My Stupid Girl Read online

  Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if I moved an hour away.

  * * *

  I heard a timid knock on the door a few hours later as I drifted in and out of sleep. For the record, hospital beds are crazy uncomfortable. The knock couldn’t have been my new nurse. She just barged in every hour or so, knuckling the door as it swung open.

  "Yeah?" I said, hoping it was Lucy, but scared to death that it was probably, you know, Lucy. A set of sky blue eyes peered thru the crack she made by opening my door.

  It was Lucy.

  "Hey!" she said sweetly. She looked like she had just woken up. Her hair was tangled in the back, and her big eyes were droopy and puffy. She was shuffling over to me with her hospital socks, wrapped in a giant grey blanket. She’d ditched the beanie. With no hat on her head and no blanket bunched up around her chin, her neck looked longer. She was really pretty. I tried not to notice her shape, but she made it difficult because she was climbing onto my hospital bed.

  It was a good thing that the railing was up on the left side or I would have gone spilling off onto the floor.

  There I was, pinned up against a hospital safety railing next to a hospital-gowned beauty freak. I felt ridiculously uncomfortable with her that close to me and it surprised me that she was even willing to do that. She was always such a good girl. What was she doing this close to a male? Especially a dressing-in-black-and-wearing-makeup male like me.

  "Why are we here?" She held up her hand, gesturing at the situation more than the room. I chuckled. I knew what she meant.

  "Because we live in the kind of town where all the police officers are sent to a little fender bender. You’re okay, that’s what matters." We were going to be something they talked about for a long time.

  "Yeah. I wish we didn't have to be here at all!" She turned her full face towards me and bit her bottom lip. I closed my eyes. A kind of primal instinct to protect myself from whatever it was that was causing me to go into a stupor. I really did not want to deal with this gorgeous girl, chatting about the most epic event of her life like it was nothing.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, dropping her eyes down. I knew she dropped her eyes because I peeked.

  "Listen," I replied in a rush, "I’m guessing you feel bad, but… whatever, it happened. I'm glad everything worked out. You’re okay and that’s all I wanted." Dang, I just said that. "So, we don't have to talk about it anymore." I felt embarrassed and I was willing her to speak again. I wanted her to start up on the gowns before I started confessing that I would have drug her out of the lake with my teeth if I’d had to.

  "Yeah, OK!" She beamed at me. "What should we talk about?" She put a lot of emphasis on the world should. Unfortunately for Miss Peterson, she was asking the wrong guy. I was perfectly content with just sitting and listening to her talk. I held my breath for a minute hoping she would get it going for me. Eventually I had to breathe, and I shrugged my shoulders when I saw that she was still waiting for me to respond.

  It was moments like these when I realized I had been robbed of Social Skills 101 by having an adopted, alcoholic father. He’d never wanted kids in the first place but adopted one to appease his persistent wife. Then, she passed away in a car accident three months later. We didn’t talk about it. We didn’t really talk about anything. But even though the guy was a jerk, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for him, being stuck with a kid he never wanted and losing someone he loved.

  “Your girlfriend is pretty.” She spoke quietly.

  I looked up quickly but all I saw were her eyes glancing sideways in my direction, not committing her entire face to me.

  Girlfriend, what?

  Then it clicked.

  She must have been talking about Michelle, which was as funny as it was wrong.

  “How do you know that she’s pretty?” I asked, feeling a touch flattered by her jealousy.

  “Umm, I, ahhhh,” she stammered, unable to answer. She started gathering the blanket she had wrapped around herself and bunching it together. It was surprisingly adorable how she was unable to answer me. I wondered if this was her way of asking me if Michelle was, in fact, my girlfriend.

  The idea that she even cared made me happy. THAT led me to believe that I should inquire about the psyche ward. Possible Post Traumatic Syndrome was a definite possibility.

  “I was just saying, she seems nice.” Lucy finally answered, still not looking at me. If she had, she would have seen that I was smiling.

  But I’m glad she wasn’t looking. I let out a chuckle. I was caught. Time to be honest.

