After the Wreck, I Picked Myself Up, Spread My Wings, and Flew Away by Joyce Carol Oates
Authors: Joyce Carol Oates
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Holland.
Always there’s something-to-happen.
21
Cell phone rings, and it’s Trina.
Now I’m never lonely. Even alone, I’m not. ’Cause I can call Trina’s cell. ’Cause Trina has said for me to call. Anytime. Day or night. Even if Trina doesn’t answer, I can leave a message: Hi, Trina, it’s Jenna, just checking in.
Next time my cell rings, it’s Trina.
“…was saying, you were in some wreck, Jenna? I guess it wasn’t the same one Crow was in, though.”
Trina is brushing inky black mascara on her eyelashes. She’s leaning close to the mirror, almost falling into the mirror. Taking a long drag from her cigarette, she gives it to me to hold. Not a joint but a cigarette. The smoke makes my eyes water, my throat close up.
I’m surprised that Trina would ask this question. As if Trina doesn’t know Crow all that well.
I tell her no. The car crash I was in wasn’t anywhere around here. It happened last spring.
I’m anxious. I have told Trina too much. But she doesn’t ask me about the crash. Like she hasn’t been listening. Peering at herself critically in the mirror. Taking another drag on her cigarette, exhaling, and saying, as she’s said before, that Crow isn’t reliable.
“He’s the coolest guy, but. He’s been into girls so long you can’t, like, make an impression on him, and I hate that. Other guys, you can be special with them. But Crow, he’s sangfroid , what he calls it—cold-blooded.”
I’m not sure what Trina means. If this is French, she’s pronouncing it flat, like English: sangfroyd .
“Not that he isn’t sexy. Oh, man. Crow is . But like, afterward. His mind just drifts off. He’s got family up in Canada, I guess. He’s got some secret kind of life. Like he says he wants to hang out, but he never shows up. Won’t give me his cell number either. That’s Crow for you. There’s older girls after him, in town. Like, in their twenties? Like, married? I swear. Crow smokes weed, but he’s off other stuff now, know why? T-Man says Crow almost died, snorting some crystal. Really pure crystal, you know? Maybe you don’t, Jenna. Better if you don’t. Crow nearly died, and it scared him. He was in with older guys then. They had to take him to the ER, like his heart had stopped? Oh, man. Glad I didn’t know Crow then. My friend Gil Rathke—he’s really cool, he’s older—was saying they were really freaked, Crow wasn’t, like, breathing, his buddies kind of panicked and, like, left him off there…at the ER…sort of, like, on the sidewalk?…’cause, see, they were scared of cops. Crow wasn’t pissed at them, I guess—Crow’s into, like, forgiving—anyway, they saved his life, Crow says. Weird, I was, like, this little kid then. Sophomore, like you. Seems sooooo long ago.” Trina laughs. She has finished with her mascara, and her eyes look really bright, glistening, beautiful. The curved silver pin in her eyebrow is glittering like a fishhook. Her lips are a rich dark plum purple, you can see why a guy would be turned on by them. The little coiled green snake on Trina’s wrist looks like its scales are glittering too. Trina sees me admiring the tattoo. “Crow and me, we got our tattoos at the same time. There’s a guy out by the lake, a tattoo artist. It’s like wearing the same rings, I mean, like wedding bands? ’Cause Crow and Trina, we are close. It only just pisses me off, Crow has such a thing for, like, hurt people. Crippled people and losers.” Trina’s sharp little chin juts out like she’s daring me to disagree.
Hurt. Crippled people and losers. Trina didn’t mean this. I don’t think so. Trina Holland is my closest friend, she can’t be wanting to hurt me, can she?
22
Why’d I miss dinner? Why, three times this week?
I’m sullen, sulky. It pisses me off, having to explain like I’m a little kid.
Like adults explain why . Like my father ever did.
Oh, man! Like Trina would say, adults fuck you over and never say
Always there’s something-to-happen.
21
Cell phone rings, and it’s Trina.
Now I’m never lonely. Even alone, I’m not. ’Cause I can call Trina’s cell. ’Cause Trina has said for me to call. Anytime. Day or night. Even if Trina doesn’t answer, I can leave a message: Hi, Trina, it’s Jenna, just checking in.
Next time my cell rings, it’s Trina.
“…was saying, you were in some wreck, Jenna? I guess it wasn’t the same one Crow was in, though.”
Trina is brushing inky black mascara on her eyelashes. She’s leaning close to the mirror, almost falling into the mirror. Taking a long drag from her cigarette, she gives it to me to hold. Not a joint but a cigarette. The smoke makes my eyes water, my throat close up.
I’m surprised that Trina would ask this question. As if Trina doesn’t know Crow all that well.
I tell her no. The car crash I was in wasn’t anywhere around here. It happened last spring.
I’m anxious. I have told Trina too much. But she doesn’t ask me about the crash. Like she hasn’t been listening. Peering at herself critically in the mirror. Taking another drag on her cigarette, exhaling, and saying, as she’s said before, that Crow isn’t reliable.
“He’s the coolest guy, but. He’s been into girls so long you can’t, like, make an impression on him, and I hate that. Other guys, you can be special with them. But Crow, he’s sangfroid , what he calls it—cold-blooded.”
I’m not sure what Trina means. If this is French, she’s pronouncing it flat, like English: sangfroyd .
“Not that he isn’t sexy. Oh, man. Crow is . But like, afterward. His mind just drifts off. He’s got family up in Canada, I guess. He’s got some secret kind of life. Like he says he wants to hang out, but he never shows up. Won’t give me his cell number either. That’s Crow for you. There’s older girls after him, in town. Like, in their twenties? Like, married? I swear. Crow smokes weed, but he’s off other stuff now, know why? T-Man says Crow almost died, snorting some crystal. Really pure crystal, you know? Maybe you don’t, Jenna. Better if you don’t. Crow nearly died, and it scared him. He was in with older guys then. They had to take him to the ER, like his heart had stopped? Oh, man. Glad I didn’t know Crow then. My friend Gil Rathke—he’s really cool, he’s older—was saying they were really freaked, Crow wasn’t, like, breathing, his buddies kind of panicked and, like, left him off there…at the ER…sort of, like, on the sidewalk?…’cause, see, they were scared of cops. Crow wasn’t pissed at them, I guess—Crow’s into, like, forgiving—anyway, they saved his life, Crow says. Weird, I was, like, this little kid then. Sophomore, like you. Seems sooooo long ago.” Trina laughs. She has finished with her mascara, and her eyes look really bright, glistening, beautiful. The curved silver pin in her eyebrow is glittering like a fishhook. Her lips are a rich dark plum purple, you can see why a guy would be turned on by them. The little coiled green snake on Trina’s wrist looks like its scales are glittering too. Trina sees me admiring the tattoo. “Crow and me, we got our tattoos at the same time. There’s a guy out by the lake, a tattoo artist. It’s like wearing the same rings, I mean, like wedding bands? ’Cause Crow and Trina, we are close. It only just pisses me off, Crow has such a thing for, like, hurt people. Crippled people and losers.” Trina’s sharp little chin juts out like she’s daring me to disagree.
Hurt. Crippled people and losers. Trina didn’t mean this. I don’t think so. Trina Holland is my closest friend, she can’t be wanting to hurt me, can she?
22
Why’d I miss dinner? Why, three times this week?
I’m sullen, sulky. It pisses me off, having to explain like I’m a little kid.
Like adults explain why . Like my father ever did.
Oh, man! Like Trina would say, adults fuck you over and never say
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