Trash Bags

This is a story I wrote for workshop in Iowa in 2019. It’s about sisterhood and being young and the sometimes irresistible pull to date people who are terrible for you. It’s about healing via going over what happened again and again until maybe you begin to get the gist.

***

Maybe he was sending me a message when he kicked the cat. He said he was just having a bad day, but maybe he did it to tell me that he categorically pushes away everything good in his life. Maybe the cat was supposed to represent me, you know, loving, warm. I'm much more trusting than most cats are, maybe that's what he was saying. I'm much more willing to stick around, to be close to him, so maybe he was trying to tell me that this wasn't my fault, what he would do, what he was already doing. Maybe he was trying to say that he was sorry, that he wished he could be better, but would always be the type of guy that kicks cats and cheats.

I know that it's not good to super-analyze everything. Not everything means anything, I know, but sometimes, it just feels like there's more than the basics. Just a kick? Just the cat? No, it was our cat. It was Olli. It was us.

I was getting lunch with Marnie when I told her that one.

She shook her head. You should've known before then. Kicking the cat is never the first sign of anything.

Well, maybe we moved in too soon.

Yeah, I'd definitely say three weeks in is soon, she said.

But we saw each other every day and Rocky was always complaining about how expensive his rent was and my lease was almost over anyway, so it made sense. You would've done it too, I told her, if you loved him.

She looked at me the way she does when she remembers that I'm the older sister. That look that says, You've been around longer, Charlie, but you haven't been paying attention. That look that says, How do I know better than you?

She was sitting there, munching on her salad—always with her salads—giving me that look in this expensive restaurant she suggested we come to, where the tables are wooden and the floor is wooden and everything is made of wood, even the straws. Is that what she thought I'd like? How the food splintered in my mouth like I didn't pay fifteen dollars for it?

Wouldn't you, I said, if his rent was high and you loved him?

I don't know what it's like to love him so I can't tell you, she said, as usual avoiding the question by being overly specific about it.

C'mon, Marnie, I said—because her lawyer logic is exhausting. You know what it's like to love, don't you? If you loved somebody and they asked you to live with them, to be with them all the time because they couldn't stand to sleep with so many walls between you, wouldn’t you do it, even if it was too soon?

Would I know it was too soon?

Sure.

She paused her chewing. Then no, she said.

You wouldn't even want to?

Too soon is too soon.

What if it was Bryan? I said, this guy that she's seeing. I knew it wasn't serious, but I thought maybe if she was thinking of someone real like I was, maybe then she'd understand.

I don't love him.

But if you did?

But I don't, she said.

That's just like Marnie. Always practical, always specific. She wouldn't move in with a man unless he could carve his love into clear words, unless he could tell her directly, no excuses about the rent, that he wanted to see her all the time, be close-close to her, and even then, she probably wouldn't do it. Marnie needs certainty, but who can give that? She'll be alone forever. Besides, she said, did he even ask you to move in or did you just assume he wanted you to?

He asked me, I said—because he had, in a way, asked me. He'd agreed that half-rent was better than the whole-rent, that Olli, our cat, would have a happier life if she lived with both parents, that I spent most of my time there anyway. Wouldn't it make sense for me not to go back and forth between my toothbrush at my place and my toothbrush at his? He'd agreed that it made sense and wasn't this the same as coming up with the idea himself?

He asked you? Marnie asked, making my words questionable, which she does a lot. I took a bite of my woody sandwich.

I said it again, He asked me.

*

Maybe Rocky cheated on me because I don't have a dad. Maybe he could smell my daddy issues from my pillow next to his and thought, She'll never get over being abandoned so maybe I should just abandon her too.

When I told Marnie that one, we were walking around the park. Power walking. She's into all these health kicks that are just fancy words for shit we've done since kindergarten. Eat your vegetables, use your legs—what's so new about that? And tell me, what good does it do to walk like you're in a hurry when you're just hanging out? I don't know, but we were huffing and puffing and Marnie was shaking her head.

You have a dad, she said. You have a dad, I said.

