Bright Side

by Kim Holden

  I stop before we reach the dorm doors and turn to face Clayton. There are tears in his eyes. I feel sadness, guilt, and anger boiling up within me. He looks down at the ground and he’s wiping at his cheeks to clear away the tears.

  In my softest voice I prompt, “Hey.” Because he looks embarrassed and that’s the last thing I want him to feel right now. “Clay, it’s me, Kate.”

  His chin rises fractionally and his eyes lift the rest of the way to meet mine. He’s trying not to cry, but his chin’s quivering.

  “Was he threatening you when I walked up?”

  He nods.

  I don’t want to ask the next question, because I’m scared I already know the answer. “Has he threatened you before?”

  He nods.

  “How long has this been going on, Clay?”

  His chin’s trembling again. “About a month.”

  My stomach is in knots. “How often?”

  The tears are streaming again. “Every day.”

  I feel sick. I take pride in being a good friend. Because in life, that’s really all that matters … people. And treating them well, being there for them, that’s being a good friend.

  I. Am. A. Horrible. Friend. How could I not know about this?

  I pull him into a hug and he cries on my shoulder. I rub his back and wish I could bear my sweet friend’s burden for him.

  I release him and he sniffles. “Dude, have you told anyone about this?”

  He shakes his head.

  “You should report him to campus security. Go talk to the dean’s office. Talk to John, even. This is unacceptable. You should be able to walk around campus, hell you should be able to walk around anywhere you damn well please, without being scared.”

  He sighs, it’s defeat if I’ve ever heard it. “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “It never does any good.”

  That makes me sad. It’s basically the same thing he said after the Spectacle incident.

  “Do you know how many times I’ve complained to counselors, teachers, and principals over the years about being bullied, or beaten up?”

  God, my heart doesn’t want to know.

  “Too many times, Katherine. And not once did anyone act on it. I was told I was over-reacting, or it was a misunderstanding, or even that I was asking for it. Can you believe that? People have looked me in the eye and told me because I was gay I was asking to get picked on. And I’ve been told that more than once, so apparently it’s not an opinion isolated to a single ignorant person.”

  “You can’t let the assholes win, Clay.”

  He huffs. “It’s not a game. It’s my life. And I’m tired, Katherine. I just hoped that college would be different. More tolerant—‘”

  I interrupt him. “Tolerance is bullshit. There’s nothing to tolerate. We don’t tolerate lovely people, we enjoy their company. I hate that term.”

  He sniffs. “Me too.” He sniffs again. “What I’m finding out is that college is no different. Different school, same Neanderthals. I’m trying to make it through the semester, because I feel like I’m throwing my parents’ money away if I don’t.” He sighs again. “But I can’t come back next semester.”

  He can’t let the assholes win! I walk Clayton inside and leave him inside his dorm room with a Twix bar from my freezer, because eating one always makes me feel better when I’m having a shitty day.

  As soon I leave his room, I walk directly to the campus security office. A middle-aged man in a blue jacket greets me, and I get right to the point. “I’d like to file two reports please.”

  “Two reports?” he questions.

  I nod. “That’s correct.” The Asshole, Ben Thompson, will not get away with this.

  I proceed to file a complaint on Clayton’s behalf with me as an eyewitness and I make sure to mention that this has been going on daily for a month. Following Clayton’s incident I report sexual harassment for the lewd display he put on for me. Just thinking of the creepy-ass way he looked at me makes me think that he’s one of those guys who thinks no means yes, and yes means hell yes.

  I can’t help but think about Keller’s mother the whole time I’m in here. I mean, yeah she’s abrupt and insulting, but I bet it makes her one helluva a lawyer. I find myself trying to mimic her bluntness. I’m even wearing her strained smile to get my point across—and it works.

  I take a few deep breaths just outside the door, because I’m still all worked up. I don’t know if what I just did will make any difference, but I have to try.

  As the tension begins to ease away I realize just how much my body hurts today, and I’m more tired than I was earlier. It’s not happy about the stress I’ve piled on. I need a nap, ASAP.

