Archives: April 23-April 29, 2006
April 23, 2006
Veronica giggles, hugging my arm. “It's not that small.” She moves her hand over my upper arm. “Flex for me again.”
I oblige, shifting amidst the sheets of Veronica's bed, curling my forearm upward, and flexing my bicep. We've come together beneath the beige of the sheets, the sun shining through a little bit. “I'm just saying I could be in a lot better shape if I got myself to the gym every now and again.”
“And I'm just saying I've been with smaller guys.”
“You been with a lot of guys?”
Veronica turns her face downward, pressing the top of her head to my chest. “That's a loaded question.”
I hadn't expected to wake up with Veronica this morning. With Emma, Dave and Mike there, I was just hoping to get a second alone with her.
I got more than a second.
Pepper, Mike's girlfriend wasn't happy to be at the party, glum at the start, and pissed off after a few beers. Mike went to play beer pong with Perry, and she freaked out, yelling at him for how he was squandering their time together, and how she didn't come all the way to Butterton just to watch him play basketball then watch him play beer pong. Mike yelled back that it was a party and she should loosen up. It's hard to tell if he meant to yell, or if he was just making himself heard over the music. In any case, Pepper didn't take it well, storming off. Mike didn't try to stop her, turning to his game. Emma said she was going to check up on Pepper. She disappeared, and with Dave out for a smoke, I had my chance to disappear myself.
We weren't too discreet. Veronica and I made our way to the dirty little kitchen of the place. Veronica propped herself up on a counter then pulled me in, kissing wildly. Some people saw us—who knows who.
We snuck out of the door, actually passing Emma and Pepper on the way. Pepper was crying and Emma had a hand on her back. I put my own hand on Veronica's back as we slipped out the door and headed off to her place to continue what we had started. Emma called my cell phone and I fed her the excuse we had concocted along the walk from the party. I told her Veronica was feeling sick, so I had walked her home, and felt like I should hang around for a while, to make sure she was all right. Emma sounded a little disappointed but didn't question a thing.
“You don't have to answer,” I say, rubbing her bare arm.
Veronica looks up, smiles and kisses my cheek. “You know, you looked good on the court yesterday.”
“Yeah, I'm sure Dave and I looked great next to four guys from the varsity team.”
“Well, not so much in that game, but generally speaking.”
I kiss her nose, and she wrinkles it. “I never thought we'd win that game.”
“Then why'd you play?” Veronica shifts, folding her arm under her head.
“Mike asked us to,” I say. “And I thought it would be fun.”
“See I just don't get that. When I'm competing, it's just like, I have to win.”
“Is that what the deal was with the a cappella competition.”
“That's exactly how it is with the competition.”
“Even though you said before it that you were going to lose?”
She moves a little, turning her eyes to my chest. “Logically speaking, I knew it. But when I get up on stage—it's like all of a sudden, I can see all the angles. I can see a way we can win, if we can just the right chord with the judges, if we can nail every solo—I see how we can pull it off. But then the other girls don't.”
“But that's part of being on a team, right? You can't do it on your own.”
She puts a hand on my chest, working her fingers through the field of little hairs. “I've never been able to accept that. I probably should, but when push comes to shove, I always just want to win.”
I meet her hand with mine, my palm over hers, interlocking fingers. “Well to me, it looks like you're doing fine.”April 24, 2006
“So what will you bring to the campus rape center that's different from what people have seen there before?” I ask, crossing my legs. The plastic coating on the chair squeals with every shift, and I wonder if this is a problem Shelly Grifter's clients run into.
Grifter is the new director of the rape center—a new position, put in place to oversee the counselors at the center, and make the place more accessible to women interested in its resources. “Well we're hoping people won't notice the difference, because we don't like return customers,” she says, with a smile, peering at me with wide eyes from under her big blond bangs. She chuckles and I smile politely. “But seriously, I think people will find things a little more orderly here. There's a better defined check-in process and visitors now have more of an opportunity to provide feedback with the anonymous surveys we're placing at the front desk.”
And so, we go on talking about the changes at the center. It's clear enough that Grifter's employment is a response to the Amber Mitchell situation—as though better services at the center could have prevented the situation, and a $5,000 bribe had nothing to do with it. Nonetheless, the college had to have some response.
“The other piece of this is that we're not looking at rape as exclusively a woman's issue,” Grifter says.
