Aspen (21 page)

I taste it in my mouth.

“Are you okay, sweetie?”

“I didn’t mean to do it.” Panic chokes me.

“Didn’t mean to do what?”

I close my eyes, hoping for darkness.

“You’re high, sweetie.” I look at the person talking to me. I’m holding her long brown hair in my hands, but it’s not Katelyn anymore. It’s a stranger. “It’ll wear off. It’ll go away.”

I look at my clean palms.

“No it won’t. It’ll never go away.”

I push past the people in the ballroom and burst out of the building, scrambling for air. Reaching into my purse, I pull out my phone and squeeze it in my palm until my nails pinch my skin.

Then I cock my arm back and throw my phone against the building, shattering it to pieces.

I take off down the street. At first a slow jog, and then a dead sprint until I can’t hear the noise anymore. All I hear is wind in my ears.

I run until I’m standing in front of a one-story box house. I’ve never been inside. A blue tarp covers the roof and a red hummingbird feeder hangs from the tree in the front yard.

I knock on the front door.

Less than a minute later, a little girl with short black hair stands in front of me.

“Why are you sweating?” she asks without saying hello.

“I went for a run.”

“I recognize you from the homecoming game.” She furrows her brow. “You’re that girl named after a tree who won with Ben.”

“Yes. Are you that girl named after a boy?”

“Yeah,” Sam says. “You’re weird.”

I nod.

“What are you doing here?” she asks.

I look around, rocking back on my heels. “I don’t really know.”

“Do you want me to get my brother?”

I nod, and then shake my head. “I don’t really know that either. Do you ever feel like there are no answers in life?”

“I’m only ten.”

I snap my finger and point at her. “You’re lucky.”

Sam leans on the doorframe, scanning me from head to toe. “I like you better than the other one. She cried too much.”

“Katelyn?”

Sam nods and walks away, yelling, “Ben, Cottonwood’s at the door for you.”

He appears a few seconds later, out of breath. Ben’s eyes widen as he sees me, but he doesn’t say anything. We just stand there, staring at each other under the porch light.

“I’m high,” I finally say.

“And sweaty. Good concert?”

“Why aren’t you at the basketball game?”

“Because it’s over. Why aren’t you at the concert?”

“Because I’m high.” I pause for a second. “I can’t feel my arms.”

“That’s probably because it’s thirty degrees and you’re in a short-sleeved shirt.”

“Or because I’m high.”

“How’d that happen?”

“A hunter in a ski hat gave me drugs.”

“Do you want to come in?” Ben leans on the door.

“I don’t know,” I say, trying to peek past his tall frame into the dimly lit house. “I’m high.”

“Are you high?” He laughs, and his eyes are sparkly in the porch light.

“Has anyone ever told you that you have Snuffleupagus eyelashes?” I squint at him. My eyes are so dry I think my eyelids might stick to the ball.

“The elephant from
Sesame Street
?”

“I think technically he’s a wooly mammoth, elephant and dog combined. I could eat a pizza right now.”

“Probably hungry from the run.”

“Or because I’m high.”

“Or that.” Ben smiles. “You’re watching my eyelashes right now, aren’t you.”

“Totally.” I lean into his face.

“Come on.” Ben’s arm wraps around my shoulder and he pulls me into the house. I trip over the doorframe.

“What about your dad?” I whisper, paranoid, and stop still. “And Sam saw me.”

“He’s at work. And Sam’s seen worse.”

“Is your dad picking up cars that don’t work?” Ben nods, and I lean against the door, tired. “We should all just ride bikes. It’s better for everyone. Cars are messy.”

“But faster than bikes.”

“Exactly.” I point my finger at Ben. “Why are we in such a hurry?”

He carts me through the living room. A battered recliner sits, directed at the TV. Over the fireplace are pictures: Ben’s senior photo, Sam in a baseball uniform, a scruffy dad in coveralls standing beside a car with a proud look on his face. I stop at one and pick it up. It’s old and looks fake, like the photo that comes with the frame. A young couple with a small child stand in front of a small stucco house. All three faces are bright with smiles.

