Love, Carry My Bags

by Everett, C. R.

  “You have a sister you said?” I asked, further probing his family tree.

  “Yeah, she’s married,” he answered. “How many in your family?”

  “Four kids. Well, five if you count my uncle. He’s not much older than me, but he’s different and we don’t keep in contact much.”

  Glenn looked understandably confused.

  “He lived with us for a while. Long story.”

  “Why’s he different?”

  “Well, his name is Francis and he’s a bit of a head case, eccentric. And I don’t think he likes girls,” I said quickly, unsure of Glenn’s reaction, afraid he’d freak out like my mother.

  “Oh,” Glenn said, choosing not to go there.

  * * *

  I didn’t see Glenn the next couple of days, but I heard him come and go. A slam of his door, key jingle, lunge down the stairs then silence meant he was going to campus. I could see him cross the street behind the apartments. Sometimes after the stair lunge, I’d hear the rev of his Nissan 300ZX, run to the window and watch him turn onto Mississippi going who knows where.

  The next day, arms overloaded with stuff, I walked up the stairs. Music blared from Glenn’s open apartment door. I saw Zac, the engineering student from downstairs, sitting in the armchair with the big-boobed girl from the gym in his lap. They were laughing, beers in hand. Glenn leaned in the kitchen doorway over a slight, blonde girl, one I recognized from marketing class. He saw me pass by and lifted his beer in a wave hello. “Come on over,” he yelled out the door. I unloaded the mail and groceries at home, then joined the impromptu party. “Where were you?” Glenn asked.

  “I went to the store.”

  “You walked?” Glenn knew I had no car. Father had only let me borrow it at home, not here.

  “It’s not safe. You should have asked for a ride,” he chastised. “I would have taken you.” I hadn’t yet realized the full seediness of the neighborhood; he probably did have a point. Although Glenn was my only local friend, I wasn’t up to imposing such a needy request. I was embarrassed and felt like a child, not having my own wheels.

  “It was a nice day for a walk anyway.” I dismissed his main point.

  “You know Zac, right, Camryn?” Glenn pointed toward the over-occupied chair.

  “Hi. I’ve seen you around,” I said, trying to sound friendly. My discomfort made me sound stiff. Glenn mingled with these people like they were old friends, not the brand new acquaintances they were.

  “And this is Tiffany.” Glenn pointed across the room toward the boobs. “And Morgan.” He put a friendly arm around Morgan’s shoulders as he introduced her. She looked like a nice girl, not overly attractive, but her tight rear made mine look like it should have a ‘wide load’ sign on it.

  “Nice meeting you,” I said, half meaning it. Maybe I could become friends with Morgan. Tiffany was too far gone.

  “Want a drink?” Morgan asked me.

  “No, that’s okay. I’m fine.”

  “Camryn’s dad is a minister. She doesn’t drink.” Glenn offered too much information.

  “I told you, I don’t like beer.” I shot back at Glenn. I wanted to leave. They had no idea I was the only one of my dad’s offspring who didn’t drink. Some drank to excess, often, and worse. My older sister, Karla, had taken me to hard-core drug parties complete with drunken dopeheads snorting neatly razored lines of cocaine off mirrors when I was just eleven.

  “We can get you something else, honey,” said Tiffany. “There’s wine coolers in the fridge.”

  “No, that’s okay.”

  “Come on, you have to have something,” Morgan said, like my not drinking affected her personally. Maybe we wouldn’t be friends.

  “I’ll get her something,” Glenn said, leading me to the kitchen. “Rum and Coke?”

  “No, just Coke.”

  “Sure?”

  “I’m sure!” The whole alcohol thing had gone way too far at my expense. I almost cried, squelching it from the inside. I remembered my close friends from home, missed them. “Why did you go and tell them about my dad?” I asked, irritation in my voice.

  “What?” Glenn said with a masked smile. “You ashamed of your dad?”

  “No. It’s just that you’re causing me a lot of problems,” I whispered and rolled my eyes toward the living room.

  “Here, take this.” He handed me a full glass. “I’ll tell them there’s rum in it. They won’t bug you anymore.” I wondered why he had to lie in order for them to stop riding me.

