WHITE TRASH IN THE
SNOW
by Allison
This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to real persons is strictly coincidence. I wrote this for fun, and nothing would make me happier than to hear from Friday to Friday that you are finding some enjoyment in reading the adventures of my fictional characters, the Saplin family. Any similarity to actual persons, living or
dead, is purely coincidental. All
rights reserved.
Previous chapters:
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
From her very earliest memories, Cristol carried a mental picture of her
mom being home every day. Cristol was very young when her mother ran for town council in their
small, rural town. Rachael Saplin's first election day victory was, for little Cristol, a life changing event.
From her current perspective, Cristol could see that it wasn’t really such a big deal,
but that didn’t erase the memory of how it felt at the time.
Four-year-old Cristol hated the nights when her mommy had
to “go to work.” The child adored her mommy and followed Rachael around while
she got ready to go to “Mommy’s meetings.” Cristol watched as Rachael loosely pinned her
hair up on her head and put on makeup. When Rachael described a certain pair of
shoes or piece of jewelry, little Cristol would run and find them in her mommy’s
closet and in the pretty wooden jewelry box on Mommy’s dresser. It was a game –
“Can you find mommy’s black shoes with the gold buckles? Can you find the
necklace with the little pearl?”
Cristol would beam when Rachael praised her – “Yes, those
are the pair! Good girl. Cristol is so smart. Oh! And that’s the right
necklace. Thank-you Honey. Cristol is a big help to Mommy.” Then Rachael would
tell Cristol and Field to “be good for Daddy,” give baby Maple a kiss, and head
out the door.
Cristol would run to the front window and watch the car
until it disappeared out of sight. On those nights, Cristol missed having her mommy
tuck her in and read a story to her. Tad would read to her, but it wasn’t the
same; his voice didn’t sound like Cinderella’s fairy godmother no matter how
hard he tried. After he gave Cristol a hug good night and left the room, Cristol
would usually cry herself to sleep. She loved her daddy but she wanted her
mommy.
For a while, after Cristol had said her “now I lay me down
to sleep” prayer with her mother or father, she made a special request. “Please
God, send me a magic wand.” Her parents thought it was cute, until one night
Tad asked what she would do with it. “I’m going to make Mommy's job disappear. Then she can stay home and play with me!”
The magic wand didn’t show up, and the town council position led to bigger things. When Cristol was
eight, her mother put so much energy and time into running for mayor that Field
and Cristol felt not only ignored but in the way. In retrospect, Cristol
believes that is when everything started to slide out of control. Her parents fought
more and talked less, her brother picked on her a lot, and she, herself, began to
overeat.
Cristol envied Field when he started Middle School and his
world opened up. He and his friends seemed to be doing exciting, dangerous,
cool things and once in a while, if she promised not to tell on them, they let
her tag along. She loved being included when they were shooting hoops, and she
would do almost anything to get to go camping and riding snowmobiles with her
brother and his friends. Field was very different from Cristol. He was a
likeable natural leader, he was popular, he was smart. Other kids followed him
with something close to worship. His venturing was often dangerous and some
escapades bordered on - or were – illegal, yet that only made him more of a
legend among teen Azzles.
Field introduced his sister to an assortment of vices. At
thirteen she lit up her first cigarette when he offered it to her. It was Field
who showed her how to use a bong, and gave her her first swig of vodka. There
were some things her brother tried that even she disagreed with, like doing
crystal meth and using OxyContin. His addictions became well known and Cristol promised
herself that she was going to be more careful than he had been. She vowed to make
better choices.
Cristol was the only girl allowed to go along with Field and
his friends on that Halloween when they climbed over the fence at the
transportation lot and damaged forty school buses. Inebriated and high on
excitement, she had flirted heavily with Wrangler Strauss throughout the
evening. She felt rebellious, grownup, sexy, and independent. It was a heady
mix. Wrangler was experienced, he was ready to make a move. But as it turned out, it was
Wrangler’s friend JJ that she took home with her.
