Archives:
December 16-December 22, 2007

December 16, 2007

“Well, thanks again for dinner,” I say, straightening my pea coat, standing in the open doorway.

“Not a problem, Mr. Burns,” Jones says, taking a sip from his glass of wine. “I'm glad you could come.”

I nod, just standing there, a touch awkward. Just past Jones, Claire sits on the steps leading upstairs, lacing up her snow boots. We're the last remaining guests, and I can only assume she doesn't want me to be left behind. And yet, I'm not sure I've seen anyone take longer getting ready to leave someplace.

I was surprised to see Claire at the house at all. I recognized just about everyone at the dinner—mostly English majors I've shared classes with in the past, people who were vocal in class, but, to Jones's credit, not the assholes who talked too much, but rather the people with genuinely insightful things to say. I suppose he invited Claire after her part in our presentation, catching a glimpse of how bright she could be. Nonetheless, throughout dinner, she hardly spoke a word, generally looking bored, drinking glass after glass of wine.

I figure it would be awkward for Claire if she was left alone with Jones, even if it's just for a minute, so I continue to wait.

She finishes with the boots at last and stands, her eyes shuffling between me and Jones. “You know what,” she says, “I should really use the bathroom before I go.” She smiles, looking to Jones, “You know—a lot of wine and all.”

“Of course,” Jones replies with a nod. “Be my guest.”

Claire sits back down and begins to unlace her boots. I can see that if I am going to wait for her, I won't be leaving anytime soon. I decide it's time to head on.

It's a chilly night. There's no snow coming down, but squalls blow from the snow banks lining each driveway, hitting me from the side. The wind is pretty frigid.

I get to the blue bomber and grasp for my keys. There's frost on every window, and I can see myself cranking the heat, and letting it warm up as I scrape the glass clean. It'll be nice to drive home warm, maybe listening to Christmas tunes on the radio.

All of these plans are delayed, though, as I continue to search for my keys. It's not long before I'm sure they're not in any of my pockets. I fear having dropped them outside—I may have to wait for the spring thaw before I could find them out here. I pray I left them inside, and hurry back, erasing old footprints in the snow as I hurry through, making new ones.

I stop when I get to Jones's door. I can see inside through a window, right next to the door. Claire and Jones are still in the living room.

Her arms are wrapped over his shoulders, and the two of them are kissing.

I back off, putting some distance between me and that window. I think of what this means. It occurs to me that Jones must be the secret boyfriend, and all at once, I can understand why it was a secret.

I'm sure seeing Claire could make a lot of problems for Jones—maybe cost him his job.

I would leave, but remember that my keys are still inside. Reluctant, I step back up to the door, this time, standing totally clear of the window. I knock hard three times. I hear movement inside.

When Jones opens the door, Claire's no where to be seen. I hear a door close, and wonder if she is headed to the bathroom now. “Hi,” I say, trying to appear nonchalant. “I think I forgot my keys.”

Jones runs a hand through his hair, already a little askew. “Well, come on in, Preston .”

December 17, 2007

When I open the door to my room, I'm strangely unsurprised to see Dave standing there. Since Saturday afternoon, I've envisioned him here each time I near home, and have sort of been avoiding the room, staying at Teri's.

Today, Dave and Cameron are fully clothed. Dave walks right toward me as I come in, hand outstretched. “ Preston , bro, how you doing?” he asks.

I shake his hand, and he holds on tight, as if to be sure that I don't run away. “Not bad,” I say. “How about you?”

“I'm good, real good,” Dave says, and glances back at Cameron. At last he loosens his grip on my hand, then lets it go altogether, and chuckles. “Look, Presto, we wanted to talk to you.”

“We're sorry if we freaked you out,” Cameron says quickly. “We didn't mean for you to walk in on us Saturday. We overslept, and then you were here, and there was nothing for us to do.”

“Look,” Dave picks up the ball, “the last thing we wanted to do was make an uncomfortable situation for you, making you walk in on us like that. I think you know we both respect you a lot—”

“I'm not mad,” I cut him off.

Dave raises his eyebrows.

“Oh—” Cameron starts.

“Look, it was really awkward to see you guys together—that's why I hurried out and all.” I crack a smile. “But it's not like I haven't walked in on both of you before—you know, in uncomfortable situations. It had might as well be both of you at once.”

Dave laughs, still holding back a little.

“So it doesn't make you made that I brought your friend home?” Cameron asks.

