by Jake Coburn
“So why should they?”
“I like the idea,” I said jokingly.
“So write both,” Kris declared.
“Which two?”
“The version you want to have happen and the one you think actually would. You’ll know which is better.”
“And what happens if that doesn’t work?” I asked.
“Scrap it. Move on.”
I felt like asking her what she’d done with my Kris, but I didn’t even want to hear the answer. It couldn’t have all been in my head. At least not last night.
“I’ll be out in five minutes,” Kris said, walking into the bathroom and shutting the door.
As soon as I heard Kris turn the shower on, I picked up the phone on the bedside table and called Tim.
“Tim,” I whispered, reaching for my cup of coffee. “I’m freaking out.”
“Where are you?”
“Jeremy Prescott’s house in Riverdale.”
“What?”
“I came here to meet up with Greg.”
“Well, you should know Elliot’s on the hunt for you. He’s called me twice already.”
“I don’t have time to deal with that guy. He’s useless.” If I called Elliot, he’d cut me off immediately. All the asshole would care about is getting me home and grounding me. He just didn’t give a shit. If my mother was really trying to make life without my dad easier for me, she shouldn’t have married a traffic cop.
“Well, I told him you probably stayed at a friend’s place.”
“Tim,” I began again, “Kris and I slept together last night.”
“Wow,” Tim shouted. “What happened?”
“I’m losing my shit.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just listen to me for a second,” I said, lying back against the mattress. “This morning, it’s like she doesn’t even want to be around me. I know Kris. Something’s happened.”
“Fuck.”
“I don’t want to lose her.”
“I know, man,” Tim said. “What do you think it could be?”
“I have no fucking clue. I mean, we talked after, and everything was great. And then I woke up, and she was writing, and she was just . . . different.”
“How do you mean?” Tim asked.
“The way she was acting, talking. Everything.”
“Nick, if I were you, I’d calm down and just see what happens. All this could be in your head.”
“I guess.”
The shower went off in the bathroom, and I heard the glass door sliding across the metal track.
“Just play it cool. That’s what I’d do.”
I took a deep breath. “I gotta go.”
Kris opened the bathroom door and walked out in her jeans and sweater. Her hair was wrapped in a towel that she was balancing with her hand. “Can you get one of my hair thingama jigs?” Kris asked. “There’s one on the table.”
I couldn’t take this. Either Kris loved me or she didn’t. Either she wanted to be with me or she didn’t. “Kris, can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
I tossed her the scrunchee. “Was it a mistake?”
Kris paused like she’d misheard me. “What?”
“Us. Last night. I told you how I felt. I told you, and I didn’t hold anything back.”
“That was your choice,” Kris said.
“So?”
“So there’s no simple answer to a question like that. I mean, I’ve got so much going on right now, and Danny, and I’m just really . . .”
“There’s an answer to every question,” I said, annoyed. “I mean, outside, when you kissed me, all you said was ‘I don’t know.’ What does that mean?”
“Just what it says.”
“Kris, I love you. I told you that. But I have no fucking clue what’s going on.”
“I’m not trying to mess with your head,” Kris said. “We spent the night together. Why can’t we just leave it at that? There’s no yes-or-no answer to these things.”
I walked over to the window and looked down at the yard. The two guys from the kitchen were fencing with blue Styrofoam tubes that they must’ve found in the pool shed.
“You don’t get it,” I said.
“Then explain it to me.”
“You know how when you like a guy, you think about him a lot. You imagine what it would be like for you to be together, your first kiss, hanging out, all that romantic stuff.”
“Yeah.”
“And when you kiss, and that part of your fantasy comes true, you don’t know how much else will, too. I mean, you don’t know whether he kissed you because he felt sorry for you or because he loves you.”
Kris nodded. “If I kiss a guy, it means something.”
“So when we kissed last night, I expected other things to be true, too.”
“Like what?”
“I’m not sure,” I said, lying. “All I know is that a kiss isn’t just a kiss. Not between us, at least.”
She sat down on the edge of the bed. “Nick, what do you want?”
“I need to know whether we just slept together and that was that, and it’ll never happen again, or what. I mean, do you want me as a boyfriend, or is this just a one-night fling? I need to know, ’cause right now I feel like I don’t know a thing.”
There was a knock on the door. Kris looked at me as if she was about to say something, and then walked over to open it.
Danny stepped lazily into the room. The color was gone from his face, and I could see the beginnings of a mustache forming on his upper lip. He looked miserable. “Hey, Nick. I’ve got a riddle for you. What’s the difference between tragedy and irony?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“Self-importance.” Danny walked into the bathroom and vomited three times, each one steadily lowering him to the tile floor. When he was finished, Danny was lying on the floor clutching the toilet bowl like a life preserver.
Kris walked over to him, knelt down, and rested her hand on his shoulder. “You’re going to be okay,” she whispered.
I could hear air brakes wheeze down the street as garbage men stopped to feed their trucks. My hands were so cold.
We called Ted’s Taxis and a car pulled into the Prescotts’ drive-way fifteen minutes later. Kris spent the entire ride with her hair in front of her face like a veil and her hands clasped together, and I sat staring out the window, sneaking occasional glances at her profile. Danny was slumped between us, his head resting on my shoulder. I felt like such a fool. Things weren’t supposed to happen this way.
