I
I stopped and looked past my knees, where a small snail peered up from the pavement. "Hey,” he called again. "Where you going?"
"Pinehurst," I said. "A couple blocks up."
The snail blinked its tiny beige eyes. "You think could help me out here buddy?"
I looked around to make sure no one was watching. The street was empty, save for a few budding poplars and the open mouths of garage doors. I knelt down close. "Do you need a lift?" I asked.
"Buddy, that would be great. Tell you what. Why don't you pick me up real careful-like and put me on your shoulder?"
"Sure," I said. I pinched his cinnamon-brown shell and plucked him from the ground with a small plop.
"This is just great," he said from his new perch. "It really is. You're a champ, you know that? A real gentleman. Say buddy, you don't live around here, do you?"
"Used to," I told him. "I live in Seattle now."
"No kidding? I had an uncle who lived in Seattle. Said he hated it. Real crumb-bum weather, he said."
We passed Dillon St. The smell of cut grass mingled with the warm exhaust of automobiles rolling in off I-80. In the gutter of a nearby house, an old bird whistled as she fixed her nest, weaving in twigs and bits of trash. I looked at the sun, keeping my eyes half closed to hold the tiny gold spires shimmering in my lashes.
"This is just great, buddy. I can't thank you enough for picking me up. I really can't. People aren't too friendly these days."
"It's rough out there," I said.
"It sure is, Buddy. It sure is."
* * *
When we got to Pinehurst, I asked the snail where he wanted to be dropped off. He swiveled his head from side to side, mumbling something about a friend who hadn't yet arrived. I told him that he was welcome to wait inside as long as he didn't mind if I played the piano. He brightened, and told me that would be swell.
I got myself a glass of water before playing, and I asked the snail if he'd like something to drink, too. He said yes please, so I poured some of my water into a cap from an empty soda bottle. I took my glass, the snail, and the cap upstairs and set them in a row on top of the piano, my small audience of three.
I played a couple of scales to start out, then I did and old jazz tune, "I Left My Sugar Standing in the Rain." I didn't sing too loud, because I'm self-conscious about my voice. When I finished, the snail whistled and cheered.
"Buddy," he said. "That's some hot stuff right there. It really is. How long have you been playing for?"
"A long time," I told him.
"That's just great buddy. Why don't you play me something else?"
I played another jazz tune, and then I did a couple of my own. When I finished, I asked him what he thought.
"They're good buddy. Real good. You've got a lot of heart, you know that? There's a lot of feeling there."
I asked him how my voice sounded.
"Not great, buddy. I'm not going to lie to you. But you've got heart. I wouldn't make something like that up."
"Thanks," I told him. "That means a lot."
* * *
Evelyn called around six p.m. Earlier, when the snail's friend still hadn't shown up, I offered him something to eat, and we had cereal. I put a single cornflake in his cap and splashed a few drops of milk over it. He was halfway through the flake when I answered my phone.
"Hey," Evelyn said. She sounded like she was chewing on something hard. "Your mom okay?"
"She's good," I told her. "The surgery went well."
The snail oozed to my elbow and jerked his head back. Taking the cue, I placed him on my shoulder and he leaned close to my ear. "You still coming out tonight?" Evelyn asked.
I looked down at the snail. He shrugged. "Sure," I said. "Should I drive?"
"No. I'm bringing Beth, so I'll drive. We'll pick you up at eight."
"Beth's coming?" I asked, but she had already hung up the phone.
"Who was that, buddy-boy?"
"Someone I used to know," I told him. I tapped my fingers on the table for a minute, and then I looked at the snail. "Do you want to come out with me tonight?"
"Buddy," he smiled. "You're too good to me. You know that?"
"I know," I told him. "Let's finish eating and get dressed."
II
We decided I should wear my red flannel shirt since it was warm and the snail could sit inside the breast pocket. While we inspected the shirt in the mirror, I mentioned that I didn't know how the girls would react to my bringing along someone they hadn't met. I put it as delicately as possible, and he took it well. He said he just wanted to listen in, anyway.
