Shred of Evidence

It’s Saturday. I’m sleeping off a mild hangover when Jen opens the curtains to let in the sunlight. Instant headache.“Get up,” she says. Throws my jeans on the bed, the dark blue ones that’re all stiff and hurt my crotch when I sit. “It’s a beautiful day. Let’s not sleep it away for a change.”

I try to cover my head with her pillow, but it smells like her conditioner (rotten flowers) and by now the headache has moved to the back of my neck and is making its way down to my stomach. Lost cause. I might’s well get up.

I sit on the edge of the bed and grab her thighs, hoping we can start the day nice. But she takes my hands and drops them, hers are dry and cold.

“Come on. It’s after ten, Steve.”

I try to kiss her on my way to the kitchen, but she moves her head so I get her cheek.

* * *

Turns out it’s a really beautiful day. That spring kind of beautiful: nice breeze, sunshine, birds flirting with each other in the trees. A day to hang in the backyard, drink a beer, take a nap. Go for a walk. I like walking these days, tired of sitting in the car. I’m sick of traffic, people, talking. Fresh air I need, room to roam. Quiet. Space.

But we go to the mall.

Jen drives. I sit next to her in my stiff pants and a button-down shirt since I know that’s what she likes. My head feels like a wet piece of leather in the sunshine, shrinking around my brain.

“How is work?” she asks, like we don’t see each other all week. We drive on the too-narrow road around the various parking lots. They just redid the mall, and it’s all fancy and perfect. The place makes me feel like I’m at a job interview: always underdressed and never good enough. Jen loves the mall.

“Work’s fine,” I say.

“What’s going on with that supervisor job?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “I think they’re giving it to Kenny.”

“I thought you were next in line.” She parks the car in the back of the lot, so the doors don’t get all banged up.

“I don’t know, Jen. I just work there.”

She sighs, grabs her bag from behind my seat and accidentally bangs me in the arm with it. Doesn’t say sorry.

We walk up to the mall entrance with the rest of America, women in khakis and men in button-down shirts, pushing strollers and locking minivans with their little key-remotes. I close my eyes for just a second to catch the sun, and some woman bumps into me. I apologize. She clasps her purse.

Inside, the place has that empty air and muzak playing just loud enough to annoy. Jen stops at some candle store, lifts the stuff on the sale table by the door, sniffs the wick and puts it back. The sharp soapy smell is making my headache even worse. She doesn’t buy anything.

“Oh,” she says when pass the Victoria’s Secret store. “Let me check in here real quick.”

I wait outside, stand by the display window. Perfect plastic dolls in expensive lace. Everything’s expensive here, only reminds me I’m broke. Closest I ever got to any cash was right after my high school graduation, when my grandma gave me three grand. “To start something new.” The money disappeared just like that.

She comes out with a pink and white striped bag.

“I couldn’t resist,” she says, sparkling. The thing is, we have five figures worth of ‘I couldn’t resist’ on our credit cards. Each month they want a piece of the pie I bring home. My pie. She’s been unemployed for seven months now. But I say nothing.

“I want to go to the bridal store before we leave,” she says, grabbing my arm.

We eat at the food court, an assembly-line of instant dining if I ever saw one. I have a slice of pizza, with a dry, flat crust and pasty cheese. She has a salad.

“Well, if it isn’t old Steve,” I hear behind me when I push the garbage from my tray in the trash can. I turn.

“How are you?” Mike. Asshole. Dickhead. His hair is darker than I remember, shorter and brushed back with gel. Same ‘I wanna do you’ blue eyes—literally for the girls, figuratively for me.

“Hey Mike. How are you?” I say, like nothing ever happened.

He studies me. Sizes me up. Same cowlick hair, no more zits, I see him think. Same screw-me-over eyes.

We shake hands. I introduce Jennifer, who pulls out her best smile. There’s a blonde woman with Mike, pregnant, with a thin scarf with big daisies on it around her neck. He tells us she’s his wife Christine. They’re visiting Mike’s parents.

