Shelly

I met Shelly in Hoffman Estates when I was thirteen during a trip to see my aunt Cindy and cousins.

Hoffman Estates is a suburb of Chicago, ~30 miles from downtown. I considered it the “big city,” as the town I grew up in has a population of 1,300 and is four hours south by car. My mom and her family were raised near Wrigleyville, but left a long time before I was born. My aunt stayed in the area and worked for United Airlines at O’Hare for decades.

My younger brother had been in a traumatic accident the year prior, and I assume Cindy offered for me to come and visit and get out of my literal village for a few days. I wasn’t particularly close to my cousins, but we spent quite a bit of time together during our formative years.

My cousin Sabrina was two years older than me, a redhead, a boxer, a gym rat, and mean — fucking mean. When I was ten, she used to make me chug apple cider vinegar for her entertainment. She once stole $100 from our grandmother out of a shoebox that was hidden in a closet, intended for rent. My grandma was disabled and so upset by the heist that she had my mom drive her to the liquor store to buy vodka and lottery tickets. Once grandma got good and boozed up, she called Sabrina a “stinking little thief bitch.”

Sabrina would tell me she and her cousins from her dad’s side of the family had swearing competitions, and her aunt Bea would be the judge. Whoever had provided the most profane combo would win.

”Want to hear what won last time?” Sabrina asked.

”Yeah!” I said.

”It was ‘cock-sucker, motherfucker, ugly little hoe!’”

Thirty years later, I still remember that line verbatim; it truly was a winner.

My aunt lived in a vast condominium complex. Each building had 20+ units and four floors. When I arrived for my visit, Sabrina told me about a girl who lived upstairs who had colored hair and “probably likes the same alternative shit music as you do.”

Sabrina and I took the elevator from the third floor to the fourth, walked down a long hallway, and knocked on a door. A man with a grimace and standard male-pattern balding answered.

”Hey, this is my cousin Chris, he’s in town from Kentucky. I think Shelly and Chris like the same music. Can she come out?”Sabrina said.

None too pleased, he replied, ”Give me a minute, let me see if she’s home.”

The door closed, and I said, “I’m not from Kentucky. Why did you say that?”

”Illinois, Kentucky, Oblong. It’s the same place. You’re hillbillies.”

The door opened, and a girl with pink and purple pigtails appeared. She was wearing a Care Bears spaghetti-strap shirt, large, baggy jeans with holes in the knees with illegible script in permanent marker all over them, and black, beat-up Dr. Martens boots.

Sabrina said, “Hey, Shelly, this is my cousin Chris. He’s here visiting because he’s depressed and his mom wanted him out of the house for a few days.”

I tried interjecting, ”I’m not depressed…”

”I think you both like the same crappy music, so I thought you could hang out with him for a little bit while I go to the gym with my dad.”

Shelly looked way cooler than anyone from my school in Southern, IL. She looked like the people in the crowd during Bush’s MTV Spring Break live performance that year.

I must have looked nervous because Sabrina said, “If you’re uncomfortable staying here with this girl, just tell me, and you can go back to my place and play N64.”

I said, ”No, it’s OK. If Shelly wants some company.”

”Yeah, you can stay and hang out, but we can’t hang out inside. We can go to the laundry room or the hallway. Let me go tell my dad.”

Shelly ran back inside, and Sabrina began teasing me, “You’re gonna stick your tongue down her throat, aren’t you?”

”Shut up, we’re just gonna hang out.”

Sabrina went off to the gym, and Shelly and I sat on the floor in the hallway and began chatting.

Shelly told me her theory on how Kurt Cobain wrote Hole’s Live Through This and how Courtney had Kurt killed so she could be more famous in the aftermath of his death. She explained that Kurt was worth more to her dead than alive. Even though Shelly was only a year older than me, it felt like she had lived ten times more. She had a seemingly valid opinion on everything.

Shelly and I talked for hours, and eventually Sabrina came back to get me for dinner. As I was leaving, Shelly handed me the Cardigans CD First Band on the Moon, which included the song “Lovefool.”

”I don’t like this band anymore, but if you do, you can have it.” Shelly said.

”Really? I can keep it? Yeah, I sorta like this band.” I didn’t actually care for them, but wanted to keep a memento of Shelly to remember her by.

Shelly and I hugged goodbye, and on the way back to my aunt’s, Sabrina inquired if we had made out.

