“Sam …”
I am sucking in air like a goldfish out of the bowl. It crosses my mind this is not an attractive thing to do but I can’t seem to help it.
“Are you okay? You want some water? I’ll be right back …”
Wait! I want to call out to him. Don’t go! Every second counts! I don’t care about water or your coat still being on! Come back! Tell me what’s happening! Tell me why I can’t seem to get enough air into my lungs!
“Here,” he says, holding a cup the Starbucks guy filled from the tap they use to rinse out the blenders.
I sip but I’m not sure I swallow the water or if it trickles out of the corners of my mouth.
“Just take a deep breath,” he says.
“Tell me what’s going on. What’s happening?” I ask.
“She knows.”
“I knew it,” I say. “I knew it—I was thinking it before you came in. She found out about the kiss. Did someone see us or something?”
“I told her,” he says. “Last night.”
He’s looking at me, wanting a reaction, but it doesn’t compute. I nearly have to shake my head clear of it like a cartoon character.
“Oh, my God,” I manage to say.
He is nodding his head.
“You told her?”
He looks down at his hands in his lap.
“Did you tell her we’re just friends? I mean, we’re just friends. You told her that, right? Did you tell her that?”
“No.”
“What then?”
“I just told her. I couldn’t take it anymore. It came out.”
“Oh, my God, Craig. Oh my God. What the hell? You couldn’t take it anymore? What does that even mean?”
I can see he’s drawing a deep breath, about to launch into a play-by-play. He’s come clean about the kiss and getting close to me and they’re going to counseling and they’ll reconcile and be even stronger because of it and la-di-da-di-da the sky will be bluer and the grass will be greener. I should want this for him. I should release him to his wife. Release him to his wife. Let him put his life back together. I’m unhealthy for him and even though it doesn’t feel that way, I suppose he is unhealthy for me. I want him to be happy. I have friends already, I don’t need him. I have Lynn. I can see more of her and that’ll be great. I’m glad for him. Really. Glad. Happy happy happy.
“Wait, where’re you going?” he asks. I am standing. I’m trying to put on my coat but one sleeve is inside out so it’s more complicated than it needs to be.
“I’ve got to go” is all I muster. My hand gropes through my purse for the car keys. Where are my fucking keys?
Thirty seconds later the entire contents of my purse pour out onto the hood of my car. A lipstick rolls off onto the pavement, a tampon shines brightly in the middle of the mess and there, tangled up in a fistful of receipts and the white cord to one of the kids’ iPods, there are my keys. I scoop everything back into my bag and as I walk around to the driver’s side I feel his hand on my arm.
“You forgot this,” he says, holding out my lipstick. “Sam, I told her I was leaving her. I can’t live like this anymore. I’m in love with you and I can’t not have you in my life. Sam? Do you hear me?”
I’ve never littered before but the travel pack of Kleenex is on the ground in a half puddle and I’ve decided I’ll leave it there. Then his words make sense in my head. Like I’d needed to look at the Kleenex to figure them out.
“Wait, what? What did you just say?” I ask this because I want to be sure I’m not imagining things.
“I’m in love with you,” he says. “And I can’t stay in a marriage that’s killing me.”
Oh, Jesus. Oh, God. What the hell happens now?
I’m back to confusion and pressure to come up with something to say. The more I try to wrap my brain around this the less I can. “I don’t know I don’t know I don’t know …” I say over and over again.
“Look, I should’ve said something but I honestly didn’t think I was going to do this right now specifically because I hadn’t talked about it with you. But Evie and I got in a massive fight and I started and once the words were out I felt this tremendous relief. She said she’d been suspecting something for a while. It’s messy, I know. And it’ll get worse before it gets better. But all I know is this one thing—I want to be with you.”
“I’m going to go now,” I say. “I’ve got to think about this. It’s too much to take in. I’ve got to … I’ve got to think.”
“Okay,” he says. “Okay.”
When I open my car door he stops me. “Just tell me, do you want to be with me? Even if you don’t know what to do right now, do you at least want to be with me? Look at me.”
