The Dark Light of Day
Page 17
That very day I had fallen in love with my grandmother.
"Abby? You dead?" A voice asked, casting a shadow over me, bringing me out of my daydream and back into the present. I kept my eyes closed.
"Yes,” I said. “I'm dead." I might as well have been.
"Well, you look awfully cute for a dead girl."
“Thanks, Owen.” I sat up, shading my eyes with my hands. The afternoon sun peaked around Owen, framing him in a full-body halo.
"What’re you doing down there?" Owen asked.
"Nothing that matters,” I answered. “What are you doing here?"
Owen stared down at me with the same grin he always had plastered on his face. I swear his cheeks must hurt at the end of the day. "Uncle Cole called and asked if I could come give you a hand with your…" He looked over to the tarp. “Crap?”
"Owen, I would love for you to help me. There’s a huge problem, though, one your kind uncle didn’t think much of before carrying out the eviction.” I was starting to shout. Owen didn't deserve my wrath, but I couldn't help what was coming out.
"And what problem is that?"
“I don’t have anywhere to take it!” I threw my arms up in defeat before hanging my head between my knees.
Owen sat down next to me. "Well," he said, lighting a cigarette, "as I see it you have two options." He took a drag and turned his head to the side to blow the smoke away from me.
"And what might those be?” I asked, talking from between my knees.
"You could either sit around here and have a first class pity party for yourself or you could come and have some drinks tonight at the woods party with me and think about all this—” he motioned to the tarp and the boards on the windows “—tomorrow. Seems like you got it all waterproofed and whatnot, so what's one night? Besides, you look like you could use a little time to forget.”
“That’s probably not the best idea, Owen.” It was an awful idea, actually. I hadn’t avoided being social my entire life for the fun of it, or because I thought I didn’t belong. I avoided them because I knew I didn’t belong. Not only in the town, not only with the kids from my high school.
I didn’t belong anywhere.
“Well, what else you gonna do? Stare at this shit all night until it magically does something different other than be a pile of shit?”
Would it be so bad to pretend for one night I wasn’t the punch line in some universal joke being told at my expense?
“Fine,” I said, giving in. I could think about all this later. I mean, what were my other options anyway?
Did I even have any?
"Well come on, then!" Owen looked like a kid on Christmas morning as he hustled over to his truck and opened the passenger door for me. I stood and brushed the grass from my legs. This time, Owen didn’t offer to help me up. He knew I could do it on my own. And he wasn’t looking for an excuse to touch me, which made me feel better about hanging out with him.
I’d use the night out the same way I’d been using Nan’s scotch, as a way to forget, a way to slip into a state of numbness, even if it was just for a little while.
Maybe, it wouldn’t be so bad after all?
***
Smoke rose from the fire in the center of the clearing, hissing like snakes being charmed. It crackled and popped, growing larger and reaching further into the night sky. A shorter boy wearing a white cowboy hat stood just outside the flames, feeding it dried brush and branches. Trucks of all makes and models formed a wagon-wheel, parked with their tailgates facing inward toward the fire. One of the larger trucks held a keg and a huge bag of red Solo cups, while another had all its windows down and was blaring country music from one of the local stations. Groups of girls or couples with their arms around one another occupied most of the tailgates. A group of guys gathered by the keg, talking loudly about truck tires and challenging each other to a game of ‘who can drink more’.
Why on earth did I agree to come here? I thought. I tugged on the long sleeves of my hoodie, pulling them over my wrists. It was a nervous habit. Owen must have been reading my mind, because he stepped away from his man-groupies by the keg and came over to where I sat on the open tailgate of his truck.
“You look like you could use a beer,” he said, offering me a cup.
I took it from him and downed most of it in one gulp.
I was going to need much, much more.
“Thanks,” I said. I gave him my best fake smile. Careful not to spill his own beer, Owen hopped up onto the tailgate in one fluid motion, taking a seat next to me. “You don’t have to be afraid of these folks, you know. Most of them you’ve gone to school with for a long time.” He tried to playfully nudge me with his elbow, but I dodged the contact.
