|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Sat Mar 24, 2007 8:38 pm
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Mar 26, 2007 6:52 pm
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Mar 26, 2007 7:03 pm
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Mar 26, 2007 7:15 pm
 |
|
|
|
Part Two: History
Ryan drove carefully into the apartment complex parking lot, slid into a space, and turned off his car.
“I’ll need to get gas in the morning,” he said conversationally.
She was feeling a little sick, and didn’t reply. Instead, she said. “You live in an apartment?”
“Mm-hmm. Well, truthfully…this place is more for small businesses, but…the rent’s the same…”
“Oh…” she choked. “I see.”
“C’mon…I’ll take you up.”
It was the sort of apartment where there are stairs leading to doors on the side of the building, each with a number. He led her up the stairs, past 107, 109, 203, 205, 207, 209, 301. At 303, he stopped, pulling a key from his pocket. But before he turned it in the lock, he stopped.
“You should probably get ready for another surprise,” he said quietly. Not knowing what else to do, she nodded, and he opened the door.
Her mouth fell open again.
He had been right; the room was indeed smaller than her own bedroom at home, and though hers was large and filled with empty space, far too big for just a bedroom, this room didn’t just have a bed….It had white carpet that was more of a pale grey, with stains here and there, and one corner was tiled in plain white linoleum that dully caught the light of a small lamp on a little table beside a lumpy armchair. On this little patch of solid floor stood a counter with a microwave, a sink, and a cereal bowl with a withered apple and brown-patched banana in it atop it; the counter was Formica, she guessed. A broom leaned against the wall, and a mini fridge sat on the floor. There was no table of any sort. The counter was chipped, as was the floor, and the fridge hummed loudly like his truck.
About ten paces away from that corner, in the opposite one, there sat the sort of TV that was propped up on four spindley legs, with a screen about thirteen inches wide. A game system that she couldn’t identify sat between the supports, a controller cord winding its way from it to the controller itself, hanging off the bed. The bed was a single, though still wide enough so that two average-sized people could sit side-by-side and just have a few centimeters hanging off. The plain off-white bedspread was rumpled, the pillow askew, and a shirt lay abandoned on the floor. A door hung half-open in the wall, revealing the edge of a chipped sink and more linoleum. A plain wooden cupboard, painted white to match the “décor”, to use the broad sense of the word, hung on the wall. There was a plaster splotch on the wall where a hole had been repaired.
Sara stood, riveted to the doorstep in complete shock, her eyes flickering to each item in the plain, sparse little room.
“Is this where you…?”
He didn’t even blink, merely taking her hand and leading her inside. “C’mon. It’s cold.”
She wordlessly obeyed, still completely overwhelmed. He grasped her hand tightly, avoiding her eyes, as if this was exactly the reaction he had expected. Finally, she choked out the question.
“Is this your HOUSE? You LIVE here?”
“Not really a house, is it?” he commented, leading her over to the armchair and pushing her gently into it. A spring creaked in protest. “And actually, the only thing I really own is THAT.”
He pointed, and she followed his direction to the little black game console, which she could see now was a Nintendo 64. Ancient.
“Got that for my ninth birthday,” he told her softly, as if the memory was painful. “My dad loved the Legend of Zelda, said since I was Link’s age I should be old enough.”
The cartridge in the console read The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time. There was one on the floor beside it that read The Legend of Zelda: Majora’s Mask.
“’Course, I always thought Link was eleven…doesn’t matter, does it?”
She was incapable of answering.
“Y’know, I wanted to get the Collector’s Edition…exchange the N64 for a Gamecube and my two games for that one…it’s got both of those, you see, and the first two, and parts of Wind Waker. I wanted to see what made my dad like it so much. But I couldn’t do it.”
Sara was still looking around, at the tiny fridge, at the bare walls, at the dirty linoleum.
“You are kidding me,” she managed at last, looking up at him for a reaction. “There’s…no way…”
“I’m not,” he told her, so quietly she could barely hear. His forehead burned bright red beneath his hair. “I’m sorry…if you want me to take you home, I will…”
She rose to her feet, still casting her eyes all around the room. “How did you…? What do you…? Why…?”
He sighed. “Hold on a minute…I’ll explain. I, uh…lied. I’m the only one that lives here.”
She gaped at him. “Well, obviously!”
He nodded. “A friend of my dad’s hooked me up with this place, and a fake permit. I was fourteen. When I was sixteen, he got me a fake license, too.”
“Why not just get the real one?” she interrupted. “You’re a great driver—”
“I don’t do anything that requires ID,” he said shortly. “Or my legal guardians, or my address, or money. Anyway, he pays the rent and I pay him, simple as that. He’s my boss, you see…and as long as I don’t put holes in the floor or anything, I can stay up here. I told you it’s more of a business thing…this room is supposed to be an office, or like, a jewelry shop or something…someone else made it into an apartment before I came, though. Could be worse.”
“Could be WORSE? You can barely walk in this place—”
“Who needs to walk? All anyone really needs is four walls and a roof, a bed, food and water…and I’ve got my N64.”
Sara took a few steps further into the room, turning around in a little circle. She could see a toilet and a shower minus the curtain now in the bathroom. “You live here?” she asked quietly.
“Yes.”
“All by yourself?”
He shook his head. “Not tonight.”
She met his eyes, keeping his gaze for a long time.
“Are you thirsty or something?” he asked her at length. “I’ve got…well, I’ve got something. Help yourself,” he added, stepping around her and reaching into his pocket. “If it’s all right with you, I need to call some one…”
She nodded, and he stepped into the bathroom and closed the door. She heard the chimes as he dialed the number, then a few seconds later, heard him speak.
“Hey, Jace…you busy? Listen, I need a favor…could you get me off the hook at work tomorrow? I can’t come in until later…maybe not at all…Jace? Jace! Focus, man. Yeah…Just tell him I’m sick. With whatever brain disease you’ve got, duh…”
Keeping one ear trained on the conversation—she couldn’t help listening in any case, anyway—and the other filled with the refrigerator’s hum, she opened the little device’s door and looked inside. The contents surprised her. A clean, empty glass, caked in frost, a Chinese take-out box, a jar of peanut butter, two bottles of water, one bottle of crushed ice, a half-empty can of tomato soup, a can of beer—Budweiser, she saw, wrinkling her nose in disgust. She shut the door, her eyes roving over the rotting fruit, the water stains on the metal sink, the broom devoid of a dustpan. Her eyes fell on the cupboard.
“Jason! For the love of God, take your nose out of the bottle, I need your help! God…I can barely understand you as it is…I said, just tell him I’m sick…
The cupboard’s top shelf showed her neatly folded clothes, one side their school uniforms, the other a pair of khakis and a shirt. The lower shelf bore a single plate; a tattered rag; a knife, spoon, and fork; two more cans of soup; a bag of Cheetos; a white taper candle and a box of matches; a pack of Marbolo cigarettes. She took these out, staring at them; she had never seen a cigarette box up close before. The box was open, and two were missing.
“…no, I’m not sick…I’ve got to take my girlfriend home…wha…? No, I’m not! Ugh! Just forget it!”
The phone clicked as Ryan slammed it shut, slamming the bathroom door behind him and muttering under his breath. Then he remembered he had company, and his tone brightened.
“Whatcha doing?”
“Drunk, high, or both?” she asked, without turning around.
“Huh?”
“Your friend. Sorry. Loud voice, small place.”
He rolled his eyes. “Pretty damn drunk, about to get high. Idiot.”
“Why do you talk to him then?”
“He works with me. He’s not too bad, when he doesn’t smell like vodka…”
“What are these?” she inquired, showing him the cigarettes. His eyebrows furrowed.
“Smokes,” he answered cautiously.
“I didn’t know you smoke.”
“I don’t. I don’t touch those, they’re just there.”
“Two are missing.”
“Believe me, I didn’t smoke ‘em. I found them, thought I could sell them, maybe.”
She didn’t really buy it. He saw this, and smiled reassuringly, his teeth even and a moderate white. She could tell he’d had braces, but not anything to make them brighter. It was natural. They weren’t smoker’s teeth.
“There’s a can of beer in there,” she told him, as if he might not know. “Budweiser. That someone else’s too?”
“No. It’s mine.” His tone was completely sincere, if a little abashed. “I was saving it…I know you don’t drink, but if you want it, it’s yours.”
“Can I run it over with your car?”
He frowned. “I’d prefer if you didn’t…I paid good money for it…”
“Why?”
He shrugged, turning and flopping onto the bed. “Why does anyone start drinking? It makes you feel better, makes you forget stuff. It’s not too bad, if you take away the headache.” He turned on the N64, and the piano/ocarina prelude filled the room form the tinny speakers. “Don’t worry, though,” he assured her. “I don’t drink and drive, ever. And I’m not an alcoholic.”
“But you’ve drunken these before.”
“Who hasn’t?” he replied carelessly.
“I haven’t.”
That made him stop for a second. But then he went right on clicking buttons, until the screen flickered to a younger Link, exploring Dodongo Cavern. Ryan bent his entire torso backwards over the bed, as if the game wasn’t challenging enough right-side up, and played it like that.
“I’ve tried everything, I think,” he told her simply. “Beer, whiskey, vodka, wine. Just sips, most of the time. And that was when I was fourteen or fifteen, I think. I haven’t touched anything since, except a bottle of beer once in a while. When I do, I don’t even go outside. I just stay here. I don’t talk to anyone, I don’t do anything. It’s kind of a waste, really, since it’s so hard for me to get them…but I don’t care.”
“You ever got drunk before?”