When the taxi pulled up on Broadway, I grabbed my backpack and helped Danny out. The 242nd Street elevated station had two train tracks, and both were empty.
“How long till the next train leaves?” I asked the station attendant.
“Should be about fifteen minutes,” she answered. “It’s Sunday.”
“Well, I’m gonna go get something to settle the stomach,” Danny said, walking back toward the staircase. “You guys want anything?”
“Be back in ten minutes,” Kris said firmly, and then he was gone.
I stared up at the clouds settling over Van Cortlandt Park. “The train ride shouldn’t take that long.” I couldn’t look Kris in the eyes. I felt like as soon as I did, it would all be over.
“Yeah,” she said.
Why was this happening? I’d told her everything last night. I’d told her things I didn’t even know I could say.
Kris looked up at the sky. “What are you looking at, Cowboy?”
I wished she hadn’t called me that. When she used that name, I thought of the first time we met and every day after. “Clouds,” I said.
“I’m sorry we didn’t get to finish our conversation.”
“Kris, I said all I could say.”
She shook her head slowly. “I don’t love you, Nick. At least, not the way you want me to. But I think you already know that.”
I bowed my head, and Kris continued talking. My eyes
hurt. They stung.
“I liked being with you, but I’m not in love with you.”
“Then why last night? Why the kiss?” I could feel a numbness spreading through my stomach.
“Because I wanted to give us a chance. For you and for me.”
“That’s the only reason?”
“And I guess there was part of me that wasn’t sure,” Kris said. “I wanted to be sure.”
“I just don’t get it.”
“It’s hard to explain. I sat up all morning writing about you, and me, and us. About relationships and Luke and—”
“Try,” I interrupted. I could still smell her shampoo on my skin. Why did I have to sleep so well next to her?
Kris took a long, full breath. “You know how people say that they can’t explain what love feels like. They always try and try, but it’s impossible. Well, not being in love with somebody is just as difficult. I don’t know why.”
“Don’t you ever think about it? I mean us.”
“Sure, I’ve thought about it. I don’t know.” Kris paused. “Nick, I’m not your dream girl.”
“How do you know?” I wanted to stare her down so she’d know what she was doing to me.
“Because the dream girl says yes,” Kris declared. “She doesn’t say no. I mean, that’s part of being the dream girl. Natalie Wood didn’t tell James Dean, ‘Thanks, but no thanks.’ ”
“Do you miss Luke?” I asked. “I mean, do you still love him?”
Kris sighed. “Sometimes I think so. He wants me to go with him this summer, and I guess part of me really wants to. My father said we could stay with him for a while. I just don’t know. . . .”
“If he’s such a great guy, then why didn’t he come with you last night?”
“That doesn’t have anything to do with you and me,” Kris said. “Nick, I’m sorry. I really am.”
“I’ve got to go.” I didn’t have any idea where, but I felt like I had to leave. How could I stay?
I turned my back on Kris, and the Number 1 train that was pulling into the station, and walked as steadily as I could down the steps toward Broadway.
My legs felt as heavy as Wurlitzers when I stepped back onto the sidewalk. I was a disaster. This whole fucking weekend was a disaster. I walked underneath a white-and-green sign for Manhattan College and passed Doyle’s Pub. On 239th Street, I walked by an empty parking lot with a young attendant asleep inside and a fruit stand with a spray-painted sign reading FRESH STRAWBERRIES. I couldn’t understand how people were strolling by me so calmly.
I was just glad to be away from Kris. Half of me kept saying that it wasn’t true, that she was sitting on the train realizing what a mistake she’d made, that she was about to pull the emergency cord—the other half of me was furious. How could she lead me on like that? I couldn’t believe it, but Kris was more confused than I was. At least I knew what I wanted, even if I’d never have it.
On 238th, I walked past Vincent’s pizza shop and stopped at the Five Star Restaurant. My mouth was so dry. I needed a soda. The grill man had his shirt half unbuttoned, and everybody at the counter looked like a regular. Sitting down on the first stool, I tried to get the waiter’s attention. He was busy adjusting the top-shelf pies, and I gave up for the moment.
I didn’t know what the hell to do with myself. When the girl of your dreams is your best friend, there’s no one to talk to if things don’t work out. Part of me wanted to scream at Kris for not seeing how amazing we could be together. Part of me just wanted to cry on her shoulder.
In the booth across from me, there was a little girl wearing a green cotton dress and a pair of white leggings, stretching down to white leather shoes. She was sitting on the edge of the cushion crayoning fiercely, but her legs barely reached the floor. There was a leather coat on the opposite seat and I decided that her father must be in the bathroom. Every few seconds she’d drop one crayon and snatch up another.
I must have looked like a total derelict, but I really felt like talking to somebody. I was lonelier now than I knew I could be.
“What are you drawing?” I said. “If you don’t mind me asking.”
She kept her eyes fixed on the paper, but her crayoning slowed. “A picture for my friend.”
“What’s it of?”
