Unforgettable

“...Sun-kissed skin, so hot we’ll melt your popsicle. California Girls, we’re undeniable, fine, fresh, fierce, we got it one…”

I switch stations; this song reminds me of that night too much and I'm trying to forget last summer right now.

The dirt road turns into gravel and then smoothly to pavement, heat waves shimmering the road ahead to a curvy blur, but I know this road as well as the veins in William’s arms so I drive it blind going sixty. As I near town, Mario’s Martial Arts comes into view. My pickup rolls to a stop in the center spot of three, all empty; Mario walks here and Char hasn't yet arrived, so it looks like I’m alone. Not quite: the spotless front window reflects a face that grimaces and is gone in a cloud of smoke. I know that face: a grinning William and Jaime are smoking weed in front of the gas station behind me, so I flip them off before heading in. I won’t warn them of the cop I saw heading this way; they can have a taste of the hell they put me through last summer, my junior year.

Mario’s lesson today is on kicks, or more specifically, problems Char and I make with our kicks. She’s accurate, the one whose verbal or physical jabs always land just right; I’m strong but volatile: Mario says that if we could just be one person we’d be unbeatable. Char works on channeling everything into her kick, Mario urging her to shout louder; “Use those GLUTES, use those LUNGS,” he chants.

I kick the practice dummies over and over, hitting the same place each time until Mario watches, which troubles me because he’s the one I want to satisfy. I love the powerful feeling kicking gives, it erases thoughts of last summer, eases the cloud of inky black that covers my memories and threatens my thoughts today. I imagine William’s face on the dummy. No, not just his face, the dummy is William. William’s veined arms, William’s ripped stomach, William’s chiseled jaw that I'm kicking. William’s hands, the hands that held me down, the tattooed wrists, the strong, too strong, legs… I smash them all.

“Jen!” He must have been calling for a while. “Jen, Jen, you can stop now. That’s enough for today, you’re improving, though more in the strength area than the accuracy.” Mario’s half-smile shows that he knows who I'm kicking. Always knows, because he’s a master of his art and of minds; he reads me like a best friend’s knowing glance sometimes.

Char and I grab our bags and walk out together. “Mars is bright tonight,” Char says, staring at the sky, and I smile, catching the Harry Potter reference and Char’s arm so she doesn’t trip on the broken parking blocks beside the door. Absent-minded, she is, but she’s one of the few I still trust so I put up with her off-topic references.

“Char, can you stay the night?” I don’t want to be alone. She nods, once, and checks her station wagon for safety before climbing into my truck.

“Sorry, it needs a wash,” I mumble, but I'm not sorry, and neither is Char, because we’re friends and friends don’t mind.

“How’s your mom been today?” Char asks.

“Same, same as always,” I reply, because there’s nothing more to say about it. She’ll be in that bed for the rest of her life, however long that is, because William does things the right way and he made sure he broke her neck the right way; she isn’t coming back. And he isn’t going to jail. He is still smoking his weed, doing his drugs, and harassing girls like me. His truck still has the dent of my mom’s body in the grill, and he still has my initials tattooed on his shoulder blade. I used to kiss that shoulder, now I just kick it at Mario’s.

One year ago tonight, William made his marks. One year ago tonight, Char became my second mind. One year ago tonight, my mom died two times and came back as many, but I know she wishes she didn’t. One year ago tonight, Mario came into my life. One year ago tonight, I lost more than just my virginity, and one year ago tonight, I would have shot myself if my gun hadn’t run out of bullets one too soon.

“Jen? Jen, we’re here.” Char is standing by my window. The headlights aren’t on, I must have driven home without them. I open the door and get out, and Char pulls me to the ground. We lay on our backs watching the stars; it's still hot out but the damp earth is cooling off. 

“You're thinking about last summer,” Char says. It's not a question, so i don't answer. I stand up quickly then bend over as the headrush starts. 

The porch stairs are twisted and sagging so I stare at them hard, willing them not to trip me. In the dark, the middle step looks like William’s nose when he’s laughing so I stomp on it extra hard; it gives a creak but William is still there.

In the house we sneak past Mom’s room; she might be asleep so I don't want to risk waking her. A half can of beans on the counter is the only sign that her caretaker was here, and we go to my room at the opposite end of the trailer. Char pulls the mattress out from under my bed and flops down while I use the bathroom. I’m pulling up my zipper when I glance at the mirror. A fleeting face is there and gone… William. Again, all day, that’s all I’ve thought about except for those few hours at Mario’s, and it’s late so I’m tired. I must have imagined him in the mirror. I drink straight from the tap, then open the door. It creaks, a strange, low, long sneering creak. William’s laugh. I shake my head to clear it.

In my room I glance at Char’s mattress, but William is there. No - it is Char. I must be more tired than I thought. 

“Jen, I'm going to bed if you're ok,” Char says.

“Ok William.”

“Jen?!?”

“Ok Char. Sorry.” Char gives me a sideways look. “I said sorry, Char.”

“I know.” William is in my head now. Just like last summer, only this time he isn't in there because I let him in. I thought I loved him then, but he was just playing with my mind. I figured that out too late.

I flop on my bed but I'm not tired.

William is in my head. He’s in my room, I can feel it. He opens the door silently and falls beside me on the cover. He holds my head and kisses me, and I kiss him back with the passion I’ve learned to fake. Silently, he presses me into the mattress with his strong legs and the shoulder with my initials on it. It’s hard to breathe. The tattooed wrists I kicked today are around my bare shoulders, and he caresses them but not gently. 

William turns and stands up; he didn’t want much of me tonight. The light from the door as he goes out makes me blink.

The morning light makes me blink awake and I turn over and look at my husband, his bare bicep on the cover, my faded initials barely visible on his shoulder. On the nightstand beside our fifth anniversary plaque, last night’s unfinished popsicle melts. I smile because William claims to like them but I know better, though I wish I could remember why I know better. Amnesia does that to you. I should clean it up and wake him so we can meet Charlene at Mario’s. I think I dreamed about William… I wonder, was it a good dream?