Garrett Nickelsen Tastes Like Fart

“I hope Denny’s is fine,” he said as he pulled up into the diner, finding a parking spot near the front.

“No, it’s good.”

“Cool.” He nodded and slipped off his seat belt.

I followed him into the restaurant as he tucked his brown wayfarers into the neck of his loose tank top. In the lobby, the walls lined with black and white photos reminded me of how one time during breakfast, Heather had stuck her gum behind one of the frames, but was caught by the manager. We ended up getting kicked out before we could even get breakfast. With a small smile, I shook my head and abandoned the memory, walking up next to Garrett as he requested a table for two. The disapproving look the plump, aged hostess gave me made a shiver involuntarily rake my body, and I regretted, once again, the track shorts hugging my hips.

“Here y’all are,” she announced cheerily, standing in front of a booth, the menus tucked under her arm. Garrett and I silently slipped in, and she set the menus in front of us. “What can I get y’all to drink?”

“Coke,” Garrett muttered, opening his menu.

“Diet Coke,” I replied, giving her a grateful smile.

“I’ll give you kids a minute to figure out what you’re having,” she told us, sending Garrett a smile. We both nodded and she shuffled away as I hastily called out a feeble thank you.

Garrett chuckled behind his menu and set it down, a small smile on his lips.

“What?”

He shook his head, still grinning like an idiot. “Nothing.”

I rolled my eyes and opened my menu, looking for something good to eat. Heather and I would come here a lot Saturday mornings. It was like a ritual to us: she would order coffee and get either pancakes, a veggie omelet, or French toast; I would eagerly scan the menu for a breakfast platter, but I would always end up ordering the Lumberjack Slam. This morning was no different.

“Except I’ll have an extra stack of pancakes,” I added to the waitress, feeling a bit empty from dinner last night. I’d only picked at my lasagna out of anxiety over my first party.

“And some more Diet Coke,” Garrett said as he handed her our menus, gesturing to my empty glass.

“Sure thing,” she replied readily, taking the plastic cup with her.

Garrett chuckled again, reaching for the salt and pepper shakers at the end of our table and setting them in front of him.

“I can’t believe you already emptied out that whole glass,” he murmured as he slid the shakers over the table like hockey pucks.

“Well,” I replied sheepishly, “I really like Diet Coke.” He smirked as the sliding salt shaker slammed into the pepper. “Heather always tells me to take it easy when we come here,” I belatedly added. I reached for the flip chart of margaritas, scanning the drinks on one page, all different shades of pink with lemon wedges in the tall glasses.

“You guys come here a lot?” he asked, unrolling his napkin and twisting the knife between his fingers.

“Some Saturdays, like once a month or whatever.”

We kept at the small talk until our food came. Garrett told me about his family, mostly about his older brother Trey, and I just counted off my brothers and their respective ages on my fingers to an impressed Garrett. But once his sausage and bacon omelet was placed in front of him, he practically double fisted half of it all at once. A bit of wet egg was left dripping from the corner of his mouth and he hastily wiped at it when I pointed it out, a small blush tickling his jaw.

“Can I see the list?” he asked when the waitress came by with my third refill. I nodded and shoved my first stack of pancakes out of the way, pulling the infamous list from behind my cell phone cover and setting it in front of me.

He reached across the table and slid it forward, but when he brought it up to his face, his nose crinkled in disgust. “Dammit. Got some syrup on it.” He licked his thumb and swiped it over the corner of the list, his eyes narrowed in concentration.

An unusual giggle left my mouth, but it was muffled behind another forkful of pancakes. “My fault,” I choked out, reaching for my drink.

“Whatever.” He shrugged his shoulders and flipped open the page. “You mind if I read these aloud?”

I set my Diet Coke back onto the table. “No. I think I forgot a couple anyway.” I shrugged and started attacking the second stack of pancakes next to my untouched hash browns and meat platter.

“Okay, uh…” He reached up to rub his neck before flattening the page out on the table, running his fingers over the crinkled edges. “Number one, go to a party. Number two, go to a concert.” A small smile tugged at his lips, but he kept reading. “Number three, make a new friend, okay… Four, pierce my ears. Wait, y-your ears, not mine.” I rolled my eyes, cutting out another triangle of stacked, fluffy, syrupy goodness. He scratched behind his ear and kept on going. “Five, break curfew. Six, go out to eat at 3 a.m.” He lightly laughed, muttering a “That sounds fun,” before scanning his eyes over the paper once again and folding it back up.

I was kind of glad he didn’t read number seven aloud.

He tossed it next to the salt and pepper now abandoned by his empty plate, and folded his hands on top of the table. I was anxious about what he was about to say; nervous about some snide, haughty comment about how I needed to get out more or how I was sheltered beyond belief.

