The Right Here and Then

 Christopher S. Bell

It wasn’t the most pleasant drive down after Sue caught me jerking off to photos of Elisa E. the night before. Elisa E. who was only five years younger and by no means the worst kind of stranger I followed on the Internet. Elisa E. who immigrated from El Salvador at eighteen and was part of a team who reengineered pretty much all modern cellphone antivirus software. Elisa E: a major sci-fi nerd, who occasionally donned Vulcan ears and a low-cut captain’s uniforms, posting videos of her performing key scenes in broken English.

Boy, if that didn’t set Sue off on a tirade. Suddenly, every woman I followed was under deep scrutiny; be they old high school friends or celebrities from high school movies where they played friends who really hated each other, because most women do, at least a little bit anyway. I tried to explain that it’s the world wide web. You’re going to pick up a stray here or there, not that Elisa E. was that or any of these women with substantial followings were anything but who they were in whatever moment happened to be worth capturing. Thank God I didn’t follow any pornstars, not that there was anything wrong with supporting sex workers via Instagram or Twitter, which thankfully still allowed nipples.

Either way, somewhere between numerous apologies and mansplanations while we packed separate suitcases, Sue decided on the doghouse until further notice. Staying quiet proved even more difficult as she sifted through a cavalcade of mix CD’s from old boyfriends. I tried to remember their last names when we hit the rest stop if only to see what levels of success they’d achieved over the past decade. Some smug fuck with a Maserati and barbie doll wife running a brewery, another managing an American corporation in Europe and finally Gregor: the one right before me. They still dropped an occasional DM, and he liked all of her posts, no matter the situation, whether I was tagged or not. How was he still okay, but Elisa E. was some kind of stain on our marriage?

Some of the songs on Gregor’s mix used to be my jams. We’d play them late after a night at the dive or waking, baking, eating and dancing all before finals, graduation, internships, shittier apartments, loans, starter jobs, insurance, graduate school, more loans, almost better jobs before home décor ultimately destroyed by pets and possibly children. I hoped if we ever had them, she’d play these songs and talk about me, not Gregor, but it was anyone’s guess how those less formidable years would stew once the world slowed down enough for Sue to shoot it the finger as she passed on the highway.

We were the last to arrive; Real World rules in place since our first beach trip. I could already hear Sue fussing about the size of our room as Rocco greeted us. I’d seen the mustache online, but something about those handlebars up close really made me lose respect for my old roommate. No hugging or close contact, just help with our bags as we followed him inside, up the landing stairs to the living room. Mae lied sprawled out on the couch before springing up to greet us. 

“I hate not being able to touch anyone right now,” she said. “But I’ve also accepted it like so many other things.”

“Well I sure haven’t,” Dugan stepped out from the adjacent hallway; Kat two steps behind. Their clothes matched just enough for Sue and I to smirk as we migrated around each other for the grand tour.

That year’s digs weren’t quite like the brochures; a smell lingering from the garage unlike any spill or marmot we’d previously encountered. Our room was by far the hottest, window AC sputtering as we unpacked in opposite dressers. I waited for Sue to say anything about our friends, the kind of secret backhanded comment she usually saved for me the second we were alone, but instead we simply waited for our phones to interrupt the silence. She won, facetiming her mother and sister while I waved from the corner. It seemed more and more I was becoming a background character in her life, somebody quiet with few lines and little mobility or development.

On the back deck, Rocco and Mae passed a bowl between them; smoke rings mixing with the distant blue of an ocean in squinting distance. I’d forgotten my piece at home with sharing not being an option that year. “Don’t worry, we’ll makeshift something here soon enough,” Rocco said, before Kat stepped out the sliding door.

“So who’s going to the grocery store?”

Everybody made their list; Sue deliberately picking items she knew I hated, while I considered the amount of booze needed to curb all previous tensions. Ultimately, I volunteered to go over drawing straws or numerous rounds of paper, scissor, prophet, proclaimer. I needed the quiet, taking a moment to type out and alphabetize each item before navigating down the surf.

It seemed likely Mae or Kat would ask Sue about me or us, how we were coping with the veracity of circumstances building momentum in every corner. I didn’t care if she told them about Elisa E. or any of my frequent imperfections. Better she vented to them that week.

