Everything Must Go

by Jenny Fran Davis

  He was referring to the pair of suede Carel flats he’d once complimented.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Everything must go.”

  “Why?”

  I shook my head. “Every relationship is a transaction. Or something like that.”

  “So you have to choose? It has to be that you either keep everything for yourself, or sell your things one by one?”

  I sort of threw up my hands. “I guess so,” I said. “I mean, with Elijah, it was like I had to choose. He only liked me because I fit some ideal of hip beauty for him to photograph, and once he got all of me … I guess, he left. Even YOU just liked me for my style, probably.”

  He laughed. “No, I didn’t. I liked you because you were cool and smart. It was cool that you were different, and stuff, but I’m that way too. Besides, it was kind of the least interesting thing about you.”

  He made room for me on the stump. I hesitated. Then I sat.

  “Flora,” he said.

  “Sam.”

  “What happened with Elijah?”

  “Nothing.” I said it before I thought about it.

  Sam reached out to me. He tried to put his arm around my shoulders, but I wriggled away from him. In one fluid motion, I shirked the blanket, kicked off my sneakers (ignoring the stabbing pain in my leg), and ran for the lake. I know—I’m not the type of person who keeps running away (at least physically), but for some reason my skin was jumping and I needed to move. So I ran. Pebbles stabbed the soles of my feet. The wind bit my cracked skin, but I ran anyway, feeling oddly liberated.

  I couldn’t stand the weight of myself anymore. I wanted to go deep.

  I reached the dock and scampered onto it. The wood was soft and scattered with bird shit, but I didn’t care so much about that. The water was murky and filled with algae. I might as well disappear, I thought.

  I dove in headfirst.

  It took my body a second to process the shock of the cold, and in that second I started swimming, pinwheeling my arms and hurling my legs as fast as I could, in random directions. The dirty water stung my eyes, but I kept going because it was dangerous to stop. In my haste I swam right through a tangle of algae. I didn’t take the time to detach it, instead plowing ahead with the plant attached to my head, winding itself into my mouth and eyes. In the water, I could amass weight easily. There was nothing to it.

  But then Sam’s voice broke in. “FLORA!” he screamed. “You’re going to die!”

  I flipped up my middle finger underwater, knowing that the surface was too black to make it out. I paused for a second and laughed, sending out a muddy gurgle. Then there was a splattering behind me. I suspended myself in a doggy paddle and spun around to look. It was Sam, from the neck up at least, his hair a depressed little halo. One shoe burst up to the lake’s surface, and he let it float away. He was spluttering. He was irate, and I began to paddle away faster, laughing in spite of myself.

  “FLORA!” Sam shouted. “Stop! Swimming! Right! Now!” He slapped the water, producing muddy fireworks. “If you don’t stop swimming, I’ll”—he searched for a threat—“call the National Guard!”

  I began laughing uncontrollably at the thought of uniformed soldiers, all blocky haircuts and military-industrial complex swooping onto the Quare campus to rescue me, Flora, from the depths of the Quare Pond. Would Miriam offer them quinoa cookies? Would the Oracle encourage them to tap their chakra points for extra strength? I paddled over to the side of the pond.

  “Fuck off!” I called back merrily to Sam. He followed me close behind—he was a strong swimmer, somewhat surprisingly—and waited until I had crawled out of the water, struggling and heaving, to effortlessly crawl out himself. My satiny dress, coated in mud, stuck to me and immediately formed a clingy, icy blanket. My bare feet dug into the rock- and stick-covered ground, collecting a new layer with every step, and my thigh hammered out in protest, but I had done it. I had jumped into the pond. I had gone deep.

  I staggered toward my cabin, Sam stomping behind me. People who hadn’t yet gone in for the night were on their porches, staring, but I didn’t even care. At the last minute I used my final burst of energy to swerve, throwing Sam off course, and headed toward the communal showers.

  “FLORA!” Sam roared, and I finally turned to face him. Absolutely everyone on their porches was agog. In the distance, a cabin door opened and Agnes’s face appeared, then disappeared. The door squealed shut.

