The Truth of Right Now Page 8

  But here is this face. He follows the brush instead of leading it. Sometimes images sneak up on him like this. He badly wants to Picasso the nose and ears, but the face demands symmetry. Thus far, it is the most normal-looking addition to his painting, which he hoped would stay abstract. Not this face. She becomes clearer as he goes. His mother. Why must her shadow loom over everything?

  “That looks so cool.”

  Dari jumps and turns to see Lily watching him and his brushwork. He didn’t hear the door open or close. The final bell rang over half an hour ago. Most people are gone. Dari just stayed late to get some work done.

  “Thanks. What are you doing up here?” he asks.

  “Nothing. You need privacy?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe not.” He doesn’t need privacy, but he does desire it. He can sketch and draw with others around, even in the midst of heavy conversations, but painting requires his focus and makes him feel more exposed.

  “Well, I don’t wanna bug you. I just . . .” She laughs a little anxiously. “I wanted to ask you something. I was gonna ask earlier, but I didn’t.” She shoves her hands in her pockets and eyes the painting for several seconds. Dari awkwardly moves closer to the canvas as if protecting it from premature criticism.

  “So, the weekend of the thirtieth, my mom’s going out of town. Did I tell you about that?”

  Dari shakes his head. As much as he enjoys talking to Lily, he is really impatient to get back to work. He’s about to clash with his mother via oils, and he’s ready.

  “She’s a guest speaker at this wellness retreat thing. She thought I should—I mean, we were wondering . . . Want to come over and spend the weekend with me?”

  “Huh?”

  “Want to come over that Friday night and stay until Sunday? It’s totally fine if you don’t want—”

  “Your mom wants me to do that?”

  “Yeah. I mean. Mostly, I do. But she thinks it would be nice.” She nods and looks down at the floor, nodding as if continuing her thought process silently.

  “I’m not sure I understand what you’re asking,” Dari says. “Like? Why would . . . I mean . . . what ?”

  Lily then looks up at him and shrugs with this goofy expression on her face, and they both bust out laughing.

  “I don’t understand,” Dari says through his laughter.

  “Me either!”

  They keep going until the laugh tears start coming and their sides start to ache.

  “Okay,” Lily starts, calming herself down. “My mother doesn’t want me to be all alone, and I don’t want a babysitter. She decided we’re both mature enough to handle a weekend together. Well, at least she thinks you’re mature enough.”

  “Just a hang? Like a weekend hangout session?”

  “Totally.”

  Dari nods, thinking. He’s thinking there’s no way in holy hell he’ll be able to get away with staying at Lily’s for a full weekend, but he can’t say it. He can’t accept it.

  “I have to see. I mean, it sounds fun, but—”

  “Yeah I know your dad’s super strict. Mom said she’d talk to him if you want, but no pressure. Seriously.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay, what?”

  “The weekend of the thirtieth sounds good to me,” Dari tells her. It feels good too. His de-pussification plan is taking effect.

  “Awesome! You still have to ask your dad, though, right?”

  “I’ll discuss it with him. And then I’ll come.”

  * * *

  Time passes in the usual way. He does his best to stick to his curfew. He experimented with giving the old man the silent treatment for a few days, but instead he accidentally instituted a new silence rule that they both follow when in each other’s presence. Same difference, ultimately. It helps having things to want outside of his walls. His drawing, his painting. Lily.

  Another Friday. He seriously makes every effort to go to school. He’s been doing well for nearly three weeks. An 89 percent attendance rate is not bad at all. But the sun is shining and late October is gorgeous, so . . . he doesn’t make it there today.

  He decides to walk uptown until he’s tired and then he’ll see if he feels like going back to school. He passes a small group of preschoolers all holding hands together in a long buddy chain. Cute. A twentysomething couple riding unicycles. Pretentious. And then he’s accosted by a drunk/high/mentally ill man who truly believes Dari is his long-lost baby brother.

