Then Missy found out

Missy once loved my haircuts. Especially the ones from Bruno’s Barbershop. Afternoons, Missy got through third-period biology running her hand over the back of my freshly stubbled neck until her fingertips felt like sandpaper. Then the bell would ring, and she’d disappear into the viscous crowd of bodies so quickly I’d question if she was ever there to begin with. One spring, I got a crew cut, and Missy’s touch flanked my cranium, palms rubbed scalp like a flint, her hands smelled of Pert Plus, having chided my neck so violently she left rashes I later tried to pass off as hickies.

Oh, well.

The afternoon the descriptive details got back to Missy about what had happened to Gerald, her jaw dropped in utter shock. The Heartbreakers had been implicated with Eddie happily claiming responsibility. This presented quite a situation for me. I sat at the lunch table. I watched her put down a sesame seed bagel. With both hands free, she swatted at my face.

As her limbs flailed wildly, I knew there was no future for us. Cupid had drawn his taut bow, steadied his aim, and decided it wasn’t worth wasting a perfectly good arrow on people like us. At least I realized that. Realized Missy and I were of a kind too jaded for anything more than bad luck.

If I were a better person, this story – the story of my awful life – would end here. But, there’s an addendum where Tammy enters. She fit into our joint destiny like a criss through a cross, and I never stopped feeling guilty about it.