Punk Like Me (16 page)

“Nina? You there?”

Oh, yeah, we were talking on the phone, right! “Yeah, dude. I wasn’t feeling too good this morning, so my mom let me stay home. No big thing,” I hastily replied, “you know.” An uncomfortable quiet stretched out between us.

“You sick from, um,” she hesitated, “from being out last night?” Her voice strangled on the last word.

I knew where she was going with this because I’d just been there, and I wasn’t going to let her stay on that road. One of us upset was

• 106 •

PUNK LIKE ME

enough, I Þ gured. It touched me to know she cared, and I hurt to hear her sound like that. I didn’t want to hear her cry again.

“No, no, it wasn’t that, though running around with my, um”—I didn’t really want to allude to last night too much, it was still way too raw—“my coat open probably wasn’t the healthiest thing I’ve ever done,” I hurriedly reassured her. “Nah, my dad, you know?” Kerry was my best friend. Of course she knew, because I’d told her about my dad’s daily wake-Nina-up ritual. “This morning? His usual thing, and I don’t know, Kerry, I just started to feel sick—fever, headache, you know, the works. I feel a lot better now, though. I’m glad you called,” I added softly. “I wanted to call you, but I thought you’d be in school.” Kerry chuckled under her breath a bit at that, and I could practically hear the gears turning as she digested what I told her, both said and unsaid. Through the phone, I could hear the trafÞ c passing on the street, a bus stopping, and the sound of the train roaring past the station.

“You sure you’re feeling better?” she asked, Þ nally, in a doubtful voice.

“Yeah, much,” I told her. The silence stretched, then I caught a clue right in the eye. “Hey, you want to come over? I’m just hangin’, watching TV and all. I don’t think I’m contagious or anything.” Kerry answered so quickly and with such relief, I knew I’d been right in thinking she’d been worried like I was, that maybe I was just being polite, didn’t really want to see her. Besides, it’s rude to kiss a girl and then not see her the next day, right? Right. Even if you’re not sure it will ever happen again. Or even if you’re still really friends.

“Dude! I’ll be there in a few minutes! I’ve got a movie on me and I’m bringing junk food! Chips and soda and a surprise! Don’t fall asleep—bye!” and she hung up in a rush.

I put the phone down slowly. Kerry had looked for me this morning, she had a movie on her, she was bringing food and a surprise.

Weirdly enough, it sounded like she had a plan, sort of. I shook my head in bemusement as I made my way out of the kitchen and tossed my shirt, which I’d had in my hands the whole time, onto the laundry basket by the basement door.

Hmm, I was getting a little cold again. Oh yeah, a shirt, I needed a shirt. I went up to my room and rummaged through my drawer. Maybe I should dress, if I was going to have company and all, not that I wasn’t dressed already, just that I should look somewhat presentable, right?

Right. Not a big deal.

• 107 •

I found my favorite long-sleeve T-shirt—it was huge, it was soft, it was black where it wasn’t covered with different-colored paint splatters. I paint every now and again, and that was my most favorite, extra-special painting shirt. My mother hated it—the shirt, not the painting, I mean—and truth to tell, I still have it..

Anyhow, that’s the shirt I slipped on. Then I grabbed my army pants, also nice and baggy and soft, but not for painting (I have a favorite pair of shorts for that), compliments of a weekend shopping expedition in a Village thrift store. I pulled on my boots, made my bed, and Þ gured I was done. I walked over to the bathroom again, for a quick inspection. Okay, I thought. Hey, wait. What about my hair? Should I do my hair? I grabbed the brush and looked at the mirror. Since my hair was still damp from my shower, the ends curled over my shoulders. Aw fuck it, I thought. I’m supposed to be home sick, don’t want to look like I’m trying or something. Besides, Kerry had seen me in my school uniform, after track meets, after basketball games, after swim meets, and I usually had a ponytail before and a sweaty mess after.

This was no big deal. Nothing to read into. No reason to go nuts.

This was a movie and food. We were just hanging out, like we’d done a million times before. Okay, she was bringing a surprise. I hesitated, then decided to just brush my hair straight through again. I left it at that.

I looked down at my hands as I washed them again. Oh yeah. I had to remove the red and black nail polish from the weekend. Nail polish was forbidden to all but the upperclassmen in my high school and then, only in “natural” colors. While as a junior, I certainly qualiÞ ed as an upperclassman, this particular shade of red, and certainly the black, would not be considered permissible colors.

