Nothing Special (13 page)

Renee was smoking with a homeless guy outside. This station is just surrounded by empty parking garages and it's dark out there. I had to walk to this back alley to find her (because she wasn't in the bathroom when I called in for her). I crept around the corner, ready to punch and kick (my backpack on, which might have slowed me down). And there she was, smoking. I sort of freaked. I shouted, “What the hell are you doing?” at her.

She said, “Cool down, man child.”

The homeless man laughed. “That your beau?”

“No, he is not,” she replied.

I always expect the worst, Aleah. By the time I left the station looking for Renee, I expected I'd find her murdered body. Expect the worst. If things go wrong, I expect they will go very wrong. Yes, it will get dangerous. Yes, you will be terrified.

I expect the horror movie, which is seriously messing me up.

• • •

You can imagine how I felt, then, out there in that restaurant parking lot with Gus when someone started pounding on Gus's car window.

Murderer!

Okay. The passenger chair in Gus's Celica is broken, so it doesn't tilt back so I was asleep sitting straight up, my head lolled forward, drool flowing out of my mouth, I'm sure. And then, the pounding. Or, maybe, more like tapping. I flinched awake. “What?”

“Shit,” Gus said, trying to sit up from his rolled-way-back chair.

“Does he have a gun?” I shouted.

“Cops?” Gus cried.

“Open the window,” a voice came from outside.

“Don't. They might shoot you,” I said.

Gus managed to get his seat up after kicking the steering wheel a couple of times trying. “They might shoot me through the window too. What's stopping them?”

“Let's go. Let's go. Drive out of here.”

Instead, Gus rolled down the window. It was so dark in the lot that I couldn't see who was out there. “You're not a cop,” Gus said.

“You're not Felton,” a girl's voice said.

Gus reached up and turned on the dome light. I could see the girl had a hoodie on, but I couldn't really see her face. She could see me, though.

“That's Felton,” Gus said.

“Oh. Shit. Yeah,” she said. “That's a big bruise.”

“I punched him,” Gus whispered.

“Okay. Are you Gus?” she asked.

“Yeah.” Gus nodded.

“You're not even close out here. We have to go to Fort Myers Beach. It's like a half hour. Follow me, okay?”

“Okay,” Gus said.

She left the window and climbed into a car parked a couple slots away from us. Gus turned to me and said, “Did you see that?” His eyes were wide.

“Who was she?” I asked.

“Has to be your cousin. I mean, cuter, but looks like your sister. I can't believe she found us.”

“How old is she?”

“She's driving. Maybe our age or something?” Gus said.

The car, which I could only assume contained my cousin, Tovi, backed up and then slowly drove out of the parking lot. Gus followed. The Celica clock said 5:05, so it was 6:05 Eastern time. 6:05 in the morning.

“She's driving a Beemer, dude. You think she has a Beemer?”

“Probably, since she's driving it.”

“Nice car if you like that kind of thing.”

Down McGregor my cousin drove, ten miles under the speed limit. Gus was on her tail like a dog nose to a dog buttock.

“Maybe she's underage, man. She drives like a grandma.”

The word “grandma” freaked me out. “Oh shit,” I said.

“Wish she'd speed up. I have to take a piss,” Gus said.

For about ten minutes, we followed her back through the neighborhoods we'd been through a few hours earlier and then, for another ten minutes, into ones we'd never been in. My heart totally pounded.

Then at an open stretch of road, out of no place, the girl (Tovi) gunned it. She blew out to like 85 miles per hour.

“Whoa!” Gus shouted. He hit the gas but was behind her a long way immediately. “Definitely a Reinstein,” Gus said. “Weird as hell.”

I just nodded.

“At least she's moving. Bladder. Bad.”

Tovi slowed down and we caught up. (Gus said, “Nooooo….”) The sun started lighting the sky all blue, orange, and purple. Tovi slid around a right curve in the road, gunned it like crazy on a straightaway, and then slowed way down so we could catch her as she slid around a left curve.

“Another straight run of road now. Wonder if she'll hit a hundred?” Gus asked. “Go, girl!” he begged.

