Disclaimer: I took liberties with names, places, and things to protect the innocent.
Gentleman Ed – The Delicate Situation – Emmett's Spirit Bear – Punch Drunk Punch
I was perched on an orange couch surrounded by wood-paneled walls, squeezing Tanya's silicone boob as though it were a bicycle horn when the front door slammed opened to a mustachioed trucker sporting fists the size of hams.
His stricken voice was high-pitched for a man who had to duck his head when he entered. "Tanya?"
The girl in question and I were funhouse mirrors of surprise.
"Tanya, what in the name…what's this guy doing with his hand on your knockers?" He pointed to my paralyzed hand, emphasizing exhibit A.
Fuckshit.
There I sat, one month into my freshman year, dumbfounded and panicked, in a double-wide trailer, groping a gaping-mouthed girl while my buddy, Emmett, fucked her mom in the next room. Surely, I'd fallen asleep during the part of orientation warning us against a hot mess.
Years later, Emmett would downplay the incident by dubbing it, "The Delicate Situation".
But there was nothing delicate about the shadow of light stretching on the green carpet behind the trucker. The source more than likely came from the bedroom of sin where I pictured Emmett poking his head out like Punxsatawney Phil, checking the weather and popping back in his hidey hole after predicting the dark storm that was a' brewing.
Emmett. This was all his fault.
The day I arrived in Tallahassee, Emmett and I found out we were in the same residence hall. We weren't assigned to room together, but he flashed his pearly-whites at Jessica, the head RA with the demeanor of a Senator's wife, and later bribed our assigned suitemates to switch. Mike Newton and Ben Cheney ended up as bunkmates on the first floor while Emmett and I had the best seats from the fifth floor, facing the great, green beauty of Landis Lawn.
Emmett's hunting binoculars served a dual purpose, allowing us a close-up view of the stately Strozier Library across from our building and a stone fountain gurgling pleasantly in the center of it all.
Embellishing the picture were sun-thirsty beauties offering their skin up to the sky. Around them, lanky cypress trees and fat magnolia blossoms shaded the hot vegetation below.
Ben and Mike, the good sports that they were, warmed up to us after Emmett came through on his promise to procure booze. He didn't need a fake ID given the size of him. He had Ben and Mike's fridge stocked with Rolling Rocks in no time. There was still the question of providing girls for them and when the duo had arrived knocking, excited to go on the hunt, I grabbed my backpack and left, claiming I had lot of studying to catch up on.
I think they saw right through me.
In my first month, I hoofed the terrain as far as my legs could carry me. Between classes and at night, I'd follow the well-worn footpaths meandering through campus, admiring the red-brick buildings lit by a hum of street lamps. Shadows played against the bushes in the evening, it was the best time to lose myself. I concentrated on the hush of my footfall on the thick grass when I stepped off the path and the steady clopping of my heels on the stone walkway. I was out of my element and it suited me perfectly.
On the day of the 'Delicate Situation', I was walking from the library to our dorm room, minding my own business, as it happens on days when shit hits the fan, and ruminating on my roommate. Guilt plagued me for thwarting his efforts to hang out with me.
It was Emmett who suggested we bunk together when we first arrived.
He was full of exuberance, which made me grin, as we hauled our suitcases across campus on a balmy Tallahassee evening.
We were the last two in the registration line. While we waited, my new friend formed a plan.
Emmett bounced on his toes as the devilish workings of his mind geared up.
"Gentleman Ed, what do you say we bunk together?"
"I didn't catch that…"
"We should bunk together."
"No, the first part, did you call me Gentleman Ed? Where did that come from?"
"Ah, just that a gentleman always makes things right with the ladies." I smiled; he was still applauding me for helping out little Lupe and Grape Soda Girl from the bus depot in Tennessee.
"So what do you say? You seem like an okay guy, let's tell them there was a mix-up or something."
"I don't know," I started, rubbing the back of my neck. "Wouldn't we have to re-apply?"
Emmett craned his neck around the girl in front of us, gauging how much time we had.
"Nothing's too late with a smile and good manners." He shamelessly employed his signature dimple.
I stalled. I knew next to nothing about him except that he was born and raised in Tennessee, ten miles from the bus depot where we met. Emmett had already proven to be a stand-up guy, as far as I was concerned. I felt indebted to him simply for being kind to me with the cab ride. But I was no fool. I had to make sure.
"How do I know you're not going to be a total slob or stink up our room?"
He backed up, hardly offended. "Ah, you want my measurements. I get it."
"I've only known you for less than a day, I have to size you up somehow."
"Okay, Gentleman Ed, what do you wanna know? Hit me, I'm clean." He took a dramatic breath and braced himself.
There were many things I didn't know, nor how much trust I could spend on him. This was tricky. I had to choose very wisely, we didn't have much time.
I went with a softball question first.
"What's your favorite kung-fu movie?"
"Enter the Dragon."
"That was a 'gimme'." He shrugged, having bested it. "Okay, name your favorite pitcher and why?"
"Nolan Ryan, Texas Rangers, because he kicked Ventura's ass on the mound. The guy was twenty-six years his junior and Ryan pitched hitless the rest of the game. Best right hook in the league."
"Okay, not a popular choice and violent. I like it." He smiled proudly.
"One more; Princess Leia or Padme Amidala?"
"Leia, no contest. She showed the most skin."
I had to hand it to him, he was no dummy. My interrogation was over and sensing this, his face stretched into a smile like he had something up his sleeve.
"Fair's fair. It's my turn."
We had scooted into the building and stood under the doorway of the foyer – high ceilings and wood floors, footsteps echoed. I was already going to like it here and I had already made my decision to go along with whatever plans Emmett concocted, but he had a point. Fair's fair.
"Shoot."
"Your favorite Bond and Bond girl in the same movie."
I didn't blink. "Honey Ryder in Dr. No. Sean Connery is the man."