  “I bet you go to church every Sunday,” Morgan accused.

  “Only when I want to.” It felt great to say in spite of the thorny circumstances. The sweet smell of independence cheered me up inside, then a reason to escape came to mind. I looked at my watch. “Oh,” I said, acting shocked. “I’m expecting a call.” I rushed out the door. “I’ll see you later,” I said as an afterthought. Glenn stepped into his doorway and poked his head out.

  “Give us a call, okay?” I wondered if he meant himself and the mouse in his pocket or the clan in his apartment. If it was the latter, it was unlikely.

  * * *

  I lay down in the middle of my living room floor, staring at the ceiling. No one was going to call. I heard music and laughter from two doors down and felt a twinge of exclusion. I didn’t feel included when I was over there anyway; at least in my own apartment I was safe. I flipped through the mail—a letter from home, a bill (my first one, I was excited), a letter each from Megan and Chris, and an advertisement. Nothing from Reese. Again. I looked at our prom picture, wondering why his eyes didn’t beam love my way anymore and if they ever would again. I sighed, redirecting my attention to Megan’s letter. She didn’t have the same troubles assimilating into her university life. She was amidst a social swarm, and happy, but still, she said, there wasn’t anyone there quite like me—no one who understood her like I did. It cheered me up, as all of her letters did, but the cheer didn’t last long.

  I stared at the prom picture again. Since the fall, each time I looked at our picture, it was with despair rather than with the overwhelming happiness it used to evoke. “Megan wrote to me.” I spoke to Reese’s image. “Are you going to write to me?” I took my emptiness to my bedroom and shut the door, silencing Glenn’s party. At three in the afternoon, my hollow self fell asleep on the mattress lying on the floor.

  * * *

  The pounding at my door wouldn’t stop.

  “Hey, you didn’t need to run off like that,” Glenn said, standing in the doorway.

  “Come in,” I said, not knowing if I wanted him there or not. I released the door handle, plodded into the living room, leaving him to follow, and plopped down on the floor.

  “Were you asleep?”

  “Yes.”

  “The night is young!” Glenn exclaimed. He looked around my sparsely furnished living room. It was eight o’clock. Most students, I had come to find out, didn’t even start getting ready for a night on the town until at least nine. I wasn’t fitting in well, usually falling asleep by the time most headed out for the evening. “Want to go out? We can’t stay home.” I wondered why not.

  “Where?”

  “You name it.”

  “How about a movie?” Glenn’s look said I gave a dull answer.

  “Okay. Then we can meet up with everyone at Stooges.” A movie sounded like fun, a return visit to Stooges sounded painful.

  Cocoon: The Return played at the local cinema, which turned out to be a dump. Glenn paid my way, making the outing seem like a date. Sitting next to him in the theater without entwined lips or limbs seemed foreign. It wasn’t a date, I decided. I was dating Reese, or was I?

  “Why don’t we go bowling?” I said after the movie, hoping to forgo patronizing Stooges.

  “Sure,” Glenn said, “whatever you want.”

  Glenn threw strikes. I couldn’t even throw a spare. A few gutter balls put me well on the way toward making my average.

  “You’re not standing in the right
spot,” Glenn said after my second gutter ball. He sucked foam off his beer, cinched a spare. I readjusted in the second half of my next frame, picked off one of the remaining eight pins.

  “You need to throw the ball harder, give it a spin,” he corrected again.

  “It’s just a game,” I said, hiding my annoyance at his persistent advice, “for fun.”

  “You want to win, don’t you?” he asked. With his game, I knew I’d never beat him. He did too; I could tell. And it wasn’t much fun. Maybe going to Stooges would have been better.

  “Good game,” Glenn said as we left. Score: Glenn 225, Me 83.

  “It was okay,” I said, remotely sensing it wasn’t okay, but unable to see what wasn’t okay about it.

  * * *

  I went to Glenn’s the next morning in my bare feet, retrieving the shoes I left there the night before. After Stooges, we ended up at his place, talking, over strawberry margaritas, another alcoholic drink Glenn was sure I’d enjoy.