To be honest, I knew I was kind of sheltered. Besides the packed hallways at school, the truckload of ‘80s movies I’d seen over the years, and Heather’s horrific stories of school parties and her daily rant over the school’s rumor mill, I didn’t really know much. I knew parties were extremely crowded and smoky (thanks to last night and Say Anything), I knew that weed made you hungry (Fast Times at Ridgemont High), that guys in bands were cool (That Thing You Do!), and I knew that popular girls had the capacity to be even more evil than your run-of-the-mill dictator (Clueless). Most of what I knew, I only based off the movies my brothers and I had seen over the years; first-hand experience was what I lacked. To be quite frank, I didn’t mind. At least, not until a few days ago.

But instead of saying anything, he screwed his mouth to the side and picked up his fork, twisting it between his fingers.

“Could I have some of your pancakes?”

My fork was caught between my lips, my cheeks practically exploding with half-chewed pancakes. I probably looked like some sort of sandy-haired baboon. I slid the fork from my mouth and quickly swallowed, choking a bit as I did so. I brought a fist to my lips and uttered a strangled cough, reaching for my Diet Coke to save me. I nodded and took a generous sip, setting my fork down by the rest of my untouched breakfast.

“Sure,” I choked out, sliding the plate of half-finished flapjacks in front of me.

Garrett still bit back his lip, a laugh threatening to escape. I shook my head, a small smile on my face, and nodded, pushing the plate nearer to him.

He let out a hushed bark of laughter before covering his mouth with a fist. “S-Sorry,” he mumbled, quickly stabbing my leftovers with his fork, a smirk still present on his lips. “Undh fthanks,” he added behind a mouthful of pancakes.

I nodded and reached for the salt and pepper, sliding the rest of my breakfast in front of me. I generously added some to my eggs and hash browns, and some more pepper to my sausage. When I looked up after cutting up the rest of my miniature ham steak, Garrett was just polishing off the rest of the plate with his tongue, a drop of syrup lingering on his chin.

“Garrett, you’ve…” I sniggered and pointed to my chin.

His eyebrows shot up and he set down the plate, biting his lip. He laughed softly, reaching for his rumpled napkin. “Yeah… I’m sort of a messy eater.”

I shrugged and poked a piece of ham with my fork, quickly taking a bite.

“So… about this… list thing.”

I peered at Garrett as I shoved another piece of ham into my mouth. “Mmm?”

“Well…” He reached for his abandoned Coke, untouched since we sat down, barely an ice cube still floating in it. He took a sip and a sour look reached his face, his eyes crinkling in disgust. He set it back down before folding his arms onto the table, rushing a hand over his hair.

“You… God, how do I say this?” He bit his lip and looked straight at me, and I let my fork dangle from my lips, my fingers loosely curled around it. “You shouldn’t be going by a list. What you’ve got here—what you want to do—this is life. I mean, this isn’t jumping out of a plane or… or traveling the world. This is regular stuff.”

“‘Regular stuff?’” I asked, the fork still dangling from my mouth.

“Work with me here,” he pleaded, his voice carrying a slight exasperated tone.

“Okay… So what you’re saying is that I should just, what? Forget about the list?”

“Yes!” He nodded enthusiastically, reaching for a piece of bacon on my plate. I slapped his hand away, giving him a jokingly hard look, my lips curled in a blithe smile.

“And do what?” I reached for my drink and took a quick sip. Garrett nodded towards it, his eyes bright and pleading, so I let him take a sip. I quietly laughed as his eyes crinkled in deep disgust and he smacked his lips together.

“Forgot you got Diet. Tastes like shit.” He shook his head like a wet dog and stuck his tongue out, making a strangled noise.

“But what do I do then, if I don’t have the list?” I challenged, trying to swallow the laugh in my throat.

Garrett reached for the crinkled list by the margarita menu and opened it, and scanning it quickly. His eyes lingered near the middle of the page, and he straightened up in his seat. He shrugged and tossed the list to the side, folding his arms as he gave me a flat look.

“Don’t do anything,” he stated, his fingers tapping against his farmer’s tanned arms. “I know this will sound completely cliché or whatever, but just live. It’s that easy.”

I snorted and took a bite of my sausage, not bothering to cut it up. “Since when did you become a life coach, Dr. Phil?”

He smirked, and reached for a piece of my bacon; this time, he stole it faster than I could swat his fingers away and took a large, haggard bite. “It runs in the Nickelsen blood,” he shrugged, shoving the other half into his mouth barely a second later.

I easily giggled and rolled my eyes when the smile on his face grew, his eyebrows perking up. “Right.”

I was able to finish most of my breakfast by the time another ten minutes passed by, as well as finish my fifth refill of Diet Coke. Garrett helped me finish what I couldn’t, wolfing down every scrap I offered him faster than Corny digging into one of my grilled cheese sandwiches he loved for me to make.

