Fluke Read online

  I turned up the volume on my stereo, and rolled down my window as I drove home to finish cleaning. I couldn’t take my mind off Sara, so finding a job could wait for a day. Everything always seemed better tomorrow. Especially work.

  ****

  I tossed my keys on the counter in the kitchen and saw my cell phone was lying on the counter; I was always forgetting the damn thing at home, effectively defeating the purpose of having a cell phone. The little green light was flashing, indicating a voicemail, so I picked it up and tapped the buttons to listen. The female recording said I had two voicemails, an unusually high volume for me. I hit the button to play them and absent-mindedly open the fridge. I noticed that a six-pack of soda and three cans of beer were all that resided in the Adam Fluke refrigerator. I grabbed a soda and thought, damn, I need to pick up some food so that it looks like someone actually lives here.

  The first message played: “Hey, Mister Fluke! It’s Sara…Hello, Hello, Hello?” she paused for a minute. “Sorry I missed you, but I wanted to tell you not to make plans tonight. You’re mine, and I want you and I to go to the carnival. It’ll be just like the old days. You can buy me a candy apple, win me a kewpie doll, and we’ll hold hands on the Ferris wheel, ha ha. I’ll come by your place at 8pm, maybe? Anyway, call me. Bye!”

  “Huh. Dumb fucking luck,” I said to my empty apartment, leaning on the counter. Two invitations from two separate women to go to the carnival tonight. Too weird. I felt like I was learning what my grandfather meant when he used to say, “Boy, when it rains, it pours.” I popped the top on my soda and took a swig, carbonation making my eyes tear up.

  The second message was also from Sara and came about fifteen minutes after the first one.

  “Hey, it’s me again! Sorry to keep leaving messages, but I was listening to some music and this song made me think of you, and I had to call and let you know. I’ll talk to you soon, Adam. But for now, listen closely,” she said, sounding like happy Sara. I heard rustling and a click, and the sounds of “Just Like Heaven” by the Cure came through, muffled but clear enough to make my heart skip. It played for about ten seconds, and she hung up.

  She held the phone to the speaker to let me know that “Just Like Heaven” made her think of me.

  Man oh man, what did I do to deserve this?

  I hung the phone up and just stood there for a moment, but I couldn’t help myself; I was overcome. I threw my hands in the air like a prizefighter and yelled, “All right!” at the top of my lungs. I was on top of the world. Just like heaven, indeed.

  I dialed Sara’s number to call and tell her that it all sounded great. I was hers for the evening. Hell, I was hers for as long as she’d let me be.

  ****

  I woke up on the couch that evening, confused and sore. It was pitch black in my apartment, and I had no idea what time it was, or if it was a.m. or p.m. I lurched my body to a sitting position and felt stiffness in my neck that I hadn’t known before.

  “Oww...damn,” I cried aloud as my hand went to my neck and rubbed the sore area.

  Shit, did I sleep through the night? Had Sara shown up?

  I blinked my eyes a few times, trying to squeeze the blurriness out of them, and attempted to read the time on the cable box. After a few seconds of squinting, I was able to make out the time: 7:03 p.m. Whew.

  I reached for the lamp on the end table by the couch and turned it on. The sudden blast of light caused me to squint again. I reached for the pack of cigarettes next to the lamp and calculated how long I had been asleep.

  I had finished cleaning up at about 3:30 and took another shower at 4. After the shower, I had some chips that I found in the cabinet, drank a beer, and the next thing I remember was that the phone rang and woke me up. I scanned my memory for what the conversation consisted of.

  “Hey, it’s Heather,” I was greeted with. I heard background noises, pans clanking together, other phones ringing. She was at work still, so it must have been before six.

  “Hey, what’s up?” I asked, groggy and half asleep.

  “Want to go to the carnival, or are you still busy?” she asked me. Even in my sleep-induced haze, I recalled the way I felt when I lied to her earlier, and grew uncomfortable.

  “Um, I can’t do it tonight, Heather. Sorry. Thanks for asking, though.” I did it again.

