Portrait of a Drowning Man

She’s Emily Proue. She works the night shift at the local Cheap Mart, where everything from horse feed to fried chicken to videos are sold. But the big draw-in is the fact that Cheap Mart just recently started stocking shoes. Now Emily has to deal with all of the girls from Westlake High fighting over the bargain-priced heels, and throwing tissue paper everywhere. Emily had no feeling of like or dislike for shoes prior to Cheap Mart’s decision. Presently, she hates them.

Emily is a senior at Westlake High. She prays every day for graduation to come soon, and she wonders how she’s survived eighteen years in this town. Could it even be called a town? Located somewhere in the Midwest, near some lake that’s west and some woods, so some founding father decided to make a damned town. People in Westlake joked that everyone who lived there was somehow related—they just wouldn’t know it until their kids turned out looking funny.

Lucky for Emily, no one was interested in her. Lucky. That’s what she told herself, even though she pined for a boyfriend every day, eating her lunch of tomatoes and lettuce like a little rabbit and watching the girls and boys who for fortunate to have found each other necking behind the detention building. All the girls were so good looking. Not that Emily wasn’t attractive. She just did not keep up with fashion. She preferred to wear her shirt over her middle, and her pants did not fall down to expose thong panties. She’d never even seen thong panties. (They did not stock those at Cheap Mart.)

So, Emily dressed nicely but was quite un-sexy. She had the reputation for being very religious, but this was only a rumor. Emily did not believe in a god who would not grant her a boyfriend. Perhaps a bit selfish, but true.

Emily sighed, taking a break from stocking the shelves in aisle 2 with bug spray. Summer was on its way, and soon all of the three-hundred folks in the town were going to be fishing, hunting, swimming in the local puddle… And they needed their bug spray. Emily pulled back her neck-length auburn hair and straightened her bright red apron. She was afraid these two things (the hair and the apron) clashed, but who was around to be humiliated in front of? No one was really worth a damn.

The town was chock-full of elderly men, boys who spat, girls who spent way too much time on their makeup, and cows. Not many people were all that intriguing. Everyone seemed to know everything about everyone else. There were only a few exceptions. Emily liked to think she was one of those exceptions.

The sliding front entrance wooshed open, and she looked to see what weirdo was coming in next.

Her hands tightened a bit around her apron string. Immediately, she sensed a change in the customers in Cheap Mart, as everyone faced the new arrival. Even the sound system seemed to falter, playing Celine Dion’s greatest hits.

Robert Henry had entered the building.

His pallid face stood out above his black, long-sleeved Marilyn Manson tee. Long dark tresses flowed over his shoulders. He walked like a prince would. He demanded attention, which wasn’t such a surprise, since the rest of the people in the store were old hicks.

Emily drew in a breath. She hadn’t seen Robert Henry since junior year, in Biology. And even then, she didn’t see much of him. He was always late to class. His eyes would be red and watery, and he’d sing old death metal under his breath. He’d give Miss Ebbins an excuse such as “Car broke down” or “Dog ate my shirt.” Everyone knew that Robert Henry only had a turtle. He used to bring it for show-and-tell back in fourth grade.

Robert Henry wasn’t like the other Roberts, because he wanted to be called Robert. Not Bob, Bobby, Robbie or Rob. ROB-ERT.

Robert Henry was bad by the town’s standards. He didn’t enjoy country music, or trout, or hiking. He didn’t have a sunburned face. He was raggedy, but he had the presence of a star. He had eyes that smiled, and a thin line for a mouth. He reminded Emily of Heathcliffe. He was a portrait of a drowning man.

And he was headed her way.

She turned her back to him and busied herself with the bug spray.

“Hey.”

She pretended not to hear him.

“Hey. I think I know you.”

“Think really hard,” she muttered, and whipped around to face him.

“Whoa,” he said. He was posed against the end of the aisle, leaning against the display of sunscreen. “I do know you.” He smirked a little bit. “How can you work here?”

She ignored the question. “What are you looking for?”

“Oh, come on. I’ve lived in this shit hole my entire life. You think I can’t find what I’m looking for? I could rob this place in my dreams.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“No. But that’s another story. There are better places to rob. They don’t sell condoms at Cheap Mart.”

Emily made a face. “Leave me alone. “ She turned back to the bug spray.

“Hey.” He pointed at her. “You still go to Westlake?”

