by Tammar Stein
I felt stupid and disgusting. This was the first time in my life that I hadn’t made love with a guy, just had sex. I’d never realized the difference before. With Justin, it had been different. It had been tender and loving. But this … I looked over at the boy. His face was turned toward the wall. This was a mistake.
I gathered my clothes and put them on. He rolled over and I glanced at him to make sure he was still asleep. I wasn’t sure I’d ever told him my name. I don’t think he ever asked.
The stairs creaked with every step, sending trills of alarm through me. I eased open the front door, left unlocked for guests like me. My steps echoed softly down the dark street, the sunrise still hours away. I had never felt so alone. The trees loomed over Colonial-style mansions, each home to a different sorority or fraternity. I hunched my shoulders, trying to keep warm. Several meters ahead of me was another figure, slowly walking home. The walk of shame, I had heard someone call this. I had laughed at it then. I did not find it funny now.
Tiffany grinned at me later that day when I ran into her in the stairway. Grinned at me like we’d just shared a wicked little adventure.
“So I’m guessing you enjoyed your first frat party?”
I managed to stifle a snarl. Barely.
I don’t remember what I answered. I returned to my books and tried to take comfort in my stars. They provided no warmth, but no shame either. I tried to find delight in the rings of Saturn, the moons of Jupiter. My nights were even more restless than before. I couldn’t close my eyes without summoning up the picture I must have made, sleeping with the boy who smelled like soap and beer. My face would flush and I would roll over, burying my head in the cool pillow, as if to block out the sight.
Payton returned Sunday night, full of stories about her weekend. I let her talk. I felt like shit. Her stories about a ropes course and a food fight seemed like they belonged in an alternate universe. How could such things exist?
“How was your weekend?” she asked.
“You know,” I shrugged. “Like always.”
“You’ve got to get out more,” she said. “There are so many amazing things going on every weekend, you’ve got to get involved.”
“Sure. You’re right.”
“Maybe you should join a sorority,” she said, eyes wide. “Wouldn’t that be fun?”
I gave her a look.
“You might like it, you know.”
But she didn’t pursue it and neither did I. She finally fell asleep, and I stayed huddled on my bed, feeling old and guilty, a dark blot of a person amidst sunny yellow swirls.
The next day, my father called and told me that Adam had applied to join a combat unit the next year. The bottom of my heart fell out. I barely managed to stay in my chair.
“He can’t,” I said. “You can’t let him.”
“I can’t stop him.”
“You have to. He’ll be killed! How can you let that happen?” I was trying to be cruel. “Don’t you think enough people have been hurt?”
I didn’t know what I would do if my little brother was killed as well. Could God work like that? Would Adam pay for my sins? Or maybe, the thought occurred to me, he felt he needed to avenge Dov’s death?
“He’s grown up. He isn’t a child and he knows what he wants.”
“This is because of Dov,” I said, my voice shaking. “This is because he wants revenge. Tell him not to be an idiot. Tell him—”
“Stop it, Maya.” There was steel in my father’s voice.
I stopped.
“Adam has his reasons. It isn’t any one thing that’s driving him.”
“You could change his mind. There’re still months left before he needs to go.”
“Maybe, but don’t build your hopes on that. He’s focused on what he wants.”
“You can’t let him, Abba.” I wanted to cry.
“I can’t stop him, Maya.”
“Let me talk to him. If you can’t keep him safe, then I will.”
“No, Maya, don’t.”
“He’s just a kid!” I slammed my fist on my desk. “He doesn’t know shit yet. It’s up to you to keep him safe—why won’t you do that? He’s your son!”
“Someone needs to defend Israel,” he said. “If I won’t let my son do it, how can I ask other people to let their sons go?”
“I don’t care,” I said. “Don’t you think we’ve suffered enough? Haven’t I suffered enough?”
He was silent for a moment.
“This isn’t about you, Maya.” He sounded tired and sad. “It’s about Adam. You can’t take responsibility for everything that happens to the people you love.”
