Outtakes Of A Walking Mistake (27 page)

I don’t know why I accept a ride from Eric. Maybe being cut from the film simultaneously cut the oxygen to my brain. Who can tell? It’s a stupid move but I don’t care. The rapid destruction of brain cells is part of being a teen. A seasoned brain cell killer, Eric knows this too well. With a belly full of beer and a head full of philosophical thoughts he welcomes me into the car by belching a hello before quoting a poem by Rumi about unrequited love.

He’s calm now, he tells me. After ordering me to get the hell out of his car earlier, he decided to deescalate by jacking off into a waffle cone at Dairy Queen. Such a primitive act prompted him to want to see me again. “Dude, I know you think I’m a drunk,” he says, clearing beer bottles off the passenger seat. “But when I climaxed, I saw your face.”

“Charming,” I say, giving him little reaction while adjusting my seat belt. “Now stop being and pig and drive.”

“Sure, sure,” he says, revving the engine. Then hanging his shirtless chest over the steering wheel, he jolts the car forward, turning onto Highway 41 where he fails to observe approaching traffic.

“Eric!” I scream.

“Shit, hang on!” he says, cutting off a pick-up truck.

The driver, a blonde cowgirl in a flannel, blasts her horn, calling Eric a few nasty yet accurate names. Switching to the fast lane, she passes us.

“Hot damn, I love a chick with nuts,” Eric says. He stomps on the gas, turning up the tunes. Urging him to focus on the road, I grab the wheel, as a rock song about hell’s bells fills the car.

“You shouldn’t drive,” I say. “You’re drunk.”

“Yeah, whatever. You know my driving turns you on,” he says, prying my hand off the wheel. Then taking grip of my fingers, he places my hand on his knee, telling me how monumental it was seeing my face when he shot his load at Dairy Queen.

“Stop being gross.” I take my hand back.

“It’s not gross. It’s beautiful,” he says. Then again, losing sight of the wheel, this time to lift his weathered journal off the dashboard, he tosses his innermost thoughts on my lap. “It’s all there, man. How I feel about you. It’s raw. Primal.”

“Eric, focus on the road!” I order. He complies, but for him, driving seems tedious, especially when he has other matters on his alcohol-soaked mind, like sex with me.

“Listen, I know you’re hot about Billy,” he says. “You love him. He’s romantic and all that boring shit. But you don’t get it, man. Billy will never entertain you like I can. I can blow your mind.”

“Ugh, do you even know what you’re saying?” Opening the journal, I see Eric has written Billy’s name on the first page. Why would he be writing about Billy? I read further but can’t concentrate. Not with Eric flipping out.

“I’m not bullshitting you. I know what I’m talking about!” he says. Pointing to the pages of his journal, his brain jumps from Alcoholic Avenue to Defensive Drive. “Billy’s just a pussy who lives his dreams out online. I’m the real thing. I’m honest with you about what I want.”

“And what is that?”

“Sex! A good time! A nonstop party!” he hollers. “Billy can’t give you that kind of honesty.” He bangs his hand on the steering wheel.

Play nice, I tell myself. Talk of simple things, like the way flowers are pretty and sunshine is free. “Wow, look at the flowers,” I announce.

“What flowers?”

“They’re so pretty,” I say, pointing to the landscape by a row of yellow townhouses. Then I realize I’m hallucinating, noting nothing but a green cactus and a few hedges.

“You’re full of it,” Eric says.

Ignoring him, I tune into his journal, reading a short paragraph under the title ‘Empty Child.’ Full of foul language and run-on sentences, the piece is a choppy diatribe about how people are born into the world with holes because God intended us to be incomplete. That’s why we shouldn’t waste time searching for people to complete us. Forget love. Fuck Billy, Eric writes in the passage. Love is not meant to be. Not for us.

Nearing Rivershore Heights, I contemplate why Eric hates Billy. Is he insanely jealous that Billy is with me? Or is there more? I’m not given much time to think about it. Reaching the white-gated entrance, Eric orders me to take off my clothes.

“Are you serious?” I reply.

“As a heart attack!” he yells, snatching the journal.

“Screw you.”

“That’s the plan,” he says, adjusting his penis under his pants.

Paralyzed, I begin counting. “One, two, three, four, five!” By the time I reach sixty, I’ll be home. Yes! If I count loud enough Eric will think I’m having a nervous breakdown and leave me alone. That’s it! Act insane. Speak a dead language and spin your head like that bitch in
The Exorcist
. Do whatever it takes until you get home. “Six, seven, eight!” I shout.

Taking an unexpected turn, Eric heads to a construction area along an uninhabited road in Phase Two of Rivershore Heights where model homes look like jack o’ lanterns with dim lights revealing their insides.

