Girl Dreams

Chrissy knew by the sight of him that Josh was drunk. His eyes were hooded and that was how you knew what he was thinking even if he weren’t leering like a jackal, and smelling like one. She got the feeling that his hands clasped innocently over his belly were imagining manipulating sensitive instruments and the tilt of his head, low over his chest gazing from out the corner of his eye, was meant to disarm and lure her closer.

 

Hey, girl, he said, and his chin swiveled from his left shoulder to his right, his half closed eyes dull, a malicious grin rising in the corner of his mouth and falling wavelike. Chrissy ignored him and kept on. Her objective was the house and seeing Josh there on the porch, she was determined to go for the back door. I said hey, he called after her when she rounded the corner and dipped out of sight.

 

She had it in mind to set off into the woods behind the house but the sun had begun to sink and the low hills sent gold light spilling between the shadows of trees and the moist air carried a growing chill the shaded windows collected in condensation. The back door stood open and when she looked, Chrissy could see Josh still sprawled in the chair on the porch and she made her way quietly inside and hoped that he’d dozed off.

 

She’d come down from Indiana to stay with family on her dad’s side she hardly knew, her Uncle Samuel and his son Josh, who’d recently been let out of county jail after a six month stretch and for what no one would say but he’d been home ten days when Chrissy had come and he’d been drunk every day she’d been there. She eased her sandals off to make less noise and she glided gracefully on her toes into the guest room and took great care to close the door and release the knob slowly so as to make no sound. She crawled onto the bed and turned on the desk lamp that stood on the floor and she lay on her stomach and just stared at the light for a while before taking up her book from the floor where she’d left it.

 

It was a romance novel, like to be the only type of book she could find at the store or even on the rack at the gas station. She wasn’t all that interested in it, but it passed the time and they were racy and she liked that, though the only men she’d ever met who’d been like the heroes of a romance novel had been men of a terrible sort or not men at all but boys. They might as well have thrown rocks for all the sophistication they’d shown.

 

She read for a spell and then sat up, pulled on her tennis shoes and a sweatshirt and carefully opened the bedroom door. Josh was still sprawled in the chair and she tip toed out the back door and closed it gently behind her. She was proud of herself, the floor hadn’t squeaked when she’d crossed the room and she rounded the house and found the rut in the grass that amounted to the driveway and set out on it for the road. There was a willow a little ways down the road and she liked to sit under it nights, listen to the little stream that bubbled over the mossy rocks and doze in the evening chill and count stars and daydream about guys she knew from home or the cute boy that worked the register at the gas station. There was a colossal silence interrupted by the stream and the crickets and the sound of her feet kicking up rocks in the dirt road. She thought the romance novels were driving her a little crazy. She needed a magazine, one with trucks or wood working to take her mind off Gas Station Boy.

 

She found the willow and sat against the trunk and flipped small stones into the stream, listening to the small sound of their submersion and letting the night deepen around her. She crossed her arms across her chest and hugged herself for warmth, withdrawing her hands into the sleeves of the sweatshirt to warm them. Steam rose from the warm earth. She thought she’d been sitting a long time. She lay back against the trunk of the tree, pulling her legs in close to keep warm. She could see the stars in the sky though the foliage of the willow and she counted them silently. A frog began to chirp. She dozed off.

 

She knew she was dreaming almost immediately because she was at home. The Gas Station Boy stood in her living room with flowers and a box of chocolates and a moldy suit that was too big for him, and her heart swelled and she felt so happy. She set the flowers in a vase and gave the chocolate to her mother and he offered her his arm and together they walked down the front steps of her porch and down the walk to the gate in the yard, which he graciously held open for her. He helped her onto the camel kneeling at the curb and climbed on behind her and he clicked his teeth and the camel rose unsteadily and she was afraid but he laid a hand on her arm and she felt better, sturdier. They rode down the street, the Gas Station Boy rolling with the camel’s lumbering gait easily, and whispering in her ear how best to ride when she had trouble keeping her balance. They crossed a parking lot and then a street and when she asked him where they were going, all he would say is you’ll see, you’ll see. She asked him his name and he gave her a look, but he opened his mouth so wide his head seemed to open on a hinge and a card emerged from his throat that’s said his name was Daniel. They rode on until dawn began to light the sky and Daniel leaned up and told her that they were almost there, and the streets and buildings had given way to sand dunes, beautiful and transient and moving without the wind ever touching them. The sunlight was bright and as she rode, she put her arm up to shield her eyes from the glare. Where are we, she asked, and all he’d say is you’ll see, you’ll see.

 

The sun on her face woke her. Her body was stiff and cold, except for the shaft of light that came down through the willow’s branches right in her eyes. She stood and brushed at herself, rolled her head around on her neck and rubbed her eyes. She walked out to the road and hiked down to the gas station, the birds singing and Chrissy whistling and a light breeze rustling the green trees while the late summer sun climbed high in the blue sky.

When she got to the gas station, Daniel wasn’t there. Chrissy made a show of looking through the magazines, but she hadn’t brought her wallet with her and she wasn’t inclined to steal so she wandered aimlessly for a few minutes. An older woman came out of the storeroom and she eyed Chrissy with mild interest, in so far as she was concerned with the girl trying to steal something.

 

Can I help you, the woman asked, and Chrissy blushed furiously thinking that the woman knew why she was here, that she had been too obvious holding a copy of American Hunter while chewing her lip. I was wondering if you could tell me the name of the boy that works here, she said. Can’t hear you, hun. I said I was wondering if you knew the name of the boy that works here, about my height, curly brown hair? The woman gazed at her vacantly for a second; Seth’s the only one young as you that works here. He’s off today; you want me to tell him you stopped by next time I see him, miss and the woman trailed off expectantly. No, Chrissy said, I was just checking something, thanks though, and she set the American Hunter on the rack where she’d found it and hustled for the door.