“Hey. Space cadet. Want a cig?”
Clarity has one earbud running from her phone to her ear.
I wonder how long we’ve been sitting here.
“What are you listening to?”
“Fiona.”
“Oh. One of my favorites,” I say.
“Yeah! Get that angst girl!” Clarity says.
“I feel it between my teeth,” I say.
“She’s one of my favorites too.”
“I bet you’d have to eat her out for like 16 hours before you fucked her to loosen up that angsty pussy. I bet her puss is that angsty.”
“I bet it is, too,” Clarity says, handing me a Parliament.
“I like an angsty pussy,” I say.
“Do you!” Clarity says, excited.
“Yeah. I like ‘em angsty..angry—”
“Angry?”
“Fuck yeah. Angry as a Soviet fist.”
“You really open up after a bottle of wine.”
“Who wouldn’t? With you,” I add.
Clarity flashes me a look.
“Who knew computer programmers could be so interesting. I figured you guys were all algorithms and code and C”
“Nah, we’re freaks. You know what? I want to change my scariest story ever.”
“Your sister crawling in the fire wasn’t scary enough?”
“No.”
“Your dad not taking her to the hospital..that wasn’t scary enough?”
“You know..that element..I’m not sure I’ve fully digested, even now.”
“I bet you’re right,” Clarity says. “So what’s your new scary story?”
“My new scary story is this,” I say. “Sorry. I mean my story is never gonna top your story—”
“No, it’s not a competition—”
“But while we’re telling childhood memories that won’t let us fucking go, I figure I should tell you this one.”
“Light your cigarette.”
“Huh?”
“You need nicotine.”
“Ok.”
I light my cigarette. Clarity has one too and we smoke quietly for a second.
“So.”
Clarity sits and waits and she’s so graceful and light I feel like there’s a Maxfield Parrish angel sitting next to me.
“I feel stupid telling you this.”
“Don’t. Did you ever think this is why Purity had her audition?”
“Why do you say that?”
“What if Purity never becomes Wonder Woman? What if her perfect figure and starvation diet aren’t enough to convince that executive in Florida that she’s worthy to represent Six Flags as that seminal member of the Justice League? What if the whole reason Purity wanted to be Wonder Woman in the first place is so that this moment could happen and you could tell me what you’re about to tell me.”
“Alright. Maybe. So there was the time Amy crawled into the ashes but there was this other time—and it also has to do with burning—maybe I have a thing about burning—”
“Did you ever burn yourself?”
“No. Not that I remember.”
“Ok. Sorry. Continue.”
“Well there was the time with Amy crawling into the ashes of that campfire and Dad not taking her to the hospital and all..but there was also this time..equally scary and heart wrenching in my psychology..there was this time Mom burned herself while making jam. We used to go and pick raspberries and apples and all kinds of fruit on this farm where you pay by weight I guess but it’s mainly not about the fruit. It’s mainly a fun thing to do with your family. But then when we got home we’d make jam out of all that fruit and put it in Ball jars. Mom learned how to do it from her grandmother so it was like a tradition even though her grandmother was dead. So she’s got this pot of boiling fruit slurry on the stove and somehow she knocks it over and this sticky, thick fruit mixture spills all over her legs and just coats the whole front of her body from like the belly down. And she couldn’t just take her pants off because it would take the jam and her skin off together. So they told me to quick! run! get some ice! and they gave me five dollars and I ran out the gate almost jumping over the fence but I knew I’d just fall and we’d have one more problem to deal with so I opened the gate, did quick checks left and right and ran across the street into Martin’s Mini Mart. Inside, the cashier guy was having a protracted conversation with a customer or pal so I grabbed two bags of ice and threw a five dollar bill on the counter and ran out without saying anything..back to the house where no one could believe I was back with the ice so quickly. But it was no surprise for me..my mom is more than loved to me—she is honored, revered, idolized—I would give my life to save hers, if that was the deal. When I ran back across that street I was just hoping no cars hit me—that’s how fast I wanted to get that ice to her. The ice got to her and over a period of days, she healed. They didn’t go to the hospital that time, either, even though she had second-degree burns all over her stomach and legs.”
Clarity is quiet. Then she looks directly in my eye and says: “Life is so short and so sad.”
“Yeah,” I say. “It inspires you—then it breaks your fucking heart.”