Matt & Zoe

by Charles Sheehan-Miles

  “Yeah,” I say. We walk in relative quiet. Traffic is light along College Street tonight, though the night is punctuated by the occasional car passing us. I can hear the wind blowing in the trees, and the air carries the faint smell of fertilizer from somewhere in the distance. We reach the campus, on our right, and a long row of large houses that face the campus across the street. Mixed with the houses is an old observatory and the Gaylord library.

  By the time we’ve gotten that far Nicole has reached her limit of silence. She begins to tell a story, stringing together a series of unlikely events which took place on campus. Nicole’s stories are so often filled with exaggerations and outright inventions, I find myself not listening that closely. That is, until she mentions Tyler.

  “… At that point, Tyler stood up on the table and shouted, ‘sit down!’”

  I shake my head. “Tyler? Matt’s friend?”

  “Haven’t you been listening?”

  “I missed something obviously. Why was Tyler there?”

  Nicole doesn’t answer right away. Her silence is… odd. I looked over at her, and even in the light of the street lamps I can see that she is flushed red.

  “Wait a minute… Were you out on a date with Tyler?”

  The silence drags. “No. I… I don’t know. He’s such a dick. Why would I go on a date with him?”

  “I don’t know, Nicole. You tell me.”

  “Well… Yeah. We were out on a date. What’s the big deal?”

  I just smile.

  We’re in luck. The patio at Yarde Tavern is packed, but there’s one small table in the back corner. This will likely be the last time we can sit outdoors for a meal this year. Almost as soon as we sit down, a waitress takes our drink order and disappears.

  “All right, fess up.”

  Nicole laughs and rolls her eyes. “There’s nothing to say. We went out for dinner and drinks. I thought it might be fun.

  “Well, was it?”

  She gives the tiniest of nods in response.

  “Come on, you gotta give me more than that.” This time Nicole laughs. “Fine,” she looks around the patio for a minute, as if she were trying to find some description of what happened. After a few seconds of floundering, she says, “I know he’s a huge dick. But not completely. He’s actually kind of a sweetheart. He showed up with flowers.” She leaned close to me, and says in the quietest of voices, “Zoe, I … like him… a little.”

  For Nicole, that is practically a declaration of love.

  I start to ask another question, but she interrupts. “Enough about me. I don’t want to talk about it anymore, it’s too soon. What’s going on with you? How’s your semester going?”

  I sigh. “I’m starting to get it. The math. It’s just been too long, but it’s starting to come back.”

  She grins. “I knew it would, you’ve always been crazy smart, Zoe.”

  I shrugged, squirming uncomfortably. “I don’t know, I guess.”

  “No guessing.”

  “I never imagined I would find myself in college at UMASS, living here and raising Jasmine. Everything is… different.”

  “I know. You are making the best of it.”

  “I’ve had a lot of help. You. Matt. A lot.”

  Her change of expression is so sudden, that I freeze. Her eyes narrow, her face twisting into a frown, and she reaches out and grabs my wrist. Heart thumping, I whisper, “What is it?”

  She whispers, “There. Over there.”

  I twist around and follow her gaze. A tall, lanky woman in a miniskirt with multicolored hair is walking to a newish looking car.

  Matt walks beside her. They stop, say a few words to each other and he gets into the passenger side.

  Blood rushes through my head, making my ears ring. The brake lights of the car light up. I’m frozen in place. As I sit there in disbelief, the headlights turn on and the woman drives off with my boyfriend.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Is Mister P okay? (Zoe)

  “Zoe, I think it’s time to slow down on the drinks.”

  Nicole and I moved to the bar some time ago—I’m not sure how long. “Don’t be silly, I’m just getting started, this is only my second drink.” I hiccup.

  Nicole smiles and shakes her head. “No, that was drink number four.”

  I wave at the bartender, a woman vaguely in her twenties wearing a stretchy black outfit with her hair up in a ponytail. I can tell a man manages this restaurant, because all of the servers are young, female, and they all wear extremely tight shirts with low cut v-necks, obviously a required uniform. Fucking typical. “I’ll have another,” I say waving my finger vaguely in the direction of my martini glass.

