Marston

We were all just going through the motions, and although on the face of things nothing in my daily life had changed, I was aimless. Disconnected. So much so that I ended up driving out to my mom's trailer that weekend. She wasn't far, but once I'd left for college and returned, I'd never really resumed any sort of regular visits. It was too depressing; I never knew what I'd find.

I was really hoping for a lucid moment. I don't know how much I would have told her or what advice she could have possibly given me. I guess I just wanted to feel like I had a mom again. Instead I found her stoned and half asleep, sitting in an old recliner that'd been dragged outside facing the drop off down to the woods. She was in a raincoat and sweatpants, although the day was dry. A cigarette was still burning in the ashtray next to her.

She looked at me through droopy eyes, smiled. "Hey Billy."

"Hey Mom." I waited for a minute and she drifted off to sleep. Just like that. So I left, swallowing down the bad feeling in my stomach.

I had weird dreams that night. I was standing in front of a bonfire at my childhood home, but with my grown friends, who were all watching me, waiting for something. My dad was there, laughing, but he stopped when he looked up at me, slapped the beer bottle out of my hand, yelling "What the fuck did you do?" My stomach lurched; I stepped backwards and fell into some place dark and warm. Mickey was there, but I couldn't see her, could only feel her warm hands settling me, touching me. "I think you're alone now," she whispered, and straddled me. "You mean, we're alone now," I said, and she took me inside of her. Her voice got higher and breathier and she answered in pieces, rocking on me. "No. You're alone now."

I woke with a start, clammy and cold. Jesus, a wet dream. It was like being back in middle school.

Someone was knocking at my door. I remembered I'd told Matt I'd help him fix the perimeter fence around his mom's place that day. It was late. I hadn't bothered to set an alarm since oversleeping hadn't been much of a problem lately. Flustered, I wiped off hastily and pulled on some fresh briefs and a pair of jeans. "Sorry... coming."

He eyed me warily when I opened the door. "You look like shit. Did you go out last night?"

"No. Just didn't sleep well. You want some coffee?" I started towards the coffee maker but he held up paper cups.

"Step ahead of you."

We didn't talk much on the drive out there. Didn't talk much working on the fence either. It wasn't an angry silence, I was just in a funk. I was happy to have company and busy hands, but I'd run out of energy to keep things light.

When we finished and came inside, Matt's mom was cooking and offered to feed us lunch. We grabbed a couple beers and sat at the kitchen table. I tuned out while they talked about bank paperwork, legally transferring the auto shop to Matt, but my ears perked up despite myself when I heard Mickey's name. "Did you two ever work out a time when you could swing up there and switch out her brake pads? I don't love the idea of her driving on the highway with what she's got now."

Matt scoffed a little. "If she wants free repairs, she can come here. She's the one who decided to leave without giving anyone any heads up. I don't see why I need to chase her down to take care of it for her."

His mom was at the stove with her back to us, but now she stopped stirring and fussing, took a second and turned, shaking her head. "Unbelievable."

Matt raised his eyebrows. "You're seriously taking her side on this?"

"It's not about sides, Matt. That's not what I'm talking about. I'm saying it's unbelievable that you're still mad at her. That the two of you, no, the three of you, still haven't talked about anything even though it's clear as day."

I felt the blood drain out of my face. It seemed like I should say something, but I was too stunned to talk. She was just getting going though, facing Matt down.

"You understand that she left for you, don't you? That she was afraid of hurting you? And I'm just as mad at her, by the way. I didn't raise you two like this. We are supposed to be able to talk in this house; we don't keep secrets, we don't harbor resentments, we don't sulk. Your best friend is miserable, your sister is gone working an imaginary job, and you're going to just pretend you don't notice?"

I'm sure I looked like a beet. I wanted to melt into the floor.

Matt's face was red, too. "What do you want me to say, Mom? She could date any guy here, and she has to...?" He trailed off, avoiding me. We all knew how that sentence ended: fuck Billy, that's how the sentence ended. I was mortified. Did they actually know that had happened? Or just that we'd wanted it? Oh God, I didn't know which was worse. "I'm supposed to just give her my blessing and be cool with it?"