"Impressive. She wore a knife in her bikini. And Sean Connery is the only Bond."
"Exactly."
He wagged his finger in my face. "Okay, one more and then you're doing this with me." He smiled no-good, and spoke low in my ear so his question wouldn't bounce off the walls.
"Landing strip or bare fields?"
And there it was, right out of the gate. I knew it was a sexual innuendo, but it took me a beat longer to respond than a guy 'in the know'. Carelessly, I spit out the first thing that came to mind.
"Landing strip." It almost left my mouth as a question.
Emmett backed up and crossed his arms, considering.
"Alright, alright, alright. I like that, groomed, but covered. Good choice."
I huffed out a short laugh, forgetting all nervousness.
"So what do you say, we rooming or what?"
I looked at him square in the eye. "Lead the way."
That was four weeks ago, and I had arrived at another Friday night. I was ready to let off a weak excuse for bowing out of the social scene, but then I remembered Rose's phone call earlier in which we discussed everything except my dodging and in which she picked up on my tone and with no forewarning told me to 'man up'. Leave it to Rose dispense succinct advice.
So by the time I reached the steps leading up to our dorm, I was resolved to get out of my shell and allow myself to have fun.
I didn't want to repeat my high school experience and become a hermit again.
Emmett had rounded the corner and caught up to me on the steps. He wore a towel around his neck and a gym bag over his shoulder. When you think of the Devil, he will show up high on an endorphin rush.
"Gentleman Ed, how's the weather?"
I smiled. It was overcast, but Emmett determined my moods by asking for my internal temperature.
"Clear skies and sunshine," I smiled. He nodded, satisfied, and considered his next words.
I came to learn that Emmett was perpetually pondering the next exciting venture with the wild pleasure of an Amway salesman. Watching his gears work lasted a few seconds, but those seconds contained all the deviancy of a boy never satisfied with his share of cake.
"I have a proposition."
This didn't surprise me. Now by this point, I should have paid attention to the red flags, the sirens, and the horns, but I was resolved to go with the flow.
"Shoot."
He dropped his bag and rubbed his hands together. "There's this girl."
Of course.
Fun fact about Emmett: He was an equal-opportunity Lothario. When it came to women, he didn't discriminate based on age, creed, race, color, political background, religious leaning, or circus act. He loved them all and he loved them often.
During the summer of his seventeenth year, he worked on a gambling riverboat, selling seats and reservations to tourists. His size, not his age, allowed him early entry into an otherwise adult profession, not to mention a well-connected uncle gladly hosted him one summer. Emmett's job when called for was to play the part of an 1800's saloon blackjack dealer, replete with tie and suspenders. The number of girls who passed through guaranteed a couple of life-long memories. He played the game and he played the field – sometimes with other people's women.
Once, he shared a quick romp with Lady Luck in a prop room. He was dressed in his dealer pin-stripes and she wore bustled skirts and plumaged hair. Things were heating up when an insistent banging drove Emmett under her skirt, seeking shelter from her boyfriend's intrusion. The girl managed to quiet the racket with an exasperated excuse, saving them from peril. None of it fazed him as he worked his head up toward the Promised Land.
He had lots of stories of that kind.
"How many times did you get busted?" I asked him once.
"Too many to count," he replied, after considering for a full day.
I didn't want to be an accessory to his carnal crimes so I suggested he fill in the blanks before I committed to his scheming on that fateful night.
"She's a regular at Riley's – "
"This the bar you were telling me about?"
"Yeah, man, you'd love it. They don't ID and it's all locals, great place."
"You a local now?"
"Where everybody knows my name."
I laughed. "You work quick. And this girl?"
"Irina's her name and I have a shot at her tonight, but the thing is she won't let me come over unless I bring a sitter."
"A babysitting job? How old is Irina?"
"Does it matter? She's a sweetheart."
"What about her kid?"
"I don't know, but she can't be that young. It's not like you're changing diapers and before you go there, Irina's husband has been out of the picture for years. She told me so."
It was a strange request even for him.
"All you have to do is sit with her daughter for a few hours, that's all."
I had to admit, I was thinking the worst, but babysitting seemed easy enough.
"What's in it for me?"
He lit up into ten thousand megawatts. "I got us a car."
A car. I got the impression that favor or not, Emmett would generously share his car, regardless of my answer, which only served to solidify my decision. The prospect of a vehicle in this small town was no small potatoes.
I'd already seen everything there was to see of campus, a month in and I had developed restless leg syndrome. I wanted out and I wanted to hit right and left on Florida's panhandle. I wanted to dip my toes in the Gulf of Mexico.
A car was just what I needed. Dad and I had agreed that if I kept my grades up and helped pay for the down payment, I'd have one of my own.
But I didn't have a car today.
Emmett had a car today. I was done with my questions; I was ready. And all for babysitting some lady's kid.
"Okay, count me in."
He danced on his toes, electrified by my acquiescence.
"I knew I could count on you!" He slapped my shoulder and lifted his bag. We headed inside to get ready.
Emmett had purchased a used boxy Volvo from a friend of a friend. The bumper sticker read, "Proud Parent of an Honor Roll Student." From the rear window a sticker of a four-legged Darwin fish antagonized science-suspicious drivers. In this neck of the woods, I laughed at it nervously.
The Volvo was a stick, which I'd never driven before. Emmett gave me a twenty-minute lesson in the parking lot to familiarize me with clutch and gear, and after that, we were burning rubber. I stalled out only twice on the way to Irina's.
On the way there, we discussed our new arrangement. He'd make payments on the car and I'd keep it gassed and maintained. It was a fair agreement, and in no time we were plotting a weekend in the small salt-rock town that bumped into the Atlantic. I had heard about St. Augustine, two hours east of us. It was a stop for the Spanish conquistador, Ponce de Leon, a swirly-eyed dreamer who spent his life macheteing through jungles on his quest for the fountain of youth. It was claimed he discovered it in the dense outpost of St. Augustine. Even if it was a tourist trap, my curiosity was piqued.
