7/04
Kathy is buying a new car. “I told you this already,” she says, drumming her steering wheel with her fingers, her tone of voice already impatient. My eyes meet Claire’s in the rearview mirror, and we pretend we forgot instead of not knowing. We are driving along narrow straight roads surrounded by corn fields until we come to the construction place, pulling off the cement onto a dirt parking lot. The land is flat and deforested, built up with metal hangers splashed with red clay soil mud. A balding man with a scratchy voice gets down from a forklift and comes over to us, letting his eyes rest on our breasts, sleazily. I wish I had brought a sweatshirt, I think to myself, noticing Claire fold her arms, and Kathy zip up her coat. “Just look at anything on the lot,” the guy says, hacking for a minute between every word.
We start to wander through rows of cars, looking for something that doesn’t look ready to rust, and with less than 100,000 miles on it, but those cars are few and far between. At the end of a row, I see my mother’s silver Escort, recently repossessed, and feel a little ashamed. The doors are open and I see my floppy yellow purse sitting on the floor of the passenger front seat, so I take it quickly, feeling awkward. Claire pats my back and Kathy’s eyes look sympathetic even as I feel like crap. We keep walking through the rows, looking for anything remotely worth purchasing, but there is nothing, and we finally turn back as the sun begins to set, the sky and the ground almost the same color, leaving us all disoriented and drowsy.
“You need to eat,” the old guy says when we finally make it back. He points past one of the hangers. “There’s a Mexican place back there, a little strip mall. You should go.” We’re too tired to really argue, so we go through the little alley between two of the hangers and cross into a strip mall meant to look Ye Olde Timey, and we walk past plenty of empty tables to go to a slightly more private area, eating burritos with a few friends we’ve just met up with. Suddenly it is night, and we all walk out in a straight line, and as we pass through the once-empty tables, there are some boys sitting around and talking animatedly about video games. One of them waves at me enthusiastically, and I realize it is one of Robyn’s brothers, and wave back with just as much energy, blushing a little. I have a crush on him, I believe.
We walk back to the construction area and the old man is pointing us to one of the hangers. “Good luck on the test,” he says, and we all thank him as we file inside. We lean against the padded wall of the hanger inside, receiving papers and pencils and a timer starts as we are given this ten question vocabulary test. Each question has twenty parts, and involves listening to a proctor walk around the room and speaking quickly. I am not that quick at transcribing the answers, and soon Kathy and I find ourselves asking for questions to be repeated more than anyone else. In five minutes, the test is over, and a stern looking woman comes around to collect our papers. I look at my sheet in a panic, I have not even finished the second question. “No, I need more time,” I plead to the woman. She shrugs and takes it from me anyway. I am at a loss. I turn to my friends on the verge of tears, and say “Well, it was nice knowing you.” After a few minutes, names are called out, and whoever is called must stay after dismissal. Kathy and I are both upset and called to stay. Our friends leave without a second thought, and then we are both separated.
In a back room, being questioned, I answer that I know I failed the test, that I often have a hard time listening to people, and that vocabulary has never been my strong suit, asking for a reprieve. Sitting across from me is a tall, young guy in a black suit, and were it not for how sick and horrified I am, I would dibs him. “Please,” I ask him. “Please. I’ll retake the test.” He lowers his sunglasses and takes one of my hands firmly.
“I’m sorry, miss,” he says with no trace of remorse. “Your execution is scheduled for six o’clock.” He leaves, and I sag back in my chair.
