Читать книгу Dreamland City - Larina Lavergne - Страница 4

It’s been a few weeks since I started school. I forgot to bring my keys today, but that really doesn’t matter since we never really lock the door. It’s not as if there’s anything of real value to steal in our trailer, and if someone needs something and no one’s around, they’ll need a way to get in, don’t they?

Folks here share everything; we come and go as we please. It was a huge shock after I got that scholarship ride into Duke and realized that people labeled food, locked room doors and had so much…stuff. The doorknob twists open and I walk in slowly. Here, the only time the door might be locked is when my mother’s “busy,” but she’s never really cared if anyone walked into the bedroom while she’s buck-naked doing the nasty with someone. There’s no shame in Dreamland City, and certainly none as far as Maddie Ruth Anderson is concerned.

I haven’t seen my mother in so long, I wonder if she’s still even living here. But when I sniff the air, I can smell the traces of her scent—a dizzying mix of shampoo, perfume, sweat and anger. The last I heard, she was following Joe Sommers to Asheville for one of his gigs. I don’t know if Beau knows, and I don’t know when my mother will be back.

It’s a great homecoming; my first weekend back from my fancy private college. Outside, I hear the sound of a passing truck, and then nothing. The silence is comforting at first, but then it becomes overwhelming. I’m hungry, and I open my backpack, taking out a jar of Nutella. I ran into David Morgan at the supermarket when I got that jar. That was three days ago, and already, it’s half gone.

David’s the pride of Duke. From one of the richest families of Old Boston, he’s a junior and destined for either the NFL or the White House, depending on whom you talk to. To me, though, he just seems like a good guy—six feet four and all muscle and smiles and crinkly blue eyes. We talked for the first time a few weeks ago when he found me curled up in a corner of the Gothic Reading Room in Perkins Library with a stack of books around me. He looked like he was having a bad day, and had probably come into the library to escape his usual clamoring posse of jocks and sorority girls. He asked me what I was reading, and when I showed him the collection of poems by T.S. Eliot, his eyes lit up. He sat down next to me and then he took out his own collection of T.S. Eliot poems. We skipped all our classes that day and talked about how much I liked chocolate, how much he liked poetry, how much we both liked math and applied physics and other stuff. I don’t think he got a lot of what I was telling him about the String Theory class I’m taking, but he asked questions and seemed interested, and I liked him all the more for it.

Doesn’t matter though, what I think.

Last week, it was “Greek Recruitment Drive,” where the strongest scent is that of privilege. I was standing by the main quad, trying to avoid going past the long lines of frat and sorority booths, when there was a tap on my shoulder and I saw David.

“Hey, Lily, what’s up? You interested in rushing this fall?”

When I just stared at him in bewilderment, he cleared his throat and tried again, “So, we talked so much about chocolate last time: There’s some kind of European chocolate fair that’s going on in Raleigh all weekend. Do you think you might want to go?”

He looked nervous, which surprised me. “I can’t,” I told him, backing away.

“Oh.” He didn’t say anything else, so I backed away and left.

So maybe he was asking me out. But I don’t really know. After all, he’s already dating a girl: I saw him canoodling with a blond at a distance last week, and I overheard a couple of other kids gossiping about them. I didn’t catch her name, but the lucky girl’s a freshman that he met at pre-orientation during the summer. I couldn’t help feeling disappointed that I had to say ‘no’ to his European chocolate fair invite. And who knows? Maybe he was just trying to be my friend..

I spread some Nutella on my bread, layering it on extra thick. I would never really like someone like David who’s just way too perfect, but I can’t get over his eyes—so freaking blue—and how they sliced right into me as he talked about chocolate.

Taste floods in. It really is so fucking good. I’m wolfing it down as if it’ll disappear if I pause for too long. I layer another slice of bread, thicker than the previous one, and wolf that one down too, just as quick. And then, I get really bold, and try a combination of Nutella and the remaining glob of peanut butter in a lonely jar in the cupboard. Pure Heaven.

Finally, I feel full. I go into the bedroom and flop on the bed, looking up at the low ceiling, wondering what to do since Tommy’s not around. I could do my homework, but it’ll be too easy; homework is always easy. Or I could do nothing.

Just when I’m about to drift off to sleep, I hear a knock on the door. I go out to the living room but it swings open before I walk up to it.

Tommy.

“Where the hell have you been?” I ask belligerently.

“If you answered your phone, you’d know,” he says easily. “The old man told me you stopped by. You back for break, huh?”

A head pops up behind him. It’s Tommy’s older brother, Neil, who is four years older and all sorts of creepy. He’s wearing a Raleigh PD cadet sweatshirt, which is an unpleasant reminder of his decision two years ago to join the police force.

“Hey Neil,” I say. Every time I see Neil, he seems to have grown just that little bit thicker. Because of that, his tiny head seems now completely disproportionate to the rest of his body.

Neil snorts in response, his beady eyes running up and down my body.

Tommy takes off his light jacket and runs a grease-stained hand through his floppy dark hair. He sprawls out immediately on the couch, the material of his tight white T-shirt stretching across his body. He’s been working a construction job part time in addition to his two other jobs, and it’s showing. I find it really difficult to believe that Skelly is his father. Tommy’s half a foot taller, has a nicely shaped-nose, dreamy dark eyes and basically looks nothing like Skelly. He probably isn’t, seeing how Tommy’s mother used to turn tricks on the side.