In between our fantasies of exploring the Florida panhandle and beyond, Emmett gave me directions to Irina's. She lived where the woodsy outpouring gave way to Payday Loans and beat down auto repair shops, mobile homes surrounded by concrete and treeless avenues.
Irina lived in Happy Homes trailer park.
We drove through the welcome gate and dropped our speed to five miles per hour, swerving past kids on bikes. I gathered they weren't used to strangers if the unmasked curiosity of the neighbors said anything about it. They lounged on canvas chairs or cracked open their blinds to stare at us. Dinnertime wafted through our windows, shouts and baying laughter echoed from a street over as the end of day relaxed in the shadows.
We found her trailer and parked the car.
A screen door whined open and out pounced a…mom. A hot mom with leopard bra straps hanging out of her sundress.
"Emmie!" She caught her slipper on the bottom step.
I leaned over to Emmett and whispered, "I thought you said she was a girl."
"She's young at heart, Ed. Let's not judge."
"I'm not judging, but how old is her daughter?"
"Ten maybe, I don't know."
Irina, the hot mom with enough curves to make her a traffic hazard, leaped up and caught herself on Emmett's hips while he laughed and twirled her around. "How's my hot mama?"
She buried her face in my friend's neck like she was lovin' on her teddy bear during nappy time. I coughed and gestured to the trailer. It was time to get the show on the road.
"Irina, baby honey, I can't stay long. My buddy here's got plans later and he's my ride, so…"
She looked at him and nodded. "Oh, don't worry, honey. I got your message."
Irina assessed me. She slid off Emmett and sauntered my way with a hand on her hip, suddenly, business-like.
"What's your name, again?"
"Edward Cullen."
"Age?"
I looked at Emmett, wondering why the third degree. He signaled for me to roll with it.
"Eighteen."
"And your occupation, young man?"
She walked slowly around me.
"Student."
"Any felonies and misdemeanors?"
All this for a sitting gig? Did she want my social security number, too?
"No…ma'am."
She stopped in front of me and her face burst open like day-old sunshine at "ma'am". Bingo, I was in the South. That word had cachet here.
"Well, alright then, sugar. Come on in, I'll introduce you to Tanya."
Right, Tanya, the kid. I prayed for a surly girl who just wanted to watch MTV or play UNO or something.
We were on her front porch when a catty voice yelled from across the street.
"Hiiii, Irina, who're your guests?"
Irina spun around and her tone went from sweet to raging mad in zero to sixty. "Shut the fuck up, Lannie. You nosy whore!" Lannie was a stout, white-haired woman stabbing a cigarette in a flowerpot while she sat on her stoop. She wore a nurse's uniform and a big fat bully's smile on her face.
"Don't mind me, bitch, just being neighborly."
Irina brought us inside and made a show of slamming her door shut. "Everyone's so nosy, and she's the worst of 'em. Tanya, honey, get these boys some sweet tea."
Irina and Tanya's double-wide décor consisted of Bob Ross happy-cloud paintings and a velvet Elvis portrait, framed and hung, in the center of their living room. It was Elvis of the fly collar, Las Vegas years, and I had to give it to them; it brought the room together.
To the left of the front door was a short hallway leading into what had to be their bedrooms; the rest of it was an open space of kitchen, breakfast bar, and living room.
And in the kitchen, in a tank top and jean skirt, was Tanya.
I interrupted Emmett's fingering of Irina's bra strap. "You didn't say she was an adult."
"She's not an adult, sugar, she's only seventeen," said Irina. She was back to being an old coquette.
The seventeen-year-old child paid no attention to us, although she stopped what she was doing and silently poured us a glass of sweet tea with a teenage scowl on her face. She handed me a glass of the coldest, sweetest, most earth-shattering goodness that was sweet tea. I was falling in love with the South.
I thanked her but she didn't reply.
"She's not rude, really. She hates all her sitters, it's not you. C'mon, Emmett, we don't have all day."
Emmett let Irina tug him toward her room. He waved fingers at my gaping mouth and wiggled his eyebrows. What the fuck was I supposed to do with a girl practically my age while her mom got it on with my friend in the next room? Play Euchere?
The situation spiraled out of my control so fast my stomach sank to the floor. I couldn't make rhyme or reason of such madness.
Before Irina had made it down the hall, she playfully picked a carrot from a bowl and popped it in her mouth.
"Mom! That's my mirepoix! I told you to leave my mise-en-place alone, already!"
Tanya's mom paid her no mind and cackled all the way to her room. It gave me the shivers.
A few months ago I was hanging out with Rose, and now here I was, miles from home, new school, new people, and keeping company with a mad cougar, a boor, and a woman-child.
Everything about this was rotten.
I had no choice but to stick around and make the best of it.
"I'm Edward."
Silence.
Tanya worked in the kitchen as if she were under intense observation, discarding one idea after another, a finger on her lips, and frowning into her frying pan. Carrots, onions, celery, spices, and a lump of raw ground beef waited for her attention in little bowls. They were lined up dutifully as she consulted her textbook on the other side of the stove.
I decided to chance it one more time. "You going to cooking school?"
"Yeah, I just started," she said absentmindedly, stirring her vegetables faster.
"Cool. Your setup is just like on TV – all the stuff out like that." I pointed to the counter and she nodded.
She sighed through her teeth, exasperated. "That's mise-en-place, 'everything in its place'. Says so right here." She turned around, exposing the page like a breastplate.
I grinned at her enthusiasm. I remember how she scolded her mother.
"And this is…what did you call it?" I pointed to the line of dishes with carrots, onions, and celery. "This is your meer-pwah, right?"
