Notice

by Heather Lewis

  Finally she said, “All right.”

  I felt a crazed glee. This fantastic belief everything would be okay now or at least better. I knew it showed. I knew I was smiling, and I could tell it concerned her.

  We drove in silence pretty much. Once in a while she patted my thigh the way a mother might when something’s not right.

  We got to her house and once inside I went up the stairs. I’d taken my clothes off and gotten into her bed before she’d gotten into the room. She stood in the doorway for a bit. I couldn’t look at her, turned my head away. I said, “Come here. I need you.”

  Hearing these words come out of my mouth unnerved me. Her, too, I’m sure from the way she sat beside me, still fully dressed and seeming unsure whether to touch me.

  I touched her. I pulled her down beside me. Began kissing her, grabbing at her clothes. First her shirt, then her skirt, unable to stay focused on one or the other until I’d begun kissing her breasts and then sucking them.

  She gave in then. I felt it. I felt her body change. She lay back and let me, and I was surprised at my energy. Didn’t know where it could’ve come from, all in this sudden way that made me feel stronger.

  I didn’t take off her skirt, I just pushed it up; pulled her underwear aside and pressed into her. She tensed a little, and so I was the one telling her to take it easy. But then I stopped being easy myself, or maybe never had started.

  I drove my hand into her. I wasn’t sure what kind her cries were, not at first. I was afraid I was hurting her except it was clear I wasn’t.

  I didn’t remember this, doing this before, seeing her this way. And her saying my name over and over – my real name. She hadn’t done this before. Or, if she had, I hadn’t let myself hear it. But that didn’t matter, not exactly. Except that it did. It mattered most of all.

  But now she’d left off this and was just making sounds, sounds I could get lost in. I watched her face intently. Watched her while she was coming. And when she’d finished she looked shy and defenseless as she curled into my body.

  I had this sense of gathering her up. I pulled her as close as I could and this did feel better – having things the other way around. Somehow, through this, I felt all right. That we were all right – the two of us together. That we were together.

  Feeling this way lasted a long while. Lasted until she shifted a little, was shifting me on to my back with her looking down on me. I wanted to change it again, change it back the other way, but something in her eyes kept me from trying, made me close my eyes instead.

  I felt her body pressing the whole of mine, felt her hands along my sides, her thigh between my legs. And I was glad when she kissed me because I’d had the uneasy sense she was smiling, smiling out of wanting me, and I didn’t like it.

  I knew what she’d do before she started. Before she began to move her mouth down my body. And I knew her doing this would get me lost again. That she’d take me back to that place I loathed and craved.

  I didn’t bother anymore with trying to stop it. I just let it happen. And either the drug wasn’t there anymore or it wasn’t enough. That big wailing thing had taken up the whole of my chest and seemed to go further. I could feel it right through to my back, hurting me there. And I could feel it when she put her hand in me; I could feel it there, too. And I feared I couldn’t keep the noises inside. That this sound echoing up into my mind was bigger than me.

  But when the tears started, they weren’t big. They trailed my cheeks slowly. I turned my face into the pillow to hide them, but it didn’t work. I couldn’t seem to hide anything. The whole of me, all my insides, mingled with what she was doing and I wasn’t used to this overlap.

  I began to make sounds. And they were about coming, but weren’t only that. They were filled with that howling thing too, and unmistakably. So much so she nearly quit what she was doing until I told her, “Please …” And the sound of my voice was halting and haunting. I’d meant to say more but couldn’t, not if it would sound this same way.

  She finished me, then drew herself up beside me and I clutched her and held on. She whispered these soothing things to me that weren’t quite like words. She held me tightly. I didn’t know which thing was breaking me, only knew I was broken.

  And she knew too, but misplaced it. She’d seen I was torn, seen that tear from the gun. She said, “Sweetheart, what’s happened? How’d this happen?” And her finger was there, fondling lightly, and so Burt was there too. And me trying to push him away but keep her. This made harder with them both calling me the same thing.

  Her calling me that now, saying, “Sweetheart, tell me. Tell me who did this?”

  Of course, I couldn’t. So I tried to go back to the way I would’ve handled this before. I said, “Just some trick getting nasty.”

  But my voice sounded wrong, still came from too far inside me. Letting her too far inside me. And letting that baying thing loose again. Letting it out where she might maybe see it. And maybe she had seen it, or sensed it, because she took her hand away from that tear and put it on to my chest. Began to fondle me there. Did this so slowly, and kept on that way even once my tears came again.

  And she still stayed steady and slow when I couldn’t keep hold of myself anymore. When that howling thing took me over. When it had me at bay, or she did. When she was laying down with it. Laying me down with it, in it. Until it was all of me, or she was.

  Twenty-Seven

  I spent the night with her. I nearly did. She woke me up before it was light out and this felt superstitious to me. That someway if we never woke up together in the morning, in the light, it kept this thing between us not quite real, or in some separate place.

  She drove me home in the half-light of dawn and I thought, what will we do as the days get longer, how will we keep our meetings always at twilight? How will it change things? And so from this dead space that was still winter I asked, “Where’s your husband?”

