charging out.
"Young lady, where have you been?"
I step out and tell him the story before Charity gets a chance.
"What have I told you about going to parties like that? You don't even like that Lucas boy, and you were at his house?"
"Everybody goes to Lucas' house," she sighs.
"Do I smell marijuana?"
"No," we both blurt at once.
Don't look at her. Don't look at her. Damn it, she looked at me.
Her uncle sighs. "In the house, young lady. Now."
Charity meekly rushes inside, leaving me to face down her kin.
"Thank you," he sighs, catching me off guard. "She should know better. Sometimes I feel like I need to watch her every minute, but I can't. She's got to grow up sometime. All I can do is make sure she gets there and try to instill some wisdom in her. It's plainly working," he grunts, in a wry tone. "Sounds like you really saved her bacon. Thank you, Diana."
"Yeah. Anytime. I have to go."
"See you around, I hope. I don't know what she's going to do when you're gone."
As he turns and heads back up to the house, I head back to the car, drop into the driver's seat and lean on the steering wheel to catch my breath. Every time I breathe it feels like I'm sucking hot coals into my lungs, and my eyes burn. I sit back and think of what I'm going to say when I get home. I need some air.
I park on Main Street and get out, and walk. It's completely dead on Sunday. The town has Blue Laws, meaning nothing can be open except the pharmacy and gas station, so all the stores are dark. A hot breeze blows, and I feel like I'm walking through some desolated town in a cheesy post-apocalyptic movie. I certainly feel as bereft. I walk down the street to the bookstore, stop in my tracks, and blink a few times.
Part of me expected to see Apollo sitting on the bench out front, staring into the store. I should go, really. I should turn around and leave, not antagonize my mother anymore. If I talk to him she'll hear about it. Instead, I walk over and sit down next to him, staring straight ahead as he is. He's drinking something from a big bottle in a paper back. He burps, and I smell the acid sting of alcohol on his breath.
"You'd better be careful," he says in a slight slur to his voice, "I think I've been drinking."
"What are you doing?"
"This is the only place I know of to try and run into you. Why aren't they open?"
"It's Sunday?"
"You can't sell books on Sunday here?"
"You can't sell anything on Sunday here. Everybody's at church."
"You're not."
"Not my thing."
"Oh. Me either." He takes a swig. "Blackberry schnapps was a bad idea."
"Are you old enough to drink?"
"Legally? No. Practically? I've got years of experience, baby. When we lived in France I drank wine with dinner every night."
I perk up at that. "You lived in France?"
"Yeah. Also the Czech Republic, Spain, England, Japan for a while, Australia. Only continent I've ever been to is Africa."
"You mean not been to."
"Yeah, that."
"What about Antarctica?"
"That's not a continent."
"Yes it is!"
He laughs. "Right. I guess. Still doesn't count."
"You came here hoping to see me?"
"Yeah."
He turns to look at me and I feel a chill, suck in a breath, and feel a stirring in my stomach. He looks so sad. I just want to grab him and throw my arms around him and make it better. There's a lifetime's worth of sadness in his young eyes. He leans over and then pulls back, sways a little in his seat and takes another drink.
"I think you've had enough."
"Not yet," he sighs, and lowers the bottle to rest between his legs.
"My father says I can't, um, see you."
"See me?"
"Like, socially. I can't date you."
"Oh. My mother said the same thing."
He takes another drink, gulping down the booze so fast I expect it all to come right back up. I feel a temptation to snatch it out of his hand.
"I should… I…" he looks at me with great pain in his eyes and slumps forward. It's like he's trying to tell me something but it keeps sticking in his throat. Then he looks at me again,
"Young lady, where have you been?"
I step out and tell him the story before Charity gets a chance.
"What have I told you about going to parties like that? You don't even like that Lucas boy, and you were at his house?"
"Everybody goes to Lucas' house," she sighs.
"Do I smell marijuana?"
"No," we both blurt at once.
Don't look at her. Don't look at her. Damn it, she looked at me.
Her uncle sighs. "In the house, young lady. Now."
Charity meekly rushes inside, leaving me to face down her kin.
"Thank you," he sighs, catching me off guard. "She should know better. Sometimes I feel like I need to watch her every minute, but I can't. She's got to grow up sometime. All I can do is make sure she gets there and try to instill some wisdom in her. It's plainly working," he grunts, in a wry tone. "Sounds like you really saved her bacon. Thank you, Diana."
"Yeah. Anytime. I have to go."
"See you around, I hope. I don't know what she's going to do when you're gone."
As he turns and heads back up to the house, I head back to the car, drop into the driver's seat and lean on the steering wheel to catch my breath. Every time I breathe it feels like I'm sucking hot coals into my lungs, and my eyes burn. I sit back and think of what I'm going to say when I get home. I need some air.
I park on Main Street and get out, and walk. It's completely dead on Sunday. The town has Blue Laws, meaning nothing can be open except the pharmacy and gas station, so all the stores are dark. A hot breeze blows, and I feel like I'm walking through some desolated town in a cheesy post-apocalyptic movie. I certainly feel as bereft. I walk down the street to the bookstore, stop in my tracks, and blink a few times.
Part of me expected to see Apollo sitting on the bench out front, staring into the store. I should go, really. I should turn around and leave, not antagonize my mother anymore. If I talk to him she'll hear about it. Instead, I walk over and sit down next to him, staring straight ahead as he is. He's drinking something from a big bottle in a paper back. He burps, and I smell the acid sting of alcohol on his breath.
"You'd better be careful," he says in a slight slur to his voice, "I think I've been drinking."
"What are you doing?"
"This is the only place I know of to try and run into you. Why aren't they open?"
"It's Sunday?"
"You can't sell books on Sunday here?"
"You can't sell anything on Sunday here. Everybody's at church."
"You're not."
"Not my thing."
"Oh. Me either." He takes a swig. "Blackberry schnapps was a bad idea."
"Are you old enough to drink?"
"Legally? No. Practically? I've got years of experience, baby. When we lived in France I drank wine with dinner every night."
I perk up at that. "You lived in France?"
"Yeah. Also the Czech Republic, Spain, England, Japan for a while, Australia. Only continent I've ever been to is Africa."
"You mean not been to."
"Yeah, that."
"What about Antarctica?"
"That's not a continent."
"Yes it is!"
He laughs. "Right. I guess. Still doesn't count."
"You came here hoping to see me?"
"Yeah."
He turns to look at me and I feel a chill, suck in a breath, and feel a stirring in my stomach. He looks so sad. I just want to grab him and throw my arms around him and make it better. There's a lifetime's worth of sadness in his young eyes. He leans over and then pulls back, sways a little in his seat and takes another drink.
"I think you've had enough."
"Not yet," he sighs, and lowers the bottle to rest between his legs.
"My father says I can't, um, see you."
"See me?"
"Like, socially. I can't date you."
"Oh. My mother said the same thing."
He takes another drink, gulping down the booze so fast I expect it all to come right back up. I feel a temptation to snatch it out of his hand.
"I should… I…" he looks at me with great pain in his eyes and slumps forward. It's like he's trying to tell me something but it keeps sticking in his throat. Then he looks at me again,
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