No Such Thing as Perfect (6 page)

“Lily,” I remind her, but she knows.

“Yeah, whatever. Listen, I need you to cover some crappy concert.”

“Um, I don’t know,” I say. I’ve been to one concert ever, and it was a Christian folksinger who played at my church. “I really don’t belong in music,” I tell her, but I’ve told her and everyone else and despite the fact that the twelve people who read our paper know this as well, I’m still reviewing genres of music I didn’t know existed. I wish I could just interview a math professor or something.

“It’s fine. They’re playing tonight,” she tells me. “The band from campus that I need you to do the story on is the first opener, so you don’t need to stay. Just take some pictures and get a quote from one of the band members and you’re free to go.”

“Do you know who they are?”

She rolls her eyes. “No. Some generic college band that will break up by next semester. But make them look good. Then they’ll pass out copies of the paper.”

“Great,” I sigh and I get the address of the club.

I go back to the dorm and change into something I figure is rock clubby, which means jeans and a black shirt, since I actually have no concept of what people wear to concerts.

The “club” is actually an unfinished wood platform in the middle of a linoleum floor, some folding chairs, and a bar that could be outmatched by the one in my uncle’s rec room. There are a decent amount of people here, though, which I guess must mean one of the bands is pretty good. Then again, maybe people just go to clubs regardless of what’s happening.

“Five dollars,” the guy at the door mumbles and holds out his hand. I show him my college ID, because my editor said she’d call ahead and get me on the list. The door guy looks at my ID and back at me. “Five dollars,” he repeats.

“I’m supposed to be on some list,” I explain.

“Does it look like I have a list?” It does not, as there is nothing but him and a stool out here.

“No, but-”

“It’s five dollars. Are you coming or going? There are people waiting.”

I look behind me, but there isn’t anyone there. Grumbling, I take out money and pay to get in. “I need to interview the band,” I tell the guy. He points vaguely towards the right of the stage.

I head in that direction, where a metal chair is resting in front of a black felt curtain. No one is anywhere around the curtain, so I peek through the felt.

The life of a rock star is not very impressive. I guess I always imagined musicians went backstage to giant suites filled with food and women and parties. Instead, it seems like the curtain leads to a small area by a loading dock, where the equipment is being unloaded out of a minivan by the band members themselves. The illusion is shattered for me forever.

“Hey, it’s Elinor.” Jack’s standing behind a few of the guys and he drops his case, approaching.

“Are you in the band?” It’s probably a stupid question, but I’m caught off guard seeing him again. I seem to run into him a lot.

“I am. What are you doing here? Doesn’t really seem like your scene.”

“Yeah? What is my scene?” I ask. I don’t know why I feel like I need to prove something to him, but I want to be more than the lost girl who needs a plan for everything.

“I don’t have a clue. I just didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Maybe I’m full of surprises.”

“Maybe you are. So, do you want to come backstage?”

“Would that make me an unofficial groupie or something?”
Are you flirting? You cannot seriously be flirting
. My admonition is unjustified, since I wouldn’t call it flirting exactly, but I do get a little giddy when he steps closer. “Are the stories all true about musicians?”

“What stories are those?” he asks.

“You know – wild nights, lots of women, tragic pasts.”

He laughs bitterly. “You have no idea.”

“So tell me.”

“Lily, I’m not a good guy,” he says. “I’m really not a good guy and I am most definitely not a guy who belongs with a girl like you. I should have made that clear before.”

“Well, I have a boyfriend. I’m only here for the paper,” I say, regretting the words as soon as I say them. I sound like a child; I wouldn’t even be at a concert if it wasn’t for my school club.

“Ah, okay. Sure, let me grab Neil, the singer. It’s really his band,” Jack tells me and he heads back towards the loading dock. He talks to another guy dressed all in black before heading outside and disappearing. For some reason, I can only say the wrong thing with this guy.

Neil tells me all about the band and his inspiration and I write it down verbatim, but I’m barely listening. I can’t stop thinking about Jack’s eyes and how much he makes me doubt myself. All of the things I’ve ever wanted seem stupid and meaningless when he talks to me, like paper dolls, translucent and insubstantial. My life is like a window dressing for a real person. But the fear that is ever present doesn’t fade. I know what happens when you make mistakes. I know the price of not being perfect.

