Authors: Jenn Cooksey
I look up into a kind and familiar face, feeling instant relief and my embarrassment evaporating quickly once I connect the dots and put the face with her name. Missy Johnstone, my friend and lab partner from junior year.
She and I haven’t been super close friends, but she’s really sweet and we always got along. Missy is one of those seemingly quiet and innocent kinds of girls, but she only appears that way because she doesn’t let anything whatsoever take over or get in the way of what’s important to her. Over the years we were in school together, I learned what that was; working her tail off to gain entrance and a full academic scholarship to the Ivy League school of her choice, Cornell University, which she did, thanks to her close to perfect SAT scores, outstanding application essay, and
not
allowing herself to get caught up in any of the typical high school drama. In fact, she didn’t have an interest in finding a date and I didn’t see the point in having Holden spend all that money to come home just for a dance that he and I already went to together the year before, so Missy and I opted to have a pajama party instead of going stag to our Senior Prom. That night she told me that in her last class of the day this past year, she’d had to wear earplugs so she wouldn’t be tempted to listen in on the day’s gossip. I mean that’s some serious dedication.
She sighs. “I’m not even gonna ask how you’re holding up.”
“Yeah, I guess the crying pretty much says it all, huh?” That’s what I say to her, but…
Everything in me wants to fall apart right here in the middle of freaking Walmart. My grief over losing the love of my life, the guilt I feel for the physical betrayal I forced Cole into being a part of, my body’s insistence of reminding me what that betrayal felt like in the moment, and, so much more…all of it is screaming; throwing a maudlin temper tantrum of the highest order inside of me to be let out. But that’s not me; I’m the happy one. The fixer. I’m the one who always sees the bright side and can help everyone find their smile when life steals it away from them. I just can’t seem to find one for myself lately and I feel so…alien. Like nothing about who I am, or the person I’ve always thought of myself as is recognizable anymore; neither nor both of those people are around right now. I’m playing Hide and Seek with myself and I’m losing and winning at the same time, and it’s not right. It just feels so very wrong.
I
feel wrong.
As bent and broken as I am on the inside, though, I don’t want to give in. I don’t want to explore any of the reasons for why I feel this way, and I especially don’t want to let my emotions ride roughshod all over me anymore, in public in particular. I want myself back. I just don’t exactly know where to go looking for me without finding someone else I like even less than the person mirrored in the reflection of Missy’s soft eyes.
The answer of course is straight forward, if not self-depriving and probably harder than not to accomplish. Make believe. Pretending everything is normal; that I’m just fine and dandy with nothing in the least haunting me. So, here I go, I’m taking a big breath, about to suck it up for the world, and I’m sticking my head in the sand for the foreseeable future. I mean who knows, maybe my smile is buried somewhere down there and I’ll have to dig to China to find it.
“Well, that and all the cleaning supplies,” she sarcastically grimaces and gestures to my cart with a laugh, “Scrub brushes and laundry detergent say a lot sometimes. And you have new sheets…redecorating therapy?”
“Oh, no, it’s my version of an apology to Cole,” I explain.
“Cole…?” she drags his name out, her brow furrowing as she searches her memory, “Oh, Cole Hastings. Duh. I forgot about him. Don’t know how, though, he’s
so
cute.”
Missy’s atypical for her statement catches me off guard. “You think he’s cute?”
“Well, yeah. I mean he’s not, like, pretty-boy cute. He’s ah…I don’t know, more rugged, maybe? You know, like he’s got a real rough around the edges quality, but he’s got that great smile that smoothes out anything harsh or overly sharp, and I swear his eyes are the color of melted Hershey’s Kisses. He’s really kinda yummy.”
“Huh.” I realize that Missy’s right, but that I never really gave much thought to what it is about Cole’s looks that other girls instinctually find so attractive. “I guess I can sorta see that.”
“Can I ask you something, though? You know I don’t like to gossip or anything, and I know he’s Holden’s best friend…or, was,” she stutters, her face twisting into a wince of sorts with the correction.
“Yeah, I know…it’s okay.”
La-la-la-la…now, where did I put that shovel again?
