Scags at 18

by Deborah Emin

  I nicked my finger with the knife along the fingernail and it bled all over everything. I mean it really bled. I almost passed out from the sight of it. Charles too. Tony, the medic, which he really is, grabbed my hand and pulled me to the sink and told me to hold it under the cold water while he searched for a brown paper bag. The blood wouldn’t stop. I yelled, that, “The blood is gushing all over me.”

  Charles had turned white and sat down. Tony pushed Charles’s head between his knees and when he found the bag, wrapped a large piece of it around my finger and told me to sit down too. And not to take the paper off. It seems that it helps the blood to clot.

  Tony turned out to be the savior of us all and the dinner.

  We had a huge pasta dinner and I mean huge with lots of red sauce that came from our kitchen. Many, too many, jokes were made about the sauce and my blood.

  I liked how rowdy we became. Charles stopped being a ghost and became a flamenco dancer, of all things. Mind you, there was no music for him to dance to. He got inspired, as he told us later.

  Tony confirmed my finger had its proper clot. But I wasn’t allowed to remove the paper or get it wet. I was thus exempt from all cooking and cleaning. I let the two of them take care of everything and serve me.

  Inside me, I heard this voice saying, “See, it can still be fun. All that worry all week long and he has recovered. All will be well now.”

  I believed that voice and things got progressively better during the night.

  The best was still to come but I didn’t know it. We ate and drank and then in an extraordinary move that I had never seen Charles make before, he asked Tony to leave. And wonder of wonders, Tony picked himself up and left with a big hug for both of us. He didn’t say one word. He left.

  But Tony is a good friend.

  Charles left the room and when he came back, he had a huge grin on his face. He sat down again at the table, next to me and took my hand, the one with the paper bag around my index finger and looked me in the eyes.

  Those spotlight blue eyes were shining right at me with all their brilliance. I felt bathed by something outside of the apartment, greater than the two of us sitting next to each other.

  I was so focused on this odd sensation that I almost missed what Charles said.

  “I want to marry you. I want us to spend the rest of our lives together. Will you marry me?”

  He smiled and cried. That was how I knew he meant it.

  I fastened my eyes onto those blue eyes of his and through my own tears, I said yes. I said yes twice because I wanted to make sure he heard me.

  I’m having trouble writing down what happened today. My diary, the place I go to tell my story, has become inadequate to the task. I am engaged.

  Charles took a ring out of a box. The box looked old and it was. When he went home at Thanksgiving, he told his parents he was going to ask me to marry him.

  “I told my mother after I told my father. He said good luck, as he does, he doesn’t talk much either. When I told my mother, I also told her about the drugs. About how upset you had been and that you weren’t sure you could stay with me anymore. She said she liked you for that. She loved you for that.”

  He took a deep breath. So did I.

  “Then she went into her bedroom and came back with this box and the ring inside it which was her mother’s engagement ring. I know, Scags, that this is somewhat corny and ridiculous but it meant so much to me that my mother handed this to me. In the past, she hid things from me so I wouldn’t sell them for drugs.”

  We both stopped then. I’ve never been so moved by anything before. I haven’t met his mother yet but I know when I do I am going to love her.

  He held me as he told me the rest of the story.

  “She told me to tell you that she wanted you to have this ring. That she’s sorry her mother isn’t alive to be with us at our wedding.”

  He slipped the ring onto my finger and we sat looking at it on my hand. It fit. It gleamed in the lights over our messy kitchen table. On that ring finger, his world and mine were about to combine. I had to get rid of that mess on my index finger where I had cut myself, but Charles told me to wait. There was plenty of time to admire the ring.

  I’m sure that everyone asks themselves if they are in a dream when something like this happens. I am asking myself that and telling myself if it is a dream, please don’t wake me up. I’m too happy.

  Date: Saturday, 12/6/69

  Today was my first day as an engaged person. I know that sounds really awkward. I haven’t come up with a way to say it that is comfortable. Charles’ fiance makes me uncomfortable, as if he now has taken formal possession of me.

  In a way he has. Getting married obviously changes so many things, especially as they affect my plans for my life. Now when I think about it, it isn’t solely mine when it comes to making plans.

  Similar to but not the same, if I decide to take a job tutoring again, I do have to talk to Charles about it. It won’t be to ask his permission but to inform him of it so that we can take that into account as we make plans. But what if he says things to me like, I don’t want you to work.

  I’m not going to think those thoughts now or ever.

  What if he finds out what happened between me and Prof. Keating or between me and Philip? Again, I have instructed myself to no longer think about these two meaningless events. Not now, not ever.

  Before any of those doubts or worries rose in me, I went for a short run this morning. The morning light woke me up. Charles was still asleep. He couldn’t be budged from his spot on the bed, so I thought, why not take a quick run around Town to burn up some of this excess energy?

  I left a note telling him where I had gone and that I would be back soon.

