The Ice Age (5 page)

Loren gave me one last push out the door, and said, ‘Oh well, you tried. See ya.'

‘Yeah,' I said. ‘See ya.'

By now it was dark, and this looked to be a pretty scummy part of town. But the wrong side of the tracks vibe was quickly ruined by a pictureperfect family having a Hallmark moment across the street. Both parents were leaning adoringly over a toddler in her stroller, looking ridiculously cute in a Little Red Riding Hood coat. Mom was adjusting the hood. Dad was stroking Mom's back. A little boy with blond ringlets was looking on, smiling.

I didn't want to go home jobless, but it was pointless staying out there much later. I still hadn't gotten milk, though. And damn it if there wasn't a Help Wanted sign up in the convenience store. The guy wanted to train me up then and there. He said I could finish up the evening shift. It was just him on that night. I worked a couple of hours, then headed for home with a quart of milk. He told me I could have four nights a week, 6:00 to 12:00, and some afternoon shifts.

Stephanie was mad as hell when I finally got home. The house was quiet and mostly dark. The front porch light was on. I got in and closed the door. I said hello to see if she was around. I didn't hear anything back. I put the milk in the fridge. And then the yelling started, from the back of the house. She must have been sitting in the den.

‘I was gonna call the cops, you know!'

That she cared when I came and went surprised me. I just stood there.

‘Where in God's name were you at for so long?
At this time of night?'

‘I got a job.'

‘You…what? What kind of job do you get at midnight?'

‘I got it at 9:30.'

‘You could have at least called.'

‘I don't have your number.'

‘Well, you can't stay here. I can't you have flitting around all hours.'

She didn't even ask me what the job was. Man, she didn't give a crap about me. When you get in trouble with adults, it never is about you. It's about them, and how losing track of you makes them look like a bad person. Except Gunther, he didn't care enough about what other people thought until this bitch went and shot off her mouth. All because she knew she wasn't going to get laid that night, and she was all weepy and horny.

By the time I got to bed, I was in a dark mood. Where the hell was Gunther? I got a job; that was good. But I couldn't go anywhere yet, so I had to win over Stephanie all over again, when I didn't actually give a crap what she thought. And where the fuck was Gunther? Where was his breathing? How was I supposed to get to sleep? He can't be gone for good; we're so…unfinished. That note he safetypinned to Stephanie's tits…man, I can't fathom how he thinks he's taking the high road. His absence is his greatest insult. It is more than an insult. It's everything I hate about the world; the violence, the pathos, all the crazy shit that goes down, the fear, the needless suffering that marks so many lives. It's all that, encapsulated in the blinding pain of finding myself alone in a Gunther-less world.

I sensed an enormous encroaching emptiness; could practically picture it hovering outside the walls of Stephanie's featureless guest room. Hell, if he had any class, if he was anything like what I had him cracked up to be (and this is where I let my imagination get away from me again), he'd come flying up here and tap on my window. Damn it. If people can believe in God, why can't I believe in vampires? There is no other practical explanation for teeth so pointy.

I ended up sleeping half the next day away. When I got downstairs Stephanie was slumped on the couch, knitting one of her multi-media creations. She looked up and said, ‘Hey.'

I said, ‘Morning.'

She grinned and said, ‘Afternoon.'

I headed into the kitchen and saw a tiredlooking plate of scrambled eggs sitting on the counter. Stephanie overtook me and put this in the microwave. She took some O.J. out of the fridge and plonked it on the table. There was already a glass.

She said, ‘There's bread if you want toast.'

I said, ‘No, thanks', and then changed my mind, and got up and made myself some toast.

‘I'm brewing a pot of coffee. Do you want some?' Jeez, housewife extraordinaire.

I said, ‘Yeah, OK.'

I ate in hungry silence. Then Stephanie sat down with our coffees and said, ‘Look, you can stay here a while if you have to. We just need to work a few things out.'

I said, ‘Yeah, OK,' again.

