“I seriously doubt that.”
“I’m twenty-three, get it?” Trisha had a big smile.
“You look younger,” he said, and felt a tension in his chest as he began to wonder if Trisha had passed the age when appearing younger was considered a compliment.
“Yeah, I get that a lot,” Trisha said, and sounded disappointed. “You know, you don’t look like a George.”
“Yeah, I get that a lot.”
Trisha pronounced a short laugh. “You don’t look like a Stanton, either.”
“Actually, it’s just a random name my father selected when he immigrated to America. The person who handed him the form had a name tag with Stanton written on it,” he said, and shrugged. “That’s my family legacy, right there.”
“Really?” Trisha frowned. “Did he change his first name too?”
“He changed it to Robert, on account of Robert Redford. My father…” George restrained himself from calling his father a lunatic. “…is a strange man.”
“You’re a strange man, George.”
Again, George didn’t care for being associated with his father.
“If you think I’m strange, then you should meet him.”
“I love to meet your father.” Trisha looked sincere.
He swallowed once, and tried to come up with an appropriate lie. But before he could come up with a decent excuse, Trisha Boyle released him from her wicked spell.
“I’m just messing with you,” Trisha blurted out. “But I totally got you, didn’t I?”
George made sure to smile her way, even though he felt the whole scene was more horrifying than amusing.
Trisha had her back against the headboard and her arms stretched out on top of the many pillows; her drink was on the night table. George sat at the nearby desk.
“Are you always on autopilot, George?”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t you ever let loose, and just go with it? You know, just ignore social protocol and so on,” Trisha said and slapped the palms of her outstretched hands against the many pillows on the bed.
“No, I’m pretty much boring all the time.”
Is that why I’m single? Because I’m such a boring person?
“You’re not boring. You’re just shy.” She gave him a wink.
Again, George felt puzzled by Trisha’s perception of him. He never considered himself as shy. If anything, he was more ignorant than most people. He didn’t talk much because he didn’t have much interest in other people’s lives.
Is that why I’m single?
“When was the last time you did something outrageous, George?”
“I spent a night in jail once.”
“Really?” Trisha looked astonished.
Then, Trisha pronounced a tremendous laugh, rolled around on the bed, and gasped for air. She appeared as if she was trying to speak, but she was laughing too hard to utter a word. George began to feel uncomfortable and was curious what had brought out her reaction.
“For driving too slow?” Trisha eventually said and then her face twitched and twisted before she began laughing even harder.
George couldn’t keep himself from laughing as well. But this time he didn’t feel bad for laughing at her rather than with her. He did, however, restrain himself from bringing up the cruise control again.
Trisha’s distinctive laughter eventually faded away.
“That’s good stuff.” Trisha wiped the tears from her eyes. “Go on then and tell me what you were in for.”
“I flipped over a cop car.”
“Really?” Trisha’s jaw dropped. “Were you in a gang or something?”
He felt confused. “No, I acted on my own.”
“Did you use a forklift or something?”
Why would I use a forklift?
“No, I didn’t flip over a cop car. I flipped over a cop car…”
George hesitated, considering what he could say.
“I mean, I ran up the hood of the car, stepped on the rooftop lights, and made a double tuck over the car. And the landing was perfect, by the way.”
“Are you crazy, George? You could have broken your neck.”
“No, I was a professional gymnast back then. The flip was easy. However, getting away from the cops was not.”
“You were a professional gymnast?” Trisha had a deadpan look.
“I won state championship when I was eighteen. On that very day actually. I was out on the town celebrating with my friends, and I wanted to impress them. So, at the time, the flip seemed like a clever thing to do. Unfortunately, the San Francisco Police Department didn’t share my sense of humor.”
“So they chased after you?”
“Half the precinct chased me for at least an hour or so.”
“And they eventually caught up with you?”
“Actually, I more or less surrendered.”
“How so?”
“Well, I was full of adrenaline and shaking all over. I remember feeling I couldn’t breathe. I had so much anxiety because I wondered when, how, and if they were going to catch me. But as soon as I gave up running, that anxiety went away. Like the thought of them catching me felt worse than them actually catching me.”
To George’s astonishment, Trisha Boyle appeared to be speechless.
“Come to think of it, that night in jail did something to me. I think it changed me somehow,” he added.
“Did something happen to you in jail?”
“No, nothing happened. I just waited for the time to pass.”
“How did that change you?”
“Go sit in the closet for the entire night,” he responded, and pointed at the closet door. “Just sit there and wait for the morning to come. You’ll see what I’m talking about.”
“That’s just silly, George.”
“No, I’m serious. Try it, and you’ll see what I mean.”
“No, I couldn’t do that. I would just feel like an idiot.”
“Exactly.”
Trisha looked thoughtful and kept gazing into his eyes. At that point, she slowly got off the bed and came toward him. Then, she ran past him and made her way into the bathroom. George could hear the sound of liquid colliding with water surface.
“Are you all right in there?”
Trisha didn’t respond. But the familiar erupting sound from the toilet bowl answered his question just as well.
About fifteen minutes later, Trisha made her way back to the bed, only to slide down onto the floor a few seconds later. Once on the floor, she crawled on her hands and knees, then grabbed the garbage can under the desk, put half her face in it, but did nothing more. Trisha made a sad sound like the cry of a dog who’s been left on its own, and the sound was emphasized by the echo from the empty garbage can. George thought the sound of echoing tears was heartbreaking, and felt he should say something to ease her discomfort.
“It’ll pass soon enough, Trisha. You’ll feel better in the morning… I mean, you’ll feel better on Thursday,” he added with a smile meant to poke fun at her.
Trisha’s face emerged from the garbage can, her mascara running. “It’s not funny, George.”
“Are you all right?”
She didn’t answer him. Instead, she crawled away from him, pushing the garbage can in front of her with half her face in it—much the way a dog might move its food bowl.
What was the dog’s name?
“You remember the dog from the visit to Mrs. Daniels? What was his name?
“Jack,” Trisha mumbled, her head still in the garbage can. “Jack Daniels.”
“You remember how Jack moved the food bowl all around the house?”
Trisha’s face slowly emerged, and her makeup ran even more. “It’s not funny, George.”
Trisha crawled up on to the bed, and lay down on her stomach.