The Grub Mart was sweaty, workers with masks only covering lips or noses, rarely both. Through the automatic doors, two confederate flag bandanas passed towards a pick-up truck, while I grabbed a cart and ignored a mother pleading with her child at the gumball machine. My list was the opposite of helpful; Sue’s nitpicking paired with our friends’ fastidiousness forcing jumbled anxieties as I patiently stood eight feet away from a boomer couple arguing over salsa.

I was ready to smash it all; full cart’s contents slowly moving across the checkout belt while cashier and bag boy flirted in Hello Kitty face coverings. They were safe because it was required, although it seemed unlikely these precautions continued after the closing bell. Still, maybe kissing wasn’t all it used to be, or came spring-loaded when combined with other activities. Leaving the mask on for some dry-tonguing before dry-humping or a well-sanitized handjob out behind the dumpster. I couldn’t comprehend how young people were coping, loading our trunk and backseat before checking the feed.

Elisa E. danced to “He’s a Rebel” in a Silver Sable costume, headband, cleavage et all. I contemplated how twisted I’d be to get it out of my system in The Grub Mart parking lot, especially considering Sue. Only considering Sue. She’d hate that it was to a song produced by Phil Spector. I deleted “Back to Mono” from our desktop two years earlier after getting called out, while she kept a watchful eye on my Spotify. The previous summer, when I busted her for grinding to R. Kelly at her cousin’s wedding; she gave me this whole spiel how it was okay, because she was reclaiming her power as a woman.

I tried to make it quick, AC on, no stains of any kind. The tissues gracefully flew out the window on my drive back, heart hopeful there wasn’t a murder nearby where such evidence would prove beneficial to the fuzz. “You alright man?” Dugan asked, helping with groceries.

“Yeah man, just getting used to the heat,” I wiped my brow and soon disinfected.

That first dinner consisted of stories they’d been waiting to tell, how Rocco got a raise after calling his boss an asshole or Kat nearly lost an arm free climbing. Sue mentioned her sister’s recent good fortune, while I was first to comment how rough it must be bringing a child into this world. “But things are going to get better,” Mae forked some lettuce. “I mean, yeah, we can sit here and be sad sacks or maybe really appreciate what we have, all of this in the right here and now.”

I looked at my wife at the only angle to notice her eyes roll. Although I’d grown accustomed to all of her involuntary quirks, something about this particular motion made my insides bellow. I didn’t know what to say when Rocco asked about my current state of mind, as if it wasn’t already apparent in the past three months of posts and shares. Speaking to them all in-person was far more difficult, as I forced a grin before shots and our traditional sunset beach walk. Reaching for Sue’s hand, she immediately ran towards the rippling waves, splashing out of necessity.

That night passed in booze and weed; boys on the deck subscribing to film conspiracies while our mates huddled in the living room, blushing over past conquests or manners of femininity. We all knew everything about them and inadvertently everything about each other after they told one another and then us or vice versa. This dynamic had always been in place, but its nature struck me off balance that evening. I considered Eliza E. and how long it would be before Rocco and Dugan discovered her. Then they’d be liking her posts before me or getting off to the same polished dances. It didn’t sit well. I’d learned long before Sue, Mae and Kat came into our lives to never tell Rocco, Dugan or any guy for that matter about an infatuation, since even a minor surge in testosterone could ruin all the remaining good in this world.

I drank and smoked my lungs dry, puked like freshman year before passing out next to my wife. She didn’t say a word.

I always woke up first after sleeping in a different place. These reflexes only got hazier with time. Sue looked so peaceful, mouth half open, snorting into her pillow. My heart fluttered before a rumble from stomach to sphincter. Beer shits so fresh I was thankful for a stuffed nose that morning. The previous tenant must have had a cat. It was likely they barely partied and left things where they found them. If I somehow got frozen in concrete, where would they put my effigy in relation to the bookshelves and nightstands? Would Sue leave flowers there on our anniversary?

I started on the coffee; Kat entering the kitchen in a purple sports top, grabbing a Red Bull from the fridge. “That still doing it for you?” I suggested.

“Whatever gets me out there and moving,” she replied, heading to the door.