Fourteen months later, on short notice, my mom informed me that she couldn’t drive my friend and me to Chicago for the Soulfly show at the Vic Theater. I recall being so bummed out. Logan Mader, the former guitarist from Machine Head, had recently joined Soulfly, and this was going to be his inaugural tour with the band.

My brother still required full-time attention due to his accident, and although she was apologetic, she let it be known that there was no wiggle room: she wasn’t taking me to the show. People were always coming in and out of my house during this period. My brother nearly lost his life, so it was commonplace to have clergy, pastors, and ministers come and pray over him. The community rallied behind my family in our time of need.

The show was the following day, and I had to use my resources to get to Chicago. A priest happened to be over at my house, and I heard him mention that he had driven in from Indianapolis that day. I asked him in passing if he had to drive back through Terre Haute to get home. He said yes. After leaving, he was headed in that direction.

I pulled my mom aside and said, “Hey, if I can get this pastor to drive me to the Terre Haute airport, I bet Aunt Cindy would let me use a United buddy pass and pick me up and take me to the show tomorrow. It’s only an hour flight.”

”Christopher, I really don’t have the time or headspace for this right now.”

”Can you at least ask Cindy if she is willing to pick me up? I think he will take me if I ask. He’s not expecting a fourteen-year-old to bum a ride off of him. I doubt he can say no.”

”Christopher!” my mom irked.

”Mom!” I pleaded.

I hoped that if Aunt Cindy wasn’t working, she would agree to pick me up and drop me off at the show, so I started working on the evangelist.

“Hi, Sir, umm, Father. When I asked earlier about Terre Haute, I was wondering if you had some extra time for a drop-off at the airport.”

“Hm, I should be able to do that,” he said. “It’s not far off the I-70, I’ll be going that way. Does someone in your family have a flight today?”

With the priest’s confirmation, I was now able to parlay that into more ammunition to convince my mom to call Cindy.

“Just call her to see if she’s working today. If she’s working, never mind, I won’t go, and I’ll shut up. If she’s off, ask her about a buddy pass out of Terre Haute. If she says no, I’ll drop it.”

“Christopher!” my mom said, “Why do you do this to me?”

“Please, Mom. Just ask if she’s off today.”

”Fine. I’ll call her, but no promises.”

My mom huffed, let out her classic primeval sigh, then marched to the kitchen, picked up the handheld phone receiver, and ducked into the utility room.

Ten minutes later, looking deflated and defeated, my mom moped back into the living room, where I, the priest, and my brother were, and said, “She’s off tonight.”

“She’s off? Really? Did you ask her about the buddy pass?”

“The next flight is in two and a half hours,” And then she looked at the priest and said, “You really don’t have to take him. Don’t go out of your way.”

“No, I don’t mind at all. I’m happy to help. You all have so much going on right now, it would be my pleasure to serve. But if the flight is in less than three hours, we should get going soon.”

I ran to my room and began packing my bag; however, I had one other obstacle to deal with before my trip: my girlfriend, Amber. She was two and a half years my senior, and there was no way she was going to let me fly to Chicago to see a show without giving me guff. There will likely be a screaming affair, followed by weeks of the silent treatment. Amber was a cheerleader at the local junior college and, at times, would pick me up and drive me to basketball games to watch her cheer. I would sit with all the other cheerleader boyfriends, most of them were in their early to mid-20s. At the time, I did not find it strange that a college-aged girl was dating a high school sophomore, but looking back, I assume everyone around us did.

I called Amber, “Hey babe, what’s up?”

“Hi baby, what are you doing?” Amber replied.

“So, my mom canceled on the show tonight — she’s refusing to drive me to Chicago. She’s being a real bitch.”

“You’ve been really looking forward to that show to see Logan or whatever his name is.”

“I know. I’ve had tickets for five months. But I have some good news: my aunt Cindy is going to get me one of her buddy passes, and I’m going to fly to the show. Isn’t that exciting?”

“You’re not flying alone. Your mom won’t let you. I guess you’ll just have to go to Elana’s with me tonight.”

“No, she’s actually going to let me. I just talked her into it. I think she wants me out of her hair. Out of the house for a few days.”

“No, you’re not flying alone. And you’re not going to the show alone. You’re going to Elana’s. I’ll pick you up later after work.”

“But, babe, the plans have already been made. Cindy already put my name down. Remember, she has unlimited passes with United. I’m already on the list.”