  “What?” I challenged him. I stood in the entrance to the showers, shivering and chattering so hard that I could barely form words. “This is me, Sam. I really don’t have that much to give you anymore.”

  I ran crying into the showers, slipping and sliding on the wet wooden floors. I fell to the ground and my knee cracked, hard, but I got up and finally made it into a shower. I kneeled down. Still in my ruined clothes, I reached up and turned the shower onto the hottest setting, even though I knew it would take a minute or two to warm up from ice-cold.

  I bent my head and bawled. I was so fucking tired.

  Sam appeared in the doorway to the shower. He stood there, watching. His hair dripped with muddy water, and there was a leaf stuck to one of his cheeks. His face didn’t bother me so much anymore, just made my stomach hurt.

  “I know you don’t have anything else to give me,” he said quietly. I cried softer so I could hear what he said next. “But I still love you.”

  Lael, as cheesy as it was, that’s really what he said.

  The shower got steaming hot, and he helped me clean off and get warm. I didn’t take off my bra and underwear, obviously, but he did help me wring out my dress and hang it on the line outside. Once I climbed into bed, we talked for a while about a bunch of little things. And he offered to sleep over, but I told him to just go home. I’m still mad at him, of course, but the anger is starting to thaw.

  Because, Lael, what is life if we can’t forgive people after we note the way they’ve messed up? Am I being a total pushover? Am I being a bad feminist who’s forgiving a guy for violating her privacy only after he jumps into a pond to rescue her?

  In any case, Sam and I decided to blow off our morning class. I’m probably going back to bed when I finish this letter, actually. I’m too tired to wrap this up in a meaningful way. Sam loves me. And that’s something, I guess.

  F

  Email from the school nurse to Miriam after the pond incident, published with Ash Tree’s (born Ashley Willis) consent

  To: Miriam Row

  From: Ash Tree Willis

  Subject: last night

  April 2, 7:42 a.m.

  Miriam,

  I’m writing to fill you in on an incident that occurred last night between two of our first-years, Flora Goldwasser and Sam Chabot.

  At around one in the morning, I woke to a frantic tapping at my door. As you know, when I’m on duty, I sleep on a cot in the infirmary, so it took me a minute to orient myself. As soon as I did, I opened the door to find Agnes Surl waiting for me. He explained that there had been an incident involving Flora Goldwasser and Sam Chabot and the pond. I followed him through the second-year cabins to the pond.

  And what I saw there was incredible: just as I arrived at the scene, Sam Chabot and Flora Goldwasser staggered out of the pond—it was forty degrees, mind you—and ran toward the communal showers. This seemed like a dangerous situation to me, so I followed them. It seemed that Flora had been trying to thwart Sam, or evade him in some way, but we both finally caught up with her inside the bathroom. I hung back, just out of sight, while he delivered an impassioned little speech, ending with “I love you.” I recalled what had happened at the end of last semester and quickly ascertained that this was a complicated dynamic.

  I listened hard for sounds of physical intimacy and, if so, to suggest that they get a good night’s rest before making any choices about sex, but all I heard was Sam helping to clean, dry, and warm Flora. I dashed back to the infirmary, procured a few extra blankets and two mugs of tea
. Sinclaire O’Leary and Marigold Chen, Flora’s neighbors, helped me carry everything. When I arrived, Juna, Flora’s roommate, was sleeping soundly (still in her clothing, however, which was somewhat troubling). Upon seeing me for the first time—or noticing my appearance; before, the two had been focused on each other—Flora and Sam seemed surprised and not entirely welcoming. I announced that I was, as always, available to talk. But my voice trailed off as I fully absorbed the state of their cabin: plates and dishes strewn around the floor, candles melted onto every surface, clothes flung about—piled on top of Juna, even.

