Catherine

by April Lindner

  “Should I?”

  “Stan Hodicek, the drummer from Riptide? It’s his new band.”

  “Stan from Riptide?” This was an interesting twist. “Too bad I can’t be there.”

  Coop fell silent a moment; then he surprised me again. “Take the train here.”

  “What about Hence?”

  “You can hang out in the juice bar across the street. Wait there, and I’ll slip over when things get quiet.”

  “I’ll be right there,” I said, scrounging under the sofa for my sneakers, more eager than I would have expected to get back to The Underground. “Thanks, Coop,” I added, but he’d already hung up.

  Catherine

  The next afternoon I did something I’d never done before: I lied to Hence. We were at Unique Clothing Warehouse, rummaging through the bins, trying to replace the clothes we’d left behind at The Underground. He fished out a top in bright orange camo, held it up against his chest, and looked at me quizzically.

  “Colorful,” I said.

  “Is that good or bad?”

  I wrinkled my nose and he tossed the shirt back.

  “Um, hey,” I said, trying to sound casual. “I heard from Jackie. She wants me to meet up with her and her mom in D.C. I was thinking it might be fun.”

  “When would you leave?” It was a sign of how preoccupied Hence was that he didn’t even notice the holes in my story. How would Jackie have known where to call me? I’d made up a convoluted backstory about how I’d left our new phone number on her answering machine, but I didn’t even have to use it.

  “Tonight. If I’m going, I should probably leave soon. I don’t want to get in too late.”

  “How long will you be gone?’

  “Not long.” I handed him a shirt in olive. “Just overnight.”

  Hence held the shirt up to his chest and checked himself out in a nearby mirror. He looked at me, brows knit, and for a moment I thought he would challenge my lie. “You should go,” he said finally. “It’s hard on you, living with a bunch of guys.” He smiled. “Don’t stay away too long.”

  Guilt rose within me. “It’s not like you’ll be alone.”

  “I’m used to being alone.” Now Hence sounded miffed, like I’d accused him of needing to sleep with a night-light on.

  “I know.” I sidled up closer. “But you don’t have to be anymore.” We kissed good-bye under the fluorescent Warehouse lights. He told me to have a good time and went back to digging through the bins.

  Before I could think it through any harder, I hurried back to the apartment, grabbed my duffel, and headed off to Penn Station to catch the next train. That was too easy, I wrote in my journal. Shouldn’t it be harder to lie to the person you love? My hands were shaking, and not just because of the moving train. But I’m not doing anything wrong. Not really.

  In Boston, I grabbed the red line from South Station to Cambridge. I barely had to look at the map; I could still recall the route from when Dad took us to Boston. I climbed the steps of the T up into Harvard Square and was shocked by its instant familiarity. It was as though I’d never been away, like it was my soul’s true home.

  My first stop was the Grolier Poetry Book Shop, a cozy little hole in the wall, its high shelves crammed with narrow books. The fat gray shop cat rubbed against my ankles while I sat reading. As I paid for my purchase—eight books to load down my duffel bag like rocks—I was dying to tell the clerk that I was a poet and that someday my books would be on the shelves of her store, between Russell Edson and Lawrence Ferlinghetti. But I refrained.

  From Plympton Street, I practically skipped across Massachusetts Avenue to Harvard Yard, where the kiosks were covered with fliers advertising upcoming events: a campus production of Antigone; a bake sale to benefit a local women’s shelter; a choral society’s annual spring concert; a reading by a visiting French novelist… and on and on. I stood in the sun-dappled square, arms crossed, while Harvard students passed me, solo or in pairs, intent on wherever it was they were going. Did they have any idea how lucky they were? I thought about how I was secretly one of them, or at least I could be, if only I were to make one little check mark on my acceptance letter and walk it over to admissions. That day, that very afternoon, before the deadline passed.

  So I did it.

