t spend the next twenty years of your life chasing men you can’t have. Like, emotionally unavailable dudes.”

  “How come we’ve never talked like this before?”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know, like grown-ups or whatever.”

  “Nikki, I’m not an idiot.”

  “Then why do you act like a Neanderthal?”

  “Fuck you, man.”

  “Whatever.”

  “And what makes you so mature? You’re about as mature as a toddler. You just had a tantrum and ran out of school. Who gives a shit. You high yet?

  “I don’t know. I feel calmer.”

  “Yeah, you’re high. So what, you’re a fag hag now? Nikki, he is a gay young man. That means he fancies the company of other men. Anyway, there are plenty of guys in school who would do you.”

  “Geez god, how many times do I have to tell you?”

  “Ugh, fine. I know. There are plenty of guys at school who would enjoy your company.” We stop at a red light and he looks at me. “Who do enjoy your company.”

  “What? Quit being weird.” He shakes his head and we drive down Main toward the Thrifty off Atlantic. He swims close but never docks the boat and I’m never ever ever filling in the blanks for him again only to be mocked. He only wants a warm dick hug anyway. I watch an old Asian couple push their cart filled with long beans and wrapped fish from the Pan Asian market around the corner. They are hunched over, her wearing a floppy straw hat and him a Dodgers baseball cap and blue Sta-Prest pants. A kid on a skateboard swerves around them and yells something in Cantonese or perhaps Mandarin that sounds like Get out of the way. His head has been shaved to stubble except for a loose, shiny ponytail that rests on top of his head and two long sections of hair that hang above his temples and frame the sides of his face. The old couple stops. He jumps off his skateboard wiping sweat from his forehead with his oversized white T-shirt and exposes rippled and tattooed stomach muscles, a pager clipped to his khaki Dickies.

  “Asian bangers man,” Dan whispers, “are so hard. I bet he has a gat. Or at least a rice rocket.” I roll my eyes. We sit at the stoplight and watch him. He’s waiting with us so he can cross.

  “How am I like your mom?”

  “I bet he has a Honda with one of those souped-up engines. I love those things. Fuck yeah! I know I’m supposed to be like, into lowriders or whatever cos I’m Brown, but fuck, I’m into speed. You know? Zmmm, zmmm!” he mouths, making little engine sounds and fake turning a wheel. “It’s like a skateboard you can ride inside of.”

  “If he had a car he wouldn’t be on a skateboard. How am I like your mom?”

  “You don’t know that, smarty-farty pants. I ride my board all over town.”

  “How am I like your mom?”

  “You keep thinking some dude is going to solve all your problems. Her I get, you I don’t get it. You’re a teenager, man. Have a little confidence, you’re a cute girl.”

  “I guess thanks.”

  “You’re beautiful, Nikki,” he says matter-of-factly, turning the corner, and I can feel myself blush. I look at him, weird and hot. His stupid fucking face.

  ×

  I walk in and Mom is in the bedroom stuffing clothes in a suitcase and crying.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, setting m
y backpack down beside the door. She spins around, her face a wild mess of rage.

  “What’s wrong with you?” she cries, throwing a shoe at me. I duck and it misses. “I wish I could hit you. God, I wish I could just knock you out.”

  “Mom—”

  “Where the fuck have you been, you little idiot? Two days? You go missing for two fucking days?” She strangles a pair of rolled-up socks and shakes them at me, her fist bulging. “You little shit! I told you to return a movie! A fucking movie!”

  “Mom, I’m sorry.”

  “You made me call your father! Your goddamn father! Go in your room, I don’t want to look at you. I’m coming home Tuesday.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Oh, well, my dear,” she says, standing up and pushing a handful of hair over her forehead. She puts her hands on her hips and glares at me. “Let me tell you, you picked a real lousy time to teach me a lesson, let me tell you that. Your sister called. I have to go.”

  “Wait, all the way to San Francisco? What happened?”

  “Santa Cruz. She’s in some motel out there. I don’t know, some goddamn shit with that boy. I have to go see her, that’s all.”

  “Is she okay? Is she coming back with you?”

  “I don’t know, maybe. Clean your grandpa’s old room and get it nice while I’m gone, huh? Just in case?”

  “Sure.”

  “Can I trust you?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “I put two hundred dollars in the jewelry box. That should cover your food and gas till I get back.”

  “Okay. You’re leaving the car?”

  “Yes, I called a cab, I’m headed to Bob Hope. Honey, I’m sorry. You deserve more than this, I’m sorry.”

  “Mom, it’s cool.”

  She reaches out and grabs my chin and tugs on it. I flinch. “My big girl.”

  I back away and her hand falls. She looks down then back at me, her eyes low.

  “Mija, you take a lot. I’m proud of you, all right?”

  “I know, Mom. If Lyla’s hurt, go.”

  “Okay,” she says zipping up the bag and walking toward the living room. She opens the front door covered in shadows. “I love you, honey.”

  I wonder if she’s aware of what she says to me, if she ever remembers anything at all. Maybe I have two mothers and they fight each other like Regan and Pazuzu dueling it out and it’s always a mystery who might win.