A Third of Me (3 page)

I pull out my phone to silence it before walking into work and see I missed six calls from Damon during the night. Butterflies flutter beneath my ribs. I call him back immediately. No answer. I’m about through the front lobby when my pocket begins to buzz. It's him. I run outside to take the call.

I’ve certainly woken him up. He mutters hello.

“It's me,” I say. “I guess my phone was on silent. Sorry I missed your calls.”

“No worries,” he says. “I just wanted to see if you could go shopping with me today.”

“I have to work until one o'clock, but I'm free after that.”

“Cool,” he says. “I'll be at your apartment around two. Sound good?”

“Absolutely,” I say. I'm ecstatic. He asks me to text him my address after we hang up. I do so.

The rest of my workday is shot because my mind is overrun with warm, plush thoughts that supersede editing the obituaries. I watch the digital clock on my computer screen increase minute by minute with eager anticipation, but my nerves are tight and restless. I might as well be waiting to have something mauled in a doctor's office.

I'm out the door at one o'clock on the nose. I'm usually a slow driver, but I'm back at my place by ten after. I check my hair, adjust my shirt. A little cologne, maybe? Sure, why not.

Damon arrives and we head over to the Cordova Mall on Lynnbrook Parkway. On the way, he confesses to have invited me along because I have a better fashion sense that he does. I disagree, but he's on a budget and I'm delighted to help out any way that I can.

We avoid the high-dollar outlets and take the escalator up to the second level. There are a few sales going on. I toss a few shirts at him, a couple pairs of jeans – different styles in two sizes. I even find a nice shirt for myself, which I put back before we leave because I'm cheap. He goes into the dressing room and comes out with nothing that he likes. For someone who's open to suggestion, he's so damn picky. About everything. God bless him.

The food court isn't too busy so we stop in for pizza. Damon has one bag with one shirt in it.
He
picked it out. A good choice at fifty-percent off – a red and blue patterned button-down that fits perfectly. I had bought nothing. I'm not a complete tight wad. I do splurge now and then. While we eat, he asks where I got the shirt I'm wearing. I can't remember. He asks how much I paid for it. I tell him.

“I can't believe you paid eighty dollars for that shirt,” he says. “Don't get me wrong, it's a nice shirt, but just a shirt. I wish I could afford nice stuff like that.”

“That's a nice shirt,” I say, pointing to the shirt he's wearing.

“Twenty bucks at Shop-and-Save. You think I give a damn?”

We laugh it off and eat in silence for a while.

“Things haven't been all that great for me, dude,” Damon says through a mouthful of pizza. “Larry's a pain in the ass and he's free to treat me like his little bitch now that Mom's gone. I just want to get out of there, you know?”

I nod sympathetically.

“I'm new here in this town and I don't really know anybody except you and I'm glad we can start hanging out again but the chicks here are all stupid and you know me, I don't like the idea of dating, but it'd be nice to have somebody for a while. I've just been looking for a job and wandering around the house while Larry's gone. I've been out a few times, but the girls sucked and I don't mean in a good way.”

We laugh at this and finish our lunch.

“I don't know,” he says. “I just get lonely sometimes. I'm more lonely than most people know.”

“I can relate,” I say.

We get up, throw away our trash, then walk out into the muggy afternoon. Once we're in the car Damon says, “You got a little hottie stashed away I don't know about? Some mean nasty bitch to take advantage of you?”

After I catch my breath and feel the blood rushing out of my face, I tell him I don't. He says that's too bad because if I did, he wanted to have a go with her. Such a silly boy.

We pick up a movie and drive back to my place. I hope I have the courage to say what I want to say once we get there. I've played out the conversation in my head, rehearsed it, explored the possible outcomes and consequences before deciding on the most viable approach.

He sits in the recliner while I put the movie into the player. I choose not to sit down because I hope it will make me feel less vulnerable once I open my mouth and there's no turning back.

