Dirty Mouth

I couldn’t stop thinking about Sophie McDonald.

I really couldn’t stop. I had the day off, too, but I couldn’t stop thinking about her. I wondered what she was doing. I wondered if maybe she was married already. I wondered if she grew up pretty or ugly, because as a kid I guess she wasn’t anything too special. What kid is, really. These were just a few of the things I thought about. It was depressing. I wanted to think about anything else but I couldn’t get her off the brain. Even Sid started to look at me funny when I’d keep spacing out and staring at the wall.

So I thought I’d go for a walk, you know, clear my head a bit. At the start it didn’t do a damn thing for me. I kept thinking what Sophie would think of Rogersdale if she were here. I’d see a nice little shop and think maybe she’d like it. She was always kind of flowery and stuff as a kid, so I figured she’d like those kinds of shops, you know; quaint little cafes where they sold quiche and cappuccinos with chocolate drizzle or something. But maybe she’d changed. Maybe she was into different things. Maybe she liked the stuff I did. Boy, that really got me excited.

Rogersdale was a pretty bunk town for the most part, but it did have one kind of cool feature. See, the bridge that went overtop of the Wolf’s Den also doubled as a walking bridge. Not many people used it anymore, on account of all the skids underneath it, but it was pretty nice sometimes. It was off to the side and you had to be real careful on it because it was an old railway track and some of the boards were kind of iffy. I mean, you wouldn’t fall through and crash to your death or anything, but you might get pretty roughed up if you did trip and fall flat on your face. I’m talking a twisted ankle and splinters in all the wrong places. Anyway, I’d only walked on it a few times, but I figured I might do it again, just for some place to go. I really didn’t feel like going to the Wolf’s Den or anything, so the bridge was my next best bet if I didn’t want to go into some stupid shop and spend a bunch of cash. There were a couple parks and stuff I could’ve gone to, but those are always full of screaming kids and gossiping mothers and I didn’t want any part in that.

I climbed the steps up to the walking bridge and just started walking. There was a pretty nice view of Rogersdale from all the way up there. You could see all the really nice houses and trees and stuff, and all the people looked almost like ants. Plus, come sunrise and sunset, there was some damn fine scenery up there. I’m not the type of guy to go around talking about everything I think looks nice, but I can definitely appreciate a good sight when I see one.

I stopped walking and kind of leaned on the thick railing of the bridge for a little bit. I don’t know why, I mean, I got on the damn thing to walk across it in the first place. But I guess I just wanted to look. And while I was looking, I got to thinking. I got to thinking about New York again. It killed me. I wanted to go back but I didn’t. I wanted to see Sophie but I didn’t. I wanted to fix things with my family but I didn’t. And while I was thinking about all of that, I realized that I didn’t have a goddamn clue what I wanted. I mean, you could offer me two different sandwiches when I was starving to death and say I could only eat one, and I wouldn’t know what I wanted. I’d probably spend fifty years trying to decide before I ever put a crumb in my mouth, and by that time the both of us would be dead. I wanted friends, but I didn’t. I wanted to change, but I didn’t. I wanted Emmie, but I didn’t. Which was maybe the strangest bit. I mean, I think back to that whole night in the bar and all, when I saw her, and I remember how I’d thought I’d never wanted something so bad in my life. But I’d just been looking at her, see. I just wanted her looks, which was goddamn superficial of me. If I was a feminist, I’d slap me silly. Maybe I was sort of a feminist, I don’t know. I don’t get into that stuff too much. People get too touchy about it. I hate when people get too touchy about stuff.

Anyway, now that I knew Emmie a little better, I didn’t much care if she was mine or not. I mean it was fun screwing around with her and stuff, but that was about all we did besides get high and argue about things. I was pretty sure she didn’t want to go with me, since she refused to talk labels. And honestly, while I was down for just screwing around for a little bit, I was over it pretty quick. It was weird because I always screwed around when I was younger. I mean, it’s a goddamn miracle I didn’t catch some sort of disease or something. I had mono once, but who’s to say that was from kissing? You can get mono from other things, I think. I don’t know. I was too sick with mono to care. Go figure. Anyway, Emmie was boring me, I guess. I wanted something a little more serious. I mean, I don’t wanna say I wanted to be tied down or anything like that, because that sounds scary as hell, but I guess I kinda just wanted to slowly fall for someone, you know? Like when I wanted a girl to put my arm around after watching the sunset. I wanted that. I wanted a slow, meaningful something and I wasn’t going to get that with Emmie. Jesus. I should be on The View or something. I really should.

I quit thinking about it before I could get too sappy. I’d already gotten pretty sappy and I didn’t want to make myself puke or anything. So I kept walking, putting my foot on every sturdy piece of wood and avoiding all the little gaps. They weren’t wide gaps or anything; I mean, you wouldn’t lose a small dog or child between the boards. They knew what they were doing when they constructed the track. You couldn’t even lose a piece of paper between the gaps; it wasn’t even a real space. There were whole boards underneath the whole thing and braces and all that crap to support it all. Not that it matters or anything, but people always complain about the gaps. Everywhere you go, someone complains about a gap or a crack. I swear.

