Read Riding the Universe Online
Authors: Gaby Triana
S
unday morning, the sun filters in through the same yellow eyelet curtains I've had since I was a little girl. I check my Santa-riding-a-Harley alarm clock. It's past noon. How did I manage to sleep this long without being woken by a baby? My dad must be home to help.
I rub my eyes. And remember last night.
Me and Gordon.
On the hood of his car.
Under the stars, by the water.
The
incredilicious
(incredible-delicious) things that transpired. Without resorting to
full
connection, as a matter of speaking. I smile.
Incredilicious
indeed.
My phone shakes impatiently right off my night table
and onto the floor, but I don't reach for it. I lay very still, thinking. And crikey, do I have things to think about. How am I supposed to study for anything today, much less a class I'm failing, with so many thoughts bouncing around in my head?
Gordon's hands, mouth, bodyâ¦foreign to me before, known to me now. Did Sabine do half the things Gordon and I did last night? Why can't I imagine them like that?
I want to call him, but he might be sleeping. I try to imagine him in his room, and realize I've never seen him inside his house, and suddenly I'm filled with the need to see his inner circle, his house and room, meet his parents. Crazy.
When I check my phone, I see there's a text message from Rock at two in the morning:
NEED A RIDE, CALL ME.
Crap. 2:03
A.M.
? I was sitting in Gordon's car outside my house, saying good-bye. I vaguely remember my phone buzzing, but I was too flighty to remember to check it after our last kiss. I'm sure he got a ride home. Rock does not lack friends.
On my phone, I select Rock's name, pausing to think about what I'm going to say before I press it. What is there to say? That I might be in love? That Gordon's not the loser Rock probably thinks he is, that he's actually sweet and sensitive? Oh, yes, that will go over so well. Sweet. Sensitive. Love. Rock will so enjoy that. Not.
I dial and wait. He doesn't answer. I try again and this time he picks up. “It's about freakin' time.”
“Now you know how I feel when I call you for days and you don't answer.”
“That's different. I'm a guy. You're a girl⦔
“Really? I didn't know that.”
“I was worried. You need to answer your phone.”
“Okay, I get it. I'm a helpless girl. You're a self-sufficient guy. Can we get past it, Grandpa?”
“What's your problem?”
“No problem at all. I'll call you later. Buh-bye,” he says sarcastically and hangs up. I call him back, but he doesn't pick up. I call like six more times, and still nothing. His maturity level, or lack thereof, is astounding.
Finally, my phone vibrates. I quickly open it to see a text message from Rock.
shouldn't u be calling ur boyfriend instead of me?
I was just calling u back dork
Not even a minute goes by.
a little late isn't it?
sorry didn't see ur message til now.
of course u didn't. u were too busy w your tooooter
“Tooooter?!” I smack my phone a couple times.
ya, I was busy, is there a problem?
I experience a short wait on this one. My phone buzzes.
none whatso ever.
bullshit. tell me what's wrong.
you like him that much???
why? something wrong with that?
I knew it. I knew he would act this way.
just let it go chlo. let it goâ¦
you let it go, freak
Nothing. I wait and wait and try calling again, but nothing. The freakin' nerve! He has no right to be angry with me. He always acts like he's in love with me right after
he breaks up with someone. How was I supposed to know he might have really meant it that night at the dock? Besides,
I'm
the one always putting up with him never answering my calls and dodging girls left and right.
“But you don't see me acting all jealous, do you?” I yell at no one.
“Chloé?” My mother calls from her bedroom.
Fudge. “Yes,” I mumble.
“Come carry Baby Sagan so I can get some dishes washed, please?”
“Just put him down!” I say impatiently, surprising myself with my tone. I rarely talk to my mom that way. “He has to get used to it,” I say nicer. He
does
have to get used to it. Or he'll get spoiled. And we don't want another
Rock
in the world, now do we?
I kick my book bag against my computer desk. I should charge into the garage and take Lolita for a long ride into swampland, especially since I didn't take her anywhere last night. But first, I have to go hold my baby brother. I'll never get to studying this weekend. I close my eyes and breathe
reeaal
deep, counting slowly to ten, purging the thoughts from my brain.
