Chapter 6 - The Man of Wind and Moss

The last big trip the friend group had gone on was back during FSU, when they all piled into Keith’s mom’s van and drove to Helen, Georgia for spring break. Unfortunately, the way the calendar fell resulted in them showing up a week before the tourist season officially started. However, determined with the brute force of college students wanting to get hammered, they brought upon their own Frühlingsfest: drinking in the cabin and roaming around the empty town belligerent.

Now, years later, they still shared fond memories of a bar called The Hayloft and its iconic Guys Dance. Everyone in the town mentioned how fun Guys Dance was. Don’t miss Guys Dance. Get on over to The Hayloft for Guys Dance. Once there, the group was tickled to find an empty club except for two servers and an obese DJ in a Rascal Scooter. “It’s Guys Dance,” he growled into the microphone, his fisherman’s cap slipping forward. “Guys dance only.” Then Dean, Keith, and Marco cut a rug while the girls laughed in their booth and cheered them on. It was a night of comradery that Marco looked back on more than he ever expected to—dancing around in faux-Alpine decor drunk on Bud Light twist-offs poured into a liter stein. It’s the small, unexpected things in a journey that can really provide the flavor for the rest of it. That whole trip they just looked for another Guys Dance. Up here in Brooklyn guys danced, but it was never the same.

“Helen Spring Break 2.0,” Doll exclaimed in the group chat. People LMAO’d and GIF’d and the general vibe was enthusiastic and made Marco feel that, yes, this all may pay off.

The trip was around the corner and when Pansy and Sasha came into Marco’s shop, he got shy. He hadn’t seen Pansy since Dean shared the news. She wore jeans and a Violent Femmes shirt and kept her hair in a ponytail. She had a tote bag she always kept with her, and she smiled as she came in. Marco tried to decide if anything looked different about her. Maybe she was glowing, or maybe her chest looked fuller. But no, she looked the same. For some reason he was relieved. Like maybe Dean was wrong.

“We’re here to stock up,” Sasha said. She was in shorts, sandals, and a Seminole shirt. “I have my car outside. Let’s load her up.”

“Did we decide what cars we’re taking?” Marco asked.

“We’re taking my Nissan,” Sasha explained, “and Dean is taking his truck.”

“I’m riding with him,” Pansy started, “and most of our stuff will be in his bed. The rest of y’all ride with her and whatever else you can fit.”

Marco’s eyes went back to Pansy. She had brown hair and greenish-grayish eyes and chapped lips. She didn’t wear jewelry on her face, but her hands always had rings. She had a big phone that was never far from her attention. She was about 5′6″ and Marco tried to imagine her swelling up like a planet. Her waddling around, holding her lower back. He was about to make a remark before Sasha cut him off.

“Any recs on what to bring?” she asked, gesturing to the wine and liquor on the walls. “I feel like it’s cabin vibes, so I’m thinking bourbon, whiskey, things like that. Maybe some tequila. Probably a box of wine?”

Marco moved around the shop and grabbed what she asked for. The box filled faster than expected and then another box after that.

Pansy, who had been quiet through most of the booze selection, finally spoke up. “Is Paula coming by with the keys?”

“Yeah,” Marco replied. “She should be here any second.”

The thought of Paula finally meeting Pansy made Marco nervous. He had never told his own mother about his undying love for this girl, but somehow Paula knew and, maybe because she was distant from it, had kept eagerly and earnestly stoking the flames in him. Every time they’d hang out, Paula would bug him about it and prod him and ask minute questions that Marco only looked more into. One time she had him lay out where Pansy sat in a Friendsgiving dinner, even going as far as to draw a diagram on a napkin.

“Hey, kiddos.” Speak of the devil. Paula came into the shop with her bike in tow. She jostled it inside and leaned it against a ratty sofa.

“This is Paula,” Marco said. “Pansy. Sasha.”

They did their formal greetings, and Paula shook their hands and smiled and commented on Pansy’s shirt. She mentioned that she had seen the Violent Femmes live a handful of times. Pansy said she never got around to it, but that her dad always put them on. Paula made a remark about her age and the girls laughed politely. Marco was about to mention Black Arms when Paula gave him the keys to the cabin, cutting the thought. They were silver and attached to them was a small Russian nesting doll that didn’t open.

