Allie's Hero

I always knew I was destined to be with Allie. Allie Hanover was the dream girl of Shelton High. She was the whole package. Rich cinnamon eyes and big curly hair as red as a summer evening sunset. She had the velvet voice of Judy Garland and legs like Betty Grable. She was both hard and soft, athletic and petite. From the gym floor to senior prom, she gave the boys a run for their money. All the girls hated her as much as they wanted to be her. Allie Hanover was a solid 10, and I was her biggest fan.

I had known Allie since 3^rd grade. We shared several classes together, most in which I sat directly behind her, an intoxicating position as the scent of wild berries rolled off her skin. And that hair! The untamed mane of a goddess. Fighting the temptation to touch just one bouncy copper coil built more discipline in me than my drill sergeant father. Being so close to her gave rise to a myriad of conflicting emotions day after day, year after year. I was enamored by her and in awe of her while also tiptoeing on the brink of depression when her eyes moved right past me.

I knew a lot about Allie, though she wouldn’t know my face from a turd in the toilet. She liked vigorous sports and had a fear of the ocean. She had a rabbit named Petra and a cockatiel named Sam. Her favorite season was Autumn. She owned every Johnny Depp movie ever made.

Allie had a lot of boyfriends growing up. Douchebags, mostly. Travis Carne, a real Know-It-All kind of guy. Thought he knew everything about everything. Douglas Tran, a true gamer at heart but never gave Allie the time of day. Kevin White. Luke Slater. Anthony Kees. Not that I was keeping score.

Though I was never among the Chosen Ones, I made for a pretty good runner-up. At least, I thought so. The last bell before Spring Break rang when I overheard that blonde what’s-her-name invite Allie to Derek Doo-Doo Brain’s house party the following night. Listening in on the details, I learned that Allie’s more recent ex-boyfriend, Parker, would be there. As much as Allie had doodled his name all over her notebooks, I knew that irresistible blockhead would be the only motivation she needed to go to Derek’s Spring Fling-athon. Literally, the guy’s head was shaped like a salt block. I imagine his pet name with the ladies was something like “sugar cube” or “SpongeBob Sexy Pants”, or something equally as gross but geometrically accurate. Tediously, I reorganized books that weren’t even there in the empty abyss of my backpack as I covertly memorized the time and address of said party. I must have rearranged every invisible textbook by alphabetical order and then again by color. At the coercive mention of, “Everyone’s going to be there”, I took that as my invitation by proxy.

Aside from Grandma Lawson’s passing last year, and that one night I painted the walls with a stomach bug, I had not missed a guild raid with the boys in the two years we had been playing Ages of Nakor. They would be down a healer as they fought through the undead army of Altura Castle. Nathan, who lived four states to the South and rarely played sober, shamed me for ditching raid to “chase tail”.  Next time I’ll lie and tell them something they can all relate to, like I’ve got blisters on my ass, to avoid the ridicule. It wasn’t about chasing Allie around and stalking her like a creepy pervert. There was a plan in place. I was going to approach her after all these years and say, “hello”. She would say “hello” back and tell me she has fantasized about me since elementary school. We will go on our first date, get married and honeymoon in Ireland. It was that simple, and worth missing one night of retrieving the Beverly Wand with the Poison Paupers guild.

I modeled five outfits for my mother before settling on a pair of faded black jeans and a gray Henley, unbuttoned at the neck and untucked for that bad boy vibe. I tousled my hair like I had just rolled out of bed because nothing screams “cool” like a dude who spends three hours dressing like it took him five minutes.

Blonde what’s-her-name was not exaggerating. Everyone was there. As I turned the corner onto Iris Drive, there were cars lined up and down the street. Fundamental rule, never arrive early to a party you weren’t invited to, and make your entrance when the crowd gets thick enough to be lost in. Unseen and ignored, I was practically a ghost at 116 Iris Drive. Wading through an ocean of bodies writhing and twisting to the beat of hip-hop, it didn’t take much time to find what I came for. Across the crowded room stood Allie Hanover holding a red plastic cup and smiling at her quarterback ex-boyfriend. She glowed like a firefly on a mid-summer night. Flirting with the peaks of her knees, her bubblegum-colored dress plumed as she twirled on the toes of her black flats. Pirouetting to the music, careful not to spill the punch in her cup, vibrant rustic curls whipped the air around her. She was a rose in full bloom caught in a bed of weeds. I silently rehearsed my line. This was a first impression, and it had to be the perfect pitch for a memorable night. “Hey Allie”, I would say. Or did that sound too desperate?

“Hey, cute dress.” No, too abrupt.

“Hey, you look familiar! Don’t we have nearly every class together?” Nope.

“Hey, holy crap, you live across the street from me! I’m Landon.” Yes! We have a winner! Considering Salt Block’s wandering eye, it was only a matter of time before he blew her off. That’s when I would make my move. I grabbed an abandoned cup from the mantlepiece to blend in and lounged by the staircase, keeping the beauty and her beast in my periphery. High hopes, but slim chances, were that she would notice me in the crowd. If her eyes didn’t find me posing slumped at the banister like I was bored with this kiddy party, then maybe her nose would catch the overpowering scent of my dad’s $70 Pierre-Noir. Not air-gasping strong, but just the right amount for “oh, I smell a handsome gentleman somewhere in this house”. Hell, Boom-Boom Bethann from Band caught my scent right away as she fled past me to the upstairs bathroom, stopping briefly to admire the musk radiating from the cool dude in the Henley.

