“I respect that,” she told him. She didn’t say she understood, or try to coax him, she truly did respect him.
“Thank you, Anne,” he said and they disengaged. “Well, I must go to the assembly, pretend to be honored, and then, finally, go home to my little apartment and...” He trailed off. She suddenly got worried. Was he hiding something?
He handed her a business card. “That’s my number, number. I don’t have an office so if you call, you’ll get either me or my voice mail. No secretary.” She looked at the card.
“Is this your address, address?” she poked fun at him.
“Yes, that is where I live. If you show up there, you’ll find me.”
“And find your wife,” she said, cautiously, trying to be smooth. He laughed. “Or some beautiful, smart, sexy woman who is wearing just her underwear and one of your dress shirts,” she said looking at the card and trying to make a joke of her forwardness.
“Subtle, Anne, very subtle.” She blushed. “No wife, no kids, no pets, plants or even a girlfriend. Just me.” He did not sound thrilled about the situation.
“Not looking forward to getting home?” He shook his head and started to gather his things.
“No, I’m looking forward to getting back very much,” he said, tossing his notebook into his leather satchel. “I love my apartment. It’s got a great view of the ocean, it’s comfy, well lived-in, lots of books, a good kitchen. I love it. Only...”
“Only what?”
“Sometimes it’s a little tough, especially when I’ve been out among people for so long.” He finished his packing and dropped his bag on the floor beside the door. “Assembly starts in twenty minutes,” he informed her and they said nothing for a long moment.
“What’s Seattle like?”
“Rainy, beautiful, cold, wonderful... lonely,” he said and she liked the sound of it. Then he opened the door and gave her a playful shove.
“You’re cured!” he shouted and several students looked at them. “That’s right ladies and gentlemen,” he addressed the gawkers, “this girl is healed. A-men.” The kids laughed and moved on. He turned back to Annie.
“Good luck to you, young lady,” he said and stuck out his hand. She shoved his business card into her pocket so she could shake his hand, but slowly. “If you need me,” he said, “call me.”
“I will,” she said then reluctantly walked away.
When she was halfway to the auditorium, Annie pulled Dean’s card from one pocket, and her cellphone from the other. She quickly entered a text. I need you. Then she smiled to herself and headed for the auditorium.
***
Annie sat with Ellen and her other friends toward the back of the auditorium. She held her phone, praying that Dean would respond to her text, but nothing came through. So she sighed and tried to focus on his speech.
Dean was a good speaker. He talked about courage and the will they all needed to move forward, and never to forget their friends, including—without spelling it out—Parker Levitt. He told them that stopping their lives and allowing grief to rule them, or their choices, was not the way to survive.
Ellen sighed as she watched him. Annie noticed and smiled. Ellen was probably harboring a crush on Dean as well. As she listened to him, took in all his words, Annie made an important decision.
Although not exactly sure why, she decided she would go visit Parker again soon, and she told Dean at the end of the assembly. They were in front of many people, so there was no chance for one more bit of intimacy like a hug. She would have to be satisfied with a handshake. So she told him her news as soon as their hands touched, giving her an excuse to remain connected a little longer.
As she turned to go home, she suddenly thought, maybe I’ll never wash this hand again.
“Don’t be an idiot, Annie Stewart,” she chastised herself aloud, but then, “it does feel good to be silly sometimes, though, doesn’t it?”
19
“I still don’t know what best friend means.” Annie and Dean were strolling along the beach before sunset. He had his hands in his pockets. She wore her favorite sundress. “I still think I just went along with it.”
“It really bothers you to upset people, doesn’t it?” he said. He got up and walked down to the edge of the water. She watched him go, worried that she had offended him, and ruined the moment.
If there was a moment to ruin.
She watched him kick off his shoes, pull off his socks and then roll up his pants. He took a few cautious steps into the lake. At the end of spring, the lake was still a little chilly but, he kept walking until he was in past his ankles. She waited for a sign, a gesture, anything. It didn’t come, so she walked down to join him.
She kicked off her shoes and walked into the water. He was taller than she was, so the water was up her legs higher. She stood beside him, shivering a bit. He smiled at her, and then looked back, toward the far side of the lake.
“I haven’t been home to my apartment for almost a year now,” he spoke softly, as if not wanting to disturb the stillness of the night.
“My work here is done,” he said suddenly, pretending that he was a superman flying up and away. “I have always wanted to do that, just say my work here is done and then, lift off, fly away.”
“Where would you fly to?”
“Probably right back to you.”