“Don’t. Don’t do this,” I say. I start up the car and drive away with my purse still on my shoulder.
Cammy
I got hammered last night at Dave’s party. I don’t even know how I got back into my room without anyone finding out I left. Will came by and I finally stuck up for myself. I was already kind of wasted on some yellow pill I got from Paul and when Will tapped on the window I could barely lift it open. It’s one of those old windows with peeling paint and I think someone painted it shut a long time ago because it sticks and it’s hard to open even if I’m not stoned off my ass.
Anyway, Will climbed in and I was like, “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
And he was all: “Some guy Dave’s having a party. His parents are away and everyone’s there. Your girlfriend’s there.”
“What girlfriend?”
“That freak Monica something. She’s hooking up with like everyone.”
Every time we hook up Will’s nice until we get high and he gets a BJ so I knew he’d take me to the party.
The branches scratched my legs on the way down. I almost lost it and started cracking up but I pulled it together and we took off in his car. He got his license six weeks ago. I told him that was cool and congrats and then, stupidly, I went and put my arms around him and he was like what the fuck’re you doing? Whatever. I saw him with Stinky Ross the other day. Ricky and I call her Stinky because she wears so much of this shitty perfume that smells like roses mixed with mothballs. She smells like the inside of a grandmother’s closet. You can smell her coming from a mile away. Anyway, Will and Stinky were walking and he had his arm around her with his hand in her back pocket. They walked by me in the hall and I thought he saw me but it was between classes so it was crowded and he didn’t say anything when he walked by so maybe he didn’t notice me standing there by my locker.
So it’s been six weeks since Will got his license and this was the first time I drove with him. Turns out he’s worse than Bob. He doesn’t stop for stop signs. I said, “You know that was a stop sign back there, right?” and he goes, “What’re you my mother?”
We had all the windows down on our way to Dave’s and it felt like a wind tunnel but in a good way.
We walked up to Dave’s house and someone was puking into the front bushes but otherwise you couldn’t really tell people were over. Inside they were playing old Doors music. There was Monica, sucking back her green Gatorade she spikes with vodka or whatever she can get. Monica’s always got Gatorade with her. The first thing I saw at the party was her Gatorade. She came over a few days ago. I called her when Samantha was out somewhere. I did *67 so my caller ID didn’t show up. Maybe that’s why she picked up. I’m so freaking bored under house arrest. She came over to the house and the first thing she says is:
“Where’s the liquor cabinet?”
I showed her and she didn’t even ask, she just took the whole bottle of vodka.
“Nothing’s been opened,” she says. “Are your parents Amish or something?”
“Wait,” I said, “I’m gonna get nailed for this, not you.”
“It’s a new bottle,” she says. She barely makes a face when she swigs the vodka. She used to but now you’d think it was water the way she’s drinking it. “They’ll forget they even
got it. They won’t suspect you by the time they go for it.”
“They don’t forget things like that,” I tell her.
“Are they having a party?”
“No.”
“Do they have cocktails at night after work?”
“No. Well, my dad has scotch but that’s in the kitchen. He’d totally know if the scotch was missing.”
“So you won’t get caught. They won’t open the liquor cabinet for like months and they’ll forget they restocked in the first place.”
“How do you know they won’t open it?”
“Every bottle in here is dusty. It’s like where bottles go to die in here. When did you get so fucking paranoid?”
“I’m fucked up. Paul’s weed is so strong and I get all freaked out if I smoke too much.”
“Cool,” she says. She pours some of the bottle into her Gatorade and puts the lid back on to shake it up. “I’m outta here.”
“You just got here,” I say.
“It’s soul-crushing in here. There’s nothing to do.”
“We could get fucked up and we could watch a DVD.”
“What about your mom?”
“I’ve got a lock on my door and plus she never comes in,” I tell her. “I got some good shit from Paul.”
“You’ve gone all Cobain,” she says. “They said you were a pill freak but I didn’t believe them. Good little Cameron Friedman.”