At eight we stood in front of the house and waited for the girls to arrive. It began raining, so we stood close to the garage, and I smoked a cigarette. He asked if we could share, so I blew smoke across my shoulder. He coughed lightly and told me I was a true charmer.
A few minutes after eight, Evelyn's headlights swept into the driveway. I flicked my cigarette to the curb and the snail flopped into my pocket. When I sat down in the backseat, Evelyn and Beth turned to look at me.
"I didn't know you smoked," Evelyn said. Her voice was raw and coarse and flat.
"I don't smoke," I said.
Evelyn threw the car in reverse. The engine wheezed as we backed out of the driveway, choked when she kicked it into first gear. She stared straight through the windshield, her jaw clenching and unclenching, the muscles at the corners of her mouth knotting and falling loose. Her hair was cut short. It ran close to her head, blond glowing gold in the muted light. She looked very beautiful driving too fast on the wet road.
I realized Beth was still twisted around and smiling, her upper lip tucked awkwardly behind the lower. Her huge, amphibious eyes were unblinking and filled with the smeary red-and-green of passing signals.
"Did you notice I'm wearing E's hair?" she asked. Her hair, too, was cut close to the scalp.
"No. When did you get it cut?"
"Not that, stupid," she said, looking at the car roof as she patted the back of her head. "I mean this." She brought her hand forward, fishing a six-inch fox-tail from just behind her ear. Red-and-blond, a lock of Evelyn's hair.
"Evelyn," I said, leaning forward, "do you keep a bag of your old hair?"
"What?" She glared at me in the rear-view mirror, eyes carved from arctic ice. "I donated it," she said. "I just made a couple hair-clips first is all." She fussed with the radio, and staticy guitar swamped the backseat. I felt the snail wriggling in my pocket. His eyes crested the top of the fabric.
"Hey buddy," he whispered. "What's going on? Your heart's thumping like a mad-man down here."
"See that girl?" I whispered back, jerking my head to the left. "The one driving? I think I'm in love with her."
"Really?" I couldn't tell if he was incredulous or impressed. "What do you like about her?"
I thought about it. "She's mean.”
Evelyn turned down the radio. "What?"
"Nothing," I said.
"You were just whispering."
"No I wasn't," I said. "I don't whisper."
She shook her head and turned the radio back up. Beth turned around again. "It’s been like what, four years?” she shouted. “How long are you down for?"
"Until my mom's better," I yelled back. "Probably only a couple weeks."
"Is it good to be back?"
"I don't know. Do you still like it here?"
She drew her small lips into a compact smile. ”Sometimes," she said.
"Hey buddy," the snail whispered after Beth turned back around. "Hey buddy, where we going?"
"A party," I told him. "A friend of Evelyn's."
"You excited?"
I thought about it. "I don't know."
Evelyn snapped off the radio. "I swear to god you're whispering."
"I don't whisper," I said.
She brought the car to an abrupt halt. "Whatever. We're here."
* * *
I took another shot of Sailor Jerry's and caught Beth drooling on herself. Before thumbing the spittle from the corner of her mouth, she looked to make sure no one was watching. I politely turned the other way.
The house, by now, was brimming with bodies, overflowing with smoke. Wherever I looked, I saw huge, colorful tees and sloppy halter-tops; clean-shaven chins and glossy lower lips. Even peoples' shoes were pristine, crisp laces running back and forth, sharp as razor blades.
Evelyn stood on the other side of Beth. She picked at the rim of her red plastic cup, looking bored. When I turned to look at her again, she was gone. More shoes and breasts filed slowly through the door, sand through an hourglass. Pictures rattled against the wall.
"Hey," Beth said. "Want to take another shot?"
"Sure." I was already drunk, but I liked the idea of having something to do.
Beth poured the shots and we took them. My stomach belly-flopped, and Beth inched closer. Her perfume filled my nose, grape-candy and hair-spray. I could feel my face turning green.
"Are you having a good time?" she asked.
