Five

I roll over and look to where Liz would be if she hadn’t left.

I wish I’d have slept last night. I’d take ten severed dick dreams for just a few hours of sleep. But my mind won’t turn off, so I stare at the ceiling and think more unpleasant thoughts. What is this, three or four nights I’ve stayed up? Three. Shit. My eyelids won’t stop twitching.

I kick the covers off and the next thing I know, I’m taking a shower. I’m not sure if it will wake me up but I hope it takes some of the edge off my already haggard appearance. Why I care about my looks I don’t know.

Later I call work and tell them I’m still sick and I sense that my boss doesn’t really believe me. After I hang up, I momentarily consider looking at Internet porn, but realize I have no interest and I’d just be forcing it, so I take a nap.

It’s pushing noon when the heat wakes me up.

I live in a convection oven.

I rub the sleep from my eyes and drag myself from the couch and into the kitchen. Except for rythmic drone of the fan, the place is silent. Muffled voices penetrate the thin skin of trailer and flow in through open windows. Little bastard allergens are suspended in midair and driving my sinuses crazy.

I grab a Diet Coke and pour myself a bowl of cereal. Between sneezes and bites of cereal I stare lazily at my neighbor’s yard and the broken toys and trash that litters their lawn.  Do they enjoy being surrounded by waste? Is it that hard to walk to the dumpster? I laugh smugly to myself. Pieces of shit, living in shit.

I’ve been locked in my trailer so long I forgot what sunlight felt like. Stepping through the door I take a deep breath and nearly choke on the fresh air. My eyes take a while to adjust to the bright light and once they do, are punished by the brilliant blue sky. And so long as I kept my eyes to the sky and the deep, imposing walls of Aberdeen Canyon, my mind would be tricked into thinking I was anywhere but No Name Trailer Park.

No Name. Was there ever was a more appropriate name for a trailer park? Were there other trailer parks who’s names so perfectly summed up their residents? In a way it was refreshing, the brutal honesty of the name. No false hopes and impossible expectations. No effort to cover up the deslolation. No false representation. The name fit. They deserved it and with broken resignation, they accepted it. And I hated them for it. Me, I was only here temporarily. No Name was a pit stop, or it was supposed to be. But eventhough we’d been here a little over a year, I refused to associate myself with them, or this place. I was better than them. I was…. But, before my thoughts take over, I’m interrupted by the sound of the only recognizable voice I know and suddenly I’m back, standing on the shitty little porch of the nicest trailer in the park.

“Look who’s alive,” the voice shouts.

I look across the road and smile at the familiar sight of Jerry standing in his gravel yard, his Austrailian Shepard, Chooch, laying beside him, panting in the summer heat. “How ya doin’ Jerry,” I shout back.

“Where the hell you been?”

“Gettin’ over a cold.” I lie.

“In July,” he replies, scratching his head. “You better?”

“Mostly.”

“Then get over here and have a beer.”

“Ain’t it a bit early?”

Jerry’s emphasymic laugh carries across the road. “Yeah,” he says, mockingly glancing at his watch. “We better wait till one.” He pauses, still looking at his watch. “There, it’s one, now bring your sorry ass over here and have a beer.”

        I slowly walk across the road, absentmindedly kicking an abandoned, half-inflated soccer ball. A small dust cloud slides down the road, carried by the lazy July breeze. Chooch lifts her head as I approach and just as quickly her interest wanes and she sets it back down and closes her eyes.

        ”So, what the hell you been up to,” Jerry asks as he slaps me on the back and hands me a bottle of Budweiser from the cooler at his feet. 

        ”Nada,” I reply.

        Jerry cocks an eyebrow and looks at me like he knows I’m full of shit.

        ”Liz left.”

        He waits a few seconds before replying. “Yeah, she stopped by to say goodbye.” Then he looks at me. “Sorry to hear about that. She was a good girl.”

        ”She had her moments,” I hear myself say. No, she was the best thing to ever happen to you.

        “Doin’ alright, then?”

        I take a long drink of beer, using the moment to decide if he’s asking because he wants to know the truth or because he’s just being polite.

        ”I suppose,” I finally reply.

        ”You don’t sound too convinced.”

        ”Yeah well, shit happens.”

        Apparently this is funny, because Jerry starts laughing. It’s the familiar wheezy, congested laugh of a lifelong smoker. When he’s done, he pulls out a Winston, lights it and looks at me.

        ”So,” he says as he pops the top off another beer and hands it to me. “What’d you do to make her come to her senses?”

        I shrug. “Stopped drugging her.” A stupid attempt to deflect the pain.

        We both laugh. Then we sit in akward silence. And because I’m not comfortable with akward silences, I speak. ”We’ve been having problems for a while. I guess she finally had it.”

        Jerry lit a fresh cigarette. “Must a been some mighty problems.”

        ”She wasn’t happy here.”

        ”Well no shit, Sherlock.” He laughs. “Who proper woman would be?”

        ”She didn’t think we were moving forward,” I say. “Whatever the fuck that means.” Of course, I knew exactly what that meant. I was not moving forward. My big plan wasn’t materializing. I wasn’t doing anything to advance our position.

        ”Women,” he offers generically and grabs us both another round of beers.

        I’m about to change the subject when Chooch starts growling.

        ”You make sure that goddamn dog don’t bite me,” the fat man says as he approaches us, his aprehension thinly masked by the hyper-exagerated manner in which he walks. Though the truth is, he wants Chooch to bite him. He wants any excuse to make Jerry get rid of the dog.

