Commit This to Memory

"You wanna know something?"

"What?"

"Well it depends on how you feel about certain things..."

"Like what? I'm open to pretty much anything, with a few exceptions."

"Well it's really just a way to pass time..."

"That's all anything ever is. Antonia just tell me."

"What do you think about this?"
__________________________________________

I've found the perfect way to spend a summer.

We're in the middle of the woods in a rented cabin, miles from anywhere. Just the two of us living out a dream. There's a lake nearby, perfect for swimming. Internet, a large screen TV, plumbing, and a fully stocked kitchen inside. And a shit ton of marijuana. I could live like this.

Antonia's parents were a part of the original hippie movement. Her dad came up with the notion that if he traveled enough he could outrun the draft. He spent 25 years of his life living in a van with several other people. Apparently every summer was spent smoking copious amounts of pot and creating art. A tradition that has trickled down through the generations. Or at least one child. Antonia's sister, Kate, would have nothing to do with this ritual. Her loss, more for us.

I'm sitting on the porch wearing a pair of shorts and an old shirt, a glass pipe in one hand, a lighter in the other. Beside me is a bag of pot and a blank notebook. The whole purpose of this vacation was to create, but all I can seem to do is stare blankly and refill my bowl. I exhale a large puff of smoke as Antonia comes running.

"Baby!" She leaps on me and our teeth clash together. She pulls back and smiles at me. Eye to eye. Red to red. Glazed over. "You doin' anything special?"

"Not really," I mumble, forcing my tongue to move. "What've you been up to?"

"Well I was going to go on a walk but then I thought all this energy I've got should be put to better use."

Her lips graze mine. They move lower, pushing harder. As she reaches my stomach I moan. She moves away giggling, I use the opportunity to take her shirt off. I move my hands slowly over her skin. My nerves are working overtime. Everything is super-sensitive. My eyes closed, I kiss her and whisper, "Oh Betty."

Her hands stop moving. She pushes me away. "What?" My eyes snap open. Oh fuck. "What'd you say?"

Mind blank, I've just dug myself a hole. Antonia is pissed. I try to shake it off. "What?"

"Just now you said something, what was it?" I shrug. She slaps me. "Don't fuck with me, Justin! What did you say?"

I'm reminded of college. Drugs and angry girls. History really does repeat itself. "I didn't say anything," I lie. I doubt she believes me so I add, "You're high."

She starts laughing. "Oh my god, you're right! I am so baked! I'm tripping!" She rolls off of me. Lying on her back, she grabs my hand. "I should've known you didn't say anything." A kiss on the lips.

Stoned people are always so much easier to lie to.
__________________________________________

After two weeks of bliss with Antonia, I get a call from Josh. And by call I mean he comes to the cabin. Right away I'm pissed off. I know all he's going to do is lecture me. I'm still sitting on the porch. The notebook is still blank. Antonia is off swimming.

Josh kneels down next to me and stares me in the eyes. Red to white. "You gonna be able to tour in a week?" he asks. I take a long drag from my pipe. Smoke in my lungs, I shrug. Exhale. "Rephrase, we're going on a cross-country tour in a week. Sober up." He stands up and says, "I know you like her, but maybe Antonia isn't the best influence on you."

He's got an annoying habit of always being right.
__________________________________________

Despite whatever Josh thinks I should or wants me to do, I don't break up with Antonia. Not officially anyway. A day after he showed up, I left. I just wrote a note on the pillow explaining why I left. Or most of why I left.

I can imagine she's mad at me. I don't blame her. I'm mad at myself. But I need to get my head straight. It seems to be something I owe everybody, her especially.

I spend my few extra days trying to get sober. To come out my coma. Waking up is an awful experience. Reality always ends up being worse than the last time.

What's worse is that after the painful days of detox, all I can look at is Betty's painting. I don't know why I still have it. I don't know why I can't get over her. It feels like Liz all over again. I suppose that's what I get for calling my girlfriend the same name as my most hated ex. It seems I can't help but fuck up everything.
__________________________________________

"Why wasn't I good enough?"

"Excuse me?"

"Oh sorry, is Betty there?"

"No, Beth is at the hospital."

"What? Did something happen to her?"

"No she's just getting an ultrasound. Who's calling?"

"An ultrasound?"

"Yes, she's having a baby in two months. Who is this? Hello?"
__________________________________________

"Justin are you ok?"

I've been staring at my phone for who knows how long. Pregnant.

"Hey!" Jesse is staring at me, trying to wake me up. Everyone is staring at me. Staring at my phone. Pregnant.

I can't breath. The world is spinning, tumbling. I can't breath. I vomit. Tears are streaming down my face. People are talking, swearing. I wipe my mouth. I need to know.

I call Betty's cell phone and for the first time in months she picks up. "Why didn't you tell me you were pregnant??" I scream. "Is that why you left? Did you not think I could handle a kid?"

"Oh Justin..."

"'Oh Justin' what? Don't give me this bullshit! I have a fucking right to know about my own kid!"

"Justin, it's not yours," she whispers. I stop, dead. "It never was any of your business, okay?"

She hangs up. I get blitzed.