“That’s my babushka,” Paula smiled.

“It’s cute,” Pansy said.

“It’s really awesome you’re doing this,” Sasha chimed in. “We really appreciate it.”

“Of course,” Paula replied. “The place is cozy. There’s electricity, a generator, all of that fun stuff. Nobody out there to bother you.” Her eyes narrowed on Pansy. “It’s really nice to meet you.”

“Oh,” Pansy said. “Thanks.”

The rest of the conversation was fine enough. Paula spoke of her life in Brooklyn and of her friendship with Marco. She mentioned great hikes out of the cabin to water holes and vistas, and when the conversation was done, Marco walked Paula out.

“She’s even cuter in person,” Paula said, wheeling the bike alongside her. The store was in the background. A gust of wind came off the East River and up the small road. Paula’s gray hair whipped around her helmet.

“Thanks a lot for doing this,” Marco said. “Or, you know, letting us do this.”

“Of course, bud,” she said. She was wearing yellow sunglasses and a paint-splattered T-shirt. Her jeans were faded, and her boots were brown and scuffed. Marco always thought Paula had a sexual appeal to her, and in stolen glances and drunken wine talk he sensed the feeling was mutual. The way she’d ask about Pansy and about other girls he’d slept with always teetered out of gossip and into prying. It always had a way of leaving the safety of banter and going into something a bit darker than flirting. There were a few brief moments in the past, fleeting things, things he honestly didn’t recall often, when she straight-up asked how he fucked. What was he like in bed? Was he generous? In the same way she drew a diagram of the Friendsgiving Seating Arrangement, she once drew a crude illustration of a pussy, even shading it in to show that it was in heat, a detail she added only to make Marco cringe and blush and for her to bust up laughing, poking the pen between his ribs.

In reality, she was one of the few mentors in his life that seemed to give a shit. Do this, do that, so many teachers and professors seemed to say. Hell, seemed to get off on saying. His own father had a knack for obfuscated directions abandoned halfway. If you took too long, just forget it. But Paula cared. For better or worse, inappropriate comments be damned, Paula cared.

“You’re really going for this aren’t you?” she asked. “You get her alone. The mood is right. This could be huge.”

Marco felt the summer air crackle around them. He got giddy like he was about to walk onstage. “Something’s gotta change,” he said. “It’s do or die.”

“Yes,” Paula said. “That’s what I want to hear. Don’t back down. This is your time. Big bucks. No whammies.”

“What does that mean?”

“Forget it,” she laughed. She gave him a hug. “Whatever happens, I’m proud of you.”

She gave him another hug and then rode off. When he went back inside, he finished ringing up the girls and then carried the cases of wine to Sasha’s Nissan. It was already bumped and bruised from years of driving in the city. A bumper sticker screamed out for Zohran. A sticker beneath that screamed out for Maine coon cats. When he closed the trunk, Sasha moved to the driver’s seat, but Pansy stayed next to him.

“She’s so nice for doing this,” she said, referring to Paula and the babushka keys still in Marco’s hand.

“Yeah, she’s awesome,” Marco said. “Now we just gotta make it worthwhile.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you know, this may be the last chance we all hang out together like this.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” she said. “We all still live here. We’re all still friends.”

“I know,” Marco said. “It’s just that things are different. Things are changing.”

Pansy pointed to her stomach. “Oh, you mean this?”

“Kind of yeah,” Marco said lightly, jokingly. “I think that counts as a change.”

Pansy rubbed her stomach and stared at the ground and Marco felt bad, like he spilled some sort of secret, like she herself didn’t know. She looked back up at him. “I think it’s gonna be pretty weird at first, yeah. But can I tell you something?”

“What’s up?”

“I’m so excited to be a mom.”

“Really?”

“Really. I’m fucking terrified, obviously, but I don’t know. It’s like it’s a new thing for me and it’s just for me. Does that make sense? Like sure there are a billion moms, and everyone has kids, but when you’re pregnant it feels like it’s just you, all alone, going through it. And it’s scary at first, but it’s also exciting and special. I think I’m going to be obsessed with this kid.”