I hung up and laid my head on my desk and cried. Would my loved ones never be safe?
That afternoon, in astronomy class, I signed up for all the night labs I could. If I couldn’t sleep at night, I might as well spend those hours with a telescope.
Some nights I could catch a university bus to get to the observatory. The rest of the university would be left behind as the bus climbed the steep hill until it finally arrived at the observatory. It would stop short of the lab so its headlights wouldn’t ruin the observers’ night vision. Other nights I walked the whole way.
Those quiet nights, lit only by a dim red bulb, helped. No thoughts of war, no bloodshed. There was no guilt in a telescope, there were no accusations in the stars. Just cool blue light full of secrets and mysteries.
The observatory was a round little building, all red brick and climbing ivy. It had a silver dome that opened down the middle to let the telescope peer out. This was my ivory tower, and it was beautiful, serene, and safe.
Sometimes there were other students there and some nights I was there alone. It didn’t matter to me. There was always the feeling of stillness and magical precision. The perfect balance of the telescope, thirty feet long, that could rotate with the lightest push seemed miraculous to me. To get to the eyepiece, I had to climb a narrow wooden ladder, then settle into the padded seat and stay there, hidden from sight, peeping in on celestial activities, taking notes.
Chris and I still went jogging twice a week, meeting at eight, finishing by a quarter to nine. I still hated running, but it always left me calm and steady for the night’s work. He didn’t talk as much about his girlfriend anymore. They had reached a decision during the vacation. He would go to Japan without her. They were free to date other people.
“It wasn’t fair to keep pushing,” he told me. “It wasn’t the right sort of life for her.”
He seemed more at ease now, and I was happy for him, but a little sad that their relationship hadn’t worked out. With this newfound peace, however, he canceled more and more of our running dates. Too cold, too windy, too much work, and maybe, too many new girls to flirt with, though he never admitted that. He was right, of course; it was stupid to go out in the freezing cold when the gym was nearby, warm, well lit, with rows and rows of treadmills. But running on a treadmill, like a hamster on a wheel, just didn’t give me the same release.
So I ran alone.
I hated running. I hated the burning in my lungs. I despised that rubbery feeling in my legs when I first started. It was even more hateful in the cold, in the dark, alone. But suffering proved I was alive. Pain spurred me on to run past it. And every once in a while, the misery faded, the pain disappeared, and there would be a moment of grace. In this moment, I didn’t feel my legs at all, my breathing straightened out, and I was flying. In those crystal moments, time could stop and I could step outside everything. Remembering nothing. Just being. Feeling so light I floated above the ground, legs touching the earth merely out of habit.
It didn’t always come, this out-of-body experience. I could never predict when it would. It was harder in the cold. With the metallic taste of blood in the back of my throat, my thighs itching with cold, my hands numb inside the gloves, it was much harder to leave all that behind.
Payton thought I was an idiot to run at night in the middle of winter. She told me so repea
tedly. I wasn’t an idiot. Just crazy and running to stay sane.
It was mid-February, and by now I felt I had the hang of cold-weather running. I ran without thinking about my stride, without thinking about my breathing. At ten degrees above freezing, it was downright balmy considering the past few weeks. There weren’t many cars. I wasn’t thinking about being careful, about watching my step. Arrogant and stupid.
I was thinking about Israel, about roasted eggplants and nearly burned pitas and a hundred other memories of warm sunshine and savory foods. Trying to decide if I should go home this summer or find a job in Charlottesville. Trying to decide what I could say to Adam to make him change his mind. Trying to understand why my father wasn’t fighting him tooth and nail. Ima would be on my side. How could she not be?
I never noticed the small cluster of dried leaves on the curb. My foot skidded out. The momentum from the run and the slight twist of the turn pushed me into the street.
I slipped off the sidewalk and my ankle buckled from under me. I heard a distinct “pop” before falling heavily on my side and sprawling in the middle of the street.
I lay there for a moment, stunned. No pain yet, but a sick feeling in my stomach that it would come soon.
