Distance
Drunken Confessions.
I didn't even want to go to the hockey game, but Mike reasoned that it would get me out of the house. So I went.
This girl, Kara was there. And she was pretty and nice, and she seemed to like me.
I couldn't get over how small she was. So tiny, compared to other girls, like Maria and Danica. I liked to hug her, to feel her, small and compact against my chest, like I could protect her from the whole damn world.
Even though, in the back of my head, a little voice whispered that I'd probably wind up hurting her just as badly as I'd hurt Danica.
We were talking, hitting it off. She gave me her number, made me promise to call her. She cuddled up against me, letting me hold her close while we leaned against the outside of the rink, waiting for Mike to come back with the hot chocolate.
But something wasn't the same. There was a part of me that just wasn't comfortable with her. But I ignored it.
***
Kara eventually decided to leave with some friends, and I let her, because I desperately needed a cigarette. I sank down into a crouch, furtively lighting the Camel and straightening back up.
I people watched as I smoked, observing the crowds of teenagers. It was eerie, to think that each of those kids had their own little dramas playing out right in front of me. There were forces in motion here that I had no idea of. It scared me slightly, and I shook those thoughts away.
And then I saw Danica, weaving through the parking lot with Jordan and a group of his friends. She was laughing, her hair loose around her face, wearing a too-big jacket that I didn't recognize, cheeks flushed.
For a moment, I was relieved. She was happy, she was laughing. She was having a good time, albeit with kids that were guaranteed trouble.
Then I saw, clutched in her hand, a bottle of vodka.
***
It all got painfully obvious after that. Her walk, stumbling around, leaning against the cars to get her balance. Her laugh, too loud, too happy. The flush in her cheeks wasn't from cold. Her speech was unnaturally cheerful, forced.
Mike was talking to someone that he'd been in a band with at some point, Chrissy's arm around his waist. Tre was somewhere. He couldn't stand me, and I didn't know what to do to fix our relationship. Nevertheless, he wasn't going to be hanging out with me for a good long while.
No one could see her except me.
It was painful for me to watch. Danica, who never lost control, who prided herself on her sobriety, stumbling around the parking lot screaming out the lyrics to 'Mr. Brownstone' at the top of her voice.
She was attracting attention too. The people waiting to enter the rink were casting the group nervous looks. I saw fingers being pointed, whispers soft in the cold air, their malice making it colder. Danica was oblivious to everything, laughing as she spun in a circle. Jordan and his friends were laughing with her, mimicking the garbled song lyrics she was shrieking.
None of them saw the car.
***
I was running across the parking lot before I'd realized what I was doing, shoving her out of the way. We thudded against a sleek red car with enough impact to make me wince. Surprisingly, the car's alarm didn't go off.
The adrenaline rush was amazing, making me forget that everything I'd said to Danica only hours earlier.
But she hadn't, and she was pissed. She slapped my hands away, moving away from me before I could point out that she'd nearly died. The only thing she was concerned with was the loss of her vodka.
"What the fuck?" She demanded, cheeks flushed, eyes flashing. It was impressive, except that she couldn't stand upright without almost falling over.
"Danica, you were almost killed!" I told her.
Jordan and his friends had stopped laughing.
"So?! Why the fuck would you care what happened to me?"
"Danica, you're my best friend!"
"Don't give me that bullshit!" And I knew that she'd forgotten the smashed vodka entirely.
"You don't give two fucks about me!" she accused.
"How can you say that? I-"
"You don't need me anymore, now that you've got her," Danica slurred.
Shit.
"Danica, she-"
"All..." She paused, wobbling unsteadily. Jordan moved forward, concerned, but she shoved him away.
"All I ever was to you was a cheap fuck. That's all you wanted from me. And now..." She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them to glare at me. "Now you've got that other girl. With her fancy clothes and her pretty hair and cute, tiny body. And you can use her for sex now, and you don't need me anymore."
"DANICA!" I bellowed, but she screamed over me.
"You never gave a shit about me, not ONCE! Not once that entire night did you notice that I was shaking, or that I was scared. All you wanted was to fuck me seven ways to Sunday, and then be done with it! That's the only reason you wanted to hang out, the only reason for ANY of it! And then you have the balls to blame fucking me for it! What a fucking riot, you didn't care about me for a second, you just wanted to fuck me!"
And then her knees gave out, and she almost fell. I watched her in shock, finally feeling the full weight of her pain. It hit me like knives. I swallowed hard.
"Danica...Danie..." I whispered, taking a tentative step towards her.
"Get the fuck away from me." She snapped.
Her hands were scraped and bloody from the fall, her cheeks flushed. Her hair was windswept, messy, and I could smell the liquor on her breath.
But she was too drunk to move, so I stepped forward and kissed her.
***
It was so tender, more tender than I'd ever imagined it could be, considering the venom her previous words had contained.