I reflected on the time we made-out under the stairs at Cooper Dormitory. Rocco had just met Mae, and I had a connect for grass across campus. I wasn’t sure if Kat really liked me or not, but it just felt like something we should be doing while our friends had sex in their room. She laughed a lot afterwards, blaming it on the buzz, and then got pretty serious with some anthropology major before settling on Dugan. I often dwelled on the girls before Sue who used me as a jumping off point, or maybe I pretended not to be interested or came on too strong in the beginning. They all still resonated, but that was the just the sensitive part I blamed on my mother; the part good old dad couldn’t bully out of me.

My first cup was almost gone when Mae and Rocco entered with smiles then Dugan and finally Sue. Kat returned and we feasted, contemplating the day. Beach first, booze, trunks and block. SPF 31 and a third. It was mostly families trying to wrangle their children. Don’t swim out too far. Watch the waves. You can’t play with those kids who don’t have masks on. That jellyfish is not a toy. 

“Jesus God…” Sue whined in our room, stung for the first time. She didn’t want my pee, because this wasn’t that episode of Friends even if it felt eerily similar. Was I The Chandler to their respective hang-ups? I could live with that.

“It’s going to be okay,” I said. 

“Yeah, I already know that,” Sue browsed for solutions on her phone. “It still stings quite a bit.”

“Well whatever you need, I’ll go get.”

She smiled at me for the first time in forty-eight hours and then texted a list. Rocco offered his company on the drive, which I respectfully declined. Somehow talking with him or anybody else felt contrived. The conversation would inevitably lead to Sue, who I wanted to say amazing things about, but couldn’t bring myself to lie for the sake of our group dynamic. Sure, we were fine, on our way to being even better once I brought back the Neapolitan ice cream sandwiches.

Still, in the midst of navigating sunken couples over sixty-five in blue and light pink hospital masks, I considered the future in all its relentless ineptitude. Would we eventually become two people stuck justifying our deepest gripes? The kind of quibbles we’d previously held back for the sake of the other’s feelings, but not after time and its notions shaped us into broken spirits. We could say anything, argue with unrelenting fervor about which salsa was unequivocally the right kind for that night and beach trip.

Wait a minute, was that the same salsa couple from the day before? How much could they have possibly consumed in the previous twenty-four hours? Maybe it wasn’t just for them, but a whole family. Then again why are these two, who are clearly at-risk, even at The Grub Mart? What the hell kind of kids did they raise that these overprivileged sacks can’t go out for groceries, especially after their grandchildren probably housed all of the Chi-Chi’s cilantro and lime the night before?

Of course, there was the obvious argument between mother and son, father and daughter-in-law about how they were adults and could make their own decisions. They always got their produce for the week together because that man never knew how to pick a good melon, and that woman couldn’t tell an apricot from a lump of crap on the ground. These factors placed them right in front of me again in an already crowded aisle.

I had to get on my phone after check-out, even though we’d had the conversation before even leaving home that we were going to try our best to tune out that week, to not check or post on social media, avoiding the news and all its tarnished ramifications. We were just going to live and be in the pit with each other and the people we’d known long enough to subscribe to these notions of ourselves, which were at least eighty-percent accurate on a good day. Elisa E. poses in front of a redwood with the caption: It’s only natural and human to feel small in this world.

I considered a repeat of yesterday, but instead listened to an old song on the drive back and cried a little. Sure enough, another one of Gregor’s mixes, that fucking piece of shit. Dugan and Rocco passed a joint in the kitchen when I set the two grocery bags down.

“Jesus, didn’t you just get junk food yesterday?” Rocco asked.

“Yeah, is food your new high?” Dugan added.

“I can’t believe you guys are fucking dumb enough to share a joint in a middle of a pandemic,” I replied.

“Oh C’mon man, all of us have basically fucked at this point anyway,” Rocco jabbed. “We’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, I’m not too worried,” Dugan usually took Rocco’s side. “He’s a fine young man, and I’d be privileged to share his disease.”

“Plus, we both really wanted to smoke a joint, but realized it would probably be too much for the two of us,” Rocco explained.

“Then why not just roll one and cut it in half,” I suggested. “Also, since when are Mae and Kat cool with you two hot-boxing the kitchen?”

“It’s fine, Kasper. They’re out shopping, plus I think I’m gonna make some bacon here pretty soon which will knock out the smell like that,” Dugan snapped his fingers.

“Oh yeah, bacon,’ Rocco salivated.

