Four
before
They were squeezed into the front seat of Cary’s mom’s car because the back seat was always full of junk. Like, bags of stuff
that his mom bought at the thrift shop and then didn’t bring into the house until it was all broken from being sat on or thrown
around. It was a bad cycle, but Cary tried to ignore it. Shiloh wondered if his house was like this, too. She’d never been
inside.
Cary always drove, and Mikey sat in the passenger seat, and Shiloh sat in the middle. She leaned more on Cary, because leaning
on Mikey would feel weird. And also because it wouldn’t bother Mikey.
It bothered Cary. Shiloh messed with him while he drove. There was a hole in the seam of his Army surplus pants, on the outside
of his thigh. She poked at it, and Cary tried to pull his leg away. “Don’t rip my pants.”
“They’re already ripped.”
They were going to see a movie— Delicatessen . Omaha only had one art-house movie theater, and the three of them saw pretty much everything that came there. Mikey was
into arty stuff. And Shiloh was kind of into it... even though most of the movies they saw didn’t make any sense, and they were usually sort of embarrassing. (European
people smoking on balconies. Or having sex in dirty kitchens.) But the movies were confusing in a way that made Shiloh feel
smart. Like, at least she knew enough to be there, on the cutting edge of something. Of the three of them, Cary was the most
likely to walk out of the theater afterwards and say, “Well, that was garbage.” But he still kept going along. He still kept driving. Kept covering Shiloh when she couldn’t buy her own ticket. (Cary worked
weekends at a grocery store.)
Cary always sat in the middle at the theater. Because he and Mikey had to sit together, to crack each other up. And because Shiloh had to sit by Cary, because she just did.
When Delicatessen was over, Cary said, “I could have used less cannibalism.”
“Or maybe you could have used more cannibalism,” Mikey said. “There’s really no way of being certain.”
“All right, sure,” Cary agreed. “Either way, it had an unpleasant amount of cannibalism.”
“I think the cannibalism was a metaphor... ” Shiloh said.
“For what?” Cary asked.
“I don’t know. I’m just saying I think it was probably a metaphor.”
“Well, I’m hungry,” Mikey said.
Shiloh laughed.
“Where can we go where they might serve us people?” he asked. “Also I only have three dollars.”
Shiloh had one dollar. Cary had eight, but he had to save five for gas.
They went to Taco Bell.
They each got a bean burrito and then a Nachos Supreme to share. Shiloh and Mikey ate most of the chips because Cary was driving.
She tried to feed him some, but he just frowned and shoved her arm away.
Cary had bony hands. Swollen knuckles. Knobby wrists. Chafed-looking elbows. He looked like he wasn’t getting the recommended
daily amount of something. He was pale, and he had too many moles. Dark ones—even on his face. He was tall enough, and strong
when he needed to be, but there was something stunted about him. Like maybe he got taller at the expense of some other vital
function. Shiloh wouldn’t be surprised to hear that Cary only had one kidney. Or that he was digesting his own intestines.
He should let her feed him some nachos.
Cary always took Mikey home first, and then he’d take Shiloh home. She and Cary only lived a few blocks apart.
Shiloh lived right across from Miller Park. It was one of the grand old parks that were part of the original city plan. It had a playground and a swimming pool and a golf course... (Who in North Omaha played golf ?) There had been a few gang shootings in the park. And a few regular shootings. It was illegal to drive through there at
night. Shiloh always tried to talk Cary into doing it, but he never would.
Sometimes they drove around for a while before he took her home. They were high school seniors now—they could do pretty much
whatever they wanted. And neither of them had the kind of parents who kept track.
Cary lived with his mom (she was actually his grandma, it was a long story) and his mom’s fourth husband, who Cary wouldn’t
even call his stepdad.
Shiloh just had her mom. Her dad had never been in the picture. Like, Shiloh had never even seen a picture of him. Her mom had boyfriends that came and went. It was always a relief when they went.
Tonight Cary drove straight to Shiloh’s house after Mikey’s—but he backed into her driveway, so they could look out on the
park. That meant he wasn’t in any hurry to get home.
Shiloh didn’t bother Cary as much when it was just the two of them. She still messed with him just as much, maybe even more—but
Cary didn’t get bothered. He’d let her fool around with the car radio and tug on his pockets. Sometimes she’d play with his hair.
Back in middle school, Cary had always needed a haircut. His hair had been lank and clumpy. Now he paid for his haircuts himself,
and his hair always smelled like apples. He’d let Shiloh fiddle with his hair, but if she pulled it, he’d shove her hand away.
Sometimes Shiloh felt like she was disappointing Cary. Like, she was pretty sure he was usually pretending to be irritated with her. But underneath that, there were moments when he seemed actually irritated with her.
“Would you eat me”—Shiloh hooked a finger in a loop sewn into the pocket of Cary’s cargo pants—“if we were stranded on a mountain,
and I died first?”
“Pass,” Cary said.
“Are you passing on eating me? Or passing on the question?”
“Both.”
“I would probably eat you,” she said. “Partly to stay alive. And partly as a way to keep you with me for the time that I had
left.”
He frowned at her.
Shiloh poked him. “Come on. What would you do?”
“You’re dead?”
“Yeah, but I’m fresh. Half frozen.”
“No, I wouldn’t eat you. What would I have to live for?”
“A plane might see you the next day.”
“Pass,” he said.
She poked his thigh. “I guess the world will forget us both.”
Cary grabbed her wrist and held on to it for a second, away from his leg.