"Abby? You dead?" A voice asked, casting a shadow over me, bringing me out of my daydream and back into the present. I kept my eyes closed.
"Yes,” I said. “I'm dead." I might as well have been.
"Well, you look awfully cute for a dead girl."
“Thanks, Owen.” I sat up, shading my eyes with my hands. The afternoon sun peaked around Owen, framing him in a full-body halo.
"What’re you doing down there?" Owen asked.
"Nothing that matters,” I answered. “What are you doing here?"
Owen stared down at me with the same grin he always had plastered on his face. I swear his cheeks must hurt at the end of the day. "Uncle Cole called and asked if I could come give you a hand with your…" He looked over to the tarp. “Crap?”
"Owen, I would love for you to help me. There’s a huge problem, though, one your kind uncle didn’t think much of before carrying out the eviction.” I was starting to shout. Owen didn't deserve my wrath, but I couldn't help what was coming out.
"And what problem is that?"
“I don’t have anywhere to take it!” I threw my arms up in defeat before hanging my head between my knees.
Owen sat down next to me. "Well," he said, lighting a cigarette, "as I see it you have two options." He took a drag and turned his head to the side to blow the smoke away from me.
"And what might those be?” I asked, talking from between my knees.
"You could either sit around here and have a first class pity party for yourself or you could come and have some drinks tonight at the woods party with me and think about all this—” he motioned to the tarp and the boards on the windows “—tomorrow. Seems like you got it all waterproofed and whatnot, so what's one night? Besides, you look like you could use a little time to forget.”
“That’s probably not the best idea, Owen.” It was an awful idea, actually. I hadn’t avoided being social my entire life for the fun of it, or because I thought I didn’t belong. I avoided them because I knew I didn’t belong. Not only in the town, not only with the kids from my high school.
I didn’t belong anywhere.
“Well, what else you gonna do? Stare at this shit all night until it magically does something different other than be a pile of shit?”
Would it be so bad to pretend for one night I wasn’t the punch line in some universal joke being told at my expense?
“Fine,” I said, giving in. I could think about all this later. I mean, what were my other options anyway?
Did I even have any?
"Well come on, then!" Owen looked like a kid on Christmas morning as he hustled over to his truck and opened the passenger door for me. I stood and brushed the grass from my legs. This time, Owen didn’t offer to help me up. He knew I could do it on my own. And he wasn’t looking for an excuse to touch me, which made me feel better about hanging out with him.
I’d use the night out the same way I’d been using Nan’s scotch, as a way to forget, a way to slip into a state of numbness, even if it was just for a little while.
Maybe, it wouldn’t be so bad after all?
***
Smoke rose from the fire in the center of the clearing, hissing like snakes being charmed. It crackled and popped, growing larger and reaching further into the night sky. A shorter boy wearing a white cowboy hat stood just outside the flames, feeding it dried brush and branches. Trucks of all makes and models formed a wagon-wheel, parked with their tailgates facing inward toward the fire. One of the larger trucks held a keg and a huge bag of red Solo cups, while another had all its windows down and was blaring country music from one of the local stations. Groups of girls or couples with their arms around one another occupied most of the tailgates. A group of guys gathered by the keg, talking loudly about truck tires and challenging each other to a game of ‘who can drink more’.
Why on earth did I agree to come here? I thought. I tugged on the long sleeves of my hoodie, pulling them over my wrists. It was a nervous habit. Owen must have been reading my mind, because he stepped away from his man-groupies by the keg and came over to where I sat on the open tailgate of his truck.
“You look like you could use a beer,” he said, offering me a cup.
I took it from him and downed most of it in one gulp.
I was going to need much, much more.
“Thanks,” I said. I gave him my best fake smile. Careful not to spill his own beer, Owen hopped up onto the tailgate in one fluid motion, taking a seat next to me. “You don’t have to be afraid of these folks, you know. Most of them you’ve gone to school with for a long time.” He tried to playfully nudge me with his elbow, but I dodged the contact.
