How To Disappear Completely Page 7

  Then I thought of Allison for a moment and wondered what her night was like. Was she still hoping that I’d come around and go back to her? I debated calling her to tell her that I had gone to the hospital, though I was ok, but I realized that it wasn’t a real cause to go to the hospital and then I’d have to explain why I was at the club to begin with. I wasn’t ready to go through that conversation yet. Soon, though, I thought as I drifted to sleep, my mind flitting between all the characters and scenes of my life, shifted and distorted into something that only my unconscious mind could understand.

  The morning came all too quickly and without much warning as I woke up terrified. For a moment I couldn’t think of why I was so terrified. My shirt and sheets were soaking wet from sweat and it took me a minute to escape from the watery clutches of my bed. As I yanked my sheets off the mattress, I remembered my dream in all its ghastly horror and dropped my sheets on the floor. I’ll have to go talk to Nicole about it all and see what she had to say. I gathered the sheets back into a bundle and dropped them into a trash bag like a homeless Santa’s toy sack. The shower had never felt so welcoming. The water hugged me as I stepped into the tub, rubbing my shoulders, patting my back and assuaging my nerves as a good friend would after a break up. ‘There, there’ it said to me as I cleaned myself from the night’s workout on my body. Everything is going to be just fine.

  As if healed by a small Chinese man’s homegrown herbs, I felt completely rejuvenated after the shower. Stepping out on to the damp bath mat, I had never felt so good. Instead of the sense of doom I usually felt as I got ready for each day, I felt as though I had a purpose. I had a reason to be alive that day and it felt good. I even cooked breakfast, which I never did, and made the home version of a bacon, egg and cheese Mc Muffin. Breakfast normally only occurred with girls over or on special occasions, which were often one and the same.

  The mostly blank Sweet & Nasty application was still resting on my desk like a bored cat waiting for some attention. The clock on my computer reminded me that I had just enough time to finish filling it out and head down there before the store opened its doors to the world. I bullshitted my way through most of the application, as any good lawyer might, guessing what their jury wants to hear. “Alright,” I said as I signed and dated the bottom, then walked out the door.

  ?

  Carrie was there opening up the shop as I walked in the door. “Hey,” I said as if we were already friends.

  “Hey.”

  She must have had just as much of a rough night as I did because she looked terrible. It’s amazing what a bad night’s sleep and dehydration from alcohol can do to a person’s appearance.

  “So I brought this back in today.”

  “So I see.”

  “Should I just leave it with you, trusting that you’ll get it to the top of the pile for me?”

  “You sure you want to trust me with that?”

  “Not really, but what other options do I have?” I said it in a way that was just nice enough to not sound mean, but could have still been construed as mean if someone chose to take it that way. “Actually,” she added, “if you wanted to wait around a little while, Karen is coming down in about 20 minutes.

  “Aren’t I lucky then?”

  A bland smile was her response.

  “Do you want a coffee or something, I might go down to the Starbucks real quick if there’s time.” I said trying to be nice. “What kind of coffee does Karen drink?”

  “You really want this job, neh?”

  “I really want a job, yeah.”

  “It’s hard to remember, you may want to write it down.”

  “I used to work there, I’m sure I can handle it.”

  “Suit yourself, she likes an extra hot, double half-caf, non-fat, no-whip mocha with soy milk.”

  I tried to keep my composure, but clearly I couldn’t as I laughed. It boggled my mind to think that there were two people in the world, let alone in the city who would order that same drink.

  “It’s silly, right? But that’s what she likes. I’ll take a medium coffee.”

  “Sure no problem.”

  It was kind of exciting going to another Starbucks location. No one knew me there, but I felt as though I had some sort of connection with all of them, like distant cousins or adopted children, separated at birth into different families. I ordered three drinks, paid with a card and noted how nice everyone was there. This is a good store, I thought. I wondered what the manager was like. The drinks came a minute later and the guy gave me a tray without me even asking for one.

  I thanked him and headed back up the street, rounded the corner and returned to ‘The Nasty,’ as I decided to nickname it, with the three coffee drinks. Out of my peripheral vision, I noticed that two people were now inside chatting. Great, she’s here, I thought. As I walked in the door, my heart dropped to the floor like a Foosball at the beginning of a match ready to be kicked around. For a moment, I didn’t think that she recognized me, but when she saw me carrying the Starbucks cups, it hit her. “You!” She said like a villain from a Disney movie, with a voice that could have easily been Cruella de Vil or Ursula. I felt her stare from 20 feet away like a flaming arrow on course to my heart.

  This is just ridiculous, I thought, as I contemplated running out the door. What was the point of working for her? She’d do nothing but try and get me back, if she even hired me to begin with. I really need this, I said to myself as I walked up and handed her a drink. “I guess this one’s on the house.” I said trying to keep the mood light, as I handed Carrie her drink.

  “It damn well better be, what are you doing here?”

  I answered by raising up my application high enough for her to see.

  “Are you serious?” she asked sternly.

  “I guess I am.”

  “You think I’d actually hire you?”

  “Maybe you’re as desperate as I am.”

