Well by Matthew McIntosh

Author:Matthew McIntosh [McIntosh, Matthew]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780802199454
Publisher: Grove Atlantic
Published: 2003-10-15T04:00:00+00:00

But Emily Swanson.

I had, by the time I left for Nebraska, whacked off for a significant part of the year exclusively to the one picture I had of her, which was on a flyer for Ivan’s Fish Bar, a reasonably priced fish joint across from the mall, where she worked as a waitress. The flyer had come in the mail one afternoon before my dad left us. I had never seen Emily in the flesh—I had no idea she existed beyond that flyer—and I was struck by the photograph and took it into my room. I think I probably have it buried in a box somewhere. She’s wearing a white blouse and showing two rows of perfectly straight, white teeth. Her blonde hair is up on top of her head, a few strands dangling in front of her face. There is a dark space beneath her jawline that may have been the result of a smudge on the camera lens, but I was never able to tell conclusively. Welcome to Ivan’s, the caption says. How can I help you? I kept it beneath my bed and took it out whenever it felt necessary.

It probably goes without saying that I wasn’t a very popular kid. I’d had a difficult time making connections with people my age, but not from lack of trying. I liked people, or at least, the idea of people. At different times in my high school career I’d been involved with choir, band, weight training club, dance club, math club, Young Republicans, Young Democrats, Students Against Exploitation, Students for Kind Relations with Russia, the American Morality Preservation Society, drama club, and more that I can’t remember. I spent a lot of time in meetings, and formed the Decatur High School Fisheries Council my senior year, of which I was the only member.

And then my dad broke our hearts and left, and I spent a long time unable to see the good in anything. The world became a place filled with blatant sorrow. I stopped attending meetings. I spent a lot of time in my room with my fish, or in my brother’s room, watching him play, or on the couch, watching television with my mother. But one day toward the end of that final school year I was walking down the hall after science class when I saw the girl from the Fish Bar flyer leaning against the wall, her backpack slung over her left shoulder, waiting to go into history. I recognized her immediately and my heart leapt into my throat. I mean it. I had to keep my mouth closed tight to keep from spitting it up onto the carpet.

I bribed a kid who worked in the office to tell me what her name was, what her story was—she’d been kicked out of St Mary’s for questionable behavior—what classes she had, what hall her locker was in. I changed my normal routes through campus. I made sure to pass by her locker as often as I could.

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