Saturday (part 1)

Sa .1

When I rang the doorbell, Meredith's mother answered it. Her face was lined and her hair looked whiter. "Hello, Brandon. Good morning."

"Good morning, Mrs. Levine. I, uh. I guess I'm here to help Meredith set up for her birthday party."

"Oh, yes, Meredith told me you were coming. Come on in. Ah. Excuse the way everything looks—we, ah. Well, Meredith delivered quite a shock to us last night."

"Yes, I imagine. It was... quite a shock to us when we found out."

"I don't imagine any of us got any sleep last night. Here, come on in." She led me to the kitchen. "Michael's... Not with us anymore, because of what happened yesterday, but I know how much I tossed and turned. And Meredith, well..."

"Dear Lord," I said.

Meredith looked up from her cereal. "Hi sweetie."

"Yeeeaah, I'd say that's the face of someone who got maybe two hours of sleep last night. Meredith, why on earth are you awake right now?"

"I... I have to get ready. There's a lot of stuff to do."

"Yes, but falling asleep face-first into your cereal isn't one of them."

She looked up at me with bags under her eyes. Her hair was a mess and she looked like a Halloween nightmare. "Brandon, I have to say... You were right about having to tell them, but... You really should've warned me about picking a different day."

I sat down at the table next to her. "How much sleep did you get last night?"

"Ohhh, I dunno, maybe..." She pushed energy into her words. "Three hours? I tossed and turned a lot," she added helpfully. "You know how it is when you keep waking up in the middle of the night. You're never sure how much sleep you actually got."

"All right, that's it," I said. "Mrs. Levine, can you hold the fort for a while?"

"Probably can, at least until everyone gets here," Mrs. Levine said. "After that, the birthday girl is probably gonna have to make an appearance."

"Yeah, that's what I figured," I said. "And I also figure she ought to be presentable around then. Come on, honey. Up and at it."

"No," Meredith said stubbornly, turning back to her soggy cereal. "I have to help Mom. With the... With the..."

"With the what?" Mrs. Levine said. "Your dad will help clean up, everyone's already coming, there's no decorating we have to do, and you're not allowed to help with the cake anyway." "I'll help too," I interjected. "Brandon's right, Meredith," her mother finished. "You need more sleep."

Meredith looked up with tears lingering in the corners of her eyes. "You guys are too nice to me," she whispered.

"Yeah, well, don't get used to it," Mrs. Levine said, smiling. "Birthdays only come once a year." And in her smile we both saw what love really is: that love is when your happiness comes from someone else's happiness.

"Now, come along," I said. "Before you drown in your cereal."

I led her stumbling steps up the stairs. The door to Michael's room was, as it had always been when I was here, closed. I didn't know what was behind that door; I knew what had been behind it, but Mrs. Levine had said that Michael wasn't there anymore.

The door itself was pretty normal. Just a white plane of wood with some rectangles gouged out for visual interest. There didn't really seem to be anything significant about it.

"Ugh," said Meredith.

I opened the door to her room. I loved her and she loved me, we were lovers, we had seen more of each other than anyone else had, as much of each other as anyone could see... And yet there was a special sanctity about being up in her room, a place we hadn't often visited. Probably out of respect for her parents. If we'd gone up there, they would have assumed we were doing certain things—like, each other—regardless of what was actually going on. So when we were at her house, we stayed downstairs in polite public, and saved all the frantic humping for my house. And so it meant that I hadn't seen much of the inside of her room.

It made me feel privileged somehow.

The blinds were mostly drawn, to prevent morning sunlight from angling in and disrupting her ability to see her computer monitor: I'd seen the same thing in Arie's room. Interestingly enough, where I had freestanding bureau drawers and shelving units, Meredith's room had all of that built into the short wall she shared with Michael: cabinets, shelves, countertop space for a bevy of knick-knacks, the trinkets and figurines and stuffed animals and little personal oddities that are the detritus of our lives. Some of it was unmistakably feminine; some of it wasn't. The desk, similarly, was built into the corner between the other short wall and the long one; a gap between them allowed for the headboard of her bed. The comforter was a riot of woven patterns in the dark colors one sees in business suits, what Crayola calls the 'bold' colors; covering the frame was a embroidered drop sheet in a pale cream.

