Skull Crater
"I think I love you."
No comment. No facial expression. Not a breath, as far as Terry could tell. David Cassidy sang the same from the truck radio, glowing innocently in the night. Shit---the song is saying the same thing. Is that why I just said that, he wondered?
Carol Corona finally looked over at him. "You gonna get to the rest of the song?"
"I didn't realize the song was on."
Terry realized that he'd really meant it. "I meant it."
They were in the parking lot of the building Carol had picked out as her apartment. He was dropping her off after a hell of a night. Since the bar, they'd eaten at Denny's (two Eggs Over My Hammy, please); walked the nature trails at Rotary park, all two point five miles; spent time on their backs looking at stars and planning the perfect planet; and bought kitchen goods and make-up at Meijers. And they hadn't kissed. It was just real attraction, chemistry, whatever.
Carol looked at Terry's hair. It was so odd; such a peculiar shape. Carved into a little helmet, almost. And was the gel in there? The shine from the street lamp glowed like Christmas eve embers waiting for Santa.
It had been the best hours of her life. As far as she knew, anyway. In reality, seeing her daughter for the first time, an hour old and smiling, had been the best moment of Carol's life. But for Corona, this time with Terry topped any in recent memory---granted, no mean feat, but she sensed in her very skin something deeper happening. Something like memory. Something permanent that transcending the dimension of awareness. She could still remember breakfast this morning, for instance.
"How can you know that?" she asked him.
Terry smiled and shrugged, wrinkling his nose up in a way that earned him the nickname "Bunny" in high school. "I don't know. I just do."
"Want to make out?" Carol said.
"Yeah, I do."
Terry reached for Carol's cheek, pulling her in closer, eyes locked in love and hope, just as the passenger side roof of his pick up truck smashed in. A beanbag sized meteorite finished its universal journey six inches into Carol's endorphin-filled head, smashing her skull to powder until just above the eyebrows. Her eyes held Terry's, rounder now, and floating with question marks. His hand still held her right cheek, and he leaned in to complete the kiss. Her head was immobile now, pinned to place by the penetrating metal.
"I love you."
Terry kissed her then, blood and something too thick to be blood flowing over the hand that cradled her soft cheek. Perversely, he caught himself floating a random thought that at least this, his true love, would never be able to deteriorate into a state of less than the perfection of this night.
**********
The tile floor smells like vomit. Probably from the dance last weekend, because the smell is worse the closer you get the to gym. I'm in the hall of Helen Keller Junior High School, sitting on the floor outside the principal's office. Mr. Hunter. Old Tomato Face. He is the only person who gets redder than my stepdad when they're mad. Scary fucking monsters.
My mom is on her way to pick me up because I don't feel good. I have a bad stomach ache. It is 1:30, but I couldn't wait even the two more hours. I have to get out of here. And my stomach hurts. It has been a lot lately, though, and my mom is going to be mad for having to come and get me again. But then she will be nice and we'll have a couple of hours together without Nick. We can be alone and it can feel normal, life, like old times.
When I have time to sit and think like this, my mind can go crazy with normalcy. Like, when things are okay, it just makes me freak out at how everything really always is all the time. Like, did you ever see The Ten Commandments? It's a movie with Moses in it, and there's this one part where he parts the Red Sea and a whole army walks across, through this path. There is water in huge tall walls on both sides of them, and they scurry through the path, which the walls of water collapse on the bad guys when they try to chase the army through. Anyway, that is what moments of relative safety feel like to me. Like I'm in the clear, on the safe, dry path, which would be all well and fine, except how about looking up, to your left and to your right, and realize that walls of ocean as tall as skyscrapers are the status quo, and you're just in a tiny little pathetically temporary window of safety before they come crashing down on you. Is it better to have that happen, have the perspective to see how bad things really are? Normally, I'm lost in the sea, mostly drowning, but with all the flailing about and gulping in of water and the panic, you don't have that much time to ponder how shitty and nightmarish things really are. I mean, that's kind of not true, because I think about constantly, because I'm in it and everything. But, I don't know. There's something both life-saving and worse than ever about these moments of feeling like myself, of feeling normal. Because I know I can't stay here, so why even know it exists at all? Life sucks.
It's nice outside. The hall to the front has a glass wall, floor to ceiling. That's where I'm sitting, in the corner where the office wall meets the glass wall. My forehead is on the glass. It's cool; I like that. It doesn't look that cold out, but the glass is pretty cold, so I guess I'll find out. My mom will pull up in the half circle driveway in front. She doesn't have to come in because Mrs. Lloyd can see the drive from her office window, and plus she already talked to my mom when she called her to tell her I wanted to come home. That I had another stomach ache, but no, no fever. I never have a goddamned fever. I wanted to try the hot water trick, but try finding some in a school hallway. Man, I guess I could've tried the bathroom. Idiot. I'll have to remember that one.
It's quiet out here. I don't hear anyone in the gym, so I guess it is pretty nice out. They must be outside for gym. Kind of humid looking out there, which totally wreaks havoc on the hair. Glad I am missing gym today.
I wish I were dead. I don't have anything to look forward to. Except escaping childhood, and that's six years away. There's no way I can survive that long.