"Sure," I said, but the word felt swollen and tasteless in my mouth. "Do you think Evelyn's having a good time?"
Her face crumpled into a pout. "Who cares? She never has a good time."
"Really?" I was looking for her around the room.
"Yes!" Beth bleated. "I think she hates everyone sometimes."
"Me too," I said. "I kind of like it."
"God you're absolutely drunk, aren't you?" Beth sounded hysterical.
"Yes," I said. " I think I need to use the bathroom."
* * *
Looking in the mirror was a bad idea. My face was shock white and empty. Both eyes blurry red. Even my lips looked swollen. I took the snail out of my pocket and set him on the rim of the sink.
“What's up, buddy?”
"I don’t know,” I said, nearly losing my balance and falling into the bathroom door. "I don't think things are going very well."
"I've got to tell you bud, you're looking pretty crumb-bum right about now." When I lowered my eyes, he said, "But I think you've got a really good chance with that other girl, the one with the wonky teeth and big eyes."
I shook my head. "She doesn't make me feel like anything," I explained. "She makes me feel normal."
The snail looked on sympathetically. He didn't have anything to say to that.
"I'm just scared," I told him.
"I know you are, buddy, but let's hurry up. Someone's knocking."
* * *
I found Evelyn leaning against the wall, her attention focused on something lodged beneath her nails. I wanted to tell her that she had a very nice stare, the way her eyes cut into things.
"No one's even said anything about my dress," Beth blubbered. I looked at the floral-pattern tablecloth she was wearing. "I mean, would it kill you to say you like my dress?"
I looked past her eyes, to the lock of hair swinging quietly behind her left ear, the red-and-blond fox-tail. I opened my mouth and closed it again. I looked at my shoes. They were old, and the laces didn't match. One set was green, the other, purple. They almost looked like snakes. I imagined that snakes were holding my shoes together for a small daily wage, and it made me smile.
"You suck, you know that?" Beth prodded me in the chest. Below her stubby pink finger, the snakes evaporated, leaving behind only tattered, discolored cloth. Evelyn looked over before focusing on her nails more intensely.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I'm sorry that I suck." I broke away and slid my back along the wall, close to Evelyn.
"I like the way you stare at things," I said. "And I think you're really mean."
She looked up. "What?"
I leaned forward and kissed her cheek. She didn't move or close her eyes. I pulled my head back.
"Your stare is really nice," I said again as she walked away.
Beth's shoulders bucked. She covered her face, and I fished my cigarettes from my pocket.
I took a final look at the room on my way through the door, and everything was blurry watercolor, purple-red. I squinted, and a crescent-moon smile wobbled into focus from across the room. It belonged to a tall guy in a pea coat and red cap. He was talking to Evelyn. He said something and she laughed. He jerked his shoulder toward the door, and she ran a couple fingers through her hair.
III
I sat with my legs spread and my elbows propped on my knees, water soaking through the seat of my pants. The snail sat between my shoes. I blew smoke in his face without him having to ask.
"You look upset there, bud," he said finally.
"Yeah?" I stubbed out my smoke and lit another.
"You're letting that girl get to you. That's bad news. You know it’s bad news."
A couple stumbled out of the house, hands crammed in each other’s back pockets. They swayed left and right, zigzagging to a green four-door. The girl retrieved a tangle of keys from her purse, wobbling precariously on her heels as she fumbled with the driver-side door. When she dropped the keys, her male passenger wrapped his arms around her waist. He pressed her to the car and kissed the back of her neck. They forgot about the keys.
"I know it's bad news," I said. "But I like bad news. I do pretty okay with bad news."
The snail considered this. "You're a weird one buddy, but like I said, you've got a lot of heart."
"Thanks."
I heard the door open again and when I turned around, I saw Evelyn hovering behind me. "I knew you smoked," she said.
I exhaled a thick cloud of the stuff. "Yeah. I guess I do."
