Steven Gould - Jumper:Griffin _s Story

I bought a better portable toilet for my bathroom nook, one that used chemicals to keep the smell down. I could still dump it in the same pit toilet at the park picnic area and it had a nicer seat.

I added two more solar water heaters for the shower back in Oaxaca.

Well, that killed three days.

My side was getting better. While no longer tender, it pulled when I moved my upper body, so I began doing some stretches.

I bought a heavy bag and a stand for it, but it wasn't stable on the uneven floor of the cave, so I ended up setting it in concrete. After a few days of hitting this, I also went back to the makiwara in the Empty Quarter. One of them had been taken, maybe used for firewood, and I had to reset a couple of the others that had come loose in the soil.

My left side was weak, the tugging from the scar profound. I doubled up on that side, both the stretches and the strikes, and there was some improvement.

I talked to E.V. every weekday afternoon.

"Now he's even more suspicious. He's wondering why you weren't calling before and now you are."

"Oh, great. Should I stop?"

"Hell, no! But if this keeps up, I'm thinkin' you might join me in the afternoons. I mean, I've got a bed."

"I've never been in your room. In fact, it was only that one day that I was in your house-when I brought the sketch- and then later, when I met Patrick and Booger."

"Yeah? What does that mean?"

"I can't jump without a clear memory. I mean, I can jump someplace I can see, but otherwise I really need to be familiar with it. That's why I have all those sketches."

"Hmm. Well, I'm really getting desperate, if you know what I mean."

"Believe me, I know."

At three weeks, her father relented.

I met her at our usual spot and we went straight to the Hole. She approved of the pillows and the comforter and the toilet but I don't think she noticed until after the second time.

"Oh, God. I needed that. Boy, did I need that." She poked at my arm. "You've been exercising."

"Yeah. Especially my right arm."

We showered together in Oaxaca, washing each other slowly. The temperature was just right.

After we were dressed, we sat in the sun on the beach below, me on a rock and her in the sand at my feet. I brushed her hair until it was dry.

I left her in our corner of Mercer Cemetery. I wanted to walk her home but she kissed me and said, "No. Not when you're supposed to be in San Diego. See you Thursday!"

She was there on Thursday but pale.

"What's wrong?"

"Oh, I've got a headache," she said. "But I've also got some good news. I told them I'd be out until nine. Some friends of mine are playing the Teen Club. We're to lend moral support. They're not that good a band but they play really loud."

I was stunned by the good fortune. "That's almost six hours!"

"Well, we do have to actually go to the club-but I don't intend to get there until seven at the earliest." She looked anxious. "That okay?"

"You're not worried someone will see me and tell your parents?"

"I want to dance with you."

"Have you seen me dance? Anyway, we can find places to dance far from Trenton."

She shook her head. "I want us to go."

"Claro que si! At your command. And what do we do before then?"

"I don't know about you, but I want to screw."

There was something wrong. She was clinging to me hard, almost desperately.

"Are you all right?"

"Don't stop!" She buried her face in my chest and pulled me hard against her. The lights were dim but it seemed like her eyes were wet. She dug her nails into my back and I forgot everything but moving.

When she came it was loud, almost anguished, great shuddering gasps, and what little control I had went with it. I was drowsy and she pulled my head onto her shoulder. "Sleep. This once, we've got the time."

I thought it might still be her dad. It must be hard to have to lie to your parents. I worried for a moment that it might be me but she was holding me close and stroking my back.

She woke me again later and we made love once more, long and lingering. Then she looked at her watch and said, "Fuck. Quick shower?"

The sun was low in Oaxaca but the water was still warm and "quick" was the word, for the mosquitoes were coming out.

The Teen Club was nearer the Delaware River, but still walkable, and while it was cold in Trenton, it wasn't as cold as it had been the week before. I was wearing my anorak but the minute we'd paid our cover and got inside, I took it off and carried it because the club, either from too much central heat or too many occupants, was like an oven, worse than Oaxaca.

Many of these kids clearly didn't use deodorant.

The band was loud and they weren't terrible-three guys on drums, guitar, and bass, and three girls on vocals. They tended toward punk with industrial overtones and either the club had a full light setup or these kids had way too much money. There were strobes and motorized track lights and lasers and a smoke machine.

Conversation was barely possible if you shouted or if you timed your sentences in the gaps. They sold refreshments but no alcohol. Most of the customers were under twenty-one but some weren't, and there were chaperones, leaning against the walls, eyes moving restlessly. One of them had his fingers plugged firmly into his ears.

There were tables around the edge but they were all taken, either occupied or piled high with coats. I yelled in E.V.'s ear, "Why don't I drop our coats back at my place?"

"What?"

It took two more efforts to make her understand. "Oh! Okay." She took her pocketbook and something else out of her coat pockets before pushing the coat into my arms.

I wandered back toward the bathrooms, looking for an unoccupied corner, but there were kids making out in the dark hallway. The bathroom itself, though, was empty, and I jumped carefully.

To return I jumped back to an empty lot we'd crossed walking here. There was a streetlight but it had been smashed and I'd remembered being a little uncomfortable taking E.V. that route, picking my way across the junk-strewn ground.

By myself, I didn't care, even when I saw three guys moving from the edge of the lot into the middle, to block my way. I kept walking straight at them and when one of them lifted a pipe in his hand and said, "Stop," I just jumped past them, to the sidewalk at the corner.

One of them yelled and another was saying, "What the fuck!" over and over and over. I looked back and saw that they'd turned, perhaps having heard my footsteps on the walk, but they were making no move to follow.

I was still grinning when I showed the man at the door the stamp on my hand.

E.V. was standing near the refreshment bar juggling two drinks and her pocketbook. The dancing had spread and she was having a hard time keeping the drinks safe from flying arms and jumping bodies. She was watching the back hallway to the bathrooms, the direction I'd left, and her face was anxious, as if she was afraid I wouldn't come back or something.

I tapped her shoulder and she jumped. I'd swear she screamed but the music was so loud, it may have been just a gasp. Both drinks hit the floor, though, together, spraying my legs and hers.

I did hear her say "Fuck!" quite distinctly-it was one of those lulls in the music. "Sorry, sorry." She started to reach down but I caught her shoulder and stopped her. The floor was already littered with paper cups stamped flat by the dancers.

The band reached the end of one number and the drummer and the lead vocalists were discussing something off mike. In the momentary silence I said, "What are we drinking?"

"I got you a Sprite. You know what I had. And I dropped them both! Whatever you want."

I managed to place the order just before the band started up. Payment was successfully accomplished with hand signs. I delivered her diet soda and tried my coffee. It was in a Styrofoam cup, too hot to drink and, in this environment, potentially disastrous. First- or second-degree burns, I thought, and turned suddenly back toward the bar to get some cream or ice to cool it down.