“Those are my grandparents and my mom at the first house they bought in the States,” Ben says over my shoulder.

“Where are they from?”

“Mexico.”

“I’ve never been to Mexico.”

“Me neither.” Ben smiles.

“Where do your grandparents live now?”

“They moved to Texas a few years ago.”

“I’ve never been to Texas, either,” I say. I set the picture back. “Sam looks like you.”

“She’s part Snuffleupagus. From our mom’s side.”

“I like when you talk about her.”

“Sam?” Ben asks.

“Your mom.” I smile. Or at least I think I smile. I can’t really feel my face.

Ben leads me into his room. The smell of folded laundry fills the air, making me want to curl up in his clothes. He sets me down on his bed and wraps a blanket around my shoulders. Then he squats in front of me. I try to concentrate on one spot, but the room is spinning. He steadies my swaying body and pushes my hair out of my face.

“Your room is a mess,” I say.

“I wasn’t expecting company.”

“I like it this way.”

“Messy?”

“Exposed.” I smile.

Ben cocks his head to the side. “Water.”

“A combination of two hydrogen molecules and one oxygen.”

“You need some. Wait here.”

When Ben leaves the room, I start investigating his mess. He’s got an old TV, as old as my car, sitting on a desk. It has bent antennae sticking out of the top and a DVD player attached to it. I sit down in his desk chair and pick up the one DVD sitting next to the TV.
The Wizard of Oz
.

I swivel back and forth in the chair, examining the DVD, and then set it down on the desk. Ben’s soccer letter and a picture of the team are tacked to a corkboard hanging on the wall over the desk. I lean forward, finding Ben in the sea of uniforms.

“Please tell me you didn’t look in the desk?” he says, as he walks back into the room.

“No.” I sit back in the seat. “Is that where you hide your porn collection?”

He pops a pretzel in his mouth. “Maybe.”

I take the bag. After a few bites, the pretzels feel like paste in my mouth. Everything is so dry. I chug the entire glass of water.

Pointing at a stack of folded boxers sitting in a laundry basket, I say, “You weren’t lying.”

Ben laughs and sits down on his bed. I wheel myself over until I’m directly in front of him. If my brain actually felt like it was sitting in my head right now, I probably wouldn’t do this stuff, but right now it’s on vacation. Or oozing out of my ear. Or left behind me in the Boulder Theater with Katelyn.

“Isn’t it weird that we never really see ourselves? We just see reflections,” I say.

“It’s a good thing I like your face.”

“It’s kind of depressing, though, that we never really see ourselves,” I say.

“Maybe life isn’t about seeing ourselves. Maybe it’s about letting other people see us.”

I smile and blink too slowly. “You sound like Dr. Brenda.”

“Who’s Dr. Brenda?”

“My shrink. I’m not sure if you know this but I’ve been through something ‘traumatic.’” I exaggerate the word and make quotation marks with my hands.

“Life is traumatic,” Ben scoffs.

I lean in closer, so we’re almost nose-to-nose. “Tell me something I can’t see.”

Ben studies me for a second. “Your left eyebrow always pops up when you’re about to say something smart.”

“I’m not smart.”

“That’s another thing you can’t see. You
are
smart. You just don’t try.” Ben smiles and moves closer. I can feel his breath on my face. It smells like pretzels. “Now do me.”

I pucker my lips and squint my eyes like I’m trying to think of something. But I really don’t have to try. “Your eyes change color depending on your shirt.”

“What color are they now?”

“Dark blue, almost brown.” We’ve never sat this close before. Or maybe we have; we sit practically arm to arm in physics class, but it doesn’t
feel
this close.

“Anything else?” Ben asks.

“You’re the best person I’ve ever met.”

Ben’s gaze moves down to his lap. “Don’t say that.”

“Okay. Pretend I didn’t. I’m stoned.”

