In the Light of You Page 8

  “You’re going to lie about being in a war?”

  “Oldest politico trick in the book.”

  “Nice.”

  I had figured, with Richard slaving away on the assembly line until midnight, Sherry’s post-class visits would cease. Or at least decrease. I figured wrong. Between Richard’s late shift and Suzi’s cold shoulder Sherry and I began spending more and more time together. Just the two of us. Another fairly odd place to be. It’s hard to know how to feel.

  At first I found her bothersome and obtrusive. Jabbery and self-absorbed and annoyingly insecure. Every day I’d dread the inevitable after-school special. The ritual was always the same. She’d come in, shed her books, her boots, her socks, march into the kitchen for a brew, come back in and plop onto the couch, and start in with, “What a day, I’ll tell you what.”

  After a while, though, I began to expect her at a certain time, and I’d get irritable when she was late. As Richard’s right-hand man, after all, I’d be derelict in my duties not to keep tabs on his prized possession, right? I started to worry about where she might be and whom she might be with. Instincts. Ignore them at your own peril.

  Her story would usually involve some pompous, asshead prof, a lost loan payment, a combative classmate. But there was often some passing mention of “Curry and Shange and them,” which would appear in the form of a single word: curryandshangeandthem, followed by pronounced rolling of the eyes. “I hear that Curry can speak five foreign languages … but the shit he says doesn’t even make sense in English.” “Shange is organizing a protest to counter-protest some other counter-protest that’s protesting a protest nobody even knows about. Sheesh.” As time went on, however, that seven-syllable word curryandshangeandthem morphed into a similar but significantly different one: jackandnianiandthem.

  “Richard would want me keeping an eye on those people, don’t you think Mikal? They’re dangerous.”

  “Yeah …”

  “I found out where they live at. The two of them anyway. Jamestown St.”

  “It’s pronounced JAY-muss-ton.”

  “You know where that is?”

  “I’m familiar.”

  “Don’t worry. I keep a safe distance. They don’t even know I exist.”

  “I believe you.” And I did. And I was wrong. Here’s the lesson: never underestimate the all-seeing eye of the deranged paranoiac.

  I wasn’t sure what to do the day she came home teary and red-eyed, her face blotchy with salt burn. I still don’t know what I should have done.

  “Bad day?” I asked.

  “Bad day,” she replied.

  “Okay … So … what happened?”

  “Nothing much. I just get emotional sometimes.”

  “Hmmmm.”

  “Richard told me he loved me last night,” she said with a sniffle. “I told him that I loved him too.”

  “Quit changing the subject. What happened today?”

  “Jack Curry made me cry today. That’s all.” A poisonous chill ran through me. Forever a specter …

  “Uh huh … Okay … Do you just want to not tell me, or are we playing a game here? I’m not into games, Sherry.”

  “Jack Curry grabbed me today and dragged me into a men’s bathroom and slammed me against the wall and ripped my shirt open.”

  “WHAT?!?!?!?!?!”

  “It’s not as bad as it sounds.”

  “ARE YOU FUCKING CRAZY? Not as bad as it sounds?! We’re gonna hunt that fucker down and destroy him!”

  “NO! Don’t do anything! Please, Mikal, please don’t tell Richard!”

  “Nooooooooooo dice. I HAVE to tell him. You know that.”

  “PLEASE! Just between us. He didn’t hurt me, okay?”

  “He dragged you into a fucking bathroom, threw you against a wall and ripped your clothes off, and that’s not hurting you?”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “He’s DEAD. I understand that.”

  “No—”

  “He’s not going to see another morning.”

  “You tell Richard and I’ll deny it. I’ll tell him you’ve had a vendetta against the guy for years and now you’re lying on me to get revenge. You wanna risk him taking my word over yours? You up for that challenge, Mikal?”

  “WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT?!” I was beyond furious. At that point I didn’t even care if Jack Curry had raped her. I didn’t care if he had rammed his staff right up into her lungs. The fact that she would dare even think of driving a wedge between Richard and I …

  “Why are you taking up for that fucking … swamp creature?” I demanded. “You fucking him?”

  “NO!”

  “You wanna fuck him?”

