Archives: June 18-June 24, 2006

June 18, 2006

Veronica hits her neon green ball past a windmill onto the green. We're at this nice mini-golf place about a fifteen minute drive from her house.

“Nice shot,” I say, before hitting my own blue ball into the windmill for a second time, though this time it only bounces back a couple feet.

“Thanks.” Veronica calls from the other side of the windmill. I hear the tap of her club, and a moment later, she goes on, “In on three strokes.”

I take the scorecard from my pocket. “Par four. Not bad.” Still holding the scorecard and pencil, I succeed in tapping the ball past the windmill this time.

It rained late last night, cooling things off a little bit. It's back up to the mid-70s, but at least that's cooler than the last couple days—and there are clouds to obscure the sun. Unfortunately, the cooler weather hasn't done a thing to help Veronica's mood.

I knock the ball just short of the hole, then knock it in to make par. “So, is everything all right?” I ask, bending over to pick out my ball.

“Yeah, why do you ask?”

“No reason. You've just been, you know, a little aloof the last couple days. I'm leaving in a couple hours, and it's like we've hardly even talked.”

“Well what did you want to talk about?”

“I don't know. Tell me about your internship—”

“I've told you everything there is to know about the internship,” she snaps back. She moves her hair from her face with one hand. “I'm sorry. It's just that we talk on the phone all the time. You know all there is to know about the internship—just like I know all there is to know about your job, and the contest, and Anastasia.”

“So this is about Anastasia?”

“No.” She exhales loudly. “Maybe a little. It's just—it's like all we do is talk in circles about this same stuff.”

I lean in and kiss her hard, pushing my tongue through her lips. She pulls away.

“ Preston , back off.”

I just look at her for a second. “We've hardly even kissed since I got her. Veronica, what is going on?”

She turns from me, walking toward the next hole. “It's not like kissing is going to solve anything. That's just the easy way to get around talking.”

“So what else do you want to talk about?”

Veronica turns to me again. “I don't know. Maybe that's the problem. I don't know what to talk to you about.”

“Then try me. Ask me anything you want.”

“I'm not sure there's anything I want to know.”

I can feel myself getting hotter, gripping my club tighter between my fingers. “What's that supposed to mean?”

She sets the base of her club on the ground, and follows it with her eyes. “ Preston , you're just a lot younger than I am. And it's not that I don't like you—but you just finished your first year of college, and you hang out with Matt all day, and work in a clothing store—”

“So what—because I don't have some fancy internship, you can't talk to me?”

“I'm saying that you're in a very different place in your life right now. And when you talk about Anastasia, all I think is that she would mean more in your life if you weren't so worried about me—and that maybe she should.”

“Veronica, I hate Anastasia.”

She shakes her head. “That's what you say now.”

“Because that's what it is. I hate her—and I love you.”

It's the first time I've said that to her. Not the first time I've thought, but the first time I've actually said the words.

“And maybe that's a problem. Because I like you a lot, Preston , but I can't say that I love you.”

She had might as well have just hit me over the head with her club and ran. Lying here bleeding, I can't imagine it would have hurt as much as actually hearing her say that.

I put a hand on her upper arm, and rub it slowly, up and down. Her skin is perfectly smooth. “It's okay if you can't say that you love me right now. But come on, this is us. We'll work on this.”

“There's nothing to work on.” She looks at me again, her eyes a little watery. I want to hug her, but I feel like my feet are stuck to the ground. “Us—this relationship—it's just not working. I'm sorry, but I think this is it.”

June 19, 2006

“Hey bro,” Matt says, meeting me at his front door. “I've been trying to call you.”

“Yeah.” I take out my cell phone and move it around in my hand. “I've had it off since I left Veronica's yesterday.”

“You all right man? You sound kind of down.”

“Veronica dumped me.”

Matt moves a hand to his head, running his hand through his messy brown hair. “Shit dude, I'm sorry. Here, come on in.”

“Actually, would you mind coming out? I actually walked over because I felt like I needed some air.”

“Yeah, absolutely,” Matt says, pushing the door open and coming out, barefoot in gym shorts. We sit down on his front steps, each leaning against the opposite railing from other, a few feet between us.

I tell him about the weekend. I tell him how we hadn't been having the best conversations leading into it. I tell him how nothing was really right when I was at her place. I tell him about the talk we had at the mini-golf course, and then the long ride home.

