Chevrolet with a big silvery bumper and customized oversize tires. I thought about bumpers and chrome and the invention of vulcanized rubber. I inhaled. I exhaled. The door was still ajar; I opened it all the way, flooding the car with the peppery summer darkness. For some reason, I wanted to laugh. But it wouldn’t happen. The diaphragm wouldn’t activate. The laughter died in my belly. I got into my clothes, too, and started the engine of the car. Natasha looked at me. “What are you thinking?” she said.
I didn’t answer at first. We drove for a while in silence. I looked out at the roadway with its illuminated yellow strips. I turned the situation over in my mind. A wall had been broken. Something had crumbled. I wasn’t sure what it was, but I knew it was significant. And I was standing there, in the rubble of it, looking around and trying to reconstitute at least a part of what had been there before.
“You said yes because you love him,” I finally said.
I was again aware of Natasha’s breathing, which was low and ragged and haltering.
“Of course I love him, Khosi,” she said. “But we’re twenty-two. Well, he’s twenty-three.”
I was driving her home. I hadn’t known it until that moment, but that’s what I was doing. The car was retracing its route from earlier in the evening. I was driving it there. We drove past the Silver Bow County courthouse. The state built the courthouse in 1912 for $482,000, I knew. It towered four imperious stories above the pavement. It was a soft gray-pink color. Marble pillars framed the sides of its main glass dome. I gazed up at it, taking refuge in the facts of its size, its scope, its unshakable intentionality. And then Natasha said, “Wait, stop.”
“Stop?” I said.
“There he is, right there. It’s Calvin,” she said.
Sure enough, walking down the sidewalk, there was Calvin Stuckey. Sometimes, sometimes Butte was too small of a town.
“Speak of the devil and there he is,” I said, with perhaps a little too much emphasis.
But as we pulled up beside him, Natasha recoiled as if she’d been burned. “No, never mind,” she said. “Don’t stop.”
“Don’t stop?” I said. “He’s about to see us. I can’t just stare at him and drive by. ‘I’m sorry, Calvin, I was just screwing your fiancée a moment ago, so I didn’t feel like stopping.’ ”
“I don’t think he wants to see me,” she said, sinking lower into the seat. “And I don’t know if I want to see him.”
“Didn’t he just propose to you?” I said, and rolled the car up beside him.
He’d come downtown specifically to find her. He’d left his house after midnight and charted his way through the bedlam ofthe parade’s end. That’s what I found out later, anyway: He’d imagined he might find us together downtown. The timing was fortuitous. He spotted our car before we pulled over. We rolled to a halt directly in front of him. He smiled broadly as he walked up to us. His shelf of glistening white teeth illuminated the night like a glacial peak.
“Hey, Khosi,” Calvin said. “Hi, Cube.”
This was, I knew, his pet name for her. It felt dirty to know their pet names. Or to be the kind of person they shared their pet names with. But there you had it. Cube was simple. Cube as in
sugar. Sugar cube
.
“Congratulations on the engagement, Calvin,” I said.
“Thanks,” he said. “I went looking for you at the country club.”
I put the Mercedes in park and turned off the motor. “Yacht Club,” I said.
“Or Yacht Club Manor,” Natasha said.
“But I forgot my ascot,” Calvin said. “They wouldn’t let me in the door.”
“That’s weird,” I said. “Normally, they keep a few behind the counter.”
Calvin leaned in, his hand resting on the edge of Natasha’s window. She reached over and touched the back of his wrist. She smiled reluctantly at him. “Couldn’t sleep?” she said.
Calvin looked over at me. “Can I borrow her for just a minute,
I didn’t answer at first. We drove for a while in silence. I looked out at the roadway with its illuminated yellow strips. I turned the situation over in my mind. A wall had been broken. Something had crumbled. I wasn’t sure what it was, but I knew it was significant. And I was standing there, in the rubble of it, looking around and trying to reconstitute at least a part of what had been there before.
“You said yes because you love him,” I finally said.
I was again aware of Natasha’s breathing, which was low and ragged and haltering.
“Of course I love him, Khosi,” she said. “But we’re twenty-two. Well, he’s twenty-three.”
I was driving her home. I hadn’t known it until that moment, but that’s what I was doing. The car was retracing its route from earlier in the evening. I was driving it there. We drove past the Silver Bow County courthouse. The state built the courthouse in 1912 for $482,000, I knew. It towered four imperious stories above the pavement. It was a soft gray-pink color. Marble pillars framed the sides of its main glass dome. I gazed up at it, taking refuge in the facts of its size, its scope, its unshakable intentionality. And then Natasha said, “Wait, stop.”
“Stop?” I said.
“There he is, right there. It’s Calvin,” she said.
Sure enough, walking down the sidewalk, there was Calvin Stuckey. Sometimes, sometimes Butte was too small of a town.
“Speak of the devil and there he is,” I said, with perhaps a little too much emphasis.
But as we pulled up beside him, Natasha recoiled as if she’d been burned. “No, never mind,” she said. “Don’t stop.”
“Don’t stop?” I said. “He’s about to see us. I can’t just stare at him and drive by. ‘I’m sorry, Calvin, I was just screwing your fiancée a moment ago, so I didn’t feel like stopping.’ ”
“I don’t think he wants to see me,” she said, sinking lower into the seat. “And I don’t know if I want to see him.”
“Didn’t he just propose to you?” I said, and rolled the car up beside him.
He’d come downtown specifically to find her. He’d left his house after midnight and charted his way through the bedlam ofthe parade’s end. That’s what I found out later, anyway: He’d imagined he might find us together downtown. The timing was fortuitous. He spotted our car before we pulled over. We rolled to a halt directly in front of him. He smiled broadly as he walked up to us. His shelf of glistening white teeth illuminated the night like a glacial peak.
“Hey, Khosi,” Calvin said. “Hi, Cube.”
This was, I knew, his pet name for her. It felt dirty to know their pet names. Or to be the kind of person they shared their pet names with. But there you had it. Cube was simple. Cube as in
sugar. Sugar cube
.
“Congratulations on the engagement, Calvin,” I said.
“Thanks,” he said. “I went looking for you at the country club.”
I put the Mercedes in park and turned off the motor. “Yacht Club,” I said.
“Or Yacht Club Manor,” Natasha said.
“But I forgot my ascot,” Calvin said. “They wouldn’t let me in the door.”
“That’s weird,” I said. “Normally, they keep a few behind the counter.”
Calvin leaned in, his hand resting on the edge of Natasha’s window. She reached over and touched the back of his wrist. She smiled reluctantly at him. “Couldn’t sleep?” she said.
Calvin looked over at me. “Can I borrow her for just a minute,
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