Outtakes Of A Walking Mistake (19 page)

On Monday, I’m lifeless shaded by a cloud of darkness without Jenny. At school, students run in the smallest of circles but I’m just a square within a square. Every corner I hit is a corner without a friend. Every corner is a corner without Jenny.

Eating solo in the cafeteria, I picture a scene in my head. It’s Jenny and me and standing together, we’re holding hands by the punch bowl at the Monster Mash. Floating two inches off the ground, she’s wearing black angel wings and her blue eyes are watery and sad. Still, they glisten when I smile. Like I give them hope, like friendship gives them hope. Then like berries from a tree they drop to the ground.

I haven’t been a good friend to Jenny. I admit it. A good friend would have known about the abuse. A good friend would have not turned the other cheek.

Later in the hallway, I smile pretty for the camera, but I feel ugly. I’m a Kim Dexter clone – a spokesperson for self-indulgence. I wonder if people notice I’m alone but the truth is no one cares about my life or that Jenny is gone. I’m a one-person pity party. Either that or I’m honest regarding my belief that Jenny and I fit in that category between super-popular and super piece of shit where no one gives a damn who or where you are.

Greg French, people give a damn about him because he’s the student body president. I hear the talk.

Is Greg sick?

He’s being totally random today.

I’m worried about him.

Someone saw him puking in a bathroom.

After psychology class, Greg finds me at the water fountain where I’m taking a drink, trying my best to ignore Danny Schmidt, who has been trying to make contact with me all day.

“Morris,” Greg says. This is how popular people say hello. They use last names. It allows them to connect but not completely.

“What? You need the gay vote too?” I ask.

“Funny,” he says, without laughing. Taking a step forward he is close enough to kiss me. “Listen, no one knows what happened to Jenny. Let’s try to keep it that way.”

“Yes, Mr. President,” I say, taking note of the triangle-shaped student government emblem on his purple shirt. “Anything to serve my nation.”

He can’t resist a smile. “Just keep your mouth zipped.”

“Zipped? You mean like my pants? Now you want to control my sex life?”

“At least you have a sex life,” Danny interrupts, coming from behind.

Slapping my back, Greg takes this as a cue to dash off with two preppy friends. Me, I’m left with Danny, giving me the scoop about his night with a vacuum. “Nothing sucks like a Hoover,” he says, pointing to a blood clot on his neck. “Still, I’d take a night with a blood-sucking vampire babe over a machine any day.”

The word babe triggers me. Suddenly, my head’s a vacuum, my nose is the hose, and I breathe in a million late-night phone calls with Jenny.

Danny says something about how, for him at least, masturbating has become the new speed dating, but I’m not listening. I take in an array of other sounds, like the squeaking of sneaker soles making contact with the shiny tile floor and the harsh voice of Assistant Principal Dolby speaking through the intercom. A reminder to all students: no cell phones on campus. That means no calls in the halls.

I time-travel back to the last time Jenny rang me in the middle of the night. Eric was trying to bust my bubble butt, and I remember taking the call as a distraction. On the other end of the receiver, Jenny had nothing to say and hung up. How could I have helped? How could I have given her advice? Sexually awakened by numerous men, that’s Jenny. And me, I’m afraid to engage in the act of sex, let alone talk about it.

Later in the math wing, I head to the bathroom when I find Ashley reciting lines with Billy in the corner pocket of the hall. Technically, I’m still upset with Billy about his pathetic excuse for a date, but I refuse to fold, especially with Ashley around, confusing fact and fiction.

Noticing me, Billy goes silent while Ashley proceeds to spout dialogue. “Billy, why’d you stop?” She takes his hand. “Did you forget a line? You’re such a dork. That’s why I love you.”

“You love him?” I ask.

Ashley giggles like she got caught saying a naughty word. And though a cross hangs at her neck, I know she’s anything but holy. She’s the
other
woman.

“Hi Tye,” she says. “We’re just having an early rehearsal. It was Billy’s idea. He wants to nail the scene. Right Billy?”

“Right,” he says. Running his fingers through his blond mane, he can’t look at me. But I can look at him, amazed at how his imperfections even seem perfect. Like how the red paint, probably from stagecraft class, splashed on his black tee makes him look all the more sexy. “I want the movie to be perfect,” he tells me.

“Perfect! Just perfect” I shout, utterly jealous. “I hope you nail it, Billy. And I hope you nail Ashley as well!”