“Do you think she was right?” Matt asks when I'm done.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean it was shitty for her to have you drive six hours to see her, only to break up with you,” he says, pausing to slap at a mosquito on his arm. It's night, and the bugs are out in force. “But do you think she was right about that whole thing—being in different places in your lives?”

I lean back, looking up at the sky. “Fucked if I know. I mean, yeah, on some level. She is doing her big internship, and I am just a cashier, and she is going to be a senior, and I'm just going into sophomore year. But it's not like any of that's news. And so what if she's older than I am—what matters is that we enjoy being together. What's the point of getting ahead of that?”

“No point in it,” Matt answers.

“It's just—” I stop, stretching my leg down the steps. “It's just, I get that she's older and she's got to be thinking about the future. But I was really falling for her. Fuck, I told her I loved her.” Even saying it, I feel myself getting short of breath, the same way I did when I was talking to her at the mini-golf course, and the same way I did every time I replayed that moment in my mind along the drive home—the longest six hours of my life.

“Girls do that to you. Hell, I thought I was in love with Julie senior year.”

“Julie? The girl you went to every length possible not to call your girlfriend?”

“Doesn't matter what you call it. A girl can get under your skin like that.”

I nod, glad that he can understand as much as anyone could. Of course, the only one who could really make me feel better now is Veronica herself. I think about how I felt about her—everything I said and did. I think about how I gave up Emma for her. I think about everything we ever were, and wonder what it all adds up to now. I sigh.

“What?” Matt asks.

I look at him, then out at the street. “Nothing.”

June 20, 2006

The sun's going down. I'm alone here at the park, shooting hoops, glad that there aren't any other players around. I've been blowing off Matt's calls all day. I know he means well, and would try to make me feel better. Hell, he might even succeed at it. Maybe tomorrow I'll take him up on an invitation, and end up at The Palace or something to drink my sorrows away. But today, I've just been in the state of mind where I don't want to feel better.

On the court, I find myself playing the sort of stupid games I would play when I was younger. If I make this shot, it means Veronica will call me when I get home. If I hit better than seven out of ten from the free throw line, she'll take me back when we get back to Taylor .

And then there are other moments when I pound the ball hard against the pavement, dribbling wildly, pulling crossovers on defenders who aren't there, before taking my shot, and overshooting it, sending it careening off the backboard.

I turn around sometimes, with the sensation somebody's watching me. There's no reason to think it would be Veronica, but I think so anyway, without fail.

There's never anyone there.

The funny thing about a romantic relationship is that you put all of your trust in someone. You take someone who, in the grand scheme of things, hasn't meant a thing in your life—somebody you probably only met a short time ago. There's an attraction, some flirting, maybe some dating, and then, all of a sudden, that person is all that matters to you. You take this person you hardly know and put her on a pedestal. You tell her everything, and you're always waiting to hear more for her. And then it's over. Just as fast as she came into your life, she's gone. It hurts, and you'd give anything to have her back.

She's not coming back.

I dedicate every jump shot to Veronica, but tonight, there's just as much of me that hates her as there is that loves her, and I know that even if she did come back, things wouldn't be the same.

She's not coming back.

I think about what I did to Emma. I think about how much she must have trusted me, and how I'd might as well have dumped her for all of my cheating bullshit. It seemed right to me. I was falling for Veronica, and I thought that was the most important thing. Veronica probably thinks that it's important for her to look out for her future, and she doesn't see me as a part of that.

I think about Matt and Julie. I think about my own mother and father.

It's enough to drive a guy insane.

June 21, 2006

“Here we go,” Matt says, setting to pitchers of Miller High Life on our table at The Palace. Chang's here too, and Matt let in Joey through the backdoor, because he doesn't have a fake ID.

I'm in a state of mind where all I want to do is talk about Veronica. No one likes that guy, though—the one who can't talk about anything besides his ex. And so, I drink quietly and quickly, looking out at the bar around us, while the guys talk about any hot girl who walks by, or people they recognize from high school, or the NBA Finals. I feel bad because I know Matt must have called the other guys in the interest of a team effort to cheer me up, and I know I'm not making their job any easier by ignoring them.

I pour myself a third cup.

