On the Other Side of Nowhere

In any city, in any country, on any day, there are enough people to open up the possibility of losing yourself to anonymity, disappearing, becoming no one. In Nowhere, the reverse was true. With such a small, concentrated population, it was almost guaranteed that everyone would at one point or another become someone, whether they wanted to or not. News travelled fast here. By the end of the week, everyone at the diner knew I had a date with Dick Richardson, and everyone had something to say on the matter.

Clancy played the role of protective older brother, the role my own brother had played back home in Milwaukee. “If he tries any funny business,” he told me in his best impression of a stern voice, “he’s gonna have to deal with me, alright?”

As she was passing, Shauna let out a short bark of laughter. “What’re you gonna do, Clance? Tell him a joke and kill him with laughter?”

Clancy pretended to be offended since we all knew he couldn’t hurt a fly, even if he wanted to. “I might!”

She rolled her eyes good-naturedly, shifted the weighty pile of plates in her arms, and fixed me with a serious look. “Tell him he won’t have to deal with Clancy, he’ll have to deal with me.”

I nodded and swallowed hard because the threat of dealing with Shauna was far worse than that of dealing with Clancy. Maybe it was the powerful Southern aura around her, or the fact that she was my boss and the most authoritative figure in my life, but the thought of getting on Shauna’s bad side absolutely terrified me.

Even Fernand, the cook, took it upon himself to advise me. “Don’t give it up too easily,” he said. I bit back the urge to tell him I had zero intentions of giving ‘it’ up at all, especially not to Dick Richardson.

The only one who was quiet on the subject of my upcoming date with Dick, surprisingly, was Natalie. Although she didn’t talk, this didn’t stop her from smiling at me every time the subject was brought up. She did it in a way which reminded me of being back in high school, when the popular kids would snigger behind their hands at the girl with toilet paper stuck to the bottom of her shoe or her underwear tucked into her skirt.

With that one smile, she unnerved me, because no matter what anyone says, high school never really ends, it just relocates.



In my life, I’d been on exactly two dates, neither of which was very inspired or ended how I would have liked, so my hopes for my date with Dick weren’t particularly high. I dressed nicely in a flowy, yellow dress and white cardigan, and even used what was left in the tube of old mascara Collette had given me since I couldn’t afford any makeup of my own. It clumped horribly on my lashes though, and I was midway through trying to wipe it off when there was a knock downstairs. Hoping that the panda eyes I’d given myself weren’t too noticeable, I went to answer it.

Dick was chewing on something when I opened the door, rolling it around in his mouth with a moist, gumming sound. It made his moustache wiggle like a caterpillar and his Adam’s apple bulge as he swallowed it. His aviator sunglasses were on his face, but he lowered them when he saw me, a low whistle escaping from under his hairy, top lip.

“Uh, thanks,” I murmured, adding for the sake of politeness, “You look nice, too.”

What Dick really looked like was a police officer. He hadn’t bothered to change out of the pressed brown shirt and khaki pants his job required him to wear. “What, this old thing?” he said, spit-shining the badge pinned to his chest. When he was done, he gestured to the patrol car parked behind him, opening the passenger side door for me. Not looking forward to another ride in a police cruiser (one was enough to last me a whole lifetime), I forced myself to get in, making sure to keep my knees together, ladylike.

One date, I reminded myself.

The car ride was refreshingly free of the inane wee-wawing of the siren, and it was mercifully short. In fact, it barely lasted half a minute as Dick pulled up only a few buildings away from my own. I wondered what was the point of driving if we weren’t even going to leave the street?

Dick, trying to be a gentleman, insisted I remain in the vehicle until he came ‘round and opened my door for me. “We’re here,” he announced with gusto after I’d politely declined allowing him to take my hand and physically help me out of the car.

I tried not to look too confused. “The pub?”

“Yes, ma’am!”

I hesitated and lowered my voice in case anyone overheard. “I can’t go in there - I’m underage!”

Apparently Dick didn’t share my concern, simply stating, “Nobody cares about that here. Come on inside, it’ll be fine; trust me.”

Despite his assurances, I was still reluctant. “It’s against the law, Dick!” By bringing up the legal system which, as a police officer, he was paid to uphold, I hoped to change his mind. Unfortunately, he was unyielding.

“When you’re with me, Ava,” he said, “you are the law.”