She giggled. There, that was a good sign. Maybe the night wouldn't be a bust after all.
"Yeah, that's mirepoix," she corrected, enunciating the word like I was in kindergarten and she was my patient grade school teacher. "It's French for all that stuff. You can season everything with it and make chicken stock, turkey stock, beef stock… "
In less than ten minutes she put an apron around both of us. Mine had a picture of a girls' body wearing a yellow polka-dot bikini. "Jackson got it for me for Christmas." She rolled her eyes. "I don't know why. He knows I hate polka dots."
Tanya possessed reddish-blonde hair, svelte hips, and bronze Floridian skin – all the qualities of a Spring Break poster girl in possession of a jealous boyfriend.
I didn't know who this Jackson was, but I would have bet money it was someone I didn't want to meet.
While she schooled me on French cooking terms and the proper method of forming a meatloaf (her chosen assignment), I found out that she dropped out of her Junior year of high school to get a culinary degree.
"I want to be like Rachel Ray, but blonde. And taller. Oh, and not as fat. I want my own cooking show in my own kitchen with copper pots all over the place. I told mama and she said I needed to get my own catch phrase. 'Cause you know, Emeril Lagasse has "BAM!", and Rachel's got "E-V-O-O", so we're still trying to come up with one. I told mama I want to live in Atlanta and work there. Have you been to Atlanta?"
I told her I had not, and clarified I was from New York. Her eyes lit up then, until I corrected her and told her not the City, but upstate, and her countenance dimmed at that. We continued this way as we cooked, back and forth; one second she was impressed that I went to State, and the next I was an inconsequential freshman. Had I been of a fragile disposition, I would have developed a self-esteem issue with the way she see-sawed over my importance in the world. It passed the time.
After we were done with our meal and the aprons were put away, I gladly let Tanya take the lion's share of our conversation.
"Six?" That was the number of daughters Irina had birthed over the course of however many years. I about spit out my fifth serving of sweet tea when Tanya spilled the beans. We were seated on the orange couch, Elvis' diamond and gold encrusted hand waved over us like a blessing from the Pope.
"How old is your mom?"
Tanya snorted into her shoulder and spoke to me through her lashes in a childish whisper. "She's fifty-two, but she chops twenty years off."
There was nothing politically correct about this scenario, and never in my young life did I imagine I'd be on the set of "The Jerry Springer Show".
"You're seventeen, I don't think you need a babysitter."
She shrugged. "She's just protective like that. I'm her baby. All my other sisters are gone and I think mama misses having all us girls around. It's just me now. She hates to leave me alone."
"But that's just silly, right? Babies don't carry these around, you know?"
She casually grabbed her breasts and laughed with the kind of hysteria that should be dressed in a straightjacket.
They had a clock above the stove. It was of a pink pig, and its curly tail read six o'clock. We'd been there for two hours. I was ready to go. A few more minutes, I told myself, and then I was knocking on her mom's bedroom door come hell or high water.
Hell came first.
"She loves me, don't get me wrong. She got these for me on my sixteenth birthday. Here, try it." As I scraped my jaw off the floor, she grabbed my hand and planted it square on her boob.
"Go on. Don't just sit there. Squeeze it! Feels real, doesn't it?"
I had never touched a girl intimately and I got excited but not enough to conceal my disappointment. I always imagined a breast would feel pliable like a water balloon, rather than, say, a helium-filled orb. I was going to ask her if she was afraid of it ever popping, but that's when the door opened, and Jackson walked through the door.
I found myself in a delicate situation, all the more painful when Jackson, the trucker who wasn't due back from his last run for another week, quieted Tanya's blubbering by asking too calmly, "Where's your mother?"
In the worst attempt I've ever seen to stall another human being, Tanya jumped up and inconspicuously shouted, "NOWHERE!" for her mother's sake (or perhaps Lannie's across the street). The front door was open and I could have sworn I heard mocking laughter.
"You! Stay right there, I'm gettin' my gun."
The world spun right-side-down, inside-out and I sprang to my feet as soon as he stepped away from the one and only exit. Right then, a loud crash on the other side of the trailer caught his attention. Jackson hustled toward a closet, presumably for his gun to protect his girlfriend.
"He's not my boyfriend. He's my mama's old man," clarified Tanya after I accused her of forcing my hand. Well, she did.
Cue the speedy banjo-pickin' music; I bolted out of there, past the crazed trucker and into the street. I had the car keys in my pocket and I found myself at a standstill as I reluctantly considered the welfare of the big fucking oaf who got me in this mess in the first place. He had to have been aware of what was going on, and as I dallied in the car, I saw his lumbering form speed-waddling across Irina's yard, pulling up his pants, his t-shirt clenched between his teeth.
If I had itched to murder him minutes before, the temptation petered out into a fit of laughter and surging adrenaline rush.
The high was tempered when I spotted Jackson through the window, loading his shotgun. I started the car and Emmett barreled in, his legs hanging out the passenger door as we lit out of the trailer park faster than you can say "E-V-O-O".
"Holy shit, what were you thinking?"
Emmett's chest heaved a hundred miles per hour, revved up like a racecar. My own blood jetted through me so fast, I rolled down the window and howled like a maniac.
Emmett did the same. "How you like that?" he yelled with the frenzy of a loon into the dark Tallahassee night.
When we reached a stoplight, we were as collected as could be for two college boys who dodged a cuckold's bullet.
The passing thought sobered me right up.
"Seriously, what were you thinking?"
My friend's eyes were wild. He laughed. "Shit, son, turns out I wasn't." He shook his head, disbelieving the night's turn of events, but it did nothing for my rising anger.
"Ah, shit, Gentleman Ed. I'm not kidding. I didn't know! She came up to me at Riley's, and hearing her talk, I thought she had a kid and no old man. I thought she was a lonely single mom. Who was I to deprive the lady?"
