A cigarette lit backward.., p.14
A Cigarette Lit Backwards, page 14
At lunch Nosebleed was leaning against his car, waiting. “You ready?”
“Hell yeah.” I braced myself for what he called home. A trailer, a crack house, a slum, a cardboard box, or just a bunch of newspapers and an umbrella. Nosebleed was legit, the real thing, hardest in the crew. So when he pulled up to a McMansion in a gated neighborhood near school I was like, “Are we robbing someone?”
“This is my place,” he snarled.
I was used to feeling clueless about the world. Surprises didn’t surprise me. My lifestyle supported ignorance and what came with it. I rejected society, and the life of a square. So anything I learned about the Life of Squares came as a rude awakening.
I want to be stereotyped
I want to be classified
I wanna be a clone
I want a suburban home, suburban home, suburban home, suburban home
All my anthems mocked how things were. It wasn’t cool to care. NO FUTURE was our motto. The less you know the better. But when my alternate reality surprised me? Well, I couldn’t stand it. What did it mean?
Nosebleed led me through a sprawling hallway with hard-wood floors, a dining room with marble columns, and into a stainless steel kitchen with one of those “island” things rich people have. I didn’t say anything about his shocking wealth. I didn’t want to embarrass him. It took guts to have me over. It was insulting, really, that he wouldn’t hide this from me. That he wouldn’t think I’d judge his “street cred” like the others would. Did he assume I didn’t have street cred either?
“You wanna eat?” He opened his massive refrigerator. “We’ve got Hot Pockets, cold pizza, PB&J . . .”
“I’m not hungry,” I said automatically.
“Me neither. Let’s go to my room.” Miles of hardwood and marble later we reached a staircase where he said, “Shoes off.” We sat on the bottom step unlacing our boots in silence. Side by side with him on the stairs I felt like his sister, sharing this home. Going to wash up for “supper,” as Americans called it. His place reminded me of one I used to frequent. I had this Christian friend. Her parents used to lecture me about communism, as if being born in a communist state made me reek of social decay. They explained, “In communism, this phone isn’t yours. It belongs to the government.” They shoved their kitchen phone in my face. They took me to church some Sundays, where I had the daylight scared out of me. Sunday school, for kids, was nothing but tales of damnation.
Meanwhile, my friend was a secret freak, masturbating with an electric toothbrush as we’d watch HBO’s Real Sex on mute. She had to answer every thing her parents said with “Yes, sir” or “Yes, ma’am.” Once, we were skateboarding at my place and she fell and hit her forehead. She bled all over her shirt, her face, her hands. It was gnarly. My parents wanted to call her parents, but she pleaded, “Please don’t, they’ll kill me.” She cried more about “ruining her dad’s dinner” than she did about the cut. When we turned twelve she moved to Germany. Poor little army brat.
Watching Nosebleed’s bondage pants tread up the stairs in contrast to everything around us deemed his outfit ridiculous. Mine too. I resented him for that. His room was in character but too curated to be convincing. Posters hung so perfectly in line with each other that the color of his walls was a mystery. His bed was huge and fluffy with clean linen sheets. His desk and dresser were dust-free. Hundreds of records and clothes were organized neatly. Not the typical boy’s room, definitely not a punk’s room.
“These are for you.”
He balanced a folded pile of shirts on his hand like a pizza box. I took it from him delicately and sifted through, lifting corners. The stack held rare shirts from the Misfits, the Adicts, Crass, the Cramps, the Exploited, and some bands I didn’t know. It was the best gift I’d ever received.
“Dude!” I squealed. “How come?”
“Too small for me.”
“They’re incredible.” I beamed.
“Try them.” He fell back on his bed and put his hands behind his head. I turned around and took my shirt off. While holding my chest with one hand I reached the other into the pile and pulled a shirt from the stack randomly: an original Black Flag shirt. The arms were ripped off and small holes adorned the torso. I turned back around. “Rad.” He did a thumbs-up.
“So sick,” I cooed.
“Try more on,” he pushed.