"Yes. You're supposed to be happy for the people you care about when they're happy. You're supposed to get over the awkwardness and grow up."

By this point, my humiliation had overwhelmed my surprise. I found my feet, mumbled an 'excuse me' and got myself out the door, only to realize I didn't have my truck here. God, we were going to have to drive back to town together. Without anything better to do, I started walking to the woods.

I couldn't help but feel defensive and angry at the talking down I'd just gotten, or I should say, the talking down Matt had gotten about me as if I weren't even there. How could she just blurt that all out? It wasn't hers to air. No wondering where Mickey got her impulsiveness from. But after 20 minutes of clomping through brush and weeds, with a scratch on my face from an errant tree branch and more burrs stuck to my flannel than I cared to think about, I sat down on a log and had to admit: she was right. We'd been childish and made everything more dramatic than it needed to be. Even after Mickey left, I should have just talked to Matt.

I sat for a few more minutes to let my emotions level out. I was trying to talk myself into walking back and facing my friend when I heard Matt picking his way through my trail of destruction. He stopped a few yards from my log and we both stared at the ground for a minute, trying to figure out what to say.

"Look," he started, but I cut him off.

"No man, I'm sorry. I don't know what to say. I should have been honest with you. I don't know why I wasn't."

He kicked at some moss and stalled, looking back towards the house. "How long?"

I didn't know how to answer that. How long had we been dating? We weren't. How long had we been fucking? No way did he want details like that. I went with the safest variation.

"How long have I liked her? I don't know. High school, I guess." I picked up a branch and started peeling the bark off. "Something changed this winter. And I thought that meant she wanted something that she didn't, and it embarrassed both of us and she left. That's all there is to it. I was going to talk to you when I thought it might go somewhere. But..." I trailed off, coughed to clear the sudden lump in my throat. "How long did you know?"

He breathed out like a laugh and rolled his eyes a little. "You two started acting weird pretty much as soon as she came home. It made me think something had been going on already. I actually started wondering if she'd been coming home to see you before, like without telling the family that she was here. I don't know, I don't know why I thought that. I didn't really think that, but it was in my head. I think I was just mad at her for not being around more, with my dad." He crouched down to fidget with a rock. "And it's embarrassing to admit, but it felt like she would steal you away. I mean, everyone disappears for a while when they start dating someone, I get it, but the idea of being back to me and my mom in an empty house..." He stalled and stood up. "I know I've done a piss poor job of showing it, but I've been grateful to have you around."

That got a sincere smile out of me. "Awww, Matt! You'd miss me?" I stood up and elbowed him. He gave me a one armed hug, but held it.

"Yeah, fuck you, you know I'd miss you." He straightened up and cracked his neck. "Enough of this. I need a beer."

If I'd worried about not being able to find our way back, I needn't have. I felt a little bad actually; it looked like I'd gone out of my way to trample all the nature on my way out here.

"You're wrong, though," he said as we were hiking out. "About it being one sided. Anyone with eyes could see she likes you. Not that I'm trying to sell you on anything, but you should know. I actually thought you did know. That's just how Mickey is. Like, she never outgrew the playground thing where you let someone know you like them by murdering them in dodgeball." He shrugged. "I think she's fucking nuts, but if you're serious about her, you shouldn't think she'd make it easy."

___

The drive back to Pittsburgh was, impossibly, even worse than my drive home had been three months ago. I was just pulling onto the highway when it occurred to me I didn't have any place to go - that Sophie had, at considerable effort, found a subletter for my apartment and cleared out all my shit. I groaned and hit my fist on the steering wheel a few times. Instead of gratitude, I was about to hit her with, I wish you hadn't. I briefly considered just going someplace new altogether, where I wouldn't know anyone, wouldn't be disappointing anyone. But even my stubbornness has limits. My need for a friend was greater than my need to hide my bad decisions.

Still, I couldn't bring myself to call her. Instead I showed up unannounced, grateful to find her home. She opened the door to me, my duffel bag and my trembling chin, and pulled me into a hard hug without asking anything. That's why she's the best.

Her boyfriend, Jason, probably wasn't thrilled to have me couch surfing, but was gracious enough not to express it. I told myself it'd be no more than two weeks. Either I'd recommit to Pittsburgh and find an apartment, or I'd figure out what the next thing would be and would move on it.