I could taste the liquor, but I didn't care. I realized I was slowly becoming addicted to the way her body felt against mine, and I never wanted to stop holding her.
But then Jordan yanked her away, his face full of hatred.
"Didn't you understand a word she just said? She doesn't want to be with you!"
I would have punched him in the face, except Mike was there suddenly, restraining me.
"Go get in the car." His voice was low and urgent.
"But what about-"
"If you want to help Danica, go get in that fucking car now. I'll talk to him."
So I turned and stomped off, while Mike patiently negotiated with Jordan.
***
He returned to the car five minutes later with a staggering Danica. She could barely walk. Mike was all but carrying her.
We laid her down across the backseat on her side, and she closed her eyes. Mike switched on the radio, and Operation Ivy flowed softly out of the stereo, masking our words.
"You're a fucking retard."
"Can we not state the obvious."
"No, Billie. You don't even understand. Jordan told me that Danica's been drinking ever since she cut out of school today. The vodka...that was just the dessert, to put it that way. For all we know, she's got alcohol poisoning."
I sat there, stunned.
"And at the rink...everyone saw her. Teachers, parents, students. Everyone. She's gonna get crucified for this..."
He said the next words so low that I almost lost them in the music, but I didn't. And I almost wished I had.
"If she doesn't die first."
***
"Don't...don't wanna..." Danica was on the verge of tears, too drunk to move. She flatly refused to abandon the backseat of the car.
Mike lost patience first.
"Danica, if you don't get out of the car right now, I'm gonna reach in there and drag you out."
She curled herself into a ball, hiding her head under her hands.
"No," she mumbled.
So Mike reached into the car, grabbed her feet and literally dragged her out of the car.
Danica whimpered slightly as he scooped her into his arms, then she was still, her face pale. Mike pushed open the door to his house, sighing at the mess we called the living room.
"Jesus..." I muttered. "I thought you said you cleaned?"
"I did," Mike replied, his voice sad. "MOM?!"
No reply.
If you didn't know Mike well, you'd miss the quick little flare of sadness that raced across his features, then vanished.
"Let's put her in my room," he said quietly. "Bill, go into the kitchen and fill up a waterbottle."
With a sigh, Mike padded down the hall to his room, cradling Danica in his arms. I watched as he pushed open a door with his foot, and disappear into it. For a brief moment, I had the urge to run after him and grab Danica away, to take care of her myself.
But it passed.
After all, Danica was just a friend. A friend to me, and a friend to Mike. What did it matter?
This girl, Kara was there. And she was pretty and nice, and she seemed to like me.
I couldn't get over how small she was. So tiny, compared to other girls, like Maria and Danica. I liked to hug her, to feel her, small and compact against my chest, like I could protect her from the whole damn world.
Even though, in the back of my head, a little voice whispered that I'd probably wind up hurting her just as badly as I'd hurt Danica.
We were talking, hitting it off. She gave me her number, made me promise to call her. She cuddled up against me, letting me hold her close while we leaned against the outside of the rink, waiting for Mike to come back with the hot chocolate.
But something wasn't the same. There was a part of me that just wasn't comfortable with her. But I ignored it.
***
Kara eventually decided to leave with some friends, and I let her, because I desperately needed a cigarette. I sank down into a crouch, furtively lighting the Camel and straightening back up.
I people watched as I smoked, observing the crowds of teenagers. It was eerie, to think that each of those kids had their own little dramas playing out right in front of me. There were forces in motion here that I had no idea of. It scared me slightly, and I shook those thoughts away.
And then I saw Danica, weaving through the parking lot with Jordan and a group of his friends. She was laughing, her hair loose around her face, wearing a too-big jacket that I didn't recognize, cheeks flushed.
For a moment, I was relieved. She was happy, she was laughing. She was having a good time, albeit with kids that were guaranteed trouble.
Then I saw, clutched in her hand, a bottle of vodka.
***
It all got painfully obvious after that. Her walk, stumbling around, leaning against the cars to get her balance. Her laugh, too loud, too happy. The flush in her cheeks wasn't from cold. Her speech was unnaturally cheerful, forced.
Mike was talking to someone that he'd been in a band with at some point, Chrissy's arm around his waist. Tre was somewhere. He couldn't stand me, and I didn't know what to do to fix our relationship. Nevertheless, he wasn't going to be hanging out with me for a good long while.
No one could see her except me.
It was painful for me to watch. Danica, who never lost control, who prided herself on her sobriety, stumbling around the parking lot screaming out the lyrics to 'Mr. Brownstone' at the top of her voice.
She was attracting attention too. The people waiting to enter the rink were casting the group nervous looks. I saw fingers being pointed, whispers soft in the cold air, their malice making it colder. Danica was oblivious to everything, laughing as she spun in a circle. Jordan and his friends were laughing with her, mimicking the garbled song lyrics she was shrieking.
