watching movies

Elijah swore to God he’d light me on fire if I told anyone I was carrying his child. He still hasn’t told his horse-faced girlfriend about us. Marianne, who sells buckets of crab apples from the cab of her weather-beaten truck on the side of the freeway and blew my brother in the bathroom in junior high. I won’t tell her that I am, won’t tell anyone at all, because I’m not. I only want him to stay a little longer. 

I came up with the idea when Elijah said he was out of condoms two Thursdays ago, and I insisted we do it anyway, because it was the last night Marianne was out of town for her sister’s gymnastics competition. We wouldn’t be able to see each other again without difficulty for a while. He’s too stupid to know I wouldn’t test positive in a matter of days. When I told him, his face turned the color of puddle water. That’s when he threatened me. I promised him I’d take care of it, but I’d need some money. 

Our town doesn’t have much. There’s the corner store that’s existed since long before I was born, run by a frail old man the town affectionately refers to as Grandpa. He never wed or had children, and walks the three blocks from his house to the shop each day, agonizingly slow. When I was younger, I asked my mother if he was going to die soon because he was so gaunt, and she told me that was an ugly question to ask. 

Elijah suggested we rob Grandpa for the abortion money. The idea physically pained me, and I was quick to shoot it down. Grandpa used to give me free ice cream cones from the deep freeze in the summertime, the chocolate-dipped kind, with packaging always encased in permafrost. He knew my mom had six kids to mind, that she always said no when we begged her for treats, counting out her lint-mottled nickels on the counter for swollen loaves of white bread and slimy pink hot dogs. I would eat the ice cream cone in the alleyway before returning home so my siblings didn’t see me, the melting chocolate cascading down my arms like blood. 

I told Elijah that Grandpa probably didn’t keep that much money in the register, anyway. Last I heard, abortions cost five hundred dollars. 

“You know who probably has five hundred dollars?” Elijah said, exhaling cigarette smoke across my stomach as we lay in his bed. “The bank.” 

I didn’t think we’d actually rob the bank. The idea seemed doomed. Elijah had become increasingly somber and methodical, however, and all of our meetings became about our future robbery. He found an old tube television set on the side of the road and set it up in his trailer, which he’d parked in his backyard. He lived with his parents, and they loved horse-faced Marianne, so he’d message me when they went to sleep. We’d watch movies to gather ideas. 

My life had become entirely about scouring the video rental store and hiding in Elijah’s bushes until the coast was clear. We watched Dog Day Afternoon, Jackie Brown, Small Time Crooks, and Bonnie and Clyde. I spent most of the movie wondering if Elijah and I were going to have sex, which we never did. He was more alert and focused than I’d ever seen him throughout school. It hurt that he wanted the money this badly. 

Midway through Payback, I got my period. The pain radiated first through my lower back, and the blood came with urgency, a distinct wet spot forming in my cut-offs. I told Elijah I was late getting home and ran out of the trailer. I avoided him until my uterus was done contracting, worried he’d be able to detect my period like a shark. I didn’t know what he’d do if he discovered I was lying. 

During the long afternoons when I sunbathed in the baby pool on my front lawn, Elijah and Marianne would pass by on their walks. I’d stare at Marianne through my plastic sunglasses and imagine blowing her head clean off. Elijah would ignore me like I didn’t exist, even if I wore my tightest bathing suit. After the fourth time this happened, I started thinking about where I could get a gun.

We’d need one to perform the robbery. I didn’t know anyone with a gun. I’d never even seen one in real life. My mom said my dad used to shoot guns, that he’d spend whole weekends out in the woods, in the pissing rain and hail, to kill elk and deer, but he moved away years ago, and I didn’t know how to find him. 

“Have you ever shot a gun?” I asked Elijah a few days later. We were sitting shoulder to shoulder watching City of Industry. 

“Of course,” he said without looking at me. I didn’t believe him, but it was good enough. He could carry the gun. 

“Do you know anyone who has one? We’ll give it right back.” I tried to rest my head on his shoulder, and he flinched. 

