Ache (6 page)

I hold it up and look at it.

“Yeah.”

She nods and lets it go.

Tonya knows some about my past, but since the other night, I think she has guessed a lot more.  She’s pretty intuitive.  And she pats me on the head when I need it, but she doesn’t cut me a lot of slack or buy into the melancholy thing.  I think that’s why I like her so much.  I know she cares about me, would do almost anything for me, but there isn’t any of that ugly pity that most people have.  It’s like they take one look at your scars and they think they know everything about you — but the pity changes soon enough and they start treating you like a plague victim, right before the judging starts.  I get none of that from Tonya.

“Todd mentioned someone at the bank, what’s her story?” she asks.

“Todd talks too much.”

She just raises her eyebrows, waiting.

“Yeah, it’s been a few weeks or so since I met her, you know flirting and all that, but I asked her out today and she has a boyfriend, so no dice.”

She finishes with the tape and then slides a plastic shower cap over my head and hugs me from behind, laying her cheek against my shoulder.  I grab her hands and hug her back and then I see it for the first time.  She always wears long sleeved shirts and goofy wrist bands that she’s died black or fingerless gloves or both.  I never thought about them before.

But when I grab her arms, I pull one of the wrist bands back and see the scars that she’s been trying to hide.

Motherfuck!

I’m suddenly seething and it takes all my concentration to stay still, just barely controlling my anger.  What the fuck happened to push her this far?  How could this have happened?  Who was asleep at the fucking switch to not see that she desperately needed help?

And right next to my fury is fear.  I can’t imagine not having Tonya with me.  I feel like asking where her parents live so I can go over and kick their asses.  Fucking fools.

I have some experience gauging the age of scars and hers aren’t that old.  But what frightens me the most is that they weren’t a cry for help, the scars run down her wrists, not across and if she tried once, she might try again.

They look deep, her suicide must have been a close call.

I’m afraid to think about what might have happened to drive her to this dark place.  I can’t imagine how much she must have been suffering.  The thought of it makes me sick to my stomach.

It’s all I can manage not to throw up.

I try to remain calm and don’t let on that I saw anything, but now I understand that there is much more to Tonya than I ever thought.  I want to wave a wand and magically make it better, but I know I can’t.  Shit doesn’t work like that.

Tonya turns back and looks at me in the mirror.  “I’m sorry.  She doesn’t know what she’s missing.  Wait.  Is this what you were wearing when you asked her out?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Connor, you’re nice and all, but Jesus, you may be single forever.  Go take shower.”

She pats me on the head and points at the clean towels as she closes the door behind her.

I sit here, shaking now, and think about what I saw and I can’t help but wonder about those baggy clothes.  I want to know what happened, but I also know that if she wanted to talk about it, she wouldn’t work so hard to hide it.  If there was any doubt before, I think I have a new friend now.

I’ve found a kindred spirit, I just wish, for her sake, she wasn’t.

Todd swings by later that evening so we don’t have to take Tonya’s van to the Happy-Time Laundromat, which, by the way — isn’t.  Laundry isn’t on the top of the list for Friday night entertainment choices, but we have a plan that eases the mind numbing monotony.  We gather the drive-through cups and lids we’ve saved and fill them up with ice, 7-Up and wine, the kind with the screw-off cap — sipping wine coolers in Styrofoam cups through bendy-straws, we’re living large now.

We pile all of my clothes and some of Tonya’s into the trunk.

“Why can’t we use your washer and dryer?” I ask Todd.

“Because that isn’t going to happen.  My parents hate you.”

“No they don’t, they love me.  What are you talking about?” I respond with indignation.

“They used to love you, then you loaned me that Circle Jerks’ album and now they hate you.”

“That album isn’t that bad.”

“They just saw the name and that was that, you were toast,” he says.

Tonya steps between us and takes a sip.  “To bad you didn’t loan him the tape, can we go, please?”

Todd’s Nova has a bench seat, so we all squeeze into the front.  Tonya throws one leg over mine so Todd can shift.

“How’s your noggin?” Todd asks as he pulls the Nova out onto the road.

“Better, every day it’s a little better,” I answer.

“If he’d take care of himself, it would be,” Tonya admonishes me.

“So dude, I’m curious, you’ve been doing yours and Tonya’s laundry at your dad’s place?” Todd asks.

“Yeah, why?”

“But she doesn’t go with you, it’s just you?”

“No, of course it’s just me, you know the situation.”  The truth is I’m too embarrassed to have her see the house.  She offered, but I made almost believable excuses.

“Ever occur to you; you’re being used?  You’re like her laundry boy, dude.  And you’re not even getting laid for the effort.”

“It’s not like I wash her underwear, she does that herself,” I say.

“Connor!” she shouts.