My nails now clean, I had to wash them again so I wouldn’t reek of acetone. The fumes from the remover made my eyes smart. I cracked the bathroom window open and hoped the smell would dissipate.

Okay, now I was ready, and I wiped my still-stinging eyes and made my way to the stairwell. I hesitated. I knew there was something I couldn’t remember. I was positive I was forgetting something.

Sick! I was supposed to be home sick! Me, fever, stomach weirdness, headache, sore throat, remember? Sick people don’t lounge at home all day fully dressed and waiting to hang out! Now wouldn’t that look like I was trying way too hard, right? Yeah, I thought so, too.

• 108 •

PUNK LIKE ME

I walked back to my room, ripped the pillow off my bed, and grabbed one of the blankets I’d folded. Now fully prepared, I went down to the living room, set my pillow up, kicked the blanket around a bit so it didn’t look like I’d just brought it down, and took off my boots, placing them neatly by the head of my makeshift bed. Sick people don’t wear shoes, and shoes aren’t allowed on sofas, anyway.

I was just about to sit back down when I remembered the coffee table and the mess Ringo and I had made. I hurriedly put my boots back on (I hate cleaning without shoes on, just a thing with me), picked up my glass, plate, and tray, and ran them to the kitchen sink. I returned with the broom, the dustpan, and the mop.

Now for a quick round of Betty Homemaker, and I returned everything to its place in the kitchen. Okay. That was done. I was getting a little breathless now, from all the running back and forth.

I sat down again, twisted and threw one leg over the sofa back, and I rubbed Ringo’s back with my other foot. Poor puppy had run all over the house with me—he was tired now. Plus, he was full. Doggie chow and toast and chocolate milk. He needed a nap. I think I did, too.

I wiggled my back into the pillow and was just about to get really comfortable when the doorbell rang. Ringo jumped up and started barking at me maniacally, his way of telling me to do something about it, and I tangled myself in the blanket as I tried to get to my feet. Fuck it, I was too tangled. I wrapped it around my shoulders and took the damn thing with me.

I Þ nally managed to get myself, the blanket, and dancing Ringo to the door to open it when, of course, the phone rang. Fuck!

Okay, Þ rst things Þ rst. I checked the peephole (safety Þ rst, boyz

’n’ gurlz, even when freaking out), and it was Kerry, so I opened the door and let her in.

She stepped through the door into the entryway. “Hey, hi!” she greeted me warmly and opened her arms for a hug. I gave her a quick but strong squeeze and started shufß ing as fast as I could in my blanket to the phone in the kitchen.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” I apologized, looking at her startled face over my shoulder. “That could be my mom, and I have to get it.” I shufß ed to answer the phone as quickly as I could.

Ringo kept jumping up and down, Þ rst on Kerry, then on me, circling and barking the whole way. I Þ nally made it to the phone, with

• 109 •

the two of them accompanying me.

“Hello!” My temper was getting a little frayed as my nerves got played upon.

“May I speak to the person in charge of ordering the
TV Guide
?” the voice on the other end asked.

For this I’d risked hurting Kerry’s feelings and breaking my neck?

I don’t think so. “I’m sorry, we don’t believe in TV,” I answered and hung up the phone with a bang. Sheesh!

Ringo had Þ nally quieted down and was letting Kerry scratch his favorite pet-me spot. You know the one, right between his ears.

Kerry looked up at me as I turned away from the phone. “Everything okay?” she asked with a cocked brow.

“Fine, totally. Just a marketing thing.” I breathed deeply, collecting my wits. “Could we try that again?” and, complete with ghostly draped blanket, I held my arms open for a hug.

Kerry grinned at me. “Sure, I think we can manage that.” She moved into the space, and we held each other for a long moment, then gave each other an awkward kiss on the cheek.

Kerry backed up a step. “So,” she drawled out, “whatchya got under that blanket? Anything,” she bit her lip, “good?” she asked teasingly and reached out to tweak a fold.

“Birthday suit,” I answered smugly. “Come see for yourself,” and I threw the blanket open.

Kerry shielded her eyes like she was about to be blinded by the sun. Her hand was enough to cast a shadow if she’d needed one, but deÞ nitely not enough to not see anything. “Nice, really nice suit there, Hopey.” She smirked at me, her face very bright red. She had the same look on her face Nicky got when he tried to lie. Scared? Hopeful?