Me and Marnie have different dads. My mom had her two years after she had me. Theo, her father, he's a good guy. Okay, I was two when he came into the picture, I call him Dad too; she's right, he's basically my father, but there's something about having a dad dad, you know? Something about knowing, yep, if I was ever in desperate need of blood, I could use yours. Something about sharing blood, about habits, about thinking, In you, my father, is a hint of the person I might end up with; if psychology is correct, in you is a snapshot of the lover I will point to and say, Hey, my dad does that. Hey, you're just like my father. I can't say that because I don't know what my father is like, and that is the difference, I wanted to tell Marnie, but I was too winded from walking so fast.

The difference is that she sees her dad all the time and I don't know what mine looks like. Our mom won't tell me what happened to him. She never says anything harsh, anything like, Get over it, Charlie, half the world doesn't know their dads, let it go. She never calls me a bastard or a bad mistake, you know, some moms say shit like that even though you didn't ask to be had, but not mine. She never sounds angry when she talks about my dad, she just doesn't talk about him. He was unable to be a father, that's all she says.

Whenever I used to ask her what she meant by unable, she would tell me my dinner was getting cold. These days, she says, I have to go, Charlie, somebody else is calling me.

Who? I want to ask her. Who is it this time, Mom, who is keeping you from telling me what I need to know? but I don't because sometimes people's lies are the only way they know to be polite. That and I don't want to hurt her, even though it hurts me not to know.

We were walking really fast when Marnie stopped all of a sudden. He's your dad too, she said. You know that.

*

Marnie said all the best people get cheated on. Even Rihanna—because she knows I love her and that I'd think if it happened to Rihanna, it couldn't be so bad if it happened to me too.

We were whispering at the beginning of yoga class. Marnie does anything that anyone tells her will help her live longer, I'm telling you. But I don't know why she wants to live so long when she doesn’t do anything with her life.

Well, no, I mean, she's pre-med, wants to be a doctor. I told her it's okay to change her mind, but she seems focused on it, like she's sure that's what she'll do. Me, I was General Studies; I thought it was better to know a little about a lot of things than a lot about something that might not matter to me later, but now I job hop from restaurant to restaurant and no one asks me what I know about anything besides what’s on the menu.

So she's got that going for her, a direction, and she's seeing this guy, Bryan. It's a newer thing, just a summer fling probably, and even if it wasn't, I doubt it would go anywhere; she's not one for risk-taking. Like, they'll probably have sex a couple of times and then he'll mess it up by saying something mushy like he likes her, like he wants more, and then she'll end it.

She'll say something like, Having more means risking more, Bryan, or some shit like that, you know, something she read in some book about how to live longer.

I guess that's what I mean. It's not that she does nothing, but that she wants to fill up a long life with all the boring shit she could do in a short one. Who does that? I want to ask her, Who has a boring life and then asks for more time to be boring? But I'm quiet about it because she's my sister and she doesn't ask for much.

She asked me to go to yoga with her though, so here we were. Marnie was already leaning back on her shoulders, lifting up her hips. When I asked her what she was doing, she just said, Bridge.

What do you mean?

It's a pose, she said.

I lost my virginity in the happy baby pose.

You've told me that like seven times, she said.

I didn't tell her I didn't want to be there. Yoga's not my thing, but Marnie is, so I was trying to be open-minded.

I whispered, Do you think I'll always get cheated on now that it's happened once? She shook her head fiercely. Then she said the thing about all the best people getting cheated on, even Rihanna.

I leaned back on my mat and told her that if anything, Rihanna probably did the cheating. Not because she's a bad person but because she was probably too good for whoever she was sleeping with.

I hiccupped then.

I came up with another theory: What if Rocky was too good? What if he suckered me because he was too good for me and had no other way to say it? What if he was Rihanna-good and was always going to outgrow me? Maybe it just took two and a half months for him to drop hints loud enough for me to hear. The thought made me feel like the pain was starting over.

What? Marnie said because she can read my face better than anyone, especially when it's scrunched, but the wispy teacher was walking up to the front of the room, telling us to shhh, to close our eyes, try breathing.