That night she crossed the Rubicon. Later she told Sparkler
she had no regrets. “It was, like, totally awesome,” she said, “If my parents
knew they would, you know… kill me. But, hey, if I’m old enough to be left
alone for the weekend then I’m old enough to make adult choices. Like sleeping
with JJ.”
“Yup, they gave you the house to yourself, well, to you and
Field. They couldn’t have really thought he’d stay home. Give me a break. And they
probably knew what you’d do.”
“No, not my parents,” Cristol said. “They are pretty
trusting. My mom always says, 'Don’t do what your father and I did’. Like that’s
gonna hold us back. Ha!”
“Your mom admits they did it in high school?”
“No, not exactly. Mom and Dad eloped and Field came seven
months later. She says he came early. So what we aren’t supposed to do is
elope, but what she’s really saying is don’t get pregnant and have to elope.
It’s weird, but we know what she’s saying even though she doesn’t say it.”
“That’s weird.”
“My family is fucked up,” Cristol sighed. “But as long as
they continue to go away on weekends, I can deal with that.”
Sparkler nodded. “You are so lucky.”
Azzolla’s new school psychologist could have correctly
guessed how the valley kids were spending their long summer nights - drugs, sex
and booze. The eldest Saplin daughter’s trifecta of misbehavior was no
different than that of other bored, rebellious Azzlles coming of age in a
community of inbred ignorance. There were generally two types of teens in
Azzolla, those dreaming of “someday” when they could escape to “someplace else”
and those who wanted to be an improved version of their own parents. Field was one
of the former and Cristol one of the latter.
In Cristol’s projections of “someday“ she and Wrangler had their
own home and four kids. In daydreams she furnished and decorated an imaginary nursery.
Other times she made wedding plans. Both visions were soft and romantic, whimsical
and elaborate, and provided a private escape from reality.
Wrangler thought that talking about baby stuff was “totally
lame and boring,” and a huge waste of phone
minutes. Girls! Always talking about who’s having a baby, and stuff like what
color crepe paper to use for shower decorations and what nursery theme their
friend picked. He’d lived seventeen years unaware that a baby’s bedroom needed
a theme. Then one Saturday, he realized what “blissfully ignorant” meant when he was forced to leave that enviable state.
It all began normally enough. Cristol was craving French fries again, as
she had every day that week. The two of them were in McDonald's in mid-afternoon,
fries and sodas in front of them on the table. “I have a problem,” she said. “I
can’t buy Sareetha a gift until I know the theme.”
“So? Ask her.”
“Can’t, the shower is supposed to be a surprise.”
“So? Ask her mother.”
“Duh, why didn’t I think of that? See why I love you?”
“You owe me,” he said with a smile.
“I’ll pay up tonight,” she said coyly.
Wrangler liked where this was taking them, so he tried to
keep it going. “You always talk about themes. I don’t get it.”
“ Oh,” she brightened, happy to explain. “ ummm, a theme is
like, you know, like maybe a froggy theme – Christa’s baby has that. Everything
is green and has frogs on it.” He looked at her like she had two heads.
“Really, I swear. It’s cute. The plastic baby tub has a lily pad painted on the
bottom….”
Wrangler was sorry he’d asked.
“…and Lannie chose
that dumb sponge character. I hate that hideous yellow thing. But, Big Bird is
yellow, and I do like him. That’s the theme Tasha picked. Big Bird is perfect
for her because she doesn’t want to know if she’s having a boy or a girl. She didn't want to know...some girls do and some don't, but, see, Big
Bird is okay either way. I think Big Bird is a boy, though. Don’t you?”
“Whatever.” He was concentrating on running some fries
around inside a tiny paper cup of ketchup.
“ Peter Rabbit is popular again. It’s that old, old Peter
Rabbit from, like, maybe the 60s or something. So cute.”
She took a sip of her Coke and ate some fries. Wrangler
blessed the silence.
“ I like zoo animals, that’s a good theme for not knowing
if you’re having a boy or a girl. The sky – you know, clouds and balloons and
stuff. Bright balloons!”
He kept his eyes down, didn’t want to encourage her.
“We don’t have to know what the baby is to complete the
nursery.”
Wrangler noticed she had shifted from other people to
themselves. He began to pay more attention.