  “I think your ‘pretty’ line was better than your ‘nice’ line,” I said. She laughed that loud laugh she and her mother shared, but she looked questioningly at me. I let her suffer a few seconds before I ‘fessed up.

  “She isn’t my girlfriend,” I finally admitted. I don’t know why I felt it was important that Lucy knew this. I was going to be moving an hour away as soon as I got out of here. Chances were good I would never see her again.

  “Oh?” she said, the octaves in her voice going up a few pitches.

  “Nope.”

  “She kissed you, so I assumed.” Lucy was looking at me now, so she caught my “I’m not following you, you crazy person” look. The closest I had ever been to being kissed was about four hours ago, and it was by Lucy’s MOM!

  “You saw this?” I asked her, my voice dripping with doubt.

  “Well, yes. After the nurse closed the curtain, I heard her kiss you …” she trailed off. It dawned on me that she must have been referring to Isaiah making kiss noises at me. I was relieved to realize that she didn’t know it was on her account.

  “She isn’t my girlfriend,” I said again.

  “Oh,” she said quickly, dropping her strangled blanket and letting it breathe.

  "I like your lip rings." She changed the subject. "What are those called?" She took her pointer and middle finger and made a kind of peace sign and touched them on each end of my bottom lips.

  "Snake bite," I answered as I nervously fiddled with the right one.

  "I wanted to get my belly button pierced last summer but I chickened out." She seemed uninterested in the belly button thing but I knew she was trying to find something for us to have in common and I appreciated that. Nice gal.

  "You know what you should do is get a sleeve," I blurted out. What can I say? I was starting to warm up to her, beside me. How could I resist? Both of us looked like Death had warmed over us, chewed us up, then spit us back up because we were so disgusting it offended him. She looked at me questioningly.

  "A what?" Her right eye quirked up in sync with the right corner of her lips. It was the cutest facial question-mark I’d ever seen in my life.

  "A sleeve is the tattoo that goes up your whole arm." I reached across my body and touched her arm that was squished next to me. “You need something with a ton of color.”

  "Ah, right! That’s a fantastic idea David! Maybe you can take me?" Her voice dripped with sarcasm but she actually seemed kind of interested. I bet her parents thought tattoos were the devil’s work.

  "Sure, we can go get you an entire sleeve. We’ll go tomorrow." I answered her excited face with a half-smile. She answered my smile with one of her own and then lay back on the bed and didn't speak for a while, staring at the ceiling. I noticed her head drifting over, eventually resting against my shoulder. It was getting heavier and it wasn't comfortable, but I wasn't going to ask her to move it. I might be awkward and socially constipated but I’m not stupid.

  I really wanted to put my arm around her. I felt my resolve ping-ponging back and forth. I didn't feel like it would be unwelcome; she had climbed into my bed, after all. I decided. My arm slowly wrapped around her head and she readjusted, turning her body slightly toward me and sinking deeper onto my chest. Her neck was resting in my armpit and my arm draped over those hips. She let out a little sigh. I pulled up the blankets around her shoulders, straightening the hemline so it lined up with my own covering. Then I put my cheek o
n the top of her head and I laughed softly to myself. This whole situation was absolutely absurd.

  The day was turning out to be ok, after all.

  3. OVER THE RIVER AND THROUGH THE WOODS

  All good things must come to an end, so they say.

  The only good thing about the next morning was when Lucy’s parents and boyfriend came to take her home from the hospital. Nurses and orderlies freaked out for a few minutes until they discovered her in my room. The look on Mike’s face when he saw Lucy asleep in my bed, tucked under my arm was priceless. Pure comedy.

  I was happy to play a role in teaching an impressionable young lad some life lessons about being such an impressionable young lad. Like, give a crap about your girlfriend, for one.