On the floor, my phone buzzes again. My heart starts up again. I'll just read it, but I won't respond.
nothing 2 say. we're just frnds u and me, ur not looking for anything out of this world, remember????
Grrrâ¦
whatever shithead
I
've waited and waited all day. Unless Gordon's phone died, as did his computer,
and
he's being kept prisoner by a group of rabid monkeys, he should've called by now. I need to talk to him so he can explain what relating vapor pressure has to do with concentration of solvent vapor pressure. Fine. I just want to hear his voice.
I eye my phone.
You will ring. Gordon, I know you can hear me. Please call so I know we're okay. I need to know that you're not just ignoring me. Ringâ¦ringâ¦
My phone rings. Not.
Siiiighhhh.
So, how do I use the relationship between osmotic pressure and solution molarity to predict the molecular
weight of a solute? What's that, Lolita? By purchasing a slice of Ricardo's world-famous flan? How smart you are! Let's go get one, then!
Â
Lolita takes me places. Not just to Ricardo's or school, but far, far away. For example, instead of poring over my studies in my room, she has brought me to the Murphys' dock once again, where I diligently wait for my life to fall into place.
Which maybe I should stop doing and make it happen myself.
But how? I can't make Gordon call me, and I can't all of a sudden become an
intelligoid
and pass chemistry. One thing I
can
do is pull this folded piece of paper from my jeans pocket and see what it is. “Demoting Pluto,” the article that Rock gave me last night. You know, when Rock is not being a horse's backside, he can be pretty thoughtful.
I read the article and find it utterly amazing how quickly things can change in this world. We learn things in elementary school that later are disproven, like Columbus not actually discovering America and Pluto going from planet to dwarf-planet status all because less than five percent of the world's astronomers think it should be that way. It makes me wonder: why should we get used to anything when nothing is permanent? Even people. Why should we put our hearts way out there for them when they're only going to die on you one day?
In the grand scheme of things, that may be a pretty stupid way to think, but it's true. Why should we invest our time and our energy in people if ultimately, they're not going to stick around? Case in point: Why would I set myself up for more hurt by trying to locate my birth mother? She didn't
want me then; she's not suddenly going to want me now. Is my need to satisfy my curiosity important enough to put up with that?
I think it may just be.
In the distance, dark gray clouds slowly roll in. The wind picks up, and the saw grass performs a blustery ballet. No matter how hard I try, I cannot get into this stupid chemistry book. I keep reading the same paragraph over and over. My caramel flan did not inspire me as well as I'd hoped it would. I try calling Rock again.
“Yes?” He answers, voice husky and full of sleep.
“Uh, hi, is this the immature oaf who can dish it but can't take it?”
“That depends. Is this that sexy biker who thinks her tutor is the answer to her nightly prayers?”
“We only went to the party together, Rock. Big deal.” I can totally imagine him on his back in bed, arms behind his head. What if there's someone with him?
“Only the party? Is that why you didn't call me back until this morning? Who do you think you're fooling, Chlo? Besides, you were looking more dolled up than I've seen you in a while. I may be stupid sometimes but not
that
stupid.”
“Fine. Maybe I do really like him. But what sucks is that I don't feel I can tell you that. You're changing our dynamics, and I don't appreciate it.”
“You can tell me anything. You know you can.”
“No, I can't. Because you'll get jealous, and you'll say things to embarrass yourself.”
“Why don't you try me? You haven't even given me the benefit of the doubt.”
I sigh into the phone. “Okay, let's try it. Gordon is not the selfish geek you think he is. He's incredibly nice to me, even though we argue sometimes. He's different, and I like him. There.” I wait.
“Different. Right. Mm, hmm.” I hear his TV on in the background, and his low, reassured laugh. “That guy doesn't care about you the way you think he does, Chlo. Guys like himâ¦something always takes precedence. But keep talkingâ¦you're cute when you're naïve.”
“See? I knew you couldn't do it. And you're not one to talk. All you ever date are sluts like Amber.”
