Twelve
Alex is on the phone. I can only hear her side of the conversation:
How did you know?
He can be, yes.
I’m not sure. I like to think so.
And finally,
Yes, I’d love to. See you then.
“Who was that?” I asked. Alex was wearing an Aerosmith T-shirt and jeans. I learned that Dream On was her favorite song. One night, when the power went out, she softly sang the lyrics to me by candlelight, and it was as if the song was written especially for her. I consider it her anthem.
“Your mother,” she said. She left me sitting on the couch. I didn’t hesitate to follow her to her bedroom.
“What did she want?” Leaning against the door jamb, I quickly scanned her room. It was like a time warp. Movie posters decorated the walls, a 1980s Walk-Man sat on her bedside table. There was even a Barbie doll on her dresser.
“It’s the only thing I own from my childhood.”
“A birthday gift?”
“A ‘sorry to leave you with the babysitter for a week’ gift. My parents went on vacation without me.”
“Nice.”
“I got used to it. Besides, Miss Bennington let me stay up past my bedtime. We watched black and white horror movies and ate Chex Mix covered in honey.”
“That’s still not fair. You were a kid.”
“I’m tough.”
“I can’t argue with that. I just wish you had sweeter memories.”
“Sweeter than honey? Sorry. Bad pun.”
“Clever, actually. So? What did my mother want?”
Alex left her room. I followed her like a lost puppy. “She wants me to go to Church with her. The day of the big fight. To pray for you.”
“And you said you’d go?”
“Yeah.”
I already told Alex to stay home when I fight Anvil, not because I think she’ll distract me, but in case I lose. When I lose, I sulk, and I didn’t want her to see me sulk.
“How did she know what?”
“What do you mean?”
“You said to my mother, ‘How did you know?’’’
“Do you want one?”
Alex was making herself a ham and cheese sandwich. We agreed to never again to buy peanut butter or jelly.
“No thanks. I’d like to know what you meant, though.”
“I don’t remember,” Alex said, avoiding eye contact with me. I took the butter knife from her hand. A blob of mustard landed on the kitchen island. “Shit. That might stain.”
“It’s fine. How can you not remember? You spoke to her three seconds ago.”
This time, she slammed her fist on the counter. “Am I being interrogated?”
“What? No. I was only...”
Leaning on the island with her head bowed, she said, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for snapping. I’m going to take a nap.”
“Aren’t you eating?”
“I changed my mind. I’m tired.”
“Does this have to do with your bruise?” I blurted it out. Like an imbecile, I blurted it out.
“What bruise?” Instinctively, she reached down to touch the precise area where she was sporting the bruise.
“Um... I saw it one morning. How did it happen?”
“Oh, that bruise. It’s a U.P.W.”
“What the fuck is that?” I asked, laughing.
“An unidentifiable party wound. It was a silly, drunken, accident. I thought we were done with the third degree.”
I didn’t believe her, but I also didn’t want her to resent me. Before she could walk away, I trapped her against the island. “I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable, Alex. I was just curious, that’s all.”
Her entire body relaxed. Freeing herself, she grabbed a piece of Swiss cheese and stuffed it in my mouth. It was an odd choice for an olive branch. “I know,” she said. “It’s okay. Is this our first fight?”
“You’re implying we’ll have more,” I said while chewing.
Something in her eyes relayed the truth. I memorized a passage once. I can’t remember what book the lines were from, but I thought it was poignant. It was assigned reading in school, and while my buddies scoffed at it, I drank in the words:
I lie awake counting the seconds as they pass and bemoan midnight. For there is nowhere else I'd rather be than trapped in yesterday with you.
“Are you listening?”
“Sorry. What did you say?”
She was standing by the coffee table with an envelope in her hand. “I said I’m going to give this to the needy when I meet your mom at Church. Is that okay?”
There was a busta, or envelope, at the bottom of one of the bags ma had left behind.
In it, we found two ten-dollar bills, probably because her motherly instinct told her that if I needed a roommate, I needed the money.
It made me feel even guiltier for lying to her.
Ma is on a pension, but she’s the type of mother who would rather starve than let her son go without.
I was planning to buy a bottle of champagne to either celebrate after the big fight or use it to drown my sorrows. Alex had other plans.
Every emotion I had buried deep inside was about to spill out of me. “Yeah. Of course it’s okay. Do you know how amazing you are?”
“No. But you’re here to remind me.”