Meredith wore a spaghetti-strap top and loose pants. Her hair was wild and the sagging under her eyes was obvious. She was beautiful.

"Good thing you hadn't bothered to change yet," I said. "Come on, let's get you some rest."

"I did it, Brandon," she said. She stared at the floor. "I... I did it. I went in and told them everything we saw, and they found cocaine in the same hiding spots they did last time."

"Is he... Is he still here?" I asked.

She shook her head. "He's eighteen. I think they arrested him for possession of illegal substances."

I smiled at her. "Sounds like it worked." —Feeling, suddenly, strangely, like I was saying the wrong thing.

Tears seeped out from her closed eyes. "What am I, Brandon? What did he ever do to me? I... I ruined him. I just got him sent to jail. And why? He wasn't hurting me, he wasn't threatening anyone but himself... He wasn't..." Her hands shook as she scrubbed at her eyes. "What kind of person am I?"

I didn't dare try anything but the truth. "The brave kind."

She sighed. "I'm no better than he is. Worse."

"That's nonsense, Meredith, and you know it. You did what you had to."

"Yes, but I didn't have to. I could've..." Tears flowed freely now.

I didn't know how to respond. Michael was dangerous—had she simply missed that somehow? Maybe she didn't have the instincts I had, from being alone all my life, from being easy prey to casual predators: I could smell a threat from a mile away. And Michael had set me twitching from ten miles away. I didn't trust him, I didn't like him, and I thought it was really for the best that he was gone.

I guess Meredith didn't feel that way.

"Oh, Meredith. Here. You're tired. Come on. It'll look better after you get some sleep."

She let me help her into her bed. "Are you going to tuck me in," she asked.

I smiled. "And kiss you goodnight, if you want me to."

"Don't go," she said, reaching for my hand. "Stay with me."

I blinked. "Sure." I had planned to go downstairs and help out like I'd originally came to; but if she wanted me to stay...

"Hold me," she said. Barely a whisper.

Now I hesitated. I didn't know what she was feeling, nor what she wanted—and suddenly I understood everyone's hesitation at dealing with Arie when she was triggered. At dealing with something you just plain-out didn't understand.

She shifted, agitated. "You said you'd love me even if I was despicable, Brandon." Her face tightened. "Well, I'm despicable. I'm sixteen and I'm grown up and I'm despicable." Her eyes bored into me. "And I need you."

I still didn't understand. But there's nothing I can deny her.

She slept in my arms, her breathing deep and even, the lines gone from her face; like light and warmth and love taken form and bundled together under blonde hair and unsinkable grey eyes. And I stroked her hair and kissed her forehead and wondered what I had missed.

I guess there are a lot of things we don't understand. But maybe, if I can count on the people I love, that'll be enough.

Sa .2

If you've never had to deal with somebody belting that out at high volume for several hours straight, I really, really don't recommend it. It's enough to turn you off Liz Phair for life.

Never mind the immediate trauma of how the person belting it happens to be your younger sister.

Hi, my name's Arie Chang, and I'm scarred for life.

"Trina, I, I, I don't mean to stifle your style or anything, but could you, do you think you could please turn it down a little?"

"Fuck you, princess. Shoulda thought of that before you broke up with your boyfriend, huh?"

"Uh, Trina... What does... What does that have to do with anything?"

"Ha. That's for me to know and you to find out, ain't it, cuntfuck."

"... Uh. Trina... What the heck's a 'cuntfuck'? Isn't that— I mean, that's what a. That's what a cunt's for, right? It'd be like... It'd be like saying 'Let's have sexual sex' or something, it's... Redundant."

"No. It's not."

"It isn't?"

"No. And do you know why?"

"No."

"Ha. That's for me to know and you to—"

"Right, that's very— Thank you, Trina. Have a nice day."

I went downstairs. "Mom, can you get Trina to stop playing music that loud? For heaven's sake, it's only ten-thirty in the morning."

"I'm not going to make the obvious comment," said my father, who is often wakes at six AM on weekdays.