Todd laughs.  “Like that makes any difference?”

I turn to Tonya.  “I thought we were friends.  Is it true, all this time you’ve just been using me?” I ask through mock sobs.

“Yeah, I’m the wicked laundry witch of the west,” she says sarcastically.  “Although, I could start charging you rent...”

“Whoa, way to go Todd, now I’m going to be homeless,” I shout across the car.

“Don’t drag me into this.  If you’re stupid enough to take the bait, you’re on your own,” he says through laughter.

“Now that you mention it, I’m kind of peeved about the not getting laid for my efforts though.  How would you feel about screwing a young homeless dude?”

“Nope, you’d have to do way more than laundry for that.”

“How much more?” I ask.

“You two need some alone time?” Todd asks.

“As if.”  Tonya rolls her eyes and leans away from me.

Todd turns on the stereo and X joins us for the ride.  I can feel the heat from Tonya’s leg against mine, her hand curled in tight between us.  She’s lying against Todd’s shoulder, just staring out the windshield, her profile silhouetted against the dashboard lights.  I stare at her for a moment until she looks over, suddenly self-conscious, I look away.

I rest my cup on her knee and close my eyes, feeling the wind in my face and hair.  I can feel her leg moving against mine as she swings her foot in time to the music.

The drive over to Happy-Time ends too soon.

We pull into the Laundromat parking lot and drag our clothes out of the Nova’s trunk.

“I swear they’re filthier now than when we put them in there, do you haul dead bodies when we’re not around?” Tonya asks.

“Not today, why?” Todd responds.

I lean into the trunk.  “Is that, it smells like, well, shit?”

“Gross” Tonya says.

Todd looks away.  “I think my folks are getting a divorce.”

“I’m sorry,” I say and Tonya squeezes his arm.

“My dad dug up my mom’s prize roses, the ones she does that contest with ever year.  Anyway, he hid them in my trunk.  It took me all afternoon to get it this clean,” Todd says.

“That sucks,” I say.

“I think it’s my fault,” Todd says and looks back at us.

“No,” Tonya reassures, “it’s not your fault; it’s their problem.  Why would you think that?”

Todd’s worried look turns into a grin.  “Because, I told them their constant arguing was driving me nuts and they should get a divorce.”

“You
are
a motivational coach,” I say, shaking my head.

I don’t know if he’s for real or not, but then that’s Todd.  Tonya just turns away with an exasperated sigh and heads for the doors of Happy-Time.

The Laundromat is hot and humid as hell and our feet do stick to the floor, making squishy sucking noises as we walk.  It has fluorescent lights, some missing lamps, and the plastic covers are so dirty that the whole room has a sickly greenish cast to it — it’s a dump too, and reeks of bleach.

“Don’t let anything touch the floor,” Tonya warns as she starts loading a washer.

Todd picks out a pair of her underwear and holds them up.  “Sexy panties.  Who are these for?”

“Give me those,” she says glancing at me and then grabs for them.  I can see she’s angry and embarrassed.

“Dude,” I warn him.

Todd hands them to her and I can tell he is only dimly aware that he’s crossed a line.

“Sorry,” he says.

Tonya ignores him, tosses her underwear in, adds the detergent and then slams the lid.

“Who has the quarters?” she asks irritably.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a few quarters and starts up her machine.

She grabs her wine-cooler and sits down, ignoring both of us.

Todd and me just look at each other and then I get my own laundry going. 

As I start it up I hear Todd murmuring under his breath, “Whoa dude, slut at twelve-o’clock.”

“What?” I ask.

“Debbie the pyro, your ex-whatever,” he says, nodding towards the front door.

I turn to see Debbie and her friend Christy walking in.  They’re wearing jean shorts, flip-flops and matching t-shirts from some softball tournament.  They’re both fried-chicken tan and have stringy bleached blond hair.  They drop their laundry baskets onto the floor and stop long enough to light cigarettes and then they see me.

“Oh, Jesus,” I say.

“Look who it is, big fucking rock star.  You never called me, you think you can just fuck me and not call?  You’re a lying sack of shit, Connor Clay!”  Debbie shouts across the room as she stomps towards me, waving her cigarette like a weapon.

The other laundry goers try to ignore her.

“Piss off, Debbie,” I say.

“Piss her?  Piss you!” Christy shouts, jabbing her cigarette at me.

Todd stares at her for a moment and then starts laughing.  I can tell he thinks this is the funniest shit ever.

“That doesn’t even make sense, Christy.  Look, just go do your thing, wash your clothes and leave me alone, okay?”

“How come you never called, huh?” Debbie asks.

“You set my car on fire,” I say.

“I was mad.”

“Yeah, I got that.  It blew up.”

“It was apiece of shit anyway.”