  I surprised myself with this question and also with where it had come from. She looked stunned by it. I actually believed she was weighing the ethics of telling me her problems. That this slowed her answer. It seemed both ridiculous and sweet.

  “He’s moved out for a while. We needed some time apart.”

  She said this as if it had nothing to do with me and maybe it didn’t. At least I could believe this. I wondered whether she could, or even was trying to.

  Once I was home – in my own bed by myself – I couldn’t believe it at all. I could only see I’d busted another marriage. To even imagine this felt dangerous. Like this hole in me getting bigger and more torn at the edges would just keep growing until it’d taken me over. And I could see it making holes in other people, in Beth. Tearing at her life as well.

  I thought of calling Burt because, for the moment, drugs seemed the answer. That one drug did. Calling him wasn’t possible though, not having his number or a clue to his last name. And this meant facing Beth again, with this new knowledge and nothing to bolster me.

  I began drinking soon after. It didn’t work very well. It only reminded me I needed so much more in order to cope. The one thing it did accomplish was to keep me at home. It placed me where I thought I should stay – in my bathtub, surrounded by warm water and with a glass propped on the edge of the tub, the bottle on the floor beside me.

  I’d even brought the phone in and doing this reminded me Beth had said nothing about talking to Burt. And nearly on cue the phone rang and I felt afraid to answer it.

  I let it ring a long time and when I picked it up different voices sloshed around in my head. Made the voice actually there hard to make out.

  “Nina? Nina, he knows you called. I’ve been phoning for two days but you never answer.”

  “Ingrid,” I said as some sort of horror crept in beside, or through all the booze.

  “Listen to me, now. It’s not safe anymore.”

  “Did you call last night?” I asked, then realizing I had the day wrong.

  “I’ve been calling. Have y
ou been there?”

  “What?”

  “Who was that? That man? I thought I knew him. I know his voice.”

  Gradually I understood she’d been the one to call that other night. And instead of concerning me, this saddened me – that it hadn’t been Beth after all. I sat there thinking, well maybe she called later. I puzzled this while Ingrid kept saying, “Nina. Nina, it’s important you listen to me now.”

  I didn’t really listen. I couldn’t. Though some part of me had gone into motion. I was getting out of the tub. Knocked the glass on the floor, then picked it up. I carried it, and the bottle and the phone and a robe, into the living room because the bedroom seemed too dark and ugly.

  I sat on the couch and tried very hard to grasp what she was saying. But all I kept hearing was that name I’d given her to call me, her saying it over and over. And then I stopped struggling to hear anything else because what could I do? And once I stopped trying, I began understanding her, accomplishing this all too well.

  “Nina, he might come for you. I don’t know what he’ll do.”

  “He doesn’t know where I am.”

  She was slow to say anything to this. And I knew he could’ve found me without her. This didn’t trouble me, even him coming after me didn’t. What troubled me was knowing she’d given him the map.

  I realized this wasn’t new knowledge, so it hurting so much surprised me. The wrong things always seemed to be hurting me. Stealing too much of my attention so I could never focus on protection.

  Finally she said, “Nina, if he wants to he’ll find you.”

  And with you there to help him – this was what I felt like saying but what actually came from my mouth turned me full circle. I said, “I want to see you. Ingrid, I need to see you.”

  “Darling, that’s the worst thing we could do.”

  “I could come there,” I said. “He wouldn’t expect that.”

  I didn’t know why I was saying these things. I didn’t know where they were coming from except that maybe these days nothing could scare me more than the things Beth gave rise to. And if those things lived inside me all the time anyway, how could anything else ever actually hurt me?

  “It’s too dangerous,” she said flatly. “It’d only make things so much worse.”

  “But …” I started and then trailed off. I knew I’d likely never see her again. That if I was too dumb or desperate to protect myself she didn’t share this. She’d protect herself. She’d always been better at that than me.

  I pulled the robe closer around me. I said, “Don’t worry. I know you’re right.” Then, without saying anything more, without saying goodbye, I hung up.

  The phone didn’t ring again and I didn’t know why I wanted it to. I went into the bedroom, into the drawer with her money. There was still plenty there, enough maybe even to leave, except I knew I wouldn’t do this.

  What I did instead was get dressed. If I left soon, I could go by the bar before I saw Beth. I did this but I didn’t find Burt and Jeremy. I settled for buying a bag off a guy at the bar and smoking it there in the bathroom. I thought this might get me further than snorting. It didn’t. Not very. Though it did get me to Beth’s. Late again and not exactly well put together.

  I tried to remember where she and I had last been. Could only remember her driving me home. Now that I was with her I couldn’t place what had come before. But somewhere I must’ve known because I couldn’t sit down for the longest time. It’d been quite a while since I’d felt the true need for this game. It had become only a habit.

  When I finally sat down and looked at her, what I saw was genuine concern and a tenderness that made me want to spill out all the things going on inside and around me. Make use of her the way I should’ve all along. But my skills for taking care of myself were so misