Chapter 8
Ginger's day started the same as every other. She woke mid-cough, and blinked in the midday sun. A limp hand hung from the couch above her and she wriggled free. When she stood, she felt the same wave of nausea she felt every morning. She brought a hand to her stomach, and made her way to the bathroom. She sat softly, quickly peeing while she waited for the vomit to come.
She turned on the toilet, and pulled her knotted hair behind her head. Her sickness came and she tasted the same rancid waste she'd tasted every morning for nearly a decade.
The bathroom didn't have any toothpaste, it didn't have so much as mouthwash, so the best strategy she had was gurgling water. She held her hands under the sink and brought it to her lips. Everything tasted sour while she gargled. Then she stopped to look in the mirror.
The glass was harrowed and yellowed by decades of smoking college students. The corners of the mirror had rusted and the glass started to chip, but it was good enough to see her reflection. Ginger found the spots of vomit that landed in her hair and ran her fingers through the red locks, before absentmindedly running it under the dribbling water.
When she left the bathroom, she found herself in a zombie film. Three women were unconscious, sprawled out on the couch. Two or three men lay on the ground like a crime scene. As Ginger walked she had to straddle mounds of garbage and crushed party cups.
As sick as she was, and as miserable as she felt, the house's smells were worse. The old weed hit her like a wrecking ball, and the aroma was accented with rotting food, old alcohol, and the unwashed musk of the hippies that shared the house.
For a while, things weren't so bad. Every morning started the same, but Ginger had found a reason to carry on. For almost three years, she woke up, made her way to me, and we hung out. Sometimes it was just to help plan, other times it was just the two of us. To me, it never seemed like much, but to her it was the closest thing her life had to meaning.
Ginger knelt at the flying V. It lay under a mound of garbage and crushed cans, and when she grabbed the neck it was sticky with spilled soda. She brought it into the kitchen, as quietly as she could, and wiped down the body. She turned it in her arms, admiring her work, then went to tuning. She'd done it so many times, and it was always out of tune the exact same way. She knew the guitar well enough she could tune it in silence.
She gave her hands one last shake, and grabbed the guitar by the neck. She started out towards her roommates car, and began making the trip towards me. She merged into the same traffic she'd driven a thousand times before. Her day hadn't even begun to deviate from any other until she knocked on my door and Amanda answered.
"Oh, hey," Ginger said nervously. She held up the guitar, almost to show off she wasn't a threat, "I just came by to, you know, hang out."
"Charlie's not here," Amanda said. She started to shut the door, but Ginger pressed forward.
"I don't really have anything to do," Ginger said, "Can I just hang out here?"
The door creeped open again and Amanda's tired face appeared, "What's with the guitar?"
"It keeps me sane," Ginger said, "Learning something, focusing on improving, it reminds me life's still moving forward. I'm actually making progress."
Amanda stepped back from the door, just enough to let Ginger in.
"That's honestly not a bad idea," she said, "I think I need to find something like that."
The two women made their way to the couch, and Ginger started to strum. Amanda watched her for a moment, her head bobbing along with the beat.
"So you and Charlie," Amanda pressed, "You were pretty close?"
Ginger never looked away from the fretboard. Even as she responded she didn't stop strumming, "I consider him my best friend."
Ginger kept her head down, but Amanda's eyes were fixed. She was studying Ginger. She listened to the soft strumming for a moment, then pressed closer, her eyes wide. "You don't have any girlfriends or anything?"
Ginger missed her note. She grimaced, readjusted her wrist, then started strumming again. "Everything's complicated," she muttered, "The friends I had are a decade younger than me now, and my best friend, still sleeps with my ex boyfriend, every single day."
The strumming stopped. "So yeah," Ginger sighed, "It was nice to have Charlie for a little bit. He was in the same situation, and we could have real talks."
Ginger gave Amanda a nervous glance, almost feeling out her response. She turned back sheepishly and started plucking again. "Charlie's a good guy," she said, half focused, "He's in a shitty situation, but he's trying his best, and he's always there for us."
"I know," Amanda said. She didn't mean it, but her voice fell in tune with Ginger's soft strumming.
"It sucks that everything's changing, but I know you two have history, and I know you really make him happy."
Ginger's fingers froze mid-chord, and she turned to find Amanda's eyes. All nervousness had left when she spoke, "Just don't hurt him, ok?"
Chapter 9
Trying to date a lifelong friend is a weird place to be. All the normal milestones are gone. We didn't have to get to know each other or figure out how to be comfortable in each other's presence. Amanda and I were already friends, and to us, that just felt weird.
Amanda thought the best way forward was to keep things exactly the same. I had us meet at the treehouse, and to her, that meant it was her turn to reach into our past and hang out the way we used to.
The first time I'd ever seen an R-rated movie was in her basement. We sat side-by-side and with every single jump scare I felt her arms wrap around me and squeeze me for comfort. She told me the whole story later, how she bought it with cash she'd found, and how she kept the dvd under her bed, terrified her parents would find her contraband.
We probably watched that stupid horror movie a half dozen times. We knew where every jump was. I knew to reach out and pre-emptively comfort her before the scene where a guy got his head chopped off and we could see the fake looking blood spurt from his neck.
It's perfect
, Amanda thought,
It's a perfect way to spend the night together. A fantastic excuse to curl up on the couch, holding each other and laughing just like old times.
She bolted up in bed and ran straight for the car. She didn't bother brushing her teeth, or fixing her hair. She didn't even change from the sweat soaked scrubs. It was a half hour drive to her parents, and she knew it'd be at least an hour scouring the house, trying to find that old movie.
By the time she made it to my place, the movie tucked behind her back, she was covered in dust and cobwebs. Still, she couldn't keep herself from smiling with excitement.
She gave the door a gentle knock and I let her in.
"Amanda," I said with a soft smile.
She returned a grin, but dropped when she saw my kitchen table. Amber was leaning back in her chair, saying something to Ginger, while Alley and Chrissy bent over the table, studying the plan.
"We've got a tight window," I said, already rushing back towards the table.
She shifted the dvd case, careful to keep it out of sight.
"Yeah, it's just," she tried, her voice falling soft.
I wasn't even looking at her. I pulled a chair back and started running my hand down the map on the table.
"Charlie," she said, taking slow, careful steps towards me, "Can we hang out tonight?"
I barely heard her words, I was so locked into the plan.
"So get this," I said. I turned a pair of polaroids towards her, "We're going after twins."
Chrissy took over, "They do everything together," she said, "Not just today, they're literally the type of twins that think they're one person. They try to dress together, finish each other's sentences, it's freaky."
"The point is," Alley continued, "They're together all day. It's impossible to get them alone, so it has to be a package deal."
"The good news though," Amber said as she twisted a strand of hair in her fingers, "Is they've definitely double teamed a single guy before. It's possible."
It was my turn to talk, "But we have to be quick. They head out on a yacht today at like noon, and they're gone the rest of the day."
I turned and nodded around the table, "Everyone clear on the plan?"
