Samson talked loud, rode fast, and vowed to protect Girl from the world. She had been scared of so much for so long. Broad-shouldered, barrel-chested, now completely bald with a goatee—he lifted weights, loved to fix things, and laughed about how stereotypically male he was. He knew he was a caricature of a man as much as Stepmother was a caricature of a lesbian, but he just thought it was funny.
Girl and Samson Chevy spent the summer riding around on the motorcycle while he applied for loans and opened lines of credit at various banks. Girl didn’t really understand why, but she figured he was a grown-up and knew what he was doing. It probably had something to do with homeownership. He bought Girl thigh-high leather boots and a leather miniskirt. No guy had ever taken her to the mall and bought her things before.
One Sunday they went to meet some friends of his in Syracuse, about an hour away. It was cold and the bike wasn’t running right so they took Girl’s car, because Samson didn’t own one. Samson always drove when they took her car, but she didn’t mind. She’d only had her license for a year, and she didn’t feel entirely competent yet. As with so many things in life, she preferred to let someone else be in control.
The car ahead of them was driving too slowly, so Samson honked and crept up closer and closer, until their bumper was a mere six inches from the car in front. He was yelling out the window and flipping off the other driver the whole time. Girl had never seen someone act this way—as crazy as Stepmother was, there were limits to what she would do in public.
Both men pulled their cars over and a screaming fight ensued. Girl cowered in the car, the doors locked. Grown-ups do not act like this! This is my car, mine! Girl thought, her fear turning to rage and pushing tears to the edges of her eyes, where pride refused to let them fall. Samson swung his fists at the taller stranger, who jumped out of range and dashed back in his car, speeding away as fast as he could.
“The secret to street fighting is to hit first and not be afraid to be crazier than they are,” Samson said when he got back in the car. “When I was a kid, my father always said, if someone hits you, hit them back. And if they are too big for you to hit, hide behind a tree with a stick. When they walk by, hit them with the stick from behind, but walk around in front of them and make sure they knew you were the one who did it.” He rubbed his hands together as he laughed.
Girl was so enraged she couldn’t speak. How dare he? She wanted to get away from him right that minute, but they were seventy miles from home. She couldn’t just leave him at the side of the road—he’d have no way back. It would be cruel. She told herself that she’d break up with him the moment they got back home. People didn’t get into fistfights with strangers for driving too slowly—not people Girl knew. It wasn’t rational, and in Girl’s world, acting rational was more important than anything else.
They had to stop for gas, and Girl discovered that the envelope containing her pay for the week (which she had foolishly left lying on the back seat) was gone. They had had the windows open and her cash had blown out the open window, all eighty dollars of it. She was going to throw up. She hadn’t brought her ATM card, had no way to get money, and they were out of gas. She couldn’t breathe, she didn’t know what to do. Her head was filled with condemnation: she was such an idiot, she was always doing stupid things like this—she didn’t know what was wrong with her, how she could have been so dumb? She was supposed to be smart, but she was such a moron. She just didn’t think. Why wasn’t she using the air conditioning anyway? Why had she insisted on rolling down the windows, so much less convenient than just turning on the air? What was her problem? Why hadn’t she just put the envelope in her purse like a normal person?
Samson took his last twenty out of his wallet and filled up Girl’s tank.
“I’ll just have to be careful grocery shopping this week,” he said. Suddenly Girl wasn’t so mad anymore.
They moved on from the incident like it had never happened. Samson and Girl became inseparable, spending nearly every minute together outside of work and school. Although she still had her apartment with Sharon, Girl only went home to grab clothes and read the nasty notes Sharon had left and write self-righteous ones back. Sharon thought Samson was irritating and stupid; Girl thought Sharon was too needy and demanding of her time. After a year cohabitating, Sharon and Girl could no longer see what had made them best friends in the first place. Sharon would get furious with Girl for not being there for her, once hurling a chair across the living room. Girl met her passionate feelings with icy silence. Girl withdrew, refused to talk, pretended that she didn’t know why Sharon was so upset—that it was totally acceptable to vanish on her best friend now that Girl had a boyfriend. She started hanging out at Samson’s house while he was at work, watching TV with his brother until the shift change released him at midnight.
They fell in love in the dark. Every night at midnight Girl
