SAM

This is Sam. He likes girls with tattoos, the soft hum and tumble of an active dryer, and going on vacations to Iowa.

//

            At the age of sixteen Sam kissed a girl for the first time. It was wet and clumsy. He hadn’t learned how to control his tongue yet. She had, and like all things, their brief affair ended. She wasn’t perfect, but he never claimed to want perfect. She was all long legs and hidden tattoos and slightly yellowed teeth. Even now, twelve years later, lying on the thawing ground at the park, his thoughts drifted back to her. He didn’t miss her exactly, but sometimes when he closed his eyes and forced his mind to go white, her eyes swam and diffused in the whitness like droplets of ink in water. What did it mean?

            Sam was a cashier at a PacSun. A friend of a friend got him the job. After so many years playing shows in churches and various high school Battles of the Bands with his own band, Skunk Bicep, the lead singer, Melon called it quits. It wasn’t a surprise to Sam, who played drums about as well as Nixon told the truth. Still, he missed the camaraderie of his band mates and the meaningless sex with the “local band” groupies.

His shifts at PacSun were long, but he didn’t mind. It got his mom off his back. He lived with her, and though she still did his laundry, he somehow took pride in residing in the basement apartment. “It’s completely separate from my mom,” he’d defend. “No really. It’s a pretty sweet deal. Free rent and everything.” His band mates nodded their heads, not minding the parasitic relationship. They all still lived with their moms too. It’s the price you pay for your art.

After his shift at the mall, Sam always liked to stop at the park. He drove around behind the Parks and Recreation building to a little private spot before the chained gate. It was secluded and surrounded by trees. No one ever saw him smoking his weed there. Not even the cops on their nightly rounds. His mom, a reformed hippie, had lost all tolerance for the drug and was stalwart in her intention to kick him out next time that sickly sweet smell, that soon turned rancid, wafted up through the vents. He once tried to convince her it was incense. She hit him over the head so hard his ears rang for an hour. That’s when he started driving to the park to get lit.

Sam didn’t mind being alone. Over the years he had come to find that aloneness recharged his batteries. After days at the mall with teenage girls who never re-folded the shirts they looked at, he needed to get away. Sam started coming to the park on his half hour lunch breaks. It was barely enough time to get high, but he somehow accomplished it. If he dared to extend his lunch break, he would occasionally lie in the grass by the rusted gazebo and let the sun beat down on him. Sometimes he felt like a solar panel.

//

Today I just needed some alone time. While Jon slept I walked to the park and sat, looking at the gazebo where we had our wedding. Some daylight passed and I saw a guy with a beard sit down directly to my right. After a few minutes he laid down in the grass. I don’t like when people invade my personal space, especially men. My skin crawled. I tugged at my shirt. I felt the familiar dripping of panic, like a leaky faucet, down my throat and into the middle of my chest. Simultaneously I started to feel anger toward the audacious bearded man that had to sit so close to me despite the ample space in the park. I moved a foot to my left. The man never moved. Maybe he was dreaming. Maybe he just needed to be next to someone. Maybe he was dead. I did the only thing I could think of to calm the panic and anger. I took a deep, controlled breath, pulled out my sketchbook, and thought to myself, “I think I’ll call him Sam.”

Clangs and Bangs

You screwed it all up. The second his hand slipped under your shirt again, you knew. And in that moment you didn’t care. You’d care later.

This wasn’t your first indiscretion.  There had been roving palms and heaving sighs before. You’d been told to be careful. You were a good kid all your life. All As and Bs and Friday night dates with your parents.  They never thought you were the type to commit such a crime.

You were at the grocery store when you saw him picking out the best ground beef with ease and confidence. Like that’s a thing. You were grabbing some chicken, the only meat you knew how to cook, when you gave one of your self-conscious sideways glances and noticed him, a tall hazy blur of blue.

Years later all you remember was the ground beef hitting the floor with a deaf smack. 

You had just started school at Rhode Island School of Design. Out on your own taking the classes you’d dreamt of your whole life. You thought figure drawing would make you blush. It didn’t.

You lived in a 3-story green house with shutters and a creaking metal gate out front. You shared a room with two other girls. Kim and Blair. They were bitches, but you liked them all the same. They took you out to parties. You stood with a Smirnoff Ice in the corner of the room watching their legs clicking and tapping and gently rubbing other legs. You were going home alone tonight, not that you minded.

After all the green apple bitterness swishing back and forth in your stomach you decided to walk to Stop and Shop to get stuff for dinner. Chicken again? Okay.

You saw his daughter at the mall. You and the Blur of Blue were walking, his sure hand in your back pocket. He swiftly pulled you into a small clothing store and you hid behind a clothing rack as she walked by. Lebanese Blonde was playing and you were laughing, flushed. You wanted him right there.

Yelling and more yelling. Threats. Clangs and bangs. Threats. Threats.

Cool blue sunlight cast a glow on his white sheets like December morning. The shower was running. You laid there, naked, skin covered in small bumps, the hair standing up as you smoothed it slowly in one direction. You thought about the summer camp you went to as a kid.

Pushing aside the guilt. At least he took off his ring, though he made no pretense of leaving Her. He was never to blame. It was you.

You.

You and the Blur of Blue slow dancing in his red kitchen. You got dizzy from the spinning red. Better sit down. You watched Lost in Translation together. You probably should have realized how that meant something, but you were still dizzy.

Kim and Blair ask who this new guy you’re seeing is. You force a casual tone, shrug, and say “Just some guy.” They go back to talking about their shameful one night stands with devious grins on their faces. It’s not that you don’t trust them, but…You don’t trust them.

Mom and Dad are worried about you. You never come home anymore. “How are Kim and Blair?” They ask. “Fine” you say as you stare blankly at the Applebees menu, eyes darting to each blue word.

It was Friday afternoon and you were walking down the street, taking note of the crackling of the leaves beneath your feet and the smell of fall. You had a small grin at the corner of your mouth. You approached his house, bottle of wine in hand when you noticed Her car in the driveway again. You turned around muttering to yourself, “Of Course.”

“Hey come on, you know I love you” He kissed you deeply and you let the anger fall like a deflating balloon. This was how it was, all kisses and apologies and roving palms.

You began to retreat around the second month. You stopped going to class. You stopped making small talk with Kim and Blair and you ignored calls from your parents. It was all about you and your Blur of Blue, like the end of the world or something. He was a narcissist, so he was good with it.

After the sixth month you began to fight.

Clangs and Bangs.

That last night was the worst, full of screaming and crying. You wanted him to leave Her. To leave Them. He put his arms around you and started with his lines. You turned around in a flash and threw him against the counter. You remember the look of shock on his face. He came back toward you and the plan that you didn’t know was a plan unfolded.