  “Fuck you, Mikal! I’m with Richard only. I love Richard. And he loves me.”

  “You’re playing with some serious shit, little girl. You just don’t know.”

  “You’re gonna make me cry too. Just like Jack. You both use your tongues like a weapon. You and Jack, you’re just the same.”

  “Don’t … you … EVER say that to me again, you rank little—”

  “Listen to yourself, Mikal. Who do you sound like?”

  “You don’t know me.”

  “I do so know you. And I know him too.”

  “I’ll bet you know him all right. I bet you let him nail you in that bathroom. I bet you yanked him off. I bet you licked it off his thigh.”

  “Keep talking, Jack. Same old song. The lyrics haven’t changed.”

  “Get out of my house.”

  “You wanna throw me out? Huh? You wanna throw me around? Wanna pin me to the wall? You wanna tear my clothes off?”

  “Get the fucking hell out of my house.”

  “This is Richard’s house.”

  “GET. OUT.”

  “Everybody pushes me away.”

  She stormed out. I sat there shaking with rage. Why? Why would she put me in that position? What really happened? I wanted her gone forever. I wished she had never come around. I knew I’d have to watch her now. For Richard. And I knew Richard couldn’t know that I was watching her. I couldn’t risk him knowing whatever she was up to. And I couldn’t risk him knowing I was hiding things from him. I couldn’t risk him suspecting me. I couldn’t risk him pushing me away …

  An hour later, she called on the phone.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

  “I’m okay. Still friends?”

  “Still friends.”

  “Mikal?”

  “Yeah?”

  “How long do you think you’re going to do this?”

  “Do what?”

  “Where do you see yourself in twenty-five years? Where do you see yourself in ten? Where do you see yourself in the future?”

  “I don’t.”

  “Hm. ‘Kay. See ya.”

  And that was that.

  9.

  JACK did not hurt me that day. Not physically. He hurt my feelings. Maybe I had that coming to me.

  Sherry sat in the downstairs hallway alcove of the University Center right outside the bookstore. Watching them.

  It was pretty boring, actually. They weren’t really doing anything except goofing around by the greeting cards.

  Sherry paged through the school newspaper a couple of times without really reading it. The front page contained a picture of Niani and a banner headline announcing “Local Civic and Religious Leaders Outraged by Honored Student—’Out of Line,’ Says Rev. Brinks.” Sherry had the hall pretty much to herself, as it was noonish and most folks were in the cafeteria.

  Out of line, she thought. That’s a good description of her across the board. Out of line. Out of order.

  Jack Curry and Niani exited the bookstore, bade each other a “see ya at home,” and headed in opposite directions. Sherry stood up to go catch a bite when she felt a rough hand grab her collar and whip her around. Before she realized what happened she was trapped against the wall of the little boy’s room. She tried to scream but couldn’t even so much as squeak. Jack held her shoulders hard against the cold tile wall. She was paralyzed. His face mere inches from hers as he glared right into her. His eyes were like two pitch-black chasms. Nothing behind them.

  “So howzaboutya, little ham?” he growled. “What’s your story, THINK HARD NOW! Who are you and what the fuck do you want?”

  She could barely eke out a sound.

  “I … I … I—”

  “Have been following us? Couldn’t help but notice. Somebody send ya? Shit! Didn’t think we were that important yet.”

  He squinted, noticing the top of her tattoo peeking out from under her blouse. He yanked the collar down and a button went flying, rolling across the floor and clinking into the corner. His face darkened further as he stared at the swastika, but he did not look surprised. He’s going to kill me.

  “For, for, for your information,” she stuttered desperately, “that’s a—”

  “Sun wheel? Nice try, piglet. Pull the other one.”

  Right at that moment the door to the men’s room flew open and some neckbone frat boy wandered in. He stopped short, staring at them. The three looked at each other in silence for a fat, stifled moment. Finally the guy just gave a little “my bad” salute, turned on his heel … and left.

  As if suddenly realizing his trespass, Jack backed quickly away and walked to the opposite wall. Disgusted with himself. He turned his back, muttering, “Sorry. Sorry. Didn’t mean it to be like that. That’s not how I meant it. Not at all. No. No …”

  If I ran, Sherry thought, would he chase me? Should I say something?