“Wait, I thought we were going to try and keep contact with the outside world to a minimum, just cook, go to the beach when it feels safe.” I was talking to myself at that point.

“Oh you know how women are, though?” Dugan rationalized.

“It’s like their mothers breed it into them,” Rocco began. “Like mothers first and then the media, and Pretty Woman edited for TV, but the shopping shit’s all still in there.”

“So is Sue in our room?” I interrupted.

“Oh no, she tagged along,” Rocco said.

“Yeah, no way she was gonna hang out with us dirtbags this afternoon,” Dugan exhaled a white cloud. “You sure you don’t want in on this?”

“Ya know, I think I’m going to shower,” I told them. “I feel kind of gross.”

“Hey man, it was just a jellyfish sting. Obviously, she was going to be fine,” Dugan rationalized. 

“Besides, Mae gave her a Paxil, I think,” Rocco always tried and failed to soften a blow.

I’d forgotten about this attribute after spending enough time away from him, living in separate houses with far too many individualized quarks from our partners to remember each other’s. His compassion didn’t make me feel better about things anymore, that was for certain. I couldn’t be pissed at Sue for throwing a fit then going shopping with her friends even if she was prone to posting anti-capitalist sentiments. The pandemic was almost irrelevant in these vacationing times, and I was tired of feeling ashamed for actions that only made me a better spouse in the long run.

So yes, I swiped through photos of Elisa E. for a moment then masturbated in the shower. Then I got high from the lung Rocco built me the night before and ate some killer BLT wraps with my best friends. I attended to Sue’s every waking thought when she returned as we drifted into the evening, drinking wine, and reminiscing all the while discussing how past lessons have truly impacted the people we were in that exact moment. We weren’t terrible in the act of being human and tried our darndest to better the world when it needed our eyes fixated along with our hearts.

On the beach, Sue took my hand as the salty air evaporated between us. We made love like sea creatures unbounded, in complete defiance of the changing current. It was make-up sex, but of a nature so wayward, educated perverts to this day are still trying to decipher the erratic patterns we willfully gave way to that evening.

Exhausted, I focused on the muffled hush of our window AC unit, while my wife whispered into my ear. “It almost feels like that first trip, doesn’t it?”

“In moments like this it does,” I replied.

“All of it, though. Just being here, in the thick of it again. I really needed this,” Sue cuddled up closer.

It was already understood I wouldn’t be able to sleep until she passed out, so I rolled over and did what was necessary. “You should maybe go pee, so you don’t get a UTI.”

“What?” she said.

“I mean, we’ve both been drinking. You go and then I’ll go.”

“Yeah, alright,” Sue hopped out of bed while I waited for the door to shut and listened for the fan before checking my phone.

On the third day, God learned of us; all that we were trying to get away with and every time we ignored her bountiful will to propel ourselves forward. We awoke to Mae coughing through the walls. Not a sanitary, post-alcoholic-evening cough, but rather a dry hack from gut to throat. “She’s got a fever,” Rocco said as we sat quietly at the kitchen table. “It happens, though. Even when things weren’t so crazy.”

“So what do we do then?” Kat tapped lightly on the tabletop. “I mean, we’ve all been exposed. If she gets a test, we gotta wait two days to find out the results, and then what, another two weeks stuck here?”

“I can’t afford that shit,” Dugan replied.

“Let’s think rationally here,” I interjected. “Even if it is positive, we can still all drive back to our homes, quarantine there for two weeks and hopefully everyone will be fine.”

“Or maybe we should just leave now,” Sue spoke almost to herself.

“What?” I said.

“Nobody’s doing anything right now,” Rocco breathed in deeply. “It could just be allergies and a combination of whatever else. Let’s all not freak out and ruin vacation on a…” His wife’s dry hack echoed down the hallway.

“Any of you check the weather forecast this morning?” Dugan asked.

We all stared him down then looked at our phones. The reports were calling it one of the worst hurricanes since they started naming them after normal people. She was called Becky, like my high school girls’ softball coach; a large doppler black hole with red and green edges, circling up the ocean towards our private little hotspot.

Secondhand information bounced back and forth before Mae entered the kitchen, tissue box in tow. “I’m already feeling better, guys. I don’t think it’s what we all think it is. I just hit the bottle and maybe the bowl a bit too hard last night.”

