Blood Doll (15)

Vibrations rattle my nightstand. Lights blinds my eyes as they pop open in surprise. With a small groan, my hand fumbles for my phone before grasping it.  Pressing it to my ear, I mumble, “Hello?”

“Oh, gosh, sorry, sorry, Eve. Did I wake you up?”

            My fingers comb through my hair as I sit up. “It’s okay. What time is it?”

            “Eleven forty-five in the morning, Miss Sleeps-a-Lot,” Ang replies. “So, I was kind of wondering if you wanted to come to another cookout thing my parents are hosting tonight. I’m not going to know practically anyone there, and I’ll be so lonely. Plus, we haven’t talked in forever. Will you come?”

            In all actuality, Ang cannot bear to falsely portray the Perfect, Nostalgic Family without someone to coach her through it, as I have done as many times as virtually possible.

            “Sure,” I assent. “I have to ask my parents, but they’ll be okay with it if I’m back before ten or so. When can I come over?”

            “Now, for God’s sake! They’re setting up as we speak! What the hell is wrong them?”

            “Don’t have a conniption, Ang,” I say, flinging my duvet away and slipping onto the carpet. “I’ll be there once I shower.” I guide myself almost blindly into the hall, then the bathroom.

            “Thank you so much, girly! I owe you one. See ya soon!”

            I set my phone on the blue-and-beige countertop. With mechanical motions, my tank top, shorts, and underwear are shed and the shower is cut on. Absentmindedly, waiting for the water to heat, my thumb strokes the raised stretch of scab above my bellybutton.

            After donning jeans plastered with an assortment of patches and buttons, a black sweater, Mary Janes, and Mason’s large trench coat, I seek out my parents, who, in the end, have settled in the expanse of gardens surrounding the house to de-weed and tend to it all.

            Mother is the one I approach. “Can I go to Ang’s for a bit? I’ll be back before ten.”

            “Aren’t her parents hosting another cookout tonight?” Father calls.

            “Oh, right,” Mother recalls. “They invited us a couple days ago. Are you sure you won’t wait and carpool with us?” she asks me.

            “Don’t let her stay there alone,” I insist. “You know how much of a toll these cookouts take on her.”

            “I’ve never really understood why she hates when her parents have cookouts,” Mother admits. Her fingers tentatively work a weed’s roots from its hold on the ground. “Jen and Barry seem like nice people.”

            Verbal abuse is nearly a must in their household, I think, though I say nothing. “Am I allowed to go?”

            “Make sure you’re back by ten,” Mother agrees. “And be careful.”

            “I will,” I call as I round the house and climb into my ancient metal contraption stationed in the driveway.

            I have hardly stepped from my car when Ang begins, “Girly, you made it! Thank God!” She had sprinted from her front door, jean jacket in hand, as I maneuvered into the lawn that was her front yard. Her arms she flings around me, giving me a bear-hug once I step from the vehicle. “Now let’s go walk before one of them sees me and makes me do something else.”

            When the miniature mansion disappears from sight, Ang sighs, twining her fingers behind her head as we slow to a tortoise-crawl. “If we have many more cookouts, I swear I’m gonna move to a huge city and apply to be a porn star.”

            “I don’t think you have to apply to be a porn star,” I say.

            “Eh, probably not. But at least I’d get paid bank to do it whenever the urge hits me.”

            “In front of a camera for slavering homo-sapiens of the opposite sex�"and sometimes same sex�"who pleasure themselves while watching you f**k a more-than-likely repulsive guy. Please, Ang, at least become a Playboy Bunny.”

            “Point taken, alright? Don’t worry, I’d become a stripper before a porn star.” Her mouth forms a goofy grin.

            “It relieves me tremendously to know you’re joking about it all,” I say, shaking my head.

            “Andrew would love it, though,” Ang states. “He asked me out, you know.”

            “And so you are now a hot item?”

            “I can’t believe it, girly! Who would have ever thought that the hottest, most popular guy in school even knew my name? Much less wanted to date me. It was official as of Friday, I just haven’t been able to tell you the wonderfully fantabulous news because you didn’t want to hang out last night, and I’m not sure why that is. I apologized for not talking to you; I thought we were cool again.”

            By this time, we have arrived at our destination: a small airport. In all actuality, it is merely a storage space for one-person airplanes and gliders, with a miniature strip to take off from. A wood-and-wire fence surrounds the stretch, with a rickety bench with two tiers stationed just outside it.

            “We are cool, Ang,” I assure her as we climb onto the top tier. “I just had promised someone I’d meet them yesterday, and I couldn’t decline.”

            Her eyes refuse to meet mine. “Is it that new girl?”

            “Peach? No. We seem to have a lot in common, but I don’t know her well enough.” My fingers grasp the sleeves of Mason’s trench coat.

            Whipping around to face me, Ang infers, “It was a guy, wasn’t it?” She receives silence as an answer. “Oh, my God! Who? The guy at the party? I thought you said you didn’t swap numbers. How could you keep this from me? Girly, you better tell me all about it.”

            The knowledge that, by maintaining the lie I had given her about Drac’s Lair, I must stretch the truth once again to ensure nothing be seen as amiss does not settle easily in my mind. Even so, no matter how much of a best friend Ang is, I can not bear to betray Mason by sharing his secret without permission. So, despite that the want to spill everything to her is prominent, I withhold it all. “Remember how I told you I lost my phone at the party?” Ang’s head bobs until I fear it will disengage from her neck. “Apparently, I gave that guy, Mason, my number to call and find it…And he saved it to his contacts.