  It was so simple. I wrote the deposit check and handed it over before I could change my mind. I wandered absently out to the square and sat on the first empty bench I came across, its surface cold through my jeans, watching the crowds pass by until I was wracked with shivers. What had I done? What had I been thinking? Could I undo it? Could I stand up, turn around, make a beeline back to admissions, and tell the lady behind the desk it had all been a big mistake, a moment of insanity?

  I could. The truth was I didn’t want to.

  But what on earth would I say to Hence?

  Couples live apart from each other all the time, I told myself, thinking of Cindy, a girl at school whose older boyfriend had gone off to UCLA last September. She never stopped talking about him—his phone calls, his letters, the reunion they’d planned for spring break. Distance seemed to make their relationship more glamorous, more intense. “Being apart taught us how much we belong together,” she’d said, not to me exactly, but to the lunch table at large, flushed with what looked like happiness.

  Not that I completely trusted Cindy; she seemed to protest a bit too much. But one thing was undeniable: She and her boyfriend were still together. So maybe the choice I’d made wouldn’t break Hence and me apart. The more I thought about it, the surer I was that it wouldn’t, that nothing could. Nobody had ever loved anyone the way I loved Hence. And I knew beyond doubt that he felt the same way about me.

  I wandered in the direction of The Charles Hotel, where I hoped to find a room for the night. Why shouldn’t I follow my dreams while Hence followed his? Four years wasn’t such a long time. Once I graduated, we could live wherever he wanted. I would go with him when the band was on the road, the way he’d imagined it. Between tours we’d live in our sun-filled apartment with books, cats, and guitars, happily ever after, world without end, amen.

  Hence had to understand. He just had to.

  Catherine

  When the train pulled into Penn Station I couldn’t go straight home to Hence. Luckily, The Charles Hotel had had an open room, and I’d spent the night pacing its mauve carpet, anxiety mounting over how Hence would take my news. Before I told him, I needed to talk through the decision I’d just made, to try out my argument on a calm, logical, nonjudgmental ear. Jackie was back from her trip, so, naturally, I went to her house. When I knocked on her door she opened it and immediately threw her arms around my neck. It was unseasonably warm, so we sat together on the steps of her building, just the two of us, like we’d done so many times before. She couldn’t wait to tell me about her trip and her decision: She’d liked George Mason, but D.C. hadn’t felt like home, so she’d decided to go to Columbia to be closer to her mom. But even with big news like that, it wasn’t Jackie’s style to go on about herself for very long.

  “What about you?” she asked. “Why are you dragging around a duffel bag? Are you and Hence moving back into The Underground? And why do you look so weirded out?”

  That was my Jackie. She always could read me. Sometimes I thought she should forget all about art and go into psychology—she’d be a natural as a therapist. I took a deep breath and told her everything from start to finish, and she didn’t say a word until I was all the way through. When I told her how I’d checked off yes and turned in the form, her eyes got even rounder than usual. After I’d finished my tale, she just sat there, hands on her knees, looking amazed.

  “Say something,” I begged. “Have I made the biggest mistake of my life?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I don’t know. One minute I think, Of course I have to go to Harvard. The next minute I’m thinking, Hence will never understand what Harvard means to me. I’ve tried explaining it to him, but it’s like talking t
o a rock.” Maybe I sounded harsher than I meant to, but it was the truth, wasn’t it?

  “Doesn’t he want you to be happy?”

  “I don’t think he worries about whether or not I’m happy. Since he joined Riptide, it’s all about him.” Again, harsh but true. “He’s going places, and that’s fabulous. But seriously, Jack, I’m starting to hate hanging around on the sidelines. I mean, I don’t mind going to rehearsals and shows and being supportive, but I need more than that. I have to have my own life, too—my own career.”

  “Of course.”

  “Lately I almost feel like a groupie.” I’d already told Jackie all about Nina and her blond friend—the spandex, the miniskirts, the high-pitched screaming.

  “You’re a girlfriend. There’s a difference.”

  “Is there?” I asked. “Those girls Andy and Stan bring home after a show—are they girlfriends or groupies?”

  “Hence isn’t like that,” Jackie said.