“If you flew to me,” she said, taking a slight pulse forward, “I would welcome you, make you dinner, sit with you and listen to you tell me about your day. About the people you helped. About all the sadness of the world that I would just drive away and keep you safe from.” His hand, on pure impulse, shot out and grabbed hers. She stepped closer. “Maybe that’s what you need,” she whispered, “someone to push all that sadness away.” He smiled, very sweetly and brought her hand up to his lips, stopped just before he kissed. He patted it and returned it to her.
“Not unless you were there,” he said and her heart skipped.
“Kiss me,” she said. He looked at her and took his arm off her shoulder. He took her face in his hands and examined her face carefully. The sun was starting to set, and his features were dimming but she could still see his eyes. He leaned in. She closed her eyes. She waited.
She knew, in her heart, his kiss would change her life. She was ready. She needed change right then, right there. It was time. She was ready to be kissed by him. She was ready for him to take her back to his hotel room and make love to her.
She was ready.
She felt his warm breath on her face. She raised up on her toes, no longer feeling the cold of the water. She felt warm and willing. It was different from when Parker had kissed her. Then, she had felt bad, deceitful, wrong.
Now, she felt right.
This is what it’s supposed to be like.
He leaned closer.
“Anne.”
His breath smelled like spring air.
“Annie.”
His hair smelled like linen.
“Annie.”
His cheek felt like cotton.
“Annie…”
His voice sounded like…
“Annie Stewart!” Her mother shouted up the stairs. “If you don’t get out of bed this instant, you’ll be late for your own graduation!”
20
The numbness, the mental distance that Annie had developed during and after just one hour with Parker Levitt, stayed with her for the rest of the school year. Even when she crossed the stage, received her diploma, even during her valedictorian speech, she felt a million miles away from the rest of her classmates, from the rest of the world. She saw everything as if through a camera lens. Things happened around her, but nothing seemed to affect her. Her constant mantra now was, this is all your fault.
“I wish she were here,” Ellen said, hugging Annie backstage. Annie did not hug her back. Her arms hung limply at her sides, her eyes staring straight ahead into some personal distance. Ellen broke the hug and smiled at her.
“You’re missin
g her today, too?” she asked. Annie returned to the present long enough to nod and smile. Ellen accepted this, as they all would that day.
Everyone believed that Annie was the most grief-stricken by Connie’s murder, so they gave her a wide berth. They believed her silences, her distance, was because of the loss of her best friend. Everyone treated Annie like delicate china that day. Like a rare and delicate porcelain doll. Even her parents, when they stood with her, arms around her, for photos, laid hands on her gently.
As for Annie, she was, herself, in a prison of sorts, replaying Parker’s last words. His face, his eyes, his reactions. She could not shake the feeling of guilt. So, she moved through the day, the photos, the hugs, the cheers, at an arm’s length. She participated but from the distance of her guilt.
“I need to talk to you,” she said into her cell phone. She had stepped out of the school, around to the back parking lot where all the burnouts smoked during the school year, and called Dean. She got his machine. Again. She left a message. Again.
“I need to hear your voice. I need you to absolve me. I need… Dean, I need you and—”
“Your message has been recorded.”
She didn’t want to talk to the psychologist whose name and number Dean had left with the school. She needed him, but he wouldn’t answer.
She sat on the ground, her phone pressed against her forehead. Inside, the class was moving into the gym for a party. A celebration of the achievement of surviving high school. There would be words spoken about Connie. Maybe some brave soul would say something about Parker. Most likely not. She thought of how it would go, of the party in the gym breaking up and then moving out to the parking lot, then to someone’s house, then to the beach then...
Who knows? Who cares? She couldn’t face any of it. She needed to talk to Dean.
“I’m with you,” Paul Jenks said, sliding down the wall and landing in the gravel next to her. “I needed to get out of there.” She looked at him blankly.
“Paul,” he nudged, thinking she didn’t know who he was. He wasn’t bothered by that. He had spent his entire life being seen and forgotten. He looked around, then reached into his pocket, under his graduation gown, and pulled out a joint. He held it up. Annie looked at it. She had enjoyed her experience at the dance. She nodded, so he lit the joint, took a long drag and passed it to her. She took a hit and held her breath.
After a long moment, she exhaled, smiled and passed the joint back to him. They sat, silently passing it back and forth for a while. When she had her fill, she held up her hand like a traffic cop. He took one more hit, then spit into his palm and put it out. Then he slipped it into an empty cigarette pack and rose to leave. She grabbed his arm and pulled him back down. He didn’t fight her.
“Did you like my speech?” she asked. After a long moment, he spoke.
“No, I didn’t.” She was shocked. Not angry, just shocked. Despite her distance, despite her feelings, she had put time and effort into the speech and had felt, at least for a fleeting moment, that it was good.
“Why not?” She turned and faced him, crossed her legs and leaned her elbows on her knees. She leaned closer, studied his face, wanting a real answer. “I’m asking. Seriously, Paul, I want to know.”