“Once. I didn’t like it.”
“Off of?”
“Vodka. Painful.”
“High?”
“Never.”
“Got any diseases I should know about? STDs?”
“No. Why don’t you just go search the place again? I’ve got nothing to hide.”
“Nothing to hide?” she repeated incredulously. “Alcohol, for one thing…you’re still a minor, you know…and sure, the cigarettes are legal, but you could at least have hidden them from ME…I don’t want to come here and find out that you smoke and you didn’t tell me—”
“I don’t,” he interrupted. “People that smoke annoy the hell out of me. And if you didn’t see, I obviously didn’t have time to clean up. And even if I did, I don’t want to hide anything from you, Sara. I could’ve just dropped you off. I wanted you to see.”
She kept her eyes on him, watching him sadly, dropping the cigarettes into the cupboard and shutting the door. “I don’t get it,” she said to him, coming to sit beside him on the bed. “I don’t get it…you’re the smartest person in our school…probably in every school in San Antonio…why do you live like this?”
“Never mind the details,” he said firmly. “I just do. I told you, it’s not too bad.”
“But…but what do you do here?”
“Play my game. I found every secret and piece of heart known to humankind on both of ‘em. And I bring books home from school, and read those. But I don’t spend a lot of time here. Not even on weekends. Just on Sundays, usually.”
“But what do you EAT?”
“Um, hello…didn’t you see the take-out? And the peanut butter?”
“You can’t live off peanut butter!”
He raised a hand and pointed a stern finger at her. “You take that back, Miss Sara. Peanut butter is the greatest food on earth, and I absolutely refuse to live without it. You shoulda been here when I had bread, that was great…nicked some jelly from IHOP…” He sighed in ecstasy at the memory. She couldn’t believe her ears.
“You need help.”
“Mental or physical?”
“Physical. Maybe both.”
“Oh, no thanks. I’m fine.”
“I’m serious, Ryan, you’ve gotta find a place to live besides here…”
“Why?”
“You’re not even out of high school yet! And you’re living off peanut butter!”
He snorted softly, as if that was hardly a problem.
“There’s four other food groups, Ryan. I think.”
“I told you, I had bread…”
“What, like last year?”
“A week ago…I’ve got a banana, what more do you want?”
“I mean it, Ryan…I’ll help, I really will…my mom’s good at stuff like this, she—”
But with that, his calm attitude disappeared. He sat up at once, not even pausing the game, leaving Link to be eaten by a baby Dodongo. He grabbed her hands tightly, folding them between his and looking her straight in the eyes.
“No, Sara. You can’t tell anyone. Not your parents, not your friends, don’t even write it in your diary. It’s a secret. If anyone finds out about this, I'm in really big trouble. I'm old enough to go to jail, and believe me, I will...Don't tell, Sara. Please."
“Ryan, you can’t—”
“Please, Sara.”
He seemed so sincere, so desperate, that she couldn’t possibly refuse.
“Fine…I won’t tell. I promise.”
Smiling in satisfaction, he kissed her and promptly bent over backwards again, resuming his game. Link was minus two hearts, but still alive, probably thanks to a fairy. In revenge, Ryan stabbed it viciously with the little Kokiri sword until it fell down and died.
“Damn thing, what’d I ever do to you?” he muttered, clicking buttons with practiced ease.
Sara lay next to him, folding her elbows across his stomach. “Whatcha doin’?”
He only answered after he’d beaten a few monsters to a pulp. “You done freaking out?”
“Nah, I’ll save it for later. Now, c’mon, tell me, what’s the point of this little hellhole?”
“I thought you’ve played it before.”
“Nope, never touched one of these old things. I play Twilight Princess and Wind Waker, now tell me, what IS this fiery pit of doom?
“It’s Death Mountain, see, the bad guy is Ganondorf and he killed the tree—”
“Gasp! That b*****d.”
“No, the talking tree that protects the forest, the father of Link’s brothers and sisters…”
“They’re tree-babies?”
“No, they’re more like elves, only they never grow up, they’re all his age and dressed like him, with fairies and everything. The Deku Tree made them, and he protected them, but then he died. He had a Spiritual Stone, you see, and Ganondorf wanted it, but he wouldn’t give it up. So then Ganondorf tried to steal another one from the Gorons, but when they refused he filled their rock mines—”
“Rock mines?”
“Yes, they eat rocks. He filled them with monsters. So now I’m killing ‘em.”
“Why don’t they just give Ganador the rock?”
“That’s Ganondorf. And it’s a Spiritual Stone, and if he gets all three he can open the Door of Time—”
“Oooh…”
“—and hack into the Sacred Realm, and steal the TriForce.”
“Tragic.”
“Yep. It’s the goddesses’ power all sealed up in golden triangles. And he’s evil.”
“So you’re gonna kill him?”
“Not right now.”
“When?”
“In seven years.”
“Wow…so you’ve got plenty of time to waste with these, uh…creepy dragon things, huh?”
“Yeah, and next up are the creepy jellyfish things…and then we find Zelda.”
“Zelda?”
“The princess. She’s got the Ocarina of Time.”
“Lucky her.”
“No, you see…”
He explained the finer details of the game to her, playing as he did so, and by the time he was done, he informed her that it was time for the dungeon boss. She had no idea what that meant, until…
He shoved the controller into her hands as a big blue THING attempted to breathe fire at her. She shrieked, pushing it back.
“Oh my god, oh my god, what IS that thing?”
“A big creepy dragon thing. Beat it, hurry!”
“I thought I had seven years!”
“No! Go on!”
“Uh…uh…”
“Quick, get out of the way! X-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x….”
“What’s X?”
“The button! Press it…move the stick upwards…no, the other stick!”
“Aaaaauugh!”
She tried it. A bomb appeared out of nowhere and sat atop Link’s hands.
“Throw it!”
“What? How?”
“Control stick and A!”
Control stick and A…the result was less than perfect. She set the bomb down at his feet and moved the camera stick instead, and got a first-person view to watch Link be blown up and cremated at the same time. Ryan laughed.
“Go on, try again…you have to throw it in his mouth. Ooh, don’t let him roll on you, now…”
“Ooooooh…”
She threw a bomb at it, but it hit his tail instead. She tried again, and this time, it landed in its mouth. It swallowed it, and the bomb exploded with a loud BOOM! Ryan grinned.
“Stab it, hurry!”
“What?”
“Press B!”
“Um…”
She pressed what she thought was B, and Link yelled out a battle cry as he stabbed fruitlessly at the air. The Dodongo got right back up again. She screamed, nearly dropping the controller, and ran away as fast as Link could go.
“Go back, now…try again…”
Under Ryan’s coaching, and with the help of two fairies, she finally got it right. After four times, the thing screeched, rolled into the lava, and died. What looked like something on a child’s charm bracelet fell by its head. Sara giggled weakly.
“Hee hee…cool…”
She fell back onto the bed, covering her face with her hands. He laughed.
“Hey, not bad…you lived.”
She groaned. “Never again.”
“Okay…I’ll play this time.”
She agreed, sitting up to watch as he picked up the bracelet charm (who knew? It was a heart container,) and got the Spiritual Stone from some big thing that she guessed was a Goron. Then Link was off, down the mountain again. As he played, they talked, first about the game, then about everything else. But slowly, the colors on the little TV lost focus, and she found herself blinking hard, swallowing yawns, resting on his shoulder. He was the one that asked her softly if perhaps she wanted to take a shower and go to bed? She nodded, feeling like a zombie as she stumbled into the little bathroom, locating towel, shampoo, washcloth, soap. There was only one of each, she saw, the towel ragged, the washcloth filled with holes, the soap as big as her little finger. She made a note to be careful not to waste any as she waited for the water to warm up, tugged off her clothes, and stepped underneath the hot water.
Twenty minutes later, she walked out into the cool main room, the tunic over her arm, her black camisole dotted with little wet spots from her hair. She closed the door with her foot, wringing the water out of her hair with a towel. Ryan looked up from a book, devoid of shirt and shoes, quite obviously being modest for her benefit. She gave him a smile, feeling ten times more awake now, tossing her hair in his face as she sat beside him.
“Tha-ank you,” she sang gratefully. He brushed droplets of water from his face.
“All clean?”
“Yup. Did you beat the giant jellyfish thing?”
She pointed at the TV screen, light, airy music playing from the Save screen.
“Yeah…piece of cake.” He touched a button on the console with his toe, and it turned off. Silence filled the room. Feeling a little awkward, apprehension mounting, she finally broke it.
“Well, I’m going to bed, if it’s all right with you.”
He nodded, yawning and stretching. “Yeah, same here.”
Without a word, she curled up with her back to the wall, covering herself with the thin blanket. He turned off the lamp, crossing the room and coming to lie beside her. She felt the need to kill the silence once more.
“I want to sleep,” she said firmly, “so no talking, no snoring, and no touching, all right?”
“Okay,” he said simply, rolling over to rest on his folded arms. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
She closed her eyes and tried to sleep, but it was more difficult than she thought it would be. Ryan’s breaths grew deeper at once; he seemed completely oblivious to the cold. Maybe it was because she was wet, or perhaps, the weather outside. She doubted the tiny place had a heater of any sort aside from the microwave. She pulled the blanket more tightly around her, snuggling closer to Ryan, trying not to shiver.
His breaths were slow, his heartbeat calm and steady, and she thought he was asleep until he stirred, reached down onto the floor, brought up tonight’s abandoned shirt, and pulled it carefully over her head. She tugged her arms through it, burying her nose in the lapels, allowing him to wrap an arm around her shoulders.