Nearby, the nerds in the Calculus Club pause from taking a photo for the yearbook. I feel no shame. I guess that’s the nifty part of falling in love. Perception is meaningless.

Sensing I might blow, Billy covers his face with the script. He’s smart. Never look a crazy man in the eye. It may be contagious.

“Um, is something wrong?” Ashley asks me.

“He’ll be ok,” Billy says, tugging her hand. “Let’s hit the green room and finish rehearsing.”

“Whatever Billy wants,” Ashley says. The psycho man-stealer, she’s in love. Being easily led, that’s the first clue. On camera she fell in love with Billy and now she wants him off-camera as well. Too bad I’ve already landed that part.

“Wait. I want to rehearse too,” I say.

“Rehearse what?” Billy replies.

Here I have to be bold. With Ashley as my competition, I have no choice. The bitch is bonkers! “The scene where we kiss,” I tell him. “I know there isn’t any dialogue, but I’m willing to make some up.”

“Oh, haven’t you heard?” Ashley frowns. Her black curls bounce with each word. “That scene was cut. Assistant Principal Dolby thinks two guys kissing is too risqué for Rivershore High.”

At a loss, I look to Billy for guidance. “It’s no big deal,” he insists. “Mr. Dolby isn’t cutting the bathroom scene. You’re still in the film. They just don’t want us to kiss.”

When life hands you lemons, eat and shit them out, Jenny once told me. Lemons are a natural diuretic. Shit on everyone around you. You’ll feel better.

Right now, I’d love for nothing more than to release my tension in a toilet bowl but I’m completely constipated. My brain is clogged, chock full of hatred, and I don’t know who to yell at first. Luckily, the bell yells for me, causing a brief distraction for me to gather my thoughts.

“Billy, can I have a word with you?” I ask. I gesture to the bathroom, and he hesitates. “Please? I need this.”

He agrees.

Maybe he doesn’t want me to cause a scene.

Maybe he doesn’t want the scene to end.

Kissing Billy on the cheek, Ashley tells him she’ll be waiting in the green room. I’m not sure what takes hold of me, but when she leaves, I find myself shoving him through the steel bathroom door. “Just shut your mouth. Don’t you dare say a word,” I warn him. The act is so primal I’m completely turned on by it. My veins flood with testosterone as I thrust Billy against a running faucet. His limbs tighten in preparation for the worst.

“I don’t have time for this. I have to get back to Ashley,” he mutters.

“Shut up and kiss me.”

His lips part in intrigue. Still, he resists. “Here? Are you nuts?”

“Of course I’m nuts. Now kiss me.”

“Why? The scene’s been cut.”

“Forget the scene. Kiss me because you want to.”

With the corner of his eye, Billy spot-checks the stalls to ensure we’re alone. It’s just the two of us, he discovers, except for a lizard on the frosted window near the sink.

“We can’t do this here,” Billy says, growing shaky.

“Watch me,” I reply, forcing my lips upon him. I don’t know why I’m being so forward. I guess I have nothing to lose. The problem is Billy does.

“No!” He pushes me away.

“Why? You don’t like it? Tell me why!”

“Because.”

“Screw because. Because isn’t good enough. I want an answer!”

“Fine, you want an answer?” Losing his cool, he pushes me against a wall. “I don’t want to kiss you because I’m afraid of where it might lead.”

I can’t respond. Not with anything significant. For now, words are trite and breathing poses a challenge. This is love. The heart can perform amazing feats; mine is walking the high wire. No net, no fear of the fall. I’ve already fallen. Now open jaw. Breathe. Talk.

“Dammit, Billy. You can’t imagine how bad I want to yank you out of that closet, but I can’t.”

Frustrated, Billy groans and punches the yellow tile wall with his fist. “You make it sound so easy,” he says. “It’s not easy for everyone. We all can’t be billboards.”

“You’re attracted to boys. Big deal! You’re not the first one to think of it.”

“Yeah, well I’m not the first one to have a problem with it either.”

“You make your own problems.”

“I know! But I don’t know how to be with you. Can’t you see? I don’t know what I’m doing!”

“You think I do? I’m making it up as I go along. It might suck, but it’s worth it.”

“Why?”

“Because then I don’t have to waste my whole life kissing some girl I don’t want to kiss. Because then, I get to kiss you!”

