Beatitude 18
Raccoon eyes
CHAPTER 18
Northmont University. July, 1984.
Is there going to be yelling? I hate yelling. Charlene called what’s about to happen a tête-à-tête, but it might not be that civilized. It’s gonna get heated. I don’t know what she’s about to confess, but considering what I’ve got to tell her it’s a good thing we decided not to hold our summit in my room. No need to involve Terry or a dorm full of whooping savages in our exchange.
My car, that’s private. Sorta. It’s nearby, and it’s the weekend so the parking lot outside Halliburton Hall is not so full. Could work. But before we can begin, we’ll have to make our way from the room to the car.
Down the hall we go, slouching to the elevator, surrounded by trash from the second floor’s recent bender.
After pressing the button, I wipe my finger on my pants. This place is disgusting.
The light above the elevator flashes. The door slides open and we solemnly step inside. Boxed in, we take the ride down, quietly staring at smeared metal doors.
Charlene looks really upset. But she’s been surprisingly patient, so far.
“When we get to the car,” I whisper to her, “I should go first.”
She blurts out, “I had sex with Karen!”
Day-um. “I guess you’re going first.” Hope no one heard that. “Hang on,” I say, holding up a single finger. “Hold that thought. Let’s do this… in the car.”
Face pinched, she nods.
The elevator jars to a halt. Gears grind. After a slight jerk, doors slide open.
Charlene steps out, but I’m frozen in place. Not because the floor is sticky, it’s mostly because I’m lost in thought. Just minutes ago, I was totally prepared to unburden my guilt and either clear the air or lose Charlene for good. Now, thanks to her reveal, all I can think about is two naked girls groping each other — a Penthouse Forum letter come to life. I don’t know how I’m supposed to react to this news. Hope I don’t spring a boner.
Outside Halliburton Hall, we pass a few people going about their business. Even though I know it’s not possible, I’m worried our tension is noticeable to others. Also, it feels weird not to be holding Charlene’s hand. It shouldn’t be weird, but when we walk together I always hold her hand, touch her arm, stroke her back, something.
“It was before us, before we were a thing,” She tells me, under breath. “Months ago.”
That guy with the goatee, he’s acting like he didn’t hear what she just said. Just loping along, looking all nonchalant, but still… grinning.
“We got drunk and it just happened,” Charlene continues, getting louder. “It was the one time, it’ll never happen again. It will NEVER happen again, Jack. I promise.”
I can see the car now. Almost there.
“She’s got these feelings. Romantic feelings,” Charlene says. “I like her as a person, a team mate. Not like that.”
I nod to let her know I’m listening, unlock the car and then open the door to the passenger side.
“Karen thinks I’m not out of the closet or something. I keep trying to tell her she’s wrong, but she won’t listen.” Charlene climbs inside. “She’s got this thing in her head and she won’t let it go.”
I check to see that Charlene’s safely inside, then close her door and rush to the driver side.
Inside, I close myself in. It’s just the two of us now, all snug, in a safe place. Inhale. Exhale.
I look over at Charlene. She’s still talking. She never stopped.
“That’s why I didn’t want you there at the game,” she confesses. “I couldn’t have you there when I told Karen about us. I didn’t know how she’d react.”
“Okay,” I say. “It’s okay.” Key inserted, I crank the ignition and switch on the heat.
“It was just the one time.” She shakes her head, fidgets with her hands. “We were … drunk.”
I repeat, “It’s okay.”
“I know I should have told you from the start” — her nervous eyes dart my way for a moment—“but I was embarrassed. Scared.”
Again. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay,” she says. “I never want to hurt you.”
“I’m fine,” I tell her. “I knew you had a good reason. It’s fine.”
Oh, Charlene. Charlene. You think that was bad? That was nothing? Wait’ll you hear my secret.
“I wanted you there at the game with me,” she continues. “I did. I just didn’t want you caught up in my drama.”
“I have a confession, too.” I pause, take hold of the steering wheel. “It’s way worse. It’s pretty terrible. I don’t even want to say it out loud.”
“It’s that girl Megan, isn’t it?”
“No!” I insist, taken aback. “How do you know Megan?”
“I saw you talking to her,” she says. “You were laughing outside the library. She was touching you.”
“Megan is a friend. Sorta. I guess.” I rattle my head. “How do you even know her name?”
“Pepper.”
“Megan is definitely not the problem, Charlene.” Frustrated, I tighten my grip on the wheel. “I don’t have anything going on with Megan. Really. Nothing to worry about there.” I can’t wait any longer, it’s time to rip off the bandage. “Listen. I called the number. I said I wouldn’t, but I did. I called it”
I clench my butt cheeks, prepare for the fallout.
But… she’s not mad. She looks confused.
“What?” she asks.
What does she mean ‘what?’
“The number, you know, from the posts we found.”
“Oh.” Her complexion turns a rosy red.
“Oh?” We promised to call the number together, remember? “That’s all you’ve got? Oh?”
She bites her lower lip for a moment. “I called, too.”
I stare at the dusty dashboard. This car really needs cleaning. Or I could set it on fire, with me in it.
Charlene shrinks like a naughty child. “I was jealous and—“
“Wow.” Eyes shut tight, I sink back in the seat. “We both suuuuuuuck.”
Charlene moves her hand over the center console, almost touches my thigh. “Don’t be mad.”
I can’t, won’t hold her hand. I get that she wants me to, I probably should, but I’m not ready.
“Are you a .. . a candidate?” I ask, knowing the answer.
She nods, timidly.
“Neither one of us is trustworthy,” I say. “We’re both selfish. Immature. Highly functioning, but twisted as fuck. And now we’re competitors for a job I really, really want.”
How does that work?
Tears streaming down her face, she whimpers, “You’re done with me?”
—knk! knk!—
There’s some random guy at the passenger side window trying to get Charlene’s attention.
“Hey!” he says, opening the car door. “You okay?”
Charlene wipes her face and nods. “I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”
“You sure?” he asks.
She smiles at him, nods.
I’m not saying anything. I’m just sitting here, staring at the filthy dashboard, waiting for this to pass. I mean, what am I gonna say this guy? Chivalrous dude could’ve walked by, ignored the crying girl, but he didn’t. He gets points. I’ll wait.
Chivalrous dude glares at me. “This is wrong,” he tells me. “Fix it.”
He shuts the door and walks away. No, he strides. Heroic-like. Damn. I want to be that guy. But I’m the guy that hides his feelings with sarcasm. “He seems nice.”
“That was strange, but he’s right. We have to fix this.” Charlene grabs my thigh, squeezes. “I don’t want to lose you.”
How does this work?
This is NEVER gonna work. We’re opponents now. Rivals. Adversaries.
But she’s still Charlene, my Charlene, and she’s looking all vulnerable, mascara smeared around her eyes. I know, I know, I know I need to break up with this sad raccoon-eyed girl right now, but I’m not.
She owns me.
Ack! The seat won’t recline past two. Adjustment’s … jammed.
Body contorted, I lean in. Grunting. With a twist, she leans in, too.
Nobody is comfortable here, but we share an awkward kiss. Not the kiss I was hoping for, just the only one I can get in this stupid, cock blocking car.
—beeeeeeeeeeeep!—
Great. I set off the horn. And I think I’m —urgh— stuck.
More Beatitude next Friday.
BEATITUDE © Mark Scott Ricketts