“Are you warm now?” he asked her, his voice very quiet. She nodded; the shirt was still warm, and so was he.
“Thanks,” she murmured.
“If you’re still cold…I could get another blanket from downstairs…”
“Don’t move,” she told him, grasping his hand tightly. He nodded, and obeyed.
“Victory or death,” he muttered sleepily, “tonight, we dine in hell…”
She giggled. “I hear it’s warm there.”
“Mm. If you know where to go.”
“And where is that?”
“I thought you said no talking.”
“You’ve already broken the rules. Answer the question.”
“All right, you’ll never find out anyway…”
“Why?”
“Because you’re an angel.”
He half-yawned as he said it, so she couldn’t be sure if he was serious or not.
“Well, if you don’t go too far, you’ll see a big bonfire, and that’s where they make the s’mores, you see, only they run out right when you get there, and all the demons burn you with their flaming marshmallows, and when they touch you, you get all sticky and there’s only boiling water to wash it off with. But the catch is, if you succeed in stealing a s’more you move onto the next level…”
“Go on. Second level.”
“Well, in the second level, on one side you hear horrible screeching off-key singing, so high it breaks glasses, and you can hear better music up ahead so you keep going until the singing is far behind…it’s always a song you know by heart…but when you start to sing, it cuts off and you’re left singing in complete silence and you could swear up and down that you were alone before, but now there’s a million people staring at you, and they start laughing. And if you just sing anyway, you get sent to level three…”
“Wow. Sounds like summer camp.”
He chuckled, and at her persuasion he started talking again, just talking, not really words, but a low, comforting hum, and she remembered replying, maybe, before both of them drifted off to sleep.
Sara awoke to complete silence, save the steady, monotonous shimmering of water falling in a heavy rain on tile from the bathroom, and a slight rustling as the wind blew through a poplar in the parking lot. Judging by the post-morning-rush silence, the heavy feeling in her head, and the funny taste in her mouth, it was early, nine, maybe nine-thirty. She was alone, curled up in a warm ball beneath Ryan’s shirt and the white blanket; it had gotten much warmer since last night.
She sat up, smoothing her hair down absently as she looked around. The apartment was completely empty save herself, everything turned off except the little refrigerator. She noticed that there was a bottle of water on the counter, half-full, with a tall glass of ice water beside it, and the banana and apple seemed to be missing. She swung her legs over the bedside and smoothed down the covers, the pillow had fallen off the bed so she put it back where it was supposed to be.
The sound of a squeaky tap being turned, the water ceasing its fall, the shower head dripping a little as splashing footsteps echoed off the walls. Ryan’s hair would be in his eyes now, wet, clinging to his forehead, like when she had taken a walk in the park with him and it had started to rain, hard, and he’d offered her his jacket as protection.
She walked over to the counter. Turned out, the apple and banana weren’t missing after all; they were cut up into tiny pieces in the bowl, glistening still from when they had been washed. By the looks of it, Ryan had made her breakfast, taking extra special care to cut out every single piece that might be rotten or bruised—about half of it, she guessed. He had also taken the cold glass from the refrigerator for her, and had even added a couple of Cheetos…it was the best he could do, and even though she could get something ten times better at home, hot for one, and fresh and clean with at least milk, she thought it was the nicest thing anyone had ever done for her in her entire life. She took the spoon from the cupboard, looking at the cigarettes for a few seconds, glancing towards the fridge in the direction of the beer, hating them both, wishing with all her heart that Ryan had never touched them in his life, though she knew otherwise.
She heard quiet humming, the rustle of a towel and various articles of clothing, a zipper, water running as Ryan brushed his teeth. Water again, he spat it out and turned on the sink. She took a bite of the apple-banana mix, took a sip of water, on a sudden idea got the peanut butter from the fridge and took a spoonful of that too. More water to wash that down, and then she wiped her mouth and pushed open the bathroom door.
Ryan was still humming, watching carefully in a face-shaped patch devoid of fog on the mirror as he shaved, the bathroom filled with steam. He heard her coming and saw her in the mirror, but did nothing, save smile and give her a cheerful “Good morning.” She came over to him and wrapped her arms around his neck, her forehead pressed against the smooth side of his face.
“’Morning,” she said in reply, kissing him on the cheek. The last of the shaving cream was washed down the drain, he felt his cheeks with the back of his hand to see if he had missed a spot, and, satisfied, gave her a clean, fresh, I-just-woke-up-without-coffee-isn’t-it-a-lovely-day kiss. She flushed, a little embarrassed; she had yet to brush her hair or even her teeth, but he didn’t seem to mind.
“How did you sleep?” he inquired. They turned to look at the other in the mirror, Ryan clearing a spot, looking at the reversed picture they made and smiling.
“Great,” she beamed. “Thanks so much…”
“For what?”
“The arm and the shirt and the blanket, and letting me stay at all, I suppose…”
“My pleasure. I don’t get company often, if ever…”
“Are you wanted?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Are you wanted? Like FBI’s Most Wanted, sort of thing?” She leaned against his shoulder, watching his reaction in the mirror. A slight frown, a crease of the eyebrows, nothing more. His voice was pleasant and no softer or louder than before.
“Put it this way; if I get caught I’m only a minor criminal, or a seriously troubled juvenile, whichever. Nothing death row, nothing six months. Years. Like, seven, ten maybe, I dunno.”
“What’d you do?”
“That I won’t tell you, aside from me feeding off the government for five years. Did you ever notice they hate that? They do. Useless people or the people that don’t pay are the ones that everyone despises.”
“Ryan?”
“Mm?”
“I don’t really understand how you can live here…why aren’t you in a foster home? And how do you pay tuition?”
“See, that’s the illegal part…I don’t really pay tuition. Part of it’s paid for…the main part…not the stupid part that covers like, flowers and cheese fries and crap like that. The rest I don’t really understand, he found a way to make them THINK I pay, or that I don’t exist or something, and in appreciation for that I try to remain inconspicuous and in no way draw attention. Except, being at the top of the list…that’s different. The principal and teachers love me because of it…and I don’t think they even know I’m the one that only pays about five thousand or so dollars every month.”
“Who did this again?”
“My boss. I work for him for free, he takes care of me and feeds me, like my legal guardian or something. He got this place for me, it’s under his name, they think it’s a very unsuccessful psychiatry office…more like a nuthouse when Jason throws parties in here…that’s where I got those cigarettes.”
He seemed perfectly unafraid to be honest, elaborate on her questions as well as answer them, like he would tell her as much as she wanted to know, said and unsaid.
“What happened to your real guardian?”
“I don’t exist,” he replied, his voice now a little guarded. “As far as the world is concerned, anyway. I’m the sort of person you put on a milk bottle and never see again.”
“You’re missing?”
“Presumed dead.”
This didn’t seem to bother him too much.
“What happened to your parents?”
A look of annoyance crossed his face, though he tried to hide it, and his fingers started twitching lightly on the sink. “Dead.”
“Any brothers and sisters?”
“I dunno.”
“How can you not know?”
“I never knew my mom, might have a stepbrother or sister somewhere…mm, don’t care, really.”
“What about your dad?”
“Car crash,” he snapped, suddenly angry. “And don’t ask me any more about it.”
She took him at his word, drawing back a little—everyone knew that crowding people only made them angrier. However, his arm did not leave her shoulder.
“How’d your boss find you?” she inquired. Ryan took his time with this one.
“That’s weird…I think I’ve blocked it from my memory, that part…after Dad died…I ran away, and got lost…I fell asleep, and when I woke up it was drizzling, and I sat in the corner of a gas station to keep warm, and stole some food…probably Cheetos, I love Cheetos. But I got caught, and I couldn’t pay, but then a man stepped out of nowhere and bought them for me, and then he promised he’d take care of me, showed me how to fill up a gas tank and let me climb on his car and wash the windshield, and then he took me to his house.”
“He could have killed you!” Sara interrupted, completely shocked. Ryan shrugged.
“I was thirteen, I thought no one would hurt me and I could take them if they did, and I was still a little shaken up…and besides, it was worth the risk, he took better care of me than my Dad, even…but even though he took me back to my neighborhood—he wouldn’t stop in front of my house, too suspicious—and let me get my N64, he wouldn’t play with me like Dad would. Still, he’d had kids, and he seemed to be the nicest man on Earth.”
“Is he?”
“Mm…he’s human, he has ups and downs. Pretty decent guy.”
“So he got you your own place?”
“Yep.”
“And he feeds you, too?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“Your idea of ‘feeding’ is giving you PEANUT BUTTER?”
“Hey! Don’t diss the peanut butter. It’s my favorite.”
“But, Ryan—”
“He doesn’t feed me, exactly…he knows I can take care of myself, and I can, but when I need it he allows me twenty dollars to pick something out from the store…once I bought like, six jars of peanut butter and nothing else…he lets me do credit, too, so if I have a few dollars leftover I can spend them another time. That’s how I bought the clothes and the microwave. I’m really careful about it, I know a twenty won’t last me through the week on its own, so I get a toothbrush and toothpaste from the dentist’s office whenever I need it, get jelly from IHOP, I’ve got a little collection of shampoo and soap from hotels that I save, somewhere in my car, and I’m really careful not to get sick or get cancer or cut myself, because I don’t have any extra rags or Band-aids. Really makes you feel for those starving Haitian kids…”
Ignoring the complete wrongness of all this, she chose a detail and questioned it. This was how she learned things; take tiny details and enhance, you get more of the general feel of the story that way.
“And the car?”