Tommy’s yawning, and he stretches his arms over his head like a cat. Neil’s in the kitchen opening cabinets and drawers, most likely looking for liquor.

“If there’s any, it’s in the cabinet under the sink,” I call out to him, and he nods, finding an almost-full bottle of whisky. He brings it over, settles into an armchair before unscrewing the cap, tipping the bottle back and taking a long swig.

I go and sit by Tommy on the couch. He looks at me with his special warm look that’s only for me, and I smile back. He’s mostly like a brother to me, but we have a special relationship that involves lots of extra non-brotherly kissing and touching when we want it, and I kinda want it now after our extended separation.

“So what’s it like in caawlege?” He draws out the word ‘college’ almost mockingly, but I know he doesn’t mean anything by it.

“It’s OK.”

Tommy waits for me to say more, and when I don’t, he asks, “What should we do?” He accepts the bottle from his silent brother and takes a long swallow before handing it over to me. I mimic his action and repeat it again for good measure. The burn of the whisky is addictive, and I’m reaching for the bottle again.

“So, what should we do?” he asks again, wiping his glistening lips with the back of his hand.

I shrug. I don’t really care what we do, but I do want to get laid at some point.

“TV?” I suggest, turning it on with the remote. Tommy flips through the channels and finds a repeat telecast of the recent football game between NC State and Clemson. Watching the padded giants running around the field reminds me of David in our faraway land of Duke University, and how for the first time, Duke looks like it has a fighting chance in the conference, albeit a small one. As I look over at Tommy, I realize that with his athletic build and brute strength, he would probably have made a good football player if he hadn’t dropped out of high school a couple of years ago. But when Skelly’s back gave out and Neil a fresh cadet in the academy, poor Tommy didn’t really have a choice but to quit school and start working. Tommy loves his family—he’s trying his best. But when I look at Neil and his dead, cold eyes, I feel bad for Tommy, who’s trying so hard, for nothing.

We sit in silence, passing the bottle around and watching the game on TV. Soon enough, I’m feeling a pleasant buzz. I snuggle up against Tommy on the ratty brown couch. He smells of pine and elbow grease.

“Working on your bike again?”

He looks down at me. “Yep.”

Skelly has an old army buddy in the nearby town of Garner who runs a junkyard, and he gave Tommy a broken Suzuki motorcycle for his eighteenth birthday late last year. Tommy’s been working on it for months between jobs, scavenging parts from other junkyards. At first, I was skeptical: it looked like a real piece of shit. But he cleaned it up pretty good, and aside from the fact that it still can’t run, it’s now as shiny and pretty as any of them in a showroom.

“I can smell the grease on you.” I whack him lightly on the arm. It’s not a bad smell, though; it’s a Tommy smell.

“It’s almost done. I’ll take you for a ride when it’s all fixed up.” He has a warm grin on his face, then he pulls me in close and nuzzles my neck.

“Great,” I say, though I couldn’t care less whether the bike runs or not. I shift back a little bit to give him better access to my body.

“Hey, what’s this?” Tommy asks suddenly, his lips leaving my body, and the air turns the moisture cold on my skin. He’s picked up some of my homework that I had thrown on the floor by the side of the couch. He’s squinting adorably at the equations on an Econ problem set I hammered out before falling asleep.

“School stuff,” I say. “Their idea of break is to give you work.”

“Wow. Neat.” I know he doesn’t understand any of what I’ve written, and that he’s impressed.

“You’re so smart, Lily,” he says seriously, reaching out again for the whisky.

I wish he would shut up and start kissing me again, but I settle for burrowing into his warmth.

“You shouldn’t have wasted yer time comin’ home,” he adds. “There ain’t no one here you can talk with about stuff like that.”

I snort. “Where should I be then, Tommy? At college with the fucking dickheads who just wanna get laid? Or the sorority girls with their make-up and parties and church on Sundays where they diddle their boyfriends?”

“Don’t know nuthin’ ‘bout that, but you’re sure better than any of us. Then any of this.”

I look around. There’s smoke wafting up from the ashtray on the coffee table. Old coffee and whisky stains on the surface. Piles of dirty dishes with scraps of food still stuck on them in the sink. The otherworldly sound of the football game in the background.

And I smile at this beautiful boy, whom I love with all my heart.

“There’s nothing better than this, Tommy.”

Tommy laughs, but I’m not joking.

+++

The bottle’s empty, Neil has passed out snoring on the armchair, and Tommy is lying on top of me. My blouse is half open—we didn’t quite make it to the bedroom—and we’re trying to be quiet so Neil doesn’t wake up.

It’s hard to keep silent though, as Tommy’s magic fingers skirt lightly around my body, just enough to make me want their elusive touch even more. The sound of a car starting outside makes me flinch, and Tommy darts a quick glance at Neil to make sure he’s still asleep before he lowers himself completely on top of me and nips gently, then more insistently at my mouth.

“Shhh…quiet….” he says in between bites on my neck as my breath quickens and I let out a little yelp. I nod and push his head harder against me, and he shifts and flips me a little to my side. When I twist my head and look over, I freeze because Neil is awake, staring straight at me with his dead eyes. I stare back at him without saying a word, and I can see his nostrils flaring slightly.

And then right at that moment, I hear the door of the trailer fly open. And like an avenging angel sent by God, Beau walks in.