"Said lady is in her fifties, a mother of six girls, and has baby-daddies traversing the country in eighteen-wheelers."
He turned pale. "Oh, shit. Six?" He was vigilant for traffic citations, because God knows there was nothing else equally fascinating as we drove back into town.
We were nearing campus when he signaled I should make a U-turn.
"Where we going?"
"I need a drink."
I hesitated. "Riley's?"
"Yeah. Don't sweat it, they'll serve you. C'mon, no more trouble. Promise. I need a shot." I doubled back and followed the road to a different part of town since I was already going to Hell.
"No wonder she kept going on and on and on about Tanya. I mean her kid's hot – apple pie on legs – but I was hoping the apple didn't fall far from the tree." He turned his whole body my way. "Did you know her kid's going to be a chef some day?"
"I have an idea," I muttered.
"All she did was talk about how much she was going to miss her baby girl. She wouldn't shut up about it. I didn't even touch her."
I pointed to his unbuckled belt. He scrambled to get himself together. "I swear I didn't touch her. I meant to, but…I just didn't."
"I'm glad you didn't get it on with Tanya's mom, Emmett. How nice of you. How fucking stand-up of you to keep your hands to yourself while her daughter was in the next room!"
As soon as the words left my mouth, I tasted bitter shame for my part in it. "And this piece of shit car is not worth getting my head blown off by Bubba Fucking Gump, man!" How did I get tangled up in this mess? "I didn't come to school so I could spend my free time jumping out of windows!"
"Edward, I – "
"You want to know what the weather is like right now, Emmett? Wanna know which way the wind blows? It's a fucking pissed-off tsunami right now, it's a tempest, that's what. It's not my business what you do or who you do it with, but don't drag me into your shit again."
"I won't, listen, I – "
I pounded the steering wheel, disgusted with myself. I vowed this was the first and only time Emmett would plot our adventure.
We were back to being quiet.
"You done?" It was an irritated voice, but I didn't care, it was weak coming from him.
I grunted non-commitally.
"I know it's too late what with how things turned out. But I was in the room with Irina, and you're right. I thought about her girl next door. The first five minutes, I was ready to go, not wanting to think about it. But she kept on about her girl, and then I knew you were out there. I'm saying that I wasn't going to go through with it. I was working up an excuse to get out of there when her man showed up. When I heard what's-his-name, I grabbed my shit, popped open the screen, and jumped out the window!"
"Great, so you're telling me better late than never. That would have been priceless on your tombstone. Where is this place?"
"Make a right at the Piggly Wiggly up there, then follow the road for another mile."
We were quiet then and I was glad. I didn't want to talk about it anymore, still seething.
"Right here." He directed us to a dirt lot that served as parking.
"Where the hell are we?"
"Not in Kansas. We cool, E? I know nothing about this night puts me in your good graces. It sounded good in my head when I first thought of it."
'E', not Gentleman Ed. I killed the engine and took note of the nervous Nelly in the passenger seat, his head thrown back against the seat rest. Absurd was the word of the day.
"I wouldn't want to be in your head."
He turned with a wry grin. "No. You wouldn't."
We sat unmoving while I got myself in check.
"It's not like you didn't have fun with Tanya, right? I heard through the door, man. You were busy getting it – "
"No." My voice was stern.
"You mean, you weren't – "
"I had no interest in her, Emmett."
"So you – "
"Chatted, cooked, and ate her meatloaf."
He lifted an eyebrow. "Don't even consider that a sexual innuendo. I had no intentions."
"But – "
"Nope, wrong."
"Are you – "
"Not gay, either."
"But you've been with – "
"Never been with a girl, nope."
"Not even a little?"
"Pure as snow over here."
"But you don't look like – "
"A nerd, a loser, a bumbling idiot? Nope, I'm just me and before you ask, I'll say it only once: I can have girls if I want, but I'm saving myself for the right girl. End of story."
If Emmett was a hot-air balloon, my declaration was the needle and, boy, did it feel good to see him uncomfortable for once.
He exhaled a long breath before meeting my steady gaze. "Last time I heard of a guy saving himself was when a preacher dipped his head in the river and declared his new state of grace."
"I'm not a religious man, but to each their own."
His head dropped to his chin and he shook his head. He slapped his knee. "Damn."
That was the end of the conversation. "We good?"
"We're good. We'll be a whole lot better with a beer, though."
"You're still buying," I told him, glad we found our rickety places again.
His smile was wide. "It's the least I can do."
Riley's was a subterranean watering hole beneath a cigar shop and hardware store in a non-descript strip mall. The bar wasn't too far from campus, but it wasn't a campus bar, either. A side door, painted red, opened to stairs winding down into a basement with low ceilings held up by wooden beams and exposed brick. We bee-lined it for the oak bar. The place sported an old-school jukebox with pages that flipped horizontally, and a quarter played you two songs. I fell in love with it right away.
"What if they ID us?" I whispered over my shoulder.
"They know me already, c'mon." Round tables sat empty on either side of the aisle. Friday night, but it was early yet.
At the bar, by his lonesome, a pale, corduroy-coated guy nursed a beer and a shot. Emmett greeted him. "Marcus. Why are you drinking alone on a 'date night'?"
"Funny, Junior. I thought you had to learn to carry the one before they let you in college."
"Nope, we have calculators now."
Marcus shook his head and got the bartender's attention, "Cindy, get these boys their first round, on me. 'To the future of our country.'" He toasted us and swigged his shot without further ado.
Emmett pulled out a stool. "Marcus is in the English department." We sat at the opposite end of the bar, facing the frog-eyed old geezer with the bulbous nose of a drunkard and the scarf of an academic.
Marcus' face was dour in his beer. "He's still trying to figure out whether 'to be' or 'not to be'."
"You mean with the living?" I sliced a finger across my throat.
"No, man," Em laughed. "With his wife."
