Page 48 of When Ben Loved Tim
“Why don’t you help your father?” my mother suggests. “Bring three glasses back with you.”
My dad and I hustle to the kitchen. The rest of the meal is a lot more enjoyable. Especially when we get a little buzzed and start laughing over old memories. We each take turns telling stories. Karen isn’t there to defend herself, so I dredge up the time she got diarrhea at a theme park and started screaming for them to let her off the rollercoaster so she could use the restroom. But not before the ride had already begun.
“I swear to god,” I tell my parents, laughing so hard I can barely see through my tears, “when we went through the loop-de-loop, she let one rip… and it lasted exactly as long as that loop!”
“Just be glad she managed to hold the rest in,” my father says in sympathy. “Those g-forces can wreak hell on your bowels.”
“It definitely reeked,” I reply.
“They really need to stop selling chili dogs at theme parks,” my mother says with a shudder.
They invite me to watch a movie with them, and usually I wouldn’t be against the idea, but I have more stewing to do in my room. My mom sends me off with the rest of the wine. It’s only half a glass, but I drink so rarely that I already feel like I’ve gone on a bender. I put on some music and try to feel cool about getting drunk. By myself. On a Saturday, when just a few blocks away, there’s a party raging. Supposedly. I think again of my theory that Krista and Tim have been getting closer the more distant he becomes with me. He’s willing to lie to other people. Maybe I’ve been getting the same treatment. I’m probably just his backup plan on days when he’s not getting enough attention from her. I bet there’s not a party at all.
It wouldn’t be hard to find out. I could walk by his house. That will either prove my theory or put it to rest. I down the rest of the wine and grab my shoes. After leaving my house, I shiver and zip up the light jacket I’m wearing. Nervous anticipation turns to dread as I reach his street. The thud of heavy bass and a scattering of cars outside his house banishes my worst fear. Curiosity swiftly takes its place. I can’t imagine Tim with his friends. I’ve seen glimpses at school that don’t reveal how they truly interact. Does he have a preference when it comes to Darryl and Bryce? What do they talk about either way? Or maybe Tim spends most of his time with Krista. He doesn’t say much about her around me. Are they together now?
I’m not learning anything by standing across the street from his house. Screw it! How hard can it be to peep in a window? I don’t even try to be subtle. I make a beeline across his yard, where I learn just how difficult it can be, because there are bushes in the way that don’t seem like a serious obstacle until I’m crammed between them. I stand on my tippy-toes, trying to look through the living room window, but the sill is higher up and I’m still too far away.
“What are you doing?”
I spin around and discover two guys watching me from the yard. I don’t know their names, only that I’ve seen them around school before.
“Uh…” I reply. “Nobody answered the door so I was going to knock on the window.” There! A perfectly reasonable explanation!
“Hey,” one of them says, peering at me funny. “Don’t I know you?”
Of course they do! I’m the local homosexual. And if they figure out I was trying to watch a party I wasn’t invited to, I’ll be a humiliated homosexual.
“I am the new exchange student.” I say while emerging from the bushes.
“From where?” the first guy asks.
“Lichtenstein!” It’s the first country that comes to mind. Who says they don’t teach anything useful in school?
“Oh,” the first guy says, seeming appeased. “Do they have beer in Whatever-stein?”
“Lichtenstein!” I repeat. “We have the most wonderful beer.” And we speak with Swedish accents, apparently, because for some reason, I’ve slipped into one. “All the happy children are allowed to drink it once they are ten years old.”
“Really?” the second guy says. “That’s awesome!”
“And delicious!” I add.
“Well come try some ofourbeer,” the first guy says. “You’re gonna love it.”
“Oh.” I try to think of a good reason to leave when they just saw me going to great lengths to (purportedly) get inside, but I’ve painted myself into a corner. “That would be very nice!” I brush leaves and twigs off me as I walk with them to the front door.
“Hey, is Lucky-stone near Amsterdam by chance?” The first guy asks. “You know what they sell there, right?”
“Women and weed!” the other guy cries before they high-five each other. And then they high-five me. Maybe I should run with the new persona. I’ve never felt so accepted! And so out of my element as we go inside. A few dozen people are there, if not more, all shouting to be heard over the music while guzzling from red plastic cups. I might have pulled a fast one on my new friends, but someone here is sure to recognize me. And know me by reputation.
“Uh-oh!” I say to my companions in a Swedish accent from Lichtenstein. “I must go upstairs to make a pee-pee now.”
They laugh and tell me to come find them later. As soon as they head toward the living room, I crane my neck to see past them, but there’s no sign of Tim. I do, however, notice Bryce’s massive form towering above the masses, like a lighthouse that takes pleasure in wrecking ships, so I dart down the hall toward the den. I keep my head down along the way, pretending to be preoccupied by something cupped in my hand. Why didn’t I put on a disguise before I left? Not like a fireman’s costume or anything silly, but a hat and a hoodie and bandages to wrap around my damn face, because I just passed Stacy, and I swear her head turned to follow me.
A couple of guys are walking in my direction, and theydefinitelyknow my name, so I stoop to pick up an empty plastic cup on the floor until they pass. And hey, now I look a little more natural. I can pretend to drink from the cup and partially obscure my face, but only in an emergency, because I don’t know whose lips have been on the rim.
I finally reach the den. I must be psychic, because Tim is exactly where I imagined him. The same place I saw him sitting so many times before. He’s on his dad’s leather couch, his eyes closed as he slowly—and intimately—kisses Krista. My stomach sinks as I park myself in a corner to watch. My timing wasn’t fortunate. I didn’t just happen to catch them smooching. They’re full on making out. She pulls back to say something. He gently brushes the hair out of her eyes and says something back. Then they resume kissing. He doesn’t make an excuse, or take a drink so his mouth is unavailable. He just keeps kissing her. Longer than he’s ever kissed me.
I’m a fucking idiot. I really am. I wish I could rip the heart out of my chest and stomp on it, right in front of everyone.You win!I would scream.I’ll never find love. Are you happy now? Or do you want to kick me while I’m down?