  What I didn’t like was how they were all looking at me like I was the culprit. Sure, I wasn't kicking and screaming about the gorgeous creature curled up next to me, but I certainly didn't invite her. She was a big girl, she’d done it all on her own. But Mike didn’t seem to care; he had instantly dropped the grateful facade and his face had picked up a sour look, judging by the angry curl of his mouth. Lucy’s mom looked horrified, and her dad seemed concerned. A little thread of guilt started to curl around my stomach. I ignored it. Probably wouldn’t see these people again, anyway.

  Mike’s anger got worse when he had to poke Lucy awake. The first thing she did when she was awake enough to register there were people around, was look at me and say "oh, good morning David! You saved my life!" Then she giggled. Seriously. An early morning giggle from the most popular girl in school. Twilight Zone, check.

  As Mike’s face cycled through six shades of red and purple, Lucy stretched, scooted over, and flung her legs over the bed. Her parents’ faces changed from concerned, to relieved, as soon as their precious chick left the evil zone-my bed. But Mike still looked baffled. Lucy gave me a little wave and shuffled to her room between her parents, Mike trailed behind them with his tail between his legs. I patted my hair down quickly and decided to buy a real beanie as soon as I got the chance. The last 24 hours had been surreal and amazing. And they were done. I knew it and tried to avoid thinking about what came next. Within a half hour I was on my way to my grandmother’s house in the back of a police car.

  I was expecting to go to my father’s house to get all of my things but they told me that a social worker had packed up my things into a box that had already been delivered to my grandma’s. I couldn’t stop worrying that my stuff would be in less than perfect condition when I got there. If whoever packed me up knew anything about me, they were probably surprised when they walked into my room and saw how clean and orderly it was. They had to have been imagining a Goth kid’s room: black paint, posters of people cut in half, and a mess of clothes piled up waist-high. Some of my friends had rooms like that but I couldn't handle it. I liked to know were all my stuff was; I liked it all to go exactly where it belonged. I did have a few gargoyle statues, I guess that could have been weird but I liked the way they looked, like they were standing guard over something. They had this don't-even-think-about-it look on their faces that I could relate to. Besides, they were perfectly spaced on either corner of my dresser. Yeah, they were Goth, but they were meticulously placed (and dusted) Goth.

  I wondered briefly how my father was doing and if he was going to have to go to court again because of this. I'm glad I didn't have to see him. I know he wouldn't have done anything to me. He probably wasn’t drunk, and he sure wouldn’t have touched me with the police escorting me. But I just didn't want to see the shame on his face. I knew that, no matter what he did, he didn't want to be who he was. I didn't know much about alcoholism because I wasn't interested in the least in drinking after years of living with my dad. From what I saw, I could tell that it was something he hated but had convinced himself he needed. I think his loneliness was part of it. And then there was the stress of having a kid around that reminded him of his late wife. And how I had made her so happy. But then I also reminded him that she wasn't around anymore.

  He'd had a few short relationships after my mom died, through my younger years. Every time he broke up with a woman he seemed to go deeper into depression. That always seemed to affect me. The last real “girlfriend” he’d broken up with resulted in me being taken away from him for almost two years. My father had to do counseling and parenting classes to get me back. The weird thing was that (if my social worker wasn’t lying to make me feel better about it) he had shown up early and stayed late in every class, several times a week, for over a year. It seemed like he actually worked at getting me back and I often resented him for it. Things didn’t really change when I got back. We just both got more careful. I didn’t want to be back in foster care anymore than he wanted me there.

  Like I said, I was glad I didn't have to see his guilty face as I left again.

  The car ride went quick; the police officer who drove me was pretty cool. He didn't talk much except for a few questions here and there. He told me I was brave and he laughed when I rolled my eyes. I had asked him and the other one, who had taken off in another car, if I could just drive over there on my own. But they wouldn't let me near my car because I was under their care until they handed me off to my grandma. They weren't letting me out of their sight. They sure weren’t letting me drive anywhere on my own. I would have to figure out another way for me to get my car over to my grandma’s. All I wanted to do was get to her house, make sure my stuff was all together and take a shower. I wanted to fold some clothes, find spots for all my stuff, and put it all away in some kind of order that made sense to me. I wanted to lay face down on my pillow and listen to music. I definitely didn’t want to deal with human beings anymore.