"Cindy, we'll take two beers and two shots of whiskey." The bar was cozy-dim and I slowly started to relax.
We got our drinks. "To Cindy," he said. "The finest woman I know."
Taking Em's lead, I held my shot up in the direction of the bartender with an 'I don't give a fuck' twist of her lips. I liked her already.
"To Cindy," I piped.
We drank our whiskey. I held my chest, fighting the gasoline going down.
"So tell me about this, Gentleman Ed."
I chased the burn with a swig of beer. "What do you want to know?"
"How does this work? How do you find 'the one'? You're telling me she'll walk across the room and you'll just know?"
"I hadn't thought that far ahead. I'm just weeding through what I don't like, figured it's a start."
After the day I had, the last thing I wanted to do was talk about my dream girl. My buddy looked into his beer like he was working on a mathematical equation meant to explain the bizarre phenomenon that was me.
"I'm not saying there's a science to it, maybe it comes from the sky or maybe I'm crazy, but I'm freer than I've ever been just thinking about it."
"Had I known, I wouldn't have taken you to Irina's. I wouldn't have put you in that position."
"I would have still been pissed if you took me there, virgin or not."
"You're right. I'm sorry."
I knew he meant it. I don't think he was ever told 'no' in regards to what you can and what you can't do with women. I may not have had the knowledge, but common sense got me far enough.
"Water under the bridge."
"You're not afraid of anything, are you?"
I put my beer bottle down and wiped my hand on my jeans. "What do you mean?"
"You, this, right here. You don't worry about what people think. To do what you're doing, that's gotta be like "No Fear". I'm not talking about personalized mud flaps with a cartoon Calvin pissing on your parade. I'm talking about living life on your terms, as it comes."
He had leaned into me, whispering a confession, as if he found a brother in solidarity. Or maybe he wanted to prove he had something to contribute to our friendship.
He told me his story.
It happened that Emmett was on track to earn a football scholarship, until one night he tore his ACL when his right foot crashed down and pivoted tragically on the goal line. It was a catch for the ages, having gripped the ball off his helmet, the smile on his face faltered when he heard the snapping muscle before the defensive mountain crushed him. It was cause for celebration, his touchdown. His team celebrated on the sidelines where he would end up the rest of the season after he was carried off on a stretcher. He helped them advance to a championship.
His ACL was replaced and his knee made a full recovery the next year, or so they thought.
What Emmett failed to convey to his mother after his physical therapist cut short his appointments earlier than scheduled (the newly-wedded man had cruise ship tickets after all) was that the pain lingered. He plastered on a strained smile climbing the stairs in his childhood home. He dutifully climbed the work ladder on days he had to coax his carpenter father off the roof, returning for the cooler of lukewarm red, white, and blue cans of beer. 'Waste not, want not', was his daddy's way.
"They all wanted me to play again my junior year. Hell. I wanted to play again my junior year."
But a moment of clarity stared him in the face one October morning.
"Coach had benched me. During practice, I no longer exploded on the run like I had before my injury. I had nothing better to do, so I decided to do something I was good at. I went deer hunting.
"It was a Saturday morning, and the whole damn animal population was awake before the sun came up. We lived on a small acre farm, mainly produce for the neighborhood market, nothing special. I suited up, ready to go, checked and re-checked my provisions and gear. I made myself a sandwich and filled up my canteen and headed out on my own.
"That was the first and last time I went hunting alone. Those first steps on the trail, after I parked my truck, made me skittish. I wore my headlamp (the sun wasn't over the ridge yet) and followed a game trail I had memorized since I was six years old.
"Do you know how loud it is hiking on your own? You wince at your own breathing. Every footstep on that frosty road was louder than an avalanche. I'd make a lousy tracker, I thought to myself. I was just branching off the Government Trail when I saw what I was looking for.
"I came upon a deer, a straggler. I'd already passed his family a quarter mile back – there's always one left behind, ignorant of everything but their favorite plant. It was a perfect shot but I didn't have it in me to take it. My knee was throbbing from the cold air and that bit of stalling had me thinking: I can't take the white tail, he's just minding his business. I let it go. I didn't know what I was looking for.
"I kept going, aimlessly hiking, having nothing to go back home for, no college aspirations. As much as my parents wanted it, I didn't have it anymore. No recruiter was going to bother with me; I'd lost all my juice.
"The sun came up over the ridge and I found a spot to eat my sandwich, feeling sorry for myself. I sat on a rock, overlooking nothing but a screen of trees and bushes – I was too pissy to hit up a better view.
"That's when I heard it, a rustling to my right, no louder than a chipmunk tearing plastic wrap, you know? But what I saw was no fucking chipmunk; no, that'd be too fucking easy. Chipmunks don't have black fur.
"A black bear.
"I was stone; I only dared move my eyes. In my woe, I didn't see the claw mark on the very tree next to me. A claw mark was the bear's tell, and I was too lost in my own head to notice.
"Do I move, or do I sit still?
"Now, here's the thing: all of my life I'd been taught you make a racket if a black bear becomes aggressive. You're supposed to attack him. Now tell me something, what's the first thing you'd do if you saw a bear?"
"I'd shit myself."
"Exactly. I had seen a bear before but never directly under my nose. I should have been terrified. Did you know my fingers itched to reach out, just slowly reach out, and touch its pelt? The bear was licking his paw like I didn't exist. Or maybe he was hungry. Bears are always hungry. Did he smell my ham sandwich?
"Man, Gentleman Ed, I swear I heard the earth move, I heard every ant, and I smelled what my furry buddy shat that morning. My skin crawled and my bum knee started to twitch, giving me away. The bear heard it, his snout flared and he grunted, but the strangest thing happened."
"What happened?"
"His beady brown eyes caught mine. We were as close as you and I right here. We stared at each other in silence."