  “Okay, well, maybe some other time,” she said, disappointment in her voice again.

  I said goodbye, clicked the phone off, and dropped it on the floor, where it was laying as I sat now. Apparently, I sacked back out as soon as I dropped the phone. I hoped I hadn’t come off like too much of an asshole with Heather.

  On a brighter note, the apartment was cleaner than it had ever been since I moved in eight months earlier. I looked out at the floor, which I had vacuumed meticulously, and felt a small burst of pride at my work. I could smell the faint residue of lemon Pledge furniture polish, and I knew that the bathroom would smell like Lysol. It was a nice feeling. The place looked decent, and I felt like I could quit worrying about Sara seeing it.

  The place looks presentable, Adam-boy. Now, what about you?

  I spent the next half hour looking through my clothes for something decent to wear. It had been a warm day out, and the evenings were warm lately, so I opted for a pair of khaki cargo shorts and a long sleeve T-shirt. I went into the (clean) bathroom and brushed my teeth, scraping away the funky morning breath, and checked my hair and my nose. Back in the living room, I grabbed a pair of leather sandals (Sean referred to them as my “Jesus sandals”) from the closet by the door and sat down.

  Nothing to do now but wait for Sara.

  I decided to put on some music, and thought of the message Sara left earlier. I went to the C’s on my CD rack, grabbed “Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me” by the Cure and popped it in the player. I skipped to “Just Like Heaven” and went back to the couch.

  What an awesome song, I thought. I contemplated the fact that some people had never heard this song, and probably never would. It seemed incredibly sad to me.

  The song ended and I used the remote to skip back and listen to it again. Robert Smith had just sung, “Show me, show me, show me how you do that trick…” when there was a knock at the door. I felt my heart jump.

  I opened the door, and there she was, smiling. She looked incredible in a pair of short denim shorts, a halter-top, and brown leather flip-flops. The gold bracelet was on her arm, hanging on her wrist, and she held a small brown purse. She cocked her head, listening to the music, when her face lit up and she jumped inside.

  “Great song! So, you liked my message?”

  “Of course I did…thanks for leaving it,” I answered. I didn’t tell her that I had listened to the message about ten times and still had it saved on my phone.

  “Did you know you live in the ghetto?” she asked, setting her purse on the coffee table. “There’s about a dozen guys hanging out in the parking lot, drinking out of brown paper bags and whooping it up. They yelled something at me as I drove past, but I didn’t hear them over the stereo. It looked like a scene from a rap video.” She looked at me and laughed, and I just nodded. I felt awful inside, knowing that she had to run that gauntlet to get to my place, but she didn’t seem too upset by it.

  “Yeah, yeah. Well, pizza boys don’t live in mansions,” I joked. She came to me and gave me a kiss on the cheek.

  “And especially not unemployed pizza boys,” she laughed, and I held her to me. “Did you make any headway in your job search today?”

  That depends, Sara. Do you consider staring at the computer headway? I thought.

  “Nah, there wasn’t a lot out there today,” I lied. “I’ll give it another whirl tomorrow.” I watched her face to see if she would give me the you’re-full-of-shit look, but she was busy looking around my apartment.

  “Do I get the grand tour?”

  “Sure,” I took her hand and led her around the shoebox I called home, which was anything but grand.

  I was pointing out t
he bathroom when she gave me a playful slap on the butt and said, “Come on, get to the good part. Where’s the bedroom?”

  We found ourselves in the bedroom, suddenly naked, on the bed, wrapped up, moving all over each other like wild animals. It was quick but intense and wonderful. Thank God I got rid of that twin-size bed!

  “So, do you like the bedroom?” I asked her, rubbing her bare belly.

  “I don’t know. I didn’t really look,” she laughed.

  After some random pillow talk and more laughter, we got dressed. She stepped into the bathroom to “fix her face,” and I made my way to the living room. She came out looking magnificent. She was wearing some fresh lipstick, but other than that, I couldn’t tell what she did to “fix her face.” She always looked magnificent.

  “Ready?” she asked.

