THE GOLD FISH: So Lucky (3.5)

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Everything was fine, just fine, thought Barbie to herself, once she was literally, if not metaphorically, out of the woods. The woods surrounding the library, that is. If she remembered the way home from here -- and boy oh boy, how she prayed she did -- all she had to do was follow Taylor Avenue all the way down to Perring Parkway, cross over, and take the first left. Of course, she had never walked this route before so had no idea how long it might take, but she’d get home… eventually. Right?!

One thing she did know for sure is no matter what happened, she wouldn’t hitchhike. Because it was nighttime, and even in their hitchhiking heyday, she and Bridge had never been adventurous enough -- or stupid enough -- to do it at night. That was just asking for it.

So she clutched her brocade bag tightly for comfort and hurried down Taylor Avenue. Heading east, to be more precise, but at that point in Barbie’s life, all directions were either up or down.

After the darkness and desolation surrounding the library, the bright lights and roaring traffic made for pure sensory overload. Keeping her eyes downcast on the ground in front of her -- as if that might keep her invisible from potential dangers -- she scampered past the Hillendale shopping center, theater, and bowling alley on her right, and then on past the Horn & Horn Cafeteria, the Taylor House lounge (a favored watering hole of her father’s, by-the-by) and the Bendix corporation on her left.

But Barbie wasn’t invisible.

In fact, someone had spotted her and was pulling a U-turn to swing around to intercept her. And that someone wasn’t her father.

It was Wesley Sullivan.

Minutes later, Wes pulled the Fairlane over, effectively blocking Barbie’s way, and leaned out the window.

“Ginger Cat,” he said with a befuddled grin. “Where you going, man?”

Barbie blinked, struggling to make sense of this unlikely event. What was Wesley Sullivan doing here?

“I’m… I’m going home.”

“All that way… at this time of night? By yourself?! Must be two miles. At least.”

“I was at the library. My Dad was supposed to pick me up but...” Barbie shrugged. “He forgot, I guess.”

“Well grab shotgun, Kemosabe. I’ll run you home.”

“That’s okay. I can—”

“No way, Jose. Get in. That’s an order.”

Barbie wrestled with indecision. She hated to be a bother, but it was late and she was cold, tired, and hungry. And maybe just the tiniest bit afraid. Surely this didn’t count as hitchhiking, right? Besides, it was Wesley Sullivan! He was one of the good guys, wasn’t he? Of course he was. He was Bridge’s big brother.

So she wrenched open the door and got in. But just to be safe, she settled herself on the bench seat as far away from him as she could, and kept her hand on the door handle.

Wes pulled back into traffic, draped his long arm across the back of the seat, and turned to address her.

“Glad I spotted you.”

“Yeah. Me too. Thanks.”

Wes accepted her gratitude graciously. “Right on, right on.”

They sat in silence for a minute before he finally ventured, “So, the library, huh? Find anything good?”

“Uh huh.” Barbie pulled The Hobbit out of her bag, and held it up for him to see.

“Outta sight, Ginger Cat!” erupted Wes, slapping the steering wheel in delight. “You’re in for quite an adventure.”

He lowered his voice and threw on a faux English accent, “You certainly usually find something, if you look, but it is not always quite the something you were after.”

“Did Thorin say that too?”

“Yes. Yes he did.” And then, as if to himself, “you remembered.”

Barbie nodded, stifling a grin, pleased that he knew that she had paid attention. She relaxed.

Wes braked for the red light at Perring Parkway, then turned to her again. “Haven’t seen you and Bridge around too much lately, come to think of it. Thought you two were thick as thieves. Breaking hearts, getting into mischief, and all that…”

Barbie thought of her deal with Pickles and her snub of Bridge’s invitation to play kick-the-can in the Tot Lot, and blushed with shame.

Wes was a frequent confidante of Bridge’s, so knew full well, of course, about his little sister’s habit of swiping Tiparillos’s from their father and smoking them with Barbie down at the Tunnel. So he mistook the red in Barbie’s cheek for guilt about that. But he didn’t judge. It was the 70s man, and Wes liked to experiment with a few substances himself.

“Awww, man. I wouldn’t narc you guys out. I’m cool.”

The light changed and Wes pulled the car through the intersection and hung a left on Westmoreland Avenue before adding, “You’re good for her, you know that?”

Barbie didn’t actually know. “Huh?”

“Every Butch Cassidy needs a Sundance Kid. Am I right?” He winked.

“Yeah, I guess,” said Barbie miserably, remembering the time when she and Bridge had sung the Butch Cassidy song in the tunnel in the rain.

“Keep an eye on her for me, will ya? She’s in the middle, you know. And sometimes, middle kids get a little lost in the sauce, you know what I mean?”

Actually, Barbie hadn’t known what he meant, but now that she thought about it, maybe she did.

“Uh huh.”

Wes swung the car up in front of Barbie’s house.

“Alright Cinderella, it’s been real. Get in there before you turn into a pumpkin.”

“Okay.” Barbie gathered her bag and, this time, managed to get out of the car without incident. As she shut the door, she added “thanks for the ride… Wes.”

“No sweat. And let me know what you think of The Hobbit, my preciousssss!”

And with that, he zoomed up Pitney Road off to wherever he had been headed in the first place.

My precious, he’d said. (Of course, Barbie hadn’t met Gollum yet, so couldn’t know what Wesley meant. But to her, it still sounded… nice.)

Barbie watched the red tail lights on Wes’s car disappear around the corner, and thought to herself, he is one of the good guys.

“I will,” she whispered after him.

:::

Barbie creeped up the darkened stairs and onto the second floor landing. As she passed her parent’s open bedroom door, Joan looked up from the book she was reading and called out to her.

“There you are. What the hell took you guys so long?”

Barbie wanted to scream at her mother. Wanted to really let her have it. Because, after all, wasn’t her mother complicit too in her father’s crime? For not making sure he picked her up? For, obviously, not caring?

But she knew better than to poke the bear.

Instead, she just said, “Dad never came.” And with it, added a look loaded with accusation. Okay, not accusation exactly -- she wasn’t that brave -- but maybe the tiniest bit of recrimination.

Joan didn’t notice. “WHAT?!”

At that, Karen, who was also reading in bed in the room across the hall, looked up. If there was a drama involving her sister, she definitely wanted to know about it.

“Yep. I waited and waited and waited.”

Joan shook her head. “Jesus Christ Almighty. That man.”

Barbie considered this statement. On the one hand, it was correct. That’s exactly how she felt too.

But on the other, why wasn’t her mother’s immediate response something more along the lines of “Oh how horrible for you! My poor darling, girl.” Or, even, and here’s a thought “my precious.” Okay, she knew her mother wasn’t Carol Brady or Thorin, or whoever, but still. She could have at least put her book down and come to give her a hug. But no.

“Yeah, well.” Barbie turned to head into her room.

“Well how’d you get home?” Joan called after her.

“Wesley. Wesley Sullivan picked me up.”

“WHAT?!” cried Karen.

Joan shook her head in apparent wonder. “That boy is a saint.”

Karen kicked her feet against the bed. “Why are you always so lucky?!” she wailed.

Barbie threw her bag on the floor, jumped fully clothed into bed, and pulled the pillow over her head.

Clearly, she had no answer.

Next → Tigers and Weebles (3.6)