Perfectly Good White Boy (34 page)

The Executive Suite wasn't messing around.

A king-size bed. A shower with like eight different nozzles aiming in all directions. A TV in the bathroom and one in the bedroom. A giant sofa. A little refrigerator full of stuff to drink, and it wasn't even a mini-bar but all free.

Everything smelled fresh and clean and kind of rich, really. Expensive. I set my backpack on the sofa. Looked at the printout. Looked at the menu on the coffee table. Laid on the sofa, laid on the bed. Took off my shoes. I was tired, but couldn't imagine sleeping yet. My flight took off at 8:38, so I had to be up early, but not that early. I was within spitting distance of the airport.

I ordered a hamburger, fries, and some nachos and a giant Coke. A little while later, a dude brought it up and I ate the shit out of it while watching
SportsCenter
on the flatscreen above the giant bed. Then I felt all greasy and weird, so I took a long-ass shower. Put
SportsCenter
on in the bathroom, too, while I soaped my shit off. Thought about jerking it, but that felt weird because of the dudes talking about baseball and whatever just a few feet away.

Then I got in bed. Naked, because I only brought the one other pair of clean boxer shorts. I watched more TV, then I texted Neecie, asked what she was doing. Eddie sent me a photo of two tanks, one looking like it was humping the other one, like it had accidentally driven up the back of it.

“Good luck,” Eddie texted.

I flipped through channels. Watched part of a movie I'd liked a million years ago, when aliens attack the White House. Then I felt sleepy so I turned all that shit off; the TV and the lights all went off with the same remote.

I held my phone for a minute. Looked for new texts. Nothing. Then I had to charge my phone, so I put it up on the little nightstand thing. And laid there. Piled the pillows under my head all luxurious. Kicked my feet through the sheets so they hung out and weren't completely strangled under the blankets. I liked my feet to hang out while I slept; I'd slept like that for years, since I had to sleep diagonal in most beds once I grew in ninth grade. This bed was the biggest one I'd ever slept in, and I could stretch out in any direction and fit.

A stoplight blinked through the windows, red, yellow, green, red, yellow, green. I waited a long time before I fell asleep.

Acknowledgments

The following people helped me immeasurably on issues regarding the Marine Corps:

Dennis Durand, Lance Corporal USMC, 1958–1962

Andrew Harris, Sergeant USMC, 1985–1991

Sean Green, Corporal USMC, 1997–2002

Thank you for your insight and service.

Early readers whose insight and attention I also appreciated include Erin Downing, Heather Weiss Zenzen, Trish Doller, Kristin Mesrobian, Ash Parsons, Meagan Macvie, and Betty-Jeanne Klobertanz.

Thank you to the Anderson Center in Red Wing, Minnesota, where I wrote early drafts of this story.

I can't imagine a day without the love of my Secret Friend Cabal: Melanie Cannon, Maria Alisa Blum, Rachel Seres, Megan VanSchaick, Michelle Najarian, and Elizabeth Hutchin-Bellur.

Thank you to Andrew Smith and Christa Desir, for being so unfailingly honest with and kind to me.

Michael Bourret, I just like you so much! It's so great having you in my corner, what with all your Knowing Of The Things, in particular, Things I Don't Know Anything About. Your presence has given me such peace of mind; you don't even know!

Andrew Karre, how did I get so lucky to have you as my editor? What gods did I inadvertently please to earn such rewards? In addition to you doing nice things like preventing me from literally tipping over on my face and buying me lunches at swanky places, you also watch Norman Reedus movies I recommend, visit my Loft classes looking extremely dapper while extemporaneously tossing off brilliant remarks to the youth of our fair state, and—perhaps more than anyone else—take my Tumblr posts extremely seriously. And then we get to discuss via e-mail the semiotics of oral sex! This relationship is like none I've ever had, and I'm grateful for everything you've taught me and continue to teach me.

About the Author

Carrie Mesrobian is an instructor at the Loft Literary Center in Minneapolis. Her debut novel,
Sex & Violence
, was called one of the best books of 2013 by
Kirkus Reviews
and
Publishers Weekly
and was a finalist for the American Library Association's William C. Morris Award for best debut young adult novel. She was also
Publishers Weekly's
“Flying Start” for 2013. Visit Carrie online at
www.carriemesrobian.com
.