Traditional Gravity

by Stephen Armstrong

  Chapter Nine

  After I bid farewell to the rest of my family, I searched for Samantha, who had wandered off somewhere into the church. I stepped into the sanctuary, which was spectacularly lit by the sinking rays of sunlight refracting through the stained glass windows. Samantha sat on the floor of the stage. Her crossed legs dangled over the edge.

  "So this is where you disappeared to." I joined her on the stage.

  "It's quiet in here - it's kind of a nice place to be alone." She smiled sweetly at me. "You look really good in this suit." She tugged on the jacket lightly.

  "And I like the way you look in black. Of course I've liked the way you've looked in every color I've seen you in."

  Samantha put her hand in mine. I felt like I could stay there forever with her, just sitting and holding hands.

  "It didn't really seem to me that your family treated Jordan better than they treat you," she said, stroking my hair with her other hand.

  "Oh, well, that's just because I had a beautiful girl on my arm and that elevated my status."

  Samantha laughed. "So if I wasn't with you then your family would have completely forgotten about you?"

  "Completely."

  She laughed again, probably not so much because what I said was funny, but just because it felt good to be together. Her expression indicated that she was formulating another question for me.

  "When we were at the mall, you told me that Jordan was everything your family wanted and you weren't. What did you mean by that?"

  I sighed. I considered giving her some sort of smoke screen, or joking it off. Her eyes were too intent though and her hand running through my hair coaxed the truth out of me.

  "It's because Jordan is this ultra-successful guy. He got into his school of management, graduated with honors, and got a high paying job in New York City. And to top it off, this August, he's going to leave that high paying, successful job so that he can go to seminary and become a Pastor."

  "And that impresses them?"

  "Yes, it impresses them."

  "But your life doesn't?"

  "Not at all."

  "Well, how do you know? I mean, you have a job, live on your own - who cares if you don't have the same kind of job as Jordan? You're different people. Maybe they respect your life more than you think."

  "Trust me, they don't. My mom told me so." I wanted to believe Samantha - that maybe I was just being insecure. But I knew better.

  "She told you what?"

  "That she thinks I'm going to Hell." I couldn't recall the words Mom had spoken last Christmas without bitterness.

  "What?" asked Samantha. "Why would she believe that?"

  "Because I don't believe in Jesus. At least not like she and other church-going people in America do."

  "How can she think her own son is going to hell?"

  I shook my head. "She thinks as far as people go, I'm a good person. But she doesn't think that's enough for me to go to heaven. She said that I can only be saved by believing in Jesus, and since I'm her son, she loves me, and doesn't want me to go to hell."

  "It just seems so unlike your mom to say something like that - she seems so sweet."

  It had been unlike my mom. Our family in general tended to avoid confrontations. Neither my mom nor dad ever challenged me about my sex life, or any other part of my life. Even when my mom asked me if I was going to church - the third of the three questions - I never received a lengthy lecture if I answered unsatisfactorily.

  "What did you say to your mom after she said that?" she asked softly.

  Her question caught me off guard a little bit. During the last four months I had dwelt on what my mother said to me; it took me a few moments to recall my response.

  "I don't remember exactly what I said. Something to do with the fact that her faith was pointless or worthless. That she was no different than anyone else, except for the fact that she went to church on Sundays and didn't drink or curse. Something to that effect."

  "Did you believe what you said?"

  "Yeah, I did. Jordan and my mom make such a big deal out of their religion, but what's so different about them? What do they do that makes the world such a better place? Why do they get to judge other people?"

  "Why does it bother you so much that she doesn't approve of you? I mean, a lot of people's parents don't approve of their lives."

  "Because my mom thinks I'm going to hell! Wouldn't that bother you?"

  She raised her eyebrows and turned away. "Parental approval hasn't exactly been an option for me lately." Then it was her turn to deflect. "Do you think that what your mom said was true? That you're going to hell?"

  "No!" I shot back instantly.

  Seeing my reaction, Samantha quickly clarified her question. "Don't get me wrong, I don't agree with your mom. I just wondered if maybe because you grew up in the same church, maybe deep down inside you did believe her. Maybe that's why her words hurt you so much."

  Samantha's theory did make some sense, but wasn't true. "If anyone else had said it, I would've laughed it off and shaken my head at those 'crazy Christians'. But this was my mom. We used to be close. Now I don't think it can ever be the same."

  "Do you believe she loves you?"

  I chuckled. "She wouldn't have told me all of those things if she didn't, which is the irony of it all."

  Samantha nodded and then smiled. "I don't go to church either. Maybe someday. But I think you should make it into heaven."

  Remembering my mom's words always made me angry. But I just couldn't muster up negative feelings. Not while Samantha looked earnestly into my eyes and held my hand.

  "You'll put in a good word for me in front of God?"