Shit.
I tried to sit up, and a wave of pain hit me so hard it made me nauseated.
“Fuck,” I gasped out loud, upgrading my original assessment of the situation.
I had to get out of the road. I gingerly sat up and scooted over to the curb. The pain made me break out in a cold sweat. My ankle bumped up against the concrete and I could almost see colors in the wave of pain that rocked through me. My hip was sore from breaking my fall, and my elbow burned. The pavement had ripped through the sweatshirt. I was not surprised to see blood. I waited to catch my breath before daring to look at my ankle. It looked okay, not tilted at a crazy angle. No bones poking out of the skin. Good. But the longer I sat there, the more the pain grew.
“L’Azazel,” I cursed in Hebrew. “Kibinimat!”
I don’t know how long I sat on the curb before I saw car lights coming. I raised my head and watched it drive up, slow down, and stop in front of me.
The passenger-side window rolled down.
“Maya?” I heard. “Is that you? Are you okay?”
“No,” I said. “I think my ankle is broken.”
The driver-side door opened, and I watched someone get out and walk toward me. The headlights were shining in my eyes and I couldn’t see who it was.
He squatted in front of me.
“Jesus, Maya,” Justin said, lightly touching the side of my face. I flinched. “What happened?”
“I fell.”
“You’re bleeding.”
That explained why my face hurt too.
“I heard something pop,” I said. Goose bumps crawled up my arms at the memory of that sound. “I think I need a doctor.”
“Yeah,” Justin said. “You do.”
That’s when I started to cry.
“Hey, now,” he said. “Easy. We’ll get you to the hospital, you’ll be fine.” His voice was calm and steady, but I could hear the fear behind it, and the fact that he was taking this so seriously made me realize what a mess I was in. “Can you stand?”
“No.” I tried to stop crying. My chin wobbled with the effort.
He slipped one arm under my knees and the other around my back. He stood up, lifting me in one smooth motion. I held on to his neck and my tears left a damp smear on his sweater. As he placed me in the car, my ankle bumped against the door. I tried not to scream.
“You’re doing great,” he said.
“I’m fine,” I lied. “I’m just glad you found me.” Which was probably the truest thing I’d ever said.
He got in the car and put it in gear. I could feel him looking at me.
“Don’t fall asleep,” he said when I closed my eyes. “I don’t think you should fall asleep.”
“I don’t have a concussion. My hip broke most of the fall.”
“Don’t say ‘broke’ and ‘hip’ in the same sentence, okay?” I almost giggled. “How the hell did you do this to yourself?” He almost sounded mad.
“I slipped,” I said. “Gravity took over. You know, momentum. Inertia. Newton’s Laws.”
“Very funny.”
“I didn’t think so at the time. I still don’t.”
Justin pulled up at the emergency-room entrance and left me in the idling car. He came back minutes later with a nurse and a wheelchair.
The two of them eased me out of the car and into the wheelchair. I was off, wheeling along into the fluorescent lights of the emergency room, shaky again in the aftermath of being moved. Keeping my whole leg still, that was clearly the answer. Moving was bad. I decided I was not getting out of that wheelchair. Ever.
“I’ll be right back,” Justin said, squeezing my hand. “I have a buddy in ortho who works here. I’m going to go find him.”
The nurse handed me a clipboard and I started filling in my information. Address. Allergies. Medication. Insurance. I didn’t have any ID on me. Only the key to my room. I managed to borrow a phone. I called Payton and left a message on our machine asking her to come by the hospital with my backpack.
Half an hour went by. I was promised some X-rays. Another half hour went by and I was wheeled to another room. The X-rays were taken and I was wheeled back out to the waiting room. I was still waiting for Justin to come back. Where was Payton? It was a weeknight, for heaven’s sake—what was she doing out so late?
We were a sad, quiet group in the waiting room, sorry beings waiting to be helped at ten at night. There were at least two moms with kids bundled up in blankets and coughing miserably. I eyed an elderly man in the corner who didn’t seem to have an obvious problem and a man in his late thirties cradling his right arm.