None of them saw the car.
***
I was running across the parking lot before I'd realized what I was doing, shoving her out of the way. We thudded against a sleek red car with enough impact to make me wince. Surprisingly, the car's alarm didn't go off.
The adrenaline rush was amazing, making me forget that everything I'd said to Danica only hours earlier.
But she hadn't, and she was pissed. She slapped my hands away, moving away from me before I could point out that she'd nearly died. The only thing she was concerned with was the loss of her vodka.
"What the fuck?" She demanded, cheeks flushed, eyes flashing. It was impressive, except that she couldn't stand upright without almost falling over.
"Danica, you were almost killed!" I told her.
Jordan and his friends had stopped laughing.
"So?! Why the fuck would you care what happened to me?"
"Danica, you're my best friend!"
"Don't give me that bullshit!" And I knew that she'd forgotten the smashed vodka entirely.
"You don't give two fucks about me!" she accused.
"How can you say that? I-"
"You don't need me anymore, now that you've got her," Danica slurred.
Shit.
"Danica, she-"
"All..." She paused, wobbling unsteadily. Jordan moved forward, concerned, but she shoved him away.
"All I ever was to you was a cheap fuck. That's all you wanted from me. And now..." She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them to glare at me. "Now you've got that other girl. With her fancy clothes and her pretty hair and cute, tiny body. And you can use her for sex now, and you don't need me anymore."
"DANICA!" I bellowed, but she screamed over me.
"You never gave a shit about me, not ONCE! Not once that entire night did you notice that I was shaking, or that I was scared. All you wanted was to fuck me seven ways to Sunday, and then be done with it! That's the only reason you wanted to hang out, the only reason for ANY of it! And then you have the balls to blame fucking me for it! What a fucking riot, you didn't care about me for a second, you just wanted to fuck me!"
And then her knees gave out, and she almost fell. I watched her in shock, finally feeling the full weight of her pain. It hit me like knives. I swallowed hard.
"Danica...Danie..." I whispered, taking a tentative step towards her.
"Get the fuck away from me." She snapped.
Her hands were scraped and bloody from the fall, her cheeks flushed. Her hair was windswept, messy, and I could smell the liquor on her breath.
But she was too drunk to move, so I stepped forward and kissed her.
***
It was so tender, more tender than I'd ever imagined it could be, considering the venom her previous words had contained.
I could taste the liquor, but I didn't care. I realized I was slowly becoming addicted to the way her body felt against mine, and I never wanted to stop holding her.
But then Jordan yanked her away, his face full of hatred.
"Didn't you understand a word she just said? She doesn't want to be with you!"
I would have punched him in the face, except Mike was there suddenly, restraining me.
"Go get in the car." His voice was low and urgent.
"But what about-"
"If you want to help Danica, go get in that fucking car now. I'll talk to him."
So I turned and stomped off, while Mike patiently negotiated with Jordan.
***
He returned to the car five minutes later with a staggering Danica. She could barely walk. Mike was all but carrying her.
We laid her down across the backseat on her side, and she closed her eyes. Mike switched on the radio, and Operation Ivy flowed softly out of the stereo, masking our words.
"You're a fucking retard."
"Can we not state the obvious."
"No, Billie. You don't even understand. Jordan told me that Danica's been drinking ever since she cut out of school today. The vodka...that was just the dessert, to put it that way. For all we know, she's got alcohol poisoning."
I sat there, stunned.
"And at the rink...everyone saw her. Teachers, parents, students. Everyone. She's gonna get crucified for this..."
He said the next words so low that I almost lost them in the music, but I didn't. And I almost wished I had.
"If she doesn't die first."
***
"Don't...don't wanna..." Danica was on the verge of tears, too drunk to move. She flatly refused to abandon the backseat of the car.
Mike lost patience first.
"Danica, if you don't get out of the car right now, I'm gonna reach in there and drag you out."
She curled herself into a ball, hiding her head under her hands.
"No," she mumbled.
So Mike reached into the car, grabbed her feet and literally dragged her out of the car.
Danica whimpered slightly as he scooped her into his arms, then she was still, her face pale. Mike pushed open the door to his house, sighing at the mess we called the living room.
"Jesus..." I muttered. "I thought you said you cleaned?"
"I did," Mike replied, his voice sad. "MOM?!"
No reply.
If you didn't know Mike well, you'd miss the quick little flare of sadness that raced across his features, then vanished.
"Let's put her in my room," he said quietly. "Bill, go into the kitchen and fill up a waterbottle."
With a sigh, Mike padded down the hall to his room, cradling Danica in his arms. I watched as he pushed open a door with his foot, and disappear into it. For a brief moment, I had the urge to run after him and grab Danica away, to take care of her myself.
But it passed.
After all, Danica was just a friend. A friend to me, and a friend to Mike. What did it matter?