  “You can barely even make a drink right; what makes you think you could get anything right here?”

  “To be fair, I doubt that anyone is as specific about their novelty cakes as they are about their coffee drinks.”

  She was clearly offended at the fact that I had both put her down as well as her business.

  “Look,” she huffed, “I have no intention of hiring you. I’ll take this application and keep it just in case no one else applies, but you may as well keep looking elsewhere. You will be nothing but a worst case scenario, if that.”

  “Don’t I get any points for remembering your drink? I can’t be all that worthless if I can remember something so specific.”

  She took a sip and tried very hard not to enjoy it.

  “Even if I gave you a few points for that, you’d still be far from breaking even, let alone having a good score.”

  I gave her the finger with my eyes.

  “Carrie, it was nice to see you again. You’re both welcome for the drinks.”

  As I pushed the door open, I heard the beginnings of her version of the Starbucks incident. I would have loved to hear her version to see how deranged I was in it. How deep into the circles of hell she wanted me to be sent. I would have loved to see Carrie’s reaction to the whole thing, but alas it didn’t seem to be my destiny. I ran a few numbers through my head to figure out a ballpark figure for the chances of her being the woman that I wanted a job from, and decided that I had a better chance of winning the lottery. On the walk back home, I stopped in at a corner store to buy a lottery ticket. Most people think that luck, whether good or bad, is a lot like lightning when operating on such small chances–that it doesn’t come around more than once or twice a lifetime. I decided to find out for myself and put 20 bucks down to win on the Massachusetts Jackpot.

  When I got home, an instant message from Nicole was waiting for me, as well as one from Allison. Oddly enough, they both said the same thing. “What are you doing today?”

  I answered Nicole’s first with a “hanging out with you?” Apparently that was the right a
nswer.

  nickylox85: good, maybe you could come over for dinner?

  jbone1492: that sounds great, what time?

  nickylox85: 5:30ish? you can help me cook.

  jbone1492: should i bring anything?

  nickylox85: just some whiskey if you want it. though after last night maybe that’s not the best idea.

  jbone1492: yeah, we’ll see.

  Though after the excitement at the cake shop today I felt like I could certainly use a good drink.

  nickylox85: did you drop off that application?

  jbone1492: i did, and you are never going to believe what happened.

  nickylox85: what?

  jbone1492: i’ll just tell you tonight, alright?

  nickylox85: ok, I have one more class to head to today. i’ll see you tonight ok?

  jbone1492: i’ll be there.

  She left as usual with a ? and put up an away message that said ‘class, then josh ?’. I certainly wasn’t used to all the smiley faces, but supposed that I could get used to them. I had a few hours to kill and wondered what to do. Just for fun I decided to write. Remembering how amazing the band was the night before, I decided to write a mock review of the show. I tried to start without thinking too hard and just letting the words find their own way out of my fingertips.

  I typed non-stop for a few minutes then leaned back in my chair and read it back aloud. This is actually pretty good, I thought, and decided to print it out to bring to Nicole. She was the bug carrying the spores of inspiration in my ear telling me to write, so she may as well get credit for it and see the fruits of it. Fortunately and unfortunately my review took only 15 minutes to write and I still had a few hours before leaving. I wondered how many websites there are that review shows and albums and how many of them may need freelance writers.

  There were a surprising number of sites that raised their hands to Google’s inquiry, so I picked out the most promising ones for further research. All of the few sites that I found had staff writers and surely didn’t need any more. Then I tried to find a blog or two on the subject, resulting in more dismal prospects.

  I didn’t know the first thing about websites, but I thought that maybe I could start a blog of music reviews. If I wrote specifically for college kids, I could probably get a reputation going. My mind buzzed with ideas like a coffee shop full of beat poets–everyone vying to be heard as a fresh voice. I spent the rest of the afternoon looking into how to make it happen. I signed up with BlogSpot.com and set up my first blog. Boston Gig Reviews. I used my review of Wally and the Whale as the first post. With just enough time to shower, get ready, and head over to Nicole’s, I sat back for a moment to marvel at my creation. I didn’t create very often, nothing original at least. Coffee drinks, essays, some dumb, trite poetry were always part of my palette, but nothing as original as this. And as much as I loved music, I had never learned to write it.

  After hurriedly getting ready for the evening, I marched my way triumphantly over to Nicole’s as if I had just been part of a military coup, ready for a new life. She opened the door, happy to see me, but her face wasn’t quite as full of life as normal. Asking a girl if she’s alright is like jaywalking across a black ice-covered 4 lane street: You think you can make it safely to the other side, but you’re more likely to slip and fall to a most certain death. I was not in the mood to die. She kissed me blankly on the cheek and I thought how it may as well have been Allison. I decided that I’d better ask. “Are you ok?” I spat out hesitantly.

  “Yeah, school was rough today.”

  “What happened?”

  “Apparently my ex-boyfriend has been following me. Last night he was there at the club, watching us. Then he interrupted my class this afternoon and said some pretty terrible things, in front of everyone. My teacher ended up calling security and they escorted him out recommending that I get a restraining order. After class the campus security helped me fill out the paperwork and now he’s not allowed within 50 feet of me.”

