“That’s okay.” She reaches over with her good hand and squeezes my fingers. “I’ll be your family.”
Chapter 64
Being on the wagon doesn’t seem to bother Aimee a bit. She actually appears a little relieved about it. It’s great to see her so confident, though. She even takes the initiative and starts in on some of her own stories. Used to, you had to get about four drinks in her before she’d bust loose with anything very personal, but now she’s completely comfortable with it.
This evening, she has another paper route story, a good one too, about the time she met up with the tough girls. I recognize her tactic—telling me a story to make me forget I don’t have a real family.
She was fourteen—still had to walk her part of the route at that age—when she ran across these two fifteen-year-olds all dressed in baggy black with silver chains looping down from their belt loops. More mascara than Cleopatra. They’d been up all night and were obviously high on something—drain cleaner, for all Aimee knew.
At first, they’re like, “Look, it’s Little Red Riding Hood. Whattaya got in the bag, something for your granny?” It was looking bad. Aimee pictured them ripping her bag from her shoulder and scattering her newspapers down the street, which is probably exactly what would’ve happened if she hadn’t somehow come up with the perfect thing to say.
“Did you see that UFO that came through here a while ago?”
They’re all, “UFO? What UFO? Are you high or just insane,” but Aimee goes on with this detailed description of what it looked like—blinking purple lights, a big banana-shaped hull, a mysterious sound like a music box playing a song previously unknown to humans.
All of a sudden, the girls completely changed. They looked at the sky, and expressions of wonder drove the hardness from their faces. Aimee kept on making stuff up. This wasn’t the first time anyone had spotted this UFO, she said. There were stories about it in the news. People had reported positive effects from having witnessed it. “It’s the music,” Aimee told them. “It leaves people feeling smart and happy and good-looking.”
Suddenly, the girls became her best friends. They helped her throw her route, hoping to see the UFO, to hear the music, to transform into new, beautiful beings.
“That is a splendid lie,” I tell her.
She’s smiling at the memory. “And it didn’t even seem like a lie when I was telling it. Then I saw them about a week later at Little Caesar’s. They didn’t even say anything to me. It was weird—they didn’t seem tough anymore. They just seemed kind of pathetic and small and lost.”
“I guess they needed some UFOs to believe in.”
“Yeah. Luckily, my UFO did come for me.”
“It did?”
“Of course. You’re it.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“I mean, look at how much I’ve changed in just these last couple of months.”
“Yeah, you’ve changed, all right.” I can’t help but glance at the mammoth cast on her arm. I mean, this thing is so elaborate she has a hard time walking through doorways.
“And now we’re heading to St. Louis. We’re really going to do it. No way would I have had the nerve to tell my mom I was going there before I met you.”
“Well, I have the feeling that St. Louis is really going to be your own special Bright Planet, you know it? And you’re going to be the Commander Amanda Gallico of the whole thing.”
“I thought you said there weren’t any Bright Planets.”
“Oh, that? I was just in a bad mood. I’m over all that.” I take a hit off my 7UP. It tastes weird, whiskyless and all. “But the thing is, I’ve kind of like been wanting to talk to you about this St. Louis deal.”
“I know, you’re still worried about staying with my sister in her little apartment, but that’s only for a couple of weeks. She’s got that job all lined up for me, and I’m sure you’ll get one too. We’ll have our own place and rent furniture and everything. Don’t mention that to my mom, though. She still doesn’t know you’re going to live up there too. She just thinks you’re helping me move.”
“Yeah, no, that’s not what’s been worrying me.” My hand moves back toward the 7UP glass, but it’s just instinct. Plain soda won’t change anything right now. “See, there’s, like, something I haven’t told you. It’s kind of embarrassing.”
She’s still smiling her little smile, and it strikes me that, actually, she is drunk, not on alcohol, but on her St. Louis hopes and dreams. I wouldn’t sober her up for anything, but she doesn’t need me anymore. She can hang on to her dreams by herself now.