Garrett obnoxiously patted his stomach as we stepped back outside into the dry heat and high sun, slipping his wayfarers over his blue eyes. When he gave me a cheeky grin, I countered with the best glare I could muster. He had insisted on paying both of our tips. I tried arguing, but when he pointed out I only had the twenty, I bit my tongue and let him pay it, leaving me with nothing more to say than a grumbled, tight thank you.

“Oh, crap! I totally forgot the list!” I smacked my hand against my forehead, turning around to go back inside and get it, but Garrett caught my forearm in his rough fingers.

“No, I’ll go get it. Start up the car,” he insisted, unclipping the keys from his belt loop and handing them to me. I gave him another eye roll as he bounded back into the Denny’s, a hand raking through his dark copper locks.

When he plopped down into the driver’s seat, the corners of his mouth were slightly pulled down as he wordlessly shifted into reverse and backed out of his space, the engine wheezing lightly.

“Did they throw it away?” I asked, eyeing his empty hands.

“Yeah, the table was cleared,” he said, keeping his eyes on the road.

“Oh.”

“So now the question is…” He shot me a smile before focusing back on the road. “Do you need to go home?”

I didn’t know if I had to. Mother usually let me hang out with Heather after we ate breakfast, but this was a boy. A boy I had done stuff with last night. If Mother knew this, she’d have my head. I was her good, studious, sheltered daughter—as sheltered as sheltered gets when you watch a different movie every week growing up. I didn’t hang out with grungy skaters like Julian, I didn’t get caught smoking weed like Samuel, I didn’t stay up all night like Corny, and I didn’t dump girls all over the place like Luke still did.

I was about to open my mouth to answer, but my words were cut off when my phone started ringing in my pocket. Garrett laughed at the ringtone—Destiny Child’s “Survivor”—and I opened it up, barely glancing at the caller I.D.

“So, when are you going to get back? I was thinking we could hang out or go swimming or whatever,” Heather said, her voice excited and peppy. It sounded like she had overdone her coffee this morning.

“We just left,” I said, glancing at Garrett. He kept his eyes on the road.

“Well get your ass back to my place, and maybe that hot piece you seem to have picked up can tag along, too!” she suggested. I could see the grin on her face as she spoke.

I chuckled uneasily, switching my phone to the other ear. “I don’t think so,” I mumbled, my fingers playing with the hem of my shorts. “That’s just kind of weird.”

“Whatever,” she scoffed. “I expect you here in ten.”

“But—”

“Yes was supposed to be your answer.” I stuttered nervously, trying to think of an excuse and still playing with my shorts. “I’ll see you then,” she rushed out, and she hung up without letting me protest anymore.

I sighed and shook my head, slipping my phone back into the tiny pocket of my shorts. “That was Heather,” I explained. He nodded and flipped his turning signal, veering to the middle lane. “Do you mind taking me back to her place?” I hesitantly asked.

“Naw, it’s cool.” He flipped down his visor and turned up the air conditioning, a smile still on his face. “I live like right by her, so it’s no big deal, Elise,” he added a moment later, a hint of amusement in his voice.

“Oh, right.”

He chuckled and reached for the CD booklet in the cup holder, dropping it into my lap. “Pick a CD. The quiet’s killing me.”

I hesitated, weary of the music he could have in the case. It’s not that I judged people by what they listened to; I just usually stuck to Father’s kind of music. And like most people my father’s age, half the music after 1980 gave me a headache. “Which one?”

The smile on his face grew as he shrugged. “Whichever one you want.”

I unzipped the case and flipped through a couple of the sleeves. Every CD was the same, down to the same Memorex logo imprinted on each one to how they were all unmarked: not a single one of the silver discs had a bit of Sharpie on them. I stifled a giggle—quite uncharacteristic of me—and pulled out one near the middle of the case, popping it in.

Once an acoustic guitar started blasting from the speakers, Garrett shot his hand to the volume knob and turned it down significantly, an abashed grin plastered on his face. “Sorry about that,” he muttered as he turned his eyes back to the road. “I usually don’t have, y’know, g—” He suddenly clamped his mouth closed and cleared his throat. “I’m usually driving by myself, y’know?” he tried again, the words rolling slowly off his tongue.

“So you blast your music?” I asked, my fingers tapping on my leg to the beat of the song as a raucous voice flowed through the speakers.

“Basically,” he confirmed, veering to the right. “Usually metal or something like that, but I think you picked out, like, the only acoustic mix I have in there.”

I mentally breathed a sigh of relief. Corny really liked metal, and when he finally got his license his senior year, we’d drive to school together. He took immense pleasure in bothering me by leaving the radio on so that every time he started his car, the same noise was blasted until I quickly shut the stereo off. Like any brother, he just loved to be annoying.

“You know how it is, like, when you’re driving and you just want to blast some music?”

“Not really.” Garrett quirked an eyebrow as we slowed to a stop at the light ahead of us. “I don’t have my license just yet.”

An amused grunt escaped his lips as the light turned green. “Really? How old are you?”

“I turned seventeen in April."

“Yeah? Me too. In February, though. Not April. That’d be weird. But like, not in a bad way. You know. Just… coincidentally.” I could see him grimace from the corner of my eye before he turned up the music.

It was a minute later that he pulled up to Heather’s house, easing behind her silver Ford parked in the front.

“So, uh… Hey, thanks for coming with me—er, coming to breakfast,” Garrett said, turning in his seat to face me with a small grin. “I know you didn’t really want to or anything, but I’m thinking, y’know, with some of my help, you could really do this whole ‘living’ thing.”

“Oh, I…” I paused, not sure what to say.

“Well, I’m not saying that you have to let me help. That’s… That’s just… No. What I meant was that if you need my help, you, uh, know where to find me.” His words were staggered and he waved his hand in circles, as if it would help him stutter out the right words.

“Actually, that doesn’t seem like such a bad idea.” I turned around in my seat as well, the song on the stereo changing again as I smirked at the idea of Garrett and I teaming up so I could get out of my shell. Heather would approve. And she’d get off my back.

I loved Heather, I really did, but if the party last night was any proof, she was a bit overbearing. She had all these weird ideas of what she wanted to me do and expected me to do them. I knew that’s what the list was about in the first place: a one-way ticket outside of this hermit shell I lived in. But with Garrett in the picture, he would help me get out of it without the itinerary Heather was sure to have. Heather would have some great, crazy ideas, but that’s not what I wanted.

“Okay, I’ll tell you what,” Garrett said, tapping his fingers on his knees. “You come over to my house, say… Thursday. Just to hang. We’ll do whatever. My brother Trey could even pitch in. God knows he can fuck shit up.” I inwardly cringed as he nodded, and a crooked smile grew on his face as he bit his lip. “What do you say?”

I smiled as well, and slipped off my seatbelt. “Definitely.”

Garrett flung off his seatbelt as well and cut off the engine, slipping out of his seat before I could ask him what he was doing. I slipped out of the car, but rested my arms over the top of the Cavalier and the open door, my brow furrowed in confusion.

“What are you doing?” I asked, a grin tugging at my lips.

“Walking you to the door,” he sheepishly replied, turning around after he shut his door. “I can’t say my mom didn’t raise me right,” he added as I smiled again, another unusual giggle escaping my lips.

“Okay,” I said, shutting the car door.

Garrett and I cut across the lawn again to Heather’s front door, and as we awkwardly stood on the porch, I could’ve sworn I saw Heather’s bright blonde head walk by the windows. I shook my head and tucked my thumbs into the small pockets of my track shorts as Garrett crossed his arms over his chest.

“So, do you want me to pick you up on Thursday?” he asked.

“Sure, I mean, if you don’t mind—” He shook his head. “But, uh… My address. Don’t you need it?”

“I guess you could just, like, text me… or… whatever,” he mumbled, reaching up to rub the back of his neck.

“Here,” I said, reaching for my phone. “You should put your number in for that.”

He chuckled and held out his other hand to deny my phone, sending me a small smile. “I already did.”

“Oh,” I squeaked, quickly tucking it back into my shorts. I didn’t know what to think of that. Should I be flattered? Creeped out? Heather would know, so I pushed the thought to the back of my head.

“Whelp, I think I’ll be heading out now,” he said, scuffing the toe of his sneakers against the welcome mat in front of Heather’s door. “See you Thursday?”

“See you Thursday,” I repeated. He smiled again and stepped forward, his arms slightly raised and ready to give me a hug, but at that moment, the front door opened.

“Hey, you guys! How was breakfast?” Heather greeted. Garrett practically jumped out of his skin, quickly sidestepping me as a blush tinted his cheeks. I rolled my eyes at Heather’s bad timing, or what easily could’ve been a perfectly planned entrance on her part.

“Good,” we both answered at once.

“Right,” she stretched out, folding her arms.

“So, uh, hey,” Garrett mumbled to catch my attention. I turned my head, folding my arms like Heather. I could feel her eyes on me, silently probing me for the details on breakfast. “I’ll see you later,” he mumbled, fleetingly reaching down and squeezing my forearm. He cleared his throat, dragging his gaze to the cactus flowerpots Heather’s mom kept around the porch, and looked up to shoot me a final smile before jumping down the patio steps and jogging down the pathway to his yellow car.