“You’re just like Billy,” Eric says, pressing on the brake. “You’re both teases. The difference is Billy got away.”

Got away? From what? Placing the car in park, Eric chuckles and my heart races so fast it operates on one long beat. What’s going on? Why does Eric keep talking about Billy? They don’t even know each other.

“Did Billy tell you about the time I took him here?” Eric asks. Trying to process I go catatonic. Yes, maybe if I appear so far gone, so far out of my mind, he won’t know I’m here. Drool, I think. Allow foam to coat your lips. Rabies would be a godsend now. “It’s funny,” Eric says, brushing his fingers on my cheek. “Billy reacted the same way. He was terrified. But still, he listened.”

“I’m not scared of you.”

He ignores me. “I told him to take his clothes off and he did. Once we got into the house, I mean.”

“Liar!”

“I think this is the house,” Eric smirks, noting the square, unpainted dwelling we’re parked beside. Outside, the only color I see stems from a blue porta-potty on the dirt lawn. “Then again, all of these houses look the same. Maybe we should ask your dad. He’s the one who found us.”

I reach for the door handle but Eric grabs my lower arm and twists it. “What’s your rush?” he asks.

“Eric, stop it. You’re drunk.”

“Fine,” He says, loosening his grip. “Go. Run.”

I’m not sure why he’s letting me go but I’m not about to stick around to find out. Opening the door, I set my feet on the road and run. I scream, “Help, help!” I feel my soul float beside me, watching from the director’s chair. Where are the hidden cameras? Where should I take my mark? Is my make-up right? There are so many unanswered questions.

Behind me, the one thing running faster than my brain is Eric. I make the mistake of losing ground by turning to view him. He’s actually snarling. Barefoot and bare-chested, he reminds of a caveman, a Tarzan-like warrior, except taller and skinnier with a buzz cut.

With all my might, I speed up. It’s embarrassing, really. I’m such an amateur. I don’t know if my acting is good enough to make the final cut.

Wait. This isn’t acting.

This is real.

Oh dear….

As if there were an alligator on my tail, I zigzag in a patch of dirt near a pile of green sod ready to be laid. It’s here, in front of a half-built home, when Eric reaches me. “I love the chase,” he says, tackling me to the ground.

I eat dirt but it doesn’t concern me. I’m so crazed I find myself chewing and swallowing the earth. Maybe it will make me strong I convince myself. The minerals in the dirt, they’ll make me big and steely. “Aaah!” I scream, spitting out saliva.

“Hot damn, you are a good actor,” Eric laughs. Straddling my body, he pushes my face in the dirt. “Calm down. It’s all good.”

It’s funny what you think about when you’re about to die. Like right now, I wish I’d seen mom perform, just once, under the big top. Then I tell myself maybe I should have listened to dad. He urged me to avoid hanging out with Eric and to steer clear of Phase Two of Rivershore Heights. But why didn’t he tell me the two no-nos were linked? Had dad really caught Eric and Billy trespassing in a vacant home? No, it can’t be true. Billy said he had never kissed a boy before he met me. Was he lying? Or is Eric making it all up? “Quit squirming,” Eric says. I hear him unzip his shorts and I let out a yelp.

“Don’t act like you hate it.” He moans, dry-humping my lower back. Ok, I’m new at being raped. However, is this how it works? Shouldn’t I be naked? Who knows? I figure Eric is too drunk for the details and I’m not about to start asking questions.

“Stop it!” I scream. Clenching the earth with my fist, I grab loose dirt and fling it back at his face.

Laughing, Eric retaliates by pounding harder against my back. “Yeah, that’s it,” he says, tugging a patch of my hair. “You like to play rough? I can give you rough.”

“No!” I scream.

Then BOOM, a gunshot blast ricochets off a model home, prompting my heart to leap as Eric leaps from my body.

Then it’s crickets, crickets, and finally, a voice. “Private, I suggest you pull up those shorts,” I hear a man say. “Quickly.”

“Y...yes sir,” Eric replies, panicked.

I’m too tired to lift my head. Who fired the gun? Was it dad? Had he come to rescue me? I’m too drained to check.

In a cold sweat, I shiver in the aftershock of the gunshot and hear a dog barking in the distance. This is not the right time to think I’ve ruined my jeans but this is what fills my mind. I’ve ruined my jeans and I’ve ruined my life. Still, I won’t cry. No, that’s expected. So I shut my eyes and find safety in the darkness.

“Hey there, you,” a man says. He taps my back as I hear the footsteps of someone running off. “You alive?”

“Unfortunately,” I moan.

