Chapter 7 – No good deed… (Part 1)
The next day, as I laid on my bed at home in the late afternoon, I tried to figure out exactly how I was going to get the flimsy identification cards back to my friends. My options were fairly limited, and I was being indecisive, so I flipped through each card in the stack to keep myself mindlessly entertained in the meantime.
I couldn't stop laughing at the ID from Howie Gelfand that Ken kept. It absolutely looked nothing like him. It was obvious the bouncers knew it was a fake when they let him in the bar, but I really had no idea just how bad it was until I took a good look at it. It was a Canadian driver's license and, while I had never seen a legit one before, there was one glaring mistake that stuck out like a sore thumb for me. When I was younger, my fourth grade teacher, Mrs. Birling, had set up a twelve week pen-pal exchange between our class and a class of the same grade in Sault Ste. Marie, Ontario. It was actually a lot of fun and, even though we never made any sort of correspondence after the twelve weeks, I will never forget how happy I was when writing to my pen-pal, Noah, or the excitement I felt when Mrs. Birling handed us our reply letters each week. The one thing our teacher was adamant about- to make the experience even more personal and significant to our growing brains, she made sure we addressed the enveloped we put out letters in every week, citing the name of or pen-pal and the address of the school (though now I am almost certain that she shipped them all together in a big envelope). It was the first time I ever learned to write an address that wasn't my own, and I can still remember it to this day. Unlike addresses in the US that end with a zip code, Canadian addresses had a postal code, which was the same idea, but instead of a set of numbers, it was a six-character alphanumeric combination, and that was what stuck out about Gelfand's fake- it had not only a non-existent postal code on it, but one that didn't make any sense if you knew what you were looking at. 'THN 3H5' was simply not alphanumeric.
I thumbed through the rest, quite impressed by the quality of the fakes that Lindsay, Nick and Daniel had bought. They were good. They were damn good... even if the price was over the top. I had briefly considered asking who their guy was, because I would definitely need a new ID when mine expired and these looked completely legitimate, but then I remembered how none of them wanted to talk about the experience at all and I thought better of it.
Kim's was the last in the pile, and I glanced over it for probably longer than I should have, easily spotting the differences in the photo on the ID from my friend's face. The cheeks were flat and not round, the strong chin and big, beautiful eyes were not present, but the hair, nose and lips being near identical spoke to them being related. Simply put, while there was a staggering similarity between them from a quick glance, Kim was much prettier than her cousin, Erica.
I sighed loudly as I came to my conclusion on Kim's fake ID, finally willing to admit to myself that I was growing way, way too interested in my best friend. She was, without a shred of a doubt, completely off-limits. Her boyfriend was one of my close friends, for crying out loud, and we tinkered with our cars together nearly every weekend. I would have to be absolutely mental to even think of pushing my friendship with Kim passed anything platonic.
One thing was for certain- I needed to get my mind off her ASAP. I shot up off my bed and grabbed my car keys from my dresser, readying myself to head out to a friend's house, surprise 'em with their fake ID and maybe just hang out for a while.
Just how much of a mess is my life right now? I criticized and mulled in my head as I drove down the road, answering myself just a moment later. Well, it's such a mess that I chose to drive around to my friends' houses on a Saturday to hand deliver their fake IDs back to them instead of waiting until Monday like any sane person would. Now you're hoping that maybe one of them will want to bum around with you for a while, just so you can set your head straight about your best friend! That's that kind of mess you got yourself into, jackass!
My first stop was at Nick's house and I almost had my heart explode out of my chest when his dad told me his son was on 'probation' and couldn't have any guests at the time, but insisted that he could give Nick whatever it was I wanted him to have. There was no way in hell I was going to just hand Mr. Andopolis an ID that stated his son was twenty-three years old, but my god, the man had a military temperament about him that made you feel like he knew exactly what you were up to and he could snap your neck with his mind. 'Intimidated' did not even begin to explain how I felt around him.
I stopped by Daniel's place next and caught him just as he was getting ready to leave. I was shocked to see a black eye occupying the right side of his face and when the first thing I did was inquire about it, I was met with an incredulous look and an answer of 'Nothin'- that's what happened.'
After taking a moment to shake the incident off, I presented his fake ID to him, but he seemed less enthusiastic than I assumed he would be to get his it back. It was quite obvious that something was preoccupying his attention, and it likely had to do with the subject we had just touched on or his father, as his mother always had her son running errands for her so she wouldn't have to leave her husband alone at home. I asked if he wanted me to come along with him, keep him company while he was out and about, but he declined.