Suddenly, the bathroom door opens, and a scruffy brown-haired boy, wearing a skull and bones tee, enters. Heading toward the urinal, he searches for an item in his checkered book bag. Backing away from me, Billy scrubs blood from his knuckles, checking his reflection in the mirror.

Enraged, I kick the wall. “This blows!”

Whistling a happy tune, Billy pretends life is peachy. “Relax. We’ll talk about it later.”

“No, we’ll talk about it now!”

Removing a pack of smokes from his bag, the scruffy boy gets stage fright at the urinal and stalls before relieving himself in order to witness The Billy and Tyler Show.

Taking note, Billy seizes the chance to defend his manhood.

“Quit acting like a girl,” he orders. “We’re just friends. You don’t have to be mad.”

“Oh, I’m mad!” I scream. “I’m mad at you. And I’m mad at Ashley for putting her claws on you.”

“Why? She’s my girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend? Since when?”

“Since she asked me to the Monster Mash.”

Oh damn, that hurts. I don’t know whether to laugh, scream, or barf, so I conjure a sound that covers each of the bases. “That’s nice,” I say. “And here I thought you might ask me!”

This is where things get weird. The scruffy boy takes the mediator role, zipping his fly before trying to convince me that what I’m saying is fucked up. Then he asks if I’d like to bum a smoke and reflect on it. I refuse. Inside, I’m already fuming.

Seconds later, I’m still burning but this time the Florida heat is the reason for my discomfort. Dodge-balling the rest of my classes, I’m headed toward the parking lot, and in my jumbled mind, I have no final destination.

Gorgeous in his shiny gray Volvo, Greg honks his horn and passes by. Who knows where he’s going? Maybe he can’t tolerate school without Jenny. Maybe he’s bringing her flowers or just fleeing to be by her side. This drives me crazy jealous. I want that kind of love, a love that can be witnessed.

“Tyler,” a girl calls from behind. Turning around, I view Kim standing by her rusty coupe with one hand on each of her bony hips. Her angular body appears lost in a short, puffy red dress. “You bad boy, you’re not about to skip school, are you?”

“That’s the plan!” I holler. “Later.”

“Wait. Slow down,” she says, following behind. I don’t know why I stop to listen, morbid curiosity perhaps. “I know you hate me. So I’m a bitch. So what? I’m still your assistant director.”

“I don’t care about the stupid film.”

“Yes you do.”

“Why should I? Mr. Dolby cut my favorite scene.”

Kim’s body softens but her pebbly brown eyes refuse to sympathize. “Stop your bitching. At least you’re in the film. Mr. Dolby will never cast me, especially now that I have to ditch shooting for two days.”

“Ditch shooting?”

“I’m taking off for Miami. You know, for a photo shoot with everyone kissing my ass. You know the drill.” How she can be so ridiculously egocentric without caving in on herself is beyond me. Kim is the only person I know who kisses her own ass. “Anyhow, I need your help and I won’t take no for an answer. I need you to let me cheat off you on the next psych exam.”

This has to be a joke. “Oh please. Like you’ve ever needed permission before.”

“That was then. Now, we’re in uncertain times. I’m failing. You’re sort of smart. And I need to be sure I can count on you. No more hiding your test out of view.”

“Well, aren’t you ballsy?” I say. Taking it as a compliment, Kim grins and fluffs her red hair. “Why should I help you? So you can bitch at me the next day? Forget that.” I walk off.

“Listen fag,” she says, grabbing my shoulder. “I’m not at good being nice, but I’m trying to make an exception.” Here and now, I sense she’d cry if her heart weren’t being stored in a jar by the stove to keep warm. “I know you could give a shit but I have to do this photo shoot. My father’s a weak man who’d rather pay for a mixed drink than the electric bill. I need this money.”

Kim doesn’t seem like the kind of girl who reveals weakness often so I give her the benefit of the doubt. It beats having to go back and forth. “Fine, you can cheat. Just don’t cry. I can’t deal with anymore sad shit today.”

“Yeah, I heard about Jenny,” Kim says. She swats away fake tears as if crying was for amateurs. “Don’t worry about her. She’s like me. She’s tough. She’ll get over it.”

My eyes widen in surprise. I thought Jenny’s situation had been kept secret. Greg made sure of it. “You know?”

“Of course. This is Rivershore High,” Kim replies. “You know the deal. You run the halls. You can find out anything if you shut your mouth long enough to listen.”