Burnt CD
By
Cam H. Petrie
Combat boots and hairy legs ran up the Victorian stairs. A new guitar slung over a sweat stained spaghetti top. It thumped against the backside of the acid washed jean skirt with the frayed rips below the back pockets. Blackened, cherry coloured nails wiped the overcast dew from under the platinum blangs. Heavily darkened eyes blinked under the weight of the layered mascara and eyeliner.
She sang with those innocent pillow lips, “It’s happened. I got the manager to smash all the guy bands off the list.” Her combat boots continued rising up the stairs. “I just had to face him. Again, it worked. The audience totally forgot about his band. All the girls screamed for me!”
The young girl, with the Platinum-dyed page cut and heavily lined eyes, stopped at the entrance of her bedroom. Chest frozen. A man stood in front of her mirror wearing a clock as a pendant. He faced the bedroom door, smiling a haughty gold-tooth smile, then faced the mirror, “Hi, Hello. I can see that you are happy.”
“Hey, I thought we talked about this?”
He wore a dress held up with spaghetti straps that flowed back in forth in front of the mirror. The clock swayed with it. His arms swayed and dangled alongside the black and frayed fabric. His golden canines clamped on a cigarette. The cigarette smoke rested just aside the dresses shoulder straps. He stopped twirling. He picked a CD off of the dresser.
“What are you doing?” She asked.
“Getting ready for you.”
He clicked the CD into a stereo Boombox.
The young girl pulled her guitar close, “You’re not taking my CD back, are you? I still need to know where I am going after all this?”
“Oh, I’m going to show you what is under all of this.”
He turned a leer to her then pulled his bottom lip below that golden-tooth smile. And, he then further pulled that lip below that sagging chin that she noticed had always seemed to shift about his neck. Her layered and over-applied eyes squinted as the combat boots clomped backwards. The smoke in the room increased as those black cherry nails palmed the sweat from below her platinum bangs. Those unplucked eyebrows knitted. The oily mascara and heavily-applied eyeliner began to weigh. Blink. Blink. He pressed play on the stereo. The skin on her hairy legs began to crawl.
##
They prayed. They circled the flagpole. Hand in hand. They stared up into the overcast sky. Flurries fell to their faces. Snow around their feet. Arms opened. Hands linked in prayer. Inhaling. Exhaling on quiet air. Bleak snow crunched under my feet. I turned up the volume on my Discman. It's too early for the sun. Prairie winter. The voices screamed. I walked along to the other side of the parking lot towards the school’s entrance, hiding behind some band students, for another day of school that, once again, felt like my last.
The lockers clanged with metal locks locking and unlocking as students unloaded and reloaded their backpacks. Everyone’s talking. Getting ready for morning classes or whichever it was they thought would save them from the future of nothing. I placed my Discman in my locker. My earphones rested on top. A badminton racket hung inside the door. Someone gently touched my shoulder.
“You ok? You didn't turn up this morning.” I turned my head to see Kimmy. Kimmy Zieminick.
“I might skip gym.”
“Don’t skip gym, Caleb. It’s one class. That’s it. You’re good at sports. You might not even have to play him. He could lose before coming up against you. It’s not a real tournament. You don’t need to stress. You’ll look better if you show up. ” She took a breath.
“I’m tired of seeing him.” My hand swung the locker door back and forth. Kimmy grabbed my sleeve and glared over the back of my shoulders.
“That shit’s gay!” Matt’s laughter tumbled towards me.
My face shrunk. There was sweat on my palms. I looked back at him. Kimmy was still on my sleeve. Matt’s girlfriend leered. Leading the pack of faux-hawks, black baseball caps with her long, crisp blonde bangs aside Matt through the halls. Those pencil drawn eyebrows. Gym wear under winter jackets. Badminton rackets cased and slung over their shoulders. Sport scented deodorant resting in the air. “Cool” sports brands stamped across those gym-sports chests. Except Leslie. She wore a “The Gap” tank top.