  Thursday, November 10

  (Kate)

  I’ve avoided Grounds every day this week because I knew seeing Keller would crush me. I’ve decided that maybe some distance between us is the best option. After the trip to Chicago, and then the kiss, I can no longer deny the feelings I have for him. But the fact that he might feel the same way in return? That worries me for many reasons.

  Number one: I am not a selfish person. I never have been and I don’t want to start at this point in my life. Pursuing him would be totally self-serving.

  Number two: Guilt. Guilt would be a direct result of number one. And guilt is way too close to regret. I don’t want any regrets.

  That leads to number three: Trust. Keller called me on it. He was dead on. Trust and my heart are linked. If I trust you it means I’ve let you into my heart. And I trust you not to hurt me. The pinnacle of trust, the trust I’ve never afforded to anyone, is the scariest: true love. It goes back to the whole fairy tale thing. And every time I let myself slip and imagine my own fairy tale, it always involves trusting my heart to Keller. And lately that feels right and warm and comforting. Which leads my mind to circle immediately back to number one. I am not selfish.

  This is the cycle that keeps driving me away from the pursuit of anything more than friendship with Keller. But friendship is the reason I can’t cut him out of my life completely. I want his friendship. It makes me feel happy, giddy even. It’s like a drug. And I function so much better when I’m on it. That’s why I decide to walk to Grounds. Also: I’m also dying for a good cup of coffee. My body may shutdown completely without it.

  And my body, that’s another thing. She’s very unhappy with me lately. Just normal functioning has become a struggle. The pain’s become so intense that ibuprofen doesn’t touch it anymore. It’s a pain that’s unrelenting and constant. It bears down, like it’s compressing me from the inside out. It keeps me awake at night. It’s even found a way to physically alter my appearance. I’ve lost a few pounds. I can tell because my jeans are looser than usual. It also shows in my face. My skin looks pale, and there are dark circles beneath my eyes. I knew it would come to this, so I grudgingly made an appointment for tomorrow afternoon with Dr. Connell. I haven’t been in to see him since my first visit in late August. I’m sure he’s not happy because he wanted to see me every month. His office calls me every few weeks. I ignore the calls. I know it’s immature, but it’s my way of dealing with this, and I’ve been managing pretty well with ibuprofen and extra sleep when I can get it.

  When I arrive at Grounds, Keller is behind the counter. His greeting isn’t the usual easy-going, friendly one I’m used to. “Hey,” is all I get.

  I understand. I totally understand.

  I try to smile, but it’s hard. I don’t fake it very well; at least that’s what Gus has always told me. I’m a terrible liar. Withholding information I’m good at, but flat out lying? I’m terrible. “Hey,” I respond.

  He pours my large coffee and hands it to me in silence. I hand him my birthday gift card as payment. He completes the transaction without a word. He still hasn’t looked me in the eye.

  There’s no one else here, but I whisper anyway. “Listen, I’m sorry. I never wanted to hurt you.”

  “Too late.” His tone is h
arsh. A beat later he shakes his dropped head. “That was rude. Sorry.” It’s then that his eyes finally meet mine. The hurt in them disappears with a start, and morphs into concern. “What’s wrong? Are you sick, Katie?”

  Keller hasn’t seen me all week so it’s probably more obvious to him than to someone I see every day. “Yeah.” Part of me wants to lay it all out on the table. “I’ve got an appointment with my doctor tomorrow afternoon.”

  His posture is stiff. He looks like he doesn’t know what to do. I could really use a hug right now. But it’s not in my nature to ask for comfort or consoling, so I raise my cup in the air. “Have a good Thursday, dude. Tell Stella I said hi to her and Miss Higgins when you talk to her tonight.”

  He nods. “I will.” He looks worried. “Let me know how your appointment goes.”

  Friday, November 11

  (Kate)

  The appointment with Dr. Connell is every bit as depressing and hopeless as I hoped it wouldn’t, but knew it would be. Same tests, worse results—more news. I can’t really call it bad news at this point, it’s just news. I vowed when this all began that I wouldn’t feel sorry for myself, but on the drive from Minneapolis back to Grant, I decide to give myself until midnight to wallow in it.