“You’re not going to the show, I’ll see you later after work.”

I knew this would happen, and I was prepared to deal with the consequences.

“Ready when you are!” I announced to the priest.

The drive to the airport from my hometown was about an hour and ten minutes. During the drive, he would ask me questions about how I was dealing with my brother’s accident, if I was angry or had any pent-up rage I needed to let out. He did try a bit of proselytizing, but respectfully. I felt no pressure and was quite comfortable sitting in the car next to him. It was likely due to the serotonin boost from not only knowing I was going to the show, but also from figuring out the logistics on a whim. To this day, I am still moderately good at organizing, especially in a pinch.

At one point, it hit me that I had a lingering question, and the priest was the guy to ask.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course, son. Ask away.”

“Why is it that in every photo or painting of Jesus, he is portrayed as a white man? When clearly, he had a darker complexion and darker features like others from the Canaan region.”

The priest remained quiet for a moment, looking ahead as he drove.

“That’s a good question, son. I assume that he is portrayed that way because people want to see themselves in his image. They want to see someone who looks like them, and that gives them comfort.”

I found that to be a fair explanation at the time.

We made our way to the airport, and he pulled up to the curb and let me out.

“Thank you so much for the ride, I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome, son,” he said. “Anything to help your parents during this time of strife.”

As I deboarded the plane, there was Cindy at the front gate with her United Airlines employee badge around her neck, waiting for me.

“Are those the clothes you decided to wear while flying on a buddy pass?” she asked. “You know you represent United when you fly on a buddy pass.”

“These are my best jeans, Aunt Cin!” We laughed.

While driving, I realized that we hadn’t discussed the details of the show. I sort of assumed that Cindy would drop me off and I would attend on my own, but I had an extra ticket.

“Hey Cin, do you want to go to the show with me? I have two tickets.”

“I planned on it, your mom didn’t want you going alone.”

“The band is Soulfly, the singer is from Brazil — he used to be in Sepultura. What’s crazy is that he only uses four strings on his guitar; he leaves the high strings off, so the sound is super heavy. They also use didgeridoos in their music.”

Cindy chuckled, slapped the steering wheel, and sarcastically said, “Sounds up my alley!”

We made it to the show, and I squeezed my way to the front row, stage right, to be directly in front of Logan. Cindy stayed about 25 feet back, just off the pit area, so she could keep an eye on me.

I don’t remember much about the show, but I do recall Logan’s nu-metal jump-kicks and him being shirtless the moment he walked out on stage. I had to look up who the opening band was, (hed) PE, which is a band you should get into if you love conspiracy theories, aliens, and if you believed that the world was going to end in 2012.

I slept on the couch and was woken up the next morning by my cousin Sabrina.

“Wake up,” she hit me with a pillow. “Ummm. Do you want to go into the city and go to this stupid t-shirt store called The Alley? I bet they have posters and stickers of the bands you like. They have all the dumb stuff you’re into.”

We drove into the city in her piece of shit, red, two-door car, and for whatever reason, I wasn’t in a good mood. The company of my bully cousin wasn’t helping. She easily picked up how I was feeling and started razzing me, “Ahh, does the poor country boy miss home? Do you not feel comfortable around diversity? Other people? Does he miss his girlfriend? Do you want me to give you a quarter so you can call her and tell her how much you miss her?”

I took Sabrina up on her offer and decided to give Amber a call from a payphone outside of The Alley. Perhaps it was the anxiety of her disapproval of the trip that was making me feel off and causing my altered mood.

The phone rang, and Amber’s sister, Gigi, answered. “Can I talk to Amber?”

“Hi Chris, she doesn’t want to talk to you.”

Click.

What a waste of Sabrina’s quarter.

That evening, back at my Aunt Cindy’s place, I was bored after playing Nintendo 64 with my cousin Jon, Sabrina’s younger brother. I was still feeling down, but my flight back was the next morning, so I felt relieved that the trip was nearly over.

I then remembered Shelly.

“Hey Sabrina, does Shelly still live upstairs?”

“Oh, yeah, that’s right, you made out with Shelly last time you were here.”

“No, I didn’t,” I said. “We only talked about music, and she gave me a Cardigans CD.”

“Yeah, she still lives up there with her dad. I see her getting the mail and sometimes in the hallway. She skips school like every day. She missed months, I think. Do you want to go say hi? Will that make you feel better? Will seeing Shelly make the bawl-baby feel better?”