“Sorry. Alright, lemme start over,” she half-heartedly chuckles, “It’s none of my business really, but since we’re talking about him and everything, I was just curious…is Cole gay?”
Operation Smile Excavation clearly getting off to a rough start, I feel the color drain from my face and then virtually simultaneously, as if the blood surging downward has a sudden, violent change of heart, I feel almost feverish as my eyes cloud and swim with memories and gratitude for what Cole must’ve gone through for me last night.
“Oh my gosh, Erica,
not
that I think Cole and Holden are…I mean, were
at all
,” Missy blurts out, misinterpreting my blushing for what I can only imagine is some form of stunned anger, “I just…
ugh
. I’ve heard all kinds of opposing rumors to the idea, but I just don’t think I’ve ever, like, seen him
with
a girl, you know? And since you know him really well, I thought you’d know if he is. I mean it’s cool if he is and it’s totally none of my business like I said. You know what, never mind. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have even brought it up.”
I blink a few times and my brain finally catches up, my equilibrium and facial features evening out. “Oh, um…no, it’s okay, really. I didn’t think that’s what you meant. Honestly. The question just, um…threw me, I guess. And actually, I don’t even know. I’ve sorta thought that before too,” I tell her honestly, but I leave out one teeny-tiny detail that has recently produced some substantial doubt to that theory, which if ever proved true would only make me feel even worse. I shake myself again however, digging further towards the Far East. “I never asked him, though, because it doesn’t matter if he is or not, and Holden never said anything either, so…”
Missy blows out a relieved breath. “See? This is why I always kept my mouth shut and stayed away from idle gossip and social politics. I suck at all that stuff,” she laughs at herself, reassured that she hadn’t made me question my relationship with Holden in any way or crossed some sort of invisible line, “But since I already went ahead and slaughtered the curious cat, and it’s how we started talking about Cole in the first place, do you mind me asking why you’re buying him sheets as a form of apology?”
“Oh, I um, I lost my mind a little last night after the funeral. I threw a beer bottle at his head and ended up falling on all the shards after it broke against the wall. I cut my leg amongst other parts of me, and then of course I sat on Cole’s bed and bled all over his sheets. It wasn’t my finest hour,” I admit, but instead of feeling embarrassed to the core like I was this morning, an extraterrestrial smile forms on my lips. Abridged as it was, something about saying it out loud like that seems to put the whole scene into perspective for me. So much so that I have to roll my eyes and laugh at my ridiculous self.
Missy laughs with me, like we’re two halves of one socially inept soul that can’t seem to go more than five minutes without committing some kind of faux pas. We stand here for a couple more minutes talking and sort of reminiscing about a few shared high school memories before her phone dings with a text and she rolls her eyes with a huff.
“Now my brother wants me to bring home fudge-sicles in addition to ice cream sandwiches. I swear, I’m surprised a study hasn’t been done to link tonsillectomies to juvenile diabetes. I mean he had them out over a week ago and he’s still milking it!” she tells me with a laugh and goes to give me a hug, “I better get going.”
I chuckle too and hug her back. “Hey, do you want to see a movie with me later tonight or maybe tomorrow?” I ask, thinking I should be able to see a movie whenever and with whomever I want to without being sent on a guilt trip by someone who’s supposed to be my friend. After all, maybe my smile is lurking in a dark movie theater? Yeah, I know, probably not, but it could still be worth a look.
“Oh, I would, Erica, but I can’t. My dad is getting remarried next weekend and both my brothers, her daughter, and I are all going on this crazy-long, three-week honeymoon cruise with him and Stacy, and then I’m moving to New York straight from there. I still have a ton of packing to do for that and college,” she explains, gesturing to and then picking up a long shopping list from where it’s been laying in the seat of her cart, “And plus, I want to spend as much quality time with my mom as I can before I leave, you know?”
“Oh, I totally understand!” I tell her genuinely. “Wow… So I probably won’t get to see you again before you move.”
“Oh my gosh, you’re right. You know, it still hasn’t sunk in that I’m actually doing it. I mean I’m
actually
leaving home to live and go to school all the way across the country, and I’m doing it all by myself,” Missy says and widens her eyes at me, “It’s kinda scary.”