  Wallow like a motherfucker.

  I now have a prescription for some stronger pain meds, which I stop and get on my way home, but by the time I reach the dorms I decide that tonight I will medicate with alcohol. I’ll drink until I’m numb. Until I can’t feel the pain. Until I can’t remember what I’m trying to forget. I’ll figure out how to cope with this again tomorrow. Tonight I’m going to forget.

  Forget like a motherfucker.

  I turn my cell phone off as I walk down the hall to my dorm room, and throw it in my bag. As luck would have it, Sugar is here. My plan for all-out ruination is falling into place. “Hey dude, how much alcohol do you have in here?” I don’t know who buys it for her but the girl always has alcohol hidden in her closet. I think it’s part of the entertainment when her suitors come calling.

  She looks a little shocked. We don’t talk much and it’s not like me to bust through the door asking questions, making demands, especially something like this. “Umm, I don’t know. What’re you looking for?”

  “Not beer, other than that I don’t care.”

  I’ve thrown her off her game and she’s too confused to give me any of her usual attitude. “Okay. Let’s see.” She rifles through her closet and pulls out a bottle of cheap wine, a fifth of whiskey that’s almost empty, and a pint of vodka that’s three quarters full. She seems disturbingly excited to show off her stash. In the world of illegal activity, this is child’s play. Still, she’s grinning like a crime lord flaunting her illicit business. I file the thought away and vow to address Sugar’s inevitable train wreck at a later time. A time when I’m not in the midst of my own fucking derailment. Maybe tomorrow.

  I fish through the pocket of my jeans and pull out a twenty. I throw it on the floor and snatch up the vodka. “Thanks.” I check my other pocket to make sure I’ve got my dorm room key, unzip my coat, stuff the bottle inside, zip it up, and walk out the door without another word.

  It’s time for dinner, but I skip it in favor of the bottle in my coat. It’s cold outside so I head to the closest building that’s least likely to be occupied on a Friday night, the library. I know this because I’ve spent plenty of Friday nights here. The same guy is always working the desk, and he’s usually asleep by 9:00. I could sit in the stacks drinking all night and never see another soul.

  So, that’s exactly what I do. I find a little corner in the biography section, plop down on the carpet, and pull out my bottle. I pace myself because I’m shooting for incapacitation, not death. The vodka burns going down. I’ve never liked the taste of straight alcohol. It’s flammable, for God’s sake, and it tastes that way. The warmth starts radiating from my belly and soon enough my ears are hot and I can’t feel my nose or my fingertips. The titles on the spines of the books on the shelf next to me start to blur. I take another glug. The next time I glance at them, the books themselves are barely distinguishable from each other—they’re hazy strips of color lined up next to each other. I’m having a little trouble reading the clock on the wall behind me because every time I tilt my head to try to focus the room starts spinning. I think it says 11:45. My time’s almost up. It’s almost midnight.

  Good thing the bottle is almost empty. I drain the last few drops and stuff it back in my coat. For some reason I feel like it’s time to take a walk. I wander back out into the cold, leaning toward the dorms, but at the last second my feet decide to stumble on a new course. I take a right toward Main Street.

  (Keller)

  The beating on the door wakes me. I squint at my clock. Without my glasses it’s hard to read. 12:47am. The beating starts up again. Dunc must’ve forgotten his key. I thought he was staying at Shel’s tonight. I strip the covers back and stretch before I climb out. I’m only in my boxers, and I turn away as the cold air pours in from the open door, shocking my bare skin. “What the hell, Dunc? Hurry up.” No one steps inside.

  When I look back outside, I realize that it’s not Dunc … it’s Katie. A Katie I don’t recognize. If she looked sick yesterday, it’s nothing compared to tonight. She looks pallid and frail. Defeated. She’s soaking wet. It’s snowing and I wonder how long she’s been outside. Her teeth are chattering and her lips look blue. She’s wearing her plaid wool coat, but no hat or gloves. It’s not much above zero.