“What happened was, you know how I wasn’t doing so hot in algebra? Well, Mr. Asterhole wouldn’t cut me a break. I tried to tell him I’d take more algebra in college, but I guess he thought he’d teach me a lesson for thinking he was so boring.”
Her smile flatlines. “So, does that mean you didn’t graduate?”
“Kind of.” I take a drink, but of course it doesn’t help. “Looks like, if I want my diploma, I’ll have to go to summer school.”
“Summer school,” she repeats, the disappointment seeping into her pale blue eyes.
“Yeah. It doesn’t start for a couple more weeks.”
“Don’t worry,” she says, forcing herself to be positive. “I’m sure you can take algebra over in St. Louis somehow.”
“No, I checked into that. I have to take it at the school I’m getting my diploma from.” Okay, so I didn’t actually check, but it makes pretty good sense.
She’s not giving up, though. “Well, that just means I’ll stay down here with you and help you study. We can go to St. Louis at the end of the summer. That way we’ll have more time to plan and get ready.”
“No, that’s no good. Your sister’s all set to come down this weekend to help you move, and she already has that job lined up for you and everything. The only thing that makes sense is for you to go ahead, and I’ll stay here and go to summer school and work on the loading dock for Geech and save up some money.”
She grabs my hand. “I don’t want to go without you. I’d be lost.”
I stare into her eyes, shooting confidence beams into her. “You won’t be lost. Are you kidding me? You’ll be great. You’re going to do what you always wanted to do.”
Of course, I’m also thinking that she’ll find the perfect guy, too, a splendiferous equestrian scientist who’ll see her as a fantastic new planet, full of miraculous wonders. But I know she can’t accept that right now.
She’s like, “I want to do all that with you,” and I go, “I know you do, but look at it this way—how great of an organizer am I? Not too great, right? If you go up there first, you can get everything squared away, make all the plans. I’d appreciate it to no end if you’d do that for me.”
Once she gets her mind around that notion, it begins to restoke her enthusiasm. Now she has a mission, something she can do for somebody else. She has no shortage of ideas either. She’ll learn where everything is in St. Louis and how to get around and where the men’s clothing stores are so that I can get a job in one when I come up. And she’s like, “As soon as I get some money saved, I’ll go ahead and rent our apartment and start buying things for it. And I’ll do the artwork for the walls and everything.”
“That all sounds great,” I say. “But maybe you should hold off on renting the apartment. I mean, I need you to do the planning, but I have to do something too. I’d look at it as a big favor if you’d wait till I send you some money before you go renting an apartment and buying stuff for it. You have to let me feel like I’m making my contribution, okay?”
She smiles and squeezes my hand. “Okay. I guess I can do you that favor.”
If I’m a rat for doing things this way, then, all right, I’m a rat. But sometimes you have to choose between honesty and kindness, and I’ve always been a sucker for the kind side. Besides, I figure she has to get out of town before I can tell her the whole truth or she’ll never go. I’ll wait till she’s been in St. Louis for a
month and has her job and her new life. Then I’ll drop her a long e-mail. I don’t know exactly what it’s going to say yet, except for the part about how I won’t be coming.
See, I do have a future to give her after all, just not one that includes me.
When I take her home, I have a hard time letting her go. Sure, it’s awkward trying to hug her with that huge cast in the way, but I really can’t kiss her enough. We’ve never had sex in the car sober before—or with her arm in a cast—but I’m ready to now, not just because I’m horny, but because I want to be as close to her as I can one last time.
She slows me down, though. She kisses my nose and my forehead and tells me we have plenty of time to make love later. “My mom might walk out on us,” she says. “And just think when we’re in St. Louis, we’ll make love in every room of our new apartment.”
I kiss her one more long one. And then we say goodbye.
