Burke.Word

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10

the old itchy fingers started itching

—I told you to dump him months ago. I can’t. I don’t even believe we’re still talking about it. Are you waiting for a special signal? A mystical revelation? How about this. He’s crude, he’s violent, and he’s. He’s truly nuts, Amanda. If he were a bar the sign would say Do Not Enter Unless You’re Stupid. Why do I get the feeling you’re not listening to me, not even a little bit?

They were out for coffee, ten in the morning, on Rachel’s break between classes at the nearby middle school where she taught 7^th and 8^th grade science. She and Amanda had become friends in high school back in 1987, after an escalating series of ugly events involving a boy they both liked. All fairly typical high school stuff, until one afternoon after school in the parking lot she and Amanda had actually squared off and started swinging. They fought for about thirty seconds, tops, fortunately no one else around to see it, when Amanda lost her balance and fell right on her ass. Rachel hadn’t even touched her. Somehow, with Amanda on the ground and Rachel standing above her, fists clenched, this insane look of intensity on her face, they had just started laughing, quickly descending into outright hysterics, both of them on the ground, hugging each other, pretty much incapacitated with laughter. When they had finally stood up again, Amanda had said she sure was glad they’d gotten that out of the way, and then punched her in the stomach. That’s for good measure, she’d said, if I hadn’t slipped you’d have a lot more to complain about than a little stomach-ache. Now they’d tell you, nothing in high school for either of them topped the moment when they went together to let the guy know that neither of them, in fact, would be going out with him. They had remained friends, and they could still get into it with each other pretty good.

—Are you calling me stupid?

—See? You’re stalling. That’s exactly what I’m talking about. So this time, this of all times, when he stands you up, doesn’t even call, and then can’t speak a complete sentence when you finally reach him the next morning, this time you’re not going to let him off again. I can’t let it happen. I won’t let it happen.

—Come on Rachel, it’s not like he beats me or something.

—He doesn’t beat you. Sure. Fantastic. Now there’s a great relationship threshold in a girl’s search for Mr. Right. What’s next? He doesn’t leave bruises? He only locks you in on weekends? Are you serious?

—Not really.

—Not. What do you mean, not really?

—I mean not really.

Amanda had gotten to that point in her life, short though it was, where she wasn’t going to be shut out or ignored like some six-year old who let the other kids take the best stuff out of the Halloween haul while she sat back with her hands in her pockets waiting for someone else to say it was time to play fair and share all around. She just wasn’t. She’d had too much experience simply taking what she wanted to continue letting lowlifes like Jersey use her up and then pretend like she was some thing they could throw away. But it sure was fun to string Rachel along. She hadn’t felt this good in a very long time.

—I went over to his grandfather’s house this morning, and I took something. You know how he practically worships the guy, he’ll be furious. He wants to know why, I’ll tell him, don’t ever stand me up again. Whether it’s my birthday or not.

—Wait, what are you saying, you went over? Was he there? Are you saying you broke into his grandfather’s house?

—Not exactly. I’ve been over there before, it’s never locked. I didn’t break in, I walked in.

—You walked in.

—Yeah, I walked in. I don’t know, Rachel, it was like the old Amanda suddenly appeared out of nowhere. I had no idea even really why I was there, or what I was going to do exactly, I had just completely had it with Jersey. Before I knew it, the old itchy fingers started itching, and that was that. I can’t wait to see the look on his face. You should have heard him when I called him this morning, even Rachel the not-so-mad scientist teacher would have done the same thing.

—Amanda.

—What?

—Are you really out of your mind? I mean really? It doesn’t matter if it was locked or not. You broke. You broke into Mr. Kocerka’s house. Not Jersey’s house, not that that would have been any better. Who cares about the look on anybody’s face? What were you thinking?

—I was thinking it was my birthday last night, that’s what I was thinking. I was thinking. Ok, maybe you’re right. Anyway, it’s done. Actually, if I had the chance, I’m pretty sure I’d do it again.

For a moment they both paused. Amanda finished her coffee, set the cup down, and looked around the shop like she was half-expecting people to start coming over to their booth to congratulate her. They had been friends long enough that neither of them was uncomfortable with silence. But somebody had to break it, and Rachel couldn’t help herself.

—I think, I think I probably don’t want to know the answer to this.

Rachel picked up the check, started going through her purse for the right bills.

—So, what did you take, his dentures? I mean, he’s like a hundred years old, isn’t he? What did you do, grab his social security check?

—I don’t even know. It’s some old coin or something. Probably the first dollar he ever made back in the old country or whatever they call it. Here, you can take a look. It was on the wall in his bedroom. Jersey’s going to have some serious making up to do to get it back, I promise you that.

Rachel watched as Amanda, turning in the booth, reached into her bag, pulled out a small picture frame and handed it across the table. As Rachel looked more closely, it seemed like the chaotic noise of the coffee shop receded all at once into the distance. She was aware of the confined space she and Amanda occupied, the suddenly claustrophobic corner of the shop where the two of them sat leaning over the tiny dark wood frame. She saw the winged figure, a crown, and a building she instantly recognized as the Roman coliseum.

—You seriously don’t know what this is. Were you completely oblivious for the entire four years of high school, or what?

—Give me a break, Rachel, it was there, hell, it was the only thing in the whole house if you want to know the truth, so I took it. It was almost like the old days. I felt great walking out of that place, like I was just coming out of Macy’s with a bag full.

—Amanda, it’s an Olympic medal. An. Olympic. Medal. It’s not just the first dusty kopek some old guy earned on his first day on the job. It’s. It’s…significant, for christ’s sake.

—Whatever. It’s mine now. As long as it gets Jersey’s attention, I’ll be happy.

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Losing the Bronze is Copyright ©2009-10 Nigel Hinshelwood