"Thanks, man. I would bring ya, but..." He looked down, appearing somewhat ashamed of what he admitted next. "Sometimes doin' all this stuff for my folks really takes a toll of me, ya know? Sometimes I just need to be alone when I'm doin' it."
I nodded in understanding, feeling empathy for my friend as he confessed his anger towards having the parental role thrust upon him from time to time.
He looked up again and smiled his cheeky grin. "Maybe someday soon we'll be able to put these to good use again though, huh?"
"Yeah, man," I smiled back, watching him hop into his car. I suddenly realized that I actually had no idea where anyone else in our group lived (I couldn't even remember how to get to Lindsay's house and it dawned upon me that I had never been to the home of either Ken or Kim until that moment), so I tried to pawn Kim's card off on him to give to her, but his pent up resentment towards his parents was starting to boil over at that point, and he waved me off as he started his car with his other hand, telling me to 'just give it to her yourself'.
"I don't even know where she lives, Daniel!" I called out, once again attempting to transfer the card to him.
"2413 West Alumni Avenue or something! Just look for her car!" Daniel yelled, his roaring voice barely noticeable over the deafening sound of his engine as he revved away in his Trans Am. As instant later, he was racing down the road.
"Fuck," I sighed defeatedly. Now I had no choice but to either go to Kim's or take my sorry ass back home.
Alumni Avenue was actually only a few blocks away from my house... I had just always avoided the area because it was one of the more run down parts of town. Actually, 'run down' might have been an understatement, as most of Chippewa viewed the area as our very own Skid Row.
Maybe she can tell me where Ken and Lindsay live, I reasoned with myself as I slumped back into the driver's seat of my car.
As I pulled into the driveway and parked behind Kim's Gremlin, I soaked in the sights in front of me. Half of the yard was just gone... nothing but dirt. The other half had piles of two-by-fours all over the place as well as a random, old water heater. An oven that had seen better days and a few rolled up rugs flanked either side of the front entrance. It was an unclassifiable mess and yet it somehow looked nicer than Daniel's yard, which was practically hidden beneath rusted junk.
I hesitantly opened the screen door, which was just barely hanging on by a single hinge, and knocked on the front door. I had heard tales of just how 'psycho' Kim's parents were... well, her mother and her stepfather. She was very insistent that she was in no way, shape or form directly related to the 'slime' married to her mother.
'Who's at the damn door?!' I heard a male voice yell from inside and part of me, a very large part, was not looking forward to either adult answering my call for attention. To my relief, it was Kim who responded to my knocking. She smiled when she saw me, but something was off. Her eyes were red and puffy, not as if she had been smoking, but like she had been crying, and she seemed a little shaky. Upon further inspection, her right cheek looked swollen and sore.
"Hey. What are you doin' here?" she asked through a voice that sounded just as unsteady as she appeared, dipping her head to look down at the floor.
Reaching into my pocket, I replied, "I, uh, I got something for you."
She shifted her attention back up to me, cocking her head to the side and quickly wiping away a tear that began rolling down her cheek. It was, in a word, heartbreaking. I didn't know what was wrong and I had even less idea of what to do.
"I managed to get these back last night after everyone scattered." I handed her back her cousin's old license. "I figured my beer fund better go towards some good purpose since none of us were gonna get drunk."
Kim released a single laugh and covered her mouth as she took the card with her other hand. She seemed to be beaming just to get it back and hastily shoved it into the front pocket of her jeans before looking back up at me. "Thanks, Donovan. I-I really appreciate it."
We stood there in a vexing silence for a moment before I piped up again. "Is everything okay, Kim? You seem... I dunno."
She once again looked down to the ground, this time speaking in a voice that lost all of its Kim-ness. "Yeah, no, everything is... everything is..." There was a slight shuffle of her feet before she peered back up at me and continued, "Donovan, can you stay here, with me, for a little while?"
Something was definitely wrong and I replied 'sure' without a second thought. All of the sudden, my wistful feelings towards the girl took a backseat to me being there for her as a friend. No matter how confused I may have been about what I wanted, there was no way I was just going to leave her to fend for herself when she asked me for help.
