Wrong Side

At 12:25 p.m. a girl named Irma was expecting me to show up at her door in exactly five minutes. Knowing Irma, I know that she was probably sitting on her bed looking at several pairs out of her shoe collection that were lined up in front of her between the side of her bed and her enormous dresser. If you were a fly on the wall at that moment, you might think that she was trying to decide which of these pairs of shoes she was going to go out in today. But you would certainly be wrong, because the truth is that Irma already knew what shoes she was going to wear. She knew the night before when she asked me to pick her up and take her shopping at 12:30 p.m. today, what shoes she was going to wear. What Irma was actually doing was making sure that when I rang her doorbell at 12:30 she would still have to choose and put her shoes on, and then check herself out from every angle in her full length mirror before coming downstairs. She couldn’t very well be sitting in the living room all ready to go when I got to her house. There were no fireworks in that. She had to make a whole big production out of coming down the stairs, though from the living room, where I would always be sitting as I waited for her, you couldn’t even see the staircase. You see, the fact that you could not see her but only hear her coming down the stairs just increased the dramatics of her grand entrance. The whole bit about the staring at the shoes was really just a mind game she played on herself so that she wouldn’t have to admit to being as shallow as she actually was. I know this because my sister used to be a friend of hers and has seen her do it, when we were neighbors on Ormond Street.

By the third or fourth time it had become pretty annoying. By the eighth or ninth time it was fucking sickening. But after that, after ten months of it, you get used to it. You pretty much become numb to it. You don’t even think about it anymore. It just becomes part of the routine. You know that when you go to pick Irma up at her house you’re going to sit in her cheerfully furnished and unexpectedly comfortable living room on the big pink leather couch while her father sits about five feet away, in a dark brown and green corduroy recliner seat, watching ESPN News on his satellite T.V. You know that her mom will offer you some lemonade that she has just made not more than fifteen minutes ago, or some cookies that she and Irma’s little brother had made that morning or maybe the day before. You know that you will say yes to the cookies every time because they are always the best cookies you have ever tasted in your whole life, but you will say no to the lemonade because it is way too sweet and ruins the taste of the cookies. Unless of course you’ve already said no to the lemonade the previous two times you were there, because you don’t want to hurt Mrs. Bower’s feelings. You will make sure to keep track of that. You’ll say to her as she’s leaving the living room for the kitchen that she should start a business selling her cookies because they’re so amazing. She’ll say something like “Bobby, you’re such a sweet talker!” or “No wonder Irma’s so crazy about you!” and she will say both with a southern accent because she’s from Texas. While Mrs. Bower is in the kitchen Mr. Bower will say to you, without turning his attention away from the television, “Don’t drink that lemonade, kid. It’ll pluck you’re teeth right outta your goddamn mouth.” in a very low voice with a cautionary tone that is pretty dry because he is not from Texas. You will chuckle slightly and only slightly because you like Mrs. Bower and you don’t want to participate in any form of mocking her but you know that it is still polite to laugh when someone is trying to be amusing. Then all at the same time you will hear Irma’s footsteps on the staircase as Mrs. Bower comes back from the kitchen with three cookies on a paper towel on top of a teacup plate. You will stand up from the couch, look over at the corduroy recliner and think to yourself: “Something is very wrong here… on several levels.” You’ll take the cookies and the paper towels off of the plate and say thank you to Mrs. Bower. Then you’ll walk to the door where you’ll look to your left and see that Irma is just stepping off of the last stair, and smiling at you radiantly with purse in hand; ready to get in your car and go. She’ll grab you by the arm and rush out the door like your car is going to start itself and leave without you if you don’t hurry. She will only remember to say goodbye to her mother after she hears you do so and then within seconds, you will be in the car with the key in the ignition. You will take her wherever she wants to go, though it’s almost always to the mall. Sometimes it’s for a movie or to get something to eat but nine times out of ten it’s to go shopping. This is what life will be like for you for years to come. You will both attend the same school unless she, by chance, doesn’t make it into your first choice; in which case she will go to any other school within relatively close range that will accept her. You will get married after you both graduate and two years later you will find yourself in couples counseling with a therapist whom you find terribly attractive. You won’t be able to concentrate because you’ll be thinking about having your way with the Good Dr., thus, the counseling will do no good. Then you will decide, together, to have kids because you (both) think kids will save the relationship but you won’t tell each other this because you don’t want to seem insincere. Ten years later you will find yourself crying upon receiving the news of your mother-in-law’s death and then you’ll realize that you didn’t so much as make a face when you got the divorce papers Irma served you with several years prior. This will be your future if you don’t do something about it - Today. That is what I said to myself while I was sitting behind the wheel of my fathers Acura Legend, about to pick Irma up from her house to take her shopping.

