Dante's Fire

Chapter Three: Jackie

Chapter Three

JACKIE

It was nearing dusk and Big Jack had not made it to yet another graduation. 

The fact that she had expected his absence did not make it hurt any less, and the fact that his absence could still hurt her made Jackie realize she had not changed. She was the same after all these years. She was still the same girl she was when she was ten years old, a pinning braces-wearing girl, waiting for her father to make it home in time for Christmas. 

Jackie sat on one of the seats at the convocation auditorium long after everyone else had left, savouring the quietness. The note of finality it had. She was still swaddled in her graduation gown, wide like a caftan. The tassel of her hat hung before her, swishing in the evening wind. The air in San Diego was like the air inside a kitchen: crisp and warm, still tepid at the start of December. 

The snow often came quite late in San Diego. But unlike Big Jack, at least it came. 

When it began to get darker, the sky obfuscating from pink to a deep violet, Jack retired to her dorm room which she shared with her room mate. Not surprisingly, Cindy was not in and so the strum of guitars and the cacophony of her heavy metal music was absent too. Jackie stripped off her outfit and got into night clothes without any underwear on underneath. She liked to sleep without clothes on, and not wearing underwear was the closest she would get to being in the nude in her dorm-room even if it was the last week of her stay there. 

Jackie curled up in her narrow dorm bed with a book and began to read. She was not yet a page in when she heard him coming. 

'Only Jacqueline Maeto would spend graduation night in bed, reading a book.' Joaquin said as he barged into the room. 

She looked up at her best friend. 'Dude,' she said. 'You really, really need to learn how to announce yourself civilly.'

'That's what I always do.'

She tilted her head at him and he raised both hands in surrender. 

'Okay, okay. Fine. Whatever. I'll knock next time.' 

It was a promise he had made fifty times over, if not more. Once, he walked in on Cindy with a boy doing what she liked to call ‘boning’. He said that what he witnessed was in fact more of licking than it was boning. For a time, he learned the art of knocking. Just as quickly, he unlearned it. However, Joaquin still claimed he saw Cindy as she was that evening in his nightmares: sprawled on the bed, a boy between her legs, her red painted fingernails in his hair, ruffling gold tassels. 

'So do you have any plans to—'  Joaquin started saying, but stopped mid sentence. He sniffed at the air and glanced around the room. 

'Why does it smell like ass in here?'

'Language, JQ.' She admonished him. 

'Sorry, hindquarters.' He said, placating her momentarily. 

Jackie pointed to the heap of dirty laundry piled on the floor next to Cindy's wardrobe, probably thrown askew when she was searching for a suitable outfit to wear to whatever party she was attending that night.

 'There is your mystery, Sherlock Holmes.' She said. He made a disgusted face in response. 

'Well, at least you get to get away from all of that after today.' Joaquin said hopefully. 'I do wonder how you survived at all sometimes.'

'I wonder sometimes too,' she said, grinning at him. She raised the bottle of wine she had poached from Cindy's supposed secret stash. 'But there are perks to even the mosts unfortunate things, you know. That is what makes this world tolerable.'

Joaquin snatched the book out of her hands. 'Parties are what make this world tolerable. This is not the time for a lecture, Virginia Wolff. You are coming to grad party with me.' 

She noticed what he was wearing for the first time.  A  silken, pastel black shirt, buttons undone all the way down to reveal the upward curves of his sculpted chest. Below, he wore dark, black, glossy pants that caught the light. Black clothes were what her best friend always wore to what he called 'party nights'. Black, because black never showed stains. Whether it was beer stains or lipstick—it was usually one of the two with him—black it was for Joaquin. 

She eyed him. 'If you can drag me the whole way, then yes, I am.'

He smirked, then glanced at the book in his hands for the first time. 'A hundred years of solitude? Dude, for real?'

'What?' She asked defensively. 

'You don't see how ironical it is that you are spending Grad night reading A Hundred Years OF Solitude? What are you even doing reading these books?' He held the book aloof, examining it as though it were a soiled cloth, or a poisonous snake.

She shrugged. 'I like to read?'

'Dude, you are pre-law, or were pre-law as of two days ago,' said Joaquin, dangling the novel by his thumb and forefinger. 'You will never use any all this shit.'

She snatched the paperback from his fingers. 'Like I said before, I like to read.'

'Talk about depressing.' He muttered, then got off the bed and began to drag her out from under the covers by her foot. 

'Hey!' She exclaimed. 

He was already yanking her up. He shoved her towards her wardrobe. 'Find something presentable to wear. Black, preferably. You are coming with me, Jackie, whether you want to or not.'

'I don't need black,' she retorted. She was not going to be chugging beer straight from kegs this night or any other night. Yet, later, much later, when the call came from home and her phone rang, Jackie was upside down, hose in her mouth, chugging beer while the watching crowd cheered its approval. 

She did not hear the first call. Or the second. It would be the next day she would see it. She would stare, then run to the toilet where she would heave out her insides. 