She stood with her hands on her hips, head turned aside. The long curve of her neck was exposed, like the bow of an ivory ship. I knew that right then I could stand, take her small waist in my hands and press my lips against her neck, that she would turn her head against me and I would smell tea and citrus in her hair, and that I could wedge a palm between her shoulder blades and hold her even closer, that we could just be like that, standing on a wet driveway in a strange neighborhood.
"Who were you talking to?" she asked finally.
I placed the snail on my palm and lifted him up for her to see. I wondered if he would call her "buddy," too.
"You're out here by yourself," she said carefully, sifting through each word, "talking to a snail?"
I thought about it. "Yes."
Her voice cracked. "What's wrong with you?"
I thought about that, too. "I don't know," I said. I put the snail down. She stood there with her arms crossed, shivering. I took a deep breath and held it. "Can I ask you something?"
She looked up from the pavement. "What?"
"Do you remember the first time I kissed you?"
Evelyn rolled her eyes to one side, then to the other. She sucked air through her teeth and the muscles in her jaw flexed.
"Yeah," she said. "Why?"
"I don't know. I can't remember it that well, I guess. Only that it was nice. I remember that it was really nice."
I didn't want to look at Evelyn, so I looked at the snail instead. He was lifting his head like he wanted to sit on my shoulder, so I obliged him. Evelyn stormed over, snatched the snail from his perch, and hurled him into the side of the house. I heard his shell pop. I heard small bits rain down on the driveway.
"People don't just say things like that!" she screamed. "People don't say they don't smoke when they obviously do, or ask people if they keep bags of their old hair! They don't ask their exes stupid questions, and they don't fucking pretend that they can talk to a fucking snail!"
Evelyn stormed inside the house and I stood alone on the driveway. In the dark, with a handful of stars blinking overhead, it was like being in space. The rusted Cadillacs lining the street were planets, the greasy paper bags tumbling through the gutters satellites, meteors, and bits of frozen ice. After a moment, Evelyn burst from the house with Beth in tow, her big, unappreciated table-cloth dress fluttering behind her. They slammed the doors of Evelyn's car and sped away. They squeaked around the corner at the end of the street, and the smell of burnt rubber reached my nose.
I dove into the flowerbed.
"Buddy," came the snail's faint voice. "I'm over here buddy. By the daises."
I parted a small sea of white and saw the snail laying the dirt, naked save for a few bits of shrapnel clinging to his back. "I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't mean to get you into this."
"It's okay buddy. I don't want you to beat yourself up over it." The snail was trembling a little, but his voice was steady. "You can't help this kind of thing. You've got too much heart. Kids like you get in a lot of trouble."
I nodded, trying hard to stifle tears.
"It's okay buddy. There there. Tell you what. Why don't you pick me up real careful-like and find us a good spot to lay down inside? I saw some carpet in the living room. What do you say, buddy?"
"Okay," I said, and I wiped my nose. We went in and I got glass of water for myself and a cap for the snail. I carried everything into the living room, which had cleared out, more or less. Someone was passed out and mumbling in the corner, so I took the opposite side. I sprawled face-down and set the snail near my ribs. The alcohol was thick and spinning in my head, so I kept my eyes open. I watched clean shoes dance across the hardwood floor of the next room.
"See buddy? It's not so bad, is it?"
"I don't know," I said. "I'm really sorry about your shell."
"These things happen, buddy. I mean, I could be upset about my shell. Sure I could."
I sniffed and looked at him.
"Or, you know what else I could do? I could start telling people I'm a slug. What do you think about that?"
"That's pretty good," I said.
When the spinning stopped, I closed my eyes and felt vibrations moving through the floor. I didn't know where they were coming from, or what they meant. I still felt like I was in space. I couldn't get the smell of burnt rubber out of my nose. It smelled like a torched shuttle, like the charred remains of my perished crew. I imagined I was floating from the wreckage, the flames lapping, over and over and over, at the vast emptiness between planets. Space. It was a hard concept to wrap my head around.
Then, the snail wriggled close and kissed me on the cheek, lightly, a small peck. I know it sounds strange, but I'm actually glad he did it. I'm thankful. I don't think I would have made it through that night alone.
