Hole Punching
by Katya Apekina

Jonah cracked the hole puncher through a stack of old bank statements still in their envelopes. He had not yet changed out of his bathrobe, and for the last hour and a half he monopolized his mother's kitchen table, hole punching indiscriminately as she clucked around him. He punched through stacks of old newsletters from Temple Emmanuel, some cheap paperbacks about dieting he'd found in the basement, and his freshman yearbook, towards which, as a junior, he felt little sentimental attachment.
He'd alternate between hole punching thick stacks and single sheets, cardboard and tracing paper, listening to the different sounds the blades made. The simple cause and effect relationship in his movements was intensely satisfying. It calmed him and let him think clearly about Suzanne Johnson. He thought about the shapeliness of her ass when she had bent down to finger a run in her stockings and about whether she would still be there when he went to work.

He'd met her the day before, while manning the front desk at the Four Winds, the only respectable motel on that stretch of Route 46. His mother had gotten him the job after meeting the motel manager at a salsa dancing class. As far as menial jobs went it was fine, and most importantly, temporary. He got to meet people from outside of Warren, PA, not that he'd met very many people this way. He'd had grand visions of voyeurism before starting the job, but it was harder than he thought, and he had discovered that it made him uncomfortable.

Jonah moved his palm across the table surface and gathered the paper dots into a pile. He stared at the Formica tabletop and remembered Mr. Johnson in white tennis shorts and a mustache the color of dead leaves, signing the guest register, and Suzanne standing next to him, playing with the snow globe. She was humming a song that sounded like it was out of an old movie. Through the window, Jonah could see a dog sitting in the front seat of their car. The policy on pets at the motel was very clear, but Jonah had let it slide.

Jonah pressed his thumb into one of the dots and watched it stick there. Mr. Johnson hadn't said anything to him, just nodded and looked out the window while Suzanne talked and talked about the skiing conditions in the Poconos. She had winked at Jonah the way older people wink at each other when they think they are acting young, and Mr. Johnson had held the door open for her, but didn't look at her or touch her.
Jonah's mother sat down across the table from him. She was stirring her tea loudly, the spoon clanking against the sides of the mug. He did not look up, and her spoon got louder and louder until the tea began to splash out of the cup. She put it down by the growing mountain of white dots.

"Jonah," she said. "Tell me what's wrong?"

Jonah watched the puddle around the base of the mug make its way towards the dots.

"Is it about your father?"

He bit his lip but didn't move.

"You didn't use to be this way. You always told me everything." His mother was leaning forward, her face aimed at him, her large breasts resting on her knees. She looked pained as though she had gotten sand in her mouth. Jonah swallowed and looked away.

"Get ready for work then if you don't want to talk to me." His mother got up slowly, gripping the table for support. Jonah changed into his uniform, the pockets of his trousers bulging with paper dots.

The Johnsons' car, a white Volvo with skis tied to the rack, was gone. Jonah immediately began leafing through the checkout binder, but Room 13 was still listed as occupied. Then he unzipped his jacket and took off his gloves and brewed a pot of coffee. It was too weak, so he drank it all himself and then proceeded to arrange and rearrange the various stacks of maps and business cards on the counter.

He started filling out a crossword puzzle from a newspaper someone had left on the counter, but he kept making mistakes and crossing things out until it was impossible to read anything. The phone rang, two long beeps, an internal call. He could feel his heart beating in his temples.

"Four Winds front desk. How can I help you?" It was just the manager.

The only time people stayed at the Four Winds for more than a night was if they'd been snowed in. The check out time had come and gone while Jonah was running errands for his boss, so it was unlikely that the Johnsons would still be there. He squinted at the curtains of room 13 as he pulled into his parking space. Maybe he could get their address from the guest book and send a postcard, though it was unclear what he would say. Maybe they would invite him to visit New York City. He let go of the cold steering wheel for a moment and reached across the seat for the ink cartridge he'd bought for the office fax machine. The car made a strange noise, and bumped to a halt. It took Jonah a moment to realize that the whining sound persisted after he'd turned off the ignition.

The dog Jonah had seen earlier sitting in the Johnsons' Volvo was pinned under his car. Jonah had nearly stepped on its head when he'd gotten out. He tried to pry its back leg out from under the wheel while the dog snapped at him weakly. Its black fur was wet and matted with blood. Jonah got back in the car and eased it in reverse. The dog dragged itself forward with its front paws, leaving a red trail on the patch of dirty snow. Jonah wrapped the animal in his coat and stood there shivering over the dog as it made horrible lowing noises.