WAS NEARING DUSK, and Big Jack had not made it to yet another graduation. 

The fact that she had expected his absence did not make it hurt any less, and the fact that his absence could still hurt her made Jackie realize she had not changed. She was the same after all these years. She was still the same girl she was when she was ten years old, a pinning braces-wearing girl, waiting for her father to make it home in time for Christmas. 

Jackie sat on one of the seats at the convocation auditorium long after everyone else had left, savouring the quietness. The note of finality it had. She was still swaddled in her graduation gown, wide like a caftan. The tassel of her hat hung before her, swishing in the evening wind. The air in San Diego was like the air inside a kitchen: crisp and warm, still tepid at the start of December. 

The snow often came quite late in San Diego. But unlike Big Jack, at least it came. 

When it began to get darker, the sky obfuscating from pink to a deep violet, Jack retired to her dorm room which she shared with her room mate. Not surprisingly, Cindy was not in and so the strum of guitars and the cacophony of her heavy metal music was absent too. Jackie stripped off her outfit and got into night clothes without any underwear on underneath. She liked to sleep without clothes on, and not wearing underwear was the closest she would get to being in the nude in her dorm-room even if it was the last week of her stay there. 

Jackie curled up in her narrow dorm bed with a book and began to read. She was not yet a page in when she heard him coming. 

'Only Jacqueline Maeto would spend graduation night in bed, reading a book.' Joaquin said as he barged into the room. 

She looked up at her best friend. 'Dude,' she said. 'You really, really need to learn how to announce yourself civilly.'

'That's what I always do.'

She tilted her head at him and he raised both hands in surrender. 

'Okay, okay. Fine. Whatever. I'll knock next time.' 

It was a promise he had made fifty times over, if not more. Once, he walked in on Cindy with a boy doing what she liked to call ‘boning’. He said that what he witnessed was in fact more of licking than it was boning. For a time, he learned the art of knocking. Just as quickly, he unlearned it. However, Joaquin still claimed he saw Cindy as she was that evening in his nightmares: sprawled on the bed, a boy between her legs, her red painted fingernails in his hair, ruffling gold tassels. 

'So do you have any plans to—'  Joaquin started saying, but stopped mid sentence. He sniffed at the air and glanced around the room. 

'Why does it smell like ass in here?'

'Language, JQ.' She admonished him. 

'Sorry, hindquarters.' He said, placating her momentarily. 

Jackie pointed to the heap of dirty laundry piled on the floor next to Cindy's wardrobe, probably thrown askew when she was searching for a suitable outfit to wear to whatever party she was attending that night.

 'There is your mystery, Sherlock Holmes.' She said. He made a disgusted face in response. 

'Well, at least you get to get away from all of that after today.' Joaquin said hopefully. 'I do wonder how you survived at all sometimes.'

'I wonder sometimes too,' she said, grinning at him. She raised the bottle of wine she had poached from Cindy's supposed secret stash. 'But there are perks to even the mosts unfortunate things, you know. That is what makes this world tolerable.'

Joaquin snatched the book out of her hands. 'Parties are what make this world tolerable. This is not the time for a lecture, Virginia Wolff. You are coming to grad party with me.' 

She noticed what he was wearing for the first time.  A  silken, pastel black shirt, buttons undone all the way down to reveal the upward curves of his sculpted chest. Below, he wore dark, black, glossy pants that caught the light. Black clothes were what her best friend always wore to what he called 'party nights'. Black, because black never showed stains. Whether it was beer stains or lipstick—it was usually one of the two with him—black it was for Joaquin. 

She eyed him. 'If you can drag me the whole way, then yes, I am.'

He smirked, then glanced at the book in his hands for the first time. 'A hundred years of solitude? Dude, for real?'

'What?' She asked defensively. 

'You don't see how ironical it is that you are spending Grad night reading A Hundred Years OF Solitude? What are you even doing reading these books?' He held the book aloof, examining it as though it were a soiled cloth, or a poisonous snake.

She shrugged. 'I like to read?'

'Dude, you are pre-law, or were pre-law as of two days ago,' said Joaquin, dangling the novel by his thumb and forefinger. 'You will never use any all this shit.'

She snatched the paperback from his fingers. 'Like I said before, I like to read.'

'Talk about depressing.' He muttered, then got off the bed and began to drag her out from under the covers by her foot. 

'Hey!' She exclaimed. 

He was already yanking her up. He shoved her towards her wardrobe. 'Find something presentable to wear. Black, preferably. You are coming with me, Jackie, whether you want to or not.'

'I don't need black,' she retorted. She was not going to be chugging beer straight from kegs this night or any other night. Yet, later, much later, when the call came from home and her phone rang, Jackie was upside down, hose in her mouth, chugging beer while the watching crowd cheered its approval. 

She did not hear the first call. Or the second. It would be the next day she would see it. She would stare, then run to the toilet where she would heave out her insides.