He gets up and paces the room. “It’s just . . . unreasonable standards lead to unreasonable behavior. And I never want to be . . . ”

“Unreasonable?” I turn the chair to face him.

Ben stops in front of his desk. “Yeah.”

“Are you speaking from experience?”

“Maybe.”

“Was Katelyn . . . unreasonable?” I ask.

“Sometimes.”

“Sam said she cried a lot.”

“When did she say that?”

“Just now.”

“Well, Sam should mind her own business.” Ben’s hand grips the desk hard.

“Do you still miss her?”

Ben hunches over, resting his elbows on his thighs. “It’s getting better.”

“Are there pictures of her stuffed in your desk drawer? Is that why you don’t want me to look in there?”

“I can’t seem to get rid of them yet. But I can’t look at them either.”

“I guess we all try to hide the stuff we don’t want to see,” I say.

“Yeah.” Ben pushes off the desk and comes to squat in front of me. His eyes are stormy now, tense. “Let’s talk about something else.”

As he holds my gaze, so many more questions wrap around my brain. I don’t want to talk about something else. I want answers to who Katelyn was. I feel like knowing them might make everything better—or maybe it would get worse, but at least it wouldn’t be the same.

Ben puts his hands on my thighs, holding himself steady. The longer he keeps his eyes on me, the more I’m reminded that I know how he feels. I take a deep breath and let my questions go for tonight.

“Why do you have
The Wizard of Oz
?” I say.

“It was my mom’s favorite movie.”

“Maybe we could watch it?”

“Right now?”

“Well, I’m stoned, so now seems like an appropriate time.”

Ben puts the movie in the DVD player. I crawl across his bed and lie down, my head resting on one of his pillows. Ben scoots back and says, “I’m glad you’re here.” Then he nestles down beside me. His arm touches my arm and his leg touches my leg.

“Sometimes when you look at me I want to kiss your eyelids,” I say. “That’s what you can’t see in your own reflection.”

“Sometimes when you look at me I want to throw all the pictures away.”

“Don’t tell Ninny I got high,” I say, gazing up at him with tired eyes.

“Your secret’s safe with me.” Neither of us moves. For once, we just stay where we are.

When I wake up, Ben’s face is inches from mine. Everything is warm. His body curls around mine, holding me, his hands pressed into my back. I run my hand over his cheek and touch his hair.

Tears sting my eyes. I need to get out of here. The room is dark except for the television in the corner. The
Wizard of Oz
home screen sings on repeat.

I peel back from Ben and slide out of the bed, inch by inch. My clothes and shoes are still on. I run my fingers though my hair and pull out a pretzel. Oh, my God, I was high. Like floating in a hot air balloon with the Wizard himself about to soar over the Emerald City high. Ninny would be so proud of me. I vow at this moment never to tell her.

Holding my breath, I tiptoe out of the room. Before I leave, I take one more look at Ben. My clothes are still warm.

In the living room, I stop still when I see a grown man asleep in the beat-up recliner,
Automobile Magazine
spread out across his chest. Ben’s dad snorts, rolling over onto his side, and I jump. Shuffling across the floor, I open the front door, praying it won’t creak. Ben’s dad is a tow truck driver, which I know isn’t the same as a
truck
driver, but it’s the same genre of jobs. Truck drivers have hooks to replace the hands that they lost in Iraq—they’ve got bad tempers or prostitute problems. I don’t want to encounter that when my head is still kind of cloudy from the hash brownie.

I close the door as quietly as possible. Standing on Ben’s front porch, I’m cold. My breath crystallizes as it hits the air; I bend my knees until they crack. There’s only one way to get home.

Running down the street, I pass dark house after dark house of people asleep in their beds. I make it back just as the sun is starting to come up. Going in through the kitchen, I chug a glass of water. Sweat rolls down my forehead. It’s cold on my already cold skin. I pass Ninny and Toaster, asleep on the couch, spooning. His bare leg is draped over her waist and he’s snoring in her ear. Toaster’s greasy scalp is nestled into the arm nook of the couch, and I make a mental note to Lysol that spot later.