Nine o’clock turned into ten. I rode the highs of confidence and the lows of insecurity, all while burning my phone battery down to 20% playing Gardens of Time and Treasure Keepers. When my mind wasn’t occupied on tilling soil or delivering treasure chests to Pirate’s Cove, swells of fear and apprehension provoked the half-eaten ham and Swiss sub in my stomach that had been practicing cartwheels and somersaults for the gastrointestinal Olympics all evening.

While I expected the half-wit Parker to meander from one drunk girl to the next, what I didn’t plan on was Allie following him like a puppy on a leash. It was almost 11pm when I decided to call it a night. Allie had taken a seat on the couch, sandwiched between a sophomore and senior who competed for her attention. What could two lamebrained troglodytes possibly say to a classy lady to make her laugh so much?

Sitting in my mom’s Honda Civic, I sighed with disappointment. Why couldn’t I just talk to her? Just say hello and ask if she’s having a nice time. Don’t act like you’ve been daydreaming about her every day for nine years. Don’t act like you buy the yearbook every year just to have pictures of her. Just start with hello and let it go from there.

With renewed confidence, I marched back inside. I came to this damn party to talk to Allie Hanover and, by God, I was going to talk to Allie Hanover. I scanned through the pasture of teens bouncing like wild apes at the zoo and found her still on the couch, this time lying flat with boys nudging the hem of her dress. I don’t remember darting through the herd so quickly, but I was at the couch with my arms around her shoulders in seconds.

“Bro!” Parker split the crowd like Moses split the Red Sea, and he was gunning for me. “What are you doing, moron?” he boomed. Allie was a flaccid doll as I hoisted her up into a sitting position. Parker rushed to the couch. “Get your nerdy hands—"

“She’s diabetic, moron!” I interrupted.

Obscenities fired from his mouth like candy from a pinata. “Dude, she’s drunk!” he yelled.

“Allie doesn’t drink. You dated her for six months and you don’t know any of this?”

“Smell her breath, stupid!” he challenged.

I didn’t need to. Allie smelled worse than my Uncle Frank the weekend he celebrated his divorce with whiskey and tears and more whiskey. Truth be told, Allie was making my eyes burn. “Dangerously high blood sugar smells like alcohol, stupid!”

Parker transformed into Mr. Crazy Arms from Malcolm’s Used Car Lot as I drew my phone from my back pocket. At 17% battery life, I was grateful I had stopped nurturing my crops of Dragon Seed earlier in the night.

“Bro, what are you doing?” Parker’s face was one of worry. A crowd had gathered. The music had been turned down considerably, and someone from the adjoining kitchen was shouting for Derek.

“I’m calling an ambulance.”

Trotting onto the scene from a connecting hallway, Derek looked at me as though I was a terrorist. “Hey man,” he said as he approached calmly. “I know you’re worried about your friend, okay? But paramedics bring cops, and there’s an awful lot of illegal shit going down in this house tonight, you feel me? The girl is fine. She’ll sleep it off. Come with me, man. Let’s get a drink.”

Our eyes locked for exactly seven seconds. In those seven seconds, the entire house stood still. All eyes were on me and Derek. Every pair of lungs held hot, intoxicated breaths. I had barely punched the three numbers when my phone was slapped out of my hand. Landing with a sickening clatter, my most likely-broken Galaxy hit the floor and slid beneath the couch. Allie moaned quietly. A sliver of drool trickled down her chin.

I wrapped my arm around her waist. With little balance, she stumbled alongside me. The masses parted, creating an opening straight for the door. This might have been the closest I’d ever get to walking down an aisle with Allie, and it was the most inappropriate time to even think about that. Praying she wouldn’t puke in my mom’s new reupholstered seats, I eased her into the car. Parker stood in the doorway amongst a flock of curious onlookers. “This is kidnapping, dude!” he shouted out.

“Call the cops!” I retorted as I got into the car and put 116 Iris Drive in my rearview mirror.

I had never felt like a live-action hero until that night. With the prettiest girl in the world hooked in my arms, I hurried into Pierce Chapel Medical Center. “Help!” I called out to the receptionist. “She’s diabetic!”

Ominously quiet for a Saturday night, I was surprised they allowed me in Trauma Bay 3. Nurse Donna vigorously cleaned Allie’s fingertip with an alcohol wipe, removing some pink nail polish in the process.   As she pricked and squeezed Allie’s finger, another nurse squatted on the other side of the bed and pierced her soft skin with an IV. A short woman in a lab coat wielding a chemistry set of tubes and sharp objects patiently waited her turn.