  “Why you never visit me? Huh? Why you never visit me?” the man yells in Dari’s face.

  “Look, man, I don’t know you.”

  The guy grabs at his sleeve a few times, trying to hold him there, but eventually Dari wrestles away from him and sprints for a few blocks, putting distance between himself and his fictional brother.

  Dari pauses just north of Union Square for a smoke. A woman in a purple sweat suit asks to bum one. Reluctantly, he gives it to her. She smokes next to him for a few minutes. Then, with no warning at all, she vomits all over the sidewalk. Dari thinks it might be time to head indoors.

  He quickly walks over a few blocks to an older movie theater he never goes to. He’s intrigued by a poster for a film called Sister My Sister. Looks foreign. He puts his money down.

  Dari sits in the dimly lit theater and works on two drawings simultaneously before it starts. They’re similar but different. He likes challenging his hand to find the intersections and disconnects of drawing more than one figure at the same time. He doesn’t know what this skill will lead to, or if it’s even a good thing to know how to do, but it keeps his mind occupied in a peaceful way.

  He feels slight pangs of guilt. Lily. She will be expecting him to be at their lunch table, and she will be disappointed. Not to mention that this is the weekend her mom’s going away. He stops drawing for a moment. He tries to identify the Muzak version of the classical piece pumping through the speakers. Mahler? He isn’t sure. He considers returning to school, just in time for lunch, for her sake. He’ll decide after the movie.

  This is not the type of film that will allow Dari to casually sketch while watching it. It is horrifying. Much more so than Weekend. And hot. And he feels filthy for finding it hot, but he does nonetheless. He tries to focus on the carnage: a brutal double homicide based on a real case that happened back in the 1930s. But the fact that one attractive woman is eating out another attractive woman in a closet is difficult for him to ignore.

  His phone buzzes. He looks down, and it’s a text. From Kendra. How does she always know when he’s at the movies? Does she work for the NSA?

  Found 1 of yr old shirts. You want it? If not I’m throwin it out.

  Dari writes, Why aren’t you in school?

  Kendra writes, Why aren’t YOU? She knows him well.

  Dari stares at the big screen, transfixed and repulsed, excited and nauseous. He checks the time. There’s still about a half hour left in the film.

  He texts, u home?

  She texts, Yep.

  He texts, B there in 20.

  * * *

  Kendra pours club soda for both of them. Then she goes in her bedroom, comes back out, and throws the shirt at him.

  “Thanks,” he says.

  “Whatever, Dari.”

  He inspects the shirt. It’s from M.I.A.’s “People vs. Money” Tour. He has never seen an M.I.A. concert. He doesn’t much care for M.I.A.

  “This isn’t my shirt, Kendra.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “No. It’s not.”

  He hands it back to her. She turns it over and over in her hands as if some clue will emerge.

  “Well, it’s not mine. You want it?”

  “Nope,” he says. “Maybe it’s Donovan’s.”

  For some cruel reason they laugh. It’s not funny. The shirt certainly doesn’t belong to the simpleton that once pined over Kendra.

  Kendra stares at him strangely.

  “What?”

  She touches his head, his hair, and finds the lock s
tump.

  “What happened to this one?”

  Dari pulls away.

  “The old man happened.” He downs his drink. “If you don’t start goin’ to class, you’re gonna turn into an idiot.”

  “What about you? You already a genius?” she throws back at him. He smiles to himself, feeling like the jerk he is. He puts his glass down, grabs Kendra, and kisses her. He presses her as close to him as she can go and realizes how much he’s missed this. He moves to her neck and he can hear her saying something, but barely, then she gets louder.

  “What?”

  “Get off,” she repeats. He does. He doesn’t want to, but he does.

  “What happened?”

  “You’re messing with me. That’s not right,” she tells him. Of course he knows this is true, but in his lizard brain he thought maybe she’d want to use him too. So gross. So pathetic.