“Shut up. Besides, my last name’s Wilkes now.”
“Friedman, Wilkes, what’s the difference?” she said. She went up the stairs before me and since she didn’t ask me I didn’t tell her I’d just decided to take my real mom’s name that morning. I haven’t told Samantha and Bob yet.
I think we watched a Will Ferrell movie but I’m not sure. I don’t even remember her leaving. I woke up when Jamie came in to get me for dinner and there was a string of drool to my sheets. I blew off dinner and no one seemed to notice. Sweet.
Anyway, this party at Dave’s. Most people were passed out already and Paul was there asleep with the needle still in his arm. I said Will should loosen the rubber band but he was like it’s his fucking problem so I went and did it. Then I went back to find Will but he’d disappeared. I looked around for him for a couple of minutes. Or maybe it was an hour. I don’t know. I crashed on the couch Jess was curled up on. After zoning out for a while I got up to go find him because I was tired and kinda wanted to go home but not like in a baby way, more just that I wanted to sleep in my own bed and not next to Jess who kept kicking her legs in her sleep. I went upstairs and there’s Monica giving Will a blow job. There’s the Gatorade on the floor next to her. Her hair was all messed up in the back. She was on her knees and the soles of her bare feet were facing up and they were like caked with black. Like she walked on coal.
I went back down and Paul was awake. Even though the last time I saw him he like pretty much raped me, I went over. He scooted over to make room for me and it felt good to curl up next to him. I was cold by then, I remember shivering and he put his arm around me and I didn’t want to move because I wanted us to stay that way all night. He was all dreamy, his eyes were glossy and he leaned forward to cut white powder.
“It’s a new needle, I’m the only one who’s used it and I’m clean so it’s basically new,” he said. “Don’t worry. You’ll love it.”
He didn’t pull the rubber band too tight but it stuck to my skin and pinched anyway. I watched him like it was a science experiment. The lighter under the spoon. The boiling liquid. The syringe pulling it in. The tapping with his thumb and first finger. Him touching the inside of my arm, rolling a vein, patting it. Right as he leaned in I thought of Dr. Dann, the kids’ doctor I used to go to. The bowl of lollipops at the counter was always full but they weren’t the good ones with Tootsie Roll inside. Still. Blocks, toy fire trucks and Highlights magazines all around the waiting room. The last time someone patted a vein on my arm was when Samantha took the three of us to get tested for lead poisoning. The boys had their fingers pricked but I had to have a regular shot because I was old enough. Now it’s Paul the burn boy sticking the needle into me. Maybe it’s the same vein Dr. Dann used. Wouldn’t that be weird, I thought. When I woke up he was on top of me. Right there on the couch. In front of everyone. His sweat dripped onto my face and he was grunting. I think I passed out again because I totally don’t remember anything else.
Samantha
I have Damien Rice’s “Cold Water” playing over and over in my ears. I’m shaking uncontrollably even though it’s warm in the bedroom. It’s a fluish shivering, where your bones throb and ache and your skin gets clammy. Your teeth chatter under the thickest comforter. I’m lying on my side on the bed, hugging my knees, and I still can’t warm up.
I must’ve dozed off—suddenly Bob’s towering over me. I take out one ear:
“What’s wrong?” he’s asking. He says it like he’s impatient to get to the point of why he came in.
“I don’t feel well.”
“What’s the matter?” He looks genuinely concerned.
“Nothing. I just want some alone time.”
“Oh. Okay. Well, when you’re done, can you come sign the taxes? I want to get them in the mail tomorrow so we don’t have to wait until April or May for a refund.”
He pads off in his Birkenstocks that have perfectly formed to his feet.
“Cold Water” has started over again.
This is what it’s come to. A decision I think I always knew I’d have to make. Craig did it. He took the leap. He got himself out and he loves Lexi as much as I love my children. It’s no different. If he can do it, I can, too. And maybe it’d be better for the kids. I’ve seen the way Jamie shrinks when Bob and I talk to each other. Andrew would adapt to just about anything. Cammy will be Cammy and frankly I wonder if she wouldn’t do better without Bob. At least temporarily. I could concentrate on her. I could work on her instead of trying to breathe life into a dying marriage.