  “Do you have a boyfriend?” Glenn asked, point blank, over our breakfast of bagels and cream cheese.

  I thought of the prom picture sitting in my living room. I thought of why Glenn might be asking. I thought of the widest definition of what a boyfriend was—someone who pays attention to you.

  “No.”

  “You’re telling me that you don’t have a boyfriend? How lucky did I get?” Glenn said. I smiled, shyly.

  “I thought I had a boyfriend, but I haven’t heard from him in a long time and we haven’t seen each other in almost a year.”

  “Why?” he asked, mouth half-full of bagel.

  “He quit writing. I guess he forgot about me,” I said, depressed.

  “So you’re available,” he said, eyes lighting up.

  His excitement teased a slight smile, brightening my face.

  “Come here.” Glenn motioned for me to sit on his lap, which I did. He traced his finger down the side of my face to my chin, then looked me in the eye. “He’ll never forget you. No one could forget you,” he said, glancing down from my eyes. He pressed his lips to mine.

  * * *

  That night I sat on my mattress, propped up with pillows against the wall. I wrote life changing words.

  Dear Reese,

  How are you? I’ve had an interesting time adapting to life away from home. And I’ve missed hearing from you. I thought you resolved to break the silence and let me in, but nothing has changed. I still look into my mailbox daily hoping for a letter from you, just to be disappointed every day. I can’t do this anymore. I know this sounds harsh, but it isn’t fair to me. I think we should see other people. You can probably see tear spots on this paper, because I’m crying as I write. This isn’t my first choice. My first choice is you. I love you so much and always will, but I can’t live a life with only love. I can’t spend time with love. I need a person to go with it and you aren’t there. You know I’ve waited, but I can’t wait anymore for something that may never come. Maybe someday things will be different. Take care.

  Love Always,

  Camryn

  I reread the letter five times before I sent it. It wasn’t a normal break up, not that I knew what normal was. I presumed a normal break up was when the couple didn’t like each other anymore or didn’t get along. Maybe he found someone else he liked better, or maybe he didn’t love me anymore. It seemed unlikely, but I had no idea why he abandoned me. What wrong had I done?

  I kissed our prom picture as I put it away in a shoebox along with the necklace and bracelet he’d given me and the stuffed lion he’d won for me over three and a half years before. It was a tiny casket, which I buried deep in my closet.

  Dropping the letter in the mailbox wasn’t a liberation. It was excruciating, as painful as severing my own arm. I dropped my self in the mail that day.

  Reese never replied.

  CHAPTER 13

  “Sex is supposed to be the culminating blossom of an intimate friendship, not scattered seed.”

  —Megan’s Grandma

  Glenn knocked on my door, again, a Sunday morning. The savory aroma of bacon and eggs followed him. They were getting cold over at his place and I had to come. There was no reason not to go.

  “What did you do last night?” he asked.

  “Studied. Watched TV.”

  Glenn sang, “Boring.” I shrugged. “We went to a club,” he said, proudly.

  “Was it fun?”

  “Oh yeah, lots of fun. I wished you were with me though.” I looked at him, wondering why he wished I had been along. “Other guys were there with their girlfriends, and I didn’t have anyone—kind of a third wheel.”

  Butterflies took flight in my stomach, lifted by his girlfriend implication.

  “But you’re here now,” he said, gently pushing me back into the living room chair when I rose to carry my empty plate into the kitchen.

  “I’ll take that.” He cleared our dishes, then returned, facing me on the floor, kneeling between my legs. “You’re pretty,” he said, brushing my hair from my face.

  No one had ever called me pretty, not even Reese, but Reese had made me feel as though I was. Glenn spoke it. Out loud. Then he kissed my mouth, a starter kiss that led to more. He reached his hands up the back of my sweatshirt, touching my skin. His touch caused my legs to wrap around his waist, then I felt a nudge from within his jeans under my thigh. He leaned in on me, kissing harder, pressing my teeth into my lip. Conscious of the boorish kiss, I ignored it, noticing more, his hands. They swiftly removed my sweatshirt and then slipped my bra aside, exposing one nipple. He went down on it. Something no one else had ever done. Something no one else had ever seen intimately and up close. I felt open. I felt sexy. It felt good.