I shake my head. “I mean, I never thought I'd have two of my roommates together like that,” I start, pushing my palms together. I look down, and pull my hands apart, shaking my head again. “Anyway—what's going on? Are you guys, like, together-together?”

Dave looks at Cameron and each of them smiles. “I don't think we know that just yet,” he says. “But we make for good company, you know.”

I think of Dave and his black notebook full of girls' phone numbers and notes about the right chords hit with them. There's a part of me that's already afraid he's going to hurt Cameron, and I'm going to be left cleaning up after him.

Another part of me—my gut, I suppose, is just happy to see the two of them looking happy together.

“Yeah,” I nod. “I hear that.”

December 18, 2007

I rub my knuckles against one of my eyes, then cast my eyes back downward, looking at my watch. It's 11:56 , meaning the library closes in five minutes. Given tomorrow's the last day of finals, it means I'm also one of the last people to head out of here tonight.

In eight hours, I'll be in class, taking my last test. At this time tomorrow, I'll be back home.

In a sense, the semester's flown by. It's hard to believe I'm half way through my junior year—that much closer to the end of my college career altogether.

In another sense, last summer seems impossibly long ago. I think of the trial, and my brother's wedding. I think of the start of the semester, crashing at Teri's and working at the Window office. I think of how The Window doesn't exist anymore.

I think of living with Cameron. I think of her hooking up with Dave. I miss hanging out with Dave—sharing a room, or at least a suite. I wonder if time he spends with Cameron might mean that I'll see more of Dave in the year ahead.

I think of Emma. I wonder if I'll see her anymore next semester, now that we don't have a class together. As surprised as I was with what I saw the other night, I was surprised by just how badly I wanted to tell Emma about it. I'm not sure if it's right for me to talk to her about it—if I should just mind my own business. I remember musing with Emma about who the mystery boyfriend might be though, and smile just thinking about telling her who the guy really is.

I pass the final computer cluster on my way out of the library. I see Claire sitting at one of the computers. She looks tired as her hand races, clicking the mouse over and over again, just as an automated voice sounds over the library's PA system, “The library will close in one minute. Please shut down all computers, and return any remaining items to their proper place in the library. The circulation desk is now closed.”

I think of waiting for Claire, and walking her home. But then, I have no idea what we'd talk about, knowing the obvious is off limits. Besides, maybe she's got someone coming to meet her or pick her up.

Maybe Jones will be outside.

I walk away, leaving the library to go home alone.

December 19, 2007

I sing along to an old version of “Sleigh Ride,” as I speed along the highway. My windshield wipers whir over glass, smearing the snow a little, drawing streaks in front of me. A really light snowfall is coming down, but not enough to slow me on my way back home. At 5:30 , it's already dark, and I'm just hoping to make it back in time for dinner with Dad.

I can feel my cell phone vibrate in my pocket. Looking at the caller ID screen, I see it's Teri calling me.

“Hey babe, how's it going?”

“Hey Preston ,” she says, quieter.

“What's going on?” I ask, pinning the phone between my shoulder and the side of my face as I turn down the radio.

“Not a whole lot,” she says, “are you still driving?”

“Yeah. How about you?”

“Still another 200 miles ahead of me,” she says, a little sharper edge to her voice. “How are the roads where you are?”

“Pretty smooth,” I say, turning the knob for the defroster as the windshield grows a little foggy. “Some squalls, but nothing major.”

“Well you'd better get home soon, then,” she says. “Because I'm caught in a friggin' blizzard over here. And I think it's heading your way.”

“Really?” I ask, peering ahead of me, as if I'll be able to see the storm on the horizon. “Should I let you go, so you can focus on the road?”

“Well, no. I called because I wanted someone to talk to. You know, to keep me calm, if that's all right.”

“Yeah, it's fine,” I say, wishing there was more I could do than that—knowing she's on her own out there.

I hear the car horn blare from her end. “Jesus Christ!” she says. “You'd think it was sunny out, the way these people are driving. This guy just shot past me, and splashed this shit all over my window.”

“Maybe you should pull over for the time being,” I suggest. “Grab a bite to eat or something, and hang out until it lets up.”

“I don't know if it's going to let up,” she says. There's a silence over the phone, and I realize I'm failing even at keeping her calm. She sighs. “I'm glad I have you on the phone. It makes it feel like I'm not alone.”

I chuckle. Even without anything to say, I suppose it's nice to feel as though she's with me too.

December 20, 2007

“You know what's funny?” Matt asks, as he finishes chewing a piece of broccoli.