Matt chopped his cased badminton like some jungle explorer clearing a path in my direction. Leslie’s silver crucifix sparkled under her fixated eyes that rolled up and down my back. The manicured nails with white, christian polish pointed a single pointer finger at Kimmy and then retracted and covered that perfectly aligned smile that said things like “degeneracy” while in the locker room. I looked away. Kimmy looked away, gripping the edge of my sleeve. Matt’s case skimmed up past my back and grazed my hair. My eyes widened. I waited for it to come back down. My breath held. My back tensed. I waited. He continued meandering by. Kimmy released my sleeve as the tension walked on to my first class.
“Hey, you wanna see my new gym clothes!” With a sympathetic look she pulled out a t-shirt. Bright pink, with white printing that faded into blood red that read “99 % angel. 1% devil.”
“It’s that one percent that counts.” She smiled.
I could breathe. My lock clanged as Matt moved down through the hall, trudging through those meandering to class.
"Moo," he laughed as his black-capped friend received the butt end of the cased badminton racket.
Waiting eyebrows across the hall perked at Kimmy then darted a leer to Leslie’s back. Kimmy leered back with a bounce of her unplucked eyebrows. Both girls turned back to their lockers and Kimmy pulled her badminton racket out. I felt her eyes glance for mine. She didn’t bother. I hung my earphones around my neck and pulled my discman into my chest.
She shook her head, “So, speaking of one percent devil, did you hear what Matt and Leslie do to not get pregnant?” Kimmy's toothy smile went wild. My ears perked. I hated him.
Kimmy smiled. “Walk you to Bio?”
“If you have to.”
Our arms linked above her flats that tapped along the side of my feet, covering her mouth at my ear as we slowly passed down the halls. My thoughts filled with gossip from the girl’s locker room.
“You should have seen Elsa’s face when she heard. She like ran up to us and was like ‘omigod’ with her hands,” Kimmy held up her hands and shook them, “She almost fell out of her bra because she tried not laughing and tried telling us without laughing!”
We walked tightly down the hallway. My mouth gaped. I stopped. I looked around and she pulled me back to her whispering. “It’s why she didn’t want to use butter, it would stain her sheets. So he used spit on her ass instead. Is that how you guys do that in that?”
“Can’t make babies in that,” I laughed.
The period bell rang. We approached my bio class. She clung on my arm.
“Just sit in the back and ignore him. Don’t think about him. Think about playing the game the way you play it in morning practice. You just gotta hold on for two more classes. Don’t psyche yourself out.” Her breath froze.
I walked into bio class
It’s only fifteen minutes into bio before Matt turned an eye to me. The bio instructor drew on the whiteboard, with a black pen, wearing his usual Sunday best: Black cardigan on white. The back of his black cardigan was to us. Matt slowly rolled a paper ball. The teacher paused. Matt paused. The teacher looked down at his notes. Then back up to the board. That black marker squeaked forth. Matt spat into the center of the crumpled paper. He crumpled it up. Squeezed it in. A perfect spitball cradled in those large, Leslie buttering hands. His friend, in a backwards, black cap glanced back at me then nodded to Matt. They both smiled. I didn’t know where to look. I looked at the teacher’s back.
Everyone but the teacher watched as Matt turned and threw that balled spit. It flew and fell short and landed in front of my shoes. Matt blushed. Matt flipped me his meaty middle finger then turned forward. My chest froze with my gaze fixated on the teacher's back. Mr. Crushuck turned around, startled and asked, “Caleb, you’re looking at me like you have a serious question?”
I held for a moment. I knew not to say anything. My foot found the spitball. I squished it under my skater shoes. The saliva foamed out as a girl sitting aside my foot briefly eyed the foaming spit. She scowled. She said, “Since you’re the bio teacher, uh, Caleb wants to know if spit can give you AIDs.” She looked towards Matt’s back.
I froze. So did Matt's back.