  “He’s not as bad,” I said. “But still… I saw the look on his face when Nina was waving her gazongas at him.”

  “Hence has you.” Jackie played with one of her dangling earrings. “He doesn’t need Nina and her gazongas.”

  “But what about when I’m away at Harvard and she’s here, following him around like she’s a poodle and he’s a bone?” I hugged my knees. “He’s going to be so mad at me when I tell him about Harvard. You haven’t seen him when he gets like that.”

  “I can imagine. Even when he’s not mad, he can be a bit… intense.” For a long time, the only sounds were the swish of traffic and the laughter of kids bouncing a basketball down the street. “I know you don’t want to hear this, Cath—I hate to even say it—but maybe you need to let go.”

  I was too astonished to even answer.

  “Hear me out. I know how in love you are. But if he can’t understand your whole Harvard thing… if you can’t be apart from him without worrying he’ll start sleeping with groupies to get back at you…”

  “That’s not what I said.”

  “Isn’t it? Because that’s what I heard. Plus, you’re afraid to tell him a simple thing like where you’re going to college. It shouldn’t be like that. He should be as supportive of your dreams as you are of his. Is he?”

  “No,” I admitted, my voice sullen.

  “Then maybe you should break up with him.”

  “You’re right.” The sunlight was suddenly too bright for my eyes. I bent to rest my forehead on my knees, thinking about all that Jackie had said. As silence fell between us again, I heard sounds of a scuffle, sneakers slapping against concrete, car brakes screeching, a driver cursing out his window.

  I straightened up and saw the surprise in Jackie’s eyes. “I am?” she asked, sounding so amazed that I couldn’t help laughing.

  “You’re right that I shouldn’t be afraid of Hence. I should be able to talk to him.”

  “Oh.” Jackie sounded disappointed, as if she’d actually thought I might be considering breaking up with Hence.

  A little miffed now, I continued. “I need to go tell him about Harvard so we can get the argument behind us. I’ll find a way to make him understand.”

  A sudden breeze lifted Jackie’s hair. “I had to speak up,” she said softly. “Don’t hold it against me, okay?”

  “I know Hence can be… unpredictable. But I could never break up with him. There should be a word for something that’s beyond love, something this strong.” I closed my eyes. “It’s like my heart is made out of Silly Putty and he can stretch it all out of shape just by saying my name….”

  “You should work for Hallmark,” Jackie said. “There’s your career path.”

  I gave her shoulder a playful slug. Then I threw my arms around her. “You always make me feel better.”

  And the insane thing is, I did feel better. Right at that moment, when my life was crumbling to dust, I felt better than I had in weeks, so charged up and ready that I went straight to the apartment, hoping I’d find Hence there. I planned to lure him out for a walk so we could talk things through in private. When I got in, all the guys were out, so I ran downstairs to check the rehearsal space. Empty. No big deal; I figured they must be at the studio. Either way, Hence would be too busy to talk to me, so I believed I had time. I took a long, hot shower and put on some clean clothes. If anything was different about the apartment, I didn’t notice.

  The whole way to the studio, I hummed to myself, swinging my arms as I walked, because of course Hence would be there, and of course I’d find a way to make him understand that he was my life and my future. I’d make him see that all the things I needed to do were for us both, so we could live out our dreams together.

  “Hello?” I let the door slam behind me. I heard familiar voices in the mixing room. I found Andy, Stan, and Ruben in a huddle, looking pissed. “Where’s Hence?”

  “You tell us,” Stan said.

  “He didn’t show,” Ruben said. “We were supposed to start work almost two hours ago.”

  “We thought he must be with you,” Andy said.

  “This isn’t like him,” Ruben added. “Did you guys have a fight or something?”

  Only then did I realize that something was very wrong. I left without a word, and ran the whole way back to Jackie’s house.

  “What is it? What happened?” She unlatched the door and I burst in.

  “Right after you were talking about how I should break up with Hence and I said you were right, did you notice something out in the street? Some kind of commotion?”

