But I take small bites of the Big Bite. Enjoy every bit. Sit there on the corner of the sidewalk and eat the best hot dog I have ever tasted. Sip at the vanilla-y Coke. Then, when I’m licking my fingers, I breathe deep through my nose, closing my eyes, wonder who to call.
Daddy?
Mom?
Zach? (Ha! Another joke. One that makes my stomach clench. Makes the all-beef Big Bite Hot Dog lurch.)
I think about Lili and Jesse.
And then there’s Lauren.
But I can only seem to remember Taylor’s number. So that’s who I call.
“Come get me?” I say. I stand at the phone booth missing its phone book.
“Yes,” Taylor says, even though I can hear he’s doing something else, can hear a bunch of people talking.
Someone laughs.
“You can wait, if you want.” A horn behind me blares, kids (no, they’re older than I am, a car full of guys) pretending that I’m in their way. Or something. “If you want, you can come later. After your thing.”
“I don’t want to come later. You home?”
I tell him where I am. Pretend to not see the guys (four of them).
“Okay.” He doesn’t say good-bye.
I hang up the phone. Turn.
“You need a ride?” one guy says.
I shake my head.
“Sure?”
“Sure.”
The wind blows drops of rain onto the sidewalk, and everything, just like that, smells dirty and hot, though the wind is cold and I wish for a jacket.
Then the rain seems to disappear, and even though the storm is heavy in the air around me, I sit still, crossing my arms. I can wait.
I will wait.
And if it starts to rain, why, I’ll hop back inside and see who’s gracing the cover of the Enquirer .
I wait awhile before I start walking home.
Against the traffic so I can see Taylor’s Toyota.
The weather’s holding, so why not? And, anyway, it seems to be taking Taylor a long time to get here. Was he at a party? With another girl?
Maybe I should have called Jesse.
I should have.
But I don’t know his number. Can’t remember Lili’s. Or my mother? What about my mother?
That thought sits in my stomach with the all-beef Big Bite Hot Dog like a joke. It’s cold, the idea of my mom not wanting me anymore.
Did she ever?
I walk, head down, the unhappy breeze pushing me along.
The rain is hesitant now. There were those few drops at the 7-Eleven, a few every once in a while, and then there’s that car of guys. They drive past, circle around, pull in front of me. Did they wait for me?
There’s no sidewalk, and I feel my heart start to pick up.
It’s not dark. The sun still has a way to go to dusk even.
Still, everything is so gray out here. Maybe my eyes are failing. I think grief makes your eyes stop working aswell. For sure, colors aren’t as bright and the sun isn’t as warm and . . .
“We’ll take you home,” one guy says. He has a nice smile. He sticks his arm out the window, reaching for me,
as I hurry past the Cadillac-size car.
Without meaning to, I hunch over a little farther, then stop and straighten, because doesn’t hunching mean I’m scared?
And I’m not scared. Not really. He has a nice smile.
“Help me, Jesus,” I say.
The sky opens up then.
I’m past the car full of guys.
Hurrying.
The rain comes down fast. Hard. So hard it hurts, stings.
“Well, thanks for that.”
“Come on!” More than one of them call.
“Someone’s coming for me,” I say.
I feel like I’m in a bad commercial. The rain commercial, and when I get home someone will hand me some hot tea and my hair will spring into perfect curls.
“You’re getting wet,” Nice Smile says.
“Sure am.”
They don’t get out of the car. The rain has saved me. The talker just hangs his tanned arm from the window. They back up like I pull them along on a rope. Rain water starts to puddle. That’s a Florida storm for you.
Taylor drives up then. How did he see me in the rain?
His car lights are on.
All the cars’ lights are on.
When did it get so dark?
How did I not notice?
Taylor
Daddy?
Mom?
Zach? (Ha! Another joke. One that makes my stomach clench. Makes the all-beef Big Bite Hot Dog lurch.)
I think about Lili and Jesse.
And then there’s Lauren.
But I can only seem to remember Taylor’s number. So that’s who I call.
“Come get me?” I say. I stand at the phone booth missing its phone book.
“Yes,” Taylor says, even though I can hear he’s doing something else, can hear a bunch of people talking.
Someone laughs.
“You can wait, if you want.” A horn behind me blares, kids (no, they’re older than I am, a car full of guys) pretending that I’m in their way. Or something. “If you want, you can come later. After your thing.”
“I don’t want to come later. You home?”
I tell him where I am. Pretend to not see the guys (four of them).
“Okay.” He doesn’t say good-bye.
I hang up the phone. Turn.
“You need a ride?” one guy says.
I shake my head.
“Sure?”
“Sure.”
The wind blows drops of rain onto the sidewalk, and everything, just like that, smells dirty and hot, though the wind is cold and I wish for a jacket.
Then the rain seems to disappear, and even though the storm is heavy in the air around me, I sit still, crossing my arms. I can wait.
I will wait.
And if it starts to rain, why, I’ll hop back inside and see who’s gracing the cover of the Enquirer .
I wait awhile before I start walking home.
Against the traffic so I can see Taylor’s Toyota.
The weather’s holding, so why not? And, anyway, it seems to be taking Taylor a long time to get here. Was he at a party? With another girl?
Maybe I should have called Jesse.
I should have.
But I don’t know his number. Can’t remember Lili’s. Or my mother? What about my mother?
That thought sits in my stomach with the all-beef Big Bite Hot Dog like a joke. It’s cold, the idea of my mom not wanting me anymore.
Did she ever?
I walk, head down, the unhappy breeze pushing me along.
The rain is hesitant now. There were those few drops at the 7-Eleven, a few every once in a while, and then there’s that car of guys. They drive past, circle around, pull in front of me. Did they wait for me?
There’s no sidewalk, and I feel my heart start to pick up.
It’s not dark. The sun still has a way to go to dusk even.
Still, everything is so gray out here. Maybe my eyes are failing. I think grief makes your eyes stop working aswell. For sure, colors aren’t as bright and the sun isn’t as warm and . . .
“We’ll take you home,” one guy says. He has a nice smile. He sticks his arm out the window, reaching for me,
as I hurry past the Cadillac-size car.
Without meaning to, I hunch over a little farther, then stop and straighten, because doesn’t hunching mean I’m scared?
And I’m not scared. Not really. He has a nice smile.
“Help me, Jesus,” I say.
The sky opens up then.
I’m past the car full of guys.
Hurrying.
The rain comes down fast. Hard. So hard it hurts, stings.
“Well, thanks for that.”
“Come on!” More than one of them call.
“Someone’s coming for me,” I say.
I feel like I’m in a bad commercial. The rain commercial, and when I get home someone will hand me some hot tea and my hair will spring into perfect curls.
“You’re getting wet,” Nice Smile says.
“Sure am.”
They don’t get out of the car. The rain has saved me. The talker just hangs his tanned arm from the window. They back up like I pull them along on a rope. Rain water starts to puddle. That’s a Florida storm for you.
Taylor drives up then. How did he see me in the rain?
His car lights are on.
All the cars’ lights are on.
When did it get so dark?
How did I not notice?
Taylor
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