I hugged him, and in the sweaty embrace, I could feel the hard throb of his groin against me. I pushed him back with one hand, not that hard, even, and he stumbled, then fell to the ground. It’s always the same, I thought. The same tricks. Brock stayed on the floor.
I could kick him right now, I thought, letting the image hang in my head for moment, a small present to myself. Kicking and kicking in the gut and groin, kicking all the life out of him so I could have it for my own. He opened his mouth, and he made a noise. It reminded me of an animal braying. No one would say a thing if I kicked him. No one would blame me.
Instead I turned and walked back to Melanie and Ryan.
“Your friend is way too drunk to be out right now,” I said. I looked right into Ryan’s eyes, telegraphed that he needed to take care of his business. He flashed his brilliant teeth, and the bar glowed from it. Melanie stifled a laugh, and I turned and looked back at Brock, who had now lain down on the floor, arms at his side like a corpse.
“Shit,” said Ryan, and he was gone to the dance floor. He bent down on his hands and knees, whispering sweet nothings in Brock’s ear, hoping to make his friend rise from his deep, drunken sleep.
“There’s no helping that guy,” I said.
“Ryan’ll take care of him,” said Melanie, bored. “And he’ll be fine tomorrow. He does this all the time. He’s always fine in the morning.”
Ryan pulled him up by his arms, chest, and then his legs, and leaned his friend against him. They stumbled through the bar, toward the front door.
I looked at my beautiful friend and I thought of the hopeful jade plant.
“How long are you going to stay out here?” I said. “On this island. Seriously.”
“As long as it takes,” she said.
AFTER A WHILE, Sarah Lee didn’t come around anymore, and then after that she drifted off to art school somewhere in Oregon.
“Good riddance,” I said.
“Why?” said Melanie. “I liked her.”
“Yeah, and I think she really liked you,” I said.
“What does that mean?” said Melanie. “What does that mean?” She pushed my arm playfully.
“You know what that means,” I said, and I raised my eyebrows. “I don’t like the way she looked at you.”
And we laughed and laughed. At Sarah Lee’s expense. Because while I told Melanie I didn’t like the way Sarah Lee looked at her, what I really didn’t like was the way Melanie looked at Sarah Lee.
AT LAST CALL Melanie and I had eyes like stewed tomatoes. We decided to walk home.
“It’s only a half mile up the road,” she said. “And we’re on an island. We’re safe as kittens.”
“No way,” I said. I was a grown-up city girl now. I didn’t walk home drunk anymore.
“Yes, yes, yes. We’ll drive my car back in the morning and get your bag.” She put her arm around my shoulder and squeezed me off the bar stool. “Come on. It’s going to be OK.”
We stumbled off into the night, walking in the center of the moonlit road. Away from the city lights, I could see a million stars spotting the sky, little bits of light holding back the dark. I could see the outlines of the trees in silhouette, and I could smell the dampness of the greenery. Melanie made me inhale deeply.
“Isn’t it fantastic out here? Isn’t this what it’s all about?”
We dragged our feet at times, and ran, laughing, in short spurts. I almost fell in a ditch. I noticed Melanie had lost some weight, and I silently cursed her. My nose was running and I rubbed it. Melanie did a cartwheel in the center of the road.
“We’re almost there!” she yelled. “Let’s cut across—” She motioned to the lawn, then hopped the white picket fence bordering the land and began to march diagonally, away from the road. “Oh, no, wait, wait. First you have to see this.” She ran back to the road and dragged me by my hand, until we were standing in front of two houses. “You have to stand back for the full effect.” We walked backward until we were standing on the far side of the road, away from the houses, underneath a small streetlight.
“Do you see?” She gestured toward the houses.
“What am I looking at?”
“The fences. Do you see the difference?”
I looked at Bitsy’s impeccable white picket fence, and then I looked at Madame Vanessa’s simple chain-link fence. A black Lab sniffed near the front gate, and gave one short bark. I leaned against the streetlight, and then lowered myself to the ground. I needed a minute to pass judgment.
“It kills her. It just kills her,” said Melanie.
“It’s not that bad,” I said, and it wasn’t. All across America people had different fences from their neighbors’. Why did Bitsy get to be different?
“I mean I sort of get why she feels this way,” Melanie said. She sat down next to me, pulled her legs into a cross-legged position. “This is her sanctuary, this home. It’s her way of getting away from the world. I think she feels like the other fence is invading her space.”