“There’s like a million of them.” I pretended not to get the hint. He wanted me shirtless in his bedroom.
“Fine.” He sighed. “Sit down.”
Next to him on the bed I felt an energy pulling us closer. Did he feel that? A sort of heat, like what radiates from my dog’s belly when she flips over and wants to be rubbed. He put his hand on my leg and I jerked it away.
“We can’t do anything, even if I want to.”
“Why not?”
“Because of Jake? Duh.”
“Jake sucks.”
“He doesn’t.”
“Uh, he definitely does.”
“Don’t be a dick.” I laughed, trying to stay upbeat. Don’t go there.
“Since Jake showed up everything sucks.”
He went there. “That’s not his fault.”
“Dude? He brought the drugs. And he took you away.”
“You’re so dramatic. I’m right here. And everyone always did drugs.”
“Not hard drugs.”
“Well, as a matter of fact, Jake is kicking his habit as we speak.”
“Wow, what a hero.” He mocked me.
“Jeez. Sorry you feel this way.” I threw my hands up.
“It’s not a feeling.” He said “feeling” in an annoying Valley-girl voice. Did he think I talked that way? “It’s facts. Nobody hangs, we don’t even go to shows anymore.”
“Everyone has their own problems. You can’t blame it all on one person.”
“Jake is your problem.”
“Jake helps me a lot, actually.”
“Yeah, how?”
“I don’t have to explain that to you.”
“Whatever. You used to be cool.”
“I’m still cool. I just . . . grew up this year.”
“Hooking up with grown-ups doesn’t make you grown-up.”
“Jake is nineteen.”
“I don’t mean Jake.”
My cheeks burned. “You’re one to judge,” I sneered.
“What does that mean?”
“You never even noticed me until I became a groupie,” I huffed. I was able to throw the term around at this point, not flinching at the lie.
He shook his head. “I just thought you needed a friend.”
“I’m not a charity case.” I rolled my eyes.
“Don’t be pissed. I was trying to be nice.”
I glared at him. Nosebleed was beautiful. I’d never gotten a good gaze at him close up, in proper lighting. In the car he was always head-banging. Now he was still and I studied him. Sharp features, clear skin, a straight nose, and clever eyes. When a good-looking boy made me feel bad I became desperate for his approval. It was basic arithmetic. I pulled at his vest and brought him closer. We kissed zealously. It was the right thing to do. It would happen in some romantic comedy where two enemies end up getting married. But there was no chemistry, just performance.
He pulled away and said, “Let’s go back to school.”
“I’ll walk,” I spat.
“Don’t be stupid.”
“I am stupid . . . for coming here.” I wanted to insult him but couldn’t think of anything. “Why do you even have a car when you live so close to school? Who lives this close to school?”
He just stared at me.
I ran down the stairs, stepped into my boots, and left. My backpack was in his car, which was unlocked. In a neighborhood like his I’d leave my car unlocked, too. I marched back toward school, mortified. I’d left the new shirts at his place. At least I snagged the Black Flag.
On the way Jake called me. Finally. He’d make me feel better.
“Jake. I was so worried,” I puffed, walking up the hill toward campus. “I called a million times yesterday.”
“I was out of it . . . but you wouldn’t know.” His tone was bitter.
I brushed it off. “Well, I tried reaching you. How are you feeling?”
“Why did you leave me?” He raised his voice.
Oh, shit. “What? When?”
“Kat.”
“Oh, right, you mean Saturday? I . . . had to go home. You were asleep?”
“You’re lying!”
“No. I mean,” I sighed. “Yeah, I went to the mall with Ashley.”
“Dexter told me. She got arrested.”
Uhhhh. “Yeah, it was terrible. Is she okay? Have you heard from her?”
“Only through Dexter. He’s pissed at you.”
“At me? I didn’t arrest her.” My tone was sarcastic. Wrong call.
“He blames you.” A stab in the belly.
“How is that fair?” I scoffed.
“She wouldn’t have gone without you. She was taking good care of him before you showed up.”