But she didn't go fast. She went very, very slowly so we were right on her tail. There was enough light that I could see she was alone in the car, no Andrew. I could also tell that she was staring up in the rearview, on occasion. Looking at me?

It was light enough that I could see we were on the water. Between little ramshackle buildings, great stretches of water appeared.

The sight of it made my heart pound. (Even though I was plain freaked about this girl, I still felt excited.) “Is that the ocean, man? Is that what that water is?”

“It's attached to the ocean,” Gus said. “Or at least to the Gulf of Mexico. This isn't really the ocean, you know.”

We rolled past sort of dumpy resorts and then past a tennis court that was filled with eight old ladies whacking balls at the ass cracker of morning. “Lot better than the old ladies in the nursing home on your paper route, huh?” I said.

“They'll be there one day. We'll all be there.”

And then there was more water, everywhere, water on both sides of the land. “We're on the ocean, man. Holy shit.”

We were following my cousin, who I'd never met, out into the ocean, maybe to meet my grandfather who hates me or not…Crazy, Aleah. I was totally shaking.

We came to a giant bridge that shot up like ten stories into the air. The actual sun, not just its light, came up over the side of the earth. Giant bodies of water rippled on both sides of us and under us. “This is awesome, Gus.”

“Yeah. Pretty,” Gus said. “I don't like water that much right now. Pee.”

The sign at the end of the bridge said “Welcome to Fort Myers Beach.” It was resort-y like the Wisconsin Dells, but with lots of palm trees and white sidewalks and lots and lots of swimsuit stores. A couple of old guys ran past on a morning jog when we stopped at a stop sign. They were shirtless and were tanned this dark orange color I'd never seen before.

“Someone left the steaks on the barbie too long,” Gus said.

Then Tovi veered to the right and there was a pier—which I recognized from a certain photograph of a pelican that had been on display on feltonreinstein.com—but I couldn't see the water because there were some stores and some dunes and thick vegetation in the way. I really thought I might throw up.

“I totally have to piss very, very bad,” Gus groaned.

Just as he said it, Tovi pulled left into the parking lot next to a hotel called the White Shells.

“
Ah!
” Gus shouted.

He pulled into an open space a couple of cars down from Tovi. Then he shut off the car, burst out, and ran toward the hotel.

Then I got out of the car.

I could hear Tovi get out of her car.

I didn't want to look over at her. Instead, I looked at my feet, which were in my stinky running shoes (Ultimate Frisbee, running in that parking lot), which were on pavement that was covered in a thin film of sand and crackly stuff I later figured out is broken seashell.

Dizzy. My throat felt like it might close down and kill me. Tovi didn't say anything either. We both stood next to the cars for way too long.

Then she said, “Hey, did you like my driving?”

“Yeah,” I said, looking at the ground. “Pretty funny.”

“I can't help it. Papa's car is so fast. It's so fun. Sometimes I just got to go.”

I lifted my head and turned to the right in time to see Tovi pull back her hood. “Papa?” I asked.

“Our old granddad,” Tovi said. “You know it's me, right?”

We stared at each other. Seriously weird.

“Yeah. I know,” I said. “You ever look in a mirror?” I asked.

“Do I look like a boy?” she asked.

“No,” I said. “I didn't know you existed.”

“Felton,” she said, shaking her head and talking really quiet. “I almost don't believe it. You're real, man.”

We stood there facing each other, and I guess we were both sort of crying, which was weird, and then she came up to me and hugged me and then she whispered, “But seriously. Why are you here?”

I felt heat rise in my face. “Because…I don't know.”

“What are you doing?”

“I'm worried about Andrew.”

“This sort of sucks. I mean, don't get me wrong…I'm glad to see you. Totally. We're like a…a…”

“Freak show.”

“Right, because we look so much alike, but why you're here…”

“Andrew didn't tell me not to come.”

“It never occurred to him you would, dude. He freaked when you called. Threw a fat fit. Then he fell on the bed. When I left he was in a state of shock. Like, comatose staring up at the ceiling.”

