Arizona Allspice (46 page)

“I don’t understand. Is it me? Or is Tucson the issue?” I ask, past the sore lump in my throat.

“He always said he’d hunt my mom down if she ever left him. You know who I’m talking about.”

I nod, hanging on to his every word. He’s talking about the ogre that used to be his stepfather, Mason. I notice that Joey can’t utter his stepfather’s name. His honest blue eyes flit away from my face and focus on the glove compartment in front of him.

“And you also know that Mom and I moved to Cadence from Drexel-
Alvernon
to get away from him, but you might not know that my old hometown is minutes away from Tucson. I don’t know where he lives now or what he’s still capable of. He might recognize me in a crowd and trace me back to Cadence, back to her. I can’t let that happen. She’s all I got. I don’t want to take any chances, so anytime I was invited to Tucson I would turn my friends down.”

“Hell no,” I grumble defiantly as I twist the key in the ignition and then yank the gear shift into reverse. “I’ll be damned if that racist idiot is going to stop me from doing whatever I so choose. Look at you.” I give Joey’s body a quick, appreciative glance as I maneuver the truck onto the freeway. “You could rip Mason in half these days.”

 Joey chuckles.

“See that fly?” I point to the insect that had collided against my windshield to make a green splatter. “That’s Mason.” Joey laughs in response. I turn my windshield washer system on. The streams of washer fluid splashes over the bug and the wipers skim the residue away. I give the dead insect my salutations. “Goodbye, Mason,” I sing. The newly cleaned glass sparkles with brilliant streams of sunlight. “Get it?” I ask Joey, partly serious.

“Yeah, I got it,” he smiles brightly.  

I let the back windows halfway down and open the front windows completely. “We’re going to Tucson, dude!” I shout over the wind, trying to get Joey energized. Joey suddenly howls like a rowdy frat boy, managing to startle both me and him. Joey managing to scare himself causes us to quake with laughter until tears cloud our eyes. After I wipe my eyes and catch my breath, I start to undo my hair from its bun. I want to experience the refreshing sensation of the air flowing through it. I know when we reach our destination my hair will look a mess but I don’t care. With one hand on the steering wheel, I begin to unravel the tie with the other. The elastic gets entwined with my hair. Realizing I need both hands to get it out, I let go of the steering wheel completely for a moment to do so.

“Hey! Don’t take your hands off the wheel or your eyes off the road,” Joey scolds me. I reluctantly grasp the wheel. Before I can whine and tell him I’ve got everything under control, he reaches over and gently tugs the tangled tie from my hair. I feel his fingers run through my hair to comb it down. His fingertips graze my scalp and the nape of my neck. I smile as a shiver travels up my spine. The wind ravishes my hair and the F-150 breezes up the highway. I feel fourteen years old in the back of a windswept pickup truck again. “Thanks,” I say to him without apprehension. He gives me a relaxed smile and slips the skinny black hair tie onto his wrist like a bracelet.

Joey decided today would be the day he accepted an invitation to Tucson. He accepted the invitation because it came from me. He decided that I was important enough to face his fears and it makes me feel enormously spirited. There is no guilt, shame, anger or grief weighing me down today. It was as simple as an hour’s drive with the windows open and the company of my fellow traveler.

The first store we browse through in the expansive Tucson Mall is
Simone’s
. Joey was drawn into the store by the lava lamps glowing in the dark display windows and the smell of sandalwood incense, but mostly it was the life-sized brass lions guarding the entrance that caught his eye. Years ago I bought my Chinese parasol here.
Simone’s
is a special store to me. I don’t mention the significance of the Bohemian international gift shop to Joey, yet like magic he wanders into the shop and discovers my secret within ten minutes. He turns away from the dream catchers on the wall and ambles over to the revolving column that displays eyewear.

I hold my breath as I watch his body language.  He rests all his weight on his left leg and casually spins the display case. The column comes to a sudden stop as he recognizes a pair of purple and black framed glasses. The slanted pose of his broad shoulders levels. Then Joey sticks his hands in the pockets of his green soccer shorts and whips around to me with a big grin on his face. “I found them.” I chuckle and stand beside him as he picks up the replica.

“Here is where it all started,” I sigh.

Joey stares at me. “You don’t even wear them anymore.”

“Not lately, no.”

 He carefully returns my glasses to the rack, twirls the display and picks out another pair of glasses with bold black frames reminiscent of what was once worn by Buddy Holly. Joey tries them on. The sight of those nerdy spectacles on the solid masculine angles of Joey’s face was absurd. He reminded me of Clark Kent. In Superman movies, it was totally obvious, to the audience at least, that the chiseled features behind the glasses belonged to an incredible superhero. To me it is clear that behind those glasses is
El Fuego.
I wonder if I look as silly when I wear my glasses. Have they been a poor disguise, obvious to everyone around me?

“Joey?”

He tilts his head down to look at me over the glasses he’s wearing.
“
Yyyyes
?”