        Jerry crouches down and pats the dog on the top of the head. She stops growling, but her protective glare never leaves the man.

        ”I do something wrong or you just stop by to have a beer?”

        I look at the man and nod my head, “Brian.”

        ”Neither,” Brian answers, “and since you’re both here I may as well kill two birds with one stone.” Clenched in his obese hands is a stack of bright red papers. He energetically licks his thumb and peels off two pieces and hands us each one, eagerly waiting for us to finish reading the brief message.

         ”By law, I only have to give you three months notice. But, you’ll see I did six.”

         Jerry and I both look at our landlord, amused by the sudden turn of events.

         ”Gosh Brian, that’s very generous of you,” I say.

         ”Thank you, Will,” he says, not picking up my sarcasm.

         ”Alright then, you two have a good day.” He turns to walk away, “Got to hurry up and get these out before the weekend.”

         Chooch sets her head back on the ground and shuts her eyes, just as relieved by Brian’s abscence as we are.

         ”Well fuck me,” Jerry says, “I was just starting to like it here.”

         By the time I get home later that night I have a pretty healthy buzz and sitting at the kitchen table, staring at the eviction notice, I can’t help but laugh. The day after she leaves… So much for not moving forward.

          My hand finds my cell phone and my fingers find her phone number. My mind knows this is a bad idea, but before I can come to my senses I hear her voice.

         ”Hello?”

         I’m so nervous, I can’t respond right away.

         ”Will? Hello?”

         ”How ya doing,” I ask a bit too eagerly.

         ”What do you want?”

         ”Ahh, yeah, umm…why did I call?” Random, drunk mumbling.

         ”I gotta go,” she says.

         ”No, hold on, I gotta tell you something, it’s big.” Desperation.

         I hear her sigh and can picture her rolling her eyes.

         ”What is it?”

         ”Brian sold the trailer park. We all have to move.”

         ”Really,” she says, her voice rising with a hint of interest.

         “I know, crazy isn’t it?”

         ”Yeah.”

         ”God, I can’t wait to escape this shithole.”

         She doesn’t say anything and I think maybe the call got dropped, so I pull my phone away and see that I have three bars. “Liz? You there?”

         Silence.

         ”Hellooooo?”

         Sobbing.

         ”Liz? What’s wrong?”

         ”You’re such an asshole,” is all she says.

         Then the line is dead.

 

    Regarding Liz. I realize I’ve made her out to be a heartless bitch, though I don’t blame you if you happen to agree with the way she’s handled things. The thing is, there was a time when she would have been unfaltering in her support. There was a time when she would have done everything in her power to make me better, to make the situation better, but through my false promises and empty words I broke her.

    We’d met four years ago, both still flush with the optimistic naivite of the recently graduated. I knew she was someone special the minute I saw her. Lame, I know, but if you could have seen her in that moment, a crowd gathered around her, laughing and as she told a story, you’d know what I’m talking about. She was sunshine in a bleak, gray Minneapolis winter and her soft smile drew you in and made you comforatable, as if the two of you had been lifelong friends. She’d touch your arm and laugh if you said something funny and listen with utmost sincerety if you were being serious. She glowed. And while Liz’s personality was enough to make her the most attractive woman you’d ever met, her physical beauty was like nothing you had ever seen- as if all her sincerity, compassion, patience and optimisim were manifested in the sparkle of her green eyes, the subtle freckles that punctuated her soft, slightly tanned skin and the near perfect dimensions that God had graced her with. Looking at her, you knew there wasn’t a flaw to be found.

    She could have been with anyone. Yet somehow, she ended up with me.

    What did she see in me? Fuck if I know. Actually, I take that back, I know exactly what she saw in me, because if there’s one redeeming trait I posessed, it was confidence. And no, it wasn’t like I was compensating for a shitload of insecurities. I just knew that I had a lot going for me. I had a good job, I had good friends, a warm smile, sunny disposition, great sense of humor and good looks. What wasn’t there to like?

    Together we were the perfect couple. We were tragically hip Uptown trendsetters fresh from the pages of the latest Banana Republic catalog. Weekends started on Thursdays, when we’d meet our friends for happy hour at our favorite dive, Llyod’s. The guys would drink Jack and diets, scotch and sodas and PBRs- proclaiming it the best beer ever, eventhough we struggled to choke it down. The girls would sip on vodka cranberries, Sapphire tonics and Pinot Gris. The party would spill into Friday morning and we’d stumble through work, hungover and maybe still a little drunk.

    That night we’d all dress in black or charcoal and head to one of our favorite martini bars. We’d talk loudly and laugh even louder, stealing looks at our reflections- in love with the sounds of our own voices; dazzled by our own wit; impressed by our seriousness. Later, we’d attend the mandatory afterbar, usually at a friend’s condo or apartment; sometimes at a stranger’s lakeside mansion. Liz and I would sneak off and have sex. Sometimes we’d get caught. Never would we stop.

    Saturdays: morning spin classes, lattes at Starbucks. Afternoon trips to the Galleria. Serious dinner parties. Sex.

    Sundays: Sex. Eggwhite omlettes. Quick jog around the lake. Laundry. Independent movies.

    Monday through Thusday: conquer the world.

    We were the beautiful people.

    All eyes were on us.

    We were ironic.

    Always in on the joke.

    Oblivious to everything and everyone.

    Life was wonderful.     

    And then he called. 

    And it all started to fall apart.