  She still hasn’t stepped inside. She’s waiting on me. I grab her arm and pull her. “Get in here.” She stumbles and I catch her by the arm. Her eyes blink too slowly. “Are you drunk?”

  “You always have been one of the smartest people I know,” she says, her speech slow and deliberate.

  I half carry her to the loveseat and make her sit down. I take off her shoes and when I unzip her coat to take it off, an empty bottle of vodka falls out.

  I pick it up. “Did you drink all of this?”

  She squints at the bottle in my hands and nods. “Yes. I did.” As small as she is, that would be like me drinking a fifth in a night, which I know from experience is not a good idea.

  Her hands and face feel like ice. “How long have you been outside?” Every piece of clothing is soaking wet.

  She shrugs pitifully.

  All I can think about is getting her warm first, and sober second. I take her hand in mine and when she stands slowly I walk her to the bathroom. I place her in the shower and pull her shirt over her head. She has bandages wrapped around both arms at her elbows. She said she was going to the doctor today. They must’ve drawn blood. The thought brings a lump to my throat. Is she in pain? Is everything okay? Seeing this kills me. When I unbutton and unzip her jeans she doesn’t protest. I don’t think she even knows what’s going on. As I peel the wet denim down her legs I can’t help but think about how many times I’ve fantasized about this very moment. I also can’t help but think about how wrong it feels right now. I’m kneeling in front of her. “Put your hands on my shoulders,” I say. I flinch from her cold fingers when she does. After she steps out of the jeans I turn her so she’s facing away from me. I don’t want to see her this way. My stomach clenches and I feel like I’m violating her. I close my eyes and unfasten her bra. After slipping her arms out of the straps, I drop it on the floor behind me. Then I pull down her panties. My eyes still squeezed shut tight, I feel around on the wall to turn on the water. I give her a warning, like I would with Stella. “I’m turning on the water, Katie. I want you to stay in here until you warm up, okay?”

  “Okay.” She sounds so tired.

  I gather her wet clothes and put them in the dryer before I put on a T-shirt. I decide to grab a T-shirt and a pair of boxers for her, too. I don’t have anything that will fit her, so we’ll have to make due until her clothes are dry.

  I knock on the door before I enter the bathroom because I feel like a pervert just barging in. Hell, I fe
el like a pervert knocking first, too. “You doing all right, Katie?”

  “Yeah, I’m warm.” Her voice echoes from inside the shower.

  “Give yourself another minute. You were freezing. I’m going to leave a towel and some clothes here on the floor. Take your time.”

  Five minutes later I hear the water shut off. I walk to the closed door and listen in case she falls down or needs me. I hear her bang into the wall a few times but she sounds like she’s doing all right, so I take a seat on my recliner to wait.

  When the door opens and she comes out, she still looks drunk but she doesn’t look so miserable anymore. The T-shirt is so long on her that I can’t see the boxers underneath, which is unbelievably sexy. Her hair is twisted up in a towel the way only girls know how to do. She’s more alert. “Thanks, Keller.”

  “You hungry?”

  She stops to think. It takes longer than it should. “A little. I didn’t eat dinner. It was a liquids-only evening.”

  “Well then, let’s get you something more substantial,” I say. I reheat the leftover fettuccine alfredo I made earlier tonight. I didn’t put chicken in it like I usually do. I guess I was thinking about Katie.

  It takes her forever, but she finishes every last bite. I don’t mind because it gives me an excuse to look at her mouth. And to think about how it tasted, how soft it was when I kissed her less than a week ago.

  The fork clinks against the empty plate when she sets it down and it brings me back out of my daydream. “That was really good, Keller.”

  I smile because she sounds almost like herself again. “Thanks. How’re you feeling?” She looks better, too. She’s removed the towel from her head and her hair is dry but untamed. She looks like Katie again.

  “Pretty good right now. My plan seems to have worked. Probably not so good in the morning though.”

  I don’t share with her that it is morning. It’s after 2:30. “Probably not so good in the morning,” I agree. “What do you mean your plan worked?”