“Of course. I'm curious, though, how many men are willing to come forward as victims—”
“I'm not just talking about men as victims,” she cuts me off. “I'm talking about men who are not directly connected to a rape working as advocates to break down the culture conducive to rape. We're trying to make it clear that while women are most often the victims, that does not mean that this is not a men's issue.”
My pen flies, snagging the first relevant quotes of the afternoon. “Can you tell me more about the philosophy behind that?”
“It's something that's been brewing for a while,” she says and removes a pamphlet from her desk which she hands to me. “There are organizations at a number of colleges looking to spread awareness about this topic, and next semester we're working with some students start a new organization under the Student Association.”
And so the story comes full circle.April 25, 2006
Veronica and I meet at the Dead Poet's Café on Main Street for dinner. Leaving the office and all along the walk to Main Street, I find excuses racing through my mind—justifications about why I'm walking this way, or the names of imaginary dining partners I could be meeting. No one stops me, and I never do have to answer any questions.
“So what's with you just getting the soup?” I ask as we start our meal in a back corner of the café. “Not hungry?”
“Na, I just don't like to eat a big dinner. I put on so much weight last semester.” If Veronica has any sort of weight problem its not visible on her thin frame. She changes the subject, “What are the headlines this week?”
“Follow up interview with the new SA president. I did an interview with the new director of the rape center. Pretty slow week beyond that.”
“I was thinking today about how it's gotta be hard putting out a weekly paper in a place like this. Hard to believe enough happens in to justify a paper every week.” She sips soup from spoon, and looks up, her eyes meeting mine for a second. “At least the kind of stuff that people talk about.”
I smile. “So you were thinking about me, huh?”
*
“Well, I think I'm about done for tonight,” I say, stretching my arms. I'm seated on Emma's bed, her head on my lap.
“Already? It's only 12.”
I only got here from the office about an hour and a half ago, and do have more work I should get done. I hate to admit it, but hanging out with Veronica sort of ruins my taste for Emma. It's like contrasting a brand new movie with something you've seen a thousand times. I'm comfortable with Emma and I know her. But there's a certain electricity in every conversation and every touch I share with Veronica.
“Yeah, I know,” I say. “But I'm just feeling beat.”
“Well, you know you could stay. We could go to bed.”
“What about your roommate?”
“She said she was going to be in the library all night. And she's probably going to bed the second she comes in, anyway, and you can head out in the morning.”
I kiss Emma's cheek. “Thanks for the offer, babe, but I'm gonna hit the road.” I stand, putting my books in my bag. “I'll see you tomorrow, all right?”
Emma crawls to the edge of the bed to kiss me on the lips. “I love you.”
“You too. Have a good night, Emma.”April 26, 2006
It's going to be a long night. I head back to the newspaper office, already exhausted after a long and tedious rehearsal session for our staged play reading for British Lit. It was frustrating just given the different experience and interest levels. There are actors, and there are the people just looking to get through the semester with a passing grade. I suppose I fall somewhere in between, and it's an annoying place to be.
It's a pleasant surprise to step inside the Window office and find Veronica waiting for me. She's sitting on a corner of my desk, leafing through an old back issue of the paper, wearing her denim skirt and little maroon spaghetti strap top. She's pretty smoking.
“Hey,” I begin.
She looks up, her lips curling into a smile. “Hey.”
“What are you doing here?” I cast a sideward glance to Sam, sitting at his computer, and Melanie, from ads, sitting at hers. They both look way too intent on their work to actually be working. I know they're watching and listening.
“I was just passing through, the Student Center and I figured you'd be here. Thought I'd say hi.”
“Glad you did. So, hi.”
“Hey Preston ,” I turn to find Emma behind me.
“Hey,” I say taking a step further into the office.
“Hey Veronica,” Emma says. “What are you doing here?”
Veronica giggles and I laugh, maybe a little too loud. “I was just saying hi,” Veronica says. “But I'm actually on my way to class. I'll see you guys later, all right?”
“I'll see ya,” I say as casually as I can.
“Actually, I'll walk with you,” Emma says, “I'm just on my way to class too.” She steps over and gives me a quick peck on the cheek. “See you later, okay?”
“Yeah.” My eyes bounce between the two of them. “I'll see you two later.”
They leave and I set my bag down at my desk. Turning, I spot Sam giving me a look. “What?” I ask.