“Otherwise, like, ummm, if we were having a daughter and
wanted a princess theme - ”
“Not happening.” He
cut her off, clenched teeth on the straw in his Coke. He let go of it and
looked straight at her. “And, you know what? If I ran this place, they would
use bendy straws.”
“What?” Cristol had no idea what he was talking about.
“You know, bendy straws, like your mom always gets.”
“No, before that; why did you say “not happening? What’s
with that?” She sounded pissed.
He set down his drink and laid an arm casually across the
back of the vinyl booth.
“The princess thing - not happening. Not for my kid.”
“Oh, really? Who says?”
“I do. My first kid’s going to be a boy.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah, positively.”
“Well, maybe your
first kid is going to be a boy, but that doesn’t mean my first kid has to be a
boy.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“ Think about it.”
“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
“Maybe I’ll marry Dan. Or maybe Carver. Who knows? Until I
have a ring, anything can happen.”
“Have they been hittin’ on you?” This time, he sounded
pissed.
“Oooooo, do I hear
jealousy? Dan and Carver are my friends, too, you know.”
Making Wrangler jealous was a game Cristol enjoyed even though,
when the roles were reversed, she didn’t
take it well herself. Sometimes she wondered how she’d been lucky enough to
catch him when he could have any one of a number of cuter girls. Sparkler once
said it was either because Cristol’s mother was governor, or because Cristol
was easy. At the time, Cristol was drunk and didn’t take offense. Besides, she
didn’t need to be told that. She knew either could be true and maybe it was
both - if she was going to keep him, she needed to have a hook, and one was as good as the other. Lately, they’d
been fighting a lot. She didn’t want another fight right now, so she quickly
said, “Don’t be silly, they aren’t hitting on me. But, technically, you know,
I’m available.”
“Yeah?” he looked out the window at beautiful mountains
that surrounded Azzolla. They made him wish he were out there hunting. Not
turning his head to look at her, he said, “Guess that's so. And technically, I’m available, too.”
Cristol was getting nervous. “Just sayin’, Wrangler, don’t
take me for granted.”
“I don’t.”
He turned and they gave each other annoyed looks across the
Formica table. It was a standoff, Wrangler matched her instructions with a set of his own.
“Don’t you start flirtin' again. I heard the rumors. You got around when you
were away.”
She laughed derisively. It was almost a cackle. It reminded
Wrangler of Mrs. S, and the thought caused him to feel slightly repulsed. “Yeah but that was because I
hated it there. It didn’t mean anything.” She reached over and put a hand on
his. “Look at you! You really are jealous!”
“Whatever.”
They sat quietly taking turns drawing long French fries out
of the grease stained cardboard container and sipping their drinks. An old rock
song with a summer theme subconsciously subdued them.
The next song was another oldie – The Lion Sleeps Tonight. The words sleep and lion triggered
Cristol’s memory. She asked, “Did your bedroom have a theme when you were a
little kid? Lion King or something? That’s what Field had.” While
“oh-wing-oh-wat, oh-wing-oh-wat” and tribal sounding instruments continued to
play in the background, Cristol happily shared more childhood memories.“My
theme was “101 Dalmatians. I think I was
Pride’s age.”
Wrangler was struck by the absurdity of it all. This song is ridiculous, and so is this
conversation, he thought. But if he said that, she’d probably kick him
under the table. Worse than that, she could go into one of those week-long
pouting sessions. It was yet another behavior he’d found she shared with her
mother.
“Sure, Cristol, my bedroom had a theme, it was “sharing a
room with my sister and trying to keep her out of my stuff.”
She frowned tightly.
“Fine, be that way. I can see you aren’t taking me serious at all.”
“Oh, but I am. Today’s theme is ‘dirty clothes. Actually,
that’s been my theme since Mom’s back started acting up again about a month
ago.’”
Wrangler’s lopsided grin was irresistible. Cristol couldn’t
stay mad. She gave him a grudging smile.
“And tonight, when my room is glowing from the midnight sun
the theme will be “Wishing Cristol were here.””
A shiver ran through her. I totally loved this redneck jock.