No comment. No facial expression. Not a breath, as far as Terry could tell. David Cassidy sang the same from the truck radio, glowing innocently in the night. Shit---the song is saying the same thing. Is that why I just said that, he wondered?
Carol Corona finally looked over at him. "You gonna get to the rest of the song?"
"I didn't realize the song was on."
Terry realized that he'd really meant it. "I meant it."
They were in the parking lot of the building Carol had picked out as her apartment. He was dropping her off after a hell of a night. Since the bar, they'd eaten at Denny's (two Eggs Over My Hammy, please); walked the nature trails at Rotary park, all two point five miles; spent time on their backs looking at stars and planning the perfect planet; and bought kitchen goods and make-up at Meijers. And they hadn't kissed. It was just real attraction, chemistry, whatever.
Carol looked at Terry's hair. It was so odd; such a peculiar shape. Carved into a little helmet, almost. And was the gel in there? The shine from the street lamp glowed like Christmas eve embers waiting for Santa.
It had been the best hours of her life. As far as she knew, anyway. In reality, seeing her daughter for the first time, an hour old and smiling, had been the best moment of Carol's life. But for Corona, this time with Terry topped any in recent memory---granted, no mean feat, but she sensed in her very skin something deeper happening. Something like memory. Something permanent that transcending the dimension of awareness. She could still remember breakfast this morning, for instance.
"How can you know that?" she asked him.
Terry smiled and shrugged, wrinkling his nose up in a way that earned him the nickname "Bunny" in high school. "I don't know. I just do."
"Want to make out?" Carol said.
"Yeah, I do."
Terry reached for Carol's cheek, pulling her in closer, eyes locked in love and hope, just as the passenger side roof of his pick up truck smashed in. A beanbag sized meteorite finished its universal journey six inches into Carol's endorphin-filled head, smashing her skull to powder until just above the eyebrows. Her eyes held Terry's, rounder now, and floating with question marks. His hand still held her right cheek, and he leaned in to complete the kiss. Her head was immobile now, pinned to place by the penetrating metal.
"I love you."
Terry kissed her then, blood and something too thick to be blood flowing over the hand that cradled her soft cheek. Perversely, he caught himself floating a random thought that at least this, his true love, would never be able to deteriorate into a state of less than the perfection of this night.
**********
The tile floor smells like vomit. Probably from the dance last weekend, because the smell is worse the closer you get the to gym. I'm in the hall of Helen Keller Junior High School, sitting on the floor outside the principal's office. Mr. Hunter. Old Tomato Face. He is the only person who gets redder than my stepdad when they're mad. Scary fucking monsters.
My mom is on her way to pick me up because I don't feel good. I have a bad stomach ache. It is 1:30, but I couldn't wait even the two more hours. I have to get out of here. And my stomach hurts. It has been a lot lately, though, and my mom is going to be mad for having to come and get me again. But then she will be nice and we'll have a couple of hours together without Nick. We can be alone and it can feel normal, life, like old times.
When I have time to sit and think like this, my mind can go crazy with normalcy. Like, when things are okay, it just makes me freak out at how everything really always is all the time. Like, did you ever see The Ten Commandments? It's a movie with Moses in it, and there's this one part where he parts the Red Sea and a whole army walks across, through this path. There is water in huge tall walls on both sides of them, and they scurry through the path, which the walls of water collapse on the bad guys when they try to chase the army through. Anyway, that is what moments of relative safety feel like to me. Like I'm in the clear, on the safe, dry path, which would be all well and fine, except how about looking up, to your left and to your right, and realize that walls of ocean as tall as skyscrapers are the status quo, and you're just in a tiny little pathetically temporary window of safety before they come crashing down on you. Is it better to have that happen, have the perspective to see how bad things really are? Normally, I'm lost in the sea, mostly drowning, but with all the flailing about and gulping in of water and the panic, you don't have that much time to ponder how shitty and nightmarish things really are. I mean, that's kind of not true, because I think about constantly, because I'm in it and everything. But, I don't know. There's something both life-saving and worse than ever about these moments of feeling like myself, of feeling normal. Because I know I can't stay here, so why even know it exists at all? Life sucks.
It's nice outside. The hall to the front has a glass wall, floor to ceiling. That's where I'm sitting, in the corner where the office wall meets the glass wall. My forehead is on the glass. It's cool; I like that. It doesn't look that cold out, but the glass is pretty cold, so I guess I'll find out. My mom will pull up in the half circle driveway in front. She doesn't have to come in because Mrs. Lloyd can see the drive from her office window, and plus she already talked to my mom when she called her to tell her I wanted to come home. That I had another stomach ache, but no, no fever. I never have a goddamned fever. I wanted to try the hot water trick, but try finding some in a school hallway. Man, I guess I could've tried the bathroom. Idiot. I'll have to remember that one.
It's quiet out here. I don't hear anyone in the gym, so I guess it is pretty nice out. They must be outside for gym. Kind of humid looking out there, which totally wreaks havoc on the hair. Glad I am missing gym today.
I wish I were dead. I don't have anything to look forward to. Except escaping childhood, and that's six years away. There's no way I can survive that long.
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