The intensity of Emmett's posture and his leaned-in recitation relaxed infinitesimally as he studied my face for signs of distress or mockery. I kept my features blank and nodded for him to continue.
"I'm going to tell you something that sounds crazy. He looked…he looked to me like he had been crying."
"Crying?" I had raised my voice and Emmett's hand shot out, stilling me by the shoulder. He hushed me and gave the bar a once over before resuming in a whisper.
"He was…mopey, if you can believe it. We were two sad creatures in the forest sharing a moment. I know it sounds plum dumb, but I was struggling between two instincts, fight or flight."
"What did you do?"
"I kept my eyes on him like there was string between us. I was too scared to look away, though it's what they tell you to do. I rose slowly, backed up, counting my breaths, and put my two feet on the trail facing the way I came. Meanwhile, the bear kept with the stare-off contest, huffed noisily through his black nose and watched me walk away. It took everything I had not to run, it felt wrong, like it would have broken our bond."
"You're telling me the bear didn't try anything, and you just walked away."
Emmett sank back into his stool, relieved. "Yup."
I contemplated the meaning of his story. He drank his beer with his eyes on me, checking for my reaction. If I thought my features were bland, Emmett proved me wrong when he spoke again. "You think I'm crazy, don't you?"
In a way, I did. I didn't want to say anything, having no explanation for it.
"I know it sounds like I lost my marbles, but I swear, me and that bear knew each other. We had a communion. There. That's the God's honest truth. I walked out of the forest carrying my pack, my gun, and wearing my hunter's vest like I was one with the forest, not the predator. The deer didn't shoot off, Edward! You understand? Every creature acted like we were lost cousins or something."
"You were one with the animals."
He nodded vigorously, collecting steam on the idea. "The whole damn forest sang and fucking chirped like I was no more harmful than…than…"
"…a chipmunk."
He laughed and slapped me on the arm. He called Cindy over for two more shots and beers.
"I never told anyone, not even my own ma. By the time I made it home, I had my mind made up. I quit the team. I was done being beholden to that stale dream. I bucked up, kept up my grades, and here I am."
He shrugged, lifted his shot, and declared, "'No Fear', Edward."
I drank mine down with a grimace. "You get used to it," Emmett wheezed like someone knocked the wind out of him.
"That's a wicked story."
"Yeah, but, what do you suppose it means? It has to mean something, right?"
If he wanted to command my full attention, he had it. He needed a reason, an explanation as if he were chosen to make it out of that forest alive. I would have chalked it up to dumb luck, but my friend didn't want to hear such a thing. I got it.
"Maybe it was your spirit animal."
"You think?"
I didn't know. I was making it up as I went along for his sake.
"Some Native American cultures believe that a man has an animal that guides him through life and into death. The animal, in your case, was a bear representing who you are."
Emmett silently processed my sage bullshit. After a good five minutes, he said, "So like a bear, I'm strong."
"Yes."
"I rule my domain, I am feared."
I thought he was stretching the theory a bit, but whatever got him through the day. "Yes."
"I like that."
"Of course, it could also signify that you're lost in the wilderness."
"The wilderness," he repeated reverently.
"And if I could suggest a way to get out of it…"
"Go on, tell me."
"Bears should never, ever, under any circumstances play with cougars." I smiled because I was getting good and toasty after all the shots we had consumed. Emmett caught wind of my joke. He laughed. "She was a gazelle! She was a beauty!"
He went on to describe in great wistful detail Irina's abundant attributes for the rest of the night.
His bear story stuck with me. I didn't necessarily think that he had a bear's spirit; if anything it was the boundless spirit of a Tasmanian Devil. I had a sinking feeling – fraught with delight and nerves – that I was to serve as witness to his whirling craziness in all its entertaining forms.
I made a private promise to myself that I would look out for him, the sad black bear, lost in the wilderness. But then who isn't lost in one way or another?
Riley's on a Friday night was a veritable stew of Tallahassee locals including, but not limited to, blue-collar eight-to-fivers, migrant workers, sour professors, and even a bachelorette party of all things. The bride-to-be wore a string of candy around her neck and a shirt with glittered lettering that read: Eat Me. She was a crowd pleaser. Even Marcus eked out a daffy grin after successfully plucking candy from her neck.
We drank pitchers until I lost count. We recounted our earlier exploits to anyone who would listen. Their reactions varied from bored to dubbing us "young, dumb, and full of cum" to which I toasted all three vigorously.
The bachelorette party commandeered the jukebox and I found myself singing the cheesiest love songs at the top of my lungs with the rest of the watery-eyed denizens. I may not have known all the words to Islands in the Stream, but I whistled delightedly when Emmett grabbed the reins on our duet.
By last call, we were staggeringly plastered.
I learned that night I was a happy and punchy drunk.
We stumbled out into the pitch-dark morning in glorious laughter when Emmett inadvertently turned the night around.
"Edward, you'll find your girl and she'll be better than the blonde Jezebel that broke your heart, buddy."
"What?" I laughed and squinted under a palmed-awning, searching for Emmett's Volvo. I smiled, our Volvo. Shit. I was prepared to call dibs on the backseat.
"I'm referring to the gal in the picture you carry around."
I turned around and found two Emmetts. Four, if I used both eyes.
I wavered on my feet, brows furrowed, adding up words that sparked a live wire from the bottom of my spine. I put the images together…
Blonde.
A creased photo of Rose and me with prom smiles wedged inside my journal. I wore a grin, she wore pink. The image made me smile, but then I remembered I never shared Rose with Emmett. I never told him about my best friend back home because I couldn't get past his womanizing ways, fun for him, but fucking douchey, if you asked me.
I hated her name coming out of his mouth as if he could contaminate her just by whispering it.
"What did you say? Jezebel?"
I squared up like I knew what I was doing, taking stock of the wall of muscle in front of me. I had height, but he had the brawn and a fullback's training.
"Relax, man."