“His old one. It’s my job to drive Jason around—that’s his nephew or something—but it’s no big deal since he’s usually skipping school to get drunk at the liquor store at the corner, he can’t get run over that close to home. He’s a pain in the a**, but he’s one of the only people I talk to…just my luck.”
“What about the bills?”
“Taken care of, but like I said, I try to conserve water and power.”
“Ryan…” She hesitated. “If you don’t mind me asking…”
“Ask away.”
“Why does he do all this for you? It must cost an awful lot…”
“Well, I think…at first he just felt sorry for me, and wanted to bring me back home, but when he saw I couldn’t go back, he decided to take care of me for awhile. For the rest of eighth grade I was in public school, but I did my best…I wasn’t really smart before, but this time, I had nothing better to work for, and it came easy to me, so easy I was recommended to skip a grade in a few weeks….He could see that I’m smart, and he says I can pay him back by remembering him when I’m in college, off on some great job, I can pay him back then. It’s all I have to do, be at the top…I’ll get a scholarship and be good to go, I won’t need to depend on him anymore.”
Sara suddenly felt awful for competing so hard with him for the number one spot, and recalled a time where she had had him beat for an entire week, while they were dating, how little he had talked and how depressed he had seemed. She knew why now.
“Did you eat breakfast yet?” he inquired.
“A bite…thanks, that’s really sweet…”
“No problem.” He shrugged off her gratitude, taking her hand and leading her to the kitchen area, leaving the bathroom door open so the steam could dissolve.
“No, really…it’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me…”
“It’s just fruit and—ah.” He grinned. “I see you found the peanut butter, now isn’t it great?”
“Sure—not by itself, maybe, but—really, Ryan…it’s nice.”
“Thanks.” His grin faded into a sincere, shy smile. She took her breakfast and sat cross-legged on the floor, munching on a Cheeto. She scooped up a glob of peanut butter, dipped the spoon in the fruit, and stuck the whole conglomeration in her mouth. Ryan laughed as he took a sip from the bottle of water.
“Just like cereal,” she told him, smirking. His eyes soared upward, and he sighed in ecstasy for the second time in twelve hours, falling back on the floor and folding his arms behind his head.
“Cereal…Lucky Charms…damn, I miss ‘em…”
“How long since you had ‘em?”
“Oh, at least six years…well, I’d just be fine with milk…I get those little bottles…I mean, when I had peanut butter AND bread it just seemed incomplete without milk…that would be just perfect…” He smiled at the ceiling. “Peanut butter, bread, milk…with that banana…man…”
Simple pleasures, she thought…and most people dreamed of a pool table or a girlfriend from Playboy. Then again, he HAD a pretty good girlfriend. She busied herself with mixing fruit and peanut butter again, but this time she didn’t eat it.
“Try this,” she ordered, shoving the spoon in his direction.
“No, it’s y—”
She stuck the spoon in his mouth, refusing to let go until he grabbed the spoon from her himself. He wasn’t angry at all.
“That’s good,” he grinned.
“Why thank you.” She snatched the spoon back and smirked, eating a whole mouthful of peanut butter at once.
“Yeah, peanuts are the greatest living things around…”
She choked. “Besides your girlfriend, that is.”
“Oh…” He waved a hand impatiently. “Her…”
She stuffed an ice cube down the neck of his shirt when he wasn’t looking, and he jumped a mile, grabbing it hastily and tossing it into the sink.
“Don’t DO that…it’s cold…”
She giggled, eating another mouthful of fruit. “Want some?”
“No, I already had some.”
“You did?”
“Yeah, there’s like, half of the apple missing…didn’t you notice?”
“I thought that was the rotten part…”
“Well, it didn’t TASTE rotten, it tasted like an apple to me.”
She tried to ignore the fact that he’d just admitted to swallowing rotted fruit—lately, it seemed, she’d ignored a lot of things he said he did. There wasn’t much she could think to do about it, though she wished he’d lie to her more. Hide the cigarettes and beer, hide this entire apartment, oh no, Sara, my parents are very nice, lawyers, too, they love me, I’m happy, I have a steady job, no, of course I have a hot dinner every night, of course I don’t live alone, the apple wasn’t rotten, Sara, it just had a bruise, I’ve been to the doctor this month and I’m perfectly healthy. Better a fairytale than this; it was akin to him telling her that he had brain cancer and had three months to live.
“Ryan…” she said slowly. “There’s one more thing…”
“Just one?” He sounded more than a little surprised.
“Mm-hmm…” She took her time, thinking of everything he’d told her, everything he hadn’t…the things that now made sense…the top of the list, the waitress at Carmelita’s, the fact that he’d probably spent all his food money for a fortnight just for her…his empty gas tank…how hungry he must be nearly all the time…for God’s sake, he was an eighteen-year-old boy, she’d seen senior boys skinnier than him scarf down two steaks at once. How he had told her the entire story, truthfully, sincerely, almost eagerly…
“When…when you talk about everything that’s happened…I mean…it’s just that…”
It was a tricky question to phrase. But it seemed that he understood.
“You want to know why I don’t really care, right?” he asked her quietly. She blushed.
“No…I mean…that’s not what I…”
He rested his elbows on his folded legs, looking at the complicated pattern of gray and white on the carpet. “It was five years ago,” he told her. “I’ve had time to get over it. And I’m a lot better off than some…and I guess…the last thing I should feel…is sad…”
She frowned, unable to understand. “What d’you mean?”
He shook his head. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Well…maybe not, but…” She watched him carefully, noticing the way his collarbones protruded, the way the veins on his wrist showed faintly beneath his shirt. She suddenly leapt forward and hugged him with all her strength, overwhelmed.
“Okay, Sara,” he gasped breathlessly. “Okay, all right, you win. Can I breathe now?”
She eased up, though she didn’t let go. “I’ll take care of you,” she promised. “Honestly, I will, I’ll let you live with me if I have to…”
“No,” he said shortly, shoving her away. “If there’s one thing I can’t stand it’s sympathy. It’s not like I’m sleeping on the street, or living in one of those third-world villages with black water, I’m just fine…”
“You are not!” she objected. “You’re only eighteen, Ryan, you’re still in high school… you should have a proper home, proper food, SOME kind of family—”
“I don’t,” he scowled, annoyed. “I don’t need anything, as far as I’m concerned, I’m already in college, you’re not SUPPOSED to have any of that…”
“You aren’t in college yet! And even college kids don’t live off…off fruit, and peanut butter, and beer—”
“I don’t drink! ...much… and I’m fine.”
“Ryan, just let me help! I want to, I will!”
“No!” His fists clenched, and his eyes hardened. “Sara, if you tell anyone, I swear I’ll—”
He stopped mid-threat, losing nerve. “What?” she challenged. “What’ll you do?”
Saying nothing, he stood up and leaned against the wall, facing away from her. “Don’t tell, Sara,” he begged quietly. “Please. I don’t want to be found.”
“Why not?” she again.
“You should probably just leave,” he told her. “If you’re still there.”
She finally lost patience, hopping down and marching over to the doorstep. “Open the door.”
“Why?” he asked, without even moving.
“Just open the goddamn door.”
He complied, leaning against the doorframe and holding the knob a few inches away from his waist, so she wouldn’t have to see what was inside. She reached out and put her hand under his chin, so he would be sure to pay attention.
“I don’t care where you live,” she told him firmly, “or if you have a family or not, or if you live off peanut butter or Cheetos or…or freakin’ oatmeal…I don’t give a damn. What I care about is if you have another girlfriend stuffed in your closet, or if you’re about to die. THAT is worthy of a break-up, Ryan Henderson.”
“Then what d’you wanna break up for? I don’t have a closet.”
She tilted his face upwards until their eyes met. “I care about you, that’s why. Now you can spend your food money on food instead of me. I’ve got plenty of cash, I don’t want you to starve because you’re being stubborn.”
He snorted. “Is that all?”
She stared at him, and something else clicked. “You’ve starved before, haven’t you? It doesn’t bother you at all?”
“Definition of ‘starve’ being?”
“Not eating for at least three days straight.”
“Oh.”
“You have, haven’t you?”
“Yep. Two or three times.”
“You know you can DIE from that, right?”
“Yeah. I have water though, so not anytime soon.”
“Ryan, what the hell did you EAT?”
“Nothing, duh. First time I drank water until I threw up. Definitely wasn’t hungry after that. Second time…and any others after…I think—I’m not sure—but I think I was some varying yet consistently weakening degree of drunk…”
“You’re ridiculous. You need FOOD to live, dumbass, not alcohol. Go get me that beer right now so I can drop it, I wanna see if it’ll explode.”
“No way. It’s expensive.”
“Idiot!” She shoved him hard in the chest. “D’you realize how many meals you could’ve gotten with the money from just that can? Or for that matter, you could’ve gone to the places around here where they feed people FOR FREE, is your head full of rocks or something?”
“I’m not BEGGING, Sara.”
“Too proud, that’s why. Now here’s the deal. You’ve got no one to take to dinner or the movies anymore, so I want you to get the food money, go to the store and buy bread, milk, eggs, Ramen noodles, I don’t care—FOOD. And you EAT IT.”
He sighed, leaning against the doorframe again. “What’s the point, then?”
“What do you mean, what’s the point? See, it’s a very complicated thing, the digestive system, but you’ve got to have food to make it work, real food, not Cheetos…”
“I don’t see the point,” he interrupted calmly, “if I don’t have a girlfriend.”
Her hand fell, and their eyes met for a very pregnant pause before she shook her head, swearing fluently.