  By the time I got outside, the sun’s rays were grazing the tops of the mountains. I stretched out my bad leg before starting out. It was cold and I knew even with the sun making its full appearance there wouldn’t be enough warmth from it to keep that muscle from cramping unless I really stretched. I hate stretching. But today, it felt good. I feel older now that I am engaged. My legs need to last me a long time. I was a silly person to think they would last me forever if I didn’t take better care of them.

  As I started out, slowly finding my pace, there were more thoughts. Thoughts such as this one: I’m only 18 years old. What the fuck am I doing? I’ve never slept, well, had a relationship with any other man. I’ve had no experiences to compare my love of Charles to.

  I knew I was right. I also knew that was a good thought to begin a run with. I needed to be reminded of that because many people will wonder about it. I can hear my parents raised eyebrows. Yes, you can hear raised eyebrows.

  Mama especially with those full eyebrows of hers, lifting them in wonder. How, she might ask, is it at this young age that you need to marry?

  I ran and breathed and kept a good pace and in the midst of the run, as the questions and concerned piled in without stop, I didn’t stop or stop them. I wanted all that concern to pile up or to fly at me and to pass it by with ease. In the midst of all the worries and concerns of others, the one thing that flew up and out of me as I ran, as right as the air and the skin covered with the sweat from my exertion was the fact, the glorious fact, that Charles and I loved each other.

  I jumped over all those obstacles with ease. They loomed up and I didn’t bolt when it came time to hurdling them; I was up and over with such room to spare that I gathered more of the concerns and made them rise up so that I could glide over them. Love and running go hand in hand.

  I finished my run and remembered to stretch that leg again. When I climbed the stairs to come back indoors, I pulled off my gloves. There on my left hand sat a ring that had never been there before. It felt like an alien visitor. I hope that sensation disappears soon. Never having worn a ring, I am not sure why it feels like, I don’t know, like a tooth that d
oesn’t belong in my mouth would feel, I guess.

  I’ll make it happy to be there, I said to myself. I opened the door to the apartment. Sunlight flooded the kitchen but Charles wasn’t in there like I had expected him to be. I raced into the bedroom to make sure that everything was okay.

  Charles was sitting up in bed, drinking coffee and reading the newspapers. He looked so happy to see me. It’s going to be nice to have that smile to look forward to every day.

  Date: Sunday, 12/7/69

  “Sundays are family days,” Charles said as he strode out of the shower this morning. I wasn’t sure what he meant by that. I was still in bed, reading poetry, Adrienne Rich mostly but other books littered my side of the bed. He had a towel wrapped around his middle and with no hair on head, he looked different to me. More like someone from my side of the tracks than from his. I know we never talk about this. How rich he is but he is.

  We spent Saturday night giggling through a number of the plans we want to make. With the winter break coming up, we will be off campus for a few weeks. Charles told me his parents have an apartment in Paris where we could go to plan what we want to do next.

  He said, “My parents have an apartment in Paris,” the way I would say, “My parents have a split-level house in Skokie.”

  Inside me, a little well began to fill up with these warm waters. Like the cold and emptiness I had anticipated in my return to Skokie during this upcoming break had disappeared. Now, I was in the midst of planning a trip to Paris.

  However, before those plans could be put into place, Charles wanted to call my parents to tell them the news.

  “Charles,” I said, “don’t you think I should get out of bed first and start my day before we try and call them? Besides, it’s an hour earlier there.”

  I forgot to look at the clock; we had slept in and it was already noon.

  “My point exaclty. Calling them before you have the chance to chicken out. Give me the number.”

  He stood at the foot of the bed. Fully dressed now and looking quite handsome in his heavy woolen shirt and blue jeans, he was ready to do anything. All hints of that devastating depression had lifted.

  Seeing him so happy, I didn’t want to refuse him anything. In all honesty, this was one of the more distasteful things he could have asked me to do.

  I told him, but I was just joking, “I’d rather die first. You can bury me and then dig me up once they’ve had some time to think things through.”

  He didn’t find my comment funny at all.

  Charles reminded me that he’d already told his parents. He didn’t see why I couldn’t tell mine. I knew I couldn’t put this off forever. Comments like, not all parents are made the same, weren’t going to dissuade him, I could see that.

  He went on to say that his parents were upset that I hadn’t come with him as we had planned. His goading worked. I gave him their phone number and I could see by the smirk on his face that he felt like he had won a big moral victory.

  He went into the living room to place the call. I would have preferred getting dressed, having breakfast, waiting a little longer.

  He laughed at me and said, “They can’t see you, so relax. These are your parents we’re calling.”

  “I know’” I said, “that’s the problem. You’ll see.”

  He dialed their number and waited for someone to answer. I could tell by the look on his face that it was Odessa who answered the phone. She must have been surprised when he said who he was and that he needed to speak to my father. When she heard him ask to speak to my Pops, she wisely put Mama on the phone.

  I watched Charles talk to my Mama. This was the first time in my life a man had called my family to tell them good news. He enjoyed talking to Mama, which must be a sign of good things to come.