  “Let’s get more comfortable,” Glenn whispered, unhooking my bra, letting my breasts fall free, loose. My flesh wanted more.

  I lay on his single bed and watched him undress. It felt dreamy, like I wasn’t fully present; my body was in control. His penis sprang out erect as he shed his underwear. I had never seen a naked man, not up close and in the flesh. Never seen an erect naked man. He crawled in next to me on the bed and tugged at my fly.

  “You protected?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  I had been taking the free pills I got from the Health Department. Sarah took me there before I had even gone away last summer. I was prepared for Reese, not taking any more chances. I was going to be responsible and ready when he returned. My preparedness made saying yes to Glenn an easier answer.

  “You do it,” Glenn said, fumbling with my pants.

  He was having difficulty slipping my jeans over my hips, directing me to remove them myself. He pumped hard from on top, causing me pain, then slowed down and stopped, still joined. My excitement subsided. This was not as enjoyable as it was supposed to be.

  “You get on top.” We decoupled, then switched positions. With Reese, on top worked well. The preferable position? I French kissed Glenn then moved to nibble the side of his neck. His eyes were closed, a huge smile on his face. I wanted to say I love you, but didn’t. I wanted to say I love you each time I came up for air. It felt weird not to. That was what you were supposed to do when you made love, say I love you. Say I love you with passion and feeling. Saying it back and forth, dropping a part of your soul into each other with every word so your selves were intermingled.

  But we weren’t making love.

  We didn’t know each other well enough to make love. I had done one of those never things that I promised myself that I would never do: never raise a child alone, never live in California, never marry a divorced person, never drink beer, never kiss a man you can’t say ‘I love you’ to, let alone have sex. I felt love for Glenn, but I knew he wasn’t ready to hear it. He wasn’t equipped to say it back. I felt a break in his rhythm, a mini convulsion beneath me, then saw goose bumps cover Glenn’s chest. He stopped.

  “Was it as good for you as it was for me?” he joked. I managed a grim smile instead of a laugh.


  NO! It wasn’t as good for me, didn’t even come close. I felt emptied, not filled up with love and tenderness, warm feelings and caring. I felt like something had been taken away. He didn’t wait for an answer. I had no answer to give.

  “Do you have anything to clean up with?” he asked.

  Like I had a damp washcloth in my naked back pocket.

  “No.”

  He grabbed a dirty T-shirt from the floor, wiped himself on it and then walked to the bathroom. I dressed while he washed himself off. Cum wetted my underwear right away, then soaked through to dampen my jeans. I remembered my Australian host sister, Candy, laughing about dripping on her way from the bedroom to the toilet after sex with Megan’s host brother, Brendan. Now I knew what she meant.

  “Aw, you’re dressed already? I liked looking at you,” he said tenderly, stroking my back. It was the most tender moment of the whole experience. I felt the damp spot on my jeans get bigger. I hoped it wasn’t noticeable.

  When he finished dressing, Glenn looked at me like what do we do next? We made cold roast beef sandwiches on white bread in his kitchen. The counter was piled high with dirty dishes, some growing mold.

  “I’ve got to visit my parents this afternoon, so I’ll see you when I get back,” Glenn said, very businesslike. I wondered why he didn’t invite me. He stood at the doorway waiting for me to get up and go back to my own apartment. Why didn’t he offer to let me stay at his place where he had living room chairs and a television more than four inches square? Why didn’t he offer to let me stay where it was more comfortable? I left these thoughts in my head. We kissed goodbye. He drove away. And I went crazy. Not the berserk kind of crazy, but the abyss of mass confusion and regret type of crazy. I was desolate. I had sold our souls.

  “Hey, what’s up?” Karla said when she picked up the phone. I could hear the exhalation of cigarette exhaust after she spoke.

  “I just felt like calling,” I said, a slight waver in my voice. I never called for no reason, and the reasons I did call for were few and far between.

  “What’s wrong?” Karla demanded, concerned.