“It was her idea to go to the mall!” I was panicking, stammering. “We, we needed a break. Dexter doesn’t know anything.”
“Dexter knows that he hates you.” Another stab, in the heart.
“Are you serious?” I was spinning. “I’ll go over there and explain everything.”
“Don’t. I’m only telling you this, warning you, because I love you.”
“Gee, thanks.” I finally made it to school. I sat on a curb to catch my breath. “If you love me so much, why didn’t you defend me?”
“Because I’m pissed at you, too.”
“What? Let me come over there. I’ll make it up to you!” I insisted, then begged.
“You can’t, you’re banned from the Lab. And I’m stuck here, remember? I have nowhere else to go.”
“Banned from the Lab?” May as well be dead. “Dexter’s a drama queen. He’ll get over it.”
“I doubt it.”
“I fucked up. We’re fuckups! How come I’m the only one getting punished? I can name like a million times all of us fucked up.”
“Leaving us for dead was not cool.”
“For dead? Come on. I sat with Dexter that night he overdosed. Y’all were just sleeping this time. Jesus.”
“You don’t get it. I didn’t believe Dexter. Because it was so unlike you. I couldn’t imagine that you left me.” Jake sounded heartbroken. He was a master manipulator and his tricks always worked on me. Usually. I was done being criticized. It was all anyone did to me lately. I needed a good comeback.
“You can’t believe I went to the mall? I can’t believe you ruined our scene!” The moment I said it I regretted it. What seemed like a power move a second ago became insane once released in the wild. Too late to take it back.
“What did you say?” His back bled from my stab. He had it coming.
In a moment like that you can either back down and lose or go harder and lose, with your head up. “You only brought problems to town.”
“I lost my house. I’m kicking my habit. How can you be so cruel?” His voice cracked.
My heart, guts, and brain hurt but my adrenaline sealed the pain in a Ziploc bag. There’s a fine line between feeling everything and feeling nothing. If I wanted to keep him I had to apologize, I knew that. But didn’t know how to. I was on a roll, toward something, and had too much momentum to halt.
“I’m not cruel. I’m honest.”
“Wow.” Was he crying?
“Jake?” I’d fucked up, big-time. “I didn’t mean it!”
“It’s cool.”
“Really?”
“I get it.”
“Thanks. Sorry, I’m just stressed. I love you!”
“I mean, I get it. Go home to your parents and forget about me.”
“What? Jake.” I yelled at the dial tone. He’d hung up. “No!”
His phone was off when I called back. I sat on the curb in a dumb shock until the last bell. More classes missed. Fuck it. I cried until everyone busted through the doors. A sea of schoolkids filling the parking lots. I did the unthinkable. Walked to the school bus lot and got into my old ride.
Everyone on the big yellow turd noticed my comeback. They seemed perplexed and excited. But I couldn’t enjoy the attention. A hole was ripped through my chest. All of my failures came up for air at once.
Everyone hates you. You’re banned from Dexter’s. Your boyfriend dumped you. And he doesn’t even know you’ve kissed Josh and Nosebleed. Poor Jake. The only one who loved you, and you threw it away. You don’t deserve him. You’re a bad person. A goner. Lost soul. A dog without a pack. Worthless without your crew. A nobody. Is a lone punk a punk at all? You’re outcast by the outcasts. Rejected by the rejects. A forlorn freak. No reason to live. Nobody wants you, not even that corny, nerdy music school for geeks. God, you fucked that up. For what? After all this you’re just heartbroken, forsaken, and flunking. At least you’re still popular at school. Hah. As if that matters.
Unless . . .
That’s it.
I had an epiphany and kicked the back of the seat in front of me. Carlos (the scary kid who always sat in front of me) spun around.
“What’s your problem, bitch?”
“I saw a spider.”
“Puta loca,” he muttered.
Yes. I was obscenely popular.