“Oh no…oh no…you are NOT giving me that one, I know you are NOT that desperate, Ryan—”
“I really care about you, Sara.” He didn’t quail under her tirade. “I’m sorry if it bothers you.”
She stared at him, feeling her anger fade as quickly as it had come. “You’re an idiot,” she informed him.
“I know.”
“And you’re also a human, and humans weren’t built to eat Cheetos for the rest of their lives…more like…fruit that isn’t rotten, vegetables, grains—besides Lucky Charms I mean—and milk and meat and such. Sure, there’s maybe some you can skip out on, but definitely not all of them.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Bottom line: you need to eat.”
He shrugged expressively. “I don’t know what to tell you, Sara…Sometimes I just can’t. Maybe you don’t understand, but…when you don’t know where your next meal is coming from…the thought of starving is enough to put off your appetite. But a person can get used to anything, you know…people are pretty durable. I’ll be fine.”
It was a staring match now, of sorts, and the first one to give in was the one who, if they were smart, would eventually get their own way.
“So you’re telling me that you choose starvation over letting someone help?”
“I hate people feeling sorry for me. If a person can’t survive on their own, they aren’t meant to survive at all.”
She sighed…hating this, but knowing she would have to lose this fight. In a way.
“Tell you what,” she said matter-of-factly. “You drive me to Kroger’s and I’ll let you use my little card for gas. Then you take me home, and tomorrow, I’ll make us both lunch for school. Deal?”
“Well, for one thing, I’m sorry, baby, but we’re over.” He sounded like he was quoting a movie or something. “And no, you are not paying for my gas, and no, you are not making me food.”
“It’s not paying, stupid, it’s a Kroger card. You save like, fifteen cents. I’ll buy you a gumball.”
“They cost twenty-five.”
“Fifteen cents per gallon. Hell, I’ll buy you a gumball machine if you want. And I’m just being nice, with the food. You made me breakfast, I’ll make you lunch. Now, do we have a deal or not?”
He turned his eyes upward, as if weighing the possibilities and outcomes, and finally, nodded. “Okay. Deal.”
She beamed. “Good boy, now get in the car.”
“Yes ma’am.” He took his key form his pocket and locked his apartment door, following her down the stairs. “So does this mean we’re back together?”
In response, she turned on her heel and kissed him. “It’s more like…a friend. With benefits.”
“All right,” he agreed, grinning as he led the way to his beat-up old Chevy pickup.
Following her directions, he pulled into the Kroger gas pump and inched in front of one, stopping on a perfect perpendicular with the pump. Since he had never seen a Kroger Plus Card before, obviously, she offered to do it. He handed her a twenty and a ten, and after a few button-pressing sessions the pump turned on. As she stuck it in the little hole, she grabbed a twenty, a ten and a five from her purse and balled it in her fist, opening the car door and immediately beginning a fake panic attack/rummaging frenzy.
“What are you doing?” he asked her, raising his eyebrows.
“Oh my God!” she squealed. “I lost it!”
“Lost what?”
“My lipstick, my favorite lipstick, it fell out of my purse!”
He groaned, rolled his eyes, and leaned over to check the backseat. While his back was turned, she took the cash and stuck it into the glove compartment, ferreting around in there, too. There wasn’t much in there save old report cards, a Walgreen’s coupon magazine, a paperback from the school library, and, unsurprisingly, Cheetos. She closed it.
“Found it.”
“In the glove compartment?”
“No. In my purse.”
He gaped at her, and before he could say anything she quickly went to check the gas before it went over thirty dollars, grinning at her little trick.
End Part Two
|
 |
|
|
|
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Mar 26, 2007 7:16 pm
|
|
|
 |
Part Three: Suicidal Love
Sara was worried about Ryan.
Since she had found out about all his many secrets, he had acted different to her; everything nice that she did for him was now considered charity or a pity service, and refused; he always seemed close to a nervous breakdown, angry outburst, or seizure of some sort; he didn’t call her, he didn’t pick up his phone, he deflected every hug and kiss with a taciturn shrug.
“We’re just friends, remember?” he snapped at her, pushing her hands away.
“No,” she objected. “Best friends. With benefits—meaning the consent, ability, and absolute necessity to make out.”
He didn’t even smile. He just walked off. He went through great lengths to avoid her now, but that didn’t stop her from doing all she could for him—she would come up behind him and hug him or kiss him whenever she got the chance, so persistently that three different teachers had threatened to give her demerits for Personal Displays of Affection; she stuffed a couple of dollars in his backpack or wallet whenever he wasn’t looking; she offered to take him to the park, the mall, a party, his house, HER house, even; and she tried her absolute best to cheer him up.
It was futile. She didn’t even know what was bothering him, though she had a feeling it was her fault…hadn’t she done the right thing, though? He didn’t have enough money or food or gas to drive her around, take her on dates, let her sleep over. He could barely support himself, let alone two people. She couldn’t help but think about the Cheetos, peanut butter, half-carton of Chinese food—if she recalled correctly, it was probably from a date they had been on over a week ago—the single water bottle, the can of beer, the pack of cigarettes. She’d taken half of what he had for an entire week in just twelve hours.
On Thursday, she got completely fed up with it, finally grabbing her laptop, locking herself in the bathroom, and sending him an IM. He was online, doing God-knew-what, God-knew-where.
SweetasSugarSara: Ryan.
SweetasSugarSara: RYAN.
SweetasSugarSara: I know you’re there, dammit. Answer me!
SweetasSugarSara: I’m not leaving until you do.
Thirty seconds later, the IM window blinked orange.
RyanHenderson009: hey baby
SweetasSugarSara: Um…Ryan?
RyanHenderson009: no
SweetasSugarSara: Didn’t think so. Who are you?
RyanHenderson009: jason
SweetasSugarSara: Hmm…Jason. A common name in the U.S. 0.66% of men named Jason. 808500 males in U.S. alone. Now, which one would you be?
RyanHenderson009: smart grl huh
RyanHenderson009: ryan sad u were
SweetasSugarSara: Your relationship with him being?
RyanHenderson009: ?
SweetasSugarSara: Um, sorry. How d’you know him?
RyanHenderson009: hahahahaha I work with him duh
SweetasSugarSara: May I ask where?
RyanHenderson009: sre baby its walgrens
SweetasSugarSara: Walgreens?
SweetasSugarSara: Oh, I get it…you’re the drunk guy.
RyanHenderson009: hahaha ya u ryans gf?
SweetasSugarSara: Uh…yeah.
SweetasSugarSara: So…Ryan.
RyanHenderson009: ya
SweetasSugarSara: Not you, Jason. RY-AN.
RyanHenderson009: hes nt here
RyanHenderson009: but if u stp by ill make it up 2 u
SweetasSugarSara: Charming. No thank you. Where is he?
RyanHenderson009: boss caling gtg later baby
SweetasSugarSara: I don’t think so, where’s Ryan?
RyanHenderson009 signed off at 7:17 p.m.
SweetasSugarSara: Damn.
Walgreen’s? That seemed a random place for Ryan to work…She grabbed a phone book, searched the name, and came up with two phone numbers in her area. She dialed the first one, hoping he didn’t work at one that was very far away.
Ring…Ring…
“Walgreen’s Pharmacy, how may I help you?” a woman’s voice said.
“Hi, is there an employee there named Ryan Henderson?”
“Ryan something?” she repeated, sounding confused. “Can you hold for a moment?”
“It’s not Ryan something, it’s Henderson—”
Hold music. She despised hold music. It was almost as terrible as the music played on elevators. She sighed with impatience as she waited for three minutes, four. Then someone picked up the line again.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but there’s no one called Ryan he—”
She slammed her thumb on the TALK button, letting out a frustrated breath…that’s what she got for putting her on hold, with music, too. Still muttering under her breath, she dialed the other number.
Ring…Ri—
“Walgreens, Manager Clark Dennison speaking.”
“Hi…Mr. Dennison…is there an employee named Ryan Henderson at your store?”
“Ryan?” It was not the same tone the woman had used; more as if he was surprised at someone calling for him. “There is, who wants to know?”
“Sara Barkins, but don’t tell him that, he won’t answer.”
“Ah, the famous Sara?” The man’s voice took on a much warmer tone. “A pleasure to finally be able to talk to you, Miss. Ryan’s told me about you.”
“Has he?”
“Yes, of course. He thinks very highly of you, I wondered—”
“I’m sorry, sir,” she interrupted, “but is Ryan there? I need to talk to him, it’s important.”
“No, he isn’t.” She imagined he was frowning. “He stayed home today…and, actually,” he added, before she could say anything, “I was hoping you could tell me something. He hasn’t been to work all week…”
“He’s been at school…he was there today…”
“Oh, all right…do you have any idea why he wouldn’t, miss?”
“Uh…” She hesitated. “Well…he might be sick…he looked sick…”
“Any other reasons, perhaps?”
“No sir…I can’t think of any…”
“Well, then, Miss Sara, could you perhaps give me his address? I don’t seem to have it.”
“Um…” This guy was really making her nervous; it was like he knew everything, and was just waiting to see what she’d do, just to mess with her. “I don’t know…”
“Or perhaps his cell phone number?”
“No…don’t know…”
“Of all people, Miss Sara, you should know at least THAT…”
“Well, sir…you should probably ask him…”
“And how exactly do you propose I do that, if he won’t come to work and I have neither his phone number nor address?”
“Well,” she snapped, “I don’t know, I’M not his boss…”
The minute she said it, it clicked.
“Who is this again?” she had asked, and his answer had been “My boss.”
