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Authors: Kristen Chandler

BOOK: Girls Don't Fly
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“Are you okay?” he says.
How could I be okay?
On our first date we made a fire in the canyon and charred marshmallows. On our second date we went downtown to a sandwich shop with pool tables and he hummed in my ear while he showed me how to hold my cue. On our third date he brought me daisies for the first time and I got grounded because we stayed out past midnight talking about him wanting to be a dentist like his dad even though everyone thinks it’s all because of the money and of course it isn’t because Erik isn’t like that. For Christmas he gave me a necklace with a white pearl the size of a grape, and a note that said, “For a treasure.”
“Why?” I say.
“Why what?”
“Why do you need more space?” I know this is a pathetic question, by the way. But it wasn’t exactly space he wanted the other night.
He holds his palms up and looks at them. Then he opens up his mouth and air comes out again.
“I don’t give you space?”
“Sure. But we’re going to graduate in three and a half months ...” he says, like I might not know. “I’m going to be gone a lot. And then college ...”
His palms get interesting again. We look at his hands together. I know his hands better than my own.
I unhook the chain dangling a pearl from my neck and feel like I have torn the seam that holds my life together. “Here.”
He puts out his hand. “Myra ... you don’t have to give that back.”
I drop the pearl in his hand.
“We can still hang out.” He stands up to leave and puts the necklace in his shirt pocket.
I stand up too. I don’t want to be sitting down when he leaves.
I watch his truck drive away. I don’t cry. But I sit back down. I hurt everywhere. My skin doesn’t fit. I want to disappear but I can’t. I can’t do anything. Except take up space. I stay there until my sister nearly tramples me when she marches out of the house with Zeke.
“Myra. What are you doing out here?”
I don’t have any words.
She pats me on the shoulder. “Where’s Prince Charming?”
I take her hand off my shoulder. “Someplace else.”
4
 
Torpor:
 
When birds freeze up to keep from dying.
 
 
The next morning, after I’ve tried in vain to die in my sleep, I tell my parents about Erik. They don’t take it well. They liked the idea of me being with Erik too. He’s the Pre-Dental Golden Boy, or at least he was until he dumped me.
“Where does that kid get off?” says Dad for the third time.
Carson is sitting in the next room watching cartoons, but he comes in when they raise their voices. “Stop yelling at Myra,” he says. He comes over and puts his hand on my forehead.
“They aren’t yelling
at
me,” I tell him. “They’re yelling
to
me.”
“It’s still loud,” says Carson. He gets my hand. “Come watch cartoons.”
Mom puts her hand stiffly on my shoulder. She looks like she’s going to say something, but she just pats my arm.
 
I sit next to Carson and watch the grainy reruns of the roadrunner outsmarting the coyote, but I end up back in my room with the covers over my head. I don’t know who thought up the term “heartache,” but they must not have been too bad off if it was only their heart. Everything is burning from the inside and stabbing from the outside. The sheets feel like they’re made of yak hair. The smell of my body under the blanket suffocates me. The more still my body gets the faster my thoughts chase, until I don’t think of anything at all except I wish I could stop thinking.
 
At three o’clock I have to go to work at the Lucky Penny Ice Cream Parlor. Fortunately for me, it’s Sunday. I always work Sunday because the religious kids in town aren’t supposed to, including Erik. Of course the religious kids come and buy ice cream on Sunday, at least the wicked ones, and when they do I’m there to serve them. So I guess that kind of makes me the devil of ice cream.
I walk to work. On Sundays I usually drive our family’s prehistoric Suburban, Moby, but today I need to be outside. The sidewalk goes under me. I see my feet and the cement and the brown water in the canal, but it’s like I don’t. It’s like I don’t see anything.
No, that’s not true. I see the night last March when Erik dressed up as an Easter bunny to invite me to the junior prom, the time when he wrote, “You’re hot!” in chalk on my sidewalk for the Fourth of July, and the night he said he thought we should make “a long-term plan.” I see that stuff just fine.
I watch the dark water going into the covered tunnel of the canal. I remember last June when Erik took me to a trestle on the Jordan River, south of town. It was early June and we’d had a long winter. The water was dark and high from melting snow. I took one look off that bridge and shook my head. “No way,” I said.
He said, “The guys are going to die. I am so getting that penguin.”
“The guys” were the track team. The “penguin” is the award they give for the best death dive of the summer. They had said we wouldn’t do it, so of course we had to. That’s Erik.
“Just hold my hand,” he’d said. “You’ve got this.”
I didn’t want to, but I didn’t want to let him down. When I hit the water I thought my neck was going to snap. The runoff water was like cement, it was so cold. I couldn’t breathe or find my feet. Just green, spinning water.
I lost hold of Erik the minute we hit. I was terrified. Sticks hit me and something bigger. I couldn’t get right-side up because the current was pushing me down and forward too fast. Then I felt him grab me. I came up. Once I got air I could swim, and then I stumbled to shore.
Erik shook the water from his dark hair. “That was
crazy
!” he yelled.
It was crazy. But when it was over and we weren’t dead it seemed like we were heroes. We went out for pizza with his friends that night and they gave us the penguin and sang to us and made me feel like Jane of the Jungle. That was the thing about Erik. He pushed me to try things. Sometimes he pushed too hard. But he pushed me. Now all he wants is to push me away.
 