  “And that’s the last one,” Nicole says. “I don’t feel like cleaning puke off my shoes.”

  I laugh and sit up. I point out the waitress’s boobs to Nicole and ask her, “Why are men such dicks?”

  Nicole chuckles. “That’s just how God made ‘em.” She gives me a wry smile. “They aren’t all that bad. You just had a run of bad luck.”

  Bad luck. No one has this kind of luck. Two boyfriends in a row cheated on me and got caught red-handed. That’s statistically improbable.

  I start to say that, but then realize that in my current state there is no way I’ll be able to pronounce improbable. Or statistically. I feel a sudden urge to cry. “I thought he was different. I thought…”

  “I know honey. If it’s any consolation, I’ll put the word out to my friends on the force. Old Matt is going to get a rash of speeding tickets.”

  I smile at the thought. “You’re my best friend.”

  The bartender appears with another apple martini.

  “That’s why you’re going to listen to me when I tell you that it’s time to go in a few minutes.”

  “Do you think it’s me?”

  Nicole shakes her head violently. “Stop. You know that it’s not you. Everything else aside, Matt was secretive from the very beginning. I don’t know what he’s hiding, but I do know that this is all him. I refuse to let you beat up on yourself because he’s a jerk.”

  I take a too large drink of my martini, and say, “I never thought anyone could hurt me as bad as Chase did. But this is worse. Because it’s not just me. Jasmine’s involved too, and she’s going to be devastated. I could kill him.”

  Quietly, she says, “You never did tell me what happened with Chase.”

  Damn it. I blink, trying to force back watering eyes. “I just didn’t want to talk about it, Nicole.”

  “I think you should. What happened?”

  “The same old thing.” I shake my head, feeling desolate. “Everything was fine. Then he started making excuses. Not showing up. Canceling dates. Then I caught him.”

  Her eyes narrow. “Caught him?”

  I nod. “He took his date to the same theater I went to one night. Tiny little Japanese girl.”

  “Asshole!”

  “That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

  She nods, a grim expression on her face. Her voice low, she asks, “What are you going to tell Jasmine?”

  Helpless, I shrug. ”I’ve got no idea. He said something about being suspended at work, but I don’t know what to believe. Oh God,” I say. My stomach is twisting into painful knots. “I’m going to have to see him at parent-teacher conferences and school functions. I’m going to have to pretend…”

  Nicole grimaces. “No way. Jasmine needs to go into a different classroom.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t know. She’s attached to him.”

  Fervently, she says, “All the more reason, Zoe.”

  I feel queasy. Suddenly I don’t want to finish my drink. I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I want to go home, curl up in bed, and not come out until all of this goes away. I think back to earlier in the conversation. Nicole saying not all men are like that. I look at her for a second, then say, “Name one man—just one—who isn’t a complete ass.”

  Nicole laughs uncomfortably. “Are
you kidding me?”

  I shake my head. “Think about all those dickheads we knew in Iraq. I’m sure they were all gentlemanly with their wives at home, but if one more swinging dick grabbed my ass I was going to pop a cap in his.”

  Nicole snorts. “Well, of course those guys were assholes.”

  “I’m serious. Just one. Name one guy.”

  Her expression is befuddled. Finally she shrugs and says, “Your Dad.”

  If Nicole had punched me in the face it wouldn’t have hit me as hard as those two words. Tears spring to my eyes and run over before I can stop them.

  “Oh, shit, Zoe. I’m sorry.”

  “Let’s go,” I say. I need to make a rapid departure before I cry even more. We have to pay the bill, and the bar is getting crowded, and it takes several minutes before we finally get out of there. Several humiliating minutes, because I can’t stop the tears from running down my face. I can feel the men and women at the bar sneaking furtive looks at me. God knows what they are thinking. It’s probably easily transparent that I’m crying because of a stupid guy.

  It’s more than that.

  I’m not just crying because of Matt. I’m crying because of Chase... because of my parents... because of the war… because of me.