Adjusting in the creaky vinyl chair, I admired her sleeping face and the dramatic spill of hair around her narrow shoulders. After Countess Monica collected her tubes of blood, we were alone at last. Scooting closer to the bed, I smiled and whispered, “Holy crap. You live across the street.” Gently, my fingers grazed her flush cheek and swept a few curls from her face. “I’m—”

The privacy curtain snapped back. Startled, I might have dropped the F-bomb. A sour-faced redheaded nurse in blue scrubs scowled at my hospital date, if I may be so bold, then glowered at me. “And who the hell are you?” she seethed.

“Landon! I’m Landon!” It was like staring into the barrel of a loaded gun. The anger of this woman was tangible.

“Aren’t you the kid from across the street?”

“Oh,” I stammered, realizing who this infuriated woman was. “Y-yes, ma’am!”

She stepped up to the bedside and took her daughter by the shoulders. “Wake up!” she said. The bed slowly cranked up as she thanked me for bringing Allie in. She dipped her fingers into a complimentary jug of ice water and flicked the cold droplets onto Allie’s face. Sluggish, she sat up and looked around, more confused by the presence of her mother than by the rickety hospital bed she was propped in.

“My mom is diabetic,” I said. “So when I saw her passed out, I brought her straight over.”

“Well, that was chivalrous of you, but her blood sugar is fine. She’s drunk!”

“Oh,” I said with obvious shock. “Geeze, that’s what the other guys said.”

“What other guys?” Her green eyes narrowed into slits. “Is that why you’re all dressed up? You’ve been hanging out with guys, drinking?”

If I was to be Allie’s hero, I figured I had better go the extra mile. “I-it was my fault, Mrs. Hanover. I pressured her into going to that stupid party.”

“Shuddup!” Allie slurred.

“What party, Allie?” She spoke through clenched teeth. “Who was at home watching your little sister?”

“Oh, uh…” I chimed in. The fury in the woman’s eyes pinned me to the chair. “What I mean was, I pressured her into going to this party, but she wouldn’t go because she had to babysit. So, we decided to go over to your house instead. Completely uninvited. No way was she leaving her sister alone.”

“We?” She looked between the two of us. Allie’s groggy eyes were widening, yet still unable to focus. “Who’s we?”

“Well, like, me and Parker and that blonde-headed what’s-her-name.”

“Parker?” The rage reincarnated. “Parker Blockman? We specifically told you not to be anywhere near that little criminal, young lady!”

Oh my god, the world stood still. His name was actually Blockman. If I hadn’t been so scared of this hulk of a woman, I might’ve laughed.

“You!” she pointed a hard finger at me. “Stop lying to save her ass! We have security cameras and I watched her leave the house just before I came in here! And you, young lady,” she shook that finger at Allie’s nose. “You are grounded! Do you hear me? You are paying me back for the babysitting money I gave you, and you can kiss your allowance goodbye!”

Ms. Hanover stormed out of Triage Bay 3. Tears trickled down Allie’s face. I sighed quietly, pleading my heart to calm down. “Allie,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

“Leave me alone,” she mumbled.

“I didn’t mean to get you in trouble. I was just trying to help.”

“You’re such a screw-up, Landon!”

“You-you know my name?”

“Bastard! I hate you!” she sobbed. “Get out!”

Like a good servant, I obeyed. It was much colder outside than in. Refreshingly so. Beckoned by a small metal bench, I sat in silence for what seemed like hours. It had only been 15 minutes when another person plopped onto the furthest side of the bench. Hesitantly, I glanced over. The florescent lights revealed a young lady with dark hair tied up into a messy bun. Her small bare shoulders shuddered beneath a thin spaghetti-strap top. Mascara smeared by tears, her face, pink and swollen, winced against the cold breeze. I looked down into the palms of my hands. “Bad night.”

“Yeah,” she sighed, barely above a whisper. Her arms folded tightly around her waist. “My dad was admitted. He had a heart attack.” Her voice trembled. “I don’t have a way home.” Her words, choked and leaden with sorrow, besieged my wounded spirit.

I glanced over and met her teary face with a small smile. “I can give you a ride.”

One language I could read better than my own was body language, and the unsure shrug of her shoulders and thoughtful glimmer in her eyes told me she wanted that ride, but what if I was a psycho? Worse yet, a moron. An idiot. God forbid, a bastard! At least I wasn’t a blockhead.

“Landon,” I introduced myself. “But my friends call me ‘Bastard’, apparently. Thought I was saving the girl of my dreams tonight. Thought I could be her hero. Turns out, she’s just drunk and hates me. Try to do a good thing for someone…”

After a lingering silence, I stood up and plucked the keys from my pocket. The girl stood, too, and smiled through the drying tears. “You might not have been her hero, but you’re certainly mine. I’m Allison.” She extended her hand. It was so small in mine, and fragile. “But my friends call me Ally-cat.”

We drove by Iris Drive that night. Flashing strobes of blue and red lit the scene of kids being ushered onto the lawn like cattle, some in shiny silver bracelets. Ally-cat giggled. The news report would say police were alerted by an unmanned phone found under a couch.

I always knew I was destined to be with Allie. Years later, we married and honeymooned in Ireland. I missed raid twice that month, but not for chasing tail.