Invisible, as Music

by Caren J. Werlinger

  “Ten?”

  “Ten. See you then.”

  Tamara climbed the stairs, turning to look back at Ryn until she rounded the next landing and disappeared from view.

  Ryn hopped down the rest of the stairs to the second floor. She was relieved to see that Geary’s office door was closed and no lights were on. She went to her office to pack her bag with the things she would need for the weekend. Pulling the door shut behind her, she went to Beverly’s office.

  “Hey—”

  She stopped short as Beverly’s head snapped up, eyes enormous behind her glasses. Beverly jumped out of her chair and hurried around her desk, taking Ryn by the arm.

  “This isn’t a good time for—”

  Just then, Dr. Talbert’s office door opened and three men emerged. A very rotund priest was shaking hands with Bradley Geary.

  “Ah, Professor Fleming,” Talbert said, looking flustered to see Ryn standing there. “I didn’t realize… Ah, do you know Father Croson?”

  She’d met the president of the college once, at a beginning of the year reception for the faculty and staff. “Of course. Hello, Father.”

  Father Croson took her hand in both of his pudgy ones. “Hello, Professor. I’m hearing excellent things about you. Yes, indeed.”

  Ryn’s heart leapt. “My course,” she started to say, but Father Croson turned to the other two men.

  “Your idea for that women-and-history class is excellent, Bradley. Yes, indeed. Just the kind of innovation we need from a future department chair.” He still held Ryn’s hand, which was the only thing that kept her from trying to wrap her hands around Geary’s throat.

  “You’re lucky to work with two such progressive colleagues, Professor.” Croson wagged a finger in her face. “Pay attention and learn from them.”

  The floor felt as if it were tilting under her feet. Beverly grabbed her by the arm and pulled her out of the office, saying, “Excuse me, Father, I need a word…”

  “But,” Ryn sputtered.

  “Not now,” Beverly hissed, leading Ryn down the stairs and into an empty classroom where she pushed the door shut and backed Ryn up to a chair. She sat heavily, dropping her backpack to the floor.

  “You’re white as a sheet, Meryn.” Beverly pulled another chair near. “I’m so sorry. I heard through the door, and I knew what they were doing. I was going to come find you, but…”

  Ryn’s eyes filled with angry tears. “How could they just steal my work?”

  A distant part of her brain knew this happened all the time—faculty advisors stole and took credit for their grad students’ research, passing it off as their own—but she’d never expected to be on the receiving end of such conduct. Not here. Not teaching something as benign as history at a small, Catholic college.

  “I’m so sorry,” Beverly said again, taking Ryn’s hand and patting it. “I’m so angry, I could spit. I’ve a good mind to quit! I could retire right now, you know. It would serve them right.”

  Ryn rubbed her free hand over her face, wiping her wet cheeks.

  “Oh, dear,” Beverly said. “You just smeared ink all over your face. Come with me.”

  Hoisting the backpack onto her shoulder, she kept hold of Ryn’s hand and led her to the women’s restroom down the hall. A quick look in the mirror confirmed that Ryn had streaky blue splotches all over her face. Her palm was a blue smear as well.

  “You wash up, now. Splash some cold water on your face. We do not want to let them see that they got to us.”

  Beverly pulled some paper towels out of the dispenser. After Ryn rinsed the soap from her hands and face, she took the paper towels and pressed them to her eyes. Blotting her cheeks dry, she sniffed.

  “You can’t quit. What would I do without you?”

  Beverly’s nostrils flared. “Well, I’d still like to give them a piece of my mind.”

  Ryn took her backpack from Beverly and slung it over her shoulders. “Thanks.” She tried to smile but couldn’t quite pull it off.

  Beverly had to reach up to put a motherly arm around Ryn’s shoulders. “You get out of here. Go home and try not to think about it.”

  Ryn nodded numbly, knowing she wouldn’t be able to do anything but think about it.

  Henrietta pulled into a parking space at JT’s Bar and Grille. It wasn’t a place she frequented, but they did the best fish fry in Bluemont. She rolled down her window when a young woman in a JT’s T-shirt and apron came out carrying a large brown-paper bag, mopping her sweaty face with a paper napkin.