I decided that I was not going to show up on time like I always did. I turned the power on in the car without starting the ignition and turned on the C.D. player, knowing that whatever C.D. was in there would be mine. I reclined the seat back and listened to The Blue Album until my watch said 12:32. The drive to Irma’s is about seven minutes. On that day it took ten minutes exactly because I got to her front door at 12:42. I hadn’t even rung the doorbell when Irma opened it and immediately started complaining.

“You’re fifteen minutes late. Why didn’t you call me?”

“Damn, I didn’t even realize.”

“You didn’t realize? Whatever. Come on, let’s go.”

She was wearing her lime green tank top with the Crush logo on it and a white one underneath, khaki shorts that would have stopped two inches above her knees had she not rolled them up to her mid thigh, and the pink, brown and lime Nike’s that I bought her for her birthday. Her hair was up in a messy twist that let some strands dangle down from it. She had accentuated everything that I liked about her. Her long sensual neck. Her well crafted legs and her almost awkwardly long arms. She wasn’t exactly a tall girl but she had the arms of one. I don’t know why but I was extremely fascinated with her arms. I loved them so much that I would make fun of them just to bring attention to them, so we could talk about them, so I could hear her thoughts on them. She always said that she never gave it any thought or even noticed how long they were but I would act like I didn’t believe her and we’d have a little laugh about it.

When we got in the car I kind of fumbled around for a C.D. to put on. Irma sat with her arms folded and her right leg crossed over her left one which was bouncing vigorously. Her lips were pushed up towards her nose because she was rubbing her front teeth with her tongue which is what she does when she’s annoyed. I opened up the glove compartment to look for C.D.’s though I knew there weren’t any in there. I only did it so I could reach across her lap and brush up against her legs when I pulled my arm back, but that just set her off.

“Can you just start the car already?!”

“I’m not driving without music.”

“Then just put the radio on or something. We’re gonna be late!”

“How the hell can you be late for shopping?”

“Why are you cursing at me?” When she didn’t get an answer she kicked her foot and sighed.

“Cecily’s supposed to meet us there and show me this shirt that would look really good with the sandals I bought last week but she’s not gonna sit there and wait all day.”

“Can’t she just tell you what store it’s in and what it looks like?”

“Oh my God, you don’t get it! Can we just go? Please?”

“Well why didn’t you just go to the mall with Cecily then?”

“Because I wanted to go with you, until you got here. Jeez, if you’re gonna be like this all day then you can just go back home and I will get Cecily to pick me up.”

“I’m already here now. I may as well go.”

I started the car and let Weezer continue where they left off.

“Oh my God, do we have to listen to this?”

“Yes. When you get a license and can drive yourself around then you can listen to whatever-”

She punched me in my arm. “Why are you being such an asshole today?!”

“Nothing.” What I wanted to say was, “So it doesn’t come as a surprise when I break up with you later.”

“Did you get into a fight with your dad or something?”

“No.”

Now I was offended and really pissed off. How conceited could she possibly be that she can’t even fathom the idea that she might be the reason I’m so irritated.

“Seriously, just turn around and take me back to my house.”

“No. We’re already on the way.”

We didn’t speak another word for the rest of the ride and she was forced to listen to “In My Garage” through “Only in Dreams”. Actually, by the time I parked the car we had only reached the middle of “Only in Dreams”. I stayed in the car to hear it through to the end and Irma told me to meet her in H&M when I was done. Her head had to be spinning while she walked from the parking lot into Walt Whitman Mall. I had never behaved like anything close to this before. Not just with Irma, but ever in my life. It felt pretty cool to be doing something totally unexpected of me. It also took my mind off of the miserable future I was going to have with Irma if I didn’t break up with her. That is, until I finally made my way into H&M and didn’t see her anywhere. I started to walk right back through the doors, get in my car and drive home but the image of Irma’s legs, crossed right over left, in her khaki shorts flashed into my head and I decided that calling her on her cell was a better idea.

“I’m in H&M. Where are you?”

“I’m in the fitting room. I’ll be out in like two seconds. Okay?”

No one says “fitting room”. Everyone says “dressing room”. Who says “fitting room”? Irma does. She always has. It’s always bothered me for some reason.

“Okay. I’m gonna go over to Foot Locker then.”

“No! Don’t go, I’ll be out in like two minutes. Okay?”

Now I could hear her friends whispering in the background and I’m glad I did because that changes the way I responded to her request. Because of the fact that Irma’s probably been telling Cecily and whoever else is in there with her how I’ve been acting like a jerk since I picked her up, I can’t say “Then you can meet me in Foot Locker in two minutes.” If I do say this then I will have to put up with evil looks and sly remarks from these girls possibly for the rest of the day depending on whether or not they go their own way after H&M. We’ve met up with her friends at the mall enough times for me to know that it’s really a fifty/fifty chance.

“Okay, I’ll be out in front of the store.”

“Thanks, Hon. Love you.”

I heard the beginning of what sounds like it’s going to be an “Aww” in the background before I hung up. Half an hour later Irma and I are looking through the window of some nondescript women’s shoe store that I’ve passed by thousands of times (almost all with Irma) and never bothered to catch the name of. And this is after we’d looked at every shirt and pair of jeans on every rack in the GAP and bought nothing. I almost pulled her to the side and told her it was over, right there in the GAP, but I knew she would’ve caused a big dramatic scene to make me look like an asshole in public so I held my tongue. I finally get fed up when I hear Irma say something about a pair of shoes in the window that look so cute but wouldn’t look right on her big feet.

“Can we go get something to eat? I’m gonna pass out. I’m starving.”

“So dramatic! God, come on.”

“What do you wanna eat?”

She says, “Whatever. It’s your money.” and walks past me.

I suddenly got the urge to kick her in the back until I saw her butt and her legs in those khaki shorts. All was forgiven for the moment. I let her keep walking in front of me so I could keep watching her from behind. I love the way her butt switches when she walks. I love the way her arms, from the elbows down, float out to the sides like wings as she walks down steps with her head down so she can see every single stair she slowly steps down. We’re halfway down the escalator when we’re stopped by a woman and her preteen daughter who don’t feel like walking down stairs that were made to not be walked on. Irma turns her head back and tilts it up to look me in the eyes. I think about how sexy her long neck is and then all of a sudden she smiles at me. With lips closed. Then she puts her right hand on top of mine which is sitting on the black rubber banister of the escalator. My instinct is to smile back and tell her how good she looks today but I don’t. I do however; rub my thumb against hers.

We get down to the food court and I lead the way to Burger King. As we wait on a somewhat long line of customers, I start getting overwhelmed with feelings of resentment and anger. I feel angry that this area is called the same thing in every mall that’s in every city in every state of America - The Food Court. I’m mad that it even has a name at all. I’m angry at the fact that every single one of these Food Court’s has the exact same restaurants and I resent the fact that I have to eat here. I tell myself that I would feel at least a little better about all this if it just weren’t called The Food Court. I try to think of another name for it and then it popped into my head how Irma calls dressing rooms “The Fitting Room”.