H
er name was Lucy and she was beautiful. It had taken a lot of pleading, but when my father brought her home as a surprise, I couldn’t believe it. She was mine, too. Jon said he had no interest in a dog, but I didn’t care. I brought her right to my room and cuddled her and scratched her ears. She jumped on my bed immediately, undeterred by my mother’s loud footsteps as she followed us.

“Lily, take that animal off your bed. I just made it,” she yelled at me.

“Mom, she’s fine. Look how pretty she is,” I argued. My dad was standing behind my mom in the doorway. I’d been asking for weeks and I’d heard them whispering at night – my father saying it would be good for me, that I needed someone other than Abby and following after Jon and Derek like I was lost. Abby’s parents were always dragging her places and at eleven, I had no other friends. My mom just kept complaining about the mess, but obviously my dad had won.

“Let it go,” my father interjected. “Lily’s good. She’ll take care of Lucy and she’ll make sure everything’s done right. Won’t you, Lily?”

“I will, I promise,” I agreed.

That night, I sat at the table while Lucy chewed on an old stuffed animal I gave her and my parents talked me through an elaborate daily schedule that involved walks and feeding Lucy and playing and cleaning up her poop. I didn’t care; it all sounded wonderful.

“Don’t forget that this means you’re going to have to be responsible,” my mother said. “It means you are going to have to figure out how to do these things and still go to dance class and still do your homework and still play softball. You can’t start quitting everything just because you have a dog. People are counting on you.”

“I know. I told you. I’ll be perfect.”

I was at first, too. It was late spring and everything was winding down, so I could balance all my responsibilities. And the summer was even better. I woke up to walk Lucy and then we went to the park and played and I made sure she was bathed and fed and my mom didn’t even have to look at her; she didn’t want to and whenever Lucy would try to show her affection, my mom told me to take her outside, but it didn’t matter. I loved her and my dad was right; I was good and I was responsible and I wouldn’t screw it up.

It was all because of math class. I’d gotten a B on my test and my mother was going to have a fit. I stayed after class to talk to my teacher, but he took too long coming back from the teachers’ lounge and my bus left without me. School was almost two miles from home, but I knew what would happen. I knew I had to try and I ran. I ran harder than I had the lungs for and I ran because I had to get home. I had to make it and I had to take Lucy for her walk and make sure my mom never knew. The B alone was going to get me in trouble, but if I screwed up the schedule...

My knees hurt when I got home. Lucy was in her cage in the basement, where she slept while no one was home, but she had peed all over everything. I was nearly an hour late and she couldn’t wait. Her gorgeous brown eyes were so ashamed, but it was my fault. If I had gotten an A like I was supposed to, I wouldn’t have missed the bus and Lucy wouldn’t have had to pee all over herself.

“It’s okay, Lucy. It’s okay. You wanna take a bath? Let’s go for a walk and then bath, okay?” I asked. I knew I had to make the walk quick, because I had to get back, clean her off, and change the papers in her cage. I had to make it perfect.

I took Lucy for her walk, got her bathed, and I was changing her cage when my mom came home. Early for once. She’d had a headache and when she saw me carrying the papers, I was scared of what came next.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“I’m just changing Lucy’s cage.”

“Did she have an accident?”

“Sort of. Mom, before you get mad at her, it was my fault. I missed the bus and I ran home, but she had peed and I’m almost done. I’m sorry. Please don’t get mad at her,” I begged.

Her face never changed expression. “Why did you miss the bus?”

“I was staying for help for math. We had a test and I missed a few questions.”

“How many questions?” she asked.

I didn’t want to tell her. Lucy was happily rolling around outside past the screen door and I wanted to play with her. I wanted to tell her everything was all right, but I knew it wasn’t. I wanted to tell Lucy and I needed to believe it myself. “Just a few. I misunderstood something,” I tried to explain.

“What was the grade?” I paused and she caught my hesitation. “Lily, if you cannot handle the responsibility of a pet and still maintain your grades, I think it’s clear you are not old enough to have a dog.”