"Thank you," I said. "Seriously, Mom, it's gonna drive me insane. Can you tell her to stop?"

"Arie, you are seventeen," my mother said. She filled her watering can from the kitchen sink's tap, focusing on not splashing anywhere. "You are almost adult. Why don't you tell her?"

"Mom, I'm just her sister," I said. "She argues with me all the time. What makes you think she'll listen to me?"

"Well, Arie, I'm just her mother," Mom said. "What makes you think she'll listen to me?"

I stared wordlessly.

My mother sighed and turned to me. "Arie. Ever since we have gone to that... That family therapy business... You have all been telling me, each and every one of you, that... All I have done, for this family, is cause problems. I pressure you too much. I demand too much. I don't listen to you. I'm misguided. So... What is the use of me saying anything? I open my mouth, I only cause problems. Nobody wants to hear what I say. So I better just keep mouth shut."

I stared wordlessly.

"And Trina... Trina is even worse than you, Arie. You never listen to me—no, please, let me finish. You never listen to me. I know that this is the truth. When I talk to you, you hear, but you don't listen. But that doesn't worry me because I know you know what you're doing. You know what you need, you know what you should have, and you get it, and you never make mistakes. If you don't listen to me, it's because I don't give you what you need, but that's all right, because at least you know.

"Trina... Trina does not know. I give her advice, she rejects it only because I gave it. She takes what she wants, but what she wants might not be good for her. She doesn't care. And nobody can tell her differently.

"So, what should I say? Why should I say? She ignores me. Sure, I yell, I scream, I waste my breath, I threaten, I punish, I take away her stereo. But what good does it do?

"So, yes. I will go upstairs and ask her to turn it down. But I don't think it will make any difference."

I stared after her in mute shock.

Sure, I'd had problems with my mother before. I'd had plenty of them. There had been a practical cold war between my mother on one side and my sister and I on the other—and sometimes a three-way war as well; the enemy of my enemy is my friend, but that doesn't mean my friend is particularly trustworthy.

But I'd never thought my mother was anything but invulnerable.

After all, that was the problem, wasn't it? How do you defeat that which could not be defeated?

And yet... It could. And, apparently, it had. And now we were, all of us, staring that in the face.

There is always a sort of devastating fear, a numbness, the first time your parents admit that, now, you and they are equals.

As I passed Trina's closed door, which barely muffled the pounding bass from her stereo (thank God, a new song at least), she opened her door and bellowed against the music: "Ha ha, can't do your own dirty work, have to send somebody else to do it for you, ha ha, hiding behind parents, what are you some kind of sissy—"

A fleeting, vivid image crossed my mind: reaching out and grabbing the door handle and slamming it closed, my sister's neck severing on the door's non-existent razor-sharp corners; a flash of blood; her head suspended for a split second, eyes wide, hanging in mid-air as they do in cartoons, before plummeting to the ground.

It didn't fill me with anger. It didn't fill me with revulsion. I didn't want to do it or not do it. It was just... An idea.

A second after I closed my door, which didn't help kill the music as much as I had hoped, my computer's instant message program started lighting up with about a thousand messages from Trina.

I had to get out of here. At this rate I was going to go insane.

I picked up the phone. I couldn't go to Meredith's house: she was probably frantically busy with preparations for the party later today; and besides, we're not quite close enough for me to just invite myself over like that. Come to think of it, that was true of everyone except Brandon, and if I couldn't deal with my own family I really doubted I could deal with his.

Where could I go?

I stared at the phone. Suddenly my thumb moved of its own accord. There was ringing, and then a voice. I raised the handset to numb lips. "Hi, Mrs. Strong."

"Oh, hello, Arie," said Derek's mom. "It's good to hear from you. It's been a little while."

"Well," I lied. "It's been a busy week."

"I can imagine, with Derek in The Program and all, " Derek's mom said. "Would you like to speak to him?"

Gulp. "Yes, please."

"Just a moment, please. (Derek? It's for you.) Here he comes."

Clicking, rustling. "... right, okay Mom, thank you. Hello?"

"Hi," I said.

Thundering silence for several seconds.

