The You I've Never Known(15)

Today Tati and I headed downtown to see if we could scare up a good time. One of the bars had put together an unofficial Oktoberfest. Beer and barbecued sausages. Now that’s my idea of fun, especially when someone else is buying.

Technically we weren’t allowed to drink, of course. We have fake IDs, thanks to Tati’s big brother, who’s got connections, but we’re kind of scared to use them. But luck was with us, because we hooked up with a couple of soldiers from Fort Hood. They were sitting at a table outside, sucking suds and half listening to the National League Championship baseball game onscreen inside.

“Who’s winning?” I asked as we approached.

“Atlanta. Fuckers.”

“Hey, now,” said the other guy. “That’s no way to talk to a lady. Sorry, girls. Robin’s a little pissed at the Braves.”

Robin. Weird name for an overbuilt hulk with a dark buzz cut and an iron jaw.

“Houston was in over their heads,” I said, showing off just a little. “Atlanta was bound to beat ’em.”

Mr. Polite checked me out. “You like baseball?”

“Yeah. Football, too. Hockey, not so much.”

Sergeant Jason Baxter laughed and introduced himself. “Sit down, if you want.” He turned his full attention to me, while Robin homed in on Tati.

“Buy us a beer?” I asked boldly.

“How old are you, anyway?”

I flashed my bogus ID. “Old enough.”

He rolled his eyes, but laughed again and went inside, returning with two frosty mugs of foamy brew. “So tell me how come you like sports. Most sports,” he corrected.

We drank and talked for a couple of hours, exchanging information cautiously. I talked about Dad, and recently losing him, avoiding much mention of Mom. He talked about himself, mostly.

Jason’s twenty-seven, and a Texas boy through and through. Tati thought I was crazy for picking a guy so much older than me, but I liked his manners and the way he made me feel like the prettiest girl in the whole place.

“But he’s shorter than you,” Tati said.

“Who isn’t?” I replied.

“Plus, he’s got crazy eyes.”

I have to admit that’s true. They’re the color of gunmetal, and ghosts live inside them. Haunted, that’s what they are, and I guess he might be, too. Not like I knew him well enough to ask. Anyway, he was fun to spend time with. Good-looking, and charming, too. And, while Robin got aggressive after several beers, Jason remained polite.

In fact, at one point Tati was pushing Robin’s hands away and Jason stepped in. “Ain’t no fun if the lady’s not into it, you know?”

Robin thought about making trouble, reconsidered, and stomped off. Tati was upset and wanted to leave. I thanked Jason for a nice day, and for reeling in his friend. “Only what’s right,” he said. “A man’s gotta do what’s right. Any chance you’d want to see me again? I have most weekends off and the base is only an hour away.”

Uh, yeah! But I had to think of a way to be in touch without him calling the house. I asked Tati if he could call her and leave me a message. She looked at me as if I’d totally lost it, but agreed anyway.

Jason took my hand, pulled me off to one side. “Okay if I kiss you?”

I’ve kissed a boy or five, but none has ever asked if it was okay. That surprised me, and so did the kiss. I expected a soldier’s lips—rough, harsh. But his were gentle, at least at first, and it might have stopped right there, except I wanted more. It was me who moved toward urgency, not that he complained.

Truthfully, instinct drove me. His lack of demand pushed me forward, as if I had something to prove. And when he responded as men do, or at least as much as they can in a public place, I felt vindicated. More than that, I felt desirable.

And since I got home, I’ve been carefully considering how Sergeant Jason Baxter might fit into my escape plan.





Ariel



I Don’t Get a Car


For my birthday.

I do get a couple of cards.

Monica gives me one

at dinner. On the front

it shows two girls holding

hands, getting ready to go

down a giant waterslide,

and it says: FRIENDS DON’T LET

FRIENDS DO STUPID SHIT ALONE.

Inside, she wrote: Let’s do something stupid together.

Te amo, Monica.

Dad follows that up with

one of his own—a generic

birthday card decorated with pink roses, and too few candles to accurately represent the day.

Inside is a twenty-dollar bill and: Roses are pink, money is green. I can’t believe my little girl is seventeen.

Happy birthday. Love, Dad.

PS: Don’t spend it all in one place.





Dad’s Lame Attempt


At humor is not amusing.

Twenty bucks wouldn’t buy

a movie with popcorn and Skittles.

I suppose I have to give him credit for treating Monica and me to

a post-dinner flick, no popcorn or Skittles included, unless I want to spend the twenty. That’s cool.

Syrah comped our dinner, with

sundaes for dessert. Mine had

a candle, and there was singing.

So I’m full as we walk into the theater, which is pretty busy. Not surprising considering it’s Saturday night. What is surprising is Dad doesn’t go in.