When I get to work Callie Kendall is already there. Callie is what you might call an energetic employee, if she’s on her meds. If she’s off her meds, which happens about once or twice a month depending on whether her family can afford them, she doesn’t do too well.
She points at my eye. “What happened to you?”
“My little brother. It was an accident.”
“Musta hit you hard. You look like you’ve had chemo.”
Callie’s mom has had chemo and Callie talks about it a lot, which is fine. If my mom was having chemo I probably wouldn’t talk at all.
I say, “Erik dumped me.”
Callie’s mouth drops open. “Shut. Up.”
I sit down next to her. She smells like hand sanitizer and cigarettes.
“But you’re the Dream Team. You’re sweet and poor and he’s hot and rich.” She whistles through her teeth. “Sheez.”
“He needs space.” I know I shouldn’t tell anyone these things, but my defenses are not what they were a few days ago.
“Are you pissed?”
I think about my mom and dad bashing Erik for the past five hours. “No.”
“You want me to fix you a shake or something? Maybe we could get him fired. Or key his truck. Or poison him with wild mushrooms. I saw that on TV and they totally couldn’t tell until the end when the girl confessed.”
“I need to clean something.” Some girls get even. I clean.
“The girls’ bathroom is trashed,” she says.
We walk to the back, where Howard is bringing tubs out of the big freezer. Howard is the manager, and he hates his job, his wife, everyone who works here, and all children. As far as I know the only thing that Howard loves is money, complaining about employees, and experimenting with the boundaries of sexual harassment.
“Outta my way,” he huffs as he passes.
Callie says, “Sure thing, boss.” And before he can even put the ice cream down Callie says, “Erik dumped Myra.”
Howard drops the ice cream and lets out a sweaty grunt. He rubs his jowls with the back of his hand. “Is that right, Myra? Prince Charming gave you the boot?”
“Yesterday,” says Callie. “You should fire him. Myra’s your best worker.”
I shove Callie. “Can I clean tonight if it doesn’t get busy?”
“I could fire him,” says Howard. “But I’d need a little incentive.”
I go with the idea that he’s kidding and try to smile. Even trying to try to smile feels awful.
“Is it the Wence girl?” says Howard. “She was in here three nights ago and looked like she was ready to go. I heard she left him a ten-dollar tip.”
“Ariel?” says Callie squinting. “Ohmygosh. Ariel?” Then she looks at me. “I mean, she’s totally hideous.”
The name stops me cold. Ariel is a tall redhead on the track team with Erik. She has a giant ego and an even bigger overbite, which she thinks makes her look glamorous. How could he date a girl with such bad teeth?
“Don’t take it so hard, honey,” says Howard. “He’s headed for college. You’ve got great legs. And you shine up a stockroom like nobody’s business. Another knucklehead will come along.”
Normally I would just ignore Howard. But it’s like my head’s too thin to hold any water. It just starts springing out of my face like it did last night.
I run to the bathroom and throw up, even though I haven’t eaten since yesterday morning. It smells like rotten eggs. I throw up again.
When I’m done, Callie brings me cleanser and the mop.
“My mom does this a lot too,” she says.
I wipe my mouth off with some toilet paper. “I’m sorry.... How’s your mom doing this week?”
“She’s bowling tonight,” says Callie. “Don’t sweat it.”
“I’m actually just sweating. But I’m glad she’s feeling better.”
“You really were sweet together,” says Callie. “I’m sorry.”
I start my therapy by cleaning the floors. If I pace myself, I ought to be able to keep cleaning until I starve to death or keel over from the fumes of the ammonia cleanser, whichever comes first. Either way this is going to be one heartbreakingly clean bathroom when I’m finished.
5
 
Vocalization:
 
How birds talk to each other.
 
 
Melyssa calls from her apartment when I get home from work. “Hey,” she says. “Is Mom there?”
“She’s at work. They had a flood in one of the basements.”
“So when will she be home?” Her voice is smaller than usual.
“Do you want to talk to Dad? He’s out working on the patio.”
She sighs. “No, it’s okay.”
Now that she’s sighed I have to ask what’s going on. “You don’t sound too good.”
She sighs again. “Turns out I’m getting sick after all. You wouldn’t believe it.”
I think of me hunched over the toilet at work. “I might,” I say.
“Hey, no. By the way, don’t worry about Prince Charming. You weren’t serious about him, right?”
“We dated for almost two years,” I say.
“He’s an idiot.”
“Actually, he has a 4.0.”
“Yeah. But he’s a cocky pretty boy.”
I can count on one hand the times that Melyssa has ever even tried to talk to Erik.
She says, “You can’t trust a guy who spends more time ironing his shirts than you do.”
“His mom irons his shirts,” I say.
Mel keeps talking. “Even worse. Trust me. He gels his hair to look messy.”
“I like his hair. And he’s not cocky, he’s just smart. He’s going to be a dentist.”
“A dentist? Please. Myra, how boring.”
There’s a miserable silence that I hope Mel knows is her fault. She says, “Well, at least he showers. I mean Zeke showers, just not regularly. I’m trying to help you not be a doormat.”

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