When we get to the register I order and pay for both of our meals. I get a Chicken Whopper with a medium root beer and onion rings. Irma gets chicken nuggets with a medium Cherry Coke and fries. We take our trays and look for an unoccupied table connected to two swivel chairs. I feel like we should be wearing orange jumpsuits. I start to wish I had just broken up with her via email and devised a plan to completely avoid her at school everyday for the rest of the year. When we sit down and start eating its quiet for the first couple of minutes until Irma says,

“Can I have an onion ring?”

“I thought you didn’t like onion rings.”

“I never said that.”

“Well you always complain when I get them.”

“Because I have to taste them when you kiss me later. Actually, I’ve never really tried one.”

I hate when she uses the word “really” where it doesn’t belong.

“What do you mean you’ve ‘never really tried one’? You either have or you haven’t.”

“Okay! I haven’t. God, forget it.”

“Here.”

“No, I don’t want it anymore.”

“Come on. I want you to try it.”

“Fine, I’ll take the freakin’ onion ring.”

She took the smallest bite that she could possibly take. To this day I don’t think she got any onion at all from the bite she took.

“So?”

“I don’t really like it.”

“You barely bit into it.”

“I said I don’t like it!”

“Did you even get any onion?”

“Bobby!”

“Come on, take another bite. A real bite.”

I picked up an onion ring off of my tray and tried to put it into her mouth. She threw her hands up and slapped at me in defense.

“Cut it out!”

“Eat it! Take one real bite!”

“I already did Robert, stop it! People are looking at us!”

She was laughing almost hysterically and I was laughing pretty hard too. We had probably laughed like that once during almost a whole year together. Then I gave up on trying to force feed her the onion ring and we ate quietly for a few minutes until Irma snorted out a little bit of a chuckle after taking a sip of her Cherry Coke.

“What?”

“Nothing. I was thinking about something.”

“Obviously…”

“That is exactly why I’m not telling you. You haven’t been a very nice boy today.”

“Come on, seriously. Tell me.”

After a dramatic pause in which I was supposed to believe that she was trying to decide if she was going to tell me or not - she gave it up, though still with a phony reluctant face on.

“Julian said something funny yesterday… no, I don’t wanna tell you.”

“What the hell? You know you can’t do that.”

“Oh I can’t?”

“No. You can’t. And you know that so come on.”

“Okay, okay I’ll tell you… but I really-”

“Irma!”

“Alright, alright! God… okay…” She was smiling but her face was turning rose red. She was really embarrassed and that’s not at all her style.

“Yesterday I go in the kitchen, right - and my mom and Julian are making lemonade” Julian is six.

“Mom is cutting the lemons and Julian is squeezing -”

“He can squeeze lemons?”

“Yeah he can squeeze lemons. He’s not retarded.”

“I didn’t say he was retarded. I’m just saying he’s six, his hands are pretty small and he can’t be all that -”

“Oh! No, he turns them in that thing. You know, that little dish with the thing in the middle.”

“Yeah but that’s not exactly squeezing.”

“Well what do you call it then?”

“I don’t know but it’s -”

“Ok then, let me finish my story.”

I was defeated but impressed. She could tell. She showed a victory smile and continued her story.

“So I’m on the other side of the island, right across from him, making a sandwich” She starts to laugh as she’s getting it out and I wait for the punch line, expecting it to not be funny.

“and he says out of nowhere ’Mommy you have honeydews and Irma has lemons.’’ She bursts out laughing as soon as the sentence gets out of her mouth and I follow.

“What did your mother say?!”

“We just looked at each other for a second with our mouths open and then we both just started laughing like crazy.”

“Well…”

“Well what?”

She sounds like she knows what I’m about to say, or at least has an idea.

“It’s funny ‘cause it’s true.”

I took a chance. Irma’s never been the type that’s able to laugh at her flaws but the fact that she not only finds the story funny but repeats it to me, says that it must be okay. Her jaw drops when I say it but in a way that you can still see the presence of a smile in her face. After she stares at me in mock shock for a couple of seconds, she closes her mouth, narrows her eyes, and says very slowly through clenched teeth,

“It is not.”