Chapter 65
What was that one thing that Cassidy wanted me to do for her? To think about someone else’s feelings instead of my own for once? I wonder what she’d think about that if she could’ve seen me with Aimee tonight. I always had the idea she thought I didn’t know how to love someone. Well, she’d have to admit I sure do now.
And then there was that other thing she said, something about how I never believe anyone loves me. “You never believed I did,” she said. That still bugs me. Of course, I’d believe someone loved me—if they did. It just seems like that’s pretty impossible to know for sure.
Right there, cruising down Twelfth Street, I decide to call her on my brand-new, soon-to-be-lost-again cell phone and see exactly what she meant. She’ll also probably be interested in what happened with Aimee, not to mention my new only-on-the-weekend drinking policy.
It takes a while before she picks up. Seems she’s on the highway with Marcus. They’re in New Mexico, heading to Albuquerque, where Marcus is going to play basketball and major in public administration or something weird like that.
“Oh, Sutter,” she gushes. “It’s so beautiful out here. Twilight is coming on, and there’s, like, these mesas and these gorgeous colors I’ve never seen before. I mean, as soon as we got into New Mexico, I was like, ‘Wow, I can see why they call it the Land of Enchantment.’ The landscape is, like, so spiritual.”
“Well, I guess it’ll be a good place for you to visit every once in a while.”
She’s like, “I’m going to do more than that. I’ve made up my mind. I’m moving out here to go to school. Marcus wants me to, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to till now. We’re going to look over the campus tomorrow, but I’ve already seen pictures of it, and, you know, I’ve just fallen in love with the whole place.”
“But you’ve been all set to go to OU for months.”
“I was, but I have the right to change my mind if I want to.”
“But surely it’s too late to get enrolled somewhere else now.”
“No, it’s not. The application deadline isn’t until June 15. I checked.”
“What about your parents?”
“They’re the ones who encouraged me to come out here and look it over. You know how they always thought I should go to school out of state and get a chance to see more of the world and everything. Besides, they absolutely love Marcus.”
No big surprise. I’m sure her parents figure Marcus is an enormous step up from me. I don’t mention that, though.
“How about the cost?” I ask. “Won’t it be a lot more expensive, out-of-state tuition and everything?”
“I’ll get a job. Anything’s worth working for if you want it enough.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“It’s like a whole new era in my life is unfolding, Sutter.”
“Well, that’s great,” I say. “That’s very cool.”
What’s the point of arguing? I should be happy for her. We’re just friends, after all.
“So, what were you calling about?”
For a second, I completely forget why I called. “Nothing,” I say. “It’s just been a while since we talked.”
There’s not much to say after that. She tells me she’ll e-mail me some stuff about the college, pictures and all. She’ll fill me in about the whole excursion when she gets back.
I’m like, “That’s great. That’s great.” Somehow just about my whole vocabulary has frozen up, except for the word great.
A second later, she’s gone, vanished into the enchanted New Mexican night. She’s gone, Aimee’s soon to be gone, and me, all of a sudden, I’m hit with this absolutely incredible thirst.
Chapter 66
Sure, I’ve pledged to only drink on the weekends, but this is summer. I mean, what’s the difference between a weekday and a weekend when school’s out? As long as I keep the drinking down to once or twice a week, everything should be hunkydory. Unfortunately, in a less rational moment, I emptied the faithful flask into the gutter down the street from home, but that’s no problem. My favorite liquor store is but minutes away, and then it’s just around the corner for the big 7UP, only this time I go for the giant size instead.
Yes, the hometown streets already look friendlier. Cars honk at me left and right. The night is warm and girls flow past with their windows rolled down, their beautiful hair cascading back in the breeze. Wouldn’t it be lovely if one flashed her tits at me? I might even chase her down this time. “The summer belongs to the Sutterman,” I’d tell her. “You want to come with?”
Talk about enchantment. Forget about working for something just to have it fall apart on you. Let the magic come. That’s what I say. Let the magic come and fill in every inch of that little black crack behind your breastbone. Commander Amanda Gallico has her spaceship, and I have my bottle of whisky. We’re both on our way to the same planet.
Who knows how long I’ve been on the cruise when I come across this bar called the Hawaiian Breeze. It’s a small baby-blue cube of chipped cinderblock with palm trees painted on the side. A gravel parking lot with four cars. I’ve always wanted to go in there just to see what it’s like. It couldn’t be much worse than Larry’s place down in Fort Worth. Except for not owning a pistol or a switchblade, I’m bound to fit right in.
Of course, I’m not old enough to buy drinks in there, but I figure what do I have to lose? Inside, there’s one rumpled drunk at the bar and two gigantic escaped convicts playing pool. The bartender looks like a junkie version of Buffalo Bill in a Hawaiian shirt.
The rumpled drunk doesn’t do anything but continue staring into the top of the bar, but everybody else glares at me like Who is this twerp and what’s he doing in our sanctuary? Junkie Buffalo Bill is getting ready to tell me to get the hell out, but I cut in first. “Sir,” I say, flashing my famous gap-toothed smile. “My name is Sutter Keely, I am eighteen years old and sore at heart, for my romances have all collapsed out from under me. I am in great need of a whisky and Seven.”
Just that fast, Junkie Buffalo Bill’s scowl turns into a broad, snarly-toothed yellow grin. “Ha! That’s the best one I ever heard.” He looks at the escaped convicts. “What do you think, boys? The kid’s sore at heart. Should I slide him a cocktail?”
The slightly more enormous of the convicts goes, “Hell, yeah. Give old Sutter a drink. I’ve been sore at heart myself.”
The rumpled drunk doesn’t comment, except to raise his pasty-white face and howl, “Whooo-weee!”
“One whisky and Seven coming up,” says Junkie Buffalo Bill.
The next thing you know I’m buying whisky shots all around. To break the dank silence, I crank up every Jimmy Buffett song on the jukebox and go into the tale of Cassidy and Aimee and my long-lost dad. Everyone’s enthralled. They’ve been there, a long time ago.
“Am I wrong for letting Aimee go like I did?” I ask the boys, and the slightly less enormous escaped convict, the one with the bandanna tied on his head, goes, “No, you’re not wrong, Sutter. You’re a hero.”
“That’s right,” says Junkie Buffalo Bill, and the rumpl
ed drunk goes, “Whooo-weee!”
The boys of the Hawaiian Breeze love me. I’m their mascot. You should see their eyes light up when I tell the story of the dinner party fiasco and how I burned up Kevin-pronounced-Keevin’s thousand-dollar suit.
“Damn,” says the more enormous escaped convict. “Kevin. You gotta hate him.”
“Suther,” sprays the rumpled drunk, his first attempt at words yet. “You are the king. You really are. Are you religious, Suther? You look religious.”
It’s an odd question considering the circumstances but I go with it. “Of course I’m religious. I’m God’s own drunk.”
He cranes back his head. “Whooo-weee!” And then in the next second he’s clutching my arm and staring at me bleary-eyed and mournful. “You got your whole life ahead of you,” he says.
“So do you,” I say, holding my arm steady in his grip. It’s the only thing keeping him from toppling to the floor.
“No,” he says. “All my friends are dead and my life is over.”
“Your friends aren’t dead,” I tell him. “We’re your friends.”
“Whooo-weee!”
By the time the last Jimmy Buffett song plays, everyone’s having a blast. The gloom of the Hawaiian Breeze has lifted. When I announce that it’s time to go, no one wants me to leave. “Sorry, boys,” I say. “The night awaits. More adventures are in store.”
Outside, the streetlight shines on the gravel parking lot. I feel like I’m on the surface of the moon. With painted palm trees in the background. The night is glorious. I’m overflowing with the thrill of having saved the souls of the boys of the Hawaiian Breeze. Maybe Marcus was wrong. Maybe a single person can save the world. I’ll bet I could. I could save the whole world—for a night.