  “Jack … look. I’m not trying to step on anybody’s toes or anything.”

  “What?” he said turning toward her again. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  I don’t know.

  “I’m not trying to get in the way, Jack. I just want to—”

  “Huh? Jack? I’ve never even met you before! I don’t fucking know your name.”

  I know.

  “That girl,” she stammered. “That black girl. Your girlfriend. See, I saw her … and maybe you don’t know … I just really don’t really think you know what I … or, what I mean is—”

  “She’s not my girlfriend,” he said, his voice suddenly hollow. Distant.

  “Oh … I see …”

  Hmmmmm …

  There was a long empty moment, then he turned his glare back on Sherry.

  “You little Nazi spunk rag … Staking out a hit on her? Is that what’s going on? Is that what you’re doing? Little James Earl fuckin’ Ray in a black lace bra? GODDAMN I thought you people were all gone by now!”

  “IT’S NOT LIKE THAT!” Sherry screamed. Curry did not so much as blink. “I want to talk to you. Okay? Can we get out of this fucking toilet please?”

  So they walked in silence.

  I don’t know where we were heading, we just strolled along the main lawn as if we had a purpose or destination.

  Sherry caught the vibe that Jack Curry was barely tolerating her presence, and the slightest wrong move on her part would bring about dire consequences. So she kept her mouth shut. Across the way they saw Trey McKinley walking with Melanie. They called out to Jack and waved. He gave them the peace sign.

  “What up, homey?” Trey yelled.

  Painful.

  “A’ight T-dog! A’ight Mel!” Jack replied, smiling … if you could call it that. Up close it was more like a wolf bearing fangs, but Sherry figured that’s probably the best he could do.

  Said Sherry, I’ve always felt that a smile doesn’t so much happen in the lips, it happens in the eyes. And looking at Jack just then I couldn’t imagine those cold dead stones ever warming to even the tiniest smile.

  As Trey disappeared behind South Hall, Jack quietly sang the “witch’s guard” melody from The Wizard of Oz …

  “Oreo … reoooooooo …”

  “Are you calling him an Oreo?” Sherry laughed.

  “Not me,” he said sarcastically. “That’s not nice.”

  “If he’s an Oreo, what are you?”

  A thoughtful pause, then …

  “Good question,” he said nodding. “Naw, they’re cool, though.”

  “I think he’s a prick.”

  “He’s okay.”

  Another pause.

  “So … Jack, um, I hear that you’re fluent in five different languages. Or is it six?”

  “Eh, fluent is pushing it.”

  “It must be wild to be able to communicate with so many different people.”

  “Heh … yeah …”

  Guy speaks five languages, Sherry thought, but can only grunt at me.

  So they walked some more …

  And I began blathering on and on like an idiot. I don’t even know how it started. Told him way too much. Where I was from, what my family was like, how hard it was to move away from home and my friends and my safe little cocoon, how Richard and I met. How welcome I felt in his circle of friends. (Shut up shut up! I thought to myself. Dumbass, shut up! But nope, no such luck.) I didn’t get into details about the Fifth Reich and pretty much shrugged off the whole ‘skinhead’ thing as well as I could. I tried to make it sound like stupid little kid’s stuff and not really a big deal at all. “It’s just punk rock, you know? Pick your pose, get your costume together.” I indicated his Napalm Death T-shirt. He didn’t respond. I couldn’t read him in the slightest. He didn’t speak, and gave no indication that what I was saying meant anything to him. So I prattled on and on filling up the silence with whatever. Finally I cracked and started asking him questions head on. How did he and his friends get together? How did they meet? What was his home life like? How long had he known Niani? Had they always been close? What made them tick, whirl, click, and whistle? What’s it all about, Alfie? Nothing. He didn’t answer me. At all. I finally gave up.