“Yes it is. You even have the big nipples like the ends of lemons.”

Again, the dropped jaw but this time the astonishment is real, yet there’s still a smile behind it all and I am just as shocked at her as she is at me. She picks up an onion ring off of my tray and throws it at my chest.

“I can’t believe you just said that! My nipples do not look like lemons!”

“Yeah they do, a little bit.”

“Oh my God, I can’t believe you!”

“Hey, I’m just being honest. But don’t worry; I happen to think your nipples are cute.”

“Oh no, mister. You think you’re gonna sweet talk your way out of this one? You’re never gonna see these nipples again.”

“Come on, don’t be mad.”

“Too late! Take me home.”

“Are you joking or you’re serious?”

“Actually, I am joking. I really wanna go to your house.”

She wanted to have sex. The only reason we ever went to my house was to have sex. I couldn’t understand how after being a jerk to her for the entire day, these last few moments of jokes and laughs made her not only forget about that but reward me for it. A thought ran through my head as I watched her put on the sweetest and most inviting face she possibly could: this girl either loves sex a lot more than I thought she did or she loves me a lot more than I will ever love her.

“We can’t.”

“Why not?”

“We just can’t.”

“You did have a fight with your dad, didn’t you?”

“No. Can we just go?”

“Back to my house?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you gonna stay for dinner?”

“Sure.”

“And tell me what happened with your dad?”

“Irma.”

“Alright. Forget it. Just trying to help.”

We left the food court and headed for the parking lot but not without first stopping to look at several more window displays. She was talking but I was quiet, trying to figure out the best way to say what I had to say. I wanted to say it in a way that would invite the least amount of conflict and arguing. I didn’t want to have to tell her all the reasons why I didn’t want to be with her anymore and I didn’t think I should have to. Hurting her feelings wasn’t what I was aiming for. I had known Irma for a long time, long before we started dating and I didn’t necessarily not want to be her friend anymore but I knew if I was forced to “talk this out” there would be no way around it. I figured she would hate me a lot more if I told her everything I didn’t like about her than if I said as little as possible, so I stopped thinking about what I was going to say and decided not to say much at all.

On the way to the car Cecily called her and they talked, about me, like I wasn’t even there…”It’s nothing, just a bad day. I tried to help but…” and “Yeah I know but you gotta baby them. My mom says all they really want is another mother anyway.” As she said this she smiled at me, looking for a reaction. I pretended I wasn’t paying attention to their conversation and stared straight ahead. When we got in the car I could feel her looking at me and smiling a big closed lip smile as she put her seatbelt on.

“What?”

“Nothing. You’re just cute when you’re angry.”

“Who says I’m angry?”

“I don’t know; your face?”

“I’m not angry.”

“You know I don’t think I’ve ever really seen you angry. That can’t be, can it?”

“I’m not angry!”

“Yeah, okay.”

I reached toward the c.d. player to put The Blue Album back on.

“No! Don’t you dare put that c.d. back on.”

I don’t know why but I obeyed her demand. There was silence for about thirty seconds before she said,

“You know we haven’t talked about graduation at all yet?”

“We sure have talked about prom.”

“Yeah but I don’t mean, like, the ceremony. I mean, like, we’re not gonna be at Half Hollow Hills next year. This summer, really.”

Silence.

“Are you listening to me?”

Nod of the head.

“Can you say something then? Jeez.”

“Why do I have to say something? I’m sitting right next to you, there’s no way I didn’t hear you.”

“But I’m trying to have a conversation with you.”

“Go ahead.”