“Why? Why do you care what I think of your speech?”
“Because we’re friends, and it’s important to me.” He exploded with laughter. She watched for a moment and then she started laughing as well, having no idea why, but it felt good to laugh. She grabbed his arm and gave him a shake, trying to stop the laughter. He eventually slowed down. “Why is that funny?” she demanded, still laughing a bit herself but not knowing why. He stopped laughing and looked at her. “What, Paul?”
“We’re friends?” he asked. She just looked at him. “That’s right, Anne. We’ve had two conversations in the entire four years we’ve been at this school, and both times, we were stoned. How does that make us friends? What do you know about me? Apart from the fact that I’m the guy with the weed, what do you know about me?” She stared, still giggling a little, not understanding that he was serious even though he seemed so happy.
“Why didn’t you like my speech?” It was all she could come up with. He sat back against the wall thinking.
“Okay, I didn’t like your speech because of this.” He sat forward and made a gesture summing up what had just gone on between them. “You spoke of a high school experience that wasn’t mine. You spoke to the friends in your little clique. All the happiness, the fun, the future. You spoke at us, those of us who have no idea what it was like for you. You held up this beautiful utopian dream that, frankly, none of my friends has any connection with. So, you sounded smart, and ready for the future. You sounded grown up, and I’m sure your parents are proud, and all your friends are happy, but me? Nope, it had no effect, and I couldn’t wait for your speech, or the whole ceremony, for that matter, to be over.”
He sat back again. She suddenly realized he was right. “It’s okay,” he said after a long silence. “No one expects you to know me, or the people I’ve been relying on to get me through this…fucking high school nightmare.” Annie was too relaxed to flinch at the word. “No one expected you to address us or the other geeks, freaks, re-treads, in-betweens, anti-socials, just trying to get through the day. So, you did what you were supposed to do and, I’m sure it was great for the people you were speaking to.” He smiled at her, and she realized he wasn’t angry, that he had only answered her question truthfully.
“What was it like for you?” she asked in earnest. He thought for a moment, then told her.
She listened to his stories of being lost, alone, being an outsider and yet, not being on the outside of anything that mattered. She listened as he told about being beaten up by football jocks just because he had longer hair, or read science fiction. She listened, and her heart broke a little bit with each new experience he related.
“Don’t get me wrong,” he said, “I had fun sometimes. I have friends I’ll stay in touch with forever, but we didn’t have the happy-happy, giggling, hug-fest of a time here that you did. You probably looked forward to coming to school every day, didn’t you?”
Yes, she thought, I used to. She loved it, coming to school, seeing her friends, learning. Yes, she thought, I used to love coming to school.
“I went to the state prison and saw Parker Levitt,” she said suddenly. “He told me that, because he believed I loved him, he killed Connie for me, and when I told him I didn’t love him, he said her death was all my fault. I used to like coming to school but, the last part of this year has been... Paul, it’s sucked.”
She heard herself, then stared at him. He got on his knees and pulled her into a hug. She’d been hugged all day long, but all the hugs had been done with a delicacy she had noted and loathed. She was being treated like a victim. She had hated it and thought if one more person hugged her like that, she would explode and probably slap them.
Paul’s hug was different. It was strong, and solid, and he did not treat her like a doll. After a second, she wrapped her arms around him and held on. Suddenly, she started to cry. She buried her face into his shoulder and wept. He held her silently, and she cried. When she collapsed, he supported her. Soon, she was curled into his lap, and he was holding her like a little girl. She didn’t struggle, just stayed there, crying and holding on.
They stayed that way for a long time. Neither made a move to disengage. Neither one said anything, either. Eventually, she ran out of tears. Once she did, she sat up. He released her, didn’t try to keep her in his arms. She sat back against the wall, her body still touching his. She wiped her nose on her sleeve. He handed her a handkerchief.
“My mom taught me always to carry one,” he said, reacting to her surprise. “She said a gentleman always carries one so...”
A gentleman always carries…something, she thought. Where did I hear that? The memory wouldn’t come, so she took Paul’s hanky and wiped her eyes and her nose again. She tried to hand it b
ack.
“No, you keep that. I get half a dozen for my birthday and Christmas every year, and this is the first time I’ve ever used one.” She held it in her hands. “Parker Levitt is not a nice person,” he said very simply. “Connie’s death isn’t your fault. Even if you did love him, even if you only said you did, and then changed your mind. Even if you slept with him, and then said no to him, none of that—none of it—is enough of an excuse for murder.”
“I thought I did. Love him, I mean. I never slept with him. I kissed him, but I didn’t do anything else. He gave me this book, On the Road—”
A Small Town Dream Page 12