Actually, it only ended up being three days. And it wasn't that I was recommitting to the city, I just didn't have any better ideas. I'd been prepared to be pathetic in front of Sophie, but I realized quickly that I couldn't do it around Jason. I tried looking cheerful, chilling in their kitchen, being helpful where I could. But I was drained and depressed. I found myself dying for the privacy of at least a bedroom where I could sleep until noon without being in anyone's way. By Monday I was scrolling through Craigslist rentals; by Wednesday I'd signed to take over the last two months of some college kid's lease on a 'garden apartment' (ie, basement) near downtown. He left a ton of crap, but I felt good about bagging up the trash and dragging it to the curb. It felt like the universe was giving me a chance to make up for what I'd dumped on Sophie, not that this benefited her. I kept some furniture, some DVDs, and the cleaning products. Bought a waterproof mattress cover because I couldn't stop imagining what gross things might be on this bed, but I also didn't have the energy to drag it outside and buy a new one.

I was able to pick up some shifts at the coffee shop I'd been working at before. My favorite part of this industry is how fluid it is - someone is always quitting or coming, so it doesn't raise any eyebrows to float around. It was easy to fall back into the superficial banter, to go into performance mode with customers, but outside of work I found myself sliding into a depression. My new apartment was just so lonely, there was no way around it. I'm not a heavy drinker, but I ended up spending a fair amount of time in bars just to have someplace to go with people around me.

Unfortunately, being alone at a bar was apparently an invitation. My habit was to avoid eye contact with everyone but the bartender and bring a book to keep myself looking busy, but periodically the stool next to me would fill with some hopeful suitor. Over that week I developed what I thought was a rather ingenious technique of ending the small talk with a nod, an enthusiastic 'It was nice to meet you,' and a hard slap on the back, bro style. I just wanted to be left alone.

It was looking like I'd need to deploy this dismissal once again, Friday night two weeks after I'd arrived. The guy sidling up to me this time was tall and stocky, well groomed but reeking of cigarettes. Way overly comfortable - he slid one arm around the back of my barstool, lifted an empty PBR in the bartender's direction and called out for two more. I tried to catch her eye to signal that she should only bring one, but she'd turned to the fridge already.

I was more annoyed than usual. I'd scooched to the edge of my stool to avoid his hand touching the small of my back, and it felt way too much like I'd improved my posture for him. I prefer to send people off while leaning back lazily, letting my stomach pouch. Somehow I'd lost this upper hand already. The bartender swung by with two bottles, grabbed his twenty off the bar and disappeared to get change.

He started talking without even looking at me, as if we'd been deep in conversation. "I like this place. They did a remodel a few years ago but you'd never even know it, other than the old linoleum got a little shinier. They always have a game on. Good snacks." He turned now, eyed me up and down. "Pretty girls."

Ugh, gross. Up until a minute ago I had liked this bar, too. It had old people and the occasional family getting burgers. But obviously it was time to find a new haunt.

I judged that he was a little too narcissistic for anything as subtle as a slightly emasculating backslap to be effective in ending this. I decided to just keep it bitchy and brief instead.

"I'm not here for you." I said it while watching the TV and sipping my unwanted beer, trying to emphasize the disinterest.

"No?" He leaned in a little, like we were telling secrets, and looked around the room. "So who are you here for?"

Now I felt a chill run down my spine. I had never felt unsafe going out by myself at night, but his message was clear. I was obviously unaccompanied. I knew he didn't just mean that I was single; he meant that no one would intervene. Nope, nope, nope, fuck this shit, I was not going to humor this kind of creepy small talk. I grabbed my purse off the hook under the bar, pivoted away from him and hurried out the nearest exit. I hadn't closed out my tab but whatever, I'd come back and deal with that tomorrow. I let the door slam behind me and made for my truck.

The door slammed a second time, though.

"Don't you know it's rude to leave without saying goodbye?"