“Well if we all work together, we can get out of here and get all the traffic out of the way,” Sue stood with intention as I looked at my friend then my wife.

“There’s a chance Becky won’t even hit the coast,” Rocco said. “At least, that’s what this reddit is claiming.”

“What do you wanna do, hon?” Sue looked at me, wanting justification for a decision she already made for the both of us.

“I think maybe we can wait and see how everything goes, at least for another day,” I replied.

“You guys don’t have to freak out over me,” Mae sniffled. “Wait, who’s Becky?”

Rocco handed Mae his phone. “This is Becky.”

“Well if we’re staying, we’re gonna need some more supplies,” Sue declared.

My flipflops were already on as I grabbed the keys from our nightstand. Each cohort texted their necessities, items I could’ve sworn I bought the day before or before that. Why didn’t I save any recipients, and why was the same couple back in front of the salsa, masks down below their noses? I didn’t even watch my total at the checkout, swiping and darting past a slew of misguided elders on the hunt for provisions. They’d probably all hate the wine I picked, or wouldn’t know what to make from these ingredients. Elisa E. hadn’t posted anything for almost twelve hours. I hoped she was alright as a long gray cloud slowly crept over the horizon.

Wind and rain hit as Rocco helped me with the bags. “This is gonna be a hoot, don’t you think?” he smiled, brown paper flapping in our hands.

Kat painted Mae’s toenails on the sofa; Dugan playing his DS, while I grabbed the extra strength Tylenol and walked down the hall to our room. The AC whistled a death march while Sue watched “Clueless” on her laptop with earbuds. I knew exactly which jokes she was laughing at, but figured it best to let her have them that day. It was a quick shower, just to feel clean after The Grub Mart, but that stink never really washed away. Salty air made everything taste dry as I got dressed and Sue unplugged.

“So how’d everything go?” she asked.

“Fine,” I gargled. “Seems like the gang’s doing better than they were this morning.”

“Oh yeah, I guess I wouldn’t know. I’ve been self-isolating since you decided we’re staying.”

“Oh C’mon, don’t put all of this on me. You know the second we finally got home after God knows how many hours in traffic, you’d call Kat and she’d say everything was good and you’d immediately regret leaving.”

“Don’t attempt to predict how I’d feel in some bullshit hypothetical situation,” Sue glared as a gust whistled through our window. “Christ, would you listen to that?”

“I was just out there. It’s nothing,” I explained. “No beach trip is complete without at least one rainy day. I remember, when I was maybe twelve, Brad and I almost killed each other after three days in a row where it just rained nonstop. Mom and dad didn’t really seem to care all that much. I guess maybe they were just used to us being that way with each other.”

“Or were always just expecting the worst.”

“We were never that bad.”

“I hate being here right now,” Sue said. “I don’t know what it is. I mean, I guess of course I know what it is, but things still seem more off than usual, and I can’t bring myself to let it go, not now with everything else. I’m not sure I’ll ever be the kind of person who lets something go again.”

“So just grudges until the end of the time then?” I suggested.

“Yeah, ya know, I think so.”

I waited for her to smirk or shoot the kind of look that made me fall in love with her in the first place, but Sue just plugged her ears and let the screen light her complexion. The living room offered little solace as I sat next to Dugan on the loveseat and watched the weather forecast. “Looks like we’ll see the sun again soon enough,” Rocco proclaimed.

“And not a moment too soon,” Mae added.

I stood and acted like I was going back to our room, after reassuring them that Sue was just peachy. We always believed each other in some general sense. They didn’t need to know how much I hated my job. That was implied, and the same was true of most other actions and inconveniences. Despite global hiccups, we were still better off than a good majority of people, which was supposed to somehow soften the blow, but in reality, made me all the more indifferent.

Maybe I cared too little about being part of the problem, but I wasn’t as bad as all those other assholes surrounding us. They flew kites and danced to Bluetooth speakers while the wind rustled every grain of sand into submission. The rain was of little consequence as I walked towards the crashing waves. They thought nothing of me, much like most other people in their lives. We were simply in it together, soaked in debris, every tweet an eventual footnote to some large-scale eradication, and as the lightning crashed and my head went under, I could only think of one thing: how far could I swim out before it wouldn’t feel much like swimming at all?