Rose of No Man's Land (31 page)

Dude!
Amber shook her head, laughing, holding the picture away from her like it was diseased or evil.
Dude, that is sick! I don’t even want to know about you two. You two are the baddest news I’ve heard all day.
Rose beamed brightly. Fucking fuck Amber. So she could tattoo. So what. We had already given her all the money plus the quarters that really were
mine
, of all the stuff handed over to Amber like a pirate’s booty those fucking quarters were
mine
, those waitresses had almost kicked my ass over them, I lost my flops, my favorite flops, and sliced my foot open because of them, I could have been arrested, and I gave it all to Amber. Plus we shared the speed with her. She had enough, why did she get the rest? Something shifted while I was in the bathroom pondering the bloodstains Rose had put into my underwear. Something had flipped. The filthy tattoo shop was some sort of bad bizarro world. Rose liked
Amber. She liked her in that way. She liked her in that lesbian way. She can say Marty this and Marty that and as far as I’m concerned who cares about fucking Marty, who knows if Marty even exists, all I know is Rose is a fucking lesbo and now she’s making lesbo-faces at Amber, Amber who is totally gross and whatever, Amber who is cheesy, who is embarrassing the way a parent might be embarrassing, and now something has happened and all the air in the room, all the energy in the room, it’s for her, it’s flowing psychically in her direction. I felt a trembling terribleness. The tattoo on my arm throbbed like a punch, like a car had crashed into the skin there. It was Rose on my arm, each throb was her inhaling, exhaling, inhaling, exhaling, the pulse of her heart inside her chest inside my skin.

It’s Not Even That Good, I said out loud. Maybe that was an inside thought. It leaked out, though. The Eyes Are Fucked-Up And You Went Outside The Lines. It’s Not Even That Good. It Doesn’t Even Look Like Her.

Rose’s face was shut down, cold.
Trisha, what are you talking about? It’s excellent. It looks just like me, it’s excellent.

It Does Not Even Look Like You, I said. You’re Fucking Blind.

Whoa
, Amber said, holding up her hand. The naked Polaroid of Rose was still in her fingers, flashing at me. Flash, flash, the light hit it, it looked like a tiny porno screen in her hand, tiny porno-action Rose.
What’s your problem? I did you a favor.

You Got Paid, I said. We Paid You Just Like Anyone.

I paid
, Rose said.
Why are you being such a bitch?

Something in my eyes felt sharp. Maybe there was glass
stuck in there too, glass from the parking lot, from the sidewalk when we were rolling around, kissing. Amber put her hand on the hip of her jeans, crumpling the Polaroid.

Well you got it for life, kid. So you better start liking it.
She looked back and forth at Rose and me.
Fucking shit
, she said.
I fucking knew it. I knew it. You bitches are crazy and I’m crazy. I did you a favor. You should just get out of here.

Fine, I said. I hoped I never saw her again ever ever ever. I felt stupid feelings about her the second I saw her. I grabbed my backpack from the floor. I zipped it and flung it over my shoulders. Rose was staring at me. Her mouth was open. Come On, I said. She looked at Amber. She looked around the shop.

I was going to help clean up. I want to stay.

You Have To Go, I told her. She Just Said So, She’s Kicking Us Out, Come On.

I don’t care what she does
, Amber nodded at Rose.
But I think you should get some sleep. Maybe try to eat a little food or something.

Come On, I said to Rose. I was staring at her. Amber’s voice was like a drill boring in the back of my skull. Come On, Rose. Rose just looked at me. What The Fuck? I touched my face. It was wet. My Eye Is Bleeding, I said to her. Is My Eye Bleeding? I looked at my fingers.

You’re crying, Trisha.
Rose spoke through her hands. Her hands were covering her mouth.

I’m Not Fucking Crying, I told her. I went for the door but it was locked. I rattled. Let Me Out, Then! I was yelling. I knew I shouldn’t have been yelling but I was. And crying. Crying and bleeding, bleeding somewhere, a few places,
who cares if I was wrong about the eye. Amber was behind me, she reached out and unlatched the door. There was a bell above my head, it jingled as I pushed my way out. I turned back to Rose. You Are Such A Fucking Lesbian, I told her. You Are Such A Liar. I walked out into the parking lot. Beyond the lot was Route 1, all shut down for the night, the neon extinguished. Above me I could see the stars, but in front of me was total darkness, torn by the lights of the cars on the road. There were less of them. I had never been out so late before. I wondered if anyone cared.

I walked all the way back home. It wasn’t so bad. I got lost a few times and then had to duck from cops a few times, crouching behind parked cars. I didn’t have anything on me anymore, just a naked Polaroid of Kim Porciatti, which maybe I could’ve been totally arrested for, who knows. I just knew I couldn’t talk to cops, all fucked-up. Could you be arrested just for having drugs in your system, even if there was none in your bag and you weren’t bothering anybody? I wasn’t bothering anybody. I was just trying to find my way home without getting another piece of glass in my foot. Just wondering how someone like Rose could live with herself, being such a liar and a hypocrite, being so slutty. She was probably busting into Amber’s downstairs parts right then, right as I navigated
my way down a dim Mogsfield street strewn with turned-over trash cans. I felt bad for thinking Rose was slutty. I knew it was something bigger than that. Something about the way Rose just did whatever she wanted to. Slutty was a useless idea, it had nothing to do with her. I didn’t want to be another stupid person who thought that, like a boy on the street.