  “Yeah, Miss DuBeau. Let’s get out of here. I gotta get you a kewpie doll at the ring toss,” I told her.

  “That’d be great,” she answered, holding her arm out for me to take. I slipped my arm through hers, and we left for the carnival.

  6.

  Simms’ Fairground was where all of Hazel Beach's carnivals were held. It was located on the coast, just off the white sands of the beach. The highway that led to the fairgrounds paralleled the coast, and as we drove along with the top down in her convertible VW Golf, I couldn't imagine that it was ever as beautiful as it was right then.

  My senses were in a frenzy, drunk in the moment, filled with input almost to the point of overload. My mind worked to devour everything. The emerald green water, almost the color of Sara's eyes. The smell of the saltwater was so rich and sweet that I could taste it as we drove by. The feel of the warm wind hitting my face, whipping my hair around. The sound of Depeche Mode massaging its way into my ears. I was caught up; I imagined us laying just behind the dunes, laughing together, touching each other, listening to small waves break and crash in the water. I have never been this happy with anyone. Not even close

  And it’s only been five days.

  The words coming from the car’s speakers spoke to me:

  “…feels like home…I should have known…from my first breath…”

  The moment was perfect. I felt myself on the verge of what I interpreted the definition of nirvana to be. My head rested on the seat back, and I felt giddy, high.

  She snapped me out of my reverie by saying, “Hey…you aren't falling asleep on me over there, are you?”

  I turned my face away from the ocean and looked at her. She was watching me with those green eyes. The moonlight made her eyes almost glow, and they were beautiful, beautiful like the water. No, it’s the other way around…the water is beautiful like her eyes. “Sara,” I said, “there’s no way that I could be falling asleep on you.” I think that I love you, Sara. Is that possible? “No way at all,” I reiterated.

  "Good. You owe me a doll, and you WILL pay up." She told me, and took my hand in hers. She kept her hand on my side of the little car, resting on my leg, and continued to drive.

  "I will pay up. Yes, ma'am, I will." I replied, surprised by the fact that I didn't blubber when I spoke to her, I was so touched by the gesture of her leaving her hand on my leg.

  "Ooooohh, look. You can see the Ferris wheel!" She said excitedly. I followed the line of her vision and saw the Ferris wheel myself. A few more minutes and we were in the large grass field that served as a parking lot, hopping out of the car, and making our way over to the entrance. I put my hand in her back pocket as we walked, to be silly, and she laughed, right on cue, at my little joke. I took my hand back out when I felt the warmth from her backside, and I got that familiar flutter in my stomach and groin.

  Later, big boy, later.

  So I took her hand in mine as we reached the little ticket booth, and I didn't let go even though I had to struggle to withdraw my wallet to pay the elderly lady inside. She smiled at me, the kind of smile that showed she appreciated the magic she saw in us, and gave me one of those pleasant looks that only older women can seem to pull off that convey to you a true sense of appreciation for young people falling in love with each other. Perhaps we made her think of a similar time in her past.

  "What first?" I asked Sara, scanning the park, looking at all the rides. The flashing and beeping that normally had a tendency to make me feel a little insane seemed okay tonight. I heard a Red Hot Chili Peppers tune blasting from the huge speakers next to the Tilt-A-Whirl, and offered, "The Tilt-A-Whirl?"

  “No, no, no,” Sara said, turning me around to face her and hugging me. She pulled away from me, smiling, and went on with, “I think that I want to go on the Ferris wheel first. We will hold hands, and if you’re lucky, I’ll let you kiss me at the top.” It was all very quick, and playful, and I hardly had time to react except to say "okay" before she was leading me over to the Ferris wheel, "L’Amour.”

  "Ahhhh, L’Amour." I said as we stood in the short line, rolling the cheesy name off of my tongue. A large, gruff looking man grumbled "Ten tickets," when we reached him.

  Is there anything but gruff-looking men working at carnivals? I briefly wondered. Gruff looking women, I supposed. I couldn’t recall ever going to a carnival with a nice, clean-cut looking person running the rides. I had always thought that it would make people a whole lot less wary about getting on the rides, but it didn’t seem to hurt business having a member of the Manson gang controlling your destiny.