“Marianne’s old man. He showed it to me once. He shot at some squirrels in the backyard when he was drunk.” He laughed. “That guy is a fucking legend.” 

“Can you take it?” I asked. Elijah frowned and drank deeply from his beer. 

“Sure, whatever,” he replied. “No problem.” And I could tell it was a problem, but it was our only hope. 

The next night, we hatched our plan. He would go to Marianne’s in the morning and tell her father he wanted to do some target practice. Apparently, they’d set up cans and bottles in the woods a few weeks back, but never got around to shooting them. I pictured all the trash, glittering in the trees. 

“Are you going to, like, hang out with Marianne when you go over?” I asked him. We were passing a beer back and forth, looking into each other’s eyes for once. The television was off. “Duh,” he said, letting out an extended burp. “She’s my girlfriend.” 

“We should probably wait a few weeks after you get the gun to do the actual robbery. So we don’t attract suspicion,” I said, like I’d done this a thousand times. 

He shook his head. “I mean, I can’t keep the gun forever. We’ll have to do it soon,” he said, wiping his hands dry on his boxers. “Besides, do you really want to be pregnant for any longer than you need to?” He looked me up and down. “That must suck.”

“Totally,” I said faintly. “Yeah, it does. I’m throwing up, like, every morning.” He didn’t say anything to this and finished his beer in silence. He yawned, a little too pointedly. 

“Do you want to watch another movie?” I said quickly, reaching for the stack of VHS tapes on the floor. “I can just tell my mom I fell asleep at a friend’s house.” He stared at the stack of movies. 

“Nah,” he said. “I’m tired. I’ll call you when I have the gun.” 

I woke earlier than usual the next morning, the sun bleeding through the sky like a broken egg yolk. It was already hot outside. I lay in bed thinking about Elijah sleeping and twitching with dreams. I wanted to call him and wish him luck, but didn’t know if he’d pick up. 

I decided to ride my bicycle to Grandpa’s store for an ice cream cone. Even though I was older now, he still gave them to me sometimes. The chances were usually higher if I made conversation first, asked to see his stamp collection, and stared a little too long at the foreign ones.

The wind whipped my hair into tangles as I coasted towards the store. The sky swelled with blue. I pictured Marianne’s father walking Elijah into the room where he kept his guns, both of them admiring the mounted pistols. Grandpa was just opening the store when I arrived, and I let my bicycle clatter to the pavement. “Hi, Grandpa,” I said. He smiled and nodded, fitting his heavy silver keys into the lock. 

“Early bird,” he said kindly, holding the door open for me. The store smelled of heavy cream and tobacco. It looked eerie with the lights out, all the items static and silent, waiting for morning so they could be wanted. I pretended to look at the magazines while he shuffled around, turned on the lights, and fixed himself a coffee with the clunky old machine. “What do you need, honey?” Grandpa finally asked. I’d been staring at a celebrity gossip magazine with a pregnant sex symbol emblazoned on the front page, draped in a too-tight dress gathered at her swollen womb, wraparound sunglasses shielding her eyes. 

“I’m just here for an ice cream,” I said. He smiled knowingly. 

“Ice cream for breakfast?” he replied, winking. “Okay, I won’t tell your mother.” He leaned over the deep freeze and pried the lid open. The task seemed to require great effort. I watched his wan muscles contract beneath his thin grey T-shirt, the frigid air billowing around him. He handed me a cone that was so cold it hurt to touch. 

“Thanks,” I said, digging in my pocket for change. I’d extracted six quarters from the couch cushions yesterday, and hoped my mom wouldn’t ask where they went. “That one’s on the house,” he said. I felt a twinge, and it ebbed away. 

“Thanks, Grandpa. I’ll see you later.” I began to walk out of the store, but he stopped me. 

“Hang on,” he called, beckoning me back. “Your mom told me you got the best grades in your class last semester. I just wanted to tell you that I’m proud of you.” 

I didn’t know what to say, so I just smiled weakly and left the store as fast as I could. 