“Steve and I used to be best friends in high school,” Mike says to Jen, who is practically ready to take off her clothes for the guy already. Mike does that to women. Once, Mike and I went on a double date, teenage style. You know: dinner at Taco Bell. At the end of the night, my date ends up with Mike. And his girl. I think women like an asshole.

“A long time ago,” I say, more to myself than to them.

He pats my back. “We used to hang out in the parking lot before they redid this mall. Counting points, right Steve?”

I laugh, don’t know why.

“Points?” Jen asks.

“The mall used to have an arcade, when we were kids,” Mike says. “When Steve and I ran out of money to play, we’d hang around the parking lot and assign points to people. Like an arcade game.”

“We would pretend to hit them with the car,” I say. “Old people are fifty points, since they’re easy. Young guys, two-hundred.”

Jen looks at me in horror, like I was the only one who did it.

“Sounds juvenile,” Christine says with a sourpuss look on her face.

“We were kids,” says Mike with a shrug and the women smile. “I can’t believe you still live here. I always thought you’d move someplace bigger.”

I was going to, I want to say. But I just grin. Like some idiot.

“What’ve you been up to?” he asks me.

“You know, same old same old.”

He gives me a blank look.

“I fix the computers at Alco Tech.”

“Now, don’t be so modest, Steve.” Jen leans a little closer to me. I can see a piece of lettuce stuck to her incisor. “He’s a computer engineer, practically runs the place.”

Mike nods and looks at me.

“He’s getting promoted soon,” Jen says.

“Working the corporate ladder, good on you,” Mike says. “I’ve been working on an upstart in San Francisco, computer graphics. It’s really taking off.”

“You moved out west?”

“Sure. There’s nothing here.” He smiles. Knows what he’s saying, but doesn’t apologize. I screwed you, Steve. You’re nothing, Steve.

The women talk about babies while he drones on.

“…are you due?”

“…despite the current economic state, it really is…”

“… with castor oil, or so they say.”

I nod. I notice the giant skylight above us, birdcrap all over blocking the view. I can only see patches of blue sky. A really beautiful day.

Mike slides a business card in the breast pocket of my shirt like I’m some kind of whore.

“Call me,” he says. “I might be able to work something out for an old pal.” He winks at Jennifer. The women hug.

“Great guy,” Jen says when we walk past the Payless Shoes. “She seems really nice too. You should’ve thought of that, you know. Starting a business.”

I look at the birdshit on the skylights again.

“I have to go to the bridal store now,” she says when we get to the far end of the mall.

“Ok, let’s go then,” I say.

She rolls her eyes. “You can’t see me in my dress, stupid.” She pecks me on the cheek. Smells of mayonnaise and garlic. “I love you, you know,” she says, like it’s such a concession. “Just like you are. Supervisor job or not.”

I swallow. Gee thanks, Jen, I want to say. Glad I’m worthy of your love. Sooo glad. But I don’t say anything.

“Just wait in the car,” she says before she turns her back. “I should be done in half an hour.”

* * *

I walk my way back to the other side of the mall, getting bumped in the arm by teenagers and fat women. My headache fades with each store I pass. The Radioshack is gone, I notice, replaced by Snowglobes Unlimited. Of course.

I think of dickhead Mike. In high school, he was the kind of guy you were friends with but somehow always fucked you. Every day, I picked him up in my piece of shit car and he always made fun of it. One morning, while we were driving, he took my biology paper that was due that day and threw it out the window. For no reason. I’ll never forget how he hung out the window, watching me pick up the pages that were scattered everywhere. The look in his eyes. I’m in charge. What’re you gonna do about it? Of course I did nothing.

I still do nothing.

I see them again, Mike and his pregnant wife, coming out of the Hallmark store. He sees me but pretends he doesn’t.

