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“It’s not a collectible.” Probably some merch I got at the last swimming conference.
“Interesting, I thought you might want it back so you could sell it on eBay and make a few thousand dollars off lonely women who could potentially use it as a dildo.” It’s funny and creative, so I laugh, and it feels better than what I have been feeling. So I let the chuckle erase the bad frigid blood in my body.
Alaska chucks the pen at my shoes.
“Thanks.” I can feel the heat of her stare on my neck. I came back to school this year with a tattoo on my neck of all places and I can see she is trying to read the numbers inked on my skin. I turn my head and glare at her; she quickly rolls her eyes and looks away.
“You’re welcome.”
I put a hand on the wall and push myself to stand up. “Hey, could you do me a favor? I am not feeling too well; I need to go home. Could you drive me back to my house?” I pat my jeans pocket to see if my keys are there and thank the virgins of Mesa they are.
“I don’t have a car,” she explains, but I toss her my keys. “I don’t have a license. It is still suspended for another four months.” Alaska bites her lip and I shake my head, knowing what she means.
“I forgot.” But I don’t miss the question in her eyes, maybe it is wishful thinking she hopes I forgot everything that night. Sometimes, I wish I had too.
“Yeah.” She tosses the keys back to me and looks away. “Sorry.”
“Hey, I won’t tell if you won’t.” I walk over to her and place the keys in her hands. “We’ll take the backroads and if we get pulled over, I will tell the cops I was helping you get the stick out of your ass.” I go back to get my backpack and pill bottle and touch her elbow to get her to move forward toward the exit.
“I don’t even doubt some stupid line like that might work coming from you.” Alaska doesn’t put up a fight and I am grateful. The sooner I can go home and sleep off this anxious storm, the better off I will be.
She drives like a cautious little grandma the whole twenty minutes to my house. I give her directions and I have half a thought to reach over and jam my foot on the gas so we can go faster than the turtles on the side of the road.
“My grandma drives way faster than you.” I inform her hoping the insult will prove her wrong, but she pulls off her foot from the gas completely, bringing us to a slow roll next to a row of trees.
“My grandma’s dead.” Alaska doesn’t skip a hit, if she can take one.
“Perfect. It’s the next left.” I nod to the long driveway off the main road.
“You bought a house so you wouldn’t have to live on campus like the rest of the common folk?” Alaska shakes her head as we go the distance to the house.
“Actually, Alaska, this is my grandma’s house. But she moved in with us our senior year because her partner died. But refuses to sell it because she is sentimental and shit.” I tap my head against the passenger window, hoping it will crack and I can jump out. “Besides, my dad has to come up here for business once a month, and it’s cheaper than renting a hotel room for a week.”
“Interesting.” Pulling in front of the house instead of the open garage.
“Who are you to accuse me of not living on campus? Didn’t Mona say you were living with your cousin? Doesn’t sound too collegiate to me.”
“I assure you; our circumstances are very different.” But I don’t pry; I don’t care about her so-called circumstances. I shuffle out of the car and she walks me to the door.
“Can I use your bathroom? I’ve got to pee.” Alaska says it like she is announcing the grand duke and duchess of Dolan Springs.
“Sure, it’s down the hall.” I laugh at her curtsy and smile. Those drugs must be kicking in because I might be having a pleasant time with Alaska.
Before she comes out, I tell her I will be downstairs. I head there, pull my shirt over my head, and let my body fall onto the bed and I am so out of it. So out of it, I swear I convinced myself Alaska’s ass looked good strutting down my hallway.
“Lad, Lad, Aladden.” I rub my eyes and want to know why the fuck Alaska is in my bed.
“What?” I grumble, and grab the pillow over my head.
“Did you know I am an alcoholic?” This makes me open my eyes but remain under the pillow fort around my head. I don’t say a word, so she continues. “I never did much drinking in high school, but the one time I do, bam, I wreck my car, lose my scholarship, lose my mother, glad they let me keep my high school diploma, though.”
I pull the pillow away and push myself to sit up next to the headboard beside her.
“I didn’t know you lost your scholarship.” I want to apologize for so many things, but not one is good enough backed by a sorry.
Alaska shrugs as she continues.
“That’s what they kept saying to me at the rehab center. I have a problem; if I didn’t, I wouldn’t have gotten behind the wheel with a passenger blackout drunk.” Her smile sneers into a sad memory. “They kept telling me I had a problem, and then after a few months, I started to think I did.”
