“My ass is so huge.”
“It’s really huge.”
“Sean likes it. He says he likes to get lost in it.”
“I thought you weren’t hanging out anymore.”
“We’re not. He just comes over and gets in my ass for a while and then goes.” I looked to the left and right wondering how the neighbors were enjoying this conversation. “Honestly it’s so big I can’t even feel him. So my dad was right?”
“Yeah, she’s a full Beebe. Not as bad as Mrs. Beebe, but bad.”
“She sure looks like one.”
She meaning me? One what?
I ran down the steps, waving hello, and they fell silent. Clee kicked the vehicle’s large tire and then suddenly jumped into its saddle and took off with an earsplitting rumble. We watched her stop at the end of the block; she let out a whoop and yelled something we couldn’t hear.
“Who’s Mrs. Beebe?”
Kate laughed into the back of her hand in an oddly dainty way. She probably had a tiny dainty mother.
“You heard that? Oh shit, we were just kidding around!” She checked my face to see if I was mad. “Clee’s all right. She likes to act all tough, but she’s a total softy when you get to know her. I call her Princess Buttercup.” She laughed nervously and turned the ring on her pinky. “I think you know my dad. His name is Mark Kwon?”
Mark Kwon, the divorced alcoholic Suzanne had set me up with years ago. That was her dad. Kate Kwon.
Princess Buttercup came roaring back down the street. “That’s got some crazy go!” She did a few circles and then jumped off. Kate patted the seat. “Your turn, Cheryl.”
“That’s okay. I don’t think I have the right license for operating—”
Clee walked me over to the grotesque bug. “Ever ridden a motorcycle?”
“No.”
“It’s easier than that. Get on.”
I got on.
“That’s your gas, that’s your brake. Have fun.”
I pushed down on the gas the littlest possible amount. Kate and Clee watched as I very, very slowly pulled away from the curb, and then, like a woman astride a giant tortoise, gradually rolled up the street. It was interesting to be up so high and not enclosed. I’d never moved in such a leisurely way on my own block. My neighbors’ houses looked unfamiliar, almost bleached. The putt-putt of the motor overwhelmed all the usual sounds; I was enclosed in a bubble of noise. A dog barked silently; a young mom in a sun hat put sunblock on the silently wailing faces of two toddlers. They grew still as I slowly rolled by. Twins. I’d never seen them before. Except I had.
Where are you going? they asked in unison.
Up the block, I guess.
But you’ll be back for us?
I’ll be back, but not today.
They were crestfallen, both of them. Somehow both Kubelko Bondy. Why had this soul been circling me for so long? Did it stay young or was it getting older too? And would it eventually give up on me? This was the wrong question — obviously it was I who would eventually give up. It was just a habit, like memorizing license plates. A silly little tic, that’s all. I stomped down on the gas pedal and the mini ATV jumped forward, roaring up the next block. The noise shook everything out of my head. What a magical way to get around. I’d always thought of these types of machines as toys for uneducated people who didn’t care about the environment, but maybe they weren’t. Maybe this was a kind of meditation. I felt connected to everything and the motor volume held me at a level of alertness I wasn’t used to. I kept waking up and then waking up from that, and then waking up even more. Was everything redneck actually mystical? What about guns? I turned around. Clee and Kate were very tiny but I could see them, wildly gesticulating for me to come back. I tried pushing down all the way on the gas. In an instant I was zooming toward them and they were running out of the way, screaming.
THEY WANTED TO HAVE A PARTY.
“It’s not a party. It’s just some of me and Clee’s friends from high school who live here now,” Kate said. “Some of our old classmates. Right?” Clee nodded. She was slowly turning the pages of a magazine, recommitted to ignoring me.
“I can’t allow anything that will depreciate the value of the house,” I said. “I draw the line there.”
“The value will for sure not depreciate,” Kate said.
“Will there be loud music?”
“No way,” she said. “I don’t even listen to music.”
“What about drinking?”
“No. None.”
“You would have to clean up afterward.”
“I love to clean; it’s, like, my thing.”
“Well, I guess there’s no harm in a small gathering of classmates.”
“I’m thinking about it more now? And actually a few people might be drinking. But I can tell them to keep the bottles in paper bags if you want.”
First a big group of loud girls came. Then a group of boys came and Kate plugged her phone into my stereo using a cord that one of the boys had brought. They moved my Mexican artifacts off the top of the speakers, which I appreciated. My phone buzzed. SHE JUST HELD MY STIFF MEMBER FOR ONE OR TWO MINUTES, BUT NO MOVEMENT.
Then the boy turned the stereo up to its absolute maximum, which made it so everyone had to scream when they talked.
Then a steady stream of girls and boys came.
Then I went into the ironing room and typed up a note to the neighbors about the noise and printed out six copies. Once I was outside I realized the whole block could hear the music and six was not enough. When I went back to print out more copies the boys and girls were playing a game involving spraying alcohol on each other.
I’LL ADMIT IT, I WANT TO CREAM IN HER MOUTH.
And immediately after that: I REGRET THAT LAST TEXT, IT WAS TASTELESS AND SHOWED A LACK OF RESPECT FOR KIRSTEN. I HOPE YOU CAN OVERLOOK THAT LAST ONE. WE LOOK FORWARD TO YOUR DECISION. TAKE YOUR TIME!
Some men came. They didn’t even look young; one of them might have been my age. He grinned at me. It seemed as though the men had brought drugs. Definitely hashish or ganja, maybe something else too. It was impossible to use the bathroom — I was waiting in line for more than twenty minutes before Kate bounced over and yelled, “People, people, people! This is the woman who owns this house! Her name is Mrs. Beebe! Let her cut to the front of the line!” She was very drunk. I told her thank you and instead of saying You’re welcome she yelled, “People like me, they just do!” and handed me her drink.
“Is this alcoholic?” I yelled.
“It’s punch!” she screamed in my ear.
I drank it while peeing to save time even though I didn’t really need more time right now. It tasted alcoholic. All the towels were on the floor, which was wet. DO YOU WANT TO SEE A PICTURE OF HER? he texted. I deleted it.
I leaned against the living room wall and watched Clee. She jumped on a boy’s back and yelled, “Foul on the play! Foul on the play!” with one hand up in the air. She knew I was watching her. Now she was saying, “Dang, girl, you need to shave!” and Kate was saying, “No I don’t, I’m Asian!” I watched them hold their legs in the air for different boys to compare. Poor Kate, who had to look so ordinary and be best friends with someone who looked like Clee. Someone whose eyes, though a tad far from her nose, were an exotic feline shape, someone whose hair was so sleepy and golden it seemed to be endlessly shifting like water, even in the picture I found online of her making pretend gang signs in a food court. Someone whose mouth was really too tender to be in public. I watched the sweaty, eager faces of the two boys Kate had enlisted in the leg test. She was screaming, “Shut your eyes so you don’t know whose leg it is!” The two boys were rubbing their hands up and down Clee’s leg and smelly foot and she was looking right at me. I looked back at her. It had been almost three weeks since we’d done a simulation. Why was she even here? My phone vibrated.