            “Um, you’re likely going to get mad at me not telling you,” I continue, cringing, “but he called me after work last Thursday.”

            “Good goodness, Eve! This is, like, major news, and you decide to keep it from me? I mean, I know we didn’t talk until Friday, but you could’ve called me or something.”

            “I didn’t know how Saturday would go, so I didn’t want to get your hopes up,” I say.

            “Obviously, it went awesomely, else you wouldn’t have this coat, which I infer is his,” Ang states, running an orange-nailed finger down the sleeve.

With more than slight embarrassment, I nod almost imperceptibly, then mumble, “It wasn’t bad.”

“You’re acting like a little kid who’s afraid of the dentist, girly,” Ang points out. “Tell me, or I’ll force it out of you, word by word.”

“We hung out at Mullberton Park, okay?”

“Now we’re getting somewhere. For how long? Did he bring a friend, or was it just the two of you?”

“A couple of hours, and no. It was just us.” The indifferent, possibly snappy tone I have adopted poorly conceals my modest happiness, which Ang can no doubt also depict.

“Details, then, details! What were you both wearing? What did you do? Did anything happen?” At this, she winks and bites her bottom lip suggestively.

Burying my face behind my hands, I groan, “I don’t have a reasonable answer as to why we’re friends.”

“Because you love me. Now dish it!”

“Okay, okay. We met at the duck pond. People kept staring at us, which isn’t unusual, if that tells you what we were wearing. We didn’t do anything, really. Just hung out and talked. Then went home.”

“The PG version? So, like no makeout sessions?” The raised eyebrow she receives encourages her to sign surrender. “You’ve never dated, I know, I get it. You at least made physical contact, right?”

“No, I made him stay a minimum of five feet from me at all times,” I reply sarcastically. “Yes, we made physical contact. Though I believe you will be more interested in that we,” closing my eyes against the inevitable onslaught, I hesitate before plowing on, “hugged.”

Arms fling themselves around my shoulders. “You tell me this as if you acted like a porn star with him,” she cries. “Barfing elephants, girly, I’m so happy for you. When are you getting together next? It’s uber obvious you two like each other.”

“I’m not sure,” I confess. “He told me to call him when I wanted to meet again.”

“And you don’t want to?”

“I mean, I do, but…”

“No buts about it. Call him right now!” Mercifully, hellish atrocities suddenly bleat from her phone. Sighing, she says, “It’s home,” before answering it.

Even from my position, it is moderately difficult to ignore the garbled yelling of her mother demanding her home and reminding her of what an ungrateful child she is. “I know. I’m sorry…Okay, mom. I’ll be there in a minute,” Ang promises before hanging up. “We’ve got to get back,” she informs me unnecessarily.

There is nothing I can do as we head back but bear-hug her and begin another topic of conversation.

            When we arrive, we are made to twine between a few glistening cars that have sprouted since our departure. “Oh, God in Heaven,” Ang mutters, “It’s starting.” With my best friend dragging her flip-flops on the driveway, we slowly approach the backyard, slip in through the amazingly tall wooden gate.

            Lush grass becomes crushed under our feet as we sneak to the far edge of the yard. Most guests have settled under the deck or around the paid-to-be-tended-to spring fed pond in the exact middle of the lawn; few, if any, notice our passing.

            “I am so glad you convinced me to buy a hammock,” Ang says. “Without it, I would be nothing at times like this.” We clamber onto the hammock strung between to large oaks, then toss our shoes to the ground. Once we have stretched out across from one another, the contraption of knotted ropes swinging faintly, I stare up at the foliage above us while Ang studies each new arrival and the goodies they bring for the food table beside the stainless steel grill.

            “What are you thinking about?” I ask after a moment.

            “Life,” Ang replies simply.

            I do not question what, exactly, her view on life is. She has previously admitted that, had she not a little brother to protect, Death would have become her final escape from her parents.

            My parents are among the last to arrive. Now, the yard is bursting with bodies conversing, stocking up on food and refreshments from the table. Ang and I sneak into the midst of the line and pile our heavy duty paper plates to toppling with provisions before slipping back to the hammock. There, our goodies gradually diminish, as does the sunlight, which forces solar lamps to cut on around the pond and Ang’s parents to work their ways through the crowd to light tiki torches.

            Most have trickled home by eight thirty, including Mother and Father. The few remaining assist the cleaning process, as do Ang and I. When only she, her family, and I remain, though, I finally take my leave. Bidding everyone goodnight, I start for my car.

            “We’ll talk about You-Know-Who tomorrow,” Ang calls. Her reply is merely a hand lifted in farewell. “What? You didn’t think you’d won, did you? You’re not that lucky.”

            “Of course,” I mutter. Starting my car, I make my way home, where Mother and Father have retreated to be for the night. The porch light remains on, and I easily unlock the door, but the interior is pitch, forcing my fingers to feel their ways down the hall. In the bathroom, I brush my teeth.

            In my room, I change into pajamas, finish the enormity of homework left for precisely this time, then creep into bed to focus on the sky until sleep catches me.