Evil in Me, page 3
Tina asked Ruby what the hell she was looking at, to which Ruby replied she had no fucking idea. Tina gave her the finger, after which neither girl spoke another word to the other for the remainder of that week.
Come Friday, Tina handed Ruby a tape with a wink and a smile. There was something so mischievous in that smile that Ruby took the offering, against her better judgment. When she saw the hand-drawn title, PISS OFF, she was even more dubious. But by lunch, curiosity got the better of her, and Ruby took a listen on her Walkman. It was a mixtape of punk rock and new wave music. Ruby hated punk rock, everybody hated punk rock. She made it through five songs, then gave up, taking the tape out and shoving Zeppelin back in.
Ruby didn’t think about the tape again until sixth period, when she found herself humming a tune. She couldn’t place what she was humming at first, then realized it was one of the songs off the tape. The tune went round and round in her head, so on the walk home she had to give it another listen. The song, she would later learn, was “Sonic Reducer” by the Dead Boys. She played the tape through, hoping for more songs like “Sonic Reducer.” There weren’t, there would never be another song like “Sonic Reducer,” but a few others caught her ear, songs by the Ramones, the Damned, the Stooges, and the Cramps, and by the end of the weekend, she couldn’t stop playing the tape.
There was no playlist attached, and come Monday she was dying to find out about these bands. When Tina walked into art class, Ruby greeted her with a warm smile and about a hundred questions about who these bands were, where’d they come from, how come she never heard them on the radio, and most important—where she could find more. Another tape followed, and another, and within a month, Ruby and Tina were inseparable. A month after that, Ruby chopped her hair into a spiky mop, doubled up her eyeliner, ditched her Nikes for Converse, and started cutting holes in her jeans.
There were rules at Enterprise high school, not written down or spelled out, but everyone knew them. When it came to bands, rule one was that Lynyrd Skynyrd was God; after that came Molly Hatchet and Charlie Daniels for all the hicks; the heads were into Zeppelin, the Stones, maybe some Sabbath; and the preppies, Top 40—country or rock, didn’t matter, just whatever Casey Kasem was playing on the countdown that week.
The next rule was that punk rock sucked, new wave too; all of it was weirdo music and anyone who listened to it sucked more. If you so much as mentioned punk rock, at best you’d get a “yuck,” or maybe “gross,” but the most common response would be, “that’s faggot music.”
Punk rock was a spiritual awakening for Ruby. It was as though she’d been given a new life, a creed, a magical cloak of protection to shield her from all the bullshit. But most of all a license to stop trying to fit in, a license to give every one of those Izod-wearing preppies, every knuckle-dragging jock, along with their vomit-inducing cheers and pep rallies, the finger—the good old fuck-you-and-the-horse-you-rode-in-on. Ruby liked to tell anyone who cared, or didn’t, that punk rock saved her soul.
She blinked, found herself back in the YMCA toilet stall—those days in high school with Tina suddenly feeling a lifetime ago now. She crammed the PISS OFF tape into her Walkman and hit play, turning the volume way up, because right then she needed that magical cloak of protection, needed to feel Tina was with her, at least in spirit. But more than anything, she needed to tell the whole damn world to just … piss off.
The Dead Boys filled her skull with roaring, out-of-tune guitars, and Ruby sang along as she mopped pee up off the floor. She slammed the mop back and forth, round and round, banging it against the stall like she was trying to knock it down, clutching the handle so hard her knuckles grew white, lost in the music, lost in the rage.
“One more week,” Ruby growled. “And I won’t have to deal with any of this bull-crap ever again.” Only she knew that wasn’t entirely true—she wouldn’t so long as Mrs. Wright gave the judge a good report, along with her mother and her probation officer. If not, well, Ruby was going to run away, because she was almost twenty-four years old and felt certain that if she didn’t get the hell out of this town this year, she never would. She was supposed to have gone to Atlanta with Tina, to put the band together. But that was before she got arrested, wasn’t it?
