Anne Charlotte Had It Coming

This was before Anne Charlotte killed herself. This was still a pretty good memory—if you ask me—so, I might as well remember it, and tell it properly. Everyone got a different side to the same story, but I know the story best because I was there. I don’t have to make anything up or stretch the truth. The truth will always find its way to the surface. I will tell it just like it happened. It began like this...

It was winter. I know it was winter because I never forget the cold; I wait all year for the cold, which comes in small increments, then it slaps you to the core. You don’t know if one day it will be cold, or one day it will be hot. So, I always carry a spare jacket in my car, just in case. Anyways, today was a cold day. It would have been a nice day, but that wind chill always slaps. It would have been a nice day, also, if the sun was out, but it wasn’t, and we aren’t in control of the temperamental changes of the weather because Florida is like that. We just have to make due. Anyways, it was cold and I had my jacket in the car.

Anne Charlotte called me, which was a first, and told me to pick her up. I was in class at the time, but fuck class; this was more important. Anne Charlotte needed me. Or, she needed my car, knowing that I was the only one around at the time who drove. I hate being old. Anyways, I ran out of class, not even giving the instructor an excuse, and as I ran outside, that was when I felt the slap of the wind. Then I picked up Anne Charlotte. She had been stuck at Dillan’s house, a known junkie. When she hopped in my car, she was practically shivering. I offered her my jacket, but she said, and quite politely (she is not known for being polite) said no. She just sat in my car, a trembling little stick of a girl. I wondered when was the last time she ate. Without thinking, I asked her when was the last time she ate. That was when she shot me this look, this look that screamed murder. I fumbled with the heater, trying to warm us so Anne Charlotte would stop shaking because now she was doing that thing with her teeth: chat chat chat, etc. I have a thing for certain sounds, and this was one of them. Then, stupidly, without thinking, I asked her if she would please stop doing that with her teeth. She looked at me with big eyes, with murderous eyes, and I really thought I was in for it, but all she said, and quite politely, was: “Oh, okay. Sorry.” I told her I was the one who should be apologizing, but she said that she was the one who should be apologizing. Then, she thanked me for saving her (her words), and she came over gave me an awkward half-hug (because we were sitting).

“Okay. Lets go. Quick! Before Dillan comes out!”

“What were you doing at Dillan’s?” I asked as I drove carefully away. “You know he smokes meth, right?”

“La di da, good job detective,” she said, putting her feet up on my dashboard. She took out a cigarette and lit it. My windows were closed because of the cold air, but she cracked her side of the window, nonetheless, which did nothing to help heat up the car. Even with my jacket, I was starting to shiver.

“Can you roll up the window?” I asked. She took two more drags from her cigarette, tossed it out the window, and rolled it up hastily.

“Aye aye, captain,” she muttered through her teeth. Then she had the audacity to say, “So what’s with you and sounds. I hear you don’t like this sound, don’t like that sound, it’s annoying. Am I making a sound right now? Should I stop? What would happen if I kept making said sound?” She did her thing with the teeth again, but she didn’t do it right, so I wasn’t affected by it. I kept driving.

“It’s like, it’s a condition, okay,” I said stupidly. I had a hard time looking at her because she was all eyes, and her face was decorated with a bunch of subtle tattoos that made me nervous.

“Am I making you nervous?” she asked.

Was she reading my fucking mind? How does she know about my nervousness and my sounds? Who’s narcing on me?

“Who’s narcing on me?” I asked.

She laughed, kicking her feet on my window.

“Please don’t do that,” I said.

“Oh!” and she took her feet off quickly. “Was that another one of your sounds,” she said, fighting back from laughing again.

“No. I just had them waxed,” I said of my windows.

“You’re an asshole,” she said, but I could tell she didn’t mean it because I looked at her and saw a softness in her eyes, only for a second, then I noticed all her tattoos, and for some reason, I got all embarrassed. I must have made an embarrassing face because, like clockwork, she said, “Am I embarrassing you?”

“No.” I drove like the wind. “Where are we going?”

“Duh, duh, duh, you know where I live,” she said and laughed.

Okay, so I did. I tried another approach, “So, why were you at Dillan’s”

“This again? Yes, he smokes meth, but that’s not why I was over there.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” I said, feeling kind of guilty for bringing it up again, but I really wanted to know. I wanted to know how a guy like Dillan can conjure up a girl like this, and bring her to his house. I know it wasn’t because of the meth because I know that Anne Charlotte doesn’t do drugs. It couldn’t have been his looks because I was pretty sure Dillan was missing most of his front teeth, and his skin was probably starting to decompose, fall off, or whatever skin does when smoking meth is involved.

“It was all business, Dad,” she said.

“Hey, don’t call me that.”

“Whatever. Anyways, yeah, it was a business deal, okay.”

“You sold Dillan meth?”

“No, stupid. I sold him marijuana,” she said and laughed, and I didn’t know if she was being serious or not. I smoke weed from time to time, but it was always hard for me to find any good plugs because I had dropped all my old connects right after I had gotten clean off heroin. I heard stories that Anne Charlotte used to shoot up, but that was a long time ago. She only smokes weed now, according to Nelius Knight. Nelius used to hang out with me and Anne Charlotte and snort heroin, but that was a long time ago. I don’t see much of Nelius anymore or Anne Charlotte. I may have shown some glimmer of excitement, but Anne Charlotte, being the charming succubus that she was, turned to me and smiled wickedly.

“Hey, I have an idea,” she squeaked excitedly.

“I don’t know if I like your ideas,” I said.

“Yes, you do. I remember you always liked my ideas,” she said sadly.

“I think we were always fucked up, Anne,” I said sadly.

She got quiet all of a sudden and slouched in her seat and closed her eyes. She yawned, which triggered me to ask, “Are you tired?”

She opened her eyes and said, “No.” Then she laughed and said, “Turn here.”

I turned.

“Hey, we aren’t going where I think we’re going, are we? Doesn’t Alexis Davinport live over here?”

“Wow, you’re full of acumen today. Mr. College Boy now,” she said and laughed, but I heard a small nostalgic sound in the back of her throat. She used to go to college but had dropped off last semester. Some stories went that she had gotten pregnant. I looked at her tiny stomach and knew that she was not bearing a child. Like a fox, she caught me looking at her stomach, but she has misread me and said, “I’m not hungry, okay. I eat when I’m stoned, but I sold Dillan the last bit I had. So, we have to re-up.”

“You have to re-up.”

“Hey, maybe I’m also doing you a favor. Maybe I was going to give you a gram or two for helping me. No, I’ll give you three-point-five, seeing as you look like you could use it honestly.” She stuck her face close to mines.

“Please don’t do that,” I said.

“Hey, look!” she said.

We pulled up the Alexis Davinport’s house but we could not venture farther because six police cruisers and two EMT units were parked outside her house. Their lights flashed silently amid the gloomy, cold atmosphere, adding only an eerie strobe in the air. I didn’t know if it was because of the somnolent weather, but I did not have a good feeling.

“Shit. You think she busted?” Anne Charlotte asked as she put her entire face up to the window, looking out, more fascinated by the lights than what could have happened inside Alexis Davinport’s house.

“Maybe something happened. Let's go see what happened.”

“Okay,” she said quietly, without protest.

We got out of the car and walked up to a medic. He told us that a few kids had overdosed, but when we asked who had overdosed, the medic just closed his eyes, as if remembering something sad, then he opened his eyes and just walked away. He took out a cigarette and lit it.

“You want to go home?” I asked Anne Charlotte.

“Okay.”

We pulled up to her house, which sat neglectfully at the end of the street where the big hickory trees grew. I had always liked coming up to her street, watching the beautiful trees whispered and swayed in the humid winds.

“Okay, you want to smoke, sir?” she said majestically.

“I thought you had to re-up?”

“I thought you were going to stop asking questions.”

“You never asked me to stop asking questions.”

“Stop asking questions.”

“Alright,” I said and smiled, getting used to all her face tattoos.

She smiled like a weasel and said, “Follow me.”

This was a good memory. I would always remember that one day in particular. Maybe the cold weather helped my enervated mind, maybe I was secretly in love with Anne Charlotte. I hated myself when she killed herself. I didn’t even finish the school year when it had happened. By then, I had stopped going to class. By then, I had gotten back into heroin. But not even the warm, milky substance could numb my trembling core from the memories of Anne Charlotte.