“It blew the fuck up, Debbie.”

“So?”

“It was my car!”

“I know, that’s why I burned it!”

“You’re a crazy fucking bitch,” I say

“I – am – not – crazy!” Debbie screams, flinging ash as she waves her arms.

“I’m done.”

“You don’t get to say that, she gets to say when she’s done,” Christy shouts for no obvious reason other than to participate in the drama.

“Just get out,” I say.

“When I feel like it,” Debbie says.

Tonya jumps up and gets in Debbie’s face.  “How about you don’t pass Go, don’t collect two hundred dollars and go directly to fuck off and die!”

“Is this your new whore?” Debbie asks.

“You dated her?” Tonya scowls at me.

“He sure can pick ‘em,” Todd says.

“Oh he didn’t date me, I fucked his legs off, but we didn’t date,” Debbie says.  “Does she go down on you or is her mouth too precious?  He has a great cock, you should give it a lick sometime.  How ‘bout it Connor, you got a bomb-pop for me?”

“Enough Debbie, just enough,” I say.

“No, you don’t get to tell me shit.  You aren’t the boss of me!”

I can see Todd laughing and with Debbie’s last comment, he grabs his belly nearing hysterics.

Tonya leans over and looks Debbie in the eye.  “You, are a cunt,” she hisses.

Debbie’s eyes widen in shock.  I’m sure she’s heard it before, but it doesn’t sit too well nevertheless.

Debbie holds her cigarette out to one side and leans closer, jabbing a finger in Tonya’s face accentuating each word.  “Fuck — you.”

And then Debbie and Christy walk out.

Tonya glares at me and walks over and sits back down in front of our washers.

I’m speechless again.  I don’t know what to say.

I walk over and sit down next to her.  She doesn’t look at me.

Todd stumbles over, gasping for air.  “That was some funny shit.”

I whisper, “Dude...”

“No, that was funny as hell,” he says as he tries to catch his breath.

I lean back in my seat and put my hands on top of my head; this day just gets better and better.

A few minutes later, Debbie and Christy come back in and head straight for us.

“Oh shit,” I say under my breath.

But they don’t walk up to us, they stop at our washers instead and before we can get to them, they open the lids and pour something in.

“What are you doing?” I shout.

Tonya is done talking.  Her face tightens and she’s snarling, her lips pull back showing even white teeth.  I’ve never seen her like this before.

She’s suddenly on her feet and punches Debbie in the side of the head with a clean, crisp, round house.

Debbie bounces off the washing machines, dropping the can she was holding and blue paint spills everywhere.

“Fuck,” Todd says coming out of his chair.

Christy grabs Tonya by the hair and as Debbie takes a swing at Tonya, she slips in the paint and falls.

I run over and try to pull Christy off Tonya, but now she has Tonya’s shirt and she’s turned and pushing and tugging like she’s having an epileptic fit.  I drag Christy away, but she pulls Tonya’s sweatshirt off as she goes.

I’m embarrassed for Tonya, she’s standing in the middle of the Laundromat in her sweatpants and bra, but she doesn’t seem to notice.  She grabs Christy by the shoulder, like in the movies, and pulls her around and punches her in the mouth.  Tonya throws a nice punch.

“You fucking bitch,” Christy shrieks through bleeding lips.

Debbie gets back on her feet as the flashing red and blue lights become visible through the storefront glass.

Debbie and Christy see the reflecting lights and step back while they try to wipe the paint off their hands.

I jerk Tonya’s sweatshirt away from Christy and help Tonya put it back on.  She’s panting and trembling with rage.

We all stand back as two cops walk down the aisle towards us.  They stop short of the paint.  I’m pretty sure they saw at least some of what happened, because the one in back is smirking.

I glance around at the Friday night washing club.  There’s a pay phone near the back, one of them must have called the police as soon as Debbie started shooting off her mouth.

“We got a call someone was disturbing the peace.”

Yep, there it is.

“Luckily, we were across the street.  Looks like maybe it was you folks?  So, what’s going on here, Connor?” the cop in front asks while he points his flashlight at us.

Todd leans over.  “You know him?”

“We’ve met,” I say and then turn back to the cop.  “Just a misunderstanding, Dan-o.  I think everything is cool now.”

“Is it?” Officer Dan asks as he stares down each of us, pointing the flashlight as he goes.

Todd steps forward.  “They poured paint in our washers.”

Tonya is leaning against the washing machines, turned away from the cops, and is quick to respond, “No, just an accident, just an accident, right girls?”

Even though Christy’s lip is split and bleeding, her and Debbie both nod agreement.

“How about we all ignore the mess and y’all head on home,” Officer Dan suggests, pointing his flashlight towards the door.

“Thanks, will do,” I answer.