Fingerless Gloves by Nick Orsini Read Free Book Online Page A

nourishment from some minute fragments of food on the ground.
    Beth Fallow cheated on me. How was I supposed to confront her with burrito breath? How was I supposed to deal with this? We had spoken before, even had heart-to-heart talks while I was high. I wondered why the hell no one called me to tell me about James. I should have heard something…some news about him from him parents, my parents, one of his friends. For the first time I noticed a hole in my hoodie pocket, right where my thumb sat. I must have worn right through the fabric over the 4-year lifespan of the selfless piece of clothing. I never realized how long it had been since I bought a new sweatshirt, or anything new to wear at all. I washed this hoodie, but some stains never came out. There was the grease stain on the lower third of the sleeve from when James’ car broke down on the way to some house party and we thought we had enough knowledge of car mechanics to fix it. There was the popcorn oil stain from a botched movie date with a girl who really, really loved greasy popcorn…in particular scooping handfuls of it out of the bag while only managing to land half-handfuls in her mouth.
    I saw faint headlights coming up the high school entrance. At first, they just cast a wide glow on the ground, then they began to get more focused. Even the widely-cast lights made my eyes dart around in discomfort. I leaned back against the seat and felt the warmth from the heater on my sneakered feet. I valued those few seconds that I was alone. Solitude, despite my best efforts to prove otherwise to myself, was the only place I was absolutely sure I could function on a normal plane. The hungry-for-grass deer, with a few hoof clicks, leapt into the woods. I watched them, all four legs off the ground, move from the edge of the curb through the trees. I watched until the last one, slower than the rest, was out of view. In their wake, branches swayed and partially broke. After a moment, the headlights shot strong, focused beams into the lot and, before too long, the front of Beth Fallow’s 2001 Honda Accord rolled right through the spray-painted stop sign at the high school’s entrance.
    The headlights circled and the Accord ended up parked right next to me. The window rolled down and there was Beth, her hair blown out for some reason. Maybe she had just come from dinner or church or a date. It was a bit early to be ending a date, so I guessed family dinner. It had to be a family dinner. I couldn’t see much of what she was wearing, but even in the pale parking lot light, those green eyes color corrected the whole scene. I never felt quite right around Beth, even that night, when the two of us were separated by car doors and parking lines and substances there on the asphalt. I had this inherent fear that she was too close…she was always too close. I mean, I had learned to get used to it…as you have to let the people you care about in to see you for exactly what you are. Now that we weren’t together, the discomfort had returned to a noticeable level. I squirmed and mashed the burrito wrappers back into the bag. As these thoughts ran through my melted brain, I came around barely in time to hear, “I know you’re stoned and I can smell you from here. You stink like beef, cheese, and weed.”
    I nodded, “Nice to see you too Beth. In case you didn’t know, I’m high. I’m high, hungry…and tried to see James at the hospital, but I just read Sports Illustrated instead…you know, in the waiting room…and now you’re here…which is okay I guess.”
    Beth was trying to help, the best way she knew how I guess. Despite how both of us moved on, she took it upon herself to take care of me from a distance. Since we’d broken up, she would bring me food when I was sick, bailed me out when my car broke down, even come to the movies with me so I didn’t have to go alone. It bordered on weird. On more than one instance, friends of mine asked if Beth and I were still