I had misread my whole situation. Mistreated my circumstances. Rejected a gift from the universe. Instead of running into the arms of fate I ran away and into bad company. A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity landed in my lap and I buried it in the dirt. I held something others wanted. Limitless power could be mine. How exhilarating. A new purpose to live. My new life would begin immediately. I had to yell at the driver “That’s my stop” when she drove past it. “Sorry, kid, haven’t seen you in a while,” she said.
It’s not the last you’ll see of me, bitch.
I jumped off the bus, stumbled to the ground, and dashed home.
My feet nearly fell out of my boots, which I hadn’t tied since fleeing Nosebleed’s. In his bedroom I had been a different person. My priorities totally mangled by my small-mindedness. I kicked my shoes off at the door and they flung in opposite directions. One almost hit my dog in the head. She took it as a playful invitation for fetch. With my boot in her jowls, she followed me to the kitchen.
I microwaved hot chocolate and made the call I’d been dreading. His info had been taped to our fridge for years. I blew on the hot chocolate while it rang. Pick up, dipshit.
“Durham music, this is Thomas.”
“Hey. It’s Kat.”
“She’s alive.” He sounded jolly, like Santa.
“Barely.”
“Your mom said you’ve been sick?”
“Sick of piano.”
“I see . . . so the audition . . . didn’t go well?”
“The audition went great. But I didn’t get in. Because you wrote me a crappy recommendation letter.”
“Hah. Did you read it?”
“No.”
“So how do you know it was crappy?”
“Because I didn’t get in.”
“Do you think there could possibly be other reasons for that?”
“No, I was amazing. My essay was, too.”
“What about your grades?”
I sipped the cocoa and burned my tongue. “Ouch. What about them?”
“Your mom says you’re failing school.”
“What.” This jolted me. I placed my hot chocolate on the counter so as not to spill it. “How does she know?”
“Moms know everything.”
“I’m going to hang up on you.”
“Okay. See you Saturday?”
“Yes.” I slammed the receiver down. “Ugh.” I screamed and pounded the counter. I wasn’t as slick as I thought. What a day of rude realizations. “Fuck.” My dog jumped up and put her legs on my waist. “Don’t worry, I’m not talking to you.” I petted her head. She licked my knee. I fed her a treat and made myself grilled cheese.
UNIVERSITY MALL
Infatuation, ecstasy, bliss, boredom, revulsion, rebellion, rejection, regret. Those are the phases of a relationship. I decided this after ruminating on what happened with Jake.
Without a social life or love life I had time to think. I did my best thinking while watching my favorite cartoons. Looking back on what I grew up with, my problems made sense.
Looney Tunes are packed with self-destructive characters who literally blow themselves up over and over again, never learning their lesson. Or maybe they want to die. But no matter how many times they set off firecrackers or drop anvils on their heads they’re stuck in another meaningless day. Endless, brutal, Technicolor chaos. Wile E. Coyote’s lifestyle inspired mine. Bugs Bunny taught the art of mischief. Daffy Duck installed disobedience in my psyche. I hated Elmer Fudd, so I hated authority.
All Dogs Go to Heaven ruined any chance of my having a healthy relationship. My first crush was Charlie, the hustling alpha dog who uses the little orphan girl to make cash. Oh, the romance of being exploited by a furry scumbag. I longed for such a relationship.
Jake and Josh were dogs but they weren’t Charlie.
Speaking of dogs, Scooby-Doo provided my second crush: Shaggy. A pothead who lives in a van. I was destined to be depraved.
“Can I help you?”
Some pimply waiter finally noticed me.
“Thank God. I thought I was invisible.”
“Excuse me?”
“Never mind. Y’all have a piano player?” I pointed to the baby grand in the back of the dining room.
“Sometimes.”
“Got any spots available?”
“Perhaps.”
“I could play weekends.”
“Um, we’d have to hear you first.”
“Well, duh.”
He glared at me. He hated me. Who didn’t?
“I’ll bring the manager,” he mumbled.
Southern Season was a gourmet grocery and restaurant in University Mall. It had an impressive selection of fancy candy, imported wine, and shiny kitchen tools for deranged housewives. It was the only place in the state where you could cop Kinder eggs.