“Well, I’m excited for you. You’ve worked really hard to be able to do this and I think the payoff for all your sacrifices and hard work is gonna be amazing.”
She smiles bright and hugs me again. “Thank you for being such a good friend and always being so supportive. Not many people have been all that understanding about why I never wanted to hang out or go to parties and stuff, but you always were. It means a lot. And honestly, I wish I had time to create some more memories with you before I leave, but… We’ll always not have Prom, though.”
I start laughing. “God, that was a fun night.”
“It really was,” Missy agrees when her phone dings again, “Ugh… Okay, I really gotta get the rest of this stuff and Brad’s ice cream.”
“Don’t forget the fudge-sicles!” I call out as we part ways.
“Right! God forbid I forget those! Maybe I
should
be irresponsible and go to a movie with you. You know, just to see what happens,” she answers over her shoulder with a laugh.
“What’ll happen is that your mom will get worried and have an Amber Alert sent out for you,” I say with a chuckle.
“True,” Missy nods and then turns around again to say, “Hey, why don’t you give Laurel or Monica a call to see if they’re up for a movie? Or what about Destiny? Don’t you guys usually see movies together?”
“Yeah, we do, but I asked Destiny earlier…she’s grounded, so, oh well.”
“She is? I just saw her hanging out in front of Sonic on the way over here. She was with John Garcia and his girlfriend, Maddie Mason, I think, and that guy who always looks and smells like he lives in a Hollister store.” Her wrinkled nose evidences her distaste while she refers to someone I can only think must be Drake Turner. God knows why I’m sure, but according to all the pictures on his Instagram account, I swear his one and only mission in life is to become a Hollister model. Then Missy stops and gasps, “Oh no! Did I do it again? Please tell me you guys aren’t, like, super good friends or anything.”
I laugh at her and shake my head. “Nope, I hardly know him. But hey, are you sure you saw Destiny?”
Missy opens her mouth to answer when her phone starts actually ringing, so she just nods emphatically in the affirmative and waves goodbye, answering her phone and hurrying down the aisle at the same time before disappearing around the corner.
With my ostrich spade of hopeful oblivion momentarily slipping from my grasp, my forehead wrinkles as I slowly trudge forward to the front of the store and checkout lanes, wondering how Destiny could’ve whittled down her time served so easily and why she didn’t call or text me to say she’s free to see that movie now…
9
—Cole—
With my face still throbbing where that mother fucker landed a well-placed punch, and the continuing sting of the back of my dad’s cauterizing hand scorching me on the inside as well, I stand at the counter of McDonald’s inside Walmart, seething and waiting for my Big Mac value meal. After using my employee discount to buy some camping supplies including a tent and a new sleeping bag, along with a shit-ton of Slim Jims for the road, I decided to pull out all the stops and treat myself to a farewell dinner that isn’t made out of the loaf of bread and jar of peanut butter in my cart that will most likely be making up the majority of my meals for the next couple of days. You know, because nothing else quite equals being kicked out of the only home you’ve ever known like celebrating with two all-beef patties and flash-frozen fries.
The clerk gives me the stank-eye when she hands me my order to go, and I’m still so incredibly pissed about everything—Holden, his funeral, and especially the enormous,
steaming
pile of bullshit surrounding Erica and me… I have to take a deep breath and stop myself from lashing out at her and everyone who dares to make even the slightest amount of eye contact with me. Like I’m a goddamned gorilla taking it as a sign of aggression or being challenged in some primal way. Yep, that’s me. One seriously pissed off silverback who’s just waiting for any opportunity to rip someone’s arms off their body and then throw feces in their face.
I sneer my insincere thanks to the clerk and stalk towards the drink station to fill my cup with Mickey D’s sweet tea, but I’m so focused on the rage bubbling inside me that I instinctually drop my cup and raise my fist in preparation to swing when I hear my name and feel someone tap my shoulder.
“You better fuckin’ back off!”
I snarl and turn, ready to lay waste, practically gnashing my teeth and feeling like my incensed warning is more than justified because someone went further than simply making eye contact.