Relieved? Disappointed? I was going for choice
e
, all of the above. I Þ led that away into the back of my mind.

I laughed. “Come on,” and I led the way back to the living room.

“Um, I left a few things outside when you dragged me in,” Kerry said archly. “Mind if I get them?”

“Oh, sorry, no. Go right ahead. Need a hand?”

“No, no, just grab the remotes for everything and settle yourself in. I’ve got this all handled,” and she went to the door and stepped through it.

I found the remotes and seated myself. Then Kerry came back, with a take-out Chinese food shopping bag in one hand, and in the other

• 110 •

PUNK LIKE ME

a plastic grocery bag that I could see had the promised chips and soda as well as a few other sundries within it. She walked over and placed them on the coffee table, and I rose to go to the kitchen to get stuff—plates, cups, you know, stuff—but Kerry reached out to stop me.

“No, no, no need. I told you I’ve got everything covered. You’re supposed to be sick, so you take a break, and I hope this helps you feel better.” And with that, she kneeled on the ß oor and pulled out the soda—Coca-Cola, what else is there?—two plastic cups, two paper plates, plastic cutlery, several different take-out cartons, and one plastic soup container.

She reached into the grocery bag again. “Now this,” she told me, standing up, “is Haagen-Dazs, Vanilla Swiss Almond, your favorite.” She displayed it for me. “So, I’m going to go put this in your freezer, and it’s for later, ’kay?” and she made her way to the kitchen.

I sat down on the ß oor with my back against the couch, and Ringo settled himself into a little dog-ball on my left. I was more than a little surprised by it all. This was just so not what I expected, but it was deÞ nitely more than pleasant. In case you didn’t catch the hint when I was talking with my mom before, Chinese food was my favorite, as well as the aforementioned Haagen-Dazs, and well, none of this stuff was cheap, you know. Kerry and I both worked occasional odd jobs like babysitting, raking leaves, and mowing lawns, stuff like that, to have more than transportation money for school and to save for college. And important things like music and
Love and Rockets
comic books.

Kerry walked back into the living room and rummaged through the grocery bag again, and I noticed that the tickle in my stomach had grown more insistent.

“Oh, and I got you a pack of cigarettes, too.” She tossed them at me.

Now I was completely overwhelmed.

“Wow, that’s just, I can’t believe, you’re, just, thank you, really,” I stammered out. I shyly leaned over to kiss her cheek. “Thanks.” Kerry hugged me and returned the kiss. “You’re very, very welcome,” she told me, and we just stared at each other again with strange intensity.

“Wow! Let’s eat! I’m starved!” She turned away, breaking the eye contact and the tension that had started to build.

We busied ourselves opening the cartons and spooning the contents onto the plates, then inspiration hit me. “Hey, this is, like, a picnic,

• 111 •

right?” I asked her while she was pouring soda.

“Absolutely,” she agreed, “only no dirt, no grass, no ants, and no bees.” She smiled up at me.

“Okay then, wait here a second,” and I stood up and ran lightly over to the stairs.

“Where you going?” Kerry looked puzzled.

“I’ll be right back, just a sec,” and I raced up the steps. I went into my room and grabbed another pillow, then back out to the hallway and into the linen closet, looking for a speciÞ c blanket. I heard something move across the ß oor downstairs, footsteps, the kitchen door slide open, and then Ringo run across the ß oor. The back door closed. Maybe Ringo had to go. That was nice of Kerry to let him out, I mused, and kept looking.

Aha! Found it! This blanket was one that had seen better days but was still very serviceable, and I Þ gured if we were going to picnic in the living room, we might as well go all the way and have a picnic blanket.

The extra pillow was just for more comfort. We were indoors, after all.

We had Chinese food, ice cream, a movie, blankets, pillows; what could be better? Supplied and satisÞ ed, my arms Þ lled with the pillow and blanket, I made my way down the stairs and stopped, halfway down. I was frozen in place and stared at the scene before me in open-mouthed surprise.

Kerry had drawn all the blinds and the curtains, darkening the room considerably. She had also moved the sofa back and the coffee table over so that an L-shaped enclave was formed, with the sofa making the long arm of the
L
, and the coffee table set up in such a way that we could still reach for things if either of us wanted something, but we could sit on the ß oor with our legs stretched out and the couch at our backs while we watched the movie.