“Damon, there's–”

“Holy shit! I want to see that! Heard anything about it?” He's pointing at the movie trailer playing on the TV – some forgettable screwball comedy I'll probably see at some point, but I can't remember who's in it or who directed it, and at this point I don't care. I get nervous. My knees start to shake. My palms sweat. My face is getting hot. Feels like a furnace raging behind my cheeks.

Now's not the right time. I'll wait.
Chicken
.

Lauren

It's a slow day at work. I've sold two phones. Cheap, prepaid flip phones that were obsolete five years ago. My boss might be better off saving the ink on my commission check. A couple of football players from the high school come into the store and ask if they can put up a flyer in the window. Brody, the manager, is out to lunch so I tell them to come back later, then I wonder if Brody really gives a damn about helping the River City Rattlesnakes promote another chili supper. That makes three this month.

Brian left me a voicemail earlier. He said he and Damon were going to the mall today. I really hope they have a chance to catch up and have a good time. My fingers are crossed.

A girl comes in whom I recognize but I can't think of her name. She dated Damon for a while. Yeah, dated him. Weird, right? Her name starts with an H…

I force a smile as she browses the car chargers on the back wall, but those feelings sneak up on me – that urge to jump on her back and rip out handfuls of her hair for what she did to him.

She approaches me and says, “Excuse me, do you have a charger for this phone?”

I look at it and know we have dozens of them in the back. I try to look apologetic. “I'm sorry, but they're on backorder. We should have some in next week. I can take your name and call you when they come in.”

“Heather Meeks,” she says. I don't know who has a faker smile right now, her or me. “You look familiar. Did you go to River City High?”

Before I can say no, she's looking down at the business cards on my desk.

“Lauren Hatcher,” she reads. “I remember seeing you when I was with Damon. Are you still friends with him?”

I say yes and she expresses her disappointment.
Ugh, please leave, little cheerleader girl.

“How is he?” Heather asks.

“He's fine now,” I say through my teeth, wishing they were fangs so I could rip her throat out.

“We kind of ended on a bad note, so if you don't mind, tell him I'm–”

“Sorry?”
Whew, my blood pressure is through the roof. Better watch myself.

“Is there a problem?”

“Actually, I think they've discontinued the car charger for your phone. I'm
very
sorry.”

“Oh. Well…”

“Have a nice day.” Bitch
.

After she leaves, I get a grip. I can definitely see why Damon was attracted to her. She's very pretty. But she played him like a harp. I guess they were together for a year or so before he found out she was cheating on him. I wasn't surprised, but I couldn't have told him that. Heather was probably the only person to really
know
him because he let her
in
. And after it was all said and done, he was heartbroken. Devastated. Drank whiskey when he wasn't asleep, then he started taking pills and God knows what else. I've seen Damon cry before, but not like this. This boy was at ground zero and almost in a constant state of tear shed. Since then, he's been more closed off than ever before. Women have become disposable playthings. If there was ever a possibility of emotions getting in the way, he would duck out faster than you can say Reese's Pieces.

I really hope she doesn't try to contact him. His number has changed since they knew each other, but in a world of connective technology, it won't surprise me if she tries.

He needs a good person who loves him for who he is and for all his imperfections. I think it was Sam Keen who said
you come to love not by finding the perfect person, but by seeing an imperfect person perfectly, and Brian Jamison does exactly that. Vote for Brian.

I suppose I am a little jealous of Damon being the object of Brian's affection. My parents always thought that Brian and I would eventually get married, buy a house, have children – all of that stuff. But they don't know what I know about Brian, even though I sometimes find myself lost in a fantasy writing checks as Lauren Jamison.