“Tell me the truth. Did I look stupid with my glasses on?”

“No,” he answers.

“No?” I echo, hoping he’ll elaborate.

“Well, when I looked at you I never saw your glasses.”

“Maybe it was just you, though.”

He pushes his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose with his pointer finger and shrugs.

 “Are you buying those?” I laugh. “Looks like you’ve grown attached.”

He takes them off his face and studies them. “Not that attached.” He places them back on the display. “Besides, these were always your special thing,” he smiles.

As we walk from store to store the desire to see Joey try on new things grows stronger. After seeing
him
with those Buddy Holly glasses on, I can’t stop thinking about him being all dressed up like a preppy Ivy League university student or like a Ralph Lauren model on a yacht. It’s a style opposite of his laidback wardrobe, but I know he can pull it off.

“Joey, I would really like to buy you an outfit or two today.”

“No thanks, Laney. Save your money for something more worthwhile.”

“It is worthwhile! It’ll be a late birthday present from me to you. Look at that mannequin. If you dressed like that, I wouldn’t be surprised if people started giving you special treatment.”

“So what?
What do I need all that for? I’m not trying to impress anyone.”

“Your poor future girlfriend.”
I shake my head solemnly. Joey knits his eyebrows. “You’re gonna pick her up from her house on your squeaky bicycle, wearing a t-shirt, soccer shorts and
flippy
floppies?” Joey laughs at the image I’ve painted. “It’ll be an outfit you can wear just in case you go on a nice date…” I trail off. He seems to be caving to the idea. Finally, he shrugs, sighs and then says yes.

“Yes!” I grin and clap my hands.

“But only
one
outfit,” he stresses.

I rub my hands together. This was like having my own real-life Ken doll. I look around the mall for the right store. I see a classy gentleman’s apparel shop and point to it.

Joey follows my line of sight and groans.
“Why me?”

I lead him to the store. “Right this way, Ken.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing.”

  Joey walks out of the fitting room wearing a deep olive green V-neck sweater with a white sports shirt underneath. The sweater falls just above the waist of the vintage dark washed jeans. The cut of the jeans are perfect: not too loose or too long. “Oh! I forgot the accessories.” I find some sunglasses, a belt and some sneakers and hand them to him. “Push your sleeves up to your elbow.” I help him with the white collar and cuffs. The sweater meets the top of the shiny brown leather belt nicely. The silvery aviator glasses resting in his curly red hair and the tan and white canvas sneakers without socks add an air of chic insolence. The clothing creates clean lines on his body. The way they cling to his chest, around his biceps, and across his backside makes me consider picking out another outfit that would show more skin. He looks like a downright arrogant, sexy snob. I love it!

Joey eyes himself in the full-length mirror and then strikes a Mr. Universe pose with one bicep flexed and the other arm pointing skyward.

“Next stop is a modeling agency,” I say. “You look great. I said you would.”

“I look like a Village Kid…and I like it. This is entirely your fault,” he smirks. Eventually, Joey changes back into his t-shirt and soccer shorts and we carry his new outfit up to the sales clerk. “Are you sure about this?” Joey asks.

“Yes, Joey. I want to do this.”

He nervously fingers the $150 price tag on the jeans.
“Really?
Elaine, these are kind of expensive. I don’t want you to regret.”

“Joey,” I say as sternly as my uncle had said to me. His eyes widen a little. “I am buying them for you. You deserve to have nice things. Now, kindly shut up.”

At the food court, Joey insists on paying for my lunch. I allow it even though I think it’s silly. We’re not on a date and I have plenty of money. As we eat our Chinese food, I reminisce on the days I spent at this mall when I was a teenager. “More times than I can count, Denise, Marisol,
Ariella
and I would eat here for free. Denise would flirt with a restaurant worker or hit on an older guy she’d find and magically lunch was served. It was funny to see how easily she could convince men to follow her orders. I had a lot of fun with
Ariella
then, too.
Simone’s
was our favorite store. Did you ever meet
Ariella
?”

“No.”

“I guess she left town before you could meet her. She was my best friend. But that was before everyone in school decided to hate me.”

“They don’t hate you. That was five years ago. People have changed. You talk to Marisol now, and it’s not so bad between you and Denise,” Joey puts a positive spin on it.

“My mother died and none of them came to the funeral. That was only a year ago.” I stir a spiral path into my rice. “A few parents showed up, but no one else. That was when I needed them.” The calmness with which I say this is startling. There’s a pang of sadness in my gut, but I’m not bawling. Nor am I completely detached. Joey, however, goes someplace else in his head. He stares down at his plate for close to a minute. Then his eyelids flutter as he snaps out of it. He quietly clears his throat.

“We were scared,” he says, “and weak.
Even stupid.
We should have been there. All we thought about was ourselves and”  

“Wait a minute. Don’t say ‘we’. Don’t group yourself with them. I was talking about everyone else. Not you.”

“But I didn’t come to the funeral.”