A few girls laughed. Matt turned and leered at them. The girls went quiet. The teacher waited for silence. It’s silent for a moment. Snow fell outdoors.
“Did you need to go to the counselor, Caleb?” He felt under his collar. I saw a silver chain sparkling like Leslie's.
I looked out the window. The teacher went back to the white board. The white board squeaked. The snow outside ran into the horizon with the overcast clouds. Cold grey. It’s only grade ten. Everyone faced the front.
The bell rang. Bio ended. First break. The class flooded out into the hall leaving me to follow. Matt was waiting just outside with Leslie. White, french manicured nails gripped that bulging bicep as her other hand waited in a fist. Leslie's green eyes sharpened as those nails tugged on the strap of Matt's badminton casing. Watching me she put her hand to Matt’s chest. Those perfectly aligned teeth closed in on Matt's ear. I veered away as Matt tsked, “Kimmy’ll get aids if she keeps hanging out with girls like him.” I pulled my Discman from my backpack and put on my earphones. The music screamed for me.
First break meandered away as songs yelled through my head. The halls slowly emptied. Through open doors the teachers wrote on whiteboards. Through the school entrance doors the snow was still falling on the parking lot as my feet crunched along. Fresh footprints meandering from cars to class slowly faded. The mall in the distance waited behind a blur of flurries.
I trekked through the cars. Pretending to find one that I might own. Hoping to look like a student who forgot a textbook, or anything of the ordinary. All of the cars were frosted. Frozen and crystalizing. Completely still. Music thrashed through the stillness. Between me and the mall I saw the platinum-blonde hair thrashing in the driver's seat. The music was coming from the car just ahead of me. A teacher sat in the driver's seat screaming and head banging to the screeching beat. Blasted music. Too much eyeliner. Smoke rested around those bare shoulders that banged that blonde hair back and forth. The snow had stopped. She jerked still. The music went quiet. Those heavily lined eyes, those platiunum bangs turned to me as the window rolled down.
“Hi! Hello! I can see that you’re happy.”
“Yeah.” I responded. My eyebrows pulled together. The collar of my hoodie was pulled up over my nose.
“Come join me. It’s ok. I’m one percent angel.” Those heavily lined eyes tried to wink. The eyelid stalled and black-cherry fingernails pressed it back in place.
I looked around. The collar of my hoodie released from my chin.
The inside of the car was frozen. The heavy smell of cigarettes. The platinum blonde hair looked straw like up close. She turned to me exhaling a drag. I wondered if she was a substitute. She nodded. The air smelt sour.
“Smoke?” She offered forth her pack.
“No, I’m good. I pass out from smoking.”
She shrugged. Those cherry black nails popped a white cigarette into her mouth. They lit it. The cigarette peeled into grey. Smoke exhaled. The smoke fell from her mouth, and slipped up out the window. I looked in her rear view mirror.
“Then what are you here for? The bell is about to ring.”
“I don’t care.” I said.
Those heavily lined eyes nodded. The last of the smoked dragged back and exhaled past those black cherry nails. The butt flicked to the floor of the driver's side. A combat boot twisted it out.
“I can tell that you care about something.”
"I care about not getting beat up by Matt."
“Oh, I know Matt." She said. "He made a joke about his badminton racket being a cattle prod as he called me a fat cow in the hall today, yes. Just as I was trying to find which class I was subbing for. He was with that Christian girl of his. She is also good. With that pretty silver cross? Religion does help.”
I looked at the substitute's loose chin. There was no chain or cross. That platinum blonde hair looked preserved. All that mascara seemed to run into her eyes. Then there was that sour smell. She sucked on her smoke. The white cigarette capped by a fire-red ring. Ashes. Smoke exhaled. The period bell rang. My head jerked towards the school. Last class before gym.
“Hi, Hello! So what’s going down with Matt?’
“We have that badminton tournament. I'll have to go one on one with him.”
“Will you try to win?”
“I’m trying to get away.”
“I hear that. One on one is very personal.”
I shrugged.