  “I just want a little peek inside,” I said, small. “That’s all. What’s your world like. There’s something going on in there that’s just so totally different and I just wanted to—”

  “Uh huh,” he said, stopping me short. “Okay. I’m gonna ask this in the nicest way I can think of … Are you really this fucking dense or is it an act?” I was stunned. He said it in such a casual way I had to hit a mental ‘rewind’ to be sure I heard it right. He continued, “So, let’s look at the play-by-play. You hooked up with a guy who bashes people’s heads in ‘cuz you thought he was ooooooo dangerous. A rebel. Leader of the pack. How exciting. But now … shucks, that’s just not enough. Now you need some new honey pot to stick your fingers into. Fill that empty void. Is your life so bankrupt that you constantly need some new bullshit trial? Okay, and what could be more clandestine than for a skinhead’s main squeeze to—”

  “Look, asshole,” I spat. “You don’t have me figured out, okay? I’m not like that. I’m not looking to stick my fingers in any void. You fuck. I love my boyfriend and we’ve got our thing going and you’ve got yours.” I should have stopped there. Alas, “I just thought maybe I could reach across the aisle and say ‘hello,’ but now I see you for what you are. Scared. You’re too scared to even talk to me.” I don’t know why, but I wanted to push him. I’d heard so much about how unhinged he was, I wanted to see how wide and hard I could make him swing. He tried to stare me down, and I would not flinch. And for a split second … I wondered if he thought I was pretty at all. “Left, right, it’s all meaningless to me. Does it mean anything to you?” Nothing. “It’s all about that girl,” I continued. “You know it, I know it. That girl who’s not your girl. The one that’s so close … oh, but just out of reach. It’s ALL about her. But … she’s not with you. So why can’t you let me in a little? You’re never going to be happy like that anyway. “

  Oh my god, why did I say that? Like water on a grease fire—

  “YOU DON’T KNOW A GODDAMN THING ABOUT FUCKALL, YOU INBRED COUNTRY FRIED TWAT!!!”

  “I’ve seen your type before. All your life you’ve walked in a haze with no thoughts of your own. Somebody else’s fucking opinions, some pre-fab beliefs. A little sucking and squeezing in the back of a letterman’s pickup or Pappy’s outhouse and you think you know what’s what. Now you’re out in the ‘real world’ to find yourself and get your learn on but you’re still too bottled-up Catholic, afraid God and your dead relatives are watching you masturbate. Can you hang with all the freakos and faggots and darkies running about? Wanna take a trip to the nigger side of town so long as you can go home after, right? What? Why you still here? What do you want from me? Go on, then! Run on back to your fucking boyfriend!” “You ‘re such a fucking jerk! People say, ‘Oh, that’s Jack. He looks like a monster, but he cares about folks.’ But you don’t care about anybody! You don’t help anybody! You and your poseur bleeding heart friends just put on a big show to impress fuckin’ everybody. But it’s all BULLSHIT! You are just as cruel as anyone else, you hypocrite! Stop it. Shut up.”

  I started to cry. “I said stop it, you fucking bastard, I just wanted to talk. Fuck you! Can’t we just talk?”

  I was really bawling, and that just made him meaner.

  “Oh is that what you are?! Is that where you live at?! SHUT UP! I’m leaving now, all right?! I’ll leave you alone! I don’t want anything from you! I don’t want anything!!!”

  He snarled boyfriend and began goose-stepping and throwing the salute. “Sieg Heil! Sieg Heil!” I covered my ears and ran away as fast as I could, sobbing, terrified and humiliated. “Run on home, Eva Braun!” he yelled. “Go on, Ellie Mae Clampett, you hillbilly slut, go let your brothers gang fuck you some more! Run on back to the sticks, YOU FUCKING HICK!!!”

  Some would probably say that that should have been enough to keep me away for good.

  But it wasn’t.

  10.

  SUZI called me around 9:30 PM. The waiting game was, apparently, over.

  “You home alone?” she asked.

  “Yep.”

  “Miss you.”

  “I’m always here. You can come over any time.”

  “How’s about now?”

  It’s a peculiar thing, you know, how confident I was that everything between us would work out in the end. I was sure we’d weather any storm. Make it through the trials and tribulations. Uncertainly and strife, Mars and Venus, bend in the road’s not the end of the road, all that dog shit. There was never a doubt in my mind. Wait it out, it’ll all be fine. When I opened the door for her that night and she practically dove into my arms I thought to myself, Nicely played, old chap. Jolly good show indeed.