Justice

Suddenly, it dawned on me.

Chris caught my look. “No, she’s not pregnant.” He patted his pocket. “I’ll keep your bread safe. Bye.”

He left before I could ask another question. And maybe that was good.

As usual, he was waiting at my locker after school. We walked to his car, neither one speaking. But he didn’t drive to my house. Instead he drove to the bank. He pulled into the parking lot and shut the motor.

“I feel funny keeping your cash. What if you need it and I’m not home?”

“I told you I can’t put it in the bank.”

“We’ll open up an account together. I’ll make sure the statements come to my house.”

I paused. “How cute. Like playing house.”

“Terry—”

“I still don’t understand why you’d marry a girl you don’t love.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t love her.”

“Do you?”

“No.”

I slumped in my seat. “This is none of my business, right?”

“Right.” He opened the car door, but I held his arm. Instantly, he stiffened. I jerked back my hand.

“Sorry.”

He closed the car door, looked at his arm, then looked at me. Without embarrassment, he said, “I have a problem with being touched.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“I’d like to go into the bank now. How about you?”

I didn’t move.

He raised his eyebrows. “Would you prefer to wait out here, Terry?”

“You’re very polite.”

“I was trained with manners—yessir, nossir. I wasn’t polite, I got the shit kicked out of me.” He started the car. “Bad idea. Let’s forget the whole thing.”

I started to place my hand on his arm, but caught myself and pulled it back.

“Sorry. I’m a touchy person.”

He killed the motor. “Terry, anyone touches me, I tense. It doesn’t mean I’m mad. As a matter of fact, it doesn’t mean much of anything anymore. It’s just a habit. So don’t worry about it, okay?”

“Doesn’t it get in the way?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean with your fiancée … if you don’t like being touched …”

He stared at me. I should have cut my losses and shut up, but I didn’t. “I noticed you carried … stuff … in your backpack.”

“Stuff?”

I felt my face go hot. “Never mind.”

“Do you mean condoms?”

If the earth had opened up, I would gladly have jumped in.

Chris said, “Are you asking if my peculiarity about being touched gets in the way of sex?”

My face was on fire.

“The answer’s no.”

I covered my face. “God, I am such a jerk!”

“You want to go into the bank now?”

I opened the car door and so did he. We sat at a desk titled NEW ACCOUNTS. The woman in charge wore a crepe wool suit of deep purple, with contrasting black velvet collar and cuffs. It was beautiful and I wondered if I could remember it well enough to copy it. I was very handy with pattern paper and a sewing machine.

She handed me an identification card. I started to fill it out. It had been at least eight years since I opened a bank account. By now, I had a driver’s license number as well as a Social Security number. I felt very important.

I was racing through my personal data when my eyes suddenly blurred. Small typed letters mocking me. I blinked hard, then moved on, but with less bravado. I handed the card back to Ms. Beautiful Suit, hoping she wouldn’t notice.

But she did.

“You forgot to fill out your mother’s maiden name,” she told me. She poised her pen, ready to catch my pitch.

I sat paralyzed.

Chris looked at me. “What’s wrong, Terry?”

My eyes darted between him and her. “I … don’t know it.”

Ms. Suit stared at me.

My eyes suddenly filled with tears. “I forgot it.”

“Forgot it?” Ms. Suit asked.