“You wanna know that? What I see is it isn’t just you facing him. It’s everyone seeing you push back. Smashing his power. They will see you differently. They will see you as power. They will think differently because of what you did to him. They will look to you and listen to what you will say. I can see. You’re different, obviously,” Those black cherry nails limped a wrist at me, “ which makes you special. Which is what scares him. Which is why he oppresses. I bet you listen to smart music as well.”
Something in my head nodded. She lit another cigarette and sucked back the smoke. It exhaled and floated around her chest. The wind sucked the smoke up and out the window. It dissolved into the weather. Overcast. Grey. I felt the door handle to my right.
“What if you saw a way to win?”
My hand froze. “I can’t. He’ll throw me off.”
I couldn’t think. She smiled, eyeing my forehead, “You need help to see. Do you have visions when you listen to your Discman?”
The thoughts I had while music thrashed in my ears: cars driving off the main road and smashing into the church group, sewage dropping from the sky on their prayers, me pushing Matt down the stairs onto shards of broken glass in the parking lot. Those thoughts were always screaming through my head.
“That's close. But it's not the future. It's not visions of.”
“What?” I could feel my eyebrows trying to grasp.
“The future. I want to help you. To see you through this oppressiveness that keeps pushing you down. Do you wanna see the disc that I use to see through these things?”
Those black cherry nails raised in front of my face and pointed that one pointer up, then pointed it towards the dashboard. My eyes followed to the CD dock. The console lit up. The smell of incense and ashes flushed the car of that sour smell and cigarettes to a point that I thought I had entered some church. I heard no prayers. No music played.
"You don't want to listen to it just yet."
The two-tone sound bars bounced up and down to our silence. I heard something burning. The substitute smiled. There was something about her teeth. She sucked in her lips. Those layered eyes focused on the CD console as one black cherried fingernail pressed forward and stabbed the eject button. A blank CD popped out. The silent church smell went away. Those painted nails held it in front of me.
“You want me to see your mix tape?” I asked, “Sorry, mix CD?”
“This. Yup. Heloooooo,” She peaked at me through the center hole of the disc, Green eyes and tense brows reflected on the plastic metallic backing with that one makeup layered eye peaking through the centre at me, “So good to use to see the future, to see what’s coming. Then see what can be done to change it. Then take it. Then that’s all you'll need to be ready. See the cracks to stay on track.”
Over the intercom I heard my name. My eyes widened. I crouched down behind the dashboard. Cramming my legs upwards. The substitute rolled up the driver's side window. She slid under the steering wheel, pinning down her sides as she did.
She whispered, “Don’t worry. Let me show you. This is special. Ok? Listen, I’m here to help. I wanna show you.You’re almost there. You wanna get there. You are special. You need to win. People will look to you. To show them. To help them."
The CD passed into my hands. The reflective silver back dragged light across the interior of the car.
"Keep Looking at your reflection in the back of the CD. Now, that hole. That one in the middle. Where the CD hooks in. Go over your other eye with it. Nice. Now close it. OK. OK. Close it. Now, look at the other eye in your reflection. The silver backing. Just think of those thoughts, those rhythms that fuel so much fantasy when you listen to music. See in that reflected eye your fantasies without fantasizing. Where the visions form. Where they show. Now, close it. Close that reflected eye. Open that centered eye. Release into the center and show yourself the future.”
My one eye was still closed, “What future?”
“Think of the parking lot in spring.”
I opened my eye. My mouth dropped open. Through the small circle in the CD a grey parking lot, tufts of grass, and bright sun, blue sky appeared. Huge clouds. White. Spring in prairie blue. A yellow flower breezed.
Then I saw myself in spring approaching the flower. Some shorter guy walked next to me. I went to smell the flower and he rubbed the top of it with his foot. I didn’t smile. He laughed under that black, backwards cap and bent over and plucked it. Smelled it. Swiped it back and forth across my nose. From behind the disc I wondered of the smell. The smell of cigarettes permeated instead.