“Nothing,” Sam chuckles, turning back to his computer. “Nothing at all.”April 27, 2006
“All right, altos and tenors only, let's take it from measure six,” Veronica says. She counts off and strikes a chord on the piano at the front of the classroom as she plays along with the girls. It's an old Off Beats song that she's having the girls revive for the their final concert of the year, coming up in a few weeks.
It's strange sitting in on a rehearsal now. There's a little familiarity, it being my second time here. But then there's also the way I see Veronica. I watch her mouth and want to kiss her. I hear her sing and want to feel her breath on me.
Emma is right here in the room—oblivious to any subtext. To Veronica's credit, she's not doing anything to create or perpetuate any suspicion, saying hi to me as I came in, but not doing a thing to acknowledge my presence since. Meanwhile, Emma has cast the occasional glance my way.
I'm tired, coming off of another late night working on The Window . I think I could fall asleep right there, listening to the girls sing.
And then I think about tomorrow. Emma's going to the movies with her roommate, seeing some new flic based on a book they both read. Meanwhile, Dave is going to New York City for a protest against The World Bank. Veronica will be joining me at my place to watch our own selection of movies, and maybe more. I'm looking forward to waking up at home, in my room, and finding Veronica there with me.April 28, 2006
Emma invited me to go to the movies with her and her friends tonight. I didn't tell her how laughable the idea was to me—how I had spent the past few days looking forward to this night because I knew she would be occupied at the movies. Instead, I just told her that I had plans for a guys night out, and that she shouldn't wait up for me to call.
Veronica comes over around 9:30 —to be safe, waiting until a half hour after Emma left for the movie. I pop in a DVD and we cozy up on my bed, her a in a t-shirt and plaid pajama pants, me in a wife beater and gym shorts. I hold her in my arms and it's nice—not just going at it, but being intimate together.
Of course, the intimacy evolves. First I start smelling her hair, then I'm rubbing her shoulders in my palms. She turns and kisses me on the cheek. I kiss her neck. Then I lean in, and really kiss her neck. She turns all the way around, so she's on top of me, kissing me harder.
We roll and fall out of bed, laughing at our selves for a moment. Veronica's still on top, and kisses my nose before rolling off of me, giggling. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I say, though back is a little sore. “I like it rough.” I laugh and it's a second before I realize she isn't laughing.
I see that Veronica is looking out my window, where the shades are only half shut. I follow her gaze, and it takes a second to see past the reflection of the room in the glass. But then I see her.
Emma is standing outside, watching us.
It happens in a flash. Veronica gathers her things, throws on her hoodie and sneakers and is ready to go as I'm still sitting there on the floor, my eyes locked with Emma's. I've never seen her look so hurt.
I follow Veronica out of the building, still barefoot and in my sleeping clothes. Veronica stops and she and Emma look at one another for a moment. Then Veronica looks away and hurries off, leaving only me for Emma to look at.
Her eyes are glassy, her bottom lip trembling. I'm cold and the pavement digs into my feet as I walk toward her and put a hand on her arm. “Emma—”
“I knew it.” She turns around and starts to walk away, but I hold fast to her arm. She turns back to me. “Let me go.”
“Emma, come inside.”
“Let me go.”
My arm drops to my side, and Emma turns to walk away again. She's not only walking away from me, but in the opposite direction from her own dorm. “Emma, where are you going?”
She turns again, and this time there's no mistaking the fury on her face. “ Preston , fuck off and leave me alone.”
And she's gone.April 29, 2006
I wait until 11 in the morning to go to Emma's room. I wouldn't expect for her to be up much before noon on a Saturday, so I'm hoping to catch her just a little out of it, and a little off guard. I figure that's my best shot at having her hear me out.
When I knock on Emma's door, all I get is her roommate, hair a mess, still in her pajamas. “She didn't come home last night.”
I lean over her, peering to Emma's side of the room. “ Preston , I said she's not here,” she says, a little more firm. By all evidence, it looks like she's telling the truth. The bed is perfectly made and I don't see any other indication Emma has been back.
“Sorry,” I mumble. “Listen, if you see her, could you tell her I'm looking for her?”
“I don't think she's looking for you.”
I look her in the eye for the first time. We ordinarily get along well enough, and in this instant, I know that she heard about last night. “I thought you said Emma didn't come home last night?”
“She called me from a friend's place, so I wouldn't be worried if she wasn't back for a while—or if you came looking for her.”
I'm at a loss. “Fine. Just—please, tell her I came by.”
“Whatever,” she says and closes the door.