A chair lay overturned in the middle of the room and Suzanne was sitting on the bed, looking down at the shoe hanging off her big toe. Jonah set the chair upright, and moved it by the desk. He chewed on his cheek.

"He's not even my dog," she said, watching her shoe swing back and forth. "It's my sister's. He forgot their damn dog." Her hair was matted to her forehead and the front of her shirt was wet.

"Well there's a veterinary hospital a couple miles down from here. I'll take you." The dog was on the floor still wrapped in the jacket. "I'll pay for it. I'm really sorry." He wondered if the money he had been saving to go on the class trip to Greece would cover it.
She kneeled down by the dog, and put her hand tentatively on its head. "Yeah, ok." She made no move to get up.

Jonah called his mother from the room phone and asked her for directions to the animal hospital. He tried to sound neutral because he didn't want Susan to know who he was talking to.

"Do you want to try calling him?" He asked Suzanne, offering her the phone after he had hung up.

"Why would I want to call him," she said without looking up.

He put the phone down and went over to sit on the floor next to her. He was sure the manager was wondering where he went, but he didn't want to move. Their arms were touching, and they sat for a while without saying anything. The room smelled like plaster dust and a little bit like soap. They both petted the dog.

"You're a nice boy," she said, her voice thin and strange sounding, and Jonah wasn't quite sure if she was talking to him or to the dog. Then she cleared her throat and stood up. "You know, I've always hated that dog."

As they pulled out of the parking lot Jonah could see the cleaning woman leaning against her cart, watching them. He let Suzanne drive because she'd said it would help calm her nerves. She drove faster than he would have liked, fifteen miles over the speed limit. He switched on the headlights from the passenger seat. It wasn't even 4 o'clock, but the sky was overcast and beginning to darken.

She finally broke the silence. "Fuck," she whispered and closed her eyes, tears sliding out between her lids. She opened them again and switched lanes; the lights on the road reflected off her cheeks.

"Why did he leave?" Jonah asked.

She started sobbing but she managed to pull over. Jonah switched on the blinkers. She cried for a little bit with her face pressed against the steering wheel. The dog was whimpering too in the back seat. Jonah didn't know what time the hospital closed.
He reached toward Suzanne, letting his hand hover a few inches over her shaking neck then let it retreat back into his pocket. A stray paper dot stuck to his moist hand and he rolled it between his fingers into a ball. The windows began to steam up but he could see the headlights of passing cars cutting passages into the woods. He opened his door a crack to let some cold air in and the inside lights flickered and for an instant he saw himself in the reflection. He looked stupid and young and hated himself for it. He went around to the other side of the car and slid her over into the passenger seat.

She sat up straight eventually and blew her nose. They stared at each other. Her eyes were puffy, and her lips were the same color as the skin around them. She sat there very still, her eyes growing more opaque. Then with a quick movement she seized his hand and put it over her heart. His hand went dumb there-the fabric of her sweater against his palm, his fingertips touching her neck. He could feel her undergarments shifting under his hand as she breathed. It was the third pair of breasts he'd ever touched, counting his mother's. Eventually she moved his hand back to the steering wheel.

The forest that surrounded the animal hospital looked two dimensional and impenetrable. Jonah pulled the dog out of the back and slung it over his shoulder. The waiting room was empty except for an old woman dozing on the other side of the room, clutching a copy of Cat Fancy Magazine. Jonah sat with the dog in his lap. The waiting room was not that different from the one at St. Elizabeth's. Jonah had been taking his mother there with alarming frequency since his father died. Sometimes her feet would tingle, other times she had difficulty swallowing. The other day her hands had balled themselves up into fists. She couldn't relax them enough to grip the steering wheel so Paul had left work to drive her to the doctor. All the doctor ever did was prescribe sedatives that she then refused to take.

The vet finally came out, wearing what looked like a butcher's smock. "What's your name, buddy?" he asked the dog.

"Zephyr. Technically. But he'll respond to pretty much anything if you use a stupid voice," Suzanne said, putting down her magazine. The vet unwrapped the coat and carried the dog into the exam room.

The waiting room was silent for a while. Jonah looked at the posters of dog circulation and skeletal systems. If he had to guess based on the drawings, he had cracked the dog's femur.

"He turned fifty-seven last week," Suzanne said after a while as if she was answering a question.

It took Jonah a minute to realize she wasn't talking about the dog. "Mr. Johnson?"

"Paul. His name is Paul Sherman. Johnson was a fake name. Most of the names in that guest book are probably fake."