  Henrietta jabbed her thumb at the back seat. “Could you put it on the floor? Please.”

  The woman deposited the bag behind her seat as requested, and Henrietta handed her a twenty.

  “No change.”

  The woman’s flushed face broke into a smile. “Thank you, Miss Cochran.”

  It was a generous tip, but she was feeling generous. The past few days, ever since that shameful episode of losing control and shutting herself in her room, she’d been forcefully cheerful, hoping that Meryn would forget it had happened. To further make up for it, she’d planned a bit of a surprise for the evening. This fish fry for dinner, next to the fire pit Bud had completed yesterday—she was hoping this could put things right.

  Not that Meryn had brought up her embarrassing lack of composure. Quite the opposite, there had been a careful avoidance of the topic. If there was one thing Henrietta knew she was good at, it was avoiding things she didn’t want to talk about. She was just grateful the girl had followed her lead.

  When she got to the house, the Hornet was just pulling in. She pushed the button on the garage door opener and drove inside. When she emerged from the car and got situated with her crutches, Meryn was just standing beside her car, staring at nothing.

  “Could you help me?”

  Meryn started. “Sure.”

  “In the back seat.”

  Meryn retrieved the bag. “What’s this?”

  “Fish fry.” Henrietta led the way into the kitchen. “I thought we could eat down at the pond. Have a picnic.”

  She turned when there was no reply. The girl was standing at the counter where she’d set the bag, again just staring.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Meryn burst into tears. Henrietta couldn’t have been more shocked if she’d thrown her arms and stomped about in a tantrum. And she was just as ill-prepared for how to handle this. She pulled out a chair at the table.

  “Sit down and tell me what happened.”

  Her authoritative tone had the desired effect. Meryn sat, tugging a napkin from the holder and using it as a handkerchief to wipe her eyes and blow her nose.

  “Sorry.” She hiccupped a little.

  Henrietta sat also. “Now. Tell me what happened.”

  The story came spilling out, all about how Meryn had worked to put together the proposal for the class, written it all up. She’d even prepared a syllabus and had most of the lecture outlines planned, week-by-week.

  “And they stole it!” Her eyes were bright again, but this time with anger, not tears. “They didn’t just say ‘I think Geary might be the better person to teach this class’, they presented it as if it were their idea! Talbert and Geary both.”

  Henrietta’s own jaw clenched. She felt this inexplicable urge to reach out and take the girl’s hand. She sat back and clenched her hands in her lap.

  “I’m sorry this happened. What are you going to do about it?”

  Meryn raised her eyes. “What do you mean? What can I do about it?”

  “I’m not sure. Yet. But you need to have a plan in mind. This isn’t over. And you’re going to have to continue working with them.”

  The girl’s shoulders dropped at this reminder.

  “But not tonight. It’s Friday. You have a long weekend, away from those idiot men. We’re going to celebrate.”

  Meryn dabbed at her nose again. “Celebrate how? And what did you say is in the bag?”

  “Dinner. The best fish in town. I�
�ve got a hamper packed with drinks. Go change clothes.”

  Meryn’s dark eyes fixed on her in that way she had that made Henrietta’s heart feel funny.

  “Go on now. Before the fish gets cold.”

  A few minutes later, they were on their way down the path as dusk settled over the pond. The sky’s pink and purple hues were reflected in the still water. Frogs croaked and squirrels hopped around in the fallen leaves, searching for acorns and seeds.

  “When did all this happen?” Meryn asked when she saw the dry-stacked circle of stones, already laid with a small tangle of wood ready to be burned. Off to one side was a large stack of smallish logs and branches, all cut to the same length.

  “Bud built it this week.”

  “Why?”

  Henrietta felt caught in Meryn’s gaze. “Well…” She broke the stare and busied herself scooting a chair into a different position, drawing it closer to an old card table she’d had Bud carry down for her. “I don’t use this landing enough. And I thought we might enjoy being able to have fires down here, now that the nights are cooler.”