Do you know that saying, “Speak of the devil and the devil shall come”? Some old religious crank came up with it to scare his followers into submission no doubt, but damned if it’s not true. I’d just been thinking about Emmie and how damn boring she was and who should I damn near trip over on the walking bridge? Emmie. She was lying on her damn back in a bikini top and jean shorts sunbathing for crying out loud! On a bridge!

“Jesus,” I exclaimed, stepping back from her.

She lifted her head up like I’d interrupted her day, and pushed her sunglasses down her nose. They were these big bug-eyed black things; they didn’t look nice on her at all. I don’t know why, but I really was annoyed by her being there. I didn’t want to be a jerk though so I tried to hold myself back.

“Max? What are you doing up here?” she asked.

“Walking,” I answered. “This is a walking bridge.”

“Oh,” she said, resting back down. She wouldn’t even sit up and let me pass. “Lay down with me.”

“Oh I wouldn’t want to trouble you at all,” I said it kind of sarcastically. Clearly not a whole helluva lot was troubling her. She couldn’t even be troubled to move.

“You won’t be.” She patted the spot next to her.

I sighed but sat down anyway. Don’t ask me why. I don’t want to talk about it.

“What the hell are you even doing, huh?” I asked. “Out of all the places to sunbathe, you pick here. A bridge, for god’s sake.”

She snorted. How beautiful. How goddamn gorgeous of her.

“Do you have something against it?” she asked. She said it all lazy-like, like she didn’t really care if I had a problem with it or not.

“Yeah, I’m allergic,” I answered. “I’m deathly allergic to people who sunbathe in dumb places.”

“My apologies. Will I get an invite to the funeral?”

“No, you’re my murderer. Murderers don’t get invited to their victim’s funerals.”

“They do if nobody finds out they’re the murderer.”

“Everyone’s gonna know. You’re the only crazy person who’s gonna sunbathe on a goddamn bridge.”

“How do you know?”

“I just do.”

She didn’t answer me. She just laid there with one headphone in and her damn sunglasses on. I hated talking to somebody who was wearing sunglasses. Half the time I couldn’t tell if they had their eyes closed or if they were looking at me, or the person behind me. And it was just as bad when they had those mirrored sunglasses on, so I couldn’t see anything but myself on their face. That was so annoying. If you’ve got sunglasses on and you’re talking to a person, just know it makes them feel really damn awkward sometimes. Jesus Christ.

“What are you doing out here anyway? Were you actually walking or were you looking for me? Hmm?” She ran a finger up the side of my thigh.

I moved my leg a little so it was a bit farther away from her, but not much. I couldn’t move it that much without moving my whole body and I was still trying not to be a total jerk.

“Now how would I have known you’d be up here, huh?” I asked. “I would’ve looked under the bridge if I was looking for you.”

“I like to switch things up.”

“Clearly.”

“So then what are you doing?”

“Walking, I told you. Thinking.”

“Thinking about what? Me?” She smirked.

I had to roll my eyes at that. She was being pretty conceited, I thought. She was being conceited and wearing annoying sunglasses and sunbathing in the middle of a bridge. I was gonna lose it.

“No. I was thinking ’bout New York,” I mumbled.

“Didn’t you live there?”

“Yup.”

“Why were you thinking about it? Do you miss it?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. A little bit, I guess. I don’t know.”

“When was the last time you were there?”

“When I was 6.”

“Max! You still have family there, don’t you?”

“Yeah, my mom and sisters are there.”

“Why don’t you go back and see them? That’s what most people do.”

“I don’t want to.”

“But you just said you missed—”

“I said I missed New York, not my family.” That wasn’t totally true. I missed my siblings enough, at least.

“So? Surely you miss them. You’ve gotta miss them. Why don’t you go back?”

I just shrugged. I didn’t really want to talk about it anymore. But she just wouldn’t drop the damn subject.

“What’s here for you, Max?” she asked. “A greasy minimum wage job, a crumby apartment, and broken pavement? I know you don’t like it here. So tell me what it is that’s keeping you here.”

I heaved a sigh, a really long, dramatic-type sigh; the kind that people roll their eyes at. I don’t think she rolled her eyes, though. I couldn’t really tell since she was wearing those stupid sunglasses. But she was looking up at the sky as I finally laid down next to her on the track.

“Well, not you, I guess,” I replied.

She scoffed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re asking me all these questions about New York like you want me to go back. And, I don’t know, I guess what’s keeping me here is the hope that maybe if I left, someone might miss me for awhile. And I don’t think I’ve achieved that, with anyone here. I moved here because I wanted to get away from my life, but also because I wanted to start standing out a bit more. I wanted people to appreciate me so much, they might shed a tear if I died or something. I know it sounds self-obsessed or whatever, but really if you think about it, all anyone ever wants is to be missed. Because if no one misses you, then you know no one really noticed you or cared that much. And I think it’s really damaging to the psyche if you’re no more important than a piece of trash rolling down the street in a light breeze.”