  “I guess . . . I just miss you,” he mumbles.

  Kendra sighs. “No. I think you miss something else. I can’t compartmentalize like you,” she says softly. He knows exactly what she means, and the devil on his shoulder (his dick) wants him so badly to say, I’m not compartmentalizing! I love you, but his heart knows that isn’t true anymore.

  “I’m sorry. I’m an asshole,” he says.

  “I’m sorry you’re an asshole too,” she replies.

  He laughs bitterly.

  “You really were kind of a lousy boyfriend,” she muses.

  “Thanks.”

  “You give and give and give and once you get love back, you can’t wait to cut yourself free.”

  “Are you taking Psych 101?” Dari asks.

  Kendra sips her club soda, thinking. “Do you ever think about how similar you are . . . to your mother?”

  He does not have a sharp quip ready to respond to this one. Instead he feels a cold chill and a sudden wave of nausea.

  “Good-bye, Kendra.” Before she can say anything else, he quickly exits the apartment and runs down the stairs. Why did he tell her so much? It’s none of her business. Yeah, his mother could’ve done a better job with him and Izzy, and she was possibly the most unreliable human he’s ever met, but that was her problem. Not Dari’s. He is not like his mother or his father. He is his own person and always will be. He does NOT have to become his parents.

  Out on the street, he’s calmer. So what if he needs to cut himself free from time to time? Is that such a crime? Doesn’t everyone want freedom?

  * * *

  He sneaks back into school. There are still fifteen minutes left of lunch. He races upstairs and into the lunchroom, but Lily isn’t there. He sits down anyway and begins to draw. After a moment, he texts her.

  At lunch now if u wanna join.

  He sends it and then realizes that she might be the type to keep her phone turned off during school hours. He admires that. He draws for a bit until he feels prying eyes. He turns around and that bossy Asian chick from history stands there, glaring at him.

  “Where is she?” she wants to know.

  “Excuse me . . . what?”

  “I saw you slipping in. Did you take Lily somewhere off campus again?”

  Jackie. That’s her name.

  “No. I haven’t seen her today.”

  “She is a good girl. I just want you to know that. She’s been having a tough year, but she’s got a great heart and a bright future ahead of her if she watches her step.”

  Dari frowns at Jackie. He honestly doesn’t know what she’s talking about.

  “I know all that. We’re friends. Are you her friend? She’s never mentioned you,” he informs her. Jackie scowls.

  “I don’t like troublemakers. Do not get her into trouble,” she warns and stomps away.

  Dari is amused. Her approach may have been wrongheaded and obnoxious, but he had no idea there was anyone in this school who would try to protect Lily like that. It’s kinda cool.

  * * *

  Later, Dari’s back where he feels most comfortable: in the art room, painting. Technically, he should be in study hall last period, but lately he’s been hanging out here. Nobody seems to care. He is in the building, after all. While lying on the floor doing detail work on the bottom right corner, his phone vibrates. Spangler is close enough to hear it.

  “Phone should be off, Dari.” It’s a warning, but completely perfunctory. She couldn’t care less about his rule breaking, but she has to play the role.

  “Sorry, Ms. Spangler,” he says, but looks down to read his message anyway.

  Yr dad give you permission to stay the weekend? It’s Lily. And no, his father certainly did not give him permission to stay at Lily’s place for the entire weekend unsupervised. To be fair to his father, Dari never asked because there would’ve been no point.

  Think it’ll be cool. Everything okay?

  Just come over. Pls.

  The “please” is kind of intense.

  Of course I’ll come over. Meet u downstairs after the bell.

  K.

  Dari shuts off his phone and tries not to worry. Lily is depressed. She tried to kill herself. He hopes that standing her up at lunch didn’t upset her too much. Then he takes a deep breath and remembers that he is not responsible for her happiness or her sadness and that he has a pattern of being drawn to fragile girls. This is probably a bad thing, and he should think about what this says about him. Satisfied with his own self-therapy, he resolves not to worry and goes back to working on his corner.