I get to the candle store. Find Jen a wildflower scented one for fifteen bucks, sixteen-o-five with tax. I pay with my MasterCard. It declines, so I spend my last twenty. The girl at the register gives me an accusing look when she drops the three ninety-five in my palm. Loser.

* * *

Outside, the sun has taken the rest of the day off. Clouds gather like giant birdcrap.

I get to the car. I realize Jen has the keys, so I sit on the hood, waiting.

Asshole Mike comes out of the mall, no wife. I hope he doesn’t see me, sitting on the car like some loser.

It gets better. He walks to this big-ass SUV that’s parked a few rows away. Mike smiles and jogs over, all GQ-like.

“Hey, buddy,” he says. “Fight with your girl?’

“Naw,” I squeeze out. “She has the keys and she’s trying on wedding dresses.”

“Mine’s getting her nails done.” He laughs and hits my shoulder. “Come on. Let’s go for a ride.”

I walk along.

He hands me his keys. There’s a Mercedes-emblem hanging from the keychain.

“I’m driving?” I say. I sound like a schmuck.

“Yeah,” he says. “Like old times.”

The driver’s seat is up high. The car smells like plastic and musky cologne. My headache is back.

“Remember we used to drive around the parking lot over here?” he says.

I put on my seatbelt.

He leaves his, just crosses his arms, like that’s all the protection he needs.

We watch a kid in a blue polo shirt, picking up the trash with one of those picks on a stick.

“Hundred points,” Mike says. He laughs.

“Two hundred,” I say. “That kid can run.” I laugh. It sounds like it’s coming from someone else.

“What’re you waiting for, man?” Mike says, motioning in front of him. “Drive already.”

I turn the keys in the ignition. The engine sounds new, smooth and powerful. I put the car in drive.

He sits back, like I’m sixteen and taking a driving test.

The car moves like a boat, rocking on the speed bumps. I drive the loop around the mall.

I think of all the times Mike and me drove here in my crappy old car, engine bubbling like it was choking and would die any time now. I think of how he used to make little comments, stabs at my hair or car or lack of girlfriend, pick at me like I was a giant scab. How he liked to watch me bleed.

I think of the day after graduation. How I looked for that envelope full of the hundred dollar bills. So sure I put it under the driver’s seat, after showing it to Mike. When me and Mike were in the parking lot, one last time, drinking beer to celebrate. I remember looking under the seat the next day, between the cold metal brackets, feeling the rough mat with my fingers. Crying. And later, lying about where the money went. Saying nothing to Mike, when I saw him again.

“You know, you owe me three grand?” I say. I drive a little faster now.

“Really,” he says. Pretends to be bored. Looks out the window.

“Yeah. My graduation money.” I almost hit a blue minivan when I run a stop sign. A rush of cold blood reaches my fingers. Enjoy the feeling. I rev the engine again, like how it hums so perfectly new.

“Honestly, Steve, that’s more than twelve years ago.” He shifts a little closer to the window.

“I remember.” My voice is louder. I’m in charge. What’re you gonna do about it?

He turns on the radio. Some girl sings a sugar sweet version of ‘Total Eclipse of the Heart’. Turns it off.

I pull back into the parking lot, around Applebee’s and the Macaroni Grill.

“I should go see what Christine is up to,” he says. Dickhead. Asshole.

I drive toward Sears. Jen is waiting by the curb, looking miffed. She still hasn’t figured out she has the keys.

Mike laughs. “Five hundred points,” he says pointing at Jen. He laughs some more. And louder. I’m always in charge, remember?

I drive past Jen. Don’t know where I’m going.

Mike says, “Let’s get over to the back of the parking lot.” He’s still grinning.

I see three women standing at the crosswalk. Christine is in the middle, her daisy scarf blowing behind her like a narrow flag. The women touch her stomach. Laugh.

“There she is,” Mike says.

I rev the engine. “Thousand points,” I say.

“What?”

“For all three,” I say and I push the gas hard as I can.