Ysbryd Iawn o Ryfeddod

Part IX

They said very little as the drove around the town. She just turned the car wherever she felt like it, and he did not say a thing. Then, she turned down Faulkner street.

“Hey,” he said, “this is my street.”

“Oh,” was all she could think to say. She never knew what to say to comments like that: I flunked the test, I got an A, That’s my car, This is my street. All of these comments were based on things no one had any real control over: intelligence and, she would even include, wealth. Wealth was accumulated by intelligence, cunning, ruthlessness, or inheritance. These were things people were born with. No one can avoid the fate of their genetics. She wondered how much she really believed that. How could anyone know what they truly believed. It was so easy to deceive yourself. The mind’s oldest self defense. But what was it defending: sanity or vanity.

He looked at her and tilted his head slightly.

“You want to come in, we could get something to eat.” Her stomach had made a noise a few minutes ago and she had hoped he had not noticed. Not like that was something she could help either. Now her heart jumped into her throat so hard that she thought it was trying to make a noise too, striving against the muteness imposed upon it by Darwin or whatever god you wanted to supplement.

“Um,” her thoughts whirled past her mind’s eye before she could decipher them.

“No expectations,” he said. His smile was captivating, welcoming, trustworthy.

“Alright” she said in a subdued voice, not quite believing she had actually acquiesced. He indicated a driveway and she pulled in. It was small house, and the single room sticking up from the middle that made up the whole second story made it awesome. She had no idea why that was of course. However, she knew that it was in the modern sense not in the awe-some as in the sum of awe.

The inside the house was like every other. Faded and hooked leather couches. White refrigerator. Straight edged coffee table. White clock. Fake wood bookcases filled with ancient encyclopedias that were not ancient enough to be valuable. Stained Wal-Mart tablecloth. Everything was pretty tidy though (if you don’t count the dirty plate and silverware on the table, the shirt crumpled in the corner, and the movies and CDs in random stacks around the room). Still more neat than one would expect from a 19 year old who lives by himself.

She sat down at the kitchen table. He opened the refrigerator and perused a few cabinets.

“Well,” he said, “we have ramen noodles, easy mac, and crinkled fires with canned cheese.”

The last time she had had fries at home was the night before she had left for New York for a overnight yearbook field trip. It was the first time she had gone on a trip without her parents.

“Fries sound good,” she said.

“Alright.” he smiled. just what he had been thinking.

He went to the far left cabinet and brought out an old frier, got the fries and cheese out of the refrigerator.

“Um, can I help?” Lovey asked, starting to stand.

“No, no I got it,” he said, motioning with one arm for her to sit down. When the fries were frying and the cheese was in the microwave, he sat down across from her, after glancing at the chair at her side. He pulled out his cell phone.

“Graduation in an hour,” he said.

Expletive.

“O my gosh, I’ve been out that long!” she stood up quickly, knocking the chair against the wall, loudly.”

“hey,” he said, “no big deal.”

she ran her fingers through her hair, then put her head in her hands.

“my dad’s going to kill me,” she said. suddenly she felt hands on her shoulder blades.

“don’t worry about it. you’re graduating tonight. he’ll be so proud he’ll get over it in a second.” she met his eyes. they were wet.

he didn’t understand. when she said her dad was going kill her. it meant he might actually kill her. he was probably home already. drunk and stoned out of his mind. she had disrespected him.

“hey,” he said. “what’s wrong?”

she felt her throat closing. she must meet this Spirit.

“my dad’s going to kill me” she whispered.

“i’ll drive back with you,” he said.

what? why? she thought

“what?” she said, “why would you do that?”

his eyes narrowed and he tilted his head again.

“cause we’re friends right?” he asked

“oh” just friends “yeah” she said.