“Uh, I
want
sluts. I doubt, however, that you are actively seeking assholes.”
“How do you know he's an asshole?”
“See, you admit it.”
“Augh! You're being judgmental. Some might say
you're
an asshole.”
“I don't care what
some
might say. Would
you
say that?”
“No,” I say quickly. I wouldn't. Sure, Rock might be hard for some people to take, but once you realize that he's not mistreating anyone and that the girls he hooks up with are just as interested in him as he is in them, it's hard to call him an asshole. He's not deceiving anybody, and the only person I can think of that he's ever hurt is himself.
“Well, I'm glad to know I still have your loyalty,” he says. “But if you ask meâ”
“Which I have not⦔
“You still shouldn't be seeing that dude. You should be with me. Because at least you'll know where you land on my list of prioritiesânumero uno, baby.”
“Of course you'd say that, because you're incorrigible.”
“Thank you, and you're hot.”
“Shut up. When are you going to help me fix that leak already?” I ask, changing the subject.
“Whenever you want. I'm always here.”
“Yes, but never alone, so you have to come to my house.”
Suddenly, I hear gravel crunching behind me, back on the road. I sit up quickly and turn to look. I see Lolita, but nothing else. The grass and bushes block my view.
“What are you doing?” Rock asks, yawning.
“Nothing. I gotta go.”
“So go,” he says.
There's definitely a vehicle back there. My heart speeds up a bit. Nobody ever comes out here. Could it be Gordon? “Rock, I'll call you back.”
“Later.” He hangs up.
I close my phone and stand to get a better look. “Hello?”
A car door slams shut. Feet crunch over the pebbles, and for the first time, in all the time I've been coming here, I feel unprotected. Suddenly I feel stupid for hanging up with Rock.
“Hello?” a male voice calls back. “Who's there?” A man appears from around the tall grasses in a red polo shirt with some white lettering and a logo, pencil over his ear. Who dares invade my sanctuary?
I don't answer. My heart pounds in my ears. He looks twentysomething, brown hair underneath a baseball cap with a county patch on it. “You okay?” he asks, looking
around like there might be someone with me.
“Yes. I'm just doing homework,” I say, pointing to my book. Why did I tell him that? I don't have to explain myself to a stranger.
“Is that yours?” He gestures to Lolita.
“Yes.”
Pause. Confused look. He nods, checks Lolita out, then looks back at me as if trying to match the rider with the bike. He shrugs. “Cool. We're just going to measure out here. You don't have to go anywhere.”
“Measure what?”
“The property, the easement, the whole lot.”
I get a sinking feeling in my stomach that ends in a tight knot. “For what?”
He turns and looks at the Murphys' old house with its broken windows and leaning chain-link fence. “This is coming down. It's all going to be razed and rebuilt.”
“What do you mean? Why?” Who would want this land in the middle of nowhere?
The county worker looks annoyed with me now. I guess it shouldn't come as a surprise that someone wants to move here next to the estuary. I try to imagine who might've seen this area on a map and decided they like it as much as I do. Have they even been here to check it out? I've never seen anyone. “It was auctioned off. You won't be able to hang out here too much longer. We'll probably get started soon.”
“What?” I ask, hearing panic in my voice. Where am I supposed to go? This is
my
place! “Who bought it?” I demand, feeling sick.
“The county? A private owner? I don't know who. I'm
just here to survey.” He waves, indicating the end of our conversation and heads back to his truck. More voices come. More men to steal my dock with their measuring tapes and clipboards.
I can't believe this. No one has cared about this place for years. I look at the water, trying to imagine a new family moving onto this land, completely tearing down the Murphys' house to build another McMansion complete with patio and dock. I will no longer be welcome here.
“How long do I have?” I call out, but the man has headed toward the other side of the property. The clouds are almost overhead now, the humidity already sweetening the air.
Time to move on
, the clouds seem to say.
Time to go.
But I won't.
I've already been asked to let go and move on once this year.
This is my place, my refuge. So if a bulldozer has to run me over and then scrape up my flattened body to get me off the property, so be it.