Those black cherry nails clawed the CD from my face.“Stay more focused on what is coming. That is more helpful. Here, let me see. Believe me. To get you ready to change out of this.” Those fingers rested on my wrist.
A heavily eye-lined eye eyed through the opening in the disc. And closed. And opened. Deflated lips mumbled with disapproval. Blinking, the disk lowered, “ Ok. Wow. Awkward. And mean. So bigoted against people like you. You’re sitting on paper. It’s that ball Matt threw. They are accusing you for being you. Everyone in the office is talking about you. They shouldn't be allowed to do that.”
“What!?”
“Don’t worry. She just wants you to suffer. That’s what makes them feel like god. That’s the real reason why she will be saying those things. Good Christians have a good community. They chat. We’ll chat! Head on in. Don’t worry. See you in a bit! I promise I’ll hold your CD for when you come back. I know you will.” I heard my name over the intercom again.
The empty halls weighed with silence until I heard the muffled buzzing of the office behind its closed door. My feet were still cold. Shoes slightly dampened. The door clicked open to the clerks desk. The office clerk looked up. She had a sweater on with a kitten hanging by a paw from a clothes line. The office clerk curtly nodded. No smile.
She lead me throguh a red door and gestured to the paper-covered bed. It crinkled. The door clicked close and through the small, rectangular window the clerk went back to her desk and picked up the phone.
The nurse approached the desk hugging close a clipboard. Both momentarily exchanged words with nodded gestures and the nurse turned towards the small rectangular window. Her thumb and finger pinched at her collar bone and tucked behind the collar of her shirt. I watched her power towards me.
The nurse slid in and stood on the other side of the small office. Those bony, scrubbed fingers brushed her bangs aside to reveal a you-need-to-know-better look.
“One out of two men who have sex with men will get HIV in their lives. Being young doesn’t prevent HIV, even if your partner is young. Use protection! It’s on the rise in men who have sex with men. Is this why you are asking weird questions about AIDS? It’s not AIDS you can catch. It’s HIV.”
The nurse waited during my disbelief. My heart in my face. I choked. “I’m scared of getting beaten up.”
“Things will get a lot scarier when that virus beats your immune system up. You need a full screening. Who have you been having sex with?”
Something meandered through my head.
“How many?” She continued.
“I’m not having sex. Leslie is having anal sex with Matt’s spit so she doesn’t get pregnant! Matt threw his spit at me!”
“You don’t throw spit. You. Spit. It. You need to take unprotected sex seriously. Not blame a couple that are clearly in a monogamous relationship which is none of your business and, of which, is a sure way to protect oneself against a virus that can’t be cured!”
Something about her neck sparkled. Clean, scrubbed fingers covered her collar. I thought about ashes. I glared at her knuckles. The paper bedding crinkled. It stuck to my palms. I wanted to wipe my chest. I wanted her to say something so I wouldn't have to hear it.
“I haven’t hit puberty yet.”
That Christian mouth pulled to the side.
The nurse forced a hall pass at me to reconsider if I felt the need to “be more honest." The pass crumpled and dropped into the library returns bin as I headed back out to the parking lot.
“Hey! Can I use that burnt CD?” I opened the passenger door to the substitute's car.
“Hi! Yes. Let’s get you ready to ride.”
My heart raced. That game with Matt and the chance to win and the opportunity to shove his anal-sex monogamy back in his face. The disc reflected my eye. It felt cool. The reflection closed off and I pressed the view into the future.
Matt was in front of me. Mesh net between us. Kimmy yelled from the bleachers as Leslie looked anxious. The score-board showed a tie. A match. The phys-ed teacher nodded with satisfaction. Arms crossed. Everyone stood and watched. Matt hesitated and looked around wildly then released his swing. The shuttlecock came flying at me. But something happened. What was I doing? Move! I saw myself standing there. Facing Matt. The shuttlecock arched over me and beyond my back. It tapped the floor behind me. I then swiped at the empty air. The score board cleared.