  “I don’t know what to say. That’s just awful.”

  I really didn’t know what to say.

  “I’ve never had to do anything like that before.”

  “Hopefully you never have to again now.”

  I pulled her close to me and put my arms around her as her hands covered her face to shield me from view of tears. I’d learned a long time ago that often the best thing you can say is nothing. Instead, I offered the comfort of my arms for as long as she needed, stroking her long, soft strawberry blonde hair as she wept quietly. Eventually she calmed herself and pried her face away from my tear stained sweater. “I’m sorry.” She said as if something were her fault.

  “There is no way that this could be your fault.”

  “I just didn’t mean to ruin the evening.”

  “Nothing is ruined. Let’s get you a drink.”

  Suddenly my whole day seemed too pale in comparison, so I opted to not share until she was ready to ask. I thought that I would have sounded either like I was trying to make my morning seem worse than her incident, or my afternoon would have seemed like bragging. I made her a whiskey sour, poured myself a double on the rocks, and ushered her to a seat on the couch where we could relax for a minute. “It’s all over now, let’s just try and relax.”

  “Ok.” She said horribly unconvincingly.

  This was not going well. I had to think of the catalyst, the thing to turn the whole evening around, and fast. “I took your advice” I said hopefully, “I decided to start a music review blog.”

  Her face widened and mine lifted in response. “That’s so great!” What are you going to review?”

  “Well I was thinking of starting with the band from last night and then just go to shows and check bands out and then write about it. Maybe eventually they’ll invite me to shows and stuff. I might try and keep it indie and local.”

  “That is a great idea. You already wrote something about last night?”

  “It’s actually already online.”

  “No way! Let me see it.”

  I navigated my way to the as yet undesigned blog and let her read the lonely review.

  “This is so great.” She smiled, “you should send this to the band. I’m sure they’d love it.”

  ‘I did it!’ I thought. It worked. For the rest of the night we laughed, drank, cooked, and after I had a little more to drink she got me to learn a few more dance moves. I made her promise, though, that she’d make me drink more water and take more breaks if we ever went to another dance again, to which she gladly agreed. This is how a relationship should be, I thought: fun. We just had fun together. We could just hang out together and have plenty to talk about. There was so much to learn about each other and we wanted to learn it all. I waited for a while before telling her about what happened that morning and the absurdity of the coincidence that the fat bitch from Starbucks was also the manager of Sweet & Nasty. It hit me then that I’d probably have to start over on a job search. Even if they did call me back I wasn’t entirely sure that I’d want to work for the woman who had actually gotten me fired from my previous job. I was tempted to apply at the Starbucks on Newbury, but figured that I wouldn’t have a chance after being fired from another, unless I lied and didn’t put that on my résumé. Then I’d just seem like a fast learner, which is never bad.

  No, that would be stupid. The point in the evening came where a decision had to be made about the precarious sleeping arrangements of new lovers. Should I stay or should I go? I still wasn’t sure if I was ready to make the plunge into a sexual relationship with Nicole as the guilt would be unbearable when I actually finally talked with Allison. So I made the decision to leave once again. She actually asked me to stay, but I explained why I had to leave which made her want me to stay even more.

  The look in a girl’s eyes when she wants you to follow her into her room and into bed for the first time is one of the few things that still make me believe in God. It took every ounce of willpower and persuasion to convince myself
to leave, but eventually I did and tried to think about how amazing it would be when I finally got to stay over. I walked home in a pleasant whiskey haze without a care in the world and later that night about Nicole and how things might play out on our first night together, whenever that would be.

  ?

  About halfway home, every few steps I felt as though someone was following me, though every time I turned around to look there was no one there. I had never felt so spooked by the silence or the air of a dark night before, and felt in my gut that something was wrong. After a few more minutes of that feeling coursing through my body, I suddenly felt the sharp sting of a blow to the back of my head. I didn’t scream, though I was hit hard enough to make my eyes water. I felt around the back of my head with my hand but didn’t find any blood. I turned around at that same instant to see the outline of a manly figure through a watery blurred vision.

  The pain was enough to render my mind completely useless for a moment. Not thinking of a means of retaliation or escape, I just stood there, stunned. The figure started moving towards me at an unbelievable speed, and quickly, without thinking, my mind screamed, “Run!” I bolted as fast as I could down the street, but I was still a little drunk. I could hear him catching up to me and just before he finally did, I dropped to the ground and he tripped over me, completely unprepared for the accidental defensive strategy.

  His hands couldn’t react in time and he fell hard and fast square onto his chin. He squirmed a little on the ground and turned to face me. Blood was pouring out his chin like a faucet. It was pretty clear that he was badly injured, but he showed no signs of it. He must have been on some sort of amphetamine or speed, because he got up as if nothing had happened, wiping the blood away from his chin though it quickly reappeared. By the time he stood up, I was also on my feet and had locked myself into a defensive position that I’d probably seen in a movie, though I was completely unprepared for that sort of thing. He leapt forward with a fist moving faster than his body and it struck me across the cheek before I could even think to react. The pain was unbelievable.