Johnny Reed is at a near corner of the box. Julie's there too, and some of their other friends. They're playing some drinking game with a deck of cards, and Johnny yells every few minutes, high fiving his buddies.

I hate that motherfucker.

“So hey,” Chang says, “I was thinking we should all get a trip together—head out to the beach for a day or something.”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Joey says. “What do you think Preston ?”

I shrug and down the last of my cup, reaching for the pitcher again. “Could be fun.”

“Yeah, it could be,” Matt says, watching me closely. He's thinking about telling me I should slow down, or about ‘accidentally' knocking over my cup. He knows me well enough to know that I know what's on his mind, though, and doesn't do a thing. “Of course I'm gone tomorrow for that camp gig, so I'm probably out.”

I get up without saying anything and head to the bathroom, letting loose one hell of a piss. Staring down at the dirty bowl, I start to get a little dizzy. Probably did down those first few drinks a little too fast. I try to wash my hands but there's no soap in the dispenser. I wonder if they ever put soap in them, or if they're just there for show.

I go back and its more of the same. An hour passes, and Joey's telling the tale of some girl he claims he bagged last semester. Johnny and his friends are stilling yelling behind us. I finish my sixth beer and go up to the bar.

“Maybe we oughta call it at that,” Matt says at last.

“What you don't want anymore?”

“Na, I'm good, and Chang here's DDing.”

“Joey?” I ask.

“I think I'm all set.”

I look at them all for a minute, standing over them. “We'll just one more pitcher then.” No one gets up to stop me. I'm drunk now—no question about it. I stagger to the bar, fighting with my back pocket to get my wallet out. I shoulder past the people at the bar stretching out my hand, with a ten dollar bill.

I take the pitcher and leave the bill, not looking for any change. Let the bar tender have a decent tip. God knows most of the idiots here aren't tipping at all.

Turning back, I see we've got company. Johnny Reed has made his way over to our table. Julie's behind, trying to grab at his arm, usher him away. He keeps tearing his arm away. He's looking violent. His buddies look on from over at their table.

“You think you can get her back or something, geek?” Johnny asks. He shoves at Matt's chest nearly tipping him over. Matt gets up from his chair and backs up a step. “Get off me,” he says, not only tearing his arm from Julie but shoving her back a little ways.

“Johnny, just relax,” she says, standing back this time.

Johnny only moves in on Matt, this time shoving him full force, sending him into the wall. “I don't want you talking to her. I don't want you calling her. I don't want you sending any of your faggy IMs. Fuck, you don't even think about her.”

“I don't have any problem with you, Johnny,” Matt tries.

“You don't want a problem you stay away from her.”

Chang and Joey are just sitting there.

“Leave him alone,” I hear myself call out. I probably shouldn't get involved, but fuck it.

“Excuse me?” Johnny says, turning to me.

I go with it, and slam the pitcher down on are table, splattering half of it down on the table and my hand. “I said leave him alone.”

“Yeah, well don't think I'm letting you off. I know you've been talking to her too.”

“To Julie, she has a name you fucking idiot.”

“What did you say?” He takes a step toward me, spitting as he talks.

“She has a name, and yeah, people fucking talk to her. She's a human being.”

“Yeah, and she's my girlfriend.”

“Everyone makes mistakes.”

He grins. “You want a fight, Burns?”

“Hi school's over, Johnny. Why don't you just back off.” I step past him and start to pour a beer.

Johnny smacks the pitcher from my hand, so it splashes on me, Julie and the ground. I'm still gripping the handle, my knuckles turning white. “Come on Presto, give me your best shot.”

I smash him. He barely finishes the sentence before I level him.

The clear plastic of the pitcher bends and cracks, cutting my hand. Johnny's on the ground and holding his face.

I hear a “holy shit” from Chang, then Matt's got my arm.

“Come on, let's get out of here he says.” I see a couple big dudes coming toward me, wearing Palace t-shirts. I'm not sure where I'm going but the guys are half carrying me. I steal a look back and see Johnny's still down. Next thing I know we're out the back door.

“Let me go,” I say, pulling away from them, and promptly hurling all over the sidewalk.

June 22, 2006

“Hey man,” Matt says when I meet him at the other side of my front screen door.

It's bright outside. My head is throbbing and I squint at my first sight of daylight, while he peers back at me through the shade of black sunglasses.