Sabrina had been picking on me my entire life, and I was so used to the insults that I didn’t even care or notice at this point.

“Well, if she’s home, I could go say hi.”

“I’m not taking you up there this time. You have to knock by yourself. Her dad is a fucking bald creep anyway.”

I waited about an hour, pacing around my aunt’s house. I felt bad because I’d never listened to the Cardigans’ CD and was rehearsing excuses for not giving it a spin.

Finally, I mustered the courage to go upstairs and see if she was home.

“Sabrina, I’m going to go say hi to Shelly.”

“OK, but you can’t bring her back here to make out with her.”

“Shut up! I’m not going to make out with her. I just want to catch up, it’s been over a year since I last saw her.”

I took the stairs and made my way to her door. I just stared at her apartment number for a minute, but couldn’t physically reach up and knock on it. I was trembling, similarly to when your lip quivers uncontrollably when you’re anxious. I realized the door had a peephole and imagined how stupid I looked, just standing there.

I knocked.

Moments later, I heard footsteps come towards the door.

My hands were sweaty.

The door opened, and there was Shelly. Her hair was all blonde, no color, and she was wearing an oversized sweater and regular-fitting jeans.

“Chris! It’s Chris! What are you doing here? What the hell are you doing here?”

“I’m in town for the Soulfly show. I went last night, I’m at my aunt’s, and I thought I would come say hi.”

“Soulfly?” Shelly asked. “God, they suck. How long are you in town for?”

“I got in last night, but I am leaving tomorrow. I flew here. Terre Haute has a direct flight to O’Hare now.”

“So hey, my dad is home, so we can’t hang out here. I can’t have boys over anymore. Also, my friend Lisa is here.”

“No worries, I just wanted to say hi, see what you were up to.” I backed away, gazing at the carpet.

“Chris, shut the fuck up — we are going to hang. Let me grab Lisa, and we can go to the laundry room.”

I waited in the hallway, about fifteen feet from Shelly’s front door, as she went to retrieve Lisa. All the blood in my body rushed to my lower extremities. I felt like vomiting, but the good kind of vomiting.

The door swung open again, and a short, plump girl with a brown bob haircut walked out.

“Hey, you’re Chris?”

“Yeah, and you’re Lisa?”

“Shelly will be right out. She has to talk to her dad, he’s a dick. She can barely have company over anymore.”

We found ourselves in the laundry room this time, 18 months older, our tastes having matured, and now with the accompaniment of Lisa. Shelly was more into Screaming Trees and other 90s alt-rock, while I had been exploring nu-metal. I’m ashamed.

”Hey, I’m sorry, but I never really got around to listening to that Cardigans’ CD you gave me last time.”

”I gave you a CD?”

”Cardigans,” I said. “First Band on the Moon.”

”Oh god Chris, I don’t even remember.”

The three of us talked about music and how much we hated school, and Shelly mentioned that she had spent a few months in Effingham, only about 45 minutes from my hometown.

“That’s so close to me. What were you doing there?”

Shelly said, “I was staying with family, figuring some shit out.”

“I wish I had known! There is a music store in Effingham that I go to sometimes — House of Guitars.”

“I went to that spot once while I was there! They had this sick neon Strat that I plugged in and played for a minute. I think it was a knock-off, though. It wasn’t Fender.”

Lisa seemed annoyed, either at my presence or at her inability to contribute to the Effingham conversation.

The three of us continued to talk about music and the goings-on of teenhood, taking turns sitting on top of dryers and the floor, trying to avoid laundry patrons who needed their clothes washed.

It became late, and I wondered if my Aunt Cindy was worried about me. I assumed that if so, Sabrina would come looking — it wouldn’t be difficult to find us.

Shelly asked, “Does anyone know what time it is?”

“I bet it’s after 11,” Lisa replied.

“Hey, do you want to go back to my place? I bet my dad is asleep by now. I’ll go in first, check his door, and let you in. We have to be really fucking quiet.”

I was apprehensive about the idea, but I agreed. I think Lisa assumed she’d be staying the night anyway, so there was no need for her to provide approval.

We made our way back up to Shelly’s floor, and I was asked to stay in the hallway once again until the coast was clear.

Shelly and Lisa went inside, and three minutes later, the door creaked back
open, and Shelly beckoned me inside while holding up her index finger to her lips, instructing me to keep quiet. I nodded, letting her know I understood.