  "Definitely."

  "Thank you."

  She gazed off toward the glowing stain glass. "I kind of like the idea of being lost. It makes me feel like there's something unique about me - something important - different than everyone else."

  "See - there's that non-conformist I was looking for back in high school."

  Samantha shrugged. "I definitely didn't think like that then, but I do now."

  She leaned into me and rested her head against my chest. It seemed that her warmth and tenderness toward me intensified every day we spent together. At this rate, Friday would be off the charts.

  "All right, so I told you my family issues. What about you? Any unresolved issues with your parents?"

  I could see her swallow when I asked this question. Her smile slowly evaporated.

  "I'm not sure I can tell you about that yet," she said eventually.

  "That's doesn't seem fair."

  "I know, it's not really that fair. How about I tell you on Saturday?"

  "Okay, you can tell me on Saturday. But after all this buildup, it better be a big deal," I joked, hoping it didn't end up being something truly painful and horrific.

  She stood up suddenly.

  "Did you know I used to go to this church?" she asked, walking along the edge of the stage as if she were on a balance beam.

  "You did? But I thought you went to Alex's church, which was in Oleout Center, wasn't it?"

  "Yes, Alex's church was in Oleout Center. But after my mom and I stopped going there, we started coming here." She swiveled around on one foot, then started inching her way back to me.

  "What year was that?" I stood up to meet her.

  "I think it was my sophomore year," she said.

  "My senior year," I murmured. "Wait, I think I already knew that. But how did I know that?"

  "Because you were secretly stalking my every move back then apparently!" She laughed, then unexpectedly hopped right into me. The slight force of her momentum nearly made me lose my balance, but I managed to stabilize both of us. Samantha ended up firmly encased in my arms, with her legs wrapped around my waist.

  "I think I was looking for you." The Easter morning when I threw up my hamloaf - I was looking for Samantha that day. How had I forgotten that?

  "Well, you found me."

&n
bsp; As she kissed me, I felt a word forming in my mind, a word I normally didn't use or even believe in. Destiny. Samantha was the girl from my memory, the unseen face that sent me home, only to walk back into my life the next day. Then she appeared to me today in my grandparents' church, a virtual replay of that moment from the past. None of this felt like coincidence. In that moment, holding onto her in the church, I felt like I was standing on the threshold of true and lasting meaning. It no longer mattered if she had an abortion or a child stashed away someplace. Or that I lived more than three hours away. All of these other details could be resolved because I now believed that by divine predestination or other, impersonal forces of the universe, we were meant to be.

  "I don't think we're supposed to be doing this here," I said, placing her gently on the ground.

  "Then we'd better go somewhere else," she said somewhat mischievously. I detected the faintest hint of sexual innuendo.

  "Where should I take you?"

  "How about you take me back to Oleout Plains for some ice cream?"

  Maybe it hadn't been sexual after all.

  After departing the church, and a few more passionate kisses on the sidewalk, we raced each over the hills of Route 206.

  Thirty minutes later we traversed the streets of Oleout Plains, ice cream in hand. We had parked back at her house, where she swapped out her high heels for something a little more conducive for a walk into town. The temperature remained fairly mild, though the setting sun stole some of the day's warmth as it descended.

  "What should we do tomorrow?" I asked Samantha as we walked down Main Street.

  "Hmm." She considered my query while licking her vanilla cone. "There are so many things to do in Oleout Plains, it's hard to say. Did you have any other places besides the waterfall that you always wanted to bring a girl?"

  "No, that was pretty much it," I admitted. "I'm all out of ideas now."

  "Actually, I don't even think we know what each other likes to do," she noted.

  "That's true. What do you like to do?"

  "I don't really know to be honest. I feel like the last few years have been about working and going to school. There hasn't been too much time for anything else."

  "Do you have any friends around that you like to hang out with?"

  "When I went to class for undergrad I did. Now that I'm doing my Masters classes it's more just about going in, getting my work done, and getting home so I can sleep. But there's not really anybody our age I hang out with in Oleout Plains."

  "You lead a truly exciting life."

  "Well, what do you do that's so exciting? Do you have any friends, or are you a loser like me?"

  "I never said you were a loser and I'm afraid my life isn't too much more interesting than yours. I do have a group of guys that I play sports with occasionally, but I'm not that close to them."

  "It's hard out there isn't it? I mean to meet people. If you don't have coworkers that you like, it's hard to find people to be friends with. Especially around here."

  I nodded. "Yeah, unfortunately that seems to be the way things go."

  Samantha finished her ice cream and tossed the empty cone aside. She wrapped her arm around mine as we reached the bridge that crossed the Susquehanna River and led out of town. The shallow water beneath us appeared deceptively tame. I didn't trust rivers and their strange currents. Just two years ago, the Susquehanna swelled to historic levels, engulfing the point where we stood. I felt extremely vulnerable there, watching the water pass below us.