I didn't look back, but I paused for a second to take stock of the situation. A second ago I'd felt empowered, cutting off the conversation without any social niceties, getting myself out of there. Now I realized I'd played it wrong. We were in a gravel parking lot behind the building. Minimal lighting and far too many nooks and crannies for my liking. Dumpsters, bushes, a smoking area - suddenly all these were threatening. My truck was near the street, maybe thirty yards away. I tried to calculate whether further small talk could buy me enough time to get there - whether the pretense that this was fine and normal could hold long enough for me to get in and get the doors locked. It didn't seem likely.

I broke into a run. He was faster, though.

He grabbed my wrist and yanked me back, twisted my arm behind me. I had my keys in my other hand, had managed to get one between my clenched fingers like a claw and I thought I'd be able to land a punch on his stupid fucking face but he grabbed that wrist too, before I could do anything. I stared him in the eyes and yelled "NO" with this voice like he was a bad dog I was trying to train. But he was not a puppy to my human, he was twice my size and seemed to be enjoying this. So I screamed. I mean, I fucking let loose. At first it was just throat shredding noise, but then I was forming words, yelling 'help,' 'rapist,' all the swears, whatever I could get out loudest. He slapped a hand over my mouth and nose, but he was too late. His eyes shot to the back of the building as we heard the door swing open again. His grip fell away and I ran.

I could hear people calling to me as I fumbled to unlock my truck. My hands were shaking so hard, by the time I got the door open someone had nearly reached me. He was asking if I was ok, but I shut the door in his face, locked it behind me. As soon as I could get my keys into the ignition, I was out of there.

I drove straight home. Walking from my truck to the apartment door was another matter, though. I dug around in my glovebox to find my little canister of pepper spray, then sat taking deep breaths, squeezing my eyes shut and willing myself to move. I felt for my phone in my pocket, thought about calling Sophie, but I wasn't actually ready to talk. Finally I made myself get up, sprinted up the sidewalk.

Inside with the door locked and bolted, I paced for a while, rubbing at my arms like his touch was still contaminating me. I stripped and climbed into the shower, scrubbed until my skin was raw. I was an idiot. It could have been so much worse. Why had I left the bar? There were people there, I should have made a scene inside. I should have asked the bartender to walk me to my truck. Should have just left my truck and called an Uber. It could have been much, much worse. I just hadn't expected things to shift so quickly. I thought of the look on his face when he twisted my arm backwards, the way he got off on it, crushing my wrists. I sat on the shower floor and tried not to puke, envisioning the almosts.

Eventually I got out and got dressed. Started a movie on my laptop but was too restless to watch it. Made about twenty trips to the bathroom, to the kitchen to open and close the fridge, to the front window to scan the street again. I put on the kettle, hoping to bring myself down with tea, and that's when I heard a noise at the door.

I felt the blood drain out of my face. I looked around for a weapon, settled on a dull but scary looking chef's knife. Maybe it would have been smarter to just not answer the door, but cowering inside, not knowing who was out there, sounded worse. Was it really possible he had followed me? Definitely not, right? I willed myself to get a grip, looked down at the knife in my fist to reassure myself. There was no peephole, so I left the chain bolted, gritted my teeth and opened the door.

___

Talking with Matt had put things in a new light. Soon enough, my depressive mood of the last couple weeks started to seem less stoic and more mopey. I'm not ambitious in the sense of wanting a lot of things and then striving to get them, but when I do want something, it's never been like me to wallow in the longing. If I wanted Mickey, I should just go get her.

I didn't want to call her, though. It felt like too big a conversation to have over the phone, too awkward to push through without being able to read her face. I found her friend Sophie's number in an old group message thread, texted to ask her for Mickey's address. I hoped it wasn't invasive. I figured Mickey would have talked with her, and Sophie knows me well enough to know I wouldn't do anything creepy.

Work ran late on Friday, but I left as soon as I'd finished. Made the drive in good time, since I was too antsy to stop along the way, but even so, it was late by the time I got there. I briefly wondered if I should have waited until morning to come. Too late now. I found the address Sophie had sent me. It was an old brick building with rusted ironwork. Concrete steps led down to the depressing looking lower unit.

I hesitated at the door, trying to regroup. I'd had a three hour drive to plan what to say, but couldn't bring the words to mind now. I ran my thumb over the bolt on the railing instead of knocking, giving myself a minute. I must have made some noise though, because the door opened anyway.