  ***

  We stumble back to the house, with Nicole half supporting me. I’m embarrassed. Getting drunk because of a guy? Weakness. About halfway home, I have to stop and bend forward, afraid I’m going to puke. I manage to hold it down, and after a minute or five I say, “I’m okay. Let’s go.”

  At the house, Nicole handles explanations for Megan. I have no idea what she tells her. I go upstairs and lay down in my clothes on top of the sheets. My head is swimming. I feel myself drifting to sleep. My entire body jerks in a tiny spasm.

  When I open my eyes, it’s nighttime and I’m back in Iskandiriyah in Iraq. I’m dreaming. Maybe. It’s two in the morning, and the town is quiet except for the occasional dog barking. Nicole is at the front of the column with the first squad, and I’m in the back with the third. We’re the only women on the patrol, and Lieutenant Anders insists we stay separated in case of an IED or a suicide bomber, lest they kill both of us. Even here, on patrol with an infantry unit preparing to arrest a suspected insurgent, we’re treated differently.

  This was a last minute mission. As is often the case, a tip from someone—possibly an intelligence agency, or an informer, has directed us to a small walled compound in the town.

  Lieutenant Anders signals us to halt. For a few seconds he confers with the Sergeant, then gives a hand signal to don our night vision goggles. It’s cold out, and the air has a weight to it. In a minute, maybe two, Anders will give the order to storm the compound. I’m just getting the goggles in position when loud shots ring out in the darkness. Anders goes down, a bullet in his shoulder, and his screams jerk me into instant wakefulness.

  I struggle against the weight on my body, then realize it’s nothing but blankets. I’m in my room.

  Jesus Christ.

  If there was ever any sign I shouldn’t drink much, it’s that dream. I’m chilled, my body drenched in sweat, and my heart pounds in my chest. I struggle to remember. I’m home and I’m safe. I’m home.

  Then it hits me. I may be home, but my parents are dead, and I’m all Jasmine has left, and Matt is cheating on me with some anorexic bitch with wild looking hair.

  I start crying. Now that is a sign that I should never ever, ever, drink.

  ***

  When I stumble downstairs in the morning, Nicole is already awake, and looking far more chipper than I feel. She and Jasmine are at the kitchen table, Jasmine with a cup of hot chocolate, Nicole with coffee. Jasmine is chattering about something. I can smell the coffee, and I pour myself a cup in hopes of shaking away some of the cobwebs.

  “Morning,” Nicole says.

  Jasmine continues her story. Something about school, and the other girls in her class. I slip into my seat and struggle to follow along. I missed the beginning, and none of it makes sense. Jasmine finally shifts randomly to a different topic. And not one that I’m prepared to address.

  “Is Mister P coming for dinner? Can we have spaghetti? And ice cream? Chocolate? Or maybe strawberry.”

  I meet Nicole’s eyes. She’s expressionless.

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  I swallow, trying to drum up the courage to tell my eight-year-old sister the truth.

  Jasmine’s no fool, and for an eight year old, she’s remarkably perceptive. She stops talking and looks back and forth between me and Nicole.

  “Jasmine…” I start to say.

  “He’s not coming? Did something happen to him? Is Mister P okay?” Her voice has an edge of panic in it. I’m stunned at first. Why wouldn’t she be afraid of losing someone else? God I wish there’s a way I could break this to her without breaking her heart.

  “As far as I know he’s okay. He—he called me yesterday and said he has some family business to take care of this weekend, and had to cancel. I don’t know when he’s going to be back.”

  Jasmine’s voice has an edge to it as she responds. “But he will be back, right? Everything’s fine, isn’t it? Zoe? Is everything okay?”

  I can’t stop the tears that spring to my eyes. “Oh, Jasmine.”

  “Tell me the truth,” she demands.

  I close my eyes. Then I lie. “I just don’t know right now. I don’t know when he’ll be back.”

  I just can’t tell her that outside of school, we’ll never see him again.

  Why did you come? (Matt)

  The pounding of a fist on the cheap paneled door awakens me at 6 am on Saturday morning. For a few seconds I stare around in shock at the unfamiliar surroundings. I’m in a tiny one-person bedroom in one of the touring trailers. A thin mattress rests on a hand-built plank bed. A small shelf with a pole underneath accommodates clothing. Even though I’ve never been in this particular room, it is all too familiar. I spent much of my childhood living in campers little different from this. I shake the fog out and stand up just as the door trembles under another fist.