Someone tapped Ruby’s shoulder and she jumped around to find Mrs. Wright frowning at her. Ruby yanked off her earphones, reducing the song down to hissing fuzz.
“Shouldn’t play that so loud. It’ll damage your hearing.”
“What?” Ruby asked, hitting the off button on her Walkman.
Mrs. Wright peered into the stall, then back at Ruby, a surprised look on her face. “Well, that’s more like it. See what you can do when you put in a little effort? You take that same attitude and apply it to your life and see if you don’t turn yourself around.”
Ruby had no idea what she was talking about until she glanced around the room. She was as surprised as Mrs. Wright to find it spic-and-span. Ruby realized she’d taken out her rage on this stupid bathroom, too lost in her music and thoughts to even notice.
“I know you think I’m hard on you,” Mrs. Wright said. “But it’s my Christian duty to care so. You’ll be wanting to thank me one day, see if you don’t.” She glanced at her watch. “Got one more job for you.”
“Sure,” Ruby said, with as little enthusiasm as she could muster.
“Somebody knocked over the garbage can out by the pool. Trash all over the place. Need you to take care of it for me. It’s early, but once you’re finished, you can head on home. How does that sound? Just a little thank-you for a job well done.”
Oh no, Ruby thought. Not the pool.
Mrs. Wright gave the bathroom another look. “This goes a long way toward making up for what you done earlier. I’m very impressed with you, young lady. And now, you gotta admit, taking a sense of pride in what you do makes you feel good about yourself. Right? Tell me it don’t.”
Ruby wasn’t even hearing her. Not the pool. God, last thing I need right now is Billy.
“See you on Monday,” Mrs. Wright said, as she left the bathroom.
Ruby glanced in the mirror, horrified at the sad, sweaty mess staring back at her. She could actually smell herself, which was never good. South Alabama was normally hot and muggy, but especially so this week due to an unexpected heat wave. And the YMCA didn’t have air-conditioning either, well, except for Mrs. Wright’s office of course.
“Lord, I’m a wreck.”
Ruby rolled the mop into the corner, yanked free a few paper towels from the dispenser, dabbing her face and armpits as she headed for the pool.
* * *
Ruby hadn’t seen Billy today, she’d made a point of not seeing Billy, but she knew he was here because she’d spotted his car, which was hard to miss—a fully loaded ’81 Camaro sitting right out front. Billy’s dad owned the local Chevy dealership, so Billy pretty much got his choice of any used car on the lot.
Billy wasn’t Ruby’s boyfriend, not anymore, something she had to keep reminding herself of. Seems it wouldn’t be so hard to remember, not after the breakup they went through. But when you’ve been with someone for five years, not being with them can just sneak up on you sometimes.
Ruby grabbed a garbage bag from the women’s locker room, then peeked out into the pool area, hoping the trash was near enough so that she could just scoop it up and slip away before anyone saw her. Ruby groaned; the can had rolled over onto the grass where all the sunbathers were, strewing litter along the far chain-link fence.
And sure enough, there he was, Billy, sitting on a towel by the fence. And there she was, right next to him—Stacy, in her neon-yellow little two-piece. Ruby exhaled sharply through her teeth.
Stacy was Mrs. Wright’s bottle-blonde daughter. She taught aerobics at the Y and when she wasn’t toning her butt, you could find her out here by the pool, working on her tan and what Ruby hoped would be a disfiguring case of skin cancer.
Billy was chatting her up while she refreshed her tanning oil, smacking her gum as she wiped the greasy stuff across the top of her annoyingly pert cleavage. Billy stared, making no effort to be coy, and you could see by the look on Stacy’s face she was loving it.
“Hussy,” Ruby hissed, and patted her back pocket, looking for a cigarette, then remembered she’d quit, or was trying to anyway. She took several long deep breaths. She’d been reading up on nonconfrontational paths to solve problems, trying to find ways to deal with folks, something other than screaming at them at least. She’d learned about meditating to calm herself down and was right now using some of those breathing techniques. But what she really needed was a goddang cigarette, realizing in hindsight perhaps quitting smoking and going off her meds in the same week wasn’t the best idea.