“Is this choking?” I said with the burnt CD over my eye. I lowered the disc to my lap.
“What did you see?”
“I saw me losing. Choking. I could have beat him. I lost. Why did I choke?”
“So you know how you lost?”
“Yeah, I gave up?” I started to get angry with myself.
“It’s not your fault. That's what oppression does to us. It chokes us. You know how you lost, so now, you'll know how to win. Now, I have a surprise for you. Look further into the future. Now that you know how to win, look again. See what's down that path. Find what is waiting for you when you do. Imagine that future. Give it to yourself. Trust yourself to take it.”
I looked for my victory. It wasn’t in the gym, with me giving that final smash instead of stalling. Instead, Elsa laughed, “He just left the gym without even changing. His face was sooo red.”
In the halls everyone surrounded me. Some friends, and friends of friends, took pictures of me with their disposable cameras. Someone put an arm around me and said, “We always new Matt was a dick, man.”
People looked to me with congratulations. Down the hall Matt’s faux hawk bobbed along to his locker. The arm around my neck pulled me in closer, “Hey Matt, it smells like shit.”
Matt glanced his crotch. A few girls laughed.
Kimmy started, “Omigod, so, Leslie is not happy. She was putting her crucifix back on when someone," Kimmy's smile beamed, "bumped her and it dropped to the floor of the locker room. Elsa accidently stepped on it and smiled, ‘Maybe you should put some science on instead?’”
Kimmy looked to me. So did Elsa. Elsa and Kimmy walked me to my locker where I saw one of the band students waiting with his guitar slung over his shoulder.
“Hey, Cal. Cali. Like California. Where all the good music comes from. Nice job pinning it to Matt. I heard he was always an ass to you.”
“Thanks,” I glanced at his golden shark-tooth pendant.
“Man, sorry, but watching you serve it in that last swing, you’re voice fucking fried Matt on the spot. Like he was waiting to die in some headlights. Where did you learn that death growl? I was like, whoaaa, this dude needs a band behind him. Those cords are fucked!”
I shook my head and caught my reflection in the back of the CD.
“I could be in a band?” My mouth hung open.
“It’s ok. Be happy. This is what’ll happen when you push back. When you reclaim your power. When people look to you. You will empower others. See!”
I closed my one eye and peered back into the disc. This future was years from now. My skin was old. My hair looked dry. My face layered in makeup. My chin sagged. My teeth looked different. I was on stage in front of a huge crowd surrounded by musicians. I watched my future self scream into the microphone, "Smash the binary."
The audience responded, "Smash them free."
We all sang, "If it's not fair for all bodies. It's not fair for me."
I sang, "Smash the binary."
The audience sang, "Smash us free."
We all sang, "They're for everybody. No one is free."
I sang, my mouth moving against the back of the CD,"Smash the binary."
They sang, "Smash 'em free."
We both sang, "If you're not here for everybody. You're not here for me."
The audience cried, waving red banners and colorful flags with math symbols. At the front of the stage a male blow up doll crowd surfed and bounced above punching fists. Golden lipstick painted around its O-shaped mouth. An oversized band T-shirt draped over its shoulders read "Gnostic Sex Cult". The over-sized T-shirt tented over the inflated doll's inflated boner. I looked back and noticed my mouth sparkling as I thrashed and screamed about. Smoke blasted the stage.
A black cherry thumbnail rested on my wrist and pushed my hand down from my face, “Just glimpse at the future. Just a taste. Don't dilute it. Let it happen the way it will happen. It’s all you need to motivate yourself. Focus on getting there. Don't fantasize about getting there. Then you'll be ready when you arrive.”
The cigarette loosely hung from those deflated lips. The CD clicked into my Discman.
The bell rang. It’s time for phys-ed. I looked one last time at the substitute.
“But what if I still choke?”
“You won’t choke. You hate him. Remember all he did to you when you did nothing back.”