  “I’m up!”

  “It’s about goddamn time.” The welcome from my brother Tony makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. On the tiny shelf are two sets of practice tights. If I’m going to do this there is no point in screwing around. I go ahead and dress for practice. Once I’m finished, I leave the tiny room and walk down the equally narrow hallway to the crowded living quarters.

  Lina sits at the table, her hands wrapped around a steaming mug of coffee. Across from her, Tony is unapologetically occupying two thirds of the table with his newspaper. It’s spread across the table, a disheveled mess. A quick look shows me that it’s the Hartford Courant. Mamma is at the tiny stove. In a black cast-iron pan, eight strips of bacon are sizzling, their scent flooding the room with the savory smell that makes my mouth water. On the griddle next to that, she’s cooking pancakes.

  “Good morning,” Mamma says.

  She steps away from the stove, and wraps her arms around me. She smells like childhood. “I’m so glad you came, Matty.” She breaks off the embrace and goes back to cooking. I pour myself a cup of coffee, then slide into one of the seats.

  “Why did you come?” Tony asks. His tone seems to indicate he’d have been just as happy if I hadn’t.

  I look at my brother, studying his face. He barely responds when Mamma upbraids him for his words. I don’t understand why Tony is so hostile to me. We were close once. All of that changed my senior year, or what would have been my senior year. He never visited me in the jail. We’ve barely spoken a word to each other since.

  “I guess I thought it was time,” I say.

  “So are you like a tourist? You’re gonna come around for a few days, then drop out of our lives again?”

  Messalina says, “Give him a break, Tony. What’s your problem?”

  Mamma says in a sharp tone, “You don’t use language like that at my table.”

  Tony starts to say
something else, and Messalina interrupts him. “I mean it, Tony. Stop it.”

  Tony sits back, annoyance on his face.

  In as careful a tone as I can muster, I say, “I don’t want to fight with you Tony.” He snorts.

  I sigh. There is no point in engaging in this right now. It’s clear that Tony’s not interested in anything I have to say. And the truth is, I don’t have anything to say. I don’t know why I’m here. Why now?

  There were a lot of reasons I never came back. I wanted to go to college. I wanted to leave behind that life. A life with no stability. There’s a lot to be said for a life on the road with the circus. But almost all of it is negative. No stability. No normal friends—everyone I knew and saw more than a few months in the winter, were also transients. On top of that, no matter how careful we were, no matter how much we focused on safety, accidents did happen. You can do everything you want to try to prevent them, but there’s still some level of luck involved. After all—my dad might have lived through the heart attack if he’d been sitting in an office somewhere instead of flying through the air.

  No point in dwelling on all of that. I’m here now. After breakfast, Mamma announces that we’ll begin practice immediately. I’m still in good shape but that’s still a long way from being able to catch and hold a person flying through the air. Even though I’m only standing in for the weekend … I want to do it right. If only so I can show Tony.

  After eating, I step out of the trailer and take out my phone and dial Zoe’s number. If it was anyone else, there’s no way I’d call this early in the morning. But Zoe’s usually up well before five. My call goes unanswered—in fact it doesn’t even ring. Maybe she forgot to charge her phone. I start to dial the house phone, but at that moment Tony and Lina come out of the trailer. They’re dressed for practice.

  I send Zoe a text to let her know I’ll be out of touch most of the day and that I’ll check in at lunchtime.

  Five minutes later, we’re standing around the practice lot. It’s cold out, but we’ll be warmed up soon enough. The rigging and nets are set up outdoors in the parking lot, forty feet high. This all has an incredibly familiar feel—Mamma has continued Papa’s years of precision in how the nets and rigging are configured. Any one of us could walk on to any lot in America and find our setup to be the same. The objective, of course, is to take advantage of unconscious reflexes. Not having to worry about the location of the apron or the safety lines meant that we can focus on the act, each other, and above all, safety.