  I quickly realized that this was the cabin of two individuals undergoing a very rough time. The last time I had seen the cabin was at the beginning of last semester, during lice checks: I remember it as the neatest space on campus. But it was clear that Sam and Flora wanted to talk to each other, not me. So I deposited the blankets and the tea and left them there, Flora sitting inside of her bed and Sam at the end of it. I have notified their morning teachers that they will probably not be at shared work this morning.

  Moving forward, I think it’s important that we check in with Flora, Sam, and even Juna on a more regular basis. If Flora, for example, feels uncomfortable talking to her adviser, Pearl, then I will offer myself, and perhaps bring in Dean Elliot, Flora’s mentor, with whom I noticed Flora shares a special connection.

  I will be in touch about a plan of action for the coming days.

  Warmly,

  Ash Tree Willis, RN

  School Nurse

  The Quare Academy

  To: Flora Goldwasser

  From: Sinclaire O’Leary

  Subject: Sam

  April 2, 9:52 a.m.

  omg

  i am doing a big lol

  sam loves you

  platonic soul friends

  the platonic part i am assuming to be true

  come weed with me at four

  the garden (of ur soul) needs tending

  To: Sam Chabot

  From: Flora Goldwasser

  Subject: Juna

  April 2, 3:13 p.m.

  I still feel like shit, by the way. Have you gone to any classes? I’m too lazy to come find you.

  But I need to tell you about this morning.

  When I woke up, all the windows were still open, and so was the door, inexplicably. I felt as though someone were knocking on the front of my skull like it was a door knocker. Juna was lying on her side without any blanket at all, her arms wrapped around her body and her knees to her chest. She was so still that I worried for a moment that she was dead. It was almost eight, which meant that we had half an hour to get to breakfast.

  Did I tell you that I kissed Juna last night? I knew that we would have to discuss it. We were both HIGH, but just because it’s JUNA, and she needs to talk through every little thing, I geared up for a chat. If I’m being honest, kissing Juna was fun, but I obviously didn’t want to DISCUSS it with her, or anything.

  When I next opened my eyes, I found Juna standing over me, shrugging into a sweater. The litter and stray jars—“the detritus of revelers,” was that what you called it?—was swept into tidy piles by the door, sorted as only Juna would by each item’s destination: compost bin, recycling, dining hall.

  “We missed breakfast,” said Juna without a trace of hangover in her voice. “I have some cereal under my bed, if you want. Unless they ate it all yesterday.”

  “I’m okay.” I yawned, turning over again in bed. “I’m not really hungry, anyway.” Then I closed my eyes.

  When I opened my eyes again, Juna was sitting on the edge of my bed. My eyes jerked open as Juna lay a hand on my arm underneath Agnes’s bomber jacket. (Somehow I had acquired a layer of people’s coats as blankets. Don’t ask.)

  “We need to talk,” Juna said.

  See? But I can’t even be mad at her. She’s just so goddamn earnest.

  Juna took one of those deep Juna breaths, “Last night was kind of like a dream,” she said.

  “You mean like a nightmare?”

  Juna shook her head. “No. Not like that. I mean, it’s almost as though it didn’t happen. I don’t remember much of it.”

  “Not much happened,” I said. “You were scared because you were high for the first time, and then we, um, kissed for a bit, until you kind of fainted, and I helped you get into bed. Your coordination wasn’t the best it’s ever been.”

  Juna pressed her face into her hands. “I can’t believe I got high,” she said. “I broke the abstinence pledge. I’m a deviant. Oh my God. I’m no better than YOU.”

  She shot me a sad smile to let me know that she hadn’t really meant her insult.

  “You’re not a deviant.” I struggled to push myself up onto my elbows. “Deviants don’t feel guilty about stuff like that. Stealing cars, maybe, but not accidentally eating a pot brownie.”

  Juna patted my arm gratefully, but I could tell that she was still beating herself up a little.

  “Anyway.” She smoothed herself down onto the bed beside me and reached her hands all the way above her head, giving me a close view of her bristly hairy armpits. “I didn’t know you liked girls, Flora.”