“Why?”

“Let's go in.”

“Okay.”

“Papa's going to know who you are, man.”

“Is he in there?” I said, nodding at the White Shells.

“No. You're safe for now.”

“Safe. Shit.”

“It's gonna be okay. I made a promise to my grandma to take care of this. I'm gonna take care of…”

“Okay,” I said.

Tovi exhaled and nodded at me.

• • •

Ow. My head, Aleah.

I must be getting to the end of my rope. What am I even writing? I am so sick to my stomach. Why did I eat all that Hickory Farms sausage? So freaking salty. The drinking fountain is filled with mushy Kleenex. I'm totally dizzy. But there's no way I'm going to fall asleep in this bus station. Renee's asleep. I don't want to go to sleep.

I'm in Orlando. Not at Disney World, though. At another ugly bus station.

I might sleep here. I did it before; I can do it again.

I slept in the Jacksonville bus station for like an hour. No one murdered me! I did not die of summer sausage intake! There is still half the sausage left too. That's good. I think. Or is it rude to give somebody a gift of half-eaten cheese and sausage?

We'll find out.

I am alone now, but the sun's up.

Renee woke me up when it was time to get on the Tampa bus, thank God, or I might still be sleeping on that bench (totally stretched out with my head on my backpack and my Stan Smith tennis shoes dangling out into the aisle).

Renee and I boarded the bus and sat down together toward the back. She said, “You're really, really young, do you know that?”

I said, “No.”

She said, “I could tell when you were sleeping. You really look like a little kid.”

I said, “Oh.”

She said, “Tell me exactly what you're writing.”

I said, “I don't know.”

She said, “Use your words.”

I said, “I guess it started out to be an apology to my girlfriend, but now I'm trying to explain to her how I don't know anything but am really trying to be a better person.”

She said, “Have you been a bad person?”

“Not intentionally. But I might be bad genetically.”

She said, “No. No.” She shook her head. She whispered, “No.” She pulled my head onto her shoulder.

Then we fell asleep. When I woke up, Renee was on the phone to her sister. Instead of riding all the way to Tampa, she got picked up a few minutes ago here in Orlando. (There's like a forty-minute layover here—this is sort of the nicest, cleanest station I've been in so far—will use bathroom several times.)

So, Renee's gone. I miss her. She was my partner, I guess. She didn't leave me without telling me something.

“I broke up with my boyfriend in Chicago.”

Me: “Oh. Sorry.”

Her: “I'm not pregnant.”

Me: “Uh…That's good?”

Her: “I had a miscarriage.”

Me: “What do you mean?”

Her: “I lost my baby because it died inside of me.”

Me: “Oh shit.”

Her: “I don't want to be with my boyfriend if he's not the father. I don't want to be with my boyfriend at all. I took the bus the whole way with you because I told my parents I was pregnant two weeks ago. My mom's been reading wedding magazines and calling me every night. Now I have to tell them…her. I just wanted to delay getting home…”

Me: “Oh crap.”

Her: “I'm going to graduate from college this year. My mom thinks I'm bad, though. She thinks I'm…I'm just wrong. I don't know why, really. Me telling her I'm pregnant and telling her I was getting married…that made her happy. And now this…my sister, Janey, is coming to get me. I told her about the miscarriage on the phone.”

“Oh shit,” I whispered. “I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry.”

“I was right about you. You're a sweet kid, Felton. You're not a jerk, okay? I think it's really cool you're writing an epic letter to your girlfriend.”

“She might not be my girlfriend,” I said.

“Sucks,” she said. Then she reached up and touched my cheek, which was weird, because it's something Jerri would do.

A few minutes later, Renee was gone. I think her sister, Janey, weighed over four hundred pounds. She is really big.

I do know something, Aleah: most people are in a horror movie, at least sometimes.

It doesn't matter that Renee's sister is big. (Why would it matter?) It was nice of her to drive over to get Renee.

(I thought Renee wanted to have sex with me, Aleah.)

(I guess I think about sex a lot.)

(Not as much as Gus.)