“What's up?”

“Figured I oughta say so long before I head out for the summer,” he says. Past him is his old car, all packed up for him to leave for his camp job. I knew he was leaving today, but somehow, that fact got displaced in the jumble of everything else in my life. “That and, make sure you're doing all right.”

I chuckle. “Guess I was in pretty rough shape last night, huh?”

“Not as rough shape as the sidewalk you chucked on. And not as rough shape as Johnny Reed.”

“Serves the son of a bitch right.” We both laugh.

“Thanks for that, by the way.” Matt peers at me from over the sunglasses. “I know you weren't exactly of clear mind when you decided to do that. But I appreciate it anyway.”

“You know I've got your back.”

“You do.” Matt nods. “So you gonna be all right with this whole Veronica thing?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I'll be all right.”

“Well you be in touch, all right man? And you'd better visit.”

“You know it.” I push the door open and step outside. We shake hands. “Take care. Go out there and get some ass for the both of us.”

Matt lifts his hands in the air. “I'll do what I can. You keep an eye on the home front.”

“Will do.”

It's funny that the two of went months without seeing each other at college, but when Matt turns to walk back to his car today, it feels like we're really saying goodbye. I guess it's because I'm staying behind this time, to handle ‘the home front' on my own. I turn around and go back inside.

June 23, 2006

I run a vacuum around a discount rack in the back of the store, almost done vacuuming the whole store. It's one of the better jobs at the store—the sound of the vacuum overpowering the teeny-bopper music that's always playing, and letting me zone out for a while.

When I'm done I make my way back behind the front counter. I stoop down to pick up some returned clothes so I can move them into the back.

“So I know Jermaine helped you.” Anastasia says as a customer walks away from her at the register.

“What's that?”

“I overheard Jermaine talking about the contest, and I know he helped you cheat.” “I don't know what you're talking about.”

Anastasia turns to me for the first time. In spite of myself, I can't help but notice that she's looking good standing over me in her pink polo shirt and short khaki shorts. “Don't play dumb. You're dumb enough as is.” It's strange because it's not like she's saying anything I wouldn't expect, but she's louder than usual, and really looking at me. I think she's really upset.

I stand up, holding the returns in one arm, my hand still bandaged from the other night.

“I knew you couldn't beat me,” she goes on. “You did better than I expected, but I knew you couldn't have sold that many shirts.”

I shrug. “All right, you got me. Jermaine volunteered to help me out. I took him up on it.”

“I just can't believe you cheated and let me think I had actually lost.”

“Well I don't know how many tags Jermaine put in my jar, so you can't really say if I would have won anyway.”

“You only had two more tags,” she reminds me. “You lost.”

I'm feeling warm in my face, almost guilty. A customer comes up the counter, and I use this moment to escape the conversation. Shaking my head, I realize that the plan Jermaine and I shared, to put her in her place, has backfired—only giving her more reason to hate both of us.

June 24, 2006

“What do you think about this one?” Chang asks, holding up a red and yellow striped tie.

“It's a little loud,” I say. I ran into Chang in the mall on my way out of work and some how would up shopping for ties with him. “What color shirt are you wearing with it?”

“I want something to go with my red button up. You know red is good luck in my culture.” Chang arbitrarily accepts and denies all connection to his adoptive parents and their culture.

“Well your hair should take care of all the luck you'll need then,” I say.

Chang leafs through some more ties. “So I didn't tell you yet, I got some kind of exciting news yesterday.”

“What's that?”

“Got a letter from Taylor College . I'm on the waiting list no longer.”

“What's the verdict.”

“I'm in.”

I look up, smiling. Chang went to Shermantown Community College this past year and talked about transferring. I remember him talking about wanting to go to Taylor , then telling me he got waitlisted. “No shit?”

He nods. “ Taylor College , here I come this fall.”

I laugh, making my way around table, over to him to shake his hand. “Why don't you tell somebody? Congratulations!”

“Thanks bro. I'm going there sometime next week to sign some paperwork, get all set on my dorm and everything. Was actually going to ask if you wanted to come with.”

“Little late to ask off work. But let me know when you're going and I'll check it when I have my schedule.”

“Good stuff. Probably toward the weekend.” Chang fishes out a blue tie with little red diamonds scattered on it, and turns to me again, eyebrows up.

“Better.”