I call Brian as I'm leaving work. He says he and Damon watched a movie then Damon left to clean house before Larry gets home. Now Brian tells me he wants to join a health club or get a gym membership. I hide my laughter because this isn't the first time he's said this. But I suppose he's motivated now and with good reason. He's not in bad shape, just a little out of shape. I almost tell him that I could get him on at my gym with a discount, but I realize he lives three hours away. Then it hits me. I tell him to ask Damon if he wants to join a gym together. A perfect opportunity for a little male bonding…

Damon

After I leave Brian's place, I get the house looking nice and ready for Larry and his guests. I go to my room and play a video game while I wait.
Can’t wait to get outta here…

Maybe I'll see what Brian's doing. He sure was uptight today. He's always been uptight, but now he's
really
uptight. He's probably not doing anything right now. He's boring. But that's okay, I'm boring, too. Nothing wrong with being boring. He doesn't seem happy. Sure he's got a good job and he's in college, but there's something missing from him. I guess we could both use a friend right now.

I dial his number but before I press send, Larry bursts into my room huffing out his whiskey breath under his bloodshot eyes.

“I thought I told you to do your laundry, you little shit! The whole fuckin place stinks!” he screams.

I admit that I haven't done laundry in a couple of weeks, but the smell isn't from that. The whole house is a dump that reeks of mildew, cat shit, and smoke from past tenants. He'd been sick when he signed the lease on the place, so I guess he's just now able to smell it for what it really is. I tried to tell him then, but what do I know?

I'm just baggage.

“Sorry, I'll do it right now,” I say.

“Damn right you will,” Larry says, balling up the front of my shirt in his fist. “Then get out of here. Stay out all night if you want. I don't give a shit. Stay with one those little hardbodies you fuck. Or hell, go stay with your faggot friend.”

He lets go and I want to knock his jaw off his melon head, but Larry use to box in his younger days and even under the influence he could probably kill me with one solid jab to the face.

Larry leaves me in peace but my nerves are in pieces. I carry an armload of clothes to the laundry room and drop them in the washer. I sneak into the kitchen, look around. My keys are on the table. I carefully wrap my hand around them then I'm gone.

The sun is fading now. I'm so fucking angry. Larry wouldn't have acted like that in front of Mom. He'd wait until she left the room before crushing my gut. I don't think she ever knew. And now, as I look out into the sunset, I wonder if she's there watching me hurt, knowing she can't do a damn thing about it now. Maybe she'll whisper something to God and pull a favor for just a little help.

I pull into Brian's apartment complex but I don't see his car. I drive around the lot. Nothing. I park and knock on his door anyway. Silence. I knock again. The walk back down to the first floor takes a lifetime. I want to run away so I can't be found. Maybe I will. Or maybe I'll just pick up a bottle of some wicked shit from the liquor store. Haven't done that in a while. Fuckin A.

I'm about to climb in my car when Brian parks next to mine. He's wearing a baseball cap – which he never use to wear because he said it makes his hair fall out and he's really self-conscious about his fuckin hair – so I almost don't recognize him.

But it's him, though. I can smell his cologne on the wind and I’m pretty sure no one else in the world still wears it.

   I run after him and tag his shoulder, which startles him so bad he almost hands over his wallet. After Brian sees that it's me, he relaxes and invites me up.

   I gotta talk about this shit before my head explodes. Maybe he'll let me crash on his couch tonight so I don't have to deal with Larry.

   Fucking asshole.

C H A P T E R T W O

C
ATALYST

Brian

I've seen that look before. Damon is trying really hard to cover up his fear, his anger. My upbringing was peachy, so I can't relate to the level of violence and mental abuse he's been subjected to over the years, but I want to help him somehow and if that means only lending an ear or a shoulder, I'm happy to do so. But some people don't like asking for help. I know I don't.

Damon doesn't either.

He says nothing for a long time. He just stares at the back wall near the balcony door. He's anxious. Fidgeting. He's been rubbing his hands together for ten minutes, but it's not cold in here.

Damon reaches over to the side table by the sofa and reads the pink copy of my contract from Titan's twenty-four hour gym. I had just come from there when Damon showed up and I had considered asking him to go with me, but I figured if I signed up before him, I could get a referral discount when he joins later.