  "When did your last relationship end?" Samantha asked casually. I never found discussing previous relationships with new girlfriends enjoyable, but figured it would be more conspicuous if I dodged her questions.

  "Right before last Christmas."

  "What was her name?"

  "Wendy."

  "Did she have red hair?" asked Samantha, more in jest than serious inquiry.

  "Actually, yes she did."

  "Oh." Samantha considered this fact for a moment. "You'd think her parents wouldn't have done that to her. Did she have freckles too?"

  "No, no freckles."

  In reality, Wendy was a lovely girl, undoubtedly the prettiest girl I ever dated. When I reviewed the five or six girls I had steady relationships with, there was a near linear progression in beauty. Wendy was the culmination of that. I don't know how she compared to Samantha; they were each beautiful in their own right.

  "So what happened? Who ended it, you or her?"

  "Me, I guess."

  "Did you love her?" Samantha asked gently.

  "I did. And then I didn't anymore." This statement begged another question - why? Jordan had asked me this same question. Wendy probably still wanted to know the answer too. But I couldn't provide the reason, because I didn't know myself.

  "Did you break her heart?"

  I searched my memories for the last time Wendy and I spent together, the night before she and I parted to spend the holidays with our families. I couldn't remember the way Wendy's face looked that night, because I never looked back. "Probably." I shrugged, not because I didn't care, but because nothing could be done about it now.

  I feared Samantha would judge me for my apparent fickleness, but she didn't. Instead, she nodded, and looked off toward the river. "Sounds like my last relationship."

  I raised an eyebrow. "Who broke it off - you or him?"

  "Me."

  "What happened?"

  "Oh, nothing specific. I just realized it wasn't going to work out, so I ended it before it went any further. It wasn't his fault - it was just the way things were."

  Perhaps I should've been concerned that Samantha dispatched a previous boyfriend so easily - at least she made it sound easy. I probably sounded indifferent about Wendy, so I couldn't condemn Samantha for committing the same offense. Apparently, we were both flight risks.

  "How long ago was it?" I asked.

  "Actually it was a year ago, before Christmas - kind of like you too. I guess Christmas is a tough time for relationships."

  "And you haven't been in a relationship since then?"

  She shook her head. "I've been pretty busy with my Master's work. Besides, the relationship didn't end very well, so I wasn't too eager to go through that again."

  Judging by the cauterized fashion Samantha spoke about the relationship, she wasn't the one who struggled with the break-up hard.

  "He didn't take it too well?"

  "Not really. He kept calling me and telling me how good we were together. When I stopped answering his calls, he started leaving these voicemails cursing me out. Then he'd leave another voice mail telling me he was sorry and how much he loved me. Finally, after a month or so he got the hint things weren't going to change, so he gave up."

  "Have you seen him since?"

  "No. We met at college, and after our relationship ended, he transferred."

  "That's pretty ugly." Wendy never pursued me like that. She left several messages during Christmas and after, a few of which sounded pretty angry. Mostly she just seemed hurt and confused. Poor Wendy - she deserved better than the slow fade I gave her.

  "Do you still have a picture of her?"

  "Of Wendy?"

  "Yeah - I'd like to see her."

  I found this request strange, but obliged. I hadn't cleared the photos from my phone, and easily found my favorite picture of Wendy. She was wrapped in a cardigan, smiling in front of a tree with dazzling red leaves, which matched the tone of her hair.

  "She's gorgeous," remarked Samantha.

  "Yeah, she was," I replied, almost automatically, without considering the possible damage such a comment might cause. Samantha didn't seem bothered by it at all though.

  "I bet she's really sweet too - I mean, you can just tell that by her expression in the picture."

  This time I censored myself, but Wendy was sweet. As far as I could tell, she was the closest anyone could come to having the perfect girlfriend.

  "It seems like you still have feelings for her,"
Samantha observed casually.

  "Wait, what? No! Why would you say that?" I sputtered, as if Samantha had accused me of some horrific crime. I would've thought that I had stumbled into some kind of surreptitious female trap, if not for the fact Samantha still held my hand and leaned into me. If she truly believed I still harbored feelings for Wendy, she seemed okay with it.

  "It's the way you talk about her - there's so much regret in your voice. You talk like she's the one that got away."

  I did regret letting Wendy go, yet not for the reasons Samantha suspected. I still believed she was beautiful and sweet, but these truths had become impersonal facts that no longer moved me.

  "If I'm still in love with Wendy, then why did I walk away from her?"

  "I don't know. Some people don't know how to be happy, or don't want to be. And some just can't be, even if they want to."