*

We were taking a break from Marnie's insane health kicks. No salads, no walking, no stretching. We were sitting in her living room, on the couch where I sleep now that I'm apartmentless. When we moved to the city, our mom said she'd help us rent a nice apartment together or cheap apartments apart. I'd wanted to live together, but Marnie had wanted her own place. She pretends to be tough like that, distant, but always seems pleased when I'm with her.

We were sitting on the couch, each on our respective cell phones. We can be together without being together and that's why I love her. I can sit on the couch and laugh at something and she can sit on the couch and laugh at something else and neither of us has to go, What? What? Tell me what's funny; our separate laughter is like we're laughing together and that's what's funny. Does that make sense?

This time though, I was groaning. Every few minutes, I groaned again or said something like Oh god or Oh my god. I kept looking over at Marnie because I wanted her to say, What? but we never do that so she didn't. She scrolled on her phone, oblivious, but I needed her to get it: That this wasn't a time for separate sounds over different things, but a time where we groaned together over one big bad thing. The big bad thing was Rocky's new girlfriend, and by that I mean the girl that he cheated on me with and still saw.

How he could he still see her? I'd found out about them. I'd confronted him. I'd left. If you must know what happened, it started when we went to this coffee shop he likes, The Green Bean, and he gave the barista a hug. This girl with long blonde hair, basic, always laughing. He started calling her My Favorite Barista every time we went in there. One time they talked for minutes, even though the line was getting long behind us. I kept replaying my order over in my head, Chocolate Frappuccino with real milk Chocolate Frappuccino with real milk Chocolate Frappuccino with real milk until it burst out of me, loud, right in the middle of their conversation: I want a Chocolate Frappuccino with real milk; Jesus, lady, do your job!

They stopped talking in front of me after that.

But then he was texting more, texting and texting and laughing and texting. He used to get onto me for texting Marnie all the time because he's all anti-phones and technology, but now he was doing it himself. He even bought an iPhone, put his flip phone away.

I'd ask him who he was texting, and he'd say his brother Michael or his dad or his Uncle Jonas, like his family had so much to say to him all of a sudden and all of it funny.

I'd had enough. He was in the kitchen, had left his phone on the floor, and it lit up, as if his phone was on my side, as if it was the kind of friend who tells you what's up, even if they know it'll hurt you.

Rocky's phone lit up, a message from MFB, and by message, I mean a picture of her vagina. There isn't much room to lie your way out of a picture of a vagina sent straight to your phone. I left the next day.

It had only been a week since then but look at him now, the bitch in our apartment petting our cat like she'd always been there instead of me.

I watched the video on my phone for the fourth time. Maybe he cheated on me because he never loved me, I thought as she pet Olli like it didn’t hurt me to watch. She probably didn't even know that Rocky kicked her or that when we held her at the shelter we'd decided immediately that we wanted her, even though it was too soon for us to be parents, especially together. She didn't know anything, that bitch; she was just laughing and a terrible cat step- mother and I thought I was going to vomit.

I said that out loud, I'm going to vomit, and finally, Marnie got it. She looked up and said, What?

I handed her the phone.

Maybe he cheated on me because she is in every way better than me.

Marnie looked at me, serious. Of all your theories, she said, that one is the most untrue. She looked at her then, that bitch—sorry, that girl... no, she is a bitch, truly.

God, Marnie said.

I know, I said.

What a bitch, she said.

I know.

Is this her account, Charlie? Why are you following her?

I don't want to miss anything.

She muttered that I was psychotic then dabbled on my phone.

What are you doing?

She handed it to me. Blocked her.

But how am I supposed to—

You're not, she said. We don't follow people who steal our boyfriends.

Sometimes Marnie's logic is not so bad.

*

The bitch's name is Ashley. How basic can you get? I mean Ashley? Ashley? I hate him for being so stupid. And I just hate her. Maybe he cheated on me because he knows I hate her.

That doesn't make any sense, Marnie said. You don't even know her.