I could be alone for a while. I could be a better mother. Craig and I could date. Like real dates. We could do normal things like go to the movies. Restaurants. Out with friends. Lynn would like him. So would Mike, even though he’d pretend not to out of allegiance to Bob.
Otherwise I’ll have to give up Craig. He’s forced a choice I’d wanted him to make. I guess I never thought it’d come down to me. How can I live without Craig? How can I go back to the way things were before we met? But sharing the kids with Bob? Handing them over every other weekend. I see those couples in the McDonald’s on Foster with the indoor playground. Overnight bags and backpacks dumped into the backs of other cars. The couples try to hide the tension when the kids run over to ask if they can do the highest slide. Or the twisty one. The parents force smiles and say sure because neither one wants to be unpopular. I can’t be one of them.
But life without Craig? Unimaginable. Waiting until this marriage disintegrates like a piece of paper floating on the lake? Unthinkable. But that’s what we’re doing. We’re sinking.
Cammy
It’s that almost-dark before the streetlights flicker on, the twilight where you can see figures moving but if you were throwing a pitch in the street you wouldn’t be able to see the ball. Kick the can dark.
Stop pulling me. Get your hands off of me. Am I saying this out loud? I can’t hear my voice. I can’t recognize whose talking. Where am I? Can anyone hear me?
Behind my head it’s warm and wet. I can feel it. Stop lifting me up. Why can’t I say that out loud? Someone’s pulling at my shoulders but my head flops back. Stop or it’ll snap off like an old-fashioned doll’s popping out of its torso.
I can’t open my eyes but I can hear blurred words floating somewhere near me.
“Talk to me,” it’s saying. The shadow over me. It’s not a shadow it’s the sound a blob would make. Charlie Brown’s teacher waugh-waugh-waugh.
“The ambulance is on its way. Stay awake. Stay with me.”
If I could just be left alone I
could sleep. God, I’m so tired. Soooo tired. Let me be. Just back off, whoever you are. Can’t you see I’m floating? Can’t you see I’m dying? Finally …
“I’m lifting you into my car,” it’s saying. “We’re not going to wait for the ambulance. It’s taking too long. My car’s right here. The door’s open so all we have to do …”
Just leave me here. I’m in my bed, right? Why are you taking me out of my bed? It’s cold. I’m so cold. I can’t stop shivering. Where’s my blanket? Why is my bed so hard? Wait, I’m in my bed, right? Or am I?
“I’m going to lift you,” it’s saying. “I’m going to get you in the car. The front of you first. On three. One-two-three …”
Ahhhhhh! Stop! Don’t move me. Get your hands off of me. Can’t you see I’m dying?
“That’s good, that’s good,” it’s saying. Waugh-waugh-waugh. “Now I’m going to pull you in from the other side. We’ll get you in, I promise. Almost there.”
I hear your footsteps. I can hear you. Why can’t you hear me? Why aren’t you listening to me? Can’t you hear me? I’m talking to you!
Now we’re moving. Or I’m floating. Bumpy-floating. I can see myself from above. I’m crinkled into the backseat of a car. My legs, even though I can’t feel them, my legs are folded into a V against a door.
And the voice won’t stop. It’s a play-by-play.
“We’re only a block away. Almost there. Now we’re turning at the Exxon station. Here we go. Nice and gentle. I’m going through the light at the orthodontist office at the end here. If they stop me I’ll finally have an excuse.”
There’s a laugh. A blob laugh. Shrek. Or a freak from Lord of the Rings. Mad Max. Matrix. Blob. Blob blob blob. What’s so funny, blob?
Here’s me saying Rage Company with Ricky chiming in.
SNAP: Andrew’s and Jamie’s faces when I tried on my soccer clothes: they’re pumping their fists in the air like they’d been waiting all their lives for me to play soccer with them.