She was quiet for awhile and I could tell she was thinking about it. After I said all that, I realized how dumb it all sounded. And I was biased as hell anyways. See, I had this one kind of tragic flaw. I’d always had it, I guess, I just noticed it more now that I was an “adult” and all. People told me they missed me if they didn’t see me for a few days, or they told me they worried about me or something, but my problem was I never believed them. I always felt like they were just saying it because that’s common courtesy. You don’t see someone for a few days, you tell them you missed them. Someone injures themselves and you tell them you worry. That’s just what people did for other people. But I always thought I could see this look on a person’s face when they said those things to me that just cancelled out all the words that were coming out of their mouths. It was a look that said they were only saying it to make me feel better, not because they actually believed it or anything. Stephanie says I do that because of my mother. I felt like my mom didn’t miss me, didn’t want me, and didn’t worry about me, so I attributed that feeling to everyone around me. I called that bullshit, but I would never say that to Stephanie’s face. She has a degree and all. She says she knows what she’s talking about.

Emmie drew in a breath. “Sure people would miss you, Maxi. Sure they would. What about those people you work with? You seem like you’re good buds with them.” She said it with almost a bitter tone that I could tell she was trying to hide behind a mask of nonchalance, but I pretended not to notice it.

“Yeah but they have other buds, better buds than me. I feel like if I left they might wonder about me for a day or two, but after that they’d go back to their daily routines and forget all about me. They’d be fine without me. And I guess I just want someone around that would miss me so much they’d write me every week or call or something. I don’t have that, though. I’ve never had that.”

“That’s a hard thing to want. Not many people do have that, you know.”

“More people than you’d think.”

We were quiet again. And damn her, but with all her talk she got me thinking about New York again and about Sophie McDonald. I had the urge to walk around the big city at night for some reason, even though I was in Canada and it was broad daylight. It was a crazy feeling, but I just wanted to do it. I wanted to lose myself in the shadows of those tall, high-class buildings that held important documents and alcoholic C.E.O’s; I wanted to walk into one of those restaurants that were open super late and order a milkshake and fries or something and just nibble at them for a bit before leaving a shitty tip on the table and walking out; I wanted to walk up Sophie’s front step, wherever she lived now, and knock on her door and wake her whole damn house up. And when she opened the door in her pyjamas, rubbing sleep from those robin’s egg blue eyes, and asked me who the hell I was and what I was doing at her house at such a crazy hour, I’d do something nuts like hug her or kiss her cheek or something, and tell her who I was. And in my head she’d remember me and hug or kiss me back, maybe invite me into her house for a nightcap and a visit, but in reality I bet she’d probably just slap me and call the cops. She likely wouldn’t remember me, and even if she did, with the way I look and the way she probably looked now, she wouldn’t want anything to do with me.

When I thought about that and about Sophie being one of those girls that were just too good for someone like me, I kind of started to feel crappy again. My chest started to ache, but not the kind of ache you go to the doctor for. I felt really lonely and just depressed as hell, and not even Emmie could cheer me up. I felt shitty about her, too. We’d been using one another the whole time, toying with the idea that we could be together and have a wild, crazy, romantic love scene with one another. I think we both knew that was never going to happen. Our “relationship” or whatever it was had burnt out faster than a lit candle in a rainstorm. The worst part was that I’d thought she was perfect. When I’d first seen her, first heard her voice, I’d thought I’d never find another person as drop dead gorgeous as she was. I’d thought I was a goner. I memorized everything about her from the shape of her lips to the curvature of her body and in the end it all just dispersed like dust in the air. She wasn’t perfect. She was exhausting. She didn’t care. I’d thought all I wanted was someone who didn’t care, because I thought I didn’t care, but I knew better now.

“I might miss you,” She spoke up. “I mean, for a little bit.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Is that so? Just for a little bit?”

“Yeah. I don’t really know you, you know? I mean, I do, but I haven’t known you for long. We’re not like, best friends or anything. We talk and hang out and we’ve had sex but it’s nothing that intimate, right? Still, I think I’d miss you a bit if you left. You know, I’d miss doing what we do.”

“Right, but you have other friends to do those things with.” I muttered. She wasn’t making me feel any better.

“No, not really. I don’t have any friends like you, Max.”

I don’t know why, but I felt like she was lying. I felt like every damn person on the earth was lying to me. Maybe it was because of that, or maybe it was because I was feeling so depressed, but I stood up and like a total idiot I told Emmie I was going to take her advice and move back to New York. And then I left. I went home, fuming, and I couldn’t stop thinking about stupid New York and stupid Sophie McDonald not inviting me into her house, and stupid Emmie saying she’d miss me but knowing she wouldn’t. And maybe if I did leave and she did miss me, we could stop beating around the fucking bush so much. But I really had my doubts. I had doubts about everything. That was my problem.