My battered face drew some looks, and I wondered if Justin would get questioned. Man brings in bruised and bleeding woman, claiming she fell. Classic story, right? I didn’t know whether to be concerned or amused that bringing me in might land him in a spot of trouble.
Payton arrived with my backpack.
“Oh my God,” she gasped. She kneeled by the wheelchair and touched my hair lightly.
“That bad?” I said, trying to be funny.
“You look a lot worse than you sounded on the phone.”
“I haven’t seen a mirror. I guess they don’t keep one around here on purpose.”
“Oh, Maya, I didn’t mean it like that.” Her hands fluttered helplessly and then settled down at her sides. I could tell she wanted to hug me, but all things considered it was probably best if she didn’t. Everything hurt, even my skin. “What happened?”
I shrugged, then winced. “I was running and I fell and something went pop.” I still couldn’t get over the fact I heard my own bone snapping. “My ankle’s broken, I think. Then Justin drove by and he saw me. He brought me here.”
“And then he left you?” Payton’s voice rose in alarm.
“No, no. He went to find some doctor he knows.” I looked over at the hallway I’d last seen him walk down. “I don’t know where he is, though. It’s been a while since he left.”
“Oh.” Then she opened her mouth and I braced myself for what I saw coming. “I told you it was dangerous to go running alone. What if Justin hadn’t come by?”
“I’m lucky he did.”
“Jesus, Maya!” She noticed my face and her anger deflated. “Oh, listen to me, yelling at you in a hospital. I’m sorry. Do you need me to call anyone? Your parents?”
“No, don’t do that. Let me wait until I see a doctor and find out what’s wrong before I talk to them.”
“But your dad’s a doctor, he might be able to help.”
“Payton,” I said. “My dad’s an optometrist. I broke my ankle. I don’t see how he could help.”
“You’re right. Absolutely. Okay. What can I get you? Do you want some Tylenol? I’ve got some in my purse. Or something to drink? A soda?
”
“No, I’m fine.” I didn’t feel fine, but Payton was starting to panic. “Why don’t you go look for Justin? I haven’t seen him since we got here. He said his friend was in ortho—maybe you could ask someone where that is.”
“Okay, sure. I’ll find him and bring him back.” She turned to leave, then returned to me again. “Are you sure you’ll be okay alone?”
“Pay, I’m in a hospital.”
“Right. Okay. I’ll go find Justin.”
“Great. Thanks.”
While Justin was gone tracking down his elusive friend and Payton was gone tracking down Justin, I sat alone, surrounded by strangers, in pain. I should have been scared. But I was actually calm and felt somewhat detached from the moment. I wasn’t going to be able to run away from this.
I was thinking that this was a funny way to be feeling, and that maybe I had hit my head harder than I thought, when a nurse escorted Yami to one of the empty chairs.
“Please remain seated,” the nurse said. “A doctor will be with you shortly.”
Yami nodded mutely and slumped uneasily in the bucket seat.
I wondered if I should say something. But I was too far away to get her attention without yelling. I debated whether she wanted to be left alone. Maybe she wouldn’t appreciate seeing me. But she looked forlorn and scared. With a bit of difficulty and a few bolts of pain from my hip and elbow, I managed to get the chair moving and inched up to her.
Yami looked up as I wheeled near her. She sat up and several emotions flashed across her face before settling into lines of concern.
“What happened to you?”
“I fell.”
“Out of your dorm room?” The horror on her face startled a laugh out of me.
“No. I’d look a hell of a lot worse than this if I did that. I fell while running. I think I broke something. What’s your story?”
She looked away and I wondered if I wasn’t supposed to ask.
“I couldn’t breathe.” She touched her throat. “I was just lying there in bed and I felt like someone was pressing a pillow to my face. Like in those stupid murder mysteries. It just wouldn’t go away. Maybe I’m having an asthma attack or a heart attack.”