  I wanted to slap the coy smile off her face. But gently, you know?

  “I’m not really sure of anything right now,” I said.

  “So what was last night about?”

  “Drugs? Youth? Reckless impulsivity?”

  Juna smirked. “Be serious.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know. I have a hard time believing that it meant absolutely nothing. We can talk it through, if you want.”

  My head was pounding.

  “No, thanks.”

  Juna looked miffed. “So what do you want to do from here?”

  “Move on.”

  “I don’t know if I can forget about it,” Juna said. “I don’t know how I feel at all. Are you going to tell people?”

  “Maybe,” I said.

  “Well, good.” Juna straightened up a bit. “I mean, I do have my long-term open relationship. But in any case”—here she caressed my arm for a few seconds—“I’m glad we’ve debriefed.”

  I collapsed back into bed.

  And haven’t left since.

  You?

  Flora

  To: Sinclaire O’Leary

  From: Flora Goldwasser

  Subject: Re: Sam

  April 2, 4:11 p.m.

  Oh God. I’m assuming he meant platonic. I tried to act natural in an email to him and worry that I failed miserably. SOS. I’ll be at the English Cottage Garden in five.

  To: Flora Goldwasser

  From: Sam Chabot

  Subject: Re: Juna

  April 2, 5:02 p.m.

  You kissed JUNA?

  That’s hilarious.

  I just stopped by your cabin, but you weren’t there. I got the feeling that you were probably in the garden, or something, but I figured I’d let you do your thing and we could talk later.

  Want me to tell Juna I confessed my love for you last night?

  To: Sam Chabot

  From: Flora Goldwasser

  Subject: Re: Juna

  April 2, 5:54 p.m.

  Yes, please. Also, about that … am I right to assume that you meant platonic? Like, no physical attraction whatsoever?

  We should probably be having this conversation in person, with a moderator trained in nonviolent communication, but the only issue is that I don’t want to do that.

  To: Flora Goldwasser

  From: Sam Chabot

  Subject: Re: Juna

  April 2, 6:07 p.m.

  God, yes. I’m not attracted to you in the slightest. Let’s be platonic lovers. Good?

  To: Sam Chabot

  From:
Flora Goldwasser

  Subject: Re: Juna

  April 2, 6:09 p.m.

  Good.

  Mum and Nell’s wedding invitation

  You are invited to join

  Emma & Nell

  for a celebration of our love and commitment

  on May 22 at 5:30 p.m.

  at Washington Square Park, Manhattan.

  A picnic will follow in the same location.

  This is an interactive occasion. Please bring one (and only one) vial of sand for the communal portion of our ceremony.

  Dress is casual. As this is an outdoor gathering, please be advised that grass, mud, wind, or a light drizzle may also be in attendance.

  RSVP to emmanellinlove@gmail.com.

  Flora Goldwasser

  Pigeonhole 44

  The Quare Academy

  2 Quare Road

  Main Stream, NY 12497

  April 10

  Flora,

  No way are you “dating” someone who you’re not going to even kiss. Of all things! Work that Pauline Trigère crepe dress and seduce him, for Christ’s sake!!! Also, Jasper just asked India to interschool prom over iMessage—she should say no, right? I mean, obviously she should say no, but the little bitch has been debating actually going with him for about four days nonstop. I’m like, are you drunk? The only thing he has going for him is that he’s already being recruited by Princeton to play squash—and that’s about it.

  The other thing I think I should tell you about is that we had a little run-in with your friend Elijah the other day. We just ran into him (in his apartment building, actually … it’s a long story). We casually brought up your name, playing it cool, obviously, but he seemed kind of confused, to tell you the truth.

  Oh, and another thing: my mom just got free tickets to Hawaii (don’t even ask how—she’s dating this seventy-year-old loser who’s superrich or whatever), and she says that you, India, and I can have them. So what do you say? Maui in July?! Let me know ASAP, ’cause otherwise I’m asking Jasper (kidding).

  Love,

  Cora