Another wave hit me, a carried-over jealousy of his simple life, his simple 'jaunt-thru' life, impulsive, and reckless, and a shameful part of me coveted it.
I pushed him.
"Hey, back off, I was kidding."
"Don't fucking kid." I pushed again and he stumbled on his heel. "Don't fucking say Rose's name."
"I didn't say her name."
"Don't think about her."
I was bullying him. I didn't know who I was. I didn't care for beauty on that inky morning. I was brutal and homesick, a red tide cresting behind my eyes, whiskey-fueled and addled from a lifetime of stress, frustration, and the lonely confinement of my heart.
I became volatile at everything and nothing, and Emmett and that fucking dimple used to right wrongs even then as I staggered into his line of vision, his disappearing smile.
I lifted my fist into the sweet-soft night and planted it square on his jaw.
I managed to nudge him. I had no power. He cradled his jaw in the palm of his hand – eyes saucer-wide – as if he were the last one to hear the bad news.
I was going to hate myself in the morning. This was going to hurt but I didn't have it in me to care. Emmett's eyes narrowed in on my quiet plea. He understood.
It was no longer about him. The context of the night was all mine, judged by the glaring presence of the cheeky moon and stars and the audience of trees that boxed us in the dirt lot. I wanted to knockout all the troubles inside me. I was on a mission.
I wanted to surrender my old skin and start all over.
He was into it now, crouching. "You want to throw down?"
I was panting, tired of fear and frustration. I choked when I said the next words, but I answered like I was committing to the rest of my life.
"Let's go."
It was my first fight, if you could call it a fight. We wrestled on that dirt lot, a dogfight, a fight free of meaning, a fight free of winning. What I lacked in strength, I made up in intensity. The first hit I took from his meaty fist was gratifyingly painful, a physical justice, a blinding relief from the insufferable lonely world. Mine and everyone else's.
We went on for what seemed like forever, and never once did I land a straight blow. Emmett was fast, but I was a scrappy sonofabitch with accumulated anger. I knew that he was dealing me blows softened by sympathy, so I goaded him worse than an incessant gnat.
We were tumbling on the ground when I sobered, rolling on sand and rock. The pain made itself acutely present. Mercy arrived in the form of an elbow to the ribs. That did me in.
I rolled over onto a grassy patch, tucked in and wheezing moistly through my mouth. I swallowed blood from a cut on my upper lip and the taste gagged me.
I threw up and winced and coughed through my efforts.
I rolled on my back, a plump lump of useless mass. My eyes, milky and blinking, were operating at least.
I mapped out the constellations. Perseus, Cassiopeia, Ursa Major.
Cygnus. The swan, the Northern Cross, tilted like an X-mark on a studded map.
I wanted to close my eyes where I lay, and dream.
A shadow fell across my face. I was secretly thrilled to see Emmett bent over, catching his breath.
"You have a death wish?" His voice was incredibly patient.
I grunted in the negative.
"You can't fight for shit." He seemed surprised.
I grunted in the affirmative.
He plopped down beside me and took a load off.
It was the deep-end of night when the whole world seemed submerged in dreaming, Emmett and I were alone, floating on peaceful consciousness. Crickets trilled to their music and the wind-shaken oaks shivered above us. The grass tickled my neck.
We were spaced out, in our own worlds, evening out our breaths and quietly taking stock of the physical damage. I was re-counting my toes when he spoke real soft like a boy with an invisible friend.
"My dad drinks. He has ever since I've known him. Like a weekend drunk, I guess. Not a mean drunk, he just likes to take longer holidays than most people and sometimes he stays out for days until my mom has to go looking for him. I can't stand it, but somehow she likes to keep him around."
I cleaned my mouth with the collar of my shirt and decided I was an ass for underestimating him.
"My mom left when I was twelve. My dad's still in love with her and some days I wish I could knock some sense into him."
"That sucks."
"Yeah." We were silent again. I figure I had to make a better show at trust. "And, look, Emmett, that girl – "
His palms went up, stopping me. "I don't need to know."
"It's alright, I just…I feel protective of her. She's my best friend."
Emmett looked at me like my head came off my shoulders. I know he saw the picture of two people like they were physically suited for each other. He probably assumed she broke my heart.
"If you don't mind my saying so, man."
"Get it off your chest. Just this once."
"She's hot. She's…a beauty…she's a siren, Edward."
"I get it, jeez." Emmett quieted with a grin on his face. "She doesn't sing to me, Hercules. It's just never been that way with us. She's a good friend."
"I'm sorry I called her a Jezebel."
"I'm sorry I punched you."
I sat up and pulled my knees in, everything was creaky. He nodded seriously as if nothing more needed to be said about that.
It was getting late; I could smell the brisk air shift into early morning.
Emmett was ruminating next to me; I could practically hear it. He blew a breath through his mouth and slapped the ground, arriving at a conclusion.
"We're going to teach you to fight," he said, determined. "No offense, but that's a lot of sexual tension you're walking around with." He got up and dusted off his pants, "I don't have time to kick your ass every day."
I laughed and it hurt. He was right. I was dogged by female frustrations when I didn't have a real girl in sight. The irony wasn't lost on me and the lingering emptiness reappeared. I had to find a way to channel my ceaseless frustrations. I sighed and remembered that's what tomorrows are for.
I pointed to my busted lip. "That's nothing. You hit like a girl."
He laughed and held his hand out. He helped me up. "Thanks."
"Feel better?"
My body was cut, bruised, and scratched. My face was newly grotesque, and it was as if all of my limbs had been properly rearranged.
I had never felt more alive.
"Like a champ."
A/N: There was great discussion over this chapter and many re-writes of the ending. WriteOnTime restrained me from abusing the word, "tussle", which, sadly and rightly, had to be cut. faireyfan kept this chapter from reading like a sitcom pilot. They both made me laugh (at myself) often.