“Fishes,” she said, slurring the last s.
“What kind?”
“Kissing fishes,” she mumbled.
“Did you think them all up yourself?” I asked, trying to be friendly.
“I’ve got two at home,” she said, looking up at me like I was dumb. “One’s big and one’s kinda small.” She held up her drawing of a giant pink fish.
“Why are they called kissing fish?”
The waiter wandered down to my end of the counter, and I ordered a Coke.
“ ’Cause they have funny mouths when they swim,” she said, stretching her mouth like a fish. “They look like they’re kissing.”
“Kissing what?”
“Kissing everything. The water, the plants, the rocks. Everything except each other.”
I took a sip and chewed on a piece of ice. “They can’t kiss each other?”
“Well, it kinda looks like they’re kissing when they get all close, but they’re not.”
“What are they doing then?”
“Fighting,” she said, picking up another crayon. “But it’s not fair ’cause one’s a lot bigger.”
I nodded. “You’re a good artist.” Somebody deserved to feel good about themselves.
“Thank you.” She smiled and reached for her fork.
I finished my soda and said good-bye to the girl. Walking back out onto Broadway, I tried to clear my head. I couldn’t go back to the Prescotts and the Diggs, and there was no way I was going home. After losing Kris, it didn’t really matter where I went.
I knew Greg would love it when I didn’t show at the church. In his mind, it would prove all the shit he’s ever said about me. He’d tell everybody about this, and the funny thing is that I didn’t even care. None of that shit mattered to me.
Across the street, two Dalmatians were straining their necks against their leashes while they waited for the light to change. Their owner leaned back and tightened the hold. I lit a cigarette and tried to figure out which way to walk.
Kris and Danny were probably near 125th Street. I didn’t owe her a damn thing anymore. She’d made a fool of me for too long. I took another drag and tried to finish my thought.
Suddenly I saw Kodak’s feet shuffling back and forth against the pavement and I could feel my legs sticking to the concrete. A car horn exploded in my ears—I was standing in the middle of the street. A middle-aged guy stuck his head out the window of an Acura and flipped me off. I couldn’t move.
The horn sounded again. I leapt for the sidewalk. The Acura swerved angrily around the corner and I searched my pocket for Ella. He was mixed in with some change, but I recognized the texture of his face. Pulling him out, I squeezed him in my palm.
“What the fuck do I do now, Ella?” I whispered.
I remembered the way Danny had laughed when he tripped over the garbage cans Friday night, and how passionately he’d explained Conformism, and I realized this wasn’t about Kris or Greg or Kodak anymore. I’d promised to help Danny—he needed me. I had to be there.
My legs were tired but I started jogging. I ran past Five Star, the pizzeria, and by the time I reached the parking lot, my lungs were really whistling. I’d been smoking so much lately that I couldn’t catch my breath, but I didn’t stop. Getting to the church was the only thing I was sure about.
Weaving my way past couples, I reached the staircase and leapt up the stairs, three at a time. My undershirt was soaked through, both my shoelaces were untied, and I was hyperven tilating so loudly that people were staring at me. Another train was waiting in the station and I jumped on the first car. Trudging down the aisle, I fell onto an empty bench. My whole body was sore and I still couldn’t breathe, but I was on my way.
&
nbsp; Danny stood on the corner of 110th and Broadway with his hands nervously stuffed in his pockets. All around him, college kids were lining up for Max’s hot dogs and papaya drinks, and I realized I hadn’t eaten anything all day.
I walked up behind Danny and put my arm around his shoulders. “You ready?” His body flinched, but he smiled when he realized it was me.
“No,” he said, raising his voice. “I’m glad you’re here. I wasn’t sure—”
“This isn’t about Kris and me,” I interrupted. I could see that he didn’t believe me, but I didn’t care. At some point during the train ride, I’d given up trying to piece everything together. It hurt too much. It was easier just to concentrate on the one thing I was sure of—Danny needed my help.
“Either way. I’m still really glad you made it,” Danny said. “I owe you for this.”
“We’ll see how much good it does you.”
“You haven’t heard from Greg?” Danny asked.
“No, but it’s just three-thirty.”
“I’m pretty freaked out, Nick.”
“I know,” I began. “But there’s no point in stressing now.”
Danny nodded. “You’re right. I spent the train ride reading this Army poster,” he said, smiling. “I was thinking about joining up. Nobody would find me there.”
“Maybe I’ll go with you.” It was good to see his sense of humor was still in working order. “I could use the exercise. Why don’t we join the Navy instead? No one’s going to track us down halfway across the Pacific.”
“I don’t like those pants. We could join the Air Force.”
“Nah. You can’t wear glasses in the Air Force,” I said, putting my finger against my frames. “At least I don’t think so.”
“How about the Marines?” Danny asked. “We’d get swords.”
“Do they ever fight with those things?”
“I don’t know.”
“Neither do I.”
“Well, if this doesn’t work out, at least we’ve got a backup plan,” Danny declared, surveying the avenue.
I noticed a tall guy in a Tommy jacket crossing 110th Street. We made eye contact, and he walked over to us. “One of you Thet?” he asked, playing with the drawstring on his jacket.