"Hi," he said finally. I couldn't tell from his voice what he was feeling.

Desperate, my heart pounding in my throat: "Look, I— I need to get out of the house. I'm going insane over here. Do you— Do you want to— I dunno, hang out or... Or something?"

Silence. More silence. Despite the incessant screaming of noise from across the hall (it sounded like the inside of a car-smashing factory, not exactly what I'd call 'music'), I could hear my heartbeat clear and fine.

"... All right, " he said finally. "My house or yours?"

"Your—" I said, and then stopped. Not here, certainly; but his was hardly neutral ground either. There were going to be some messy conversations between us in the near future, and I kind of didn't want him to have home-court advantage. Then inspiration struck. "Let's go out. It's Saturday, there's gotta be places open. The mall, bowling, mini-golf, I dunno, just... Just something."

He chuckled; I could hear dark amusement in his voice. "Sounds kinda like a date. Are you sure you—"

"Look, shut up, do you want to or not," I asked, feeling panic's hot tendrils flailing at me.

"Fine," he said. "Fine. I'll be by to pick you up in twenty minutes."

Whew! "Great!" I said. "See you then." And then hung up.

And then felt the situation settle around me like a wet blanket. Had I just gotten out of one stupid situation, only to step into another one?

Out of the frying pan, right?

Great.

Sa .3

"Where are you going," Jenny asked me as I turbo'd down the hall. "Meredith's party isn't until three."

"I'm gonna go hang out with Arie," I said.

"You're what," she said.

"I'm gonna go hang out with Arie," I said again.

"Dressed like that?" Jenny said. "You look like you're going out on a first date, brother, not just passing some time."

It was true; I'd hastily changed into something more presentable, and tried to tame my hair a little bit. "All right, so, I'm trying to make a good impression, okay?"

"Is this it?" she asked.

I nodded. "This is it." Which meant that I was going to try to get Arie to take me back. Hence the whole good impression thing.

"Oh, well, no wonder you feel like you need to make a good impression," said Jenny. "All right. Go get 'em, tiger."

"Tiger. Right. More likely she's gonna have me by the tail," I grumped. Arie's quicksilver in an argument, deathly fast and hard to deal with. But, I had to try.

The drive over was interminable. Visions of Arie danced through my head: Arie laughing, Arie crying; Arie naked; Arie slapping my face; Arie kissing me, Arie walking away... All the possible outcomes, and then some. Red lights seemed to last for ages; and then I'd look up and find myself five miles further down the road than before, without having even noticed. Then I'd get scared and clutch the wheel and start to pay attention again... Only to find myself gummed up at an interminable red light that seemed prone to last for another five years, and...

When I got to Arie's house, I wasn't entirely in good mental shape.

Arie met me at the front door. I had barely rang the bell when she came barreling out, trailed by a sudden blast of sound that abated when the door slammed shut behind her. "What was..." I said.

"What I'm trying to get away from," she said. "God. Get me out of here."

We saddled up and shut the car doors. "Okay," she said, "where are we going?"

"How should I know," I said, "you pick something."

"I don't care one way or another," she said. "You pick something."

"Fine," I said, exasperated, "let's go to Las Vegas."

"Suits me," Arie said blandly, and I suddenly realized I had better watch my mouth.

"Look, you pick something," I said.

"I don't care where we go," she said.

"Well, I don't either," I retorted, "so..."

We trailed off, staring out of windows. If I'd been a child I would have kicked my dangling feet.

"This is all your fault anyway," she said suddenly.

"What?" I said, confused. "How is this my fault?"

"We ought to be kissing or fucking or at least being civil to each other," she said. "But now we're all pissed off. And it's all because you couldn't keep your damn chivalry to yourself."

Weariness settled over me like a shroud. "Arie, I'm really not interested in discussing this right now."

"You just had to go off and try to fix Jenny's problems," Arie said. "Just a pair of weepy eyes and a little problem, and oh!—Derek's distracted! If it's that easy to catch your eyes, I should just walk around with bare tits all day. Maybe that's why you paid so much attention to Faith. She's naked and she's airheaded! But, without all the constant prattle you get out of cheerleaders! What a brilliant combination! Maybe if she—"

My fist thudded down on the steering wheel. "Arie, leave the car this fucking instant."

