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“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Haven’t you ever hated anyone? Haven’t you ever been out of your mind with jealousy or fear? Your little doggie dies and you can hardly get to your room fast enough before you burst into tears?”
Jon considered and then shrugged. “I don’t feel that strongly about things.”
“Sure you do. You’re eighteen-all hormones and emotion, testosterone and angst. The only thing worse than a teenaged guy is a teenaged girl. I don’t want you coming from here,” he said, tapping his head. He put the flat of his hand on his chest. “I want you coming from here. Writing’s hard. It’s a skill you attain by practicing. You don’t just dash off good work in your off-hours. You can’t be halfhearted. It takes time. You want to be a concert pianist, you don’t slog your way through Five Easy Pieces and expect to be booked into Carnegie Hall. You have to sit down and write. As much as you can. Every day of your life. Does any of this make sense?”
Jon smiled. “Not much.”
“Well, it will.” Mr. Snow flapped the pages at him. “I’ll give you this much. Clumsy as this is, I can see just the wee tiniest spark buried in the muck. You can do this. You have something. The trick is to get out of your own way and let the light shine through. Now get out of here. I’ll see you next week, okay?”
“Okay.”
“You have to write every day, Jon. I mean it. No faking, no farting around, and no shorting me on time.”
Walker came back from Hawaii and the first time the four of them convened at the bus, he took one look at Jon and knew what was going on. For a change, Destiny was cool. She kept her distance, her ma
“I don’t remember asking for your opinion.”
“Well, here it is anyway. She’s a slut and she’s stupid on top of that.”
“I notice you’re not all that picky about the girls you screw.”
“Because they’re nice and they’re clean. She’s disgusting.”
“I don’t want to hear about it, okay?”
“What if you get caught? How can you try pulling this shit right under his nose?”
“They have an open relationship.”
“Oh, right. You believe that, you’re a horse’s ass.” Walker shook his head. “You’re going to regret it, buddy boy. I’m telling you right now, this won’t end well.”
“Thanks. I’m touched by your concern.”
Saturdays belonged to him and the freedom was a relief. Destiny, Creed, and Sky Dancer went off early to the farmer’s market in town and spent the rest of the day in family pursuits. Destiny wanted to learn to tie-dye so she’d gone to Sears and shoplifted half a dozen three-packs of white T-shirts, which she intended to dye in batches and then sell at the beach. Jon was grateful for the long stretch of hours he could call his own. Friday night he slept well, and when he got up he threw on a T-shirt and cutoffs. He made a fresh pot of coffee and carried a cup to his desk. He reread his story about the boy who ran with wild dogs, this time cringing at turns of phrase that before had seemed lyrical. “Soaring” was what he thought to himself when he was crafting sentences. He went through line by line, X-ing out anything clumsy or pretentious. In the end there was maybe half a paragraph worth salvaging. He took Mr. Snow’s advice and tossed the rest of it in the trash.
For a while he sipped coffee, stared out the window, and thought about Mr. Snow’s rant. When he’d talked about jealousy and rage, when he’d asked if there was anyone Jon hated, his mind had gone blank. The same thing with grief. What the fuck did he know about shit like that? He could see where the loss of a beloved animal might generate emotion, but he’d never actually owned one. Growing up, his mother’s asthma had precluded house pets. The only bright moment he remembered in contemplating Mona’s arrival in his life was when he thought that maybe he could have a pet, a hope that was quickly dashed, along with just about every other hope he had. Mona was allergic to cats and she thought dogs were too much work. Mona ruled. The rest of them were there to obey.
The Amazing Mona. He did have things to say about her and none of them were nice.
He abandoned his typewriter, took a pad of yellow legal paper, and made himself comfortable on his unmade bed, pillows propped up behind him. The sheets smelled of two-day-old sex, a scent not as evocative as he’d found it on previous occasions. He thought about Mona, tapping his pen against his lower lip. He couldn’t think where to start. As much as he hated her, he knew he couldn’t write about her without jeopardizing his relationship with his dad, and more important, getting his butt kicked out of the house. He wouldn’t show anyone his work, but it would be entirely like her to wait until he was gone and come into his apartment so she could go rooting through his things.
He heard a pounding on the downstairs door. A
“This is my day to write. I’ve been kicking around a couple of ideas and I need the time to myself.”
“I’m not going to be here long. You can write when I’m gone. I thought you’d be excited to see me.”
“I am. I just, you know, had my head into something else.” Having stripped, she pressed up against him, ru
The sex was good. It was always good, but this time his inclination was to be done with it and get her out of the way. She was a distraction. Her intensity was like a mass of hot, wet rags pressed over his face. He could hardly breathe. She must have sensed his distance because she clung to him like an octopus, all arms and legs and sucking. She wanted his full attention and she was doing what she could to arouse him for another round.
He pushed her hand away. “Enough. I’m bushed.”
“Don’t be such a shit. You never turned me down before.”
“I didn’t turn you down. What do you want from me? We just made love.”
She settled on her side, her head propped on one hand. “You know what? We belong together. We’re a good fit.”
“How do you figure that?”
“It’s the feeling I had the first time we met. Like we were together in another life.”
“Yeah, right.”
“No, I’m serious. It’s like I remember you.”
“What about Creed? How many reincarnations have you shared with him?”
“Don’t make fun. He’s boring. All mopey and glum. I’m sick to death of him and his parents and this whole stupid town. I’m this close to taking off, just getting the hell out.”
“I thought the bus belonged to him.”
“Who said anything about the bus? That’s what thumbs are for. I hitchhiked all over the country before I hooked up with him. Pregnant, babe in arms. There’s always a guy who slows down and offers you a ride. You go where the wind blows you.”