You’re in control, Ruby. You … are … in … control. One more week. Now … don’t lose your shit.
Stacy must’ve said something fantastically hilarious, because Billy let loose with one of his hee-hawing laughs, practically braying, and slapped the towel. Ruby remembered when she thought that laugh was cute, now it was more like a beesting.
Stacy stood up and began stretching, one of her fancy aerobic moves, her hands clasped above her head, leaning far right, then left. She was acting all cool, like it was just something everyone did in the middle of a conversation, but Ruby knew she was showing off her toned abs.
Ruby felt she couldn’t be more different from Stacy, and that was part of why it stung so bad that Billy ended up with her of all people. Stacy was tanned, where Ruby was pale and freckly, Stacy’s skin unblemished, where Ruby was prone to the occasional outbreak of acne, especially when she was stressed, and she seemed to always be stressed these days. Stacy was full in all the right places; Ruby wasn’t full anywhere. Women tend to say you can never be too thin, but Ruby begged to differ; her kind of thin leaned toward gangly, her hands appearing a bit large on her slim wrists. She liked to think of herself more like her hero, Patti Smith, kind of androgenous, kind of rock ‘n’ roll, having the sort of frame a man’s jacket looked good on. She’d always thought Billy liked that look.
“Fuck,” Ruby whispered, heading toward the fence. “This should be a real treat.”
Ruby started at the far end, rounding up the litter, working her way toward Billy and Stacy. There was a small boom box next to Stacy’s towel and as Ruby drew near, she could hear “Honey Bunny,” by Dewydoo and the Boohoos, blasting out of the shitty little speaker. Ruby thought the only thing more annoying than Stacy was that damn song.
There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and Ruby felt as though she were being cooked by the blazing sun. She tugged at her chafing bra as sweat rolled down her back. She could hear Billy now, going on and on—some bull-crap about him and Frank Smith climbing one of the high school stadium lights in the middle of the night and unscrewing all the bulbs. The kind of dumb shit that made Ruby glad she didn’t have a flood of testosterone retarding her frontal lobe.
Stacy was eating it up. Nodding and going, “Oh my gawd, really? Wow! You’re such a maniac,” and so on until Ruby wanted to puke. Good job, Billy, Ruby thought. First prize goes to you for hooking up with the most annoying woman in Enterprise. But what was particularly annoying to Ruby was that Stacy had barely said five words to Billy in high school, and those five words had been something shitty. Billy hadn’t run with the right crowd; no, he’d hung around losers like Ruby, played D&D, and listened to Nazareth and Uriah Heep while drawing wizards and vampires with her.
Just when Ruby thought she might get past them without being noticed, Billy called to her. “Oh, hey, Ruby. You having fun?”
Stacy giggled.
Ruby gave them the finger.
“Momma’s sure getting her nickel’s worth out of you, honey,” Stacy said. “Says you do a right smart job with them bathrooms.” She grinned. “Hey, at least you have something to put on your résumé now.”
Billy snorted and let out one of his hee-haws.
Ruby reddened and picked up a soda can. She started to throw it at them, but didn’t, because Ruby didn’t want to get that look, that she’s-bat-shit-crazy look, so she just slammed it into the bag and kept going, acting like she didn’t hear a damn thing. Keep it together, Ruby. Just keep it together.
“Aww, don’t be like that,” Stacy called after her. “You know, we’re just kidding around. Hey, Rube, Billy and I gonna be cruising around tonight. If you wanna catch up with us, we’ll be at the Dairy Queen around eight. Mark and Paige gonna be there. Probably head over to Joey’s after that. Don’t know if you heard, but he finally passed his GED and wants to parr-ty!”
“Yeah, well, seeing how I’d rather eat rat poison, I probably won’t make it. But y’all have fun now, you hear.”
“Suit yourself, sweetie.”