As I stepped into the house, I realized that I was walking into the gutted remains of a home. Some walls were finished, some had sheets of plastic over them, waiting for drywall, and others were nothing more than skeletal two-by-four frames with wires crossing through them like the tattered remains of an old cobweb.
"Who the hell is this? One of your other boyfriends?" the same voice from earlier bellowed out and a man staggered into the living room, barely able to balance himself.
Kim didn't look at the man when replying and again set her sights downward, which lead me to believe that he was her stepfather, Arlo, and also the problem she was dealing with that day. "This is my friend. Donovan."
I cleared my throat. "Nice to meet you... sir." I might have grimaced when I said that last word, I wasn't entirely sure. All I knew was that it just felt... painful to say. I didn't even know the man and I could already sense he was not deserving of any respect.
"Save-" Arlo let out with a loud, wet burp and blew it out like some pleasant aroma. "Save it. If you're a friend of hers then you're prol- prol-... you're a bum. Get out of my house!"
Kim shot her head up, a look of terror in her eyes. I had never seen her act so browbeaten... and I never wanted to again. She began to protest. "No, he's-"
"Get out of my house!" he yelled to me again, overriding her without concern.
A scrawny woman (Kim's mother, Cookie, I assumed) suddenly scampered into the room. "Jesus, honey, keep it down, will ya? Chip's tryin' tah sleep. Why ya yellin', anyway?"
Arlo pointed at me with a hand holding a bottle of beer. The contents inside sloshed around violently, some even spitting out of the top and spilling onto the shag carpet beneath. "This little funk... I mean punk. Your daughta brought annudah punk to my house!"
"Our house," Cookie corrected, "and she's allowed to have friends ovah... so long as she isn't lying to us about 'em." She shot an accusatory look to Kim when finishing her sentence.
"I told you I didn't lie about everything I said about Lindsay. She is smart and she is my friend!"
I stood in awe of the dysfunction playing out in front of me.
Is this what Kim's normal home-life is like? I wondered to myself.
If so, it was no surprise why she lashed out at others so often without hesitation or remorse. She needed an outlet from being her parents' outlet, and anyone who crossed her path at school, be it student or teacher, would make a sufficient target.
"And what about him? Does he live in Benton Harbor in a vacation home, too?" Kim's mother sneered.
"No! I- He-" Kim was stumbling for words.
I looked over to her and realized she was trying to choke back tears and stand up to her two bullying parental figures at the same time.
"I'm Donovan, a friend of your daughter. I live just a few blocks away and dropped by to see if I could hang out with her for a while. We go to school together. I used to be a football player at McKinley until earlier this year... after I put a kid in a coma." I was looking at Arlo when I admitted my reason for quitting sports, hoping he would get the point I was trying to make in an otherwise random and overly informative statement.
Cookie seemed somewhat taken aback by my confession and huffed, "Nice 'friend' you got here, Kim."
Arlo stared at us for a moment before taking another swig of his beer. "Keep it down. One kid's sleepin' and we're going to watch The $50,000 Pyramid marathon." He had dropped his offensive tone and lazily flopped onto the couch. My idle threat seemingly had no impact. "And don't think you're goin' nowhere neither, girly. I still got your car keys. You're lucky we don't sell that thing."
Cookie joined him a moment later without saying another word.
Again I looked over at Kim and she was peering at the couple with a look of hatred in her teary eyes. I was waiting for her to scream or start yelling profanities or simply just go crazy on them... but she didn't. Instead, she stomped off passed them and down the hall. I wasn't entirely sure if I was actually given the okay to stay or not, but I really didn't care. All I wanted to do was make sure my friend was okay.
She had stormed into a room that merely had a shower curtain in place of a door. Soft sounds of sobbing flowed out as I got closer and I felt all at once lost, completely uncertain of how to console her. I still had my awkward guy moments where dealing with emotions was uncharted territory and that was certainly one of them.
Timidly, I knocked on the chipped molding around the curtain. "Kim... are you- can I-" I winced with irritation.
Are you what? Can I what? I had no idea what to say.
The crying abruptly stopped and the sound of the faucet running could be heard.
Is this the bathroom? It must have been. I listened to Dick Clark make small talk with the contestants of the show while waiting for... whatever the hell I was waiting for.
A minute later, Kim shut the tap off and finally lightly called out, "Donovan, are you still out there? You can- you can come in."
"Ummm..." I elongated in reply to the perplexing invitation. I heard her chuckle at my response.