We were walking down the aisle at the grocery store. She was buying all this stuff she didn't need. I bet she can't even explain to me what kombucha is and like, she's always going on about what's in a hotdog, well, what's in seitan? What the fuck is pea protein? I'm not saying it isn't healthy but she shouldn't eat it just because someone told her it's healthy, does that make sense? But this is Marnie. Seitan and organic-fair-trade bananas and kombucha and these patties that look just like burgers and taste just like burgers but aren't burgers—what's with that? Why does she want to eat something that's exactly like a thing but not a thing? I don’t get her.

You don't have to know someone to know you hate them, I told her, and besides, I feel like I do know Ashley. Like, today, she posted a picture of herself in front of a brick wall and I was like I know this bitch.

You unblocked her? Marnie said.

Just checking in on Olli. Just making sure Rocky remembers to feed her. And that today isn't the day that he realizes he's made a grave mistake and leaves that bitch.

Marnie dropped some fake milk in her cart.

You need to let it go, she said. He's trash. You don't need him.

*

Here's the thing Marnie doesn't get about Rocky. We moved extremely fast, but he's the type of person who moving fast makes sense with. Like, if Marnie's thing is trying to live a long life by doing everything everyone says is healthy, then Rocky's thing is moving fast like his life might be over at any minute and he knows no number of fake burgers can change that.

He's risky, that's what she doesn't get, probably because she's not. He's loud and he's brave and he's in love with art and music and poems and basically anything that you can't quite describe. He's a freelance writer. He's free. Maybe that's why he went for me. Maybe I was a poem to him, an indescribable one. Maybe he just couldn't describe me so he put me on the floor—he doesn't believe in furniture, how beautiful is that?—with all the other pieces of art that he can't describe and moved on because it hurt so much to be so close to something beautiful and not understand it completely. Maybe I was his most beautiful, indescribable thing.

If I'm a poem, Ashley is a pair of khakis. Maybe that's why he cheated. Khakis aren't scary. Khakis don't make you think about the future. Khakis are basic. You can look at a pair of khakis and think, I understand this. This isn't going to hurt me or haunt me or leave me high and dry. This is just a pair of khakis. I don't have to be scared.

Maybe he cheated on me because he was scared.

Bullshit, Marnie said. We were on the couch, fresh from Pilates. She didn't look up from her phone when she said it, Everyone's scared.

Now you sound like a movie, I said.

You always sound like a movie, she said.

I asked her what she meant.

She said, Being scared isn't a reason to treat someone like shit.

I meant about me sounding like a movie, but I went along with it. I said, I wouldn't say he treated me like shit. (I didn't want her to remember him that way in case today was the day he came back crying and with roses.)

She looked up from her phone. Gave me that stare, the one that said, Girl, where have you been?

What would you call what he did? she asked.

A mistake?

Did he change after?

What do you mean?

Is he still with her?

Considering the video I'd just watched of them making funny faces, I had to say yes, they were definitely still together.

Then it wasn't a mistake, Charlie. Mistakes change people. If he didn't change, he's just an asshole.

I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing true came out.

*

We went to take out Marnie's trash bags. One for trash trash, one for recyclable trash, one for food trash. I think it's excessive and a waste of plastic, but I helped her take them out anyway because that's what sisters do.

We were quiet as we walked down the sidewalk. Marnie was a little ahead of me with a bag in each hand. I was following her, with just one bag, but I was walking slowly because I was itching still to say something true.

And then it came out: He didn't ask me.

Marnie turned around. She walked slower so that we were side-by-side.

He didn't ask me to move in. I just assumed he wanted me to.

When she didn't say anything, I said some more: Maybe he cheated on me because he's trash.

That has always been why he cheated on you, she said.

But how can he be trash? He's so smart. He's so mature.

Just because someone's tall doesn't mean they're mature.

But he's thirty.

Doesn't mean he knows anything.

But he's thirty, I said, lifting the bag to throw it away. You're telling me he doesn't know anything after being alive for thirty years?

Wrong can, she said. She took the bag from me, put it in the blue one instead of the green one. I told you, she's like that.