All the lights were out in the apartment, and Shelly grabbed my hand to guide me to her bedroom. Her touch felt nice and made my heart thump. We walked past a room I assumed was her dad’s, and I held my breath. Being a lifelong asthmatic, I’ve been known to breathe loudly, and I wasn’t going to blow my cover.

Lisa was already sitting near the headboard of Shelly’s bed with only a lamp on once we got to the room. Shelly closed the door gently behind us, turning the knob so that the latch bolt quietly rolled into the strike plate.

Shelly’s room was a disaster — there was shit everywhere. Clothes, CDs, books, trinkets, all piled up in every square centimeter of the room. Mostly clothes, though. Growing up, my room was relatively messy, but I remember thinking, “How does she live like this?”

The room had no chairs. There might have been a beanbag hiding under all
the clutter somewhere, though. There was a mound of clothes near the center of the bed that Shelly had to pick up and shove to the floor to make room for the two of
us to sit.

“We have to be quiet, but my dad knows I listen to music sometimes at night,” Shelly said as she picked up a random CD off the floor and put it in her Discman, which was plugged into a stereo via an auxiliary cable.

The music was loud enough that we could talk lightly, although the mood had shifted and no one was really saying much. I noticed Lisa wasn’t speaking at all, and Shelly was acting anxious and fidgety, which I attributed to us sneaking into her house without her dad’s approval.

Shelly then gave a performative fake yawn and asked, “Is anyone else tired?”

“I’m good, I don’t feel tired at all,” I said.

Lisa didn’t respond

“Lisa, can you turn the lamp off?” Shelly asked.

Lisa reached over and yanked the pull chain. The room became pitch dark. No one said anything.

I then felt Shelly standing over me, and she sort of shoved my chest back on the bed while my feet were still on the floor, and crawled on top of me. She didn’t try to kiss me, but she had her hand under my neck and was rubbing and lightly scratching the back of my head. We were ear-to-ear, her forehead on the bed, mine pointed at the ceiling.

I did not reciprocate the affection and lay silent and motionless, but I was aroused.

Shelly then sat up, keeping her knees stationed next to my thighs, and I assumed the interaction was over.

I felt her hand go to my midsection and fumble with my belt. It took her a few tries, but she got it unlatched. My jeans were then unbuttoned and unzipped, and we both remained silent. My arms sprawled to my sides.

Shelly then pulled my penis over my underwear and tried guiding me inside of her. It took a few tries, but she got it in. I honestly don’t know how this was possible, because she still seemed fully clothed. I could feel the bottoms of her jeans with my lifeless hands.

Lisa sat quietly, only two feet away on the same bed. I recall wondering what hell she was thinking in that moment. If I reached, I could touch her.

Shelly gave me a few pumps up and down, but it felt weird and unfamiliar. It
might have been because she still had all her clothes on. I always had the pleasure
of Amber being nude, or nearly nude, during our relations.

She then leaned forward and put her lips to my ear while groaning. She whispered, “Do not cum inside of me.”

Which is what happened immediately upon her request. I couldn’t help it.

I pushed her off me, not afraid to make a loud sound or wake her dad at this
point.

“Oh my god, Shelly, I have a girlfriend back home. I can’t be doing this,” as I
put myself away and buckled my belt back up.

I hopped to her door, dodging piles of debris all over the room, and Shelly
said, “Chris, wait, hold on, I’ll walk you out!”

We made our way through the dark apartment once again, this time not tiptoeing to her front door.

I apologized. For what, I’m not sure.

She then kissed me on the lips, just a peck, which was the first time she had
done so, and said, “It’s OK. You’re a good kid.”

On my way back to my aunt’s place, I had a moment of clarity: that was a setup. Shelly had primed Lisa for what was about to occur while I waited in the hallway before Shelly let me inside. I experienced high and shame at the same time.

Morning came, and I was ready to go home.

Sabrina immediately came prodding, “What happened last night? Did you and Shelly make out?”

“Please just shut up.”

“Well, what happened, then?”

“She told me about how she was in Effingham.”

“Yeah,” Sabrina said, “She went down there to stay with her family after she had an abortion.”

“What? What are you talking about? You’re lying. Don’t lie.”

“No, that’s why she missed so much school, I told you she skipped school a lot.”

“But why didn’t you tell me about the abortion?” I asked.

“What do you care? You’re too big of a bawl-baby to even kiss her.”