“Suit yourself, sweetie. Suit yourself, sweetie,” Ruby parroted under her breath. She snatched up the last bit of litter, crumbled it into a wad and slammed it into the bag, then left the pool.
* * *
Ruby headed home, walking along East Lee Street with her guitar slung over her shoulder. She could see the heat waves swirling up off the asphalt. It was almost two miles, and she was pretty sure if she didn’t get out of the sun soon she was going to have a heatstroke. She couldn’t wait to get her own car, had been putting away every extra nickel from work toward buying one.
A quick honk came from behind her; it was Billy in his Camaro.
“Hop in,” he said.
Ruby kept walking.
“Aww, don’t be like that.”
“You’re kidding me. Right?”
“Look, I’m sorry if I was rude.”
“If?”
“Boy, does this car have a nice AC.”
She stopped.
“Come on, get in!”
Ruby sighed, opened the door and slid in, situating her guitar between her legs as they drove off. The AC felt like heaven.
Neither one of them spoke for a spell.
“So … how you been?” Billy asked.
“How do you think I’ve been?”
More silence.
“Sorry about today. I admit, we … we were kinda rude.”
“Yeah, what else you sorry about?”
He sucked in a breath. “Can we not do all this again?”
More silence.
“What do you want, Billy?”
“I’m just trying to be nice to you. That’s all.”
She could tell he was, and wished it could be that easy, like none of the bad things had happened, because she could sure use a friend right about now. “So, you’re cruising the strip now, hanging with the party kids?”
He cut her a look. “Don’t start.”
“What?”
“Hey, not everyone wants to stay home all the time. There’s more to life then listening to records and reading nerdy books.”
Ruby flinched. “You can let me out now.”
“Babe, we don’t have to be enemies.”
“Is your conscience finally catching up with you?”
“Christ, I just can’t catch a break here. Can I?”
“You used to despise those party morons.”
Billy shook his head. “I understand you hate Stacy. You’ve always hated her.”
“Wait, me? You too. The way she used to treat us back in school. You were the one that always called her a stuck-up bitch.”
Billy bristled. “Well, hey, guess what? Folks change. Stacy’s changed. You’d know that if you gave her half a chance. But you don’t give anyone a chance, do you? If they ain’t part of your punk rock club, you act like they’re the enemy.”
“Well, I got plenty of reason to feel that way. And punk rock saved my soul, by the way. You should know that better than anyone. And … and, I know this—I can sure relate a hell of a lot better to someone who digs the Cramps than someone who listens to, say, Toto, or fucking Dewydoo. So, there’s that!”
“See, there you go, thinking your music is better than everyone else’s. Who’s being stuck-up now?”
“My music is better than everyone else’s! Hell of a lot better than what any of these clod-chuckers around here listen to. Where is this coming from anyway? You trying to tell me some arena band like Toto can hold a guitar lick to the Cramps?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. A lot of that stuff you listen to just sounds like noise to me.”
“You don’t know! What’d you mean you don’t know? Of course you know! A band like Toto isn’t fit to breathe the same air as the Cramps. The Cramps are the most exalted potentates of rock ‘n’ fuckin’ roll! Who even are you?”
That got a smirk out of him and for a moment she saw her old Billy, saw the person who used to be her friend.
“Maybe I just wanna branch out a bit,” he said. “Y’know, believe it or not, it’s okay to listen to more than just one type of music.”
“There are only two kinds of music, good music and bad. I mean, what? You’re into Van Halen now, like all your party pals? Or maybe you’re grooving to Stacy’s vibe, digging you some Dewydoo?”
“So what if I was?”
“You gotta be kidding me!” Ruby sneered, making a gagging sound. “Listening to Dewydoo ain’t branching out, it’s being brain-dead.”
“See, you are a snob. Worse even than the preppies.”
“What … how can you say that after all the bullshit we put up with in high school?”
“Always goes back to high school with you. You’re stuck there, still holding grudges against everyone and everything. Just can’t let it go, can you?”