A part of me wants to bang on the door until she opens the door again, then set up camp there, to be sure I can catch Emma. There's no point in forcing that issue, though, so I begin to search.
*
It's not until the evening that I find Emma. The sun's setting behind me and after a day of checking in on mutual friends and the spots where she goes to study, I at last spy her through the window of her second floor dorm room. She's standing over her bed, folding a t-shirt.
I knock again, and this time Emma answers. “Hey,” I begin.
“What do you want?”
“I want to talk—about what you saw last night.”
“I don't think I want to talk about that.”
“Emma, we need to.”
“I don't think I want to talk to you.” Despite what she says, Emma turns from me, and leaves the door open. She stoops to her laundry basket, on the ground by her bed, and begins to fold another shirt. I follow in after her.
“I can't tell you how sorry I am. I don't even know why this happened—or how it happened.”
“How long was it going on?”
I could lie. Emma didn't know anything until last night, and I could say that was the only time. But in this instant, I just want to tell her the truth. “A couple weeks. Not constantly—but the first time was the costume party.”
“Did you sleep with her?” Emma asks, not looking at me.
“No—I mean, we did, literally sleep together. But we didn't have sex.”
She sniffs. “It's just because, I thought maybe that was part of it. Because I wouldn't—” she trails off, sniffing again, as she tosses another shirt on the bed, folded less neatly than the others.
“It wasn't like that. I don't know what it was,” I close the door and walk toward her. “It's just this stupid thing I got caught up in.” I take her in my arms, hugging her from behind. She lets me for a second, then begins to struggle.
“No, let me go.” I don't think I've ever heard her sound so hurt before. I try to hold on at first, but then drop my arms to my sides as she pushes them away. “You can't do that now.”
“Emma, look at me. Please, look at me.”
She turns and sits beside the pile of clothes on her bed, eyes in line with my stomach.
“Emma, I don't know why I did what I did. But it was stupid, and I can see that now.” As I'm speaking, I realize what so much of it was. I see that I've been taking her for granted. Looking at her bed, I know that the shirts she was folding go in the dresser drawer second from the top, and that she keeps her jeans in the drawer under that. I look around and see artifacts of our history—the book from our English class last semester, the journal I gave her for Christmas, the ticket stub from The Directionals concert, taped to her computer monitor.
Beyond our history, I see her teddy bear at the end of her bed and photographs of her friends from back home. I know the roots of everything now. In a span of months, I learned it all, and carved my own niche within the stories. With our relationship so established, I stopped thinking about maintaining it, and I let my mind wander. Standing here now, I can see that I don't want to lose her.
These thoughts rush through my mind, but I can't think of how to say them—how to show her the depth of what I'm thinking. “I don't want to lose you.” Cautiously, I sit next to her. There's no struggle this time, and she lets me take her hand.
“Then you're saying this will never happen again?”
“I am.” Even as I say it, my mind shifts to Veronica, and something stabs at me. For Emma's sake, I want it to be true. But when I think of saying goodbye to Veronica, it hurts me to think of what could have been, and what I'm giving up—where that road might have led.
Emma can read that hesitation in my face, her eyes on me when I look at her again. “I don't think it is. I think you want to be with Veronica.”
“I've been infatuated with her,” I try to explain. “I won't deny that. But I'm in love with you. I don't even know her—”
“And maybe you need to,” she cuts me off, looking down again, and giving my hand a little squeeze. “I love you, Preston .”
“I love you too—”
“That's not the point. The point is that you're infatuated with her .”
“But I just said—”
“Tell me you can walk away from Veronica right now, and never look back.” She looks at me through glassy eyes. “Tell me that, and we can try to make this work. But don't you even think about lying to me. Not again.”
*
I don't walk directly home. Instead, I wander around campus for a bit, aimless. Emma was right, of course. She can't trust me now. And the one noble thing I've done in all of this was to not lie to her again—to admit that she and I were best off if we weren't together.
But still, it lingers in my mind—haunting—one of the last things Emma said as I left her room. “I thought about marrying you. I know it was stupid for me to think that far ahead. I know it was childish. But I thought about us staying together, and having a family someday.”
I would be lying if I said the thought never crossed my mind. But it was foolish—naïve. I'm only 18 years old, and she's just a few months older. We've only known each other since August. What the hell do we know?
I held her again, one last time, as she cried. I didn't know when to let her go, but eventually, she was moving away from me. This time, I didn't try to hold on.