Two>>>Damn You Francie
I get in my car and look at my cell phone laying on the passenger seat. As I pull out of Isaac’s apartment complex, the robot lady, who I’ve named Francie by the way, informs me I have 1 new message. I slam my foot on the break when I hear her voice on my phone. She called! She wants me back! Hallelujah! She is sorry for telling me she thinks I’m a spineless, self-absorbed jackass! She is sorry for replacing the picture of her and I with the picture of her cat! She is- oh. She wants her sketchbook back. She wants me to leave it in her mailbox. She doesn’t want me to conveniently be dropping it off when I know she’s home just so I can invite myself in and ask her to join me for coffee. Her words, not mine. If Isaac’s apartment complex landlord weren’t right there mowing the lawn, I would throw the blasted phone out the window and peel out of the driveway in a fury- trying my best to make tire marks on the ground. But my judgment isn’t that impaired.
“Damn you Francie…” I frown and toss the phone aside.
I start heading home to pick up her sketchbook. She goes to class around 4:15 on Tuesdays so if I hurry, I can catch her and ask for…perhaps a cold drink. That’s less predictable than coffee right?
I walk in through the front door and close it loudly- for effect. My brother Mackenzie is sitting on the stairs taking off his sneakers.
“Hi Tay!” He says to me. “Where did you go the last couple nights?”
I walk up the stairs past him. “Ike’s!” No explanation necessary.
I walk into my room. I am really a pathetic human being. I am 21 years old and still living in my parent’s house. My room is no different than it was when I moved in 6 years ago. My sheets are still navy and yellow plaid. There are still wooden letters tacked over my closet that say J T H. Drawings hang on the bulletin board over my desk. My swirly red skateboard from my skating boarding days resides against the wall by my dresser. There is still a yellow happy face sticker from Walmart over the side of my headboard. It covers the penis carving Zac did several years ago when he was mad I stole his idea for a history project.
I walk over to my desk and pick up Estelle’s dumb art book and tuck it under my arm.
I hurry down the stairs and make it out the door without being bothered by anyone! That is a success in itself.
“Taylor! You just got home- where are you off to!?”
I groan and look at my father standing in the lawn with a hose in his hand.
“I gotta drop something off for someone. I’ll be home later okay?”
He puts the hose into the sprinkler and comes to me, looking me up and down. He looks at the notebook tucked under my arm and frowns at it.
Oh wow. “This isn’t mine. It’s…this is Estelle’s. She’s an artist remember Dad? I guess she had to do um…nude drawings for art class…”
He raises an eyebrow at me suspiciously.
“Yep, well she wants me to drop it off to her before class so I should run.”
“Can I expect you for dinner?”
I open the car door, hoping he will get the hint I’m leaving. “I’m a busy man Dad.”
He snickers to himself and starts wandering back towards the lawn.
I resent that. I get in the car, slam the door, again for effect and this time I peel out. I may be scared of Isaac’s landlord, but Dad? Hah.
I frown at the note on her dorm room whiteboard. “Left for class early! If you’re leaving me something (yes you Taylor) just leave it with the RA.” I glare at the whiteboard and take the marker she has velcroed to the door. I use my sleeve to erase her writing. Frowning in deep thought, I think of what would be the most humiliating offensive thing I could write. I grin to myself as I recall a conversation Estelle and I had a couple weeks ago. As always, I speak while I write. “I dreamed of oral sex with my philosophy teacher one night.” I step back and examine it and then add, “No joke,” for emphasis.
Grinning and I put the marker away and walk away. Well I only get about 5 doors away before I run back and erase it. I’m immature enough to write it, but not immature enough to leave it.
“Hey Taylor.
I jump. Dead give away I was doing something I shouldn’t be doing. Damn myself. I look at Estelle’s roommate coming down the hall, Kelly, and smile.
“Hey Kelly. I was just…you know I was just dropping off Estelle’s book for her. She asked for it.”
“Oh well she’s right in here. C’mon in.”
I frown as she opens the door. Inside, is little miss Pinocchio herself laying on her bed, talking on the phone, and laughing. I make a mental note to add “seeing your ex laugh days after you just broke up” to Zac and my list of “worst things”. She looks up and looks at me. I see the utter panic in her face. Usually I would enjoy this. But I’m too angry to right now. She mutters something into the phone and holds it in her lap.
“Hey,” she says to me. The girl lies to me, I catch her, and the best thing she can come up with is hey!?
“Hey” Okay, I’m no better. “Here’s your book.”
“Thanks.”
I nod and start to walk out. I whip back around. “You said you left for class early. Liar. Why would you lie to me? That’s so immature Estelle, it really is.”
“I didn’t realize I was dealing with the Mr. Maturity apparently.”
“Apparently…” I mutter.
“I didn’t want to have to see you. I know you. We’ve broken up before. And if we talk once you start thinking it’s all good again. You start thinking I want you and you should try and use your charm and you actually have a shot again. Well it’s completely over. And you don’t have a shot. So I don’t want to even get those thoughts into your mind.”
I am horribly hurt. Well, mostly my pride is hurt, but I’m feeling pretty hurt myself. I don’t even know what to say- a rarity for me.
“Too bad you don’t know me better after the 8 months we were together Estelle. Too bad I want nothing to do with you either except to give you your perverted book back and get the hell away from you.” I toss the book onto her bed. I am lying between my teeth, but nevertheless, feeling pretty good about it.
I smile cheerfully at Kelly. “Nice seeing you Kelly” And I make me dramatic exit- tramping off out the door and down the hall. Only, she’s supposed to be running after me saying, “What!? You don’t want me? Fine. I’ll stop playing hard to get. I want you Taylor- I want you.”
But the only other person in the hallway is some college girl I don’t know walking around in her rubber ducky pajama pants and matching slippers. With every step I take, I get more and more mad. Every second I have to wait for the elevator makes me more and more infuriated. I refuse to even look at my elevator companion on the way down. I stomp out to my car furiously. Pulling away I can feel I’m about to break.