So I ended up following Dick inside the pub where the air smelled of beer, cigarettes, and the sweat of the punters. The place was crowded with alcoholics and future-alcoholics alike. A country song drowned underneath the loud thrum of laughter and clinking glasses. Dick threaded his way through the throng, occasionally stopping to greet a few familiar faces, but more unfamiliar ones. The entire time, I kept out of the way, trying to remain invisible, paranoid of getting spontaneously carded and thrown out.

Finally, we came to the bar at the far end and two old men dressed like lumberjacks vacated their seats for us. My feet dangled off the edge of the tall stool, barely brushing the carpet below; it made me feel like even more of a child than I already did.

“Barkeep!” Dick called. It was too dark inside the pub for him to see with his sunglasses on, so he’d removed them, allowing me a view of a fairly ordinary pair of blue eyes. Down the way, the bartender turned in our direction, and I nearly melted into the floor.

Dylan.

He’d swapped his white t-shirt for a black one and gotten rid of the cardigan and suspenders, but it was still unmistakably him. His eyebrows went up when he saw me sitting there and he wouldn’t stop staring as he approached. I squirmed and blushed under his scrutiny. “Are you sure she’s old enough to be in here?” he asked, directing the question at Dick.

“Course she is,” Dick lied easily before ordering two bourbons. I protested that I didn’t drink bourbon until Dick informed me they were both for him. I ordered water. Dylan asked if I wanted bottled or tap, and I told him the latter before he went away, not quite looking convinced that I was as old as my date claimed.

Dick winked at me as soon as Dylan’s back was turned.

One date, I told myself again.



Dick was quite a drinker. We’d barely been at the pub for two hours when Dylan cut him off, saying he’d had enough for one night. Dick roared with protest while I sent a grateful look at the bartender, thinking ruefully of the bourbon stain my date had gotten on my white cardigan a few minutes before.

To begin with, the talk hadn’t flowed well between us. I’d never really been one to initiate conversation and Dick clearly had no idea what to speak about, so instead he drank, which loosened his tongue considerably. When he wasn’t boasting about his imminent promotion to the lofty position of Deputy, he was complaining about Natalie and what a horrible girlfriend she’d been in high school. I nodded and smiled in all the appropriate places, but felt utterly bored. It was a relief to finally get some respite from the sound of Dick’s voice when he declared he was going to inquire about changing the radio station.

“So how old are you exactly?” a now-familiar voice asked to my left once I was alone. Dylan stood behind the bar, cleaning an empty glass with a white cloth, looking over at me. “Because I know for sure you’re not twenty-one.”

I bit my lip and glanced around nervously. “Honestly?” He nodded, moving closer so I wouldn’t have to throw my voice so far. I wasn’t sure why I trusted him, but I did. It might’ve had something to do with the fact that he hadn’t had me thrown out yet. “I’ll be nineteen soon.”

Of all the reactions I expected, the flabbergasted one I received was not high on the list. Dylan looked positively floored. “You’re only eighteen?! That’s - I mean, you’re - gosh - you’re young!”

“Eighteen’s not that young,” I retorted, feeling a little defensive that he was so shocked. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-four last month.”

It took a great deal of effort for me not to mimic his stunned reaction. Twenty-four! That meant there was over five years between us! “Wow, you’re old!”

“Twenty-four’s not that old,” he muttered, sounding exactly how I had moments ago. “Why? Is age a problem for you?” He dipped his head, pretending to be focusing on polishing the already-spotless glass, hiding his expression, but the reddened tips of his ears still poked up from under his hair.

“No, it’s not a problem for me,” I answered after some thought. If there was one thing about high school which truly did end, it was that age was no longer such an issue. People weren’t segregated into classes and grades anymore, and the stigma attached to grazing outside one’s herd was removed.

Dylan nodded casually at my response. “It’s good to know you’re not an ageist,” he said, lifting his head and smiling at me. I smiled too and for a brief instant I thought we might’ve had a moment, like the kind I read about in trashy romances I bought from the Odds & Ends store, but a great crash at the other end of the pub ruined it.

“Whaddaya mean you can’t change the radio station! I’m the law, and I say you should change the darned station!”

Dylan’s eyes shot to the cause of the disturbance then back to me; I swear there was pity in them. “I should go help my boss,” he said, quickly setting down the clean glass and leaving me by myself once more.

When he was gone, I laid my head on the bar. I want to go home, I thought, unsure if I meant the room above the drug store or Milwaukee.

Either one was better than here.