He seemed to sense her understanding. “If you would drop the act, Miss Sara,” he said carefully, and she imagined his smile fading away across the telephone lines, “just tell me something…”
“Shoot,” she managed dimly.
He took a deep, calming breath. “How much do you know about Ryan Henderson?”
She took the phone away from her head, staring at the earpiece. When she had decided that he was not, indeed, being creepy on purpose, or imitating some cheap thriller, she put the phone back to her mouth and said the first thing that came to mind—naturally, the completely obvious.
“You’re that guy.”
“I suppose,” he replied, completely bewildered. She elaborated.
“You’re the guy Ryan told me about, the one who got the apartment for him!”
“Yes,” he clarified, “I am.”
“b*****d,” she spat into the mouthpiece.
“I beg your pardon?”
“How could you let him live like that? Why couldn’t you just take care of him properly, or find him a foster home or SOMETHING, a*****e, have you never SEEN that place? And why—?”
“Miss Sara,” he interrupted coolly, “that is quite enough.”
She let out the breath she was going to use to harp on a little more with, creating static on the line.
“I have three answers to that,” he continued, completely collected. “First of all, I did not bring him back to his family or to a foster home because he didn’t want me to. Second, yes, I have seen ‘that place,’ and though I thought it was a little small he insisted on it, refusing to stay with me even though I offered to a hundred times. And thirdly, it is absolutely none of your business what goes on between Ryan and me.”
“Oh yes it is,” she exploded furiously. “If you were any proper guardian at all you wouldn’t let him stay there no matter what he said, I don’t BELIEVE you, he’s under your care and you let him live off of…of rotten fruit…and peanut butter…and beer, and—”
“Beer?” She could sense him frowning. “You must be mistaken, Miss, I told him no such thing would be allowed there…and as to the rest, are you sure that was all he had?”
“Absolutely sure!” she shot back. “And don’t you tell me it was because he grocery-shops on Sundays or something, he was ECSTATIC about it, you know, HIS idea of the perfect meal is…is a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich, for Christ’s sake!”
“I wasn’t aware of that…”
“Well, you better goddamn remember it! How do you sleep at night, Mister DENNISON, you should be ashamed of y—”
“Sara,” he cut across her, “that’s enough. All I need you to tell me is where Ryan might be, and why he won’t pick up the phone.”
“Well, he probably doesn’t want to talk to you, that’s why,” she sniffed.
“I doubt that’s the entire reason. What kind of mood has he been in, Sara?”
“Pissed off. Why?”
“Since when?”
“Since…” She swallowed, biting her lip guiltily. “Since this weekend.”
“And what happened then?”
“Um…I went over there.”
“Yes, I thought so,” he sighed. “Poor Ryan.”
“What d’you mean, sir?”
“He’s just a little proud, Sara, that’s all. He can’t stand people feeling sorry for him or treating him differently. He probably trusted you enough to show you all of that, and your reaction wasn’t what he expected.”
She squirmed guiltily in her seat.
“Perhaps that’s why he won’t pick up his phone?”
“Probably, sir. He won’t talk to me much, either.”
“Well, when you see him tomorrow at school, please tell him that he had better come to work, or I’ll come over there and bring him myself.”
“Yessir.” She didn’t feel like arguing with him anymore.
“Oh, and Sara…one last thing.”
“Sir?”
“Be careful around him.”
She digested this statement thoroughly before she asked the question. “What d’you mean, sir?”
“If you know anything about his history, you know that he can get you into serious trouble. He cares about you quite a lot, but he can make a mistake at any time—he would rather you keep your distance than get you inti the same predicament he is in. Understood?”
She was too preoccupied with thinking about this that all she said was, Yessir,” and hung up.
Little did she know that this warning would come into play the very next day.
She got out of her car and walked to the front of the building, adjusting her backpack, checking her purse for some lip gloss and planning what she would do for Spring Break, little under seven hours away, when she saw Ryan sitting on a bench outside, his head in his hands. Sensing another opportunity to get through to him, she dropped her backpack next to him and sat beside him.
“Morning, Ryan,” she said cheerfully. He mumbled a greeting of some sort, not even looking up.
“What’s up?” she inquired. Again, his answer was an inaudible mumble. She sighed, shoving him in the shoulder. “Come on…don’t ignore me, it’s Spring Break in another day…”
“Huh?” he muttered dazedly, looking up; his eyes were vague, his gaze semi-focused, and to her horror, she smelled alcohol on his breath. She sat frozen for a moment before grabbing his wrist and pulling him to his feet and around the corner.
“C’mere.”
“Why?”
She looked around to make sure no one was in sight, and, satisfied, slapped him hard across the face.
“Ow!” he shouted, a little too loudly, his voice slurring. “What was that for?”
“You idiot!” she hissed. “What the hell did you do? You SAID you never go anywhere drunk, what is the MATTER with you?”
He shook his head, as if he didn’t hear properly, murmuring a dazed “what?”
“And why NOW? It’s seven-thirty in the morning, what can you possibly need beer for this time of day?”
Again, his answer was unintelligible. She shook her head in disgust.
“How many did you HAVE? You can’t possibly have gotten drunk from just one…”
His eyebrows met, and he raised a hand to his face, putting up a few fingers experimentally as if to see what the beers had looked like with his blurred vision. He seemed fairly confident about three.
“Where did you GET them?”
“Stole ‘em,” he mumbled. She wrinkled her nose as she smelled his breath again.
“Idiot! WHY?”
“Can’t ‘member…”
Snorting, she dragged him over to the nearest water fountain, pressed her hip against the button, filled her cupped hands with water, and splashed it on his face. He drew back and spluttered, and she did it again until he stopped looking so confused.
“WHAT?” he demanded. She put her wet hands on her hips, scowling.
“You know perfectly well what! Don’t tell me you think you can come to school half-wasted and no one will notice! You could get into so much trouble, and you DROVE that way! What if you hit someone?”
“Drank ‘em on the way,” he muttered, shaking his head hard as if water was trapped in his ears. “Didn’t kick in until I got here.”
“Oh, thanks for the valuable life lesson,” she snapped sarcastically. “Why’d you pick today of all days, Ryan? It’s spring break, for crying out loud!”
“’Cause,” he said matter-of-factly to the wall above her head. “Sorry, Sara…”
“Don’t you sorry me, why?”
“I hate school.”
“No one LIKES it, stupid…oh, forget it,” she sighed, pushing him towards the water fountain. “Drink some.”
He bent down, took a few sips, straightened up. She held up her hand.
“How many fingers?”
“Four?”
“No, three and a thumb. Close enough. Now get your a** to Chemistry, Ryan, NOW.”
Muttering under his breath, he followed without a word into the almost-empty hallway. It was too early for the morning rush, yet.
“’I don’t go anywhere when I’m drunk, Sara,’” she imitated furiously. “‘ Oh no, I stay at home and lay in bed and read the Bible’…idiot!”
“Can’t BELIEVE you.” He too was mumbling venomously, so quietly she could barely hear. “Now it wore off, great, thanks for the headache…”
“You deserve it! Why’d you have to do that, Ryan, did you WANT me to see you like that, or did you think I wouldn’t notice?”
“I got hungry again,” he said shamefacedly. She froze for a moment, but then only pulled him more forcefully along.
“You EAT when you get hungry, not DRINK, stupid!”
“Now I can’t feel it anymore,” he continued, pretending not to hear her. “Thanks a lot, Sara, I was saving that for forever…”
“Obviously it wasn’t enough, you could get into SO much trouble…sit,” she added, shoving him into the Chemistry lab. No one was there. “Stay here. I’m getting a muffin or something, you eat THAT, you moron…”
He paled at the mere mention of food. “I don’t feel very good,” he murmured, putting a hand to his mouth. He stood up and left the room; she sat cross-legged on a desk and waited for him to finish throwing up. He only came back five minutes before class started, looking white but more sober than he had been all morning.
“’Bout time,” she sniffed as he sat beside her—quietly, as there were people in there now.
“You still mad?”
“Well, let me think about it…HELL yes.”
He grunted some monosyllabic reply, unsurprised, holding his aching head in his hands. Must be some massive headache, she guessed…well, he deserved it. Idiot, coming to school drunk…
Ryan fell asleep during Chemistry—at least, he buried his head in his arms and did not respond to her pokes and prods. But he must have been awake at some point, because after she said goodbye to him to go on to her next class, she found a note in her purse. “Meet me behind the cafeteria at lunch,” it said. She pondered this all throughout Spanish 3—Ryan was in Spanish 4—and approached the cafeteria in some trepidation. She decided against buying her meal right away, as the line was too long, instead grabbing her backpack and retreating outside to sit on the small square of concrete outside the cafeteria’s back door. Ryan wasn’t there.
The cafeteria back door had only one purpose—to unload food into the kitchen. Because of this, a little driveway led up to the door from the main parking lot. Ryan did not come from around the building, as she had expected, or even from the back door…instead, he drove his beat-up Chevy truck up the driveway, put it in neutral, and jumped out to meet her.
“What the hell?” was all she could manage. “Ryan—”
Before another word could escape her, he pulled her close and kissed her. Surprised, she hastily pulled away—no telling where his mouth had been this morning.
“I don’t want to be friends with benefits anymore,” he said softly, refusing to let her go.
“Ryan—“
“Sara,” he cut across her, his voice low and, so it seemed to her, a little nervous. “You want to come with me?”
“Go with you…” she glanced over his shoulder at the truck, idling in the drive, “…where?”
“I don’t know,” he replied, shrugging. “Somewhere. Anywhere. Not here.”
“Like, a road trip?”
He thought about it for a moment. “Yeah, something like that.”
