Mary Miller - The Last Days of California

“All right,” he said. “Fuck.”

“Thanks,” the girl said. She was a pretty, bleached blonde with big brown eyes.

Three people were playing quarters at the table while Erik and a girl watched the muted TV. Outside, a group of people stood around, smoking cigarettes and talking.

“Hey,” a guy said.

“I’m Jess,” I said, sticking out my hand. He shook it, said it was nice to meet me. Gabe introduced me to the others. They were all attractive but still had one or two things wrong with them: acne, thick legs, kinky hair, moles that needed to be removed, hook noses, gums that showed too much when they smiled, eyes that were too far apart or close together. I didn’t have to be perfect—hardly anyone was perfect. Why did I think I had to be perfect all the time? And all of these people were having sex. I looked around and thought, You’re having sex, and you, and you.

Gabe said he had to get up at five and I wondered if I was boring him, or if there was some other girl that he wanted. Maybe the pretty, bleached blonde.

“Why do you have to get up so early?”

“I work construction with my dad,” he said. “I’ll probably sleep in my van for a few hours.”

“It’s still early,” I said, though I didn’t know what time it was—eleven o’clock, maybe later. I didn’t want to go back to my room—there was nothing to do there but go to sleep and I didn’t want to sleep. For once in my life, I felt like I was living and I wanted to stretch it out as long as I could.

“You could come with me,” he said. “There’s a bed in the back.”

“You have a bed in your van?”

“It’s my dad’s van.”

“That’s kind of weird.”

“But convenient,” he said. “Wait here.” He went back inside and grabbed a couple of beers, put a can in each pocket. Then we walked down the stairs and across the parking lot.

He opened the passenger-side door and I climbed in. It smelled like gasoline. I ducked into the back and sat on a mattress covered with a burnt-orange blanket. It was quiet for the few moments it took him to walk around and unlock his door, and I wondered what I was doing. I knew he wouldn’t hurt me, but this was the kind of situation I had always been taught to avoid. It was risky behavior, how bad things happened. I thought of Acts 18:10: “ For I am with you, and no one is going to attack and harm you, because I have many people in this city.” I loved that—“ I have many people in this city. ” The Bible could be so beautiful sometimes, if you could forget it was the Bible.

“It smells like gas,” I said.

“I’ll crack a window.” He let the windows down halfway, and then he sat next to me and opened the beers.

“Is the van going to explode?”

“No,” he said, laughing.

I told him I’d never done anything like this before, that I’d only kissed one boy in my life. I wanted him to know I wasn’t the type to go off with a boy I’d just met even though it was exactly what I was doing and nothing I could say would change that. He stopped me by kissing me. His hands started to wander—they went under my shirt, the waistband of my shorts—and we started kissing more and more aggressively, and then I felt like I was with a stranger.

“Hold on,” I said, pushing him back.

“What?”

“I want to see you.” His pupils were larger now, and he seemed different, changed. “I can’t see you,” I said.

“Do you want me to turn on the light?”

“No—yes.”

He stood and turned the light on, sat back down.

“Is that better?” he asked.

“Yes.” He was the most perfect boy I’d ever seen. He tucked a piece of hair behind my ear and I took a long drink, finishing the can. I could feel the alcohol coursing through my veins and it felt good. It felt so good I thought about all of the beers I’d refused, all of the beers poured down the drain, behind bushes. I wanted them back. He touched my hair again and said it was soft and I set the can between my legs and leaned forward to kiss him. His hands stayed on my knees, my waist, places I wouldn’t push them off.

“I liked you right away,” I said, while he kissed my neck. “Right when I saw you.”

“I liked you, too,” he said.

“You weren’t looking at my sister?”

“No.”

“But she’s so pretty.”

“You’re pretty, too,” he said. “And you’re fun and nice and I like the way you look at me.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

His face came at me, slowly, and he pressed his lips to mine. I tried to figure out how his mouth worked, his tongue. I wanted him to want me more than he’d ever wanted anyone. But then he pulled away and lit two cigarettes, handed me one. I held it between my fingers.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, getting to his feet. “Don’t go anywhere.” He opened the door and hopped out.

I climbed into the passenger seat and propped my feet on the dash, flicking ash before there was anything to flick. I imagined the van exploding, smoke and fire billowing into the sky. Gabe standing in front of room 212 screaming, and then running. I took another drag and dropped the cigarette out the window.

He returned with four beers and a joint. “Do you mind if I smoke this?” he asked.

“No,” I said. “Do you mind if I don’t?”

“Of course not.”

We sat on the bed again and he lit the joint and inhaled. As soon as the last of the smoke left his mouth, I leaned forward and kissed him.

“How many people have you had sex with?” I asked.

“Why do all girls want to know that?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “You could always lie.”

“I’m not going to lie.”

“How many?”

“Seven,” he said. “Is that a lot?”

I told him any number would seem like a lot to somebody who’d never done it. I wanted to know what the girls were like, if he’d loved any of them, but there wasn’t enough time and he probably wouldn’t tell me the truth, anyhow. I leaned forward to kiss him and he took my hand and brushed it against his shorts, the same swim trunks he’d had on earlier. I looked into his eyes as he pulled the string. He wasn’t wearing anything underneath.

I touched him, letting him guide my hand up and down until I could do it myself. I watched his mouth, his closed eyelids, watched him pretend I could do something to him that no one else could.

Gabe walked me to my room, kissed me one last time.

“Will you think about me?” I asked.

“Of course,” he said.

“And if the rapture comes and I’m not saved, you’ll come for me?”

“Of course,” he said again.

“Wait—how will you know?”

“You’ll text me.”

I told him I doubted cell phones would be working. He said we’d figure it out and kissed me again. When he pulled away, I grabbed his hand.

“I have to go,” he said. “I have to be at work in a few hours.” He kissed my cheek and turned and I watched him walk away. He didn’t look back. I wondered if he thought about looking back.

Elise didn’t stir when I opened the door. I brushed my teeth and got into bed as quietly as I could.

“Did you have sex with him?” she asked, sounding wide awake.

“No.”

“That’s good.”

“Why?” I said.

“No use in having sex with somebody you’ll never see again. It would only hurt your feelings.”

“I told him I wasn’t going to,” I said, holding up my hand in the dark. It had his cell phone number on it. I hoped it wouldn’t smear or fade before I’d had a chance to transfer it to my phone.

“That’s what all girls say before they do it,” she said.

“Nuh-uh.”

“I’ve said it and then gone ahead and done it,” she said. “Sometimes it’s just easier.”