"I'm not using the bathroom or anything. There's just nowhere else to go in this stupid house. We know who's out in the living room, which is right next to the open kitchen, my brother is sleeping in my room and there's no way I'm going in their bedroom. So, please, just come in here."
I pulled the thin sheet of plastic aside and walked in, a pained look spread across my face as I still, for whatever reason, anticipated seeing something I wasn't supposed to. Kim was sitting on the toilet, though not indecently, but simply because it was one of the only surface areas to sit on in the cramped, unfinished room.
"See? Everything's fine, you big baby," she razzed, sniffling a little. There was a damp washcloth in her hands and it looked as if she was attempting to conceal the fact that she had cried by irritating the rest of her face with the harsh fabric. She looked over at the sink in disdain and sighed out, "Except that Goddamn clog."
I peered over my shoulder into the hand basin and saw that it was indeed quite full and draining at an incredibly slow pace. A short survey of the fixture and I could see it had a pop-up plug. A smile crossed my face as I remembered an unfortunate mishap of curiosity I created as a child.
"I think I can actually help you with that," I laughed.
"Oh, what? Now you're a plumber, too?" she mocked.
I told her the tale of how, as a child, I would roam the house with a screwdriver in hand and methodically loosen and re-tighten every little bolt I could find and reach. I eventually moved on to taking other things apart and putting them back together, but that did not always turn out for the best. Sometimes I would put them back together wrong and, occasionally, I would lose interest altogether and not even bother trying. That was the case with our bathroom sink during my adventure in 'what's-this-do?' land. I had somehow managed to take apart a good portion of the pop-up plug while under the sink and, upon the realization that I simply wasn't strong enough to put it all back together, I went to my bedroom and started playing with my plastic dinosaurs. An hour later when my father went to use the bathroom, he nearly jumped out of his slippers when water began gushing out from the cabinet drawers as he washed his hands.
As Kim's laughter generated from my inspiring story of handyman-ness subsided, she looked at me with a hint of curiosity in her eyes. "Do you really think you can fix it?"
I put on the best show of confidence and cockiness I could, eyeing the washbowl again to make sure it had emptied. "Pffft! Of course! ...maybe."
The nice thing about the kind of drain stopper the sink had was that you really didn't need any tools to dismantle or reassemble it, and once you removed it, you had open access to the pipe.
"Oh God," she shook her head and buried her face in her palm, but not before I caught a glimpse of her smile.
I opened the doors below the sink and began to clean out the clutter stored within. "Just get me a metal clothes hanger that I can ruin, Blondie."
Less than ten minutes later I was fishing the long, flimsy length of wire down the drain. The gunk-covered pop-up part of the sink drain lay next to the sink, garnering looks of repugnance from Kim every few seconds.
"If that's grossing you out," I began to warn, lightly pulling up the wire with my catch on the other end, "you probably don't want to look at what I'm about to haul out of this hole."
She shook her head in defiance. "No, I'll be fin- oh my god! That's disgusting!"
I tugged a clump of muck the length of a snake from the drain. It left a trail of blackish-green slime as it dragged against the porcelain surface of the sink.
"What the hell is that?" Her face was still contorted into a look of revulsion.
"Do you, uh, happen to wash that pretty, long blonde hair of yours in this sink?"
"Sometimes, yeah."
At that moment I could almost see the correlation come to fruition in her head.
"Wait, are you trying to say all of that is my hair? My mom does the same thing, y'know?"
I winked at her and began to crack up. "Then I guess you're both to blame, huh?"
"How much do our lives suck right now?" Kim asked a few minutes later as I pulled another clump of hair out. "I'm hiding out in the bathroom, trying to avoid the assholes in the living room while one of my friends is happily yanking blobs of gunky, gross hair from the bottom of our bathroom pipes."
"Well, when you put it like that..." I shrugged, twisting the length of wire in my hands to catch as much clogging material as I could. "Yeah, our lives really suck right now I guess, but hell, I was so bored earlier today that I decided to drive to each of my friends' houses to hand deliver their IDs back to them. This is an upgrade." I removed the last collection of clog-inducing material I could reach and tossed it into the small bathroom garbage along with its counterparts. "So, what do you say we get out of here once I put this back together?"
She stood up and straightened her shirt. "That's the best idea you've had since you got here." Her small jab was proof that she was feeling better.