The next several days were spent working and sleeping, sleeping and working. The job was OK. I saw and talked to a lot of people, but it was mostly boring interactions, or transactions, as it were. I wasn't there to make friends. The boss was a predictable and generic dead-end job authority figure, boring and pushy but basically harmless. Nothing ever had any point to it. So what if this is past its sell-by date, just put it in the bargain bin. Did I remember to put out the new super crunchy chips? Did I know to put them next to the regular crunchy, not the plain? We needed to organize them according to ascending crunchiness.

Usually I was the only one on my shift, but sometimes I overlapped with one of the other workers, usually Chris. If Chris was putting stock out he used to shout things at the boss the whole time, like, ‘Hey Dale, where do these measure on the crunchometer?' or ‘Yo Dale, in the World of Chocolate, do peanuts go next to almonds, or are they gonna fight?'

It was nice to be earning some money. And Stephanie could tell me some stuff she needed from the store, and I could bring it home for her. Usually I told her not to pay me for it. It's not like I was paying rent. She said that was silly, and shoved money at me anyway. Sometimes I brought stuff home of my own accord, and just put it away in secret. Like ice cream. Stephanie wasn't nearly as ravenous as she was before. She ate at regular mealtimes, pretty much, and not like a starving dog. She ate normal amounts, like the rest of us. And stopped if she was full.

One night I came home pretty tired, as usual. I could hear a big argument booming out over the last few blocks of my walk to Stephanie's. I thought ‘Glad that's not my house', and when I got there, it was. Jimmy was on the front porch hollering like a stuck pig. Stephanie was saying things like: ‘Look it's just not a good time right now, I'm sorry.' And ‘You've been…a wonderful help…I just need to be in my own space right now, I think.'

He bellowed, ‘What, now that you're playing mommy?'

Steph said gently, ‘She has nothing to do with it. I'm sorry Jimmy, I'm gonna ask you to go home.'

I didn't know whether to advance onto the porch or not. Needless to say, it was awkward. But he was so worked up I thought maybe he was going to do something stupid, like hit her. He was looming over her, sort of twitching. She looked bravely unmoved, just stared up at his face. That was it, I got up there and marched through the two of them. He started back in surprise, then let out a big snort, finally turned on his heels and left.

We went inside. Stephanie said, ‘Well, that's the last of that for now, I hope.'

I said, ‘Yeah.'

We both said good night.

I had a few more samey days of working. Then a new boy started, and I'm such a veteran after two and a half weeks, that Dale has me training him. Now this boy has very promising Guntheresque qualities. He is like baby Gunther. He has long blondy-red hair and little pointy incisors. Not as pronounced as Gunther's, but he's sexy all right. Tall and thin.

His name is Neil and he's a damn lazy worker, but so pretty to look at. He just sort of hangs around me a lot, quietly, acting like he's listening to me talk about how Dale wants things done. Granted, a lot of the stuff I'm telling him is so trivial I'm embarrassed to be telling it. We've had a few laughs about that. Well, I did. He just kind of grinned sexily.

I remember lying in bed one of those nights after work (still missing Gunther, missing all our habits together…). But thinking new thoughts, as well. I was thinking how cool it would be to train up this new young Gunther. He is my own age after all. Or near enough. He could stay by my side as long as I told him to; he has no reason not to. And because he's younger, he wouldn't be so stubborn and set in his ways like Old Gunther. He wouldn't be driving off in the early dawn thinking he'd done right.

So my mind was made up, and I guess I must be a pretty determined person. Because the next day we were making out, out back by the spare microwave. The ‘ring for service' bell was ringing, and it took me a while to register it. My senses were a little overstimulated, and that ringing in my ears was just another sensation. It was OK kissing Neil. He was kind of an erratic kisser. Not solid, like the farm boy. Not soft and lush like the punky one: kind of pushy, then vague, then pushy again all of a sudden. His Guntherisms added a touch of romantic excitement, though. And all those plans I had for him. Keeping those points in mind, it was nice to be kissing him.