When I got home Kristy was on the front steps crying. I couldn’t believe it. I thought: Oh my god, Kristy missed me. Kristy was worried. Kristy thought I’d been kidnapped. Kristy was wondering what she would do without me for the rest of her sunny life. Kristy looked up at me. Her hair, soaked through with tears, swirled in wet clumps down her neck.

You fucking idiot!
She screamed.
Where have you been? Donnie got arrested.

Donnie Got Arrested? I repeated dumbly.

Donnie got arrested and Ma went down to the police station.

Ma Went To The Police Station? I know it is annoying to be repeated but I was at a massive loss. Ma Is Gone? I asked. I bounded past Kristy, up the creaking wooden stairs and into our house. The coffee table was pushed halfway across the room, at a weird angle. Some stuff had tumbled from it to the floor. It didn’t look like a raid from
Cops
, but it looked like something had happened. Mostly the shock was Ma. She wasn’t on the couch. It was amazing. The couch was empty. The television was off, the dark glass warping the room’s reflection. Like a television show broadcast from another dimension it showed Kristy entering the room behind me,
half ghost, half fun-house person in the curved glass. Wow, I said. Wow, It’s So Weird She’s Not Here.

She wanted me to take her
, Kristy hiccuped.
The cops came and dragged Donnie out and then they dragged out all the shit he had stashed in your room, whatever —

Batteries, I said, nodding.

— And they said Ma could come to the station and she was freaking out and said “Kristy, pull the car around.” She didn’t even ask. She just said, “Kristy, pull the car around” like I’m her fucking slave.
She pulled her wet hair back carefully, peeling it from her skin.
I was filming when they came. I was getting it all on film and one of the cops took the camera right out of my hands. He just took it.

It’s Gone? I asked. Kristy nodded. Oh No, I said. Oh No, Kristy. That Sucks.

I just told Ma, he’s your fucking problem. You get him.

And She Did?

She did. She won’t get off the couch for us, not ever, in like our whole life, but she’ll go down to the police station to bail out her loser boyfriend.

I Can’t Believe She’s Gone I said. The room was vibrating with her absence. Kristy was staring at me.

What the hell is wrong with you?
she asked.
Did something happen? What happened?

I Don’t Think You Can Handle It, I told her. I’m Just Being Honest. I Don’t Know If You Can Take It.

Don’t be dramatic.

Serious.

Tell me.

I’m On Drugs, I said. I Got A Tattoo, I lifted my shirtsleeve
up, flashed my bandage at her. The white cotton was seeped through with blood and murky ink. I Hurt My Foot, I said, shaking it at her. I Got Glass In It, But It’s Okay. I Made Friends, With This Girl — You Won’t Like Her, But I Do, And Now She Likes Someone Better Than Me. And I Got Fired From Ohmigod! Bernice O’Leary Is A Fucking Bitch And I Freaked Out On Her. And I Don’t Like Wearing Your Clothes. I’m Never Wearing Your Clothes Ever Again. Sorry. And, Look. I unzipped the backpack. I fished around and grabbed the photo of Kim Porciatti. Fucking Kim Porciatti. Look At That. I passed it to Kristy. She looked beyond confusion.

Where did you get this?
she asked.

The Guy Who Sold Us Drugs. He’s A Drug Dealer In Revere.

That’s sick. We should call the cops.

Right, I said. We Should Call The Cops? I motioned around at our lightly ransacked living room.

I don’t know!
Kristy squirted out a faceful of fresh tears.

Just Forget About It, I told her. None Of It Matters.

I can’t believe you’re on drugs
, Kristy said.
This is the worst night ever.
She paused.
What kind?

Speed.

And you like it?

I Do And I Don’t. I Think It’s Making Me Act Weird.

Isn’t that the point?

I Guess. I walked back out the open door onto the porch. The night still felt nice. It was the same night as the one in the golf course, with Rose. It was the same magical night, belly-up. I sat on the front steps and waited for
Kristy to join me. Donnie’s cigarettes were still on the porch, cigarettes and a lighter. They didn’t even let him take his smokes. I thought about Donnie getting hauled off, about some cops being mean to him. It seemed part funny and part sad. I wondered if he’d been in one of the cruisers I’d hid from, stuffed in the backseat with his wrists locked together. I lifted his lighter, red plastic, and flicked around with it. I studied the long, perfect flame, blue to orange. I remembered the hair spray in my bag. How I was going to impress Rose. I pulled the can out. It shone under the streetlights like some sort of deadly weapon.

Is that mine?
Kristy asked behind me.
Did you steal that from me?

Not From You I said. She was leaning in the doorway, still crying. I was glad my crying had stopped.

A tattoo
, she cried.
It’s like — your life is over. You’ve ruined your life. I hope you know that.
I wanted to tell her it wasn’t true, but I really didn’t know. Maybe my life was junked. Maybe her life was junked too. Probably all our lives were over already, but we wouldn’t know for sure until we were around thirty. ’Til we realized we hadn’t left the couch in twelve years, ’til the cops came and threw us in jail for something totally dumb, ’til we discovered we’re finally too old to be eligible for MTV reality shows. Then we’d know if our lives had been ruined. I flicked the lighter and aimed the hair spray at the wavering flame. One pump turned it into a meteor, a blasting, flaming fireball. It shot out against the black sky like a living thing, a giant whorling pulse of pure heat, all orange and liquid, a little planet of fire hovering in the
air before my face. Then it vanished. Kristy was beside me, the bare calf of her leg knocking into my head. Her hands were outstretched.

Let me try
, she said.