  “That’s nice,” Ms. Spangler says, admiring Dari’s work.

  He shrugs.

  “It’s not too obvious?” he asks.

  She smiles and shakes her head at him. From where he is on the floor, she is an upside-down pear with glasses.

  “When that happens, I’ll be the first to tell you,” she says and walks away. He looks at the whole painting from his vantage point for a minute, forcing himself not to touch the canvas. He closes his eyes and tries to imagine he is someone else. He chooses an identity: a seventy-year-old Austrian jeweler. With a knee injury. From the war. His name is Klaus. No, Fritz. He then opens his eyes and tries his hardest to imagine what Fritz sees when he looks at the painting. Sometimes this actually works, opening his mind to other possibilities he wouldn’t have thought of just as himself. Other times, he just feels crazy. This is one of the crazy times. He sits up and two girls at the back table stare. He turns to them and they look away and giggle. Freshmen.

  Before the bell, he cleans up his workstation, and the second it rings, he rushes downstairs.

  “Hi.” She says it, but it sure doesn’t sound like she means it. Before he can respond, she heads for the doors and exits, walking so fast Dari has to run a little to keep up.

  “Uh, hi. What’s goin’ on?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Why are we walking so fast?”

  Lily doesn’t answer. A deep frown on her face. Dari thinks she slows down a hair. Either that, or he’s just found the right rhythm to keep up with her. Not knowing what else to do, he takes a cigarette from his bag but soon realizes they’re moving too fast for him to light it. He struggles for about two blocks before grabbing her.

  “Stop!” He takes a breath and when he’s convinced she won’t run away, he lets go of her and lights his cigarette. He takes a few puffs while deciding on a tactic. For better or worse, he does have experience dealing with unstable women.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t at lunch,” he says. Lily frowns again and then laughs. It’s not the kind of laugh that puts one at ease.

  “Do whatever you want,” she says.

  Dari nods, still trying to strategize. He wonders for a second if it’s even worth his time. Maybe he should just go home. Better than starting something with a possible nut.

  “You want to get coffee? Caffe Reggio?”

  She shakes her head. She reaches for his cigarette pack, but he won’t give it to her.

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s a vile habit,” he lectures, taking another drag
. “What do you wanna do, Lily?”

  She stares down Broadway.

  “The 1 train.”

  They ride in silence. After several stops, they get off at South Ferry, end of the line. Once they are back aboveground, Lily slows down and then stops.

  “What?” he asks.

  “You can leave if you want. I would totally understand.” She’s doing everything in her power not to cry. He isn’t leaving.

  She heads right for the Staten Island Ferry terminal, and Dari follows her. They wait with the crowd for the next ferry. Lily stares at the snack stalls.

  “You want something?” he asks. She shakes her head. On an impulse, Dari heads over to one of them just as the boat is pulling in.

  “Dari,” she yells.

  “Don’t worry! I’m coming,” he says, but then notices a bit of a line. Shit. In a panic, he howls.

  “OHHH! My leg!”

  “What’s wrong?” A middle-aged Indian woman on line with her chubby son looks at Dari, who has fallen on the floor.

  “Oh, it’s nothing. I just have this old injury and I’m trying to get home.” Dari gestures at the mob moving toward the exit and then winces in pain.

  “You poor thing,” the woman helps him up and rushes him to the front of the line, despite complaints behind her. She even offers to pay for Dari’s two hot pretzels, but he won’t hear of it: Her kindness is more than enough.

  “That’s a sweet boy,” she tells her chubby son as Dari hobbles into the crowd, before breaking into a sprint, practically pushing an elderly Korean couple into the water.

  Once on the boat, he catches his breath and somehow manages to dial Lily while juggling the two hot pretzels in his hands. He finds her at the ship’s bow, mysteriously alone. He hands one to her.