I decided to ride my bicycle out to the woods and wait for Elijah. Once I was alone in the clearing, the silence of nature pressed down on me like a hand. I pictured him and Marianne together, kissing in her flower-printed bedsheets while her parents made breakfast. I imagined them eating as a family, her drunk dad making Elijah laugh. I thought of the gun, how it would feel to hold it. I’d ask Elijah if I could, just once. 

The sun shifted further into the sky, and I started to wonder if Elijah would come at all. Maybe he backed out, decided he couldn’t do it. The lie was too big. The betrayal was too final. I wondered how long I’d wait out here for him, how dark the sky would have to become for me to admit defeat. His eventual arrival came with fanfare: the dinging of the bell on his bicycle, his voice shouting at me from the other side of the clearing. 

“I’m over here,” I called, my heart lurching. I stood up and waited for him to burst through the opening in the trees. 

“There you are,” he said breathlessly, his eyes bright. He came to a clumsy stop, a smile breaking his face open. 

“Let’s see it!” I cried out, invigorated by his enthusiasm. I was so relieved he came that I could have collapsed into the grass, my legs trembling like branches stirring in the wind.

“I have something even better,” he said, shoving a hand into his pockets. He produced a uniform stack of twenties, held together firmly by a rubber band. “I can’t believe it,” he panted, wild-eyed. “I told Marianne’s old man my mom was having some money troubles, and he fronted me the cash.” He beamed at me while my heart exploded in my chest. “Look. The whole five hundred is there. I don’t even have to pay him back!” He thrust it into my hands as though it was on fire. I didn’t know what to say, so I just stared at it. I’d never seen so much cash at once before.

“Wow,” I whispered.

“I have one more surprise,” he said, unzipping his backpack. My heart lifted with the idea of redemption. Maybe all was not lost. “Ta-da!” he yelled, wielding something compact and plastic. 

“What is it?”

“It’s a BB gun. I said I was going out to the woods today, and he gave me this to practice until we can shoot the real thing together.” He mockingly aimed it at my face, feigning pulling the trigger. “Come on,” he continued, throwing his backpack over his shoulder. “You can come watch me.” 

Dazed, I followed him further into the woods, where he insisted they’d set up the cans and bottles some weeks ago. We walked for a few minutes until we reached another clearing, littered with old beer cans that had fallen from their perches. 

“They’re still here,” he said, throwing his backpack to the ground and sprinting over to reconfigure the targets. I sank into the grass. For the next several minutes, I watched him impale the cans, shards of aluminum raining over the earth. 

His phone rang a few times in his backpack. I stared at him, waiting for him to notice, but he didn’t. He obsessively reloaded steel pellets from a faded red fanny pack, aiming the gun at any squirrel that dared emerge from the trees. 

“Come here, you stupid little bitches,” he called to them, his voice carrying into the green abyss. Birds flocked from treetops as he shot, seeking refuge in the cornflower blue. I slowly unzipped his backpack as another can burst open in the distance, accompanied by his maniacal laughter. He hadn’t looked back once.

Hideous Marianne had called him three times. How needy could she be? I stared at the missed calls and waited for another while the gunshots ricocheted around me. I silenced his phone so he wouldn’t hear it. The wind had picked up, the cans plummeting endlessly to the ground. He groaned as he wandered further into the clearing to replace them. The phone buzzed warmly against my hand. 

“Hi, Marianne,” I said sharply into the receiver.

“Who is this?” she said. I smiled, watching Elijah pull up his pants from where they’d sunk below his underwear, dropping a handful of cans in the process. 

“Doesn’t matter. I wanted you to know I’m pregnant with Elijah’s baby, but I’m not going to keep it, because I think there are hotter guys I could have a baby with. I just don’t think Elijah’s baby would come out right,” I said. I watched Elijah light a cigarette in the distance, assessing his handiwork. Marianne was screaming. I ended the call, my stomach twisting at my own words. I thought Elijah’s baby would be perfect.