Hick - Andrea Portes [20]
“Look, kid, lesson number one.”
I slam the door.
“You can’ go around telling people stuff like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like about money, and having plenty of it. That just marks you right there, understand?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. Don’t forget it. Hey, you like Patsy Cline?”
“Who?”
“Patsy Cline? Heard of her? Yes? No? Well, whatever, you better learn to like her cause that’s all you’re gonna be hearing from here to Las Vegas.”
“Great.”
“I’ll teach you the words if you want. You can croon along. Won’t mean nothing to you, though. Nothing means nothing until you get your heart broke.”
We glide away into the night, leaving my little home away from home to the crickets and the ants. I lean back and listen to some song about seven lonely days making one lonely week. I press my head sideways against the window, looking up at the black sky and the bunny ears in front of me, wondering what and who will break my heart.
NINE
So, what’s your name, kid?” She says it out the corner of her mouth, lighting a cigarette, squinting down at the car lighter.
“Luli.”
“Luli?” She eyes me sideways, figuring I’m making it up.
“Yup.”
“What kind of a name is that?”
“I don’t know.”
I feel shy next to her prettiness. she’s got that look like there’s a spotlight framing her, backing her up and keeping the evil spirits at bay. Like in those black-and-white movies when the soldier wakes up in the hospital after fighting the Germans and there all the sudden is this white-dressed dreamboat turning the world from dirt to ice cream with a flip of her hair. I wouldn’t call her cute. And not beautiful, either. Just pretty. Real pretty. Easy on the eyes.
“Well, I’ll tell you what kind of name it is. Strange. It’s a strange name.” She ashes out the window. “And I’d be willing to bet you’re a strange kid. Strange name, strange kid. It follows. Not your fault. No fault of yours. Just stands to reason that that’s what ends up happening. that’s why you gotta be careful. There’s this couple in Memphis that named their kid Mickey Mouse. Mickey Mouse. Can you believe it? They had ten kids, so the last one, they just threw up their hands and said, ‘Okay, Mickey Mouse. that’s your name. Good luck.’”
“Wull, what’s your name?”
“Glenda.”
There’s a moment of silence cause I can’t think of nothing smart.
“You from around here?” She lets me off the hook.
“Yup . . . um, Palmyra. Maybe you know my dad. Nicholas Scott McMullen.”
“People call him Nick?”
“Yeah, you know him?” I say, all hope and glory. I sound like a small town girl. Small potatoes.
“Nope.”
“Oh.”
“I just figured . . .”
“Oh, right.” I laugh a little, embarrassed. I can see her eyes in the rearview. She smiles, not wanting to be mean. that’s where that light comes from. It’s like she comes from a place where you can just sit there and don’t have to cut down.
“Okay.” She nods, “Well, now that we’ve got that established, what about your mother?”
“What about her?”
She sizes me up in the mirror. “What’ the matter, you got some pending issue or something?”
I don’t say nothing.
“All right.” She tosses her cigarette out the window. “They know you’re out here?”
“No.”
“Bet they’re worried.”
“I doubt it. My dad left and my mama’s fucking a peeled worm.”
She laughs at that, a hearty laugh, like she’s on the Tonight Show.
So, how’d you get stuck out in the ditch like that? You’re about three hours west of Palmyra.”
“I hitched a ride from some guy. He was crazy.”
“They all are. Some’re just better at hiding it.”
I stare out the window at the pitch black, the only light coming out from the headlights, endless and straight.
“Well, what’d he look like?”
“Who?”
“The guy.”
“Crazy. Bug-eyed. A real freak.”
Her ears start to prick up.
“Whattaya mean, bug-eyed?”
“You know, bug-eyed. Like a frog, kinda.”
She gets real quiet now. I can feel something sizzling in the molecules circling around her.
“You get his name?”
“Eddie. Eddie Kreezer.”
“Tell me you did not just say that.”
“I did not just say that . . . but that was his name. Eddie