When we got older, I did things in my life and she did things in her life.
PALO ALTO II
April
In Three Parts
Part I
The Rainbow Goblins
I was driving Fred home from art class. It was a Wednesday night at about ten. Fred said, “That model was pretty hot tonight.”
“She looked like a sick tree with a rotten knot.”
“I’d fuck a tree,” said Fred.
He never drew in art class. He came with me every Wednesday after school and sat there high until class ended. He didn’t like to draw, so he just stared at the models. He even stared when they were naked men. One time, the teacher told him he had to draw, so he drew an explosion.
“So what would you do if you got into a car accident?” Fred said.
“Uh, I’d be pissed,” I said.
“I know, but what if it was a drunk-driving accident, and you were the one who was drunk?”
“I’m on probation,” I said. “I would go to juvie.”
“I know, shitface, so what would you do? Fess up or drive away?”
“How bad is the accident?”
“It’s bad, you crashed right into another car. But your car still runs.” He was making gestures as he explained.
“Oh really?” I said.
“Yeah, the other person could be dead, or they could just be a little whiplashed, you don’t know.”
“Who is the other person?”
“You don’t know, man! Look, you can either wait around and help the other person, and maybe it’s Cindy Crawford and you fall in love, or you can get the fuck out of there. But you have to decide. Pretend like it just happened right now, what would you do?”
“Uh, I guess I would drive away,” I said.
“Really? Drive away? That’s your final answer?”
“Fuck it,” I said.
“What a cowboy,” said Fred.
* * *
That Friday after school, Fred and I went over to my friend Barry’s house. It was still light out but we had a little party anyway. We all went in on a bottle of Kessler whiskey. April, this girl I liked, was at the party. I thought that if I got drunk enough, maybe some things would happen with her. I could tell her how I really felt and maybe by the end of the night I’d fuck her.
Barry and I and Fred and Ivan and A. J. Sims sat in the kitchen nook at the little table and took shots of the whiskey. It was strong and burned, and I felt powerful at that little table. When people would wander through the kitchen we’d get smart with them because the whiskey was working on us.
Chrissy came in to get a glass from the cupboard.
“Hey, Chrissy, you suck any dick lately?”
“You’re a fucker, Ivan,” said Chrissy. She was short, pretty, and perfectly blond. “Barry, why do you even let this fucker at your house?” she said.
“I dunno,” said Barry.
“Chrissy, suck dick or get out,” said Ivan.
“You’re such a motherfucker,” said Chrissy. “A pale motherfucker.” Ivan was really pale.
“Suck dick,” said Ivan, and all the guys drinking whiskey laughed because Ivan had a running thing with Chrissy where he hated her and just said the worst things to her. Her boyfriend, Jerry, wasn’t there so we felt free to laugh.
After a while I was drunk and things felt wavy. I felt like I could talk to April. I got up and wandered around the house. It was still daytime and there weren’t that many people at the party. Some people were on couches drinking beer. I went through Barry’s bedroom and out some sliding glass doors to the backyard. Ed was out there on the wooden bench on the deck. He was hunched over some tinfoil with the clear shell of a Bic pen. He was lighting the bottom of the foil and trying to suck up the smoke. There was no one else outside.
“What are you doing?” I said.
He sucked for a bit, then stopped, holding the smoke in. “Smack,” he said.
I’d never seen anyone do heroin before.
“You seen April?” I said, and looked away. The yard was empty but I looked around anyway.
“There she is,” said Ed. He was pointing back inside through the sliding glass doors. On the far side of the room, April and Barry were standing in the doorway to his bedroom, holding each other. Then their heads were slanted and they were kissing.
I walked to the front of the house. Fred was sitting on the brick step before the front door, smoking a cigarette.
“Let’s get the fuck out of this place,” I said.
He said okay and we walked down the driveway to my car.
“Where are we going?” said Fred.
“Fucking nowhere,” I said, and drove faster.
I was at a stop sign at Middlefield, which was a pretty busy road, so I waited for a while. I was still angry. Then I drove forward and I saw the white car sink right into the front side of my car. It hit my car around the front tire, and there were some crashing sounds, and my car spun to the right, and then I was facing down Middlefield. For a moment I just stayed there. It was all very still, more than still. And then I was driving again, fast. In the rearview I saw the white station wagon with its front crumpled waiting in the center of Middlefield, diagonal to the road. Other cars were stopping. I turned off Middlefield onto a side street and my tires screeched and slipped, and when I pulled the car straight I raced down the block.
Fred said, “What the fuck is going on?”
“How the fuck did you know?” I yelled.
“What? Know what?”
“How did you know I’d get in a fucking accident?”
“I didn’t! What? What are you talking about?”
“Fuck you, Fred! ‘What if? What if?’”
Then he said quietly, “You’re not really blaming me, are you?” I didn’t say anything; the driving filled me. Then Fred said, calm and quiet, “Can I get out?”
I stopped really fast so that the wheels screeched and we slid. We were stopped in the middle of the street but no one was around. I didn’t look at him. He opened the door and got out, and before he closed the door he said, “I’ll see ya.”
I drove, then I turned a corner and another corner, and I drove.
I drove past Nana’s house. Then I was on El Camino and I drove past Stanford. I turned off El Camino and drove past my elementary school. While I drove I thought up ideas. I’d tell my dad that I crashed into a tree. I’d tell him I’d pay for the repairs.
Then the car started growling, the front right tire was rubbing against something. Then the hood was vibrating. I drove over to Colorado and then El Dorado and then a left on South Court and I was on my block.
Our house was at the end of a cul-de-sac. I didn’t see my parents’ cars.
When I pulled into my driveway, I saw a police car in Mrs. Bachman’s driveway next door. While I was parking in my driveway, I saw the cop who went with the car. He was walking toward me. Like a gentleman, I got out of the car.
The cop was pretty small. He had an RFK haircut, and his eyes looked like they belonged to someone dumb.
“Hello,” he said.
“Hi, Chip,” I said. I don’t think he heard me; he was looking at my car. The front was smashed and the white paint from the Volvo was mixed into the mangled gray metal.
“Whoo-eee,” he said. “Seems like you’re the one I’m looking for.”
“Yeah, Chip,” I said.
“Someone got your plates, buddy.” Then into the radio he said, “I got ’im.”
The backup came pretty quick. One and then two more and then there were five cars. A couple of the cops kept the lights flashing even after they parked and got out. Red was whipping everywhere, especially on the white of my garage door, round and round.