Page 26 of Dirty Chorus

“Where’s your car?” I wrap my arm around Charlie’s shoulder, twirling the keys as she points to the little Civic that looks oddly familiar. The little dent remains in the center of the bumper. I should be able to spot this car in any parking lot.

“So, can I be the girl you take home tonight?” She lifts her head up at me as we stroll down the parking lot.

She attempts to pry the keys out of my hands, and I say, “No, you're not driving. You’re gonna get into the passenger seat.” I open the door for her, and she easily plops in, and her head falls back onto the headrest.

I fiddle with the driver’s seat. God, she’s short. The seat is pushed all the way forward and raised as high as it can be. I play with the mirrors and once I feel good, I close the door shut, starting the car.

“Charlie,” I run a hand over her shoulder, but she mumbles with her eyes heavy when she opens them. “Where do you live?”

“With you.”

Ha-ha. Real funny. “You’ve gotta give me your address.” I buckle and wrap my fingers around the fluffy leopard-patterned steering wheel. I pause, staring at it as I hadn’t noticed it before. “Well, well, well, we must be back in the 90s.”

“Oh, you like my car?” She asks, batting her eyes. “Well actually it's my mom’s car. She’s supposed to give it to me but umm...” She hiccups and smiles. “She’s going through a divorce and all she cares about is wine and her refill of oxy...”

“Oh...” I say.

“Shit that just got dark.”

“All you need is the dice in her rearview mirror, and you’re golden.”

“Noah...” She pulls out a gum wrapper and crumbles up her used gum, throwing it into her purse. “I wanna be with you tonight.” She almost sounds sincere, but I know those are drunk thoughts, and to me, drunk thoughts are only feelings that are true the moment they're spoken. Tomorrow they won’t mean a damn thing.

“Charlie...”

“No, I’m not telling you.” She yanks on the seat belt and pulls it too quickly, so it locks up. She grumbles, pulling and tugging until she gets it to unlock. She buckles herself in and leans back. “I don’t wanna go home. I wanna be somewhere else. Please can I be with you?”

I huff, throwing my arm over the headrest and looking out the rear window backing out. As we drive, I try to get her to tell me her address. I ask if she lives near the church, and she just teases me, saying I want to stalk her.

Within twenty minutes of our drive, her head falls to the window, and it starts to rain again. These windshield wipers are trash as they scrape against the window. They barely work, and the road becomes a black haze.

Water dances across the window, and the streetlights flash across her face as I get closer to my apartment. I’m only five minutes away from my exit, and dread settles into my chest. Only my bandmates know my living situation, and if I take her there, she’ll wake up in the morning realizing I’m more pathetic than the persona I’ve introduced her to.

“Hey, Charlie.” I run my hand down the back of her head, and she opens her heavy eyes and wipes the edge of her mouth with a hand. “You either tell me where you live, or I take you to my apartment. I have to take the next exit.”

“Your place sounds better.” She’s adamant. I mouth a curse under my breath as I exit the freeway.

It doesn’t take me much longer, and I parallel park in front of the record store. Charlie tilts her head. “Why are we downtown? Everything is closed.”

“You wanted to come to my place. Welcome home, Trouble.” I shut off the engine and unbuckle. Charlie struggles, pushing open the door with her foot and using more force than necessary. I curse again, and leap out of the car, rounding the hood and holding the passenger door. She nearly trips on the curbside getting out, and I grasp her hand to steady her.

“I’m good.” She grasps her purse from the floor mat.

“Let me have that.” I take it from her hands and make sure I lock her car doors.

“We have to walk up some steps.” I cup my hand around hers. “It gets a little slippery when it’s wet.”

“You’re so sweet.” She smiles and follows behind me, and her grip tightens as I lead her down the alley to the backside of the record store. There are no lights other than the single one at the top of the stairs. Crumbled newspapers and plastic bags litter the dead brush. She doesn’t seem to mind. We climb up the steps and to the wooden door that’s in desperate need of a paint job. The doorknob is even loose as I unlock it. The door seal scrapes along the floor as we enter, and my footsteps creak.

“Take off your shoes,” I whisper as I softly shut the door behind me.

“Why are you whispering?” She uses a foot to catch the heel of her shoe, kicking them off.

My gramps is sleeping and now isn't the time for me to guilt-trip her with a sob story. “I’ll take you to my room.” I take her hand again and lead her down a short hallway to my room. A low, red light glows behind my bed frame that’s pushed against the wall. She hovers over the bed, and then face-plants right into my clean sheets. She gathers a pillow, snuggling up to it. “It smells like your beanie.”

I pull off my hoodie and my shirt, bundling them up and putting them in my empty hamper. I’m sure I reek of sweat from playing, but I don’t want to risk waking up Gramps with a shower and him questioning why I have a chick over. Even being twenty-one and an adult who pays the bills, he’ll crucify me the second he finds out she’s lying in my bed and there isn’t a ring on her finger.

I dig around in my closet, pushing hangers side to side, thinking of which shirt I don’t mind giving up. When I find one, I yank it off and toss it to her. “I’m sure you’ll be more comfortable in this.”