East of Denver by Gregory Hill

this up, I’ll die. You’re the only people who know. Listen to me. I wanted to be bulimic, but I couldn’t because I’m afraid of vomiting. So I’m anorexic. I’ve stopped eating.”
    â€œYou aren’t anorexic,” said Vaughn.
    â€œYes,” said Clarissa, “I am.”
    â€œWhy?” asked Vaughn.
    â€œBecause.” She spoke in a tiny voice. “Because sometimes I feel ugly.”
    She was sitting on the edge of Vaughn’s bed with her spandex bra and tight britches, hunched over, belly fat folded, hair messed up, a frown mushing up her face. Vaughn and I exchanged glances.
    Vaughn looked her over. “You aren’t ugly.”
    â€œNo, I am,” said Clarissa.
    â€œI don’t think you’re ugly,” I said.
    â€œI think you’re purty,” said Vaughn.
    I said, “You’re downright attractive.”
    â€œA real looker.”
    â€œCute.”
    â€œHot.”
    â€œSexy.”
    â€œBeautiful.”
    Clarissa was glowing. We were all connecting again. We were all on the same side.
    â€œHey, Vaughn,” she asked, “you got any of those famous brownies I keep hearing about?”
    Vaughn reached into his pillowcase and pulled out two plastic bags full of brown goop.
    I said, “You sure that’s not your colostomy bag?”
    Vaughn ignored me. “One bag contains hash brownies. One bag contains meth brownies.” He looked carefully at the bags. His eyes were crooked from the booze. “I can’t remember which is which. Anybody wanna play guinea pig?” He pulled a brownie out and handed it toward me.
    I said, “Thanks, but kiss my ass.”
    â€œPussy,” said Vaughn.
    Clarissa said, “Vaughn, you take one from one bag and I’ll take one from another bag. That way we’ll know which is in which.”
    â€œBrilliant!” said Vaughn.
    â€œYou know,” I said, “you’d be just as successful if just one of you ate one brownie.”
    The way they looked at me, I knew I had missed the point.
    Vaughn tossed a brownie to Clarissa. It stuck in her cleavage. They both thought that was hilarious.
    While they goofed around, I went upstairs to get another beer from Vaughn’s mom’s fridge. All the lights were off. I walked thru the living room, absorbing memories. The bathroom. That was the first place I ever took a shower. My family didn’t have a shower until I was twelve. Just a tub. It was a sleepover night and Vaughn and I had been playing in the mud all day. Vaughn’s mom told us to clean up for dinner. I went to the bathroom and stood in the shower stall. I didn’t know what to do, how long to stay in there, how to clean my toes. I remember I turned the hot water on full blast and stayed until it went cold. Luxury.
    I heard Clarissa and Vaughn laughing downstairs. I contemplated leaving. I didn’t really want to go back down there and watch those two get messed up and stay awake all night confessing their insecurities and talking about old times and letting them make fun of me and us all just being losers in a basement. But Pa was down there.
    I decided to slam a beer. That would improve my mood. I opened a bottle and started pouring it down my throat.
    A car pulled into the driveway. I dropped the beer on the floor and sprinted downstairs.
    â€œShe’s home!”
    â€œShit!” said Vaughn.
    â€œWho gives a fuck?” said Clarissa.
    â€œGimme another brownie,” said Pa.
    ----
    Clarissa, Pa, and I hid in the downstairs bathroom with the lights off. We were all breathing heavy. On the other side of the door, I could hear Vaughn grinding his teeth in his bed. Footsteps on the ceiling above us.
    The basement door opened. Vaughn’s mom yelled, “Whose car is that?”
    Vaughn shouted, “What car?”
    â€œThat car in the driveway.”
    â€œI didn’t know there was a car.”
    â€œIt looks like that