“You’re cutting school?”
“Screw school, I’m cutting this whole city.”
“For how long?”
“Who cares?”
“So you’re…running away?”
Their eyes met; his showed just a little bit of doubt. But when he answered, it was with a firm, “Yes.”
“Why?”
“Haven’t you figured out why?” he exploded suddenly, pulling his arms away from her as if she was contagious. “This…this city…the place I live in…my entire life sucks, and I want to get away from it! Yours, too, Sara! Don’t you hate having parents that are never home…or friends who aren’t really your friends…or just that feeling you get every day or your life, like you’re drowning and you don’t even know how you got in the water?”
His chest was heaving—he stared right at her, but she had to turn away. Now, how did he know that? Perhaps he was just assuming their feelings were the same.
“Come on, Sara,” he pleaded, grasping her hands in his. “Please…I’m begging you…I can’t stand leaving you behind.”
This was all too fast…overwhelming…she could barely breathe…
“I swear, Sara,” he continued, “I swear…the minute you want me to…I’ll bring you back here. Just for a little while. Just for Spring Break…please…”
She glanced from Ryan to the cafeteria, full of people who she thought she knew…who thought they knew her…endless, faceless, teeming masses…her eyes moved to the sky—it was a lovely day—to Ryan’s truck, idling patiently, waiting for her, burning gas, burning daylight…the bell rang, a signal for those who were in the other lunch to get to class…her eyes fell on Ryan again, eyes pleading, desperate, completely sincere.
She hesitated, and then gave her answer.
“Okay.”
They were out of San Antonio now, probably almost to the Texas border, heading west. When she had asked Ryan why, he had responded with a casual reference to Las Vegas.
“Think we’ll have enough gas for that far?”
“No.”
He didn’t seem too talkative. Perhaps it was because it was nearly ten at night. She was tired, too.
Ryan had refused to listen to reason save on one respect; he had stopped in front of her house for a few minutes so she could grab all her money, a change of clothes, a book—To Kill A Mockingbird—and a sheet of notebook paper and a pen, with which she wrote a note to her parents. Something along the lines of, “Went off with Ryan, be back later.” Ryan had assured her of this. But she wasn’t convinced.
Which still didn’t explain why she was still in this damn truck, driving to the West Coast.
“Listen you,” she had said sternly, hours ago, “when we run out of cash I am NOT selling drugs on the street.”
“’Course not,” he said vaguely, his entire attention focused on the road. She gave up talking to him after a while.
They drove in silence for hours, the windows rolled down during the daylight, Sara watching the scenery fly by, Ryan keeping his eyes on the road. She could tell he was thinking hard about something, but decided not to ask. If it was important, he would tell her. Maybe.
Music played from the radio, an endless CD of random songs…”Burn This City,” “Save Us,” “Minstrel’s Prayer,” and “Runaway,” by Cartel, “Hands Down” by Dashboard Confessional, “Wonderwall,” by Oasis, and a few others, including the one playing right now.
“Show me, show me how you do it…
And I’ll run away with you...I’ll run away with you…”
All of them seemed to have a theme, but it would take her awhile to find out what that was.
But she was far too tired now to do anything but sleep, and think.
Why had she done this? It was crazy. Anything could happen to them out here…they would be in trouble for skipping school…her parents would be furious, perhaps…Ryan’s boss…
“Ryan.” Her voice was a little hoarse.
“Mm?”
“Your boss told me to tell you that…if you didn’t come to work today…he would come and get you.”
“So?”
“So…it’s a pretty suckish way of repaying him, running off like this.”
“I can’t repay him with just a stupid job.”
“So what’s the plan?”
“There is no plan.”
“But you’ve gotta go back and face him sometime…”
“No, I don’t.”
She stared at him. “So you really are running away?”
He was silent for a moment, letting out a deep sigh that ruffled his hair. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I am.”
“And you’re taking me with you…why?”
“No,” he said at once. “I’m not taking you with me. I’m bringing you home whenever you want me to. But I’m not going back.”
“Where’re you going to go?”
“Somewhere.”
“How’re you going to get money?”
“I dunno.”
“How long did you plan this?”
“A few days, maybe.”
“Then why haven’t you figured all this out, Ryan?” She nearly shouted it, frustrated by this latest stupidity of his.
“Because it doesn’t matter to me.”
“Why not?”
“Sara,” he snapped suddenly, “do you want to go home or not?”
She blinked; her mind supplied her with a surprising answer.
“No.”
“Why?”
“It’s Spring Break. California would be cool.”
“Las Vegas is in Nevada.”
“So we can ski or something. I don’t care.”
He nodded, and she thought she saw a smile on his face.
But that was quickly erased as his phone, tossed carelessly into the cupholder, started vibrating like crazy.
He ignored it. She stared at him.
“Are you going to answer that?”
“No.”
She checked the glowing screen. “But it’s your boss.”
“Then definitely not.”
“Well,” she muttered, picking up the phone. For a rare moment, he turned his eyes from the road.
“Sara, don’t—”
“Hello?”
“Miss Sara?” Mr. Dennison’s voice said incredulously. “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you…is Ryan with you?”
“Why, yes he is.”
“Sara,” Ryan said quietly, his voice low and, if she wasn’t wrong, a little nervous. “If you tell him where we are, I’ll…”
“Where are you?”
“Uh…on some highway.”
“Where, exactly?”
“Well, I’m pretty sure it’s in Arizona somewhere…”
“WHAT?!”
Sara held the phone away from her ear. “Ouch,” she muttered. Ryan shot a murderous glare at her.
“Let me talk to Ryan, right now, please!”
“Sure thing, boss. Hey, Ryan.”
She shoved the phone into his face before he could object. He shot daggers at her as he took it. Mr. Dennison’s voice could be heard, talking rather loudly. Ryan rolled his eyes.
“Lo siento, no está un Ryan aqui…”
“Ryan, I know it’s you!”
“No, no se un Ryan…tienes un número equivocado…”
“Don’t you try that Spanish trick, you better answer me in English, right now—what the hell are you doing?”
“Señor, perdón, pero no hablo ingles…”
Sara giggled silently—it was funny, even if he would get into serious trouble later.
“Ryan! Turn around and come home right this minute!”
His voice suddenly sharpened.
“¡No tengo un casa! Silencio, el hombre viejo, ¡no me gusta hablar a ti!”
I don’t have a house…Shut up, old man, I don’t want to talk to you…Ryan was ticked at something.
“Ryan, I want you back here by morning or I’ll give you hell for it, understand?”
Ryan said something in Spanish that Sara wouldn’t repeat in any language. Mr. Dennison obviously understood it, too.
“Don’t you talk to me like that, Ryan Henderson, no matter what language you put it in, you’re in serious trouble!”
“¡Yo no necesito un padres!” he shouted. “¡Y tú no está mi papá! ¡Perdes te!”
And with that harsh note, he slammed the phone shut. “Translate THAT, b*****d,” he muttered, throwing it into the cupholder again. “And YOU,” he added, turning a burning gaze onto Sara, “should mind your own business.”
“‘Get lost’,” she translated. “That’s really harsh, Ryan…”
“I told you not to answer it! What’d you do it for?”
“He’s just worried about you!”
“Big deal. He shouldn’t be.”
“But he cares about you…”
“Why should he? He’s not my father.”
¡Yo no necesito un padres! he had yelled, if she recalled properly. ¡Y tú no está mi papá!
“You shouldn’t’ve been so hard on him, Ryan,” she said softly. “Even if he’s not…he didn’t want to hear that.”
“What?”
“’I don’t need parents, you’re not my father’…that’s an awful thing to say.”
He snorted. “Screw him, and anyway, he can’t speak Spanish.”
She might have replied, but his cell phone started vibrating again. Text message. Ryan swore.
“Who put the damn thing on vibrate anyway?”
She ignored this, picking the phone up and opening it.
“Sara, I swear to God, if you answer that I’ll never speak to you again…”
“I’m not,” she said vaguely, reading the text:
ryan u thre
Jason, she guessed. She closed it, pressing a button to see something…
“Ryan!” she said sharply. “23 missed calls!”
“Huh,” he muttered. “Gotta delete those…”
“And 16 texts that you didn’t answer, what the…?”
“Don’t do anything with them but delete them, Sara. I’m warning you.”
She read the first one.
Ryan, i read your note. Come home now.
Note?
The next ones as followed read:
Ryan! Answer me!
hey ryan where r u boss is pissd
Come back to the store now, Ryan. I need you here. You have not come to work all week, we are shorthanded.
ryan dude cme help me out
ryan?
“Give it to me,” Ryan snapped, holding out his hand. Without the chance to read any others, she sighed, closing it and slapping it into his palm. He flipped it open and, by the looks of it, deleted all the texts and cleared his missed call list.
“Don’t ever mess with my stuff again,” he ordered coldly. She nodded meekly, and made a timid suggestion.
“Why didn’t you just turn it off?”
“Good idea,” he agreed, pressing a button. The phone turned itself off.
“But, Ryan—“
“Just shut up, Sara.”
They rode in silence for a while.
“Are you mad at me?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
He said nothing. She sighed and leaned against the window, feeling the cool glass against her forehead. She made a promise to herself that she’d make it up to him later…but the car drove so smoothly on the highway…and the music was soft and relaxing…and all was quiet…
Ryan looked over at the sleeping Sara, running a hand through his hair. He hadn’t meant to shout at her, or anything of the sort…even if she had been meddling in his affairs, she meant no harm. Just like Clark was. He was acting like his father, and now she was acting like his mother…
…no, that wasn’t true. He took it back. Sara was just trying to help…
“I’m sorry,” he said aloud, but quietly—Sara either ignored him, or was asleep.