This had never occurred to him before, but it was quite possible. Jonah reached over and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She smelled the way he imagined airports smelled. Her chair squeaked as she moved around and put her head on his shoulder.

"We all thought he was too old for Kathryn. She's not even thirty. At their wedding he cut a napkin with a penknife into a portrait of me. I thought he was sweet. I knew he wasn't going to leave Kathryn though. And his daughters… Well my nieces are two little cunts. Spoiled as shit. Kathryn let them do anything they wanted because she felt guilty for never being home." Jonah thought about his mother, and what she would think of Suzanne for calling two little girls cunts. He wondered what his mother was doing now, probably sitting in her housedress playing solitaire in the kitchen, rubbing her ankles or choking down a glass of water.

"He used to make really good paper dolls," she continued into Jonah's neck. "He'd make all of us these really elaborate ones for Christmas. One day, Kathryn made a big pile of them and lit them on fire. She thought he was sleeping with one of his students."

"Was he?"

She sat up, passing her palm over her forehead. "It's possible."

The vet came out and gestured for them to come into the exam room. Suzanne hung back, leaning against the doorframe. The dog was lying on the table asleep with an IV line coming out of its hip. Jonah touched the dog's nose. It was wet. He had read somewhere that this was a good sign.

Jonah and Suzanne sat in their breath, waiting for the car to warm up. Jonah had left his coat, covered in blood and dog hair, in the exam room, and he couldn't stop shivering. Suzanne massaged his shoulders to warm him up. He drew in a deep breath and held it, closing his eyes. He thought about the way her breast had felt in his hand and felt himself growing hard. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"What should we do about the dog?" he said opening his eyes and adjusting his underwear.

"Paul and I found that dog together, actually. It had wandered onto the court when we were playing tennis. He gave it to Kathryn for her birthday." She chewed on her thumb and didn't say anything else.

"Was Paul good at tennis?" He wanted her to start talking again, to put her head back on his shoulder.

"He was OK. He was better at squash, not that he was all that good at squash. I hit him in the face with a squash ball once. I think it was by accident. He was wearing goggles but his whole eye turned blue so fast, I must have hit an artery or something. It was like a mood ring. Bam, it was blue. I started laughing so hard I couldn't stop. He was laughing too. Bam, and it was blue. Just like that." She was laughing. "Bam," she repeated. Jonah tried to picture the man's face, but could only remember the mustache.

"He told everyone he'd been beat up," she continued. "He thought it was hilarious."

Jonah was smiling too even though he didn't really see what was so funny. "You could stay at my house tonight. My mom probably wouldn't mind. You could call Kathryn. I have a phone card. Then I could take you to get the dog tomorrow."

Suzanne burst out laughing again. She made her hand into a phone and pretended to talk in it. "Hi! How's Copenhagen? I'm at a seedy motel with your dog. The dog is half dead. Your husband abandoned us here after I told him that I didn't want to have a secret affair with him any more. And now I'm seducing the fifteen year old boy who ran over your dog." She was barely able to get the last part out, she was bent over laughing so hard. She opened up her car door with one hand and stumbled out. She was leaning against the trunk, and it was unclear if she was laughing or crying.

"Jesus," she said, finally getting back into the car. She wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater.

"I'm sixteen," Jonah said, looking out at the highway; there were only trucks on it now.

"What?"

"I'm sixteen, not fifteen."

Suzanne looked like she was about to start laughing again but then she took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Right. Sorry."

Jonah switched on the radio and moved the dial around, but it was all just static, so he switched it back off.

"Could you please give me a ride to the Amtrak station now?"

"What about your dog?"

"It's not my goddamned dog," she said quietly.

"You just want to leave it here?"

"Do you want it? It's yours. Or Paul can deal with it."

Jonah scratched his nose and thought about it for a second. His dad had been allergic to dogs.

"Ok. Yeah. I'll take it."

They rode most of the way to the Youngstown station in silence.

"Hey, I got you something," Jonah said as he parked in front of the train station. Suzanne was applying lipstick in the side mirror.

"Oh, yeah?" She glanced over at him. "What's that?"

He reached into his pocket and grabbed a fistful of white dots, then tossed them up in the air. They settled in Suzanne's hair and on her lap.

"It's like a snow globe. In the car," he explained awkwardly.

She managed a smile and didn't bother to brush the stray dots off her shoulders before getting out of the car. Jonah waited outside the station for a while, to make sure that the train she needed was still running. She never came back out, so he assumed she was probably on her way back to New York City.