I SCARE MYSELF BECAUSE I KNOW I'M RIGHT

   The thespians at school tried to lure me in, but I couldn't remember my lines and didn’t want more homework. They were exhausting friends because everybody was always "on", but at least they had brains and could argue about art, and we would hang out at Denny’s and drink endless free coffee refills. One of these thespian friends got a ride home sometimes from an tall goth girl with short blonde hair, driving a little car with bumpersticker that said "My kid beat up your honor student". We all started going to the record store together after school, and then I just started going home with them. Suzi was 19 and had a one-bedroom apartment with three people living in it: the thespian girl from my school (who somehow had permission to live there), her boyfriend (who had run away from home), and herself. The girls both worked and the freeloading boyfriend sat there all day long, smoking and avoiding sunlight. The couple lived in the living room and Suzi had the bedroom. The windows were covered with black cloth, and it smelled like patchouli, bong water and clove cigarettes. You could grow mold in there.  

   We killed a lot of time and brain cells in that apartment, and eventually me and Suzi became an item. We had endless ouija board sessions in there, which freaked me out and occupied my mind until I realized I was just talking to the stinky freeloading dude the whole time. We all went to the Ministry concert downtown, and a friend had drilled dozens of holes in his combat boots and stuck large nails through the holes, facing out, like two insane metal porcupines. He regretted it before we even got to the show because they were so heavy, but he really regretted it when somebody immediately stepped on the nails when we went inside and crushed his feet to a pulp.  

   Things for me were going pretty good. Our band had played a real show, I had an older girlfriend with a car, and I started having interesting friends outside of school. Then Suzi lost her job and asked the boyfriend to kick in for rent. When he balked, she kicked him out, and my classmate moved back in with her aunt. So now Suzi had no job and nobody to split the rent, and she began frantically searching for a fast-paying job in the classifieds.

She showed up after school and said "I got a job but need your help." She had seen a print advertisement looking for models, called the number, and got hired as an outcall masseuse. I was like "Do you have any experience as a masseuse? Did you have an interview?" She looked at me sideways and said they interviewed her at Denny's. She was going on-call that night and wanted someone waiting in the car in case of trouble. I tried to catalogue what type of trouble could happen, asked her if she was sure she wanted the gig, and agreed to go. 

We sat around eating McDonald's cheeseburgers in her apartment waiting for the phone to ring, and then it did. She wrote down an address, listened distractedly to the person on the phone, said "will do" and hung up. She put on a cocktail dress and consulted a folding map. I looked at her outfit and asked "Are you going on a date with this guy?!" and she said "No, but I want to be presentable."

   I was not psyched. We drove out to an address by the airport, a two-story motel with blue doors. It was still early evening, but it was a school night and was wondering when I would get home. She found the hotel, cruised past the room, positioned the car a distance away but within sight, and parked. She gave me a kiss and said "Don't drive off" and handed me the keys. I asked for some cigarettes, which she gave me, and she got out while I stayed in then passenger seat. She was over tapping on the door, glanced back at me, then it opened and went in. I sat there staring at the door and wondering what the hell was going on inside for a long while. The cigarettes were gone and time was standing still, and I knew we had to break up.