  She sat and pointed with her crutch. “There are matches in the hamper, too. And some newspapers.”

  Meryn opened the basket and looked up with a grin. “And marshmallows. You thought of everything.”

  She quickly crunched up and stuffed several sheets of newspaper in between the sticks at the base of the fire. When she held a lit match to them, they caught quickly. Within a few minutes, a cheerful fire was crackling.

  “Come and eat.”

  Inside the brown-paper bag were two baskets of fish and fries, wrapped in more newspaper. There were cold bottles of Coke in the hamper, along with utensils and napkins.

  “Oh, my gosh, this is good,” Meryn said at her first bite. “Why haven’t we done this before?”

  “I forget about that place. It’s not much in the way of atmosphere.”

  “Who cares about atmosphere when they fry fish like this?”

  They dug into their meals, neither speaking until they were done. Meryn got more wood from the pile and added it to the fire, poking it with an old crowbar Bud had left. She sat down, stretching her legs out.

  “Thank you, Henrietta. I needed this tonight.”

  Henrietta felt that strange sensation in her chest again. “You’re welcome.”

  She watched the girl, the firelight flickering over her face, and she could see the emotions running wild over her features as she thought. “Have you decided how you’re going to handle them?”

  “Not yet.”

  “The only way not to deal with them is to quit, in which case, they win by default.”

  Meryn glanced at her. “You’re right. I just don’t know how to face them. My emotions always get the better of me.”

  Henrietta smiled grimly. “That’s something no one has ever said of me.”

  Meryn shifted her chair. “What would you do?”

  Henrietta considered. “I’d act as if nothing at all had happened. Be as sweet as you can.” She smiled again when Meryn made a gagging sound. “I didn’t say it would be easy. But one of these days, something is going to happen that will give you your chance. You just have to be patient enough to wait. And your not reacting will drive them crazy.”

  Meryn stared into the flames, mulling this over. “You may be right.”

  They sat, listening to the night sounds of the pond, occasional splashes as a fish broke the surface. A mist materialized like magic over the water as the evening air cooled. The fire slowly burned down, and the dimming firelight let them see the stars dotting the inky sky.

  Henrietta gave an involuntary shiver in the cold. The girl must have seen.

  “Let’s go up.”

  She went to the fire to knock the embers apart. Bud had also left an old metal trashcan lid that she settled over the ashes to smother them and prevent an errant breeze from blowing a burning ember into the woods.

  While Henrietta got to her feet, Meryn gathered up all the rubbish and found the flashlight packed in the picnic hamper. She lit the path as they made their way up to the house.

  Meryn quickly emptied the hamper of the dishes and trash, taking the fishy paper out to the can in the garage. She returned to the kitchen and turned off all the lights. After quickly checking the lock on the front door, she met Henrietta in the hall, looking a little embarrassed.

  “Hank, I’m glad I had you to come home to tonight.”

  Without warning, she flung her arms around Henrietta in a hug, holding her tightly for a few seconds. “Good night.”

  She went down the hall to her rooms, leaving Henrietta frozen in place. Slowly, Henrietta made her way to her bedroom. When she stared at her reflection in the mirror, it was almost a shock to see the same sour face staring back at her.

  “Don’t be foolish,” she muttered to herself.

  But, as she got undressed, she couldn’t help the small smile that kept flitting over her face.

  Ryn muttered to herself as she drove slowly down Washington Street. It was the only part of Tamara’s address she could remember, since the rest had been washed away in her stupid crying jag yesterday. Her jaw clenched just thinking about Talbert and Geary’s stunt—

  “Stop.” She took a deep breath and let it out. She did not want today to be tainted by those men.

  Nelly ambled several blocks until the street dead-ended. Ryn turned her around and they crept back the way they’d come, hoping for some sign.

  Like a slender blonde standing in the middle of the street, holding her thumb out to hitch a ride.

  Ryn grinned, admiring the view, and braked Nelly to a halt. Tamara trotted to the passenger side and got in.

  “You washed your hand, didn’t you?”