  Yesterday I not only jumped into a freezing lake to save a complete stranger, I was undressed by the crazy Christians in my school and then I slept in a bed with the prettiest girl I would probably ever encounter in real life. More handshakes and more questions than I’d ever had in my entire life had come at me in the last 24 hours. Lucy had come in to hug me before she’d left for home and, to Mike’s chagrin she’d handed me her phone number on a piece of paper and told me she would "hunt me down" if I didn't call her. Near-drowning, near-nakedness, handshakes, sleepovers, questions, and a beautiful girl’s phone number. So, was this girl like, in my life now?

  I didn't even want to think about it, there was no use in getting my hopes up or stressing out about it.

  "Ok, David, looks like we’re here," Officer Hershman said as he drove into a little cul-de-sac in a middle-class neighborhood not much different from the one I lived in with my father. This one was a little nicer than my dad’s, with real lawns and fruit trees in almost every yard. My grandma, a little woman who must have weighed 96 pounds soaking wet, came walking over to the car. She was a hyper little thing who smelled like carrots and stale water. Her hair was short, a silver-gray, and thick. She wore it close-cropped to her head, not in those loose curls a lot of old ladies wear to hide their hair thinning out. She smiled at me when she reached the car; as she did her little face dissolved into a million tiny wrinkles, built up over a lifetime of smiling. She held my face for a moment, staring straight into my eyes, before she patted my right cheek with her knobby hands then let go. Even though I usually hated to be touched, it always kind of fascinated me that it didn't bother me when my grandma did that. She was the only one (before Lucy) who I had even let come that close.

  "David. You look awful.” She grinned at the cop as she said it. “Worse than usual." She wasn't kidding. That’s what I enjoyed about her the most. There was no sugar coating with her; she said it like it was. Take it or leave it.

  "Yeah, I could use a shower." I gazed down at her and realized I was actually happy to be here, with her.

  "Well, your stuff is in your room, dear." She gave me a nod that indicated I should go find it. I turned to the police officer who drove me here, gave him a hurried nod, and walked toward the house with my hands deep in my pockets. My grandma had stayed out
side to talk to the officer. It didn’t take too much imagination to figure out what they were talking about. I was almost sure I was going to be staying with her until I turned eighteen. I tried not to think about how Lucy would fit into that equation. I’d be going to a different high school. I hadn't given her my number and I had almost talked myself into the fact that I would never be calling her. Honestly, the thought alone of having her on the phone gave me a slight panic attack. Then I got a whiff of myself, smelling like dried pond water and too many hours without a shower. I picked up the pace.

  Grandma’s house was stuffy, but cozy-stuffy, not suffocating-stuffy. It smelled like old perfume and lavender tea. I walked down the familiar hallway, shuffling my shoes through old brown and white shag carpeting. At the end of the main hall was the little room I would be sleeping in. I headed toward it, passing a long display of photographs I knew by heart, but still couldn’t help looking at. It was always like the first time I’d ever seen them.

  My grandma told me a while back that my mom had wanted a baby so badly it was all she ever talked about. As soon as she’d started the adoption process she’d started buying baby things. She had a nursery set up for years before she got the call that they had a baby for her. From the way my grandma talked about it, the last three months of my mom’s life were some of the happiest she’d ever had. From what I could see in the pictures, it looked like she took good care of me. There were photos of her holding me, feeding me, and wrapping me in a bright blue fuzzy blanket. She was smiling in every frame.

  My mom wasn't particularly pretty in a conventional way. She had teeth that didn't seem to fit in her mouth the right way, like they would come spilling out if she opened too wide. Her nose was long and a little crooked. She had pretty eyes though, kind and genuine. And her smile was the kind of smile that just makes you happy looking at it. You know how some people smile and you kind of have to smile along with them, even if you’re having a terrible day? That’s how my mom looked, especially in pictures of all three of us. There was one bigger picture with my father and me in the front, and my mom behind us. I bent over to look closely at it, like I always did.