It was almost one in the morning, and he was dead tired…but all he saw were trees. He sighed, tightening his grip on the wheel, glanced once more at Sara…and drove on.
Sara was shaken awake very gently, feeling as if she had only slept for a few minutes, and in a very awkward position, at that.
“Sara, wake up.”
She tried to ignore him, but he persisted.
“Come on, Sleeping Beauty,” he joked, kissing her on the cheek. “Rise and shine…”
She opened her eyes, saw blackness, and immediately became indignant.
“Ryan Henderson, it’s the middle of the night!”
“Actually, it’s 2 in the morning. Wake up, I brought you some dinner.”
“Where are we?”
“In a gas station about a hundred miles south of Phoenix. ‘S all I know.”
“Oh…”
She unbuckled her seatbelt and slid out of the truck. Ryan closed the door behind her, grasped her shoulder, and led her to the truck bed, its cover to one side, where he had pulled the tailgate down and set their “dinner” upon it—two root beers, a steaming microwaved burrito, Cheetos, Ritz Crackers, and a Hershey’s Chocolate Bar.
“Dinner, huh?”
“Gas station food. Get used to it.”
“This is our food supply from now on?”
“You better believe it. C’mon, you must be hungry.”
She was, so without argument, she sat down, opened her root beer, took a long drink from it, and took a cracker.
“Burrito’s yours,” Ryan informed her, rummaging in his backpack. He drew out a jar of peanut butter from it and dipped a Ritz in. She munched gratefully on the warm food.
“Why’s peanut butter in your backpack?”
He gave her a grim smile. “Strange, isn’t it? I can fit everything I own into that little thing.”
She looked inside and saw the red, yellow, and white adapter plugs for the N64, the sleeve of a shirt, and a book.
“You brought everything?”
“Everything.”
“But why?”
“Because.”
She sighed, annoyed by the cryptic answer, and finished her dinner.
“Hey, Ryan?”
“Hmm?”
“I’m sorry.”
She meant it, too. He didn’t even look up, as if he had been expecting this.
“No, don’t apologize. I’m the one that’s sorry.”
“You’re not mad anymore?”
“Nope.”
“Oh, good.”
She took a Ritz and dipped it in peanut butter. It tasted pretty good, and she was starving. But just as she was draining her root beer, she heard an odd clicking sound, and looked over at Ryan.
“WHAT are you doing?”
He didn’t look up, running his thumb along the wheel of the lighter as he positioned it under a cigarette between his fingers. It lit, and he breathed in the smoke, making a face. She coughed as a cloud of smoke billowed from his mouth.
“Ryan! Hey! I’m still right here!”
“You want one, or something?” he said casually.
“No, I do not! What the hell are you doing?”
“Smoking.”
“But WHY?”
“’Cause. Maybe nicotine keeps you awake…”
“It does not, do you wanna give me lung cancer?”
He scoffed, exhaling another cloud of smoke. “You’re not going to get lung cancer…”
Furious, she was about to punch him…but after several deep, smokeless breaths, she calmed down.
“Okay, okay. Mind if I have a drag?”
He shrugged and handed it to her, whereas she promptly snapped it in half and ground it under her heel.
“Hey,” he muttered, offended, “you didn’t have to do that…”
She took the box away from him before he could light another one. “You idiot! Haven’t you ever seen the Duck commercials? Do you KNOW what’s in these?”
“Who cares?”
“Look—” She pointed to the Ingredients bit. “There’s, uh…cyanide, rat poison… probably petroleum…yep…some 4000 chemicals in all…and nicotine, which is ADDICTING, dumbass, and did you know I’m swallowing all that too?”
“Huh. Interesting.”
She rolled her eyes and jumped off the tailgate, fixing her rumpled shirt as she walked up to a burly gentleman smoking on the corner.
“Hi,” she said. He nodded to her. “Look, I have a box of cigarettes…Marbolo…” She showed him. “And there’s three missing, but the rest haven’t been touched, d’you want ‘em?”
“Free?” he said incredulously.
“Well, I kinda need the money…how about ten?”
“Ten for cigarettes? Are you crazy?”
“Hey, I didn’t buy ‘em. Ten or not?”
“Seven.”
“Ten, and I’ll throw in a lighter.”
He nodded eagerly. “Deal.”
She skipped back to Ryan, hiding her gratitude at not having a switchblade between her ribs, and wrinkling her nose at him.
“You get more out of selling ‘em, stupid.”
“You couldn’t have left me one, could you,” he said resentfully, glaring at the man.
“No, I could not, and see, they’re addicting, so you either become obsessed with them or you give them up because they’re gone now. I thought you didn’t smoke?”
“I don’t.”
“Well, then why were there two missing, and why light up now?”
“Those two were always missing, and I’m tired, all right?”
“No reason to start that disgusting habit.”
“So it sucked, big deal…”
“You have a thing for self-destruction, don’t you?”
“Well, if you put it that way…”
“Look, if you want, I’ll get those back for you, but then I’m hitchhiking home, and we’re over, Ryan. Kissing a smoker is like licking an ashtray, I’m not doing this, I’m not.”
He sighed. “Fine…”
“So, what now?” They had scarfed most of the food—the Cheetos were gone in the blink of an eye, either in his mouth or in his backpack.
“Well, there’s a Wal-Mart around here, we can park there and go to sleep…”
“Fine with me.”
He was true to his word—it was a five-minute drive to Wal-Mart, which was obviously closed, but a few cars still remained in the lot. She had already curled up on her seat, but he obviously had other plans—he got out, said, “c’mon, Sara,” and shut the car door.
Curious, she followed him around the back of the truck, to where he was strapping on the truck bed’s cover. “We’re sleeping back here?”
“Should be warm,” he replied airily.
“Uh…okay…”
He finished with the cover and crawled into the one-and-a-half-foot space, digging a blanket out of his backpack. She followed, a little apprehensively—she’d never slept in the bed of a truck before, to tell the truth. Ryan closed the tailgate behind her; he had thoughtfully left a corner unattached, but it was still pitch black.
“Here.” She felt him drape the blanket over her shoulders, and felt it tug as he lay down. She followed suit, and felt his arm slide across her shoulder and draw her close.
“Are you warm enough?”
“Mm-hmm.”
He might have left it at that, but she wanted to talk to him.
“Ryan?’
“Hmm?”
“Why’d you want to run away?”
He yawned. “’Cause I was sick of it, that’s why. I wanted to get away.”
“Forever?”
“Yeah.”
“But that doesn’t make sense…you know you can’t live by yourself…”
“I have been…”
“No, I mean, get your own house…you said you can’t give I.D.…”
“Uh…Sara…d’you mind if I explain that later?”
“Yeah…sure…”
But she was still curious. She would be reminding him frequently.
“Thanks…Sara?"
“Yeah?”
“You’re not…mad at me…are you?”
“For what?”
“Anything…I guess…”
“Well…I’m mad at you for coming to school drunk…I’m mad at you for smoking in front of me…and I’m mad at you for forgetting to kiss me goodnight.”
This last one was a joke—he HAD been smoking, after all.
“Oh,” he said simply. “I’m really sorry, Sara…”
“Mm…s’okay, but…why do you do all that?”
“What?”
“Drink and smoke…”
“Oh…” She felt him shrug. “I just…It helps me…forget.”
“Forget what?”
He shook his head. “No…it’s a secret…”
“But, Ryan…you don’t have to do all that…”
“Maybe, but I’m not really into drugs…I know they work better, but…”
“Ever tried reading fiction?”
“Huh?”
“Yeah…not boring stuff…like, The Redwall books and the Artemis Fowl series and To Kill A Mockingbird—I have it with me—and…and, well, anything…”
“Oh.” He scoffed. “Those’re kid books.”
“But, Ryan, every time I read them I forget where I am…and what I was doing…it’s amazing…”
“Really?”
“Yeah, really…”
“Mm…I dunno, Sara. You don’t have much to forget.”
She laughed dryly. “Wanna bet?”
“What could you POSSIBLY need to—?”
“Nuh-uh. You have to tell me, first.”
This sobered him up—he said nothing more, save “goodnight.” She returned the greeting, letting her mind drift…but just when she thought he was asleep, he gently pushed her hair behind her ears and kissed her on the cheek.
“See you in the morning…”
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Mar 30, 2007 9:08 pm
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Mar 30, 2007 9:31 pm
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Apr 01, 2007 10:48 am
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Apr 01, 2007 11:27 am
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Apr 01, 2007 7:53 pm
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Apr 02, 2007 4:00 pm
|
|
|
|
Voxxx “Señor, perdón, pero no hablo ingles…” pero no se hablar ingles- but I don't know how to speak English “¡No tengo un casa! Silencio, el hombre viejo, y no me gusta hablar a tú!”a tu should be a ti.
In the last sentence, you're supposed to say "una casa" not "un casa". "Casa" is considered a feminine noun, so to speak, and that's why you say "la casa" instead of "el casa". Also, I see that you translated the last part as "Shut up, old man! I don't want to talk to you", which is pretty much incorrect. I don't want to talk to you would be more like "no quiero hablar contigo".
Also, I noticed you made some more errors, which, at the time, are not in my head. But, when I can, I might fix them all up. e3e; |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Apr 02, 2007 5:26 pm
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Apr 03, 2007 5:12 pm
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Apr 03, 2007 5:16 pm
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Apr 04, 2007 2:30 pm
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Reply
