Lindsay Hunter - Ugly Girls

The woman started, like the thought hadn’t occurred to her until just now. “No, I don’t have no picture with me.” She said the word like pitcher .

“Bring me a picture,” Myra said. “And I’ll take in his face and keep an eye out. I work at the truck stop off the highway, and I see people coming and going all the time. I’ll ask around, once I got a picture.” She would have offered this woman anything to get her off the porch.

“Mm-hmm,” the woman said, nodding, looking past Myra into her trailer. This moment of preoccupation had halted the tears; this was the kind of woman who could handle only one thing at a time.

“He ain’t here ,” Myra said, more sharply than she’d intended, but she hated this woman, this wounded whale, this thing that was keeping her from her beer.

“All right, then,” the woman said. “I’ll bring by a pitcher soon as I can find one that’s recent.”

“You do that,” Myra said, and slowly, so it wouldn’t feel like an insult, closed the door in the woman’s face. Seeing as how that was his momma, Myra didn’t blame this Jamey for disappearing for a while. Maybe it’d do the woman’s heart some good, having to get out and walk around asking after him. Exercise, fresh air, nothing wrong with that. Even thinking about it made Myra feel refreshed. She’d definitely earned this next sip, and the ones after that.

AGAIN, LIKE SHE’D DONE A DOZEN TIMES over the past few days, Baby Girl picked up her phone and dared herself to make the call. There had been no mention of it on the news, nothing in the newspaper, no police showing up at her house, nothing. If she made the call she could pretend she’d come upon it, she could pretend someone had told her about it, or she could tell the truth: I pushed a man into the quarry. He was trying to attack me and my friend. He’s dead.

And again she decided not to dial. She could hear Charles in the kitchen, could tell by the metallic pings that he was eating cereal out of an old mixing bowl, banging his spoon with each bite. Told herself she’d better get in there before he ate the whole box, she could always call later. He wasn’t going to get any less dead.

She had thoughts like these now. Any less dead. Like she was some hack comedian. Really she was just scared, and full of hate. Scared of what would happen when he was found, and hate because she got to breathe even after she’d stopped the breath of another.

Had she, though? Every day her memory got more fogged. He reached for the gun, she tried to get the gun back, he fell into the quarry. Had she pushed him, or had he simply fallen due to the force of the struggle? Did that last possibility make her feel better?

No.

Because the fact was they hadn’t done anything, not one single thing, to help him. Or to get his body out. Not a thing.

Baby Girl’s uncle Dave was always talking about hidden evils in the world. “Evil is everywhere, Dayna,” he’d say, mixing creamer into his coffee, or cutting into his chicken tender, or during a commercial. “It could be in the most beautiful woman you ever saw. It could be in your own brother.”

I’m evil , Baby Girl had always wanted to say, just to scare him. Only now she wanted to say it to him because it was true. Perry hadn’t forced her to drive away, Baby Girl had driven them away herself. She had tried to argue, but she hadn’t tried hard enough, and in the end it was a relief to go along with Perry, to pretend they’d call someone or do something only so they could get in the car, lock the doors, and drive away.

It still felt like a relief, days later. And that shamed her.

“I ate it all,” Charles said, before Baby Girl could even ask him if he had. “And now I have to poop.” He had already forgiven her for hitting him, as she hoped he would. The events in his life now were like commercials he’d watched, not all that real.

“Make sure you close the door,” Baby Girl said.

“Of course!” This was his new phrase, something he’d likely seen on television. Everything was Of course!

Baby Girl set to cleaning up his mess. As she passed the microwave she caught a glimpse of her profile in its glass door: round, bald head, second chin unfurling under her jaw. If she saw herself walking down the street she’d feel pity. Why had she done this to herself? What was the point? It could be in the most beautiful woman you ever saw. Or the ugliest. She looked like a demon. Before what happened with Jamey the thought would have pleased her. Now she felt wild, like she wanted to hit something. She closed her eyes, saw Jamey go over the edge. Charles grunted in the bathroom; he’d left the door open. Fucking no-brain is the one who should be dead , she thought before she could stop herself. Demon.

When Dave got home she’d ask about his church. If she was brave she’d ask after an exorcism, ask to be whipped or burned at the stake or whatever shit they did to people like her.

If she was brave she’d make the call.

Instead she sent a text to him: I’m sorry.

PERRY WAS ON THE BUS, on her way to see Travis. It was nice to sit in silence, and even nicer when it was mostly empty and someone had cracked a window and the breeze was coming in all soft and fragrant, only a hint of exhaust every now and again. After Baby Girl had dropped her off, she’d walked to the Denny’s, right in the door and straight through to the back, walked right up to Travis and mashed her body against his until he put his arms around her. “All right now,” he said, and she realized she was crying, actually crying, the tears hot and wet like tears were supposed to be.

Even now, she wasn’t sure why she had cried. She hadn’t pushed Jamey. But he had gone over. She just kept seeing his feet, how calm they looked, one on top of the other like he was asleep, only asleep.

And Travis had held on to her until she let go. They sat in a corner booth drinking hot tea, something she’d only ever seen her dumpy English teacher do, even on the hottest days, but with Travis it felt different, felt adult. She had oversugared hers, so she sipped it in a way she hoped looked like she was savoring it, not nearly gagging on it. She and Travis had allowed their thighs to touch, sitting there side by side, but that was all. Then the cook came from the back and said, “These dishes ain’t gonna do themselves,” said it in a voice like he was noticing the weather, only loudly, and Perry had walked home. They had made plans to meet up again, Travis telling her he’d be off, his mom working, just like he had that day in the hall. Felt like years ago. And now here she was, on her way.

The fact was she was grateful to him. He seemed to like her despite the fact that she had become ugly, it was plain to see anytime she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, which wasn’t often these days if she could help it. She looked like she did whenever she got rained on. She would always look rained on, she knew. It made her feel powerless, like she’d lost a weapon she didn’t even know she had. She had wilted, something Myra always warned her about, and she had let Jim think losing her Facebook and changing her phone number was the reason.

She hadn’t been the one to push him. She waited for the police to show up at the trailer so she could tell them. It wasn’t me. But they hadn’t so far, and there hadn’t been anything about it in any of the news programs Myra watched. Perry liked to think Jamey had gotten up and walked away, was hiding out, cursing himself for letting two bitches get the best of him. She was half scared he’d show up to push her over something. But, those feet. No way he had walked anywhere.

If she had a car she might have driven out there herself. Taken a look. And maybe Baby Girl already had, how could she know?