Searching with her index finger through the fries, she
found what she wanted and pulled it out slowly, saying, “Oooooo, yesssss, I
love big long ones.”
Suggestively licking her lips, she cocked her head at him
and tried to look cute. “Let’s get out of here.’
”You read my mind.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
A few days later, Wrangler was explaining the concept of
nursery themes to his friend Carver while they were cleaning their guns. Carver
had been his best friend since kindergarten. They shared almost everything, and
he trusted his friend wouldn’t think he was weird just because he found this
difference between girls and dudes interesting. Interesting like a two-headed snake- a useless excess, a curiosity...
“I ain’t shittin’ ya, they spend a lot of money on that junk - nursery stuff and such.
I think there’s, like, a rule that they have to outdo the last girl.
“Why? Who cares?”
“Girls care. Oh, man, do they care.” He was shaking his
head, “Serious competition, man. You’d think it was the Iron Dog.” Picking up
the bore swab, he turned his attention to the shotgun he was cleaning.
“So what if they win? What’s the prize?’ Carver asked.
Wrangler shrugged. “Whatever.”
Another couple of minutes passed in comfortable companionship
while they worked on their weapons. Carver used a silicone cloth to wipe
fingerprints off, and finishing one gun, he began the process again with
another. Lacking a new subject, he said, “You and Cristol talk about really
lame stuff.”
“Nothin’ lame about
the payoff,” he assured his friend. Getting laid was a respectable topic any
time. “Talkin’ about babies – that’s an aphrodisiac, scientifically proven and
everything. Don’t you know that?”
“A what?"
“You know, it gets you laid. That kind of talk is the key.
It unlocks the box.”
Carver wasn’t about to let his buddy think he was superior just
because he was hooking up with the governor’s daughter. Carver considered
Cristol to be one of the biggest players in the school. He didn’t think his
friend, or anyone else, should trust her. “No offense dude, but that box ain’t
been locked since that Halloween night when JJ-"
In one smooth move, Wrangler put down the stock he was
polishing, picked up a pistol and took aim at Carver’s chest. Carver raised his
hands and froze – a reaction stemming from a respect for guns, not a fear of
his friend. He looked at the gun, then at Wrangler’s trigger finger, and then
at his friends steady gaze. He got the message. It wasn’t I’m going to shoot you, it was Don’t
talk that way about my girl. Carver was cool with that. The crack about Cristol
had been crude and he shouldn’t have said it to Wrangler. He should have waited
and said it to their friend Dan. Dan would love it.
“Whoa, man, take it easy.” Carver said.
An extra ten second made the point, and Wrangler, nodded
tersely, set down the gun, and said, “Just watch how you talk about Cristol.”
Then he picked up the shotgun and went back to work on it.
Carver resumed his work, too, but inside his head he kept thinking
about how Wrangler was changing. Dan’s
right, since he’s been with Cristol, Wrangler thinks he’s hot shit. And like Dan
says, Wrangler’s making an ass of himself over a girl and she’s not even pretty.”
“You know what you are, Wrangler? You’re pussy whipped.”
Wrangler shrugged and spit on the garage floor. “Whatever.”
He turned the stock over and looked at it more closely, letting the comment
roll off him. But Carver was worked up, and getting more so.
“No one wants your stupid advice, either.” Carver said.
“Fine. Let’s drop it.” Wrangler said, Then he made the
mistake of adding, “Just sayin, when ya talk about babies and marriage, girls get
real agreeable.”
“Marriage? You talkin’ marriage, too? Shit, it’s worse than
I thought.”
“Nah, Cristol does, not me I just let her.” This wasn’t
quite true. Wrangler carried his own when they talked about marriage, he liked
imagining a time not too far off when he’d have his own home and a wife (could
be Cristol) with a big-belly. It would be a boy. First a boy, then a girl, just
like he and his younger sister. Just like Field and Cristol. Yup, that’s how it
was gonna be, someday.
Carver shook his head.“Wow, that’s all I got to say. Wow.”
Wrangler threw down the rag he was using and said, “Let’s
go get some beer.”