Finally it dawned on me after who-knows-how-many seconds that that was the bell for service clamoring away up there. I jogged up to the counter, shouting, ‘Can I help you?' as I went.

‘I dunno, maybe you can.' It was Dale. ‘Maybe you can tell me how to get some fucking service in this place!'

‘Um.'

‘Where the
heck
have you two been?'

Again, I was smooth under pressure. ‘We were, I was, um, showing…Neil? The um…'

‘You're a bad liar, missy! And if I catch either of the two of ya goofing off again, you're out on your pert little ass. And that goes for you, too.' He jerked his head toward Neil.

Neil replied brightly, ‘I have a pert little ass?'

Dale bellowed, ‘I don't like your attitude!'

Neil said, ‘I don't like yours either.' Jeez, he didn't know when to quit.

Dale's head looked like his eyes were going to pop out like two buttons flying off an over-tight shirt. ‘YOU'RE FIRED.'

Neil was out the door without so much as a glance at Dale or me. Dale turned to me. I was at my post on the other side of the counter, standing up straight, doing my best to appear the model of an attentive employee.

‘And you,' Dale considered for a few seconds. ‘You better watch yourself.'

I walked home later in the creepy suburban silence. There was only a sliver of moon, not putting out much light. I wondered if Gunther would ever act so hot-headed as Neil. Maybe in his hedonistic days. I wasn't sure. I was still keen on the idea of catching a young Gunther early; cementing our bond before he got so singular no one could stick to him.

I slept late, and when I got up I heard Stephanie on the phone. She was saying, ‘She's fine. I'm fine. Yeah, yeah, I know…'

I burst in with, ‘Is that Gunther?'

She spun and said, ‘Hey, I better go.'

‘Let me talk to Gunther.'

She was listening to something he was saying, and not handing me the phone.

‘Let me talk to
fucking
Gunther!' I snatched the phone from her hand, brought it to my ear and lips, opened my mouth to say, ‘Gunther'…Dial tone.

I was torn between the urge to let the receiver slide limply out of my hand and clunk to the floor, or smash it against the handset repeatedly, like some dime store punk. I still hadn't made up my mind when Stephanie took it out of my hand and hung it up for me.

I was hungry. I hadn't eaten when I got in the night before; I'd gone straight to bed. And I didn't have any snacks at work with Dale because I was in trouble. I didn't have any snacks before that because I was flirting with and subsequently kissing Neil. I slumped at the kitchen table while Stephanie made us some breakfast. Looked like she was making pancakes. She was in full housewife mode again this morning, which was usually cozy, but right then coziness couldn't touch me.

I felt like bursting into tears. I was chewing on my bottom lip. I could feel my face being drained of color, of blood. Then I wanted to run to my room screaming, baby tantrum style. But I do like to try and remain calm.

Stephanie looked over at me, frying pan in hand, and sighed a big sigh.

Given my emotional state and the weight of my feelings, it would have been fittingly dramatic to refuse all food. Part of me wanted to go all symbolic like that. But as I mentioned, I was damn hungry, and couldn't be bothered to muck around about it. I gobbled down my pancakes, then had seconds. I didn't talk, and didn't observe basic table manners, either. I grabbed at stuff without asking for it to be passed and slathered it on, ate too fast, let a mess of crumbs and syrup slide from my plate. I satisfied myself that this brutishness matched my thoughts on the matter perfectly.

At length Stephanie said, ‘You know, he
really
cares about you. It's nice to have a friend like that.'

I was still chewing.

She said a few more things, and then, ‘When you're older, you'll understand.'

Christ! I hate it when they say that. When I'm older, if I'm anything like the rest of them, I'll have lost the ability to understand anything. Her making that stupid statement is a case in point. Gunther was the only clear-thinking, straight-talking adult I'd come across, and now he was turning all muddly and hypocritical like the rest of them.