Chapter 4: Lies Beget Lies
Continuation of Sunny and Ahmed
I’m sick and tired of Brit playing little games on me. I went over to the Lighthouse to clean the pews—one of Daddy’s special jobs for me. He gives me five dollars, which he thinks is real nice. It takes me two hours—he pays me even less than what Mr. Elm does. Just shows you what he thinks I’m worth. Anyways, Brit was in the office and Daddy wasn’t. I braced myself for the worst.
“Hiya Brit,” I say. I don’t even pretend I’m happy to see her. “Here to clean the pews. Where’s my Daddy?”
She smiles real big, like I’m her long-lost friend.
“He went for coffee with a parishioner,” she says, still smilin’ like she’s got somethin’ stuck in her teeth.
“He’ll be back soon,” she adds. “How’s it goin’?”—just like she never ratted me out to everyone in town.
“It was goin’ okay ’til you came along,” I say, matter-of-fact-like.
“Awe, come on, Sunny, you know I did you a big favor.”
“How’s that?” I say. “Now I’m grounded.”
“Well, you got some street cred. People think you’re somebody—a comedy star.”
“I am, Brit. I am somebody. And a lot better person than you. You’ll get your comeuppance when you arrive at the pearly gates.”
I walk right out of the office and go do my pew cleaning.
I don’t mind cleaning the pews. I’d do it even if Daddy didn’t pay me. It makes me feel holy.
When I started the job, all I could find in the supply closet was Pine-Sol—a whole case of it. Made me sick to clean with it, and the lasting smell reminded me of the school bathrooms. I didn’t ask Daddy if I could use somethin’ else. He’d a said, “Make do with what we got. We aren’t rich like the Episcopalians.”
Daddy’s cheap when it comes to life’s little pleasantries. I took my five dollars of pay that first day right over to Walmart and bought me some lemon-scented Murphy’s wood soap. Darned if folks didn’t start complimentin’ the smell come Sunday.
“Smells just like lemons and hymnals,” Mrs. Elm said to Daddy. “Whatever you’re doing is working.”
I told Daddy what I did. He acted mad at me for wastin’ my money, but after that, I noticed there were some new bottles of Murphy’s in the supply closet. Not bad for a deficient person, I’d say.
As I’m cleanin’ the pews, my mind is drummin’ up all kinds of things. I get the crazy idea of how I’m gonna get back to that comedy club without anyone knowin’ about it. I keep thinkin’ about Ahmed and how nice he was—about cinnamon and vanilla.
That night I come home to an empty house. There’s a note on the table from Mommy that says, Gone to The Rusty Fork for Dinner with Mrs. Arnold. We’ll be home by eight. There’s some meatloaf and mashed potatoes there for you to heat up in the microwave.
The Rusty Fork Steakhouse brings back memories. I always thought it was a stupid name. Who wants to eat off a rusty old fork?
But it’s the place folks in Citrus Grove take anyone to celebrate anything—weddings, prom, dates, birthdays, you name it. Mommy and Daddy never took me there, not even for a birthday. But I don’t like steak, so who cares? Besides, other than graduating from high school with a special diploma, I never had a thing to celebrate.
I open the fridge and see the plate Mommy made for me. It has a note tellin’ me how to heat it up in the microwave, like I never heated up a thing in my life. I scrape the meatloaf and mashed potatoes into the garbage disposal, turn on the water, and run it. I hate meatloaf and mashed potatoes. She won’t know the difference. I’ll just make a peanut butter sandwich.
After I eat, I go out on the back porch. Gotta call Rachael. Before leaving for college, she gave me her old smartphone—said to call her any time. Daddy didn’t want me to have one—too expensive, he said—and besides, it’ll rot your mind. I never use it in front of him. I don’t think he even remembers I have it by now. I pay the bill, so no skin off his back.
I hit Rachael’s number. It’s ringing.
“Hey, Sunny!”
“Hey back,” I say. Glad she answered. I need a friend about now.
“The reason I texted is my mom told me you got into some trouble on account of that big B—Brit Larson.”
“Yeah, not too big a trouble,” I say.
“Well, that’s good,” she says. “I was worried about you.”
“You don’t need to worry,” I say. “But maybe you could do somethin’ to help me out a bit.”
“Sure, anything,” Rachael says. “Shoot.”
“Can you invite me to come spend the night? I got somethin’ I wanna do, but Mommy and Daddy won’t let me outta their sight. Ask them if it’s okay?”
“Yeah, that’d be fine. When?”
“Would Wednesday work?”
“Yeah, I think so. I don’t have classes on Thursday—we could go to the beach. Maybe you could go home on Friday? I was planning on goin’ home for the weekend anyway.”
“Yes! Thank you. I’m gonna get to your dorm a little late on Wednesday night ‘cause I got someplace else to go before comin’ to you.”
“Sure, but I can pick you up if you want. Where’ll you be?”
“I’m goin’ to the Just-Say-So Comedy Club. It’s an open mic night, and there’s someone I wanna see perform.”
“Oh dear,” says Rachael. “I guess there’s some truth in the gossip that’s been goin’ ‘round then?”
“A little, but it was all ‘cause of Brit bein’ so mean.” I hesitate a few seconds before saying the next part out loud. “I met a guy there that I like, but I don’t have a boyfriend. That was a lie I made up.”
“Oh boy. That’s somethin’, Sunny. You are full of surprises, girlfriend.” Rachael sounds giddy. “You’ll have to tell me all about it when I pick you up. Is it okay if I come into the club?”
“Yeah, it’s okay, but not too early. Maybe at eight-thirty? I want to do this on my own.”
“I get that,” Rachael says. “I’ll call your mom. See you on Wednesday! I’m so excited.”
“Me too. I love you, Rache.”
After hangin’ up the call, I sit smilin’ to myself for a good long time. Then I pull up YouTube and type in: standup comedy.
High anxiety!