  The look on Jackie’s face told me she knew exactly what I was asking. “Oh, no. Oh, Cath. You don’t think…?”

  “He skipped out on a recording session without calling in sick or anything, and he wasn’t at the apartment.”

  “Where else could he be?”

  “First answer me.” I grabbed her by the shoulders and pressed my forehead to hers. “Think hard. What was it we heard?”

  “I didn’t look up. We were so busy talking. But I did hear something… maybe someone running down the street. A car slamming on its brakes, and some yelling.”

  “What if it was Hence running away from us? Could it have been?”

  Jackie winced, and I released her shoulders, realizing how hard I’d been squeezing them. “It could have been,” she said. “Oh, Cathy, I hope it wasn’t.”

  From Jackie’s house, I called the apartment, but there was no answer. Five minutes later I phoned again and Stan picked up. “He’s not here,” he said. “His clothes and guitar are gone.”

  I tried calling the police to file a missing persons report, but they practically laughed at me. “You know how many boyfriends go missing every week?” the sergeant said just before I hung up on him. So I headed to the apartment, trying to work out where Hence might have gone, but besides the apartment, the studio, and the rehearsal space, I couldn’t think of a single place. I wondered if maybe he was on a bus back to wherever it was he grew up, but that didn’t seem likely, given how he’d always acted toward his past, like it was a huge black hole that threatened to suck him in if he so much as talked about it.

  I couldn’t go back to the apartment and sit by the phone, just waiting. I tried wandering the streets around Chelsea, thinking luck would bring me to Hence just as it had brought him to me so many months earlier, hoping maybe I’d bump into him—but what were the odds of that? Finally, I went to our favorite diner. I ordered a cup of coffee that I couldn’t drink, and sat in front of it as it cooled, trying to think of a plan. The idea that Hence was walking around somewhere, angry, hating me, knowing I acted behind his back and thinking I was about to break up with him—it was too horrible to contemplate. Somehow, I had to track him down and explain.

  Catherine

  For the next three days, I sat by the phone, willing it to ring. I didn’t dare step away from it long enough to shower, sleep, or eat. While I waited, I wrote obsessively in my journal, trying to straighten out my scrambled thoughts. When she heard wh
at was going on, Jackie’s mom agreed to let her come sleep over at the band’s apartment, something she never in a million years would have done otherwise. The guys were almost as worried as I was. Days and nights, they wandered through lower Manhattan, hitting his favorite coffee shops and nightclubs, talking to everyone Hence had ever met on the club scene. On the third day, I overheard Andy tell Stan that if Hence was blowing off a chance to record he was probably lying in a ditch somewhere. He probably wouldn’t have spoken so frankly if he’d known Jackie and I were in the next room listening, but Andy’s words had the ring of a terrible truth.

  “God wouldn’t be that cruel,” I whispered to Jackie, to keep from dissolving into utter despair. “To let Hence die thinking I didn’t love him.” Dad had never been into organized religion, and I hadn’t been to church since Mom’s funeral, but the next morning I dragged Jackie with me to Our Mother of Good Counsel for the nine thirty mass. Before the service we lit candles for Hence. Let him be safe, I prayed silently, over and over, the whole time the priest was talking. Give me a chance to explain. Please, God, just give me five minutes with him. After mass, there was nothing to do but the same pathetic thing I’d been doing for the last three days.

  Stare at the phone.

  Will it to ring.

  Another night passed. Then another day. Then another night.

  Then, for the first time in what felt like forever, something like hope. Ruben came screaming up the stairs to the apartment. “I’ve got a lead! I’ve got a lead!”

  “He’s alive?” I threw my arms around Ruben, and he hugged me back, hard.

  “I hope so.” That morning, Ruben had tracked down the bouncer at Max Fish. “He thinks he saw Hence there last night.” Ruben’s words came so fast they ran together. “At least he saw some guy who looked like Hence, talking to that girl with pink hair. The slutty-looking one who’s always up against the stage with her blond friend.”