Gym started the way I saw it. Except for the sweat. I played the way I played it. Holding my game. My skater shoes took flight as I remembered how I saw myself fight. So I let myself go. Making the rounds. Winning the games over and over. Taking out the other guys in class. Smacked down the shuttlecock and stared them off the court. Matt won over and over and kept darting glances at me winning over and over until it was time, the last two on the board, Matt and I, were to go head to head. We both sweat. I still smiled. We walked to the last court. The bleachers packed. The cheering went silent. Matt tried to shake it off.
I served. People cheered. Back and forth the Shuttlecock flew. The rally flowed. People called from the bleachers. Point for point. Smash for smash. All eyes on the shuttlecock. Swears flowed. We swung hard. Our shoes screeched at each other. Kimmy and Elsa called down from the bleachers. Thumbs up. Arms raised and waving. Leslie's knuckles turned white. My breath burnt as it came up to his serve, that final serve. It was there. That match point on the board. That vision I saw. This was happening. A new future to swing open.
Matt sweat a wild look. He looked at me with direct eye contact. I couldn't remember seeing his eyes before. His shoulders tensed. Eyes went wider. They widened more as I looked back into them. It made them dart. He looked around. No one cheered. He turned back to me. Everyone cheered. He teetered from the turn. He looked away. He faced the net and thumbled the racket and his eyes opened wider. I wasn’t scared of him. I could see it in his eyes. The racket swung over his shoulder and served. I couldn't stop feeling what I saw as he watched the shuttlecock fly over to me.
I felt Matt for the first time, the memories of limp-wrists and spitballs and name calling falling to a distant memory while weakness realized in my mind. The shuttlecock floated over the net as Matt looked like he was about to cry. It never felt like he was about to cry. It felt awkward. I didn’t feel like winning. The shuttlecock continued sailing. It passed a couple feet overhead and continued behind to tap on the floor. The gymnasium went silent. Those eyes, opened wide, swelled with relief. Almost tears. I got why I swung at the empty air. So I swung at the empty air above my head. I smiled. Things went quiet.
Then, some girls laughed awkwardly at the silence in the room. Matt quickly glanced a nod to me then swung his face down and turned and walked off the court with his head held high towards his friend in the black baseball cap. They walked lockstep to the change room. Chests puffed with smiles like nothing happen. Leslie tried to peek at him through her fingers.
The gym teacher yelled, “Caleb, go change. Now.”
I shook my head. “The nurse wants to see me! I have a pass.”
He lifted his chin, yes. He kept his arms crossed and looked away and yelled, “Ok ladies. Court’s yours. Get it done!”
The parking lot snow crunched under my feet. The substitute's head jerked to me from the driver's side window. She stiffly startled. She started the car just as my hands slammed the hood, “Why didn’t it show me how scared he was?”
Layered eyes leered through the windshield. The heavy make-up darkened. That dried face sagged as those black cherry nails pushed her forehead back. The nails pushed so hard that I noticed her stubby golden teeth for the first time. The wind kicked up the snow.
She screamed, “fucking listen you cog” and revved the engine. The hood flew forward. The snow crunched under my back pack as it rammed my spine while my shins tried to kick away the rolling tires. My fingers clawed into the cold packed snow and I cried out, “fucking stop!” The cold filled my lungs. Tears burnt my face. The sound of tires crunching snow faded. No engine revved.
No tire tracks in the blank parking space. Fresh, blank snow. My head dropped back down. My breath faded into the atmosphere. White overcast above.
Snow fell. It landed on my cheeks and melted like steam off of my face. Arms out. I could only see what the morning prayers saw. My foggy breath left my mouth and disappeared into the sky. My eyes began to sting as I covered my face with the wrists of my sleeves. I breathed out. Snowflakes tapped the packed snow of the quiet parking lot.
I kicked and looked down. They were fine. I held up my palms. They turned red. Smoke rose up around my face. Exhaust revved up my back and I looked behind me. Two rear view lights of a brand new Honda Celica, 2002, glowered above a brand new silver muffler. Car exhaust shot up my nostrils. In the driver’s side mirror I saw Matt. He raised his face in the mirror. He stepped out in his gym shorts and shook his head at me.