“Of course. I haven’t seen you there in awhile.”

“Hell. I dropped out in the beginning of the year. I couldn’t take it anymore. These assholes still think that some big man in the sky created all of this.” He gestured around. An old woman made a face at him and walked past aisle 2.

“What?”

“Y’know? Creationism, or whatever.”

“How do you know he didn’t?”

Robert Henry looked at her, and grinned. His eyes were laughing. “Religious Girl!”

“Good job.”

“I knew I recognized you.”

“Well, you should know that I’m not really religious. Everyone just thinks so.” She shrugged.

“That’s good to know. So you don’t think I’m going to burn forever?”

She couldn’t resist a tiny smile. “That’s for me to know.”

“Ha, ha. Later, Religious,” he said dryly, and ambled off.

The back of his shirt read ‘CAKE AND SODOMY.’

“Ugh,” she said aloud, and tried to focus back on the bug spray. It felt good to know there was someone else who thought Westlake was a shit hole, even if Emily never voiced her regrets about living in a small town aloud. She kept on with the bug spray for what seemed like forever.

She checked her watch. It was nearly nine PM. Closing time was nine thirty. It was sort of a weird feeling, closing up a big, empty department store. But it was also sort of nice. Nice and quiet.

Emily crossed over the front of the store and got on the loud speaker. “Attention shoppers, Cheap Mart is now closing for the night. We open tomorrow bright and early at six AM for customer appreciation day. We’ll have all sorts of bargains. Don’t miss it.” She rolled her eyes to herself, and checked the aisles. The remaining customers made their purchases, and Donnie, the owner, told her goodnight.

She was nearly ready to check out herself, when she heard a banging noise coming from the back of the store. It was times like this that made closing up a big empty building a little creepy.

Emily grabbed a plastic baseball bat just in case, and sidled toward the shoe department, where the noise seemed to be coming from.

There lay Robert Henry on one of the new benches, hitting the floor with a brand- new hiking boot. He was singing quietly: “The worms crawl in, the worms crawl out…”

“What are you doing?” Emily exclaimed. “Get up! I’m supposed to be locking up for the night. You scared the shit out of me!”

He looked up lazily, and cocked an eyebrow. “I thought religious people didn’t swear.”

“Come on, Robert. What’s your deal? I’ll get into trouble if Don finds out that you were in here after hours!”

“Big D-Man needs a little adventure. It’s good for people.” Robert smiled and lay back down.

“Are you—“ Emily searched for the correct terminology—“high?”

Robert snorted, and then began to laugh uproariously. “On life, maybe. Shit, I gave weed up months ago. It interfered with my way of living.”

“No kidding,” Emily scowled. “Now, just get up!?”

He stared at her.

“Please?”

“Religious Girl, you need adventure, too,” Robert stated, and rose up from the bench. Without warning, he lunged forward and grabbed Emily around the waist, tickling her furiously.

She tried not to giggle but it was too much. “Stop,” she breathed. “Come on, cut it out!”

Robert stopped tickling her, but didn’t let go. His arms were intertwined around her hips; his eyes were staring up at her, smiling.

“What…?”

“I’ll bet no one at that shit hole has ever told you you’re beautiful. They like their women docile, anorexic, and bottle-blonde.”

Emily laughed. “Yeah, like I’m your type.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Fuck, I’m complimenting you!”

“I just can’t believe that.”

“Well, maybe you should,” he stated simply, reclining to his former position.

She wasn’t quite certain what to do. If he was lying, that would be pretty ruthless. And if anyone was ruthless in this sad little town, it was not Robert Henry.

Emily sat down next to his hip and put her hands against his chest. It seemed an unknown force was driving her. He leaned forward ever so slightly. His gaze hardened, and his eyes, it seemed, were serious. In fact, they suddenly reminded Emily of Disney films—of Cinderella with no mother, and puppies who were afraid of being made into coats.

She pressed down into him, her lips connecting with his, her body molding over him. Her hand smoothed his black jeans which were silly, and tight, and were basically calling out to be touched. He sat up, erect, put his fingers through her hair and they stayed like that for a long, long time. She felt the front of his jeans and smiled into his thin line. “I like it,” she said.

It was apparent then that she did need adventure. She was ready to escape from fishing, and shoes, and bug spray with her portrait of a drowning man. Her Heathcliffe.

Robert Henry.