  I’ve never seen Charles look like he did talking to Mama about our future plans. As hazy as they are, he seemed at ease to admit we didn’t know much yet. Or as he said it, “We haven’t formalized them yet, but we are working on it.”

  He even promised to keep her up to date with what we were going to do. Then she started talking on her end. I never thought Mama could talk this much to a complete stranger. She made him laugh. He laughed a few times and when I asked him what it was, he turned his back to me and continued listening to Mama. They talked a long time and then he handed me the phone.

  For some reason, I hadn’t realized that I, too, would have to talk.

  “Hello Mama,” I said and heard her sigh with relief.

  “Scags, I ‘m so happy for you. He sounds so nice and smart. I can tell he likes you and that makes me happy. You can’t tell much about a person talking to them on the telephone but I am glad he called. That was a very gentlemanly thing to do. How expensive is this call getting to be? Do you want me to call you back?”

  I had to assure her that not only was it okay to talk as long as we wanted but not to worry. If she wanted to talk to us, she should call here collect.

  Charles watched me as I talked to Mama. When I told her to call us whenever she wanted to but collect, he shook his head yes. His smile said to me that I had done a wonderful and brilliant thing. Why hadn’t he thought of that? Being in love changes so much about how two people are with each other, I see now.

  Mama whispered to me on the phone, “Is he rich, Scags?”

  There was no reason to whisper back; Charles couldn’t hear the question. I replied, “Yes he is fabulous Mama and I can’t wait for you to meet him.”

  “Oh Scags,” Mama said, “I am so happy for you. You will have a good life now, I know that. I’m going to figure out how to tell your Pops. I want him to know how grown up and ready to move along you are. I’m sure he will be happy too. Don’t worry about that. Odessa has been standing here listening to us talk. Her smile will light up all of Chicago tonight, Scags. I love you.”

  Silence sometimes works as an answer between us. I took a deep breath and said I had to go.

  “I know Scags. Take care.”

  We hung up.

  I grabbed Charles and took him with me into the shower. We eventually ran out of hot water. What a crazy way to live, but I love being in love.

  Date: Monday, 12/8/69

  With each day, I pray that my finger will adjust better to the ring on it. It still feels like a foreign object that my hand wants to reject. I see no symbolic significance in this and as it turns out, when I had coffee with Eileen today, she reported the same problem with her ring.

  Eileen saw the ring on my finger before I could tell her the news. We were in the Commons again. Her classes are basically over and she had some time to relax. Without Philip at her side, which is a rare event, I felt encouraged to sit down and talk. It felt like it used to feel when we didn’t know Charles or Philip. We talked for a long time so I drank more coffee than I’m used to. I may never sleep again.

  We sure could talk but the content of our conversation has changed. Eileen talks about raising animals and growing crops in Mexico. I tell her we’re thinking about going to Paris during the winter break.

  Eileen asked me sort of shyly if I was having any trouble adjusting to my ring. What a relief that was. I told her my finger wasn’t happy with it but I was going to tough it out because I knew eventually I wouldn’t even know it was there.

  She looked at me as if I had saved her life.

  “Philip wants me to believe that I don’t want to marry him because the ring is uncomfortable. I remind him that I am giving up a career as a singer to follow him to Mexico so I don’t think it’s about my ambivalence. He taught me that word in the process of explaining to me why the ring was uncomfortable.”

  At that moment, I don’t think Eileen wanted me to see the inner workings of her life with Philip but there it was. Already the two of them weren’t getting along. I said not one word and let it all go by. Goldie would have been proud of me.


  I guess, to resume some control over the conversation, Eileen said to me about my engagement, “I can’t believe he proposed and you accepted. I mean, you two have, well, such completely different backgrounds not to mention study habits.”

  She may have wanted to jab at me but she was correct. We come from radically different backgrounds.

  “Yes, true but the next semester won’t really be that different from this one. Except that I will be living with him off campus.” I left unsaid that neither she nor Philip would be on campus or in school and that she was throwing away a full scholarship to follow him to Mexico to be a farmer.

  I don’t think I like myself for having said that to her or even what I left unsaid. I got up and left. I mumbled something about an appointment I forgot I had.

  Date: Tuesday, 12/9/69

  As more people find out that Charles and I are engaged, the weirdest shit seems to happen. No one has no opinion about this new arrangement. Not even his old girl friends seem to want to keep their feelings to themselves. It makes for good story telling, though at the moment when Ivy burst into our bedroom, I didn’t find it funny at all.

  Ivy let herself into our apartment last night. We were lying in bed and she used her old key. She strutted through the apartment right into the bedroom, and plopped herself down on our bed as if we were old friends.

  I don’t think she knew how frightening it was to just burst into our apartment like that. Charles, for some reason, was completely calm. She stood in our bedroom and told us that we were sleeping in the same bed that she and Charles had slept in. She informed us that where she came from that wasn’t done.