  I shoveled over ten tickets to him and began mentally calculating the equivalent of ten tickets into dollars. "Ten tickets," I said out loud, adding in a louder voice directed at the ticket taker guy, "Wow, that's five bucks. How do you people sleep at night?" The man just grunted at me and continued taking tickets from the few people behind us as Sara and I giggled quietly with each other.

  "I don't think he likes people…any people," Sara whispered, giggling more. I nodded agreement as another man appeared from the back and ushered us into our little metal box with two bench seats. "Don't rock the cart," he said, flicking a switch, and sending us up a bit so as to allow the next couple to enter. Don't rock the cart, I thought. What a putz. I said as much to Sara, and she agreed. Not rocking the cart was as obvious to me as regular brushing and flossing being necessary for healthy teeth. I glanced down at the man in time to see him open his mouth and reveal teeth that were bad enough to be copied in plastic, and sold on Halloween. Maybe, things weren’t so obvious to him.

  We positioned ourselves up against one another, my arm around her shoulders, and her forehead nestled against my neck. I leaned my nose close to her hair and breathed in deeply, and slowly. Intoxicating. I thought about pinching myself to see if this was a dream.

  "Yay," Sara exclaimed as we started to move again and slowly started our trip to the top.

  She looked all around her as we climbed, a small, warm smile pushing each corner of her mouth slightly upward. I just watched her and smiled back. She looked at me, and gave me a quick kiss on my lips.

  "Yay," I said back to her, returning the favor of a kiss. I drew away quickly as she had, and had a look around myself, at the world which was becoming slightly smaller the further we rose above it. The ride continued on in earnest, and we enjoyed it quietly for a few moments before she spoke again.

  “I love going to carnivals," Sara said. “Ever since I was a little girl. You know, when we were just becoming teenagers, my friends and I would go to carnivals because we wanted to see the boys we liked from school. We’d wait all night for them to talk to us, but they were always too busy riding any ride that shot them high up in the air or turned them upside down or in the bumper cars, where they could hit each other. Of course, my parents took me when I was young. Did your parents take you to carnivals when you were younger?"

  "Yeah. I mean, well, sure, I got to go to carnivals. They were usually pretty busy, my parents, I mean, but we went to a couple.” I continued, “And I went with my friends when I was older. To ride whatever rides we could that would flip us and toss us around. Or to hit each other w
ith the bumper cars.” She smiled.

  We continued on in silence for a bit before she continued.

  "Aaaadam?" she said, drawing out the "A" in my name. "How did your parents come up with your name, Aaaaadam? Is it a biblical thing?"

  "Umm, well, they had the name planned out for me for a long time," I said, thinking about my parents, and everything they had told me over the years. We hadn't talked about our families much, and I was a little surprised by the question. I had mentally rehearsed telling her about my family life for when it came up, but I still wasn't ready when the question came.

  "What do you mean?"

  "Well, I'm adopted. They knew for a long time that they were going to adopt a boy, and they knew they wanted to name that boy Adam."

  "You’re adopted? Why didn't you tell me before?" she asked, sitting bolt-upright, and becoming what looked to me to be more than a little tense. Her eyes took on a slight glazed appearance that made me a little nervous. It reminded me of that morning.

  "I was going to tell you. It's not a secret or anything that I was going to keep from you. I don't know. I just didn't know when it was going to come up." I floundered along, “I mean, I love them, and they are my parents as far as I'm concerned.” I watched her for a moment longer and recognized Distant Sara as the girl who now sat towering above Hazel Beach with me.

  "Sara?" I squeaked, spooked by the sudden change. "What's the matter? Did I say something wrong?" I watched her face to see if it would give away anything. Any clue whatsoever as to what took her away this time. Within a few seconds her eyes lost the glazed appearance that had fallen upon them so quickly. They were sea green again as she regained composure. A little duller now? I was as confused as I had ever been.