“What's that?” I ask, looking out the center court of the mall, just past the food court where we sit. A man dressed as Santa is sitting there, taking gift wishes. It's a bit funny to watch him. He's thinner than the sort of man I would usually associate with the role, and there's an especially large boy seated on his lap. I've watched as Santa shift his weight several times. The kids seems oblivious, as he goes on telling the poor guy what he wants for Christmas.

“General Tso's Chicken,” Matt says raising a piece of chicken on his fork. “Did you know how much controversy there is over this?”

“There's controversy over chicken?” I ask, sticking my fork into my beef and broccoli.

“More about the name of the chicken,” Matt says. “I remember I was talking about it with that girl, Eileen, I was seeing.”

“I remember her,” I nod.

“Well I asked her once who this General Tso guy is—I guess it's just this Americanized name for some real Hunan general.”

“Really?”

“And the story attached to it is that his wife would cook him this chicken when he came home from battle.”

“Decent reward for coming back home.” I run a napkin over my mouth. “So what's the controversy?”

“Well,” Matt says, stabbing another piece of chicken, “people argue that the chicken wasn't invented until long after the general was dead—some people even say it was something that came out of the City—that some chef in China Town was the first one to come up with it.”

“Interesting.”

Matt chews on his chicken. “I tell ya—you go away to college, and you go to all these classes.” He points to his head. “But it's this practical knowledge that sticks with you.”

December 21, 2007

“Hope you don't mind that I went the simple route tonight,” Dad says, glancing over his shoulder, before he turns back to the sink where he's pouring the night's spaghetti down into a colander. “I wasn't sure if you were going to be home tonight.”

“No worries,” I say, creasing a napkin and putting it by my plate, as I set the table for dinner. “I appreciate you feeding me.”

Dad chuckles. “Well I'm not going to have you starve, Preston . As long as I'm living here, you'll always have a place to come home for dinner.”

“Unless you're in the office that is,” I say, grabbing forks and knives from the silverware drawer at his side.

“Eh, I've been thinking about scaling back my hours a bit,” he says.

I give him a sideward look, and he doesn't even have to see me to start laughing again.

“I know what you're thinking,” he goes on, “that I've always said that, but I can never hold to it. And it's true. But that's going to be my new year's resolution, and I'm starting it early. From now on, my family really does come first. It's not just something I say. I'm going to live it.”

I nod. “Well, that's admirable.”

As he grabs a pasta spoon from the drawer, Dad starts humming “There's No Place Like Home For The Holidays.” I've noticed him doing that a lot since I got back—slipping into song, usually humming, sometimes whistling, even flat out singing a couple times. He seems happier than I've seen him in a long time.

December 22, 2007

“You believe people actually buy stuff like this?” I ask, pulling at a green hoodie with a Christmas tree design on it, hanging from a rack in this department store.

“Why?”

“Well, aside from it being an eyesore, when are you going to wear it? Christmas, maybe Christmas eve? Two days a year tops for,” I pause, pulling out the price tag, “Thirty-four ninety-nine.”

“Well, there are Christmas parties. And sometimes people do Christmas in July things.”

“You're reaching,” I say, walking past the rack. I turn to see Matt lingering by it, though his back's to the sweatshirt as he peers at a glass case across the aisle. I step back, following his gaze.

“What do you think about that one?” Matt asks, his finger pressed down on the glass.

Looking down, I necklace with a gold heart pendant, a gold and silver twisted chain leading to it. “It's—uh—nice.”

“You think Julie would like it?” he asks.

I grin. “You really thinking about getting her jewelry for Christmas?”

“What's so funny?”

“It's just a little weird, don't you think? I mean, you guys aren't really together or anything.”

“I guess not. I mean, not really,” Matt goes on, eyes fixed on the necklace. “But haven't you ever looked at something and just thought it looked it perfect for someone.”

“I guess,” I say, cracking a smile as I look up. I spy Valerie across the way, looking at a case of earrings.

I think about walking over to her. A part of me is kind of disgusted with myself for the thought, after everything that happened over the summer. A part of me kind of hates her, and doesn't want to see her again.

A part of me really wants to strike up a conversation.

It doesn't look like she's seen me yet, or if she has she's acting as if she hasn't. I look back at Matt, and he's still looking at jewelry. I look back at her as she spins the case.

“Hey man, I'm gonna go use the john. I'll meet back with you over here, all right?”

“You got it,” Matt says, not looking up.

I sort of duck my head as I turn around, walking away as quickly as I can.