balance.
“But what do you think?” he asked, reaching out to help me steady myself.
“I think—” Before I could finish, Charlie was kissing me on the mouth and holding me tight, and when I opened my eyes, the moon was shining on his tender eyelashes, damp with cold moisture. He dropped his Marlboro in the road and smushed it out with his boot. He moved his hands to my waist and I caught them and slipped my fingers in between his. It felt good, his tongue moving in my mouth. Then I remembered. This was Charlie. My best friend. Not a boy. I remembered that I was my mother’s daughter—fighting this very destiny. (Fighting it and losing, because nothing ever felt more right in my life.)
When I could finally untangle myself, I said, “Dude! What’s up with that?”
He shrugged. “I dunno.” He kicked his feet around and said, “Figured we could both use the practice.”
A BRIEF WORD FROM THE DEAD KID
I regret everything that happened with Vera. Even back in grade school when I cut up that leprechaun picture. It’s hard to explain. As far as I was concerned, I didn’t have a choice. I was born to a man like my father and a woman like my mother, and I had to save Vera from myself.
This didn’t stop me from sneaking behind my own back a few times. The time I kissed her on the road on New Year’s Eve or the time I sent her flowers on Valentine’s Day were tests, I guess. Loving Vera Dietz was the scariest thing that ever happened to me. She was a good person from a good family. She could spell big words and remember to do math homework, and her father didn’t swear or drink like my father did. I know her mother was a stripper once, but that didn’t matter. Vera was classy.
The thing you don’t see while you’re still there on Earth is how easy it is to change your mind. When you’re in it and you’re mixed up with feelings, assumptions, influences, and misconceptions, things seem completely impossible to change. From here, you see that change is as easy as flicking a light switch in your brain.
I spent a lot of time on Earth wishing I could be as classy as Vera. I thought if I was, maybe we could have a future together. But I assumed I’d never be classy. And it was that feeling, and the helplessness and anger that come from a destiny like mine, that drew me to Jenny Flick—the girl who landed me here.
FRIDAY—FOUR TO CLOSE
Friday nights perk up around eleven. We close at one. There’s usually a run or two to Fred’s Bar at midnight, and parties—sleepovers with giddy preteens or drunken college dropouts who have access to beer.
Two orders come in before we shut the ovens off. Marie is already tossing toppings from the translucent containers into the trash, counting receipts, and double-checking them on the computer. By the time I’m back from the final run, she’ll have my totals ready, and James will be doing the dishes. Jill has already done the prep work for tomorrow, which is my day off, so all I will have to do is mop the floor, start the washing machine before we lock up, and go home.
When I leave, I stack up my orders in the car and have to run back in for a six-pack of Coke for the first stop. In the glass, I see James staring at the back of me, and I wonder has he daydreamed about me the way I’ve daydreamed about him. Maybe my father was right and a full-time job does mature a person. Maybe I’m twenty-three in my brain. Just old enough for James. Or maybe, since he dropped out of state college and started working at Pagoda Pizza, he’s more like eighteen. He waves as I stick the car in reverse, and I act cool and pretend I don’t see it.
First stop—a bachelor, half drunk. Doesn’t even look at me. Needs the Coke for more rum and Coke. I doubt he needs the small pepperoni at all. He tips me a dollar, and I get back in the car and feel Charlie there again.
He makes me put on heavy metal music. He tells me to drive places I don’t want to go, like Zimmerman’s. He warns
“But what do you think?” he asked, reaching out to help me steady myself.
“I think—” Before I could finish, Charlie was kissing me on the mouth and holding me tight, and when I opened my eyes, the moon was shining on his tender eyelashes, damp with cold moisture. He dropped his Marlboro in the road and smushed it out with his boot. He moved his hands to my waist and I caught them and slipped my fingers in between his. It felt good, his tongue moving in my mouth. Then I remembered. This was Charlie. My best friend. Not a boy. I remembered that I was my mother’s daughter—fighting this very destiny. (Fighting it and losing, because nothing ever felt more right in my life.)
When I could finally untangle myself, I said, “Dude! What’s up with that?”
He shrugged. “I dunno.” He kicked his feet around and said, “Figured we could both use the practice.”
A BRIEF WORD FROM THE DEAD KID
I regret everything that happened with Vera. Even back in grade school when I cut up that leprechaun picture. It’s hard to explain. As far as I was concerned, I didn’t have a choice. I was born to a man like my father and a woman like my mother, and I had to save Vera from myself.
This didn’t stop me from sneaking behind my own back a few times. The time I kissed her on the road on New Year’s Eve or the time I sent her flowers on Valentine’s Day were tests, I guess. Loving Vera Dietz was the scariest thing that ever happened to me. She was a good person from a good family. She could spell big words and remember to do math homework, and her father didn’t swear or drink like my father did. I know her mother was a stripper once, but that didn’t matter. Vera was classy.
The thing you don’t see while you’re still there on Earth is how easy it is to change your mind. When you’re in it and you’re mixed up with feelings, assumptions, influences, and misconceptions, things seem completely impossible to change. From here, you see that change is as easy as flicking a light switch in your brain.
I spent a lot of time on Earth wishing I could be as classy as Vera. I thought if I was, maybe we could have a future together. But I assumed I’d never be classy. And it was that feeling, and the helplessness and anger that come from a destiny like mine, that drew me to Jenny Flick—the girl who landed me here.
FRIDAY—FOUR TO CLOSE
Friday nights perk up around eleven. We close at one. There’s usually a run or two to Fred’s Bar at midnight, and parties—sleepovers with giddy preteens or drunken college dropouts who have access to beer.
Two orders come in before we shut the ovens off. Marie is already tossing toppings from the translucent containers into the trash, counting receipts, and double-checking them on the computer. By the time I’m back from the final run, she’ll have my totals ready, and James will be doing the dishes. Jill has already done the prep work for tomorrow, which is my day off, so all I will have to do is mop the floor, start the washing machine before we lock up, and go home.
When I leave, I stack up my orders in the car and have to run back in for a six-pack of Coke for the first stop. In the glass, I see James staring at the back of me, and I wonder has he daydreamed about me the way I’ve daydreamed about him. Maybe my father was right and a full-time job does mature a person. Maybe I’m twenty-three in my brain. Just old enough for James. Or maybe, since he dropped out of state college and started working at Pagoda Pizza, he’s more like eighteen. He waves as I stick the car in reverse, and I act cool and pretend I don’t see it.
First stop—a bachelor, half drunk. Doesn’t even look at me. Needs the Coke for more rum and Coke. I doubt he needs the small pepperoni at all. He tips me a dollar, and I get back in the car and feel Charlie there again.
He makes me put on heavy metal music. He tells me to drive places I don’t want to go, like Zimmerman’s. He warns
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