“Mom, please. I got an 84, but it’s only one test and my grade is still an A and my teacher is going to work with me and I promise I won’t let it happen again.”

She pushed past me, leaving me standing in the kitchen, her heels clacking heavily on the hardwood floors. “When you father gets home, I’m having him bring your dog back to the pound. Say your goodbyes if you must. Maybe in the future, you will take your responsibilities more seriously.”

“Mom, no. Please,” I begged, but she went upstairs and slammed her door. I shoved the pee-soaked papers in the trash and went outside, burying my face against Lucy. She was sweet and perfect and I had screwed up and I couldn’t handle it. I wasn’t even twelve yet but I hated myself and I wanted to start again. I wanted to be a different person.

I tried to reason with my father that night, but he talked to my mom and he came outside after he did, where Lucy and I were playing in the last light before nightfall.

“I’m really sorry, honey,” he said. I knew he was and I knew he was disappointed in me, too. But it didn’t matter. I rode in the car with him and Lucy and I cried the whole time. I cried when he handed her off to the guy at the shelter and it broke me into pieces as she barked and looked at me while they closed the door.

I never saw her again. I tell myself sometimes that she was adopted by someone who was better than me, someone who could get it all right. I have to imagine her running and playing in a big yard. Her eyes haunt me and every time I see a dog who looks a little like her, I imagine it’s her. The only alternative is to admit that there was just as much of a chance that they put her down if no one else came to take her, and I just can’t live with making that big of a mistake.

I
don’t know how it’s October. It seems like I just started school, but the days have become long blurs of studying, reading, writing, doing stuff for the paper, and actually making some friends. I have a few, which is odd. I don’t normally have friends as in plural, so it’s been a new experience being around more than one person at a time. Sure, it’s mostly Kristen and Lyle, who’ve kind of become one entity quickly, but it still feels like something new.

Derek has been busy and we barely talk, but it’s Columbus Day Weekend and we’re all headed home and I can’t wait to see him. I’m still not sure about being at different schools and I’m going to mention it again this weekend, when we’ve both had time to think about the idea.

Of course, they’re late; they’re always late. It doesn’t matter, though. This weekend will be great. A chance to be home, to put everything back in order, to figure out how the past fits into the future. It’s been like I’m living in two worlds, a fictional girl living a fictional life while the real girl is on pause. I need to go home again, to find the ground, to synthesize these two people fighting for space in my brain. I need to stop feeling like I’m so close to making a mistake.

“Are you coming back late Monday?” Kristen asks. “Or should I wait so we can all have dinner?”

“I think it depends on the guys, but I want to say Derek has practice, so probably. I’ll text you.”

She nods, but there are things she isn’t saying. I know she worries, because I still have nights where I wake up and I can’t breathe, so sure I’m going to mess up, but I try to hide them. Still, when you share a small space with a person, you’re privy to the secrets they keep even from themselves.

“It’ll be good. I feel like I need to go home, to remember who I am,” I try to explain.

“Maybe that’s the problem, Lily,” she says. “Maybe you need-” She stops and closes the book she’s reading, then thinks better of it and shakes her head. “Never mind. Have fun.”

“I think they’re here,” I say, even though they didn’t text and Kristen knows it. But the room, small already, feels claustrophobic. Her unfinished
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feels claustrophobic, because I know what she thinks of Derek. She tries not to say anything, but she gives me the same look every time I stay up most of the night waiting for him to call, only for morning to come without a word.

Outside, people are relaxing on the lawn while they wait for rides or just because it’s mid-October and summer refuses to leave. Autumn is creeping into the landscape through the coloring of the trees, but even that seems like it’s in slow motion. The seasons, although dictated by dates, function on their set of rules. I’m in a tank top and sandals when a few years ago, it had already threatened to snow by now.

I catch Jack sitting by the massive oak in the middle of the quad, listening to music and writing. I think of saying hello, of asking what he’s up to this weekend, even though we haven’t run into each other since the concert. He’s only down the hall and I admit I’ve looked for him, but he’s never anywhere I go. For a couple weeks, he was everywhere, but since that awkward conversation in the club, our paths haven’t crossed. It’s probably for the best anyway.