  I let that statement sink in. On the surface, this seemed like an absurd idea. Everyone wanted to be happy. Looking at the facts, I had to admit that I sabotaged my relationship with Wendy for reasons unknown. Samantha gently pulled on me to lead us away from the bridge and back into town. The time neared seven and the sun had nearly vanished completely.

  Something bothered me about our conversation. People typically discussed their previous relationships a little with new loves at some point. However, Samantha seemed far too complacent about her belief that I still cared about Wendy. Either she was extremely self-assured, or wasn't serious about our relationship.

  We passed the library on the right, which was next to the old Oleout Plains cemetery. Samantha saw it and tugged on my arm.

  "I think we should definitely walk through that cemetery! Remember, that was going to be our thing?"

  We crossed the quiet street and stood on the fringe of the grave yard. A black wrought iron fence marked the burial place of the Johnsons, the founding family of Oleout Plains.

  "Do you want to know something funny?" Samantha asked, before we made it to the center of the cemetery. She didn't wait for a response. "When I saw you in the hallway at school, I knew exactly who you were. I just pretended that I didn't." She smiled at her secret, teasing me.

  I circled back in my mind to our reintroduction in the high school.

  "Why?"

  Samantha breathed out like she was going to tell me something important. She never had the chance to finish. A car screeched to a halt on the side of the road. An older looking woman with ratty hair lunged out of the driver's side door, and slammed it angrily behind her.

  "You bitch!" she screamed. I looked around, thinking that maybe she was addressing someone else, but we were the only ones on the street. "How can you just walk around after what you did!"

  Samantha released my arm and began moving appreciably faster. She moved to the intersection of Main Street and Riverside. The old lady followed us on foot. Without looking, Samantha stepped into the street and into oncoming traffic.

  "Samantha!" I yelled. A large white van barreled toward her. She stopped and stared at it, but didn't react. The driver laid on the horn and hit the brakes, leaving skid marks on the road until it came to rest a few feet from Samantha. When the danger ended, Samantha finished crossing. I held my palm up to the van and jogged after her.

  "You could've been killed!" She didn't acknowledge me. "Who is that?" I asked, glancing back at the irate woman who shadowed us across the street.

  Samantha kept walking. The woman paced up and down the other side of the street. She didn't seem like she wanted to cross, though she continued her tirade. "You stole my grandson away from me and I lost him forever! Look at me! Don't you have any shame?"

  "Who is this woman?" I asked again.

  Samantha jetted ahead of me. I nearly had to jog to match her stride. I kept looking back to see if the woman still followed us. We turned left on Bridge Street, the street next to hers.

  My previous evaluation of the woman's movements proved correct; I didn't see her or her beat up Chevy Cavalier anywhere. Samantha stayed a step ahead of me. She hadn't said anything or even looked at me since the woman started yelling.

  "What just happened back there?"

  She walked even faster.

  "Samantha? Please talk to me!"

  I seized her arm and pulled her toward me - not in a rough or violent way, but in firm enough a manner to make her face me. Her eyes were wide, either with fear, shock or rage and she breathed raggedly. I hoped that if we gazed into each other's eyes long enough that she would crumple into me, or her eyes would soften. She just kept gasping for air, so I released her.

  As soon as I let go of her arm, she continued her torrid pace. I shadowed her thinking that maybe I would get an explanation when we reached her house. I didn't. When she ascended the two steps to her front door she didn't even glance back at me, starkly contrasting the way we parted the previous days. I received no longing looks or kiss goodnight. She left me outside alone, while the decaying Victorian school house behind me prophesied that everything beautiful eventually would fall into ruin.

  "Stole her grandson forever?" Jordan repeated, back in the living room at our house. I had just filled him in on the shocking ending to my evening with Samantha. Also, I informed him about the unsubstantiated rumor of a potential abortion Alex related to me the day before.

  "I guess it could mean a couple of different things. Supposing she did have an abortion, and this really was the mother of the father of the baby, you'd think she would use the word kill. But I guess steal could mean kill too. Or it could mean that Samantha just doesn't let the grandmother see the baby, though it wouldn't seem like she would use the word 'forever' for that. It would have to have been something more final."

  "I don't know. Samantha wouldn't say anything to me."

  "Maybe you just need to give her a little space and let her tell you when she's ready."

  "Yeah, I guess I don't have much choice."

  I did call her once before going to bed. She didn't answer, so I left a short message saying I hoped she was all right and that she could call me when she wanted to talk.

  Thursday came to an end, and like the other days that week, it had been all over the map. From Samantha unexpectedly appearing at the funeral, to my emotional outburst in the church, to the beautiful moments we had shared together in the church before the haggard woman appeared and changed everything, I had hit both emotional extremes multiple times that day. Tired and depressed, I went to bed. I played another of my classic mix tapes, this one led off by a melancholy though optimistic song by Toad the Wet Sprocket.