They sat together on the stoop of Carver’s back steps, and after
four beers apiece, they were both feeling pretty good. Carver leaned back and
rested on his elbows. “So,” he said, “am I going to be in the wedding?”
Alcohol had loosened Wrangler’s tongue and he opened up.
The Saplin-Strauss wedding plans, all were explicit and he could recite them
line by line. “On a perfect summer day - that’s how she always describes it –
in her folks’ yard – here’s how she says it,” he changed is voice to a
falcetto, - “With the lake as a backdrop.” Carver snickered appropriately.
“Anyway,” Wrangler continued, “People will be sittin’ in folding chairs and –"
“Dude, that’s unbelievable.” Carver commented.
“Why? Folding chairs are okay, it’s going to be outside.”
“No, dude, the fuckin’ details. Unbelievable.” Carver took
a long draught and crushed the empty can. “Weddings, folding chairs – geesus, Wrangler,
you’re gettin’ soft in the head.”
“Don’t worry about my head, ole’ buddy. When Cristol and me
are talkin’ about this stuff, she gets horny and I won’t be soft. Trust me.” He
wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and then held it up, palm toward his
“ole’ buddy.” Carver gave it a slap, they picked up the empties and went inside.
****
Cristol and Wrangler agreed that July, 2009 would be an
ideal time for them to publicly repeat promises they were now making to each
other privately. Yes, it was true that talking about their wedding plans
usually resulted in sex, but, Wrangler also liked coming up with ideas for the
ceremony. That was what they were doing on the night before the Saplins were
leaving on an Hawaiian vacation.
“Okay,” Cristol
said, “You and my minister hear the plane and that’s your signal to turn toward
the lake. Once you turn, my mom stands up. After she stands up, everybody else
will. But, I’ve been thinking maybe everyone should stay seated cause when Dad helps
me down from the plane, I want our friends to get really good pictures.”
“Nobody’s gonna sit, Cristol. It’s a wedding. People stand
up. Sheesh, that’s one thing I know after all the movies you’ve made me watch
with you.” Over the summer she’d rented every movie she could find that had a
wedding scene in it.
“Not so, Mr. Smarty, it all depends on what my mother does.
If she stands, then everyone else stands and if she doesn’t then nobody does.”
“Why? Because she’s the governor?”
“No, silly,” laughed Cristol. “It’s wedding etiquette. You
know – a rule.”
Wrangler looked
doubtful. “Are you servin’ me a warm load of moose-pie?”
“No, I’m not, and if you don’t know this stuff I gotta
wonder what else your mother didn’t teach you.” She meant it playfully, but he
took offense.
“Oh, yeah? Well your
mother is a st-“ He stopped just in time. If he said Ms. S was “a stupid phony
and she sounds stupid, too,” the chances of a romantic goodbye would be ruined.
He looked up to the sky, counted to ten, and acquiesced, “Don’t worry about me
or my mom.”
“You’ll tell her not to stand unless my mom does?”
“Yeah, I’ll tell her. Okay? Let’s change the subject.”
“You better tell your friends too. Those guys don’t know
anything, either.” Typical Cristol, piling on even though she knew she had
Wrangler beat.
“Whatever. Let’s drop it, okay? Now, tell me the next part
again, it’s my favorite part,” he lied.
It was Cristol’s favorite part, however - the fairy tale
entrance of the bride and her father. “It is the best part, isn’t it?” she
said. Then she began to recite, “As the story of Cristol and Wrangler’s
Magnificent Wedding continues, the little red Piper Cub, my father’s pride and
joy, docks safely…”
The degree of detail went on ad nauseum – short veil waving
in a breeze, bouquet of yellow and orange roses gripped tightly in one hand
while she steadies herself with the other hand placed on her father’s shoulder.
Carver’s right, thought Wrangler, this is freaky. He continued to half
listen. He didn’t care who wrote what vows, or who sang a song, or what the
cake looked like.“While I’m on the beach in Hawaii, I’m going to look through
magazines and get some ideas for our cake.” When she began to list flavors of
cake, flavors of frosting, textures and edible decorations, his eyes glazed
over.