“Good, then get up,” he says, rolling me over with the ball of his foot. On my back, I taste the metallic flavor of blood on my lips and open my eyes, only to see Sgt. Dogshit positioned over me in his stars and stripes boxers. His rifle rests against his left shoulder. “Private, if I’m correct, it’s past your curfew.”

“That boy damn near soiled his shorts!” Sergeant cracks, as we walk home. “I swear, you’d think I shot him.” Letting out a hoarse laugh he hacks up a phlegm ball and stalls, allowing Dookie to sniff. “That’s right. Mark your territory,” he encourages. Lifting his leg, the dog pees on a fern bed near a neighbor’s mailbox. Then panting, he ventures on with an uppity stride.

I’m not quite so energetic. Trudging along, I still have the weight of Eric on my back. How did I get here? Tonight should have been devoted to my film. I should’ve been bowing for fans not bending over for Eric. Just look at me. My shirt is shredded, my left nipple is exposed, and my jeans are packed with dirt.

“Keep your chin up. You’ll be back to good in no time,” Sergeant says, noting my sluggishness. Then tapping my tail with the Pinocchio stock of his rifle he tells me I’ll be cleaning up the mess hall tomorrow for failing to obey curfew. “I’m letting you off easy. Back in the day, my troops would be scrubbing toilets for less.”

“Really?”

“Sometimes, but usually I’d take pity on them.” He tugs on Dookie’s leash to keep him from wandering. “You know what my wife liked about you? You helped her bring in groceries and complimented her dresses. She liked that.”

“I liked her.”

“We never had kids, you know.” Clearing his throat, he stares straight ahead, careful to avoid a tender moment. Then he takes a dig to ensure he’s not getting soft. “Well, I suppose I’ll never understand the kind of boy would talk to a woman about a dress.” His voice trails off as we reach my house.

“Home,” I say, shaking his hand. “Let me know when you need me for mess hall duty.”

“Tomorrow after school,” he states.

“Ok, and one other thing.”

“Yes?”

“Thanks.”

Then bidding Sergeant farewell, I figure the best way to avoid waking dad would be to enter the house the same way I left. So I sneak around back and crawl through my bedroom window, forgetting that I have a roommate. Reminding me, Jenny pops up from the bed the instant my body collapses on the floor. Rubbing her eyes, she shrieks as I sit up.

“It’s just me. Go back to sleep,” I whisper.

“Look, I’m a fairy,” she says. Illuminated by the glow of the moon, the toilet-paper wings on her back come alive with the ceiling fan shifting the long shears of white tissue. “Be honest. What do you think?”

“You look beautiful.”

“That’s what Greg said.”

“You talked to him?”

“He was here. He brought red roses,” she says, enthusiastically. Then she loses her train of thought, untangling a knot in her hair. “Wait, was he here? What’s tonight again? Tomorrow’s the dance, right?” In a tizzy, she leaps up and searches the room, knocking over a water bottle. “There were twelve roses. I counted. Twelve big, red roses, just like the kind my father would buy me.”

“I don’t see them.”

“Help me look!” Trampling over my sleeping bag, she turns on the light, brushing the lava lamp on my dresser with her wings. “They might be in the closet.”

“They’re not in the closet,” I whisper. Standing up, I turn off the light. “Now quit it. You’ll wake dad.”

“So?”

“I’m covered in dirt. He’ll know I snuck out.”

“Oh, he already knows that.”

“What?”

“I told him,” she says. “But don’t worry. He’s pretending not to know. I think he feels bad for not letting you go. Just don’t bring it up. You’re not supposed to know he knows.” Pausing, she massages her temples. “I’m so confused. Where are my roses?”

“Just go back to bed,” I state. “I can’t believe you told on me.”

“I’m sorry!” she says. “He came in the bedroom to say goodnight and you weren’t here. I was scared.” Resting her head against my heart, she makes me promise I’ll never leave her again. “You’re my anchor,” she says. Then she whispers her real fear is that her wings will one day lead her to a locked room. Me, I’m her only hope at staying grounded in reality, she tells me.

“Reality is overrated,” I reply, removing her wings. Afterwards, I kiss her head and lead her to the bed, where she falls asleep talking about Greg.

“He was here,” she insists, closing her eyes. “He brought me red roses and asked me to the dance. Red means love. That’s what my father taught me.” Medicated and sedated, Jenny’s breathing builds to a snore as I spread a blanket over her body and head to the bathroom.

Rinsing in the shower, I ask myself, why is Jenny obsessed with love? I know people say it makes the world spin but it just makes my head dizzy, leaving me feeling dirty. Like tonight, I scrub and scrub but the thought of Eric won’t wash away
. I told him to take off his clothes and he did
.