“Yes, I know,” I say with more than a little annoyance and shoot her a dirty look.
“Don’t scowl at me," she admonishes me "This plan of yours is ridiculous. I don’t know why you think any of this is a good idea.”
“I hate him,” I say as I contemplate my phone. His message blinks up at me and I press the home button to clear it from my screen. “You don’t understand,” I whine and fling myself into one of the red plastic chairs that we use for our supposedly art nouveau dining table. It just looks like discarded tat from a family reunion in 1989.
“I understand perfectly. I just think it’s a moronic idea. I also think you’re going to be sorry. You should let it go and get on with your life.”
“I’ve been waiting since I was thirteen years old for this," I say in exasperation. I hear how childish I sound.
“It’s ridiculous that at the age of thirty-two, you’re still carrying a grudge from middle school, Maria,” she says without looking away from her book.
“Yeah, well, forgive me if I can’t get over being called Maria Diarrhea from the age of eleven until I was thirteen.” I don’t care how petulant I sound, I feel justified in holding on to my anger.
She lets out a low whistle. “Daaaaamn. That shit stuck, huh?” She says and then drops her book down enough to reveal her eyes.
“No pun intended,” she says. And even though I can’t see her mouth, I know it’s turned up in an unsympathetic mocking smirk.
“Laugh all you want. I’m going to finish this. Confront him and get it out of my system.”
“Sure. Tell yourself that,” she mutters disinterestedly, and turns the page of her book.
“What could go wrong. I’ll go meet him, let him get all lathered up, tell him who I am and walk off.” I say. The satisfaction I’m anticipating puts an easy smile on my face.
Tina puts her book down and shakes her head at me piteously.
“What?” I snap at her, making my eyes wide, “Just say it.”
She narrows her eyes and stares at me thoughtfully. I’m just about to tell her to forget it when she says, “Has it ever occurred to you that he knows exactly who you are? You recognized him right away. What makes you think he didn’t recognize you?”
I roll my eyes and bat this complete impossibility away.
“Well one, I don’t have a mouth full of metal and eyes the size of silver dollars because of my coke bottle lenses anymore, acne and a head full of hair that looked like tumbleweed most of the time. And besides,” I sigh in disgust, “I was probably just one of the hundreds of kids he tortured in his teens, I bet he doesn’t even remember the stupid nickname he and his dumb friends called me.”
“Okay, well then, why have you been putting off meeting him?”
“I’m not putting it off. I just want more time.”
“Those are the same thing,” she rolls her eyes in exaggerated impatience and covers her face with her book.
I cross my arms over my chest and pout in her direction. “You could be a little more sympathetic, you know. I’m freaking out here.” I run an agitated hand through my hair. “I never thought I’d have a chance to pay him back for what he did. And now, I do. I’m not going to let your poopooing ruin this for me.”
“By all means, ignore me. Walk into that burning building. I get all your shoes, though if you don’t come back in one piece.”
“Yeah, go ahead and laugh, I’m going to get this over with,” I stand up and unlock my phone.
LusciousCutiePie: Fine, tonight. Text me where and I’ll be there.
CockedandLoaded: You text me your address. I’m going to pick you up.
LusciousCutiePie: No. I’ve watched enough television to know better than to get into cars with strange men. Next thing I know, I’ll be in some container crossing the border to be harvested for my kidneys. No thanks. I’m getting in the shower. When I get out, I’ll check for the address. If you haven’t sent it, date’s off.
CockedandLoaded: Your imagination is pretty wild. Also, you’re cute when you think you’re in charge. But, you’re right. I’ll let you have this one. Texting information in a minute. See you later.
“Maria, one. Chuck, zero,” I say to myself as I turn the shower on to heat up. I strip in front of the mirror and look at myself with a critical eye. I see a woman who looks good for her age. Years of weight watchers and three times a week on my Pilates reformer have left me with excellent posture, a flat stomach, a tight ass and fantastic arms.
My hair’s thick, lustrous texture is due to an army of vitamins, regular visits to my very expensive hairdresser for a ruthless color and cut that keeps my naturally nondescript light brown hair a vibrant, shimmering copper.
No way he’d recognize the girl whose heart he’d shattered with a few cruel, careless words.
I haven’t shared that part with Tina. It’s not just the nickname. It’s what I overheard him say to a room full of his friends about me.
I had a crush on him. A big one. He was the cutest boy in our class and we’d been paired together for our first science project of sixth grade. He had been nice to me. We walked home together a few times after the project was over. I thought we were friends.
Every day, he and a group of his friends huddled in one of the stairwells in the north wing of our huge school. They skipped study hall every day to practice their dance moves instead. I went to watch. They never knew I was there and it was one of my favorite things. Watching Chuck moonwalk, pop and lock, and sometimes, they would even rap rhymes they’d made up.
Then, one day, someone asked him if he was ready for our big history test the next day. He mentioned that we were studying that evening. I felt the familiar squeeze in my chest that came every time I remembered how I’d been crushed by his betrayal. I rub my chest absently and drift back to that awful day.
“Why do you go to that girl’s house every night? She’s fugly,” one of the boys says in a jockeying voice. Its jovial tone is in such sharp contrast to the wicked words he’s speaking that it takes a second for them to register. My hand flies to my mouth and covers it just in time to stifle the gasp that a swift rush of hurt forces out of my chest.
But nothing prepares me for the way it feels to hear Chuck say, in an equally jovial voice, “She’s too ugly to eat lunch with, so I have to wait until the sun sets before we can study together.”
A sledgehammer collides with my heart and shatters it into a million pieces. I feel lightheaded. I don’t have to cover my mouth, there’s no air in my lungs to propel any words or sounds. When my vision blurs, I close my eyes and try to clear it. Tears, hot and unwelcome, roll out of the corner of my eyes and trail down my cheeks. Their laughter sounds like a horrible echo and I’m not sure if they’re still laughing or if the sound is trapped in my head.
I’m overwhelmed by the sudden need to leave. I force myself up on shaky legs and cling to the rail as I climb up the stairs toward the fourth floor.
“Man, thank God. I was worried you were kissing Maria Diarrhea after school.” I stop. I can’t take another step. The fragments of my heart feel like they are disintegrating in my chest and my stomach lurches violently.
I have to swallow back the saliva that fills my mouth from the nausea that rolls over me. Is that what they call me? They burst out laughing and I can hear Chuck’s voice loud and clear. That laugh, that I’ve loved and treasured now sounds as sinister as the cocking of a gun’s hammer.