For You

Chapter SIX

SAWYER JONES

My friends told me not to mess around with a single mom. Well, half of them did, and the other half told me to use a condom, and make sure it was one I brought, so it didn't have holes poked in it.

I'd heard about guys getting trapped by women, but it had never actually happened to anyone I knew. It was just stuff of legend. Stuff you talked shit about to make yourself seem cooler and more worldly than you were.

My housemate, Spanky, was the first to give approval of Aubrey. He saw her on the porch when she came by the house, even in his BC-bud-enhanced state of relaxation. After she left that day, he came into the house and said one word: “Quality.”

“I dunno, bro, she's got issues.”

“Dat ass.”

“I may have also noticed the rockin' body, but thank you for being a gentleman and not pointing that out while she was here. In fact, thank you for not even coming inside. You do an excellent impression of the stoner roommate from True Romance.”

His eyes red and eyelids uneven, he stared at me like I was a walking, talking goat, and he'd never seen a walking, talking goat before. “Dude, wait. Was that real? Was a girl in our house?”

“Yes. The quality girl with dat ass. Real.”

He nodded at the pool table. “Rack 'em.”

Spanky's real name was Arthur, but he'd earned the nickname back when we both were in school. Those days, he'd turn down offers for parties because they kept him up too late and messed with his “schedule.” He had a regular routine that consisted of pulling up a specific series of porn sites on the computer and finishing up no later than twelve-thirty, then being in bed by one.

Girls loved him because he never cheated on them. His number one loyalty was to himself.

As we played a few games that night, I thought about asking him where his money was coming from. He'd been so broke back at Christmas that he'd missed rent and had me cover. I asked him to pick up a few things for the house, and the toilet paper he provided was the giant roll kind—the type you steal from a public washroom, not the kind you buy at SuperStore.

I overlooked his petty thievery, because I think we've all done a few things we're not too proud of, but since February, he'd been flush again. It did not take a bachelor's degree to figure out the kids who visited him on the porch all hours on the weekend weren't just coming by to look at the fish tank he had listed for sale on Craigslist.

Whatever he was doing, his half of the rent got paid, and pretty soon we had the good toilet paper, and food getting delivered.

“To the good life,” he said as we cracked open two beer, careful not to spill any on the pool table, but not so careful about the floor.

“I don't think Aubrey liked the house much,” I said.

“She blow you?”

“No, man. It isn't like that. She's a nice girl.”

“Dat ass ain't so nice.” He caught my glare and held his hand up. “Sorry.”

“She says she's married, you know, but I was asking Bruce about her situation, and he gave me nothing. He had no name for her husband, no details. I think she wears that wedding band to keep guys like me away.”

Spanky finished his beer, a few dribbles running down his already-filthy shirt. As he wiped his mouth, he said, “You two sure will make a nice baby together. I'll buy some cigars. When you think? Nine and a half months?”

“F*ck you.”

He tossed one hand emphatically and started his silly voice. “Girl! Where you registered? Me and the other ladies gonna get you a stroller. Mm hmm, real expensive one. With brakes and shit.”

“Are you serious? Strollers have brakes?”

“You have to know these things if you be datin' a babymama! You gonna get all up in that drama.”

“Okay, Spanky, I don't know what this voice is, but it's bordering on offensive. You're a twenty-four-year-old, middle-class white boy with a masturbation addiction, and you're wearing a dirty shirt, inside-out. Plus your fly is open and I can see your brains.”

“Whoops.” Instead of zipping up, he unfastened his jeans and let it all hang out, no underwear.

“That's extremely hetero of you,” I said.

He pointed his finger at me. “I trust you, bro. Don't look.”

“I'm not gonna look.”

We stared at each other for a long moment, me pointedly not looking at his junk, then he got bored and turned around to walk toward the main floor bathroom.

As I stood there alone, looking over his leave on the table, I couldn't focus on what could have been an easy series of shots. Aubrey had left, probably in disgust, and she was smart to do so.

I didn't know how old her kid was, or even if there was more than one, but my house was no place for a kid. Was it even a good place for me?

I looked around at my life, but mainly at the wall behind me, full of holes from the darts. The wall had once been someone's pride and joy, covered in floral wallpaper. And now it was garbage.

My life had also been about pride. Once. A long time ago. Before I let everything slip away and turn to garbage. Sometimes I wondered if I'd ever be able to see something good when I came across it.

Aubrey was good.

But she was sad, through and through. It seemed she knew the difference between right and wrong, which was more than I could say for a lot of the people I knew. Most people were too comfortable to ever have to make a choice, to find out what they were made of.

I could see in Aubrey's eyes that she'd stared down the darkness and survived. I wanted just a little bit of the courage she had.

Or maybe I just wanted someone to put my arm around, who'd listen to me ramble on about philosophy and what path to choose in life.

My father sent me a message while we were playing pool, saying one of his top guys was moving out east, and did I want to work for him? I'd enjoyed working summers at the shop. The work was challenging in the right ways, plus it paid well. I knew he wanted to pass the whole business along to me and take early retirement, but did I really want it?

Stepping into that role seemed too easy.

I always went for the tricky shot, the less-traveled path.