“I almost lost to you. Okay?” He grabbed me by the wrists, bringing me to my feet. I noticed his eyes were red, like mine. “And I’m not planning on offing myself!” He grabbed my shoulders. He gave me a deep, pushy look.
I said, ok. We paused for a moment. Him in his gym shorts. He gave my shoulders another squeeze.
"Let me know if anyone is pushing you around, okay?"
I watched him pull out of the parking lot. I watched Matt go away, or to lunch, wherever. In the passenger seat sat his friend, sitting lower, watching me in the passenger mirror he turned his face away, pulling down a smile. His eyes still smiled. I looked back towards my high school covered in snow.
“Did you try to commit suicide in the parking lot?” Kimmy asked at our lockers.
“No.”
“Well Matt’s telling people that you tried to commit suicide and that he saved you from getting run over. What were you doing in the parking lot?”
“Did you ever meet that substitute?”
“What?” Kimmy asked.
“The substitute in the parking lot?”
“What?”
I pulled my mangled Discman out of my hoodie pouch. The disc still pinned to the center. I held up the disc and looked at Kimmy through the centre. She was way older, sitting at a kitchen table. A younger person approached the table. Was it her kid? Her kid wore a t-shirt with a crawling baby whose arms were black tentacles.
The kid said “Hi” then didn’t speak English. That kid's long curls covered their face. Except for its mouth. Future Kimmy swiped a manicured finger across a hand held television and said “yup” as the kid rummaged through a designer purse. Future Kimmy got up and left the table as those kid fingers stopped shifting for money. Future Kimmy left the room as I watched her kid standing still. Fingers clamped on the purse. Knuckles tense. Those kid knuckles shook. Tensing, they turned black. The blackness spread up to the wrists, then the elbows, then the shoulders, the collarbone, jaw, then the mouth. I looked at the kid's mouth full of stubby, golden teeth. The golden-tooth mouth smiled.
“Hi! Hello! I can see that you’re happy.”
I dropped the CD. It tapped the floor and rolled away through the meandering teenage feet. I turned for it, but Kimmy grabbed my shoulder.
“No. Don’t. We left the 80’s. No one likes a mix tape. Sorry, mix CD? Why is it weird to say mix CD? Ugh, what next? Anyhow, Caleb, did you make that for someone!?”She silently shrieked. Fists shook. She linked her arm into mine. “Did you know there’s a thing called a café opening up in town. They have café mochas. It’s hot chocolate and coffee. Maybe meet him for one?”
I told her, “I haven’t hit puberty yet.”
“Uh, girls aren’t the only ones with locker room talks, you know.”
##
Epilogue:
She hesitated, and waited on the bottom step of the stoop of her mom’s new condo. She unfolded her new flip-phone with her french manicured fingers. Her bare fingers frozen, balancing a smoke, she began to text “You were touching Caleb…” when a CD rolled into her foot with a tap. She startled as the smoke balanced on her fingers. She picked up the CD.
She looked at the back of the disc to check for scratches, blinking at her reflection. As her eye came across the centre of the disc she saw a small fire through it. She looked closer. She closed one eye. She peaked through and saw the word brimstone on a banner. Closer. Her face pressed against the silver backing. She saw a white stage with a huge silver cross on it. She saw herself, older, a golden smile. She heard herself on a microphone, “Hi. Hello! I know you are so angry. So am I.” She watched herself point up to the sky. Someone yelled her name.
“My song, y’all heard, it is also rising. Not just in the Christian charts but flying up to the lord’s number one spot in the top five sales of all time! Everyone, let’s “Cleanse Back The Nation!” Boom. Red fire exploded from the giant-silver cross. The crowd erupted.
She held the CD in her hands and put out the cigarette. She clapped her phone closed and headed back into her mom’s condo, happy.