Forever People (pt 4)

They leave the station wagon in somebody’s driveway and walk back to The State; True begs for a fix but Jackie won’t go with him so he walks alone, crying, and Dixie asks her why she’s being such a cunt and Jackie tells him to fuck off and he calls her a faggot.

I’m sorry, he says, reaching for her. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

They hold hands walking to the room, blowing out the candles and pulling True between them under threadbare blankets. When they wake the room is too cold so they hike to the Denny’s across the highway, filled with old people bent over newspapers who frown when the three of them come inside. I want to leave, True hisses but Dixie ignores him, crosses his arms and looks right back. The waitress exiles them to a gloomy booth, leaving menus and coffee without a word.

I guess this ain’t a tipping situation, Jackie calls after her as she flees.

Dixie grabs napkins out of the holder and rips them to pieces.

I didn’t see her, he says. She was just there all of a sudden.

Shut up about it, Jackie says, stirring her coffee until it spills over the sides.

I want to talk about it, True says softly. That was a big deal.

Boy, she says, finding her mirror, I am telling you to NOT talk about it.

She looks into the little silver eye for a long moment.

Jesus wept, she moans, powdering. Look at me. I look like a fucking man.

The waitress reluctantly returns, looking like they might bite her.

Pancakes, Dixie says. Toast, juice, eggs. Just bring us some fucking food.

Hey, the waitress says. You don’t got to cuss me.

He wasn’t cussing you, BITCH, Jackie says. Now see, THAT is cussing you.

Stop, True says, pulling his arms entirely inside of his shirt. The girl retreats to the grimacing waitresses by the gigantic coffee maker. Now they’re going to kick us out of here, he says sullenly. I’m hungry.

Well go find some food then! Jackie shouts. OR YOU JUST GONNA SIT THERE AND WAIT FOR US TO FEED YOU?!

Her roar silences the restaurant. Dixie barks a laugh. Nice going, he says, still ripping; he can’t seem to make his hands stop.

Everybody’s whispering to each other now. Jackie is pressing one hand over the other to keep them from shaking. What was she doing out there anyway? she says quietly. I want to find her momma and ask what the fuck her kid was doing out there.

A waitress comes in from the cold, huffing, dragging in behind her a baby carrier; she sets it on a table against the wall and then walks into the kitchen. All three of them stare at the baby, which is asleep under a thin blanket. Fuck, Dixie says, wadding his trash up into a ball hard enough to make diamond.

You think it hurt? True is rubbing at his nose, which is chapped and scabbed.

Who gives a shit? Dixie says.

I just wondered, True says, pulling at his eyelashes until they come out, and until Jackie stops him. We were going really fast so I wondered if it hurt. I hope it didn’t.

I don’t think it did, Doc, Dixie says to him, trying to smile and failing.

Jackie can’t look away from the baby. I can’t believe people, she says.

Mind your own business, Dixie says. He empties a third of the sugar into his coffee and drinks it in one gulp.

True starts pulling out his eyebrows; neither of them stop him. Do you think we should tell somebody? he says.

That baby is right under that vent, Jackie says, drumming her nails on the table. Hey, is NOBODY going to take care of this kid?!

Keep your fucking voice down, Dixie says, kicking her.

She kicks him back. Don’t you EVER –

Dixie flips the table over, standing up; Jackie stands up too, the pair of them baring their teeth. True cowers, drawing his knees up against his chest.

Oh my god, he whimpers. Oh my god oh my god oh my god.

Dixie steps back; his hands are hooks, and in his mind they have already murdered her, already snapped her neck in half. It was so close.

He walks on stiff legs to the emergency exit, pushing it; the alarm, its wire broken and dangling free, does not activate. Through the window they see him cross the highway, getting smaller and smaller, and then he disappears out of sight.

Jackie looks at the room of people looking at her; her hands slowly reach up to adjust her wig, smoothing it while she closes her eyes, breathing until she is calm.

Jackie, True begs.

She walks over to the baby, picking up the carrier in both hands.

Hey! one of the waitresses cries. But Jackie is fast, dashing out the same door as Dixie into the parking lot, a black shape sprinting on high heeled boots into the orange smears of dawn. The waitresses are screaming and the old people are hurrying to the windows, howling, and the manager grabs True hard, yelling that the cops are coming. True can turn into a devil and he does, windmilling his arms, screeching, kicking, and when he’s free he runs, the third one out that door, fleeing in the same direction they went but he doesn’t see her and he doesn’t see him, and he runs and he runs and he runs until he can’t breathe, collapsing in an alley next to a row of garage cans, puking his guts out and calling for them to come back. Please, come back.

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