She huffed, shook her head, then turned it to the right to stare out the window. I turned my head slightly to get a look at what she was doing. Her left leg was bouncing again and she was leaning against the door with her chin rested in her right hand and her elbow propped up on the door panel. I said to myself that this must be the right time to do it. I didn’t know what she was thinking but I knew it couldn’t have been good. There was so much tension in the car at that moment that only two things could have broken it. One would have been for me to pull an apology out of thin air, tell her I loved her, pull the car over to hop in the backseat and make it up to her. Or, tell her that I was done with this relationship and shock her into a fit of rage. I wasn’t positive that Irma wouldn’t snap and try to make me crash my fathers car but I had gotten to the point where I felt that me apologizing would have been even more of a wreck. I was ready. I had made up my mind. No time like the present. And then,

“So what are we gonna do?”
“What?”

“I don’t like you like this. If you just tell me what the problem is then maybe I can help. But acting like this isn’t gonna do anything but make us both mad.”

I don’t know when this word “help” had suddenly found its way into her vocabulary. Irma was self absorbed by nature. I can recall events where Irma has done everything in her power so that she would not have to “help”. Now all of a sudden she was eager to help? Now of all times she had developed a sense of sensitivity and compassion? I started to imagine Irma sitting on the edge of her bed at night, worried and looking so down.

I got nervous and I couldn’t speak. I shrugged my shoulders, pushed down a random button on my control panel and said “I don’t know.” as the two front windows went down.

“What are you doing?”

“What?”

“Are you crazy? Put the windows back up.”

“No. I’m hot.”

“Are you serious? It’s not summer! Put the windows back up.”

“You have no sleeves on and no jacket!”

“Which is exactly why I’m gonna get cold. We’re in a moving car!”

Silence.

“Put the fucking windows up Bobby! Now!”

“No!”

Irma tried to cry silently but she couldn’t help letting out a couple of sniffles and hiccups. She was staring out of the window again and her leg was jumping like a jackhammer. For the rest of the ride, which was only about four more minutes, we were completely silent - except for Irma’s sobbing. When we got to the front of her house I didn’t park and I didn’t turn the car off. I just wanted her to get out of my car so I could have a minute to myself, to think. She didn’t get out immediately though. She had composed herself so that she wasn’t shaking anymore but I was pretty sure she was still crying and then she spoke and I was sure of it.

“You said you were gonna stay for dinner.”

“I’m low on gas. I should get home.”

I didn’t look at her. I looked straight ahead through my windshield.

“Right…Okay.”

She stared at me for a minute, shook her head and got out of the car, leaving the door open behind her. I didn’t get up to close it right away. I don’t know what Irma or her mother or her father and even her little brother must have been thinking about me sitting in my car in front of their house with the passenger door wide open. I wanted to move but I couldn’t. I couldn’t move until I figured out exactly how I felt about everything that just happened. I hadn’t intended on making her cry, not looking her in the face, or barely speaking to her. It just happened that way. I figured she was already inside telling her mother everything that happened. I could picture her mother listening in complete shock, not wanting to believe her daughter, but eventually giving in to her maternal instincts. It made me sick to know that Mrs. Bower was probably in Irma’s room, sitting next to her first born and only daughter, defending me. Trying to convince her that men sometimes do these kinds of things and that you have to be patient and forgiving with them. You have to be their “other mother”. You have to accept them along with their faults when they come back and ask for your forgiveness. I know pretty much for a fact that these are some of the things Mrs. Bower was saying to Irma while I sat outside in my car and it made me want to, at least for a moment, run into the house and apologize to Irma profusely. Not because I wanted her forgiveness but because she didn’t deserve to be treated the way I treated her. And I wanted to tell Mrs. Bower that, though I appreciate her sticking up for me, none of what she was telling Irma was relevant here. I wanted to give Mrs. Bower a hug and tell her that I’m sorry for the way things ended with us and I hope we could still be friends and ask if I could still come over for cookies every now and then.

Just as I started to turn off the ignition my phone rang in my pocket. I pulled it out and it was Irma’s name on the screen. I watched the phone as it rang two more times and hit the reject button. I put the phone back in my pocket, climbed across the passenger to pull the door closed and drove off. Five minutes later I ended up at home, on empty, with the windows down.