Though it seemed to take forever, she finally got to the
place Wrangler had been hoping for. On the way home that night he pulled out
his phone to text Carver and brag that his theory was tested again and proven
true. But, he changed his mind when he saw a message from Carver that read,
“Where you at? Lookin 4 foldin chairs? LOL ”
Grow up, Carver, thought Wrangler and he put his phone away.
*******
Wrangler’s girl had been gone four days and he was drinking
again with Dan and Carver, this time in
Dan’s garage. He was maudlin. “Why’d they have to go to Hawaii? Cristol said
they’ve never had a family vacation before. Not a real vacation like this is.
Why now? This is our summer, our best summer. Ya know what I mean? Next year we
gotta get jobs and stuff.” He drained another bottle and threw it ten feet,
making it into a barrel. There was a satisfying sound of glass breaking. “Yes!”
he crowed, but the elation was temporary.“This is it, damn it. This is the end
of our childhood. Damn, ten days is a long time.”
“Bet she’s not missin' you,” Dan said. “ Bet there’s a dude on the beach rubbing sun tan lotion on her right now.” Dan, like Carver, was no fan of Cristol.
He often told Wrangler he was “whipped by the ice princess.”
“Shut up.” Wrangler, drunk and lonely, didn’t need Dan
giving him any shit.
“Cut it out, Dan.” Carver didn’t want the night spoiled by
tension between his two best friends. They didn’t get to hang out with Wrangler
much anymore and this was supposed to be a fun night. “Here, I got something for
you, Wrangler.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a blunt. “This will help.”
Wrangler took it and lit it. Taking a drag, he let
his mind drift. He knew his relationship with Cristol was too intense for his
buddies. Maybe they were right. Maybe this time apart from his girl was good
for him. That’s what his father said while they were making plans for the
hunting trip - the trip that they were going to start on the next morning.
Wrangler and his dad were close. Some of his best childhood
memories were made with his dad at his side and guns in their hands, shooting
bear, elk, caribou, fishing and riding off-road vehicles. Man stuff. They
bonded during those times, and though he knew his sister was jealous over the
closeness he and his dad shared, he was protective and selfish when it came to
camping trips with their dad. Porsche had looked hurt when she found out about
the upcoming trip but, Wrangler refused to beat himself up over it. It wasn’t
his fault Porsche was a girl.
Even as he told himself that, he knew it was a lame excuse.
Porsche could hunt, fish, and ride an ATV better than any guy he knew. Still,
his life had too much women stuff going on and he needed the break. His dad
understood the daily concessions Wrangler made, living with two women. And now
he had Cristol bossing him around, too. Cristol wanted Wrangler to be with her
all the time, which meant hanging out at her house and helping take care of her
younger sisters. It could be fun, like when he did the cooking – hots and
sausage and burgers and steaks. He even wore an apron! (God, he would never let
Dan or Carver know that.) And, how many other guys his age would pitch in after
supper to do dishes, clean up, and read to Pride before bed? He was more like
their dad than Mr. S.
That was another thing he’d never tell Dan and Carver was
that he liked being an ex-officio parent. While barbecuing chicken, tending
steaks on the grill, setting out the paper plates, and mixing up lemonade he
felt happy inside. It was good practice for the day when he and Cristol would
have their own kids, and that was only a few years into the future.
Cristol’s
plan was to be two months pregnant when they finished high school, and not
quite four months when they got married. That, she explained to Wrangler, was ideal.
He'd have a scholarship to play hockey and they'd live together in campus housing. From some of her brother’s friends, she’d heard of a way Wrangler would be able to
college even if he didn't get a hockey scholarship. As an emancipated adult with a wife and child and not much
income, he could take courses for free at the state college and she could stay home and cook and
clean and care for their son.
Wrangler’s ideal plan diverged from hers. He didn’t want to go on to college any
more than she did, which meant “not at all.” If he could get drafted by a professional hockey team he'd skip the college step and he'd travel with the team. He'd be home in the off season. Kind of like all those guys locally who worked on the Slope. They were away a lot. Heck, Mr. S was away more than most.
Yup, she'd have to understand. But for now, there was no reason to tell her.
There would be plenty of time for that later.