"Why?"

"BECAUSE I'M NOT GONNA TAKE YOUR SHIT, OKAY?" I roared. She flinched.

I took a deep breath.

"I am here," I said. "Though I do not have to be. I'm here as a favor to you, even though we're not technically involved and, frankly, I think I'd rather be just about anywhere else at this moment. If you really think I don't care about you, you should consider the fact that I'm here, right now, and what that means.

"Now. If you're willing to have a civil conversation, you can stay. I'd like to have a civil conversation with you. I'd like to patch things up. But I am not going to sit here and let you badmouth me and pretend you're totally blameless. So. The next time I hear you insult me, I swear I will kick you straight out of this car and leave you lying on the sidewalk. Or the highway, if that's where your mouth happens to get away from you. Good luck dodging cars. They'll be gentler to you than I will."

Arie stared at me wordlessly.

"Are we clear on this," I said. And then, as a peace offering: "I'll listen to what you have to say. I may even agree with some of it. But as the price of admission, you have to think about what you say before you say it." Again: "Are we clear on this?"

"We're clear," she said quickly. "We're very clear."

I nodded. "Okay."

There was silence for a moment.

"So," I said finally. "Um. Where are we going?"

"Oh for fuck's sake," said Arie, but she couldn't keep from laughing. And suddenly I felt that, maybe, just maybe, we could make things better.

Sa .4

I woke up to the sound of a computer keyboard. When I opened my eyes, it was Brandon.

"Mmm. What time is it?"

He looked over, and at once a smile broke out onto his face. I felt warm and loved. "Hey, sweetie."

I smiled back. "Hey yourself."

"It's about... Two o'clock."

"Really? God, it feels like I slept longer."

"I hope so," he said, "people are gonna show up in an hour."

"Mmm," I said. "No five more minutes?"

"Probably not," he said. "Especially if you want to take a shower." He stood up and gave me his hand to help me get out of bed.

"Mmm," I said. I did want to take a shower. I probably looked a mess, and I felt kind of like one too—though, in that good-mess sort of way, the sort of deliciously exerted feeling that comes from a good exercise or having sex. For that matter, I felt very warm and comfortable, as if...

"Brandon," I said. "After I... Fell asleep. You didn't... Do anything to me, did you?"

Brandon gave me a confused look. "No, I didn't," he said. "What do you mean?"

"You didn't take advantage of my, ah, incapacitated state," I asked, slinking towards him. You know, the sort of thing that's... Underhanded. And... Immoral. And... That I really would have preferred to be awake for."

He blinked at me. "No, after you fell asleep I went downstairs and talked to your mom a bit, and since then I've been..." He shrugged. "Here. Hanging out on the Internet."

"Mmm," I said. I believed him. "It must just be because you were in the room with me."

"Well, magic touch and all that," Brandon said brightly. "I aim to please, after all."

I drew his arms around me. "You do." His breath ruffled my hair; his shoulder was a warm pillow. "I love you."

"I love you," he said.

"I know," I said.

Showering took a little longer than anticipated, because of how much of a mess I truly was: I looked at myself in the mirror when I went in and my eyes nearly popped out of my head. Lord, I looked like... My God! Brandon must have near had a heart attack when he came this morning! And then, in the shower, I happened to look down at myself—over all that expanse of flesh and skin and nerve and hair and bone I happen to call mine, over the breasts and nipples and legs and toes, the shallow hills and the shallow valleys, the slightly-more-defined swells from waist to hips—and realize how much Brandon would probably like to be in here right now, seeing what I was seeing—not that he hadn't seen it before, to be sure, but he never seems to get tired of it. He'd probably be erect by now. And just that one thought sent a tingle of pleasure through me, and I felt myself reacting, my nipples puckering a little and the first vestiges of wetness beginning to make itself known down below; and I let my finger wander between my legs, and smiled at the thought of Brandon, and allowed that, maybe, just maybe, he wasn't only soothing my ego when he told me he thought I was physically attractive.