  Ryn nodded. “I tend to do that for special occasions…” She held up two clean palms.

  Tamara nodded. “Good recovery. So where are we going on this special occasion?”

  “How about Cortland? I haven’t been there. Have you?”

  “No.”

  “Buckle up. Cortland it is.”

  Ryn threaded her way through Bluemont’s streets, heading east and south. “Where are you from?”

  “Cuba.”

  Ryn did a double take. “Cuba.”

  Tamara scoffed. “Cuba, New York. Blink and you’ll drive right through and not even know you were there. Between Buffalo and Olean. Rinky-dink town I couldn’t wait to get out of.”

  Ryn laughed. She couldn’t help it. At Tamara’s indignant expression, she said, “I’m sorry, but Bluemont isn’t exactly a metropolis.”

  A reluctant grin tugged at Tamara’s mouth. “Okay, I’ll grant you that. But it’s still better than Cuba.”

  “It’s only better because it’s not where you’re from.”

  “You might be right,” Tamara conceded. “How about you?”

  “Uniontown, PA.”

  Tamara shifted in her seat. “Do you miss it?”

  “Not a bit. I miss my family, but not Uniontown.” She waved at the colorful trees lining the road and the hills beyond. “It’s nothing like this.”

  Tamara nodded. “We’ll see if you still say that after digging out from under three feet of snow.”

  She opened the console. “Wow, you have a lot of music. Do you mind?”

  “Not at all. Pick something out.”

  Tamara shuffled through the cassette cases. “I don’t know most of these. Do you have a favorite?”

  “Try The Changer and the Changed.”

  Tamara found that tape and slid it into the stereo. As the strains of the opening song played, Ryn opened her mouth to say something but saw the look on Tamara’s face. She remembered how that album had—true to its name—changed her life. She turned back to the road, letting the music fill the car.

  They listened to both sides of the tape on the drive to Cortland.

  “I think that’s the best album I’ve ever heard,” Tamara said.

  “It’s one of my favorites,” Ry
n agreed, scanning the streets. “I bought the record album first, but needed a portable version.”

  She found a parking space on what looked like the main street. While she checked the meter to see if she needed to pay on a weekend, Tamara was reading all the bumper stickers on Nelly’s rear end.

  She eyed Ryn with a slightly wary expression as they walked down the sidewalk. “You have a lot of interesting stickers.”

  “Mmmm hmmm.” Ryn waited a beat. “Which ones did you find most interesting?”

  “Well, the goddess ones are intriguing.”

  Here we go, Ryn thought, this game of tiptoeing around the one topic they most wanted to discuss, yet found the scariest to initiate. She decided to just take the plunge.

  “I’m lesbian, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

  Tamara burned a brilliant scarlet, and she looked as if she’d like to crawl under the pavement.

  “If that’s not what you were trying not to ask me—”

  “It was,” Tamara said quickly.

  To shut me up. Ryn remembered how hard coming out had been, but it felt almost like a different lifetime, four whole years ago, when she was a freshman and had met a group of women she desperately wanted to be part of.

  “Sorry if I was too blunt,” she said.

  “It’s okay.” Tamara frowned as they walked, her hands shoved into her jacket pockets. “I’ve just never met anyone who’s so… open.”

  Ryn waited to see if Tamara would reciprocate about herself, but nothing more came. She sighed and pointed to a bookstore. “Let’s go in there.”

  The shop was quaint, carrying a variety of current bestsellers, history, biography. But no women’s section that Ryn could find, and certainly no lesbian or gay titles. They left without buying anything.

  “Did you—” Tamara struggled to find words. “Did you think… I mean, do I seem…?”

  The unspoken question hung between them. Ryn remembered this as well. This delicate balancing act of wanting to be recognized, but only by other lesbians, without being too obvious to anyone else, and yet still not being comfortable calling yourself a lesbian.

  “I hoped,” she said gently. “But it’s okay if you’re not. I’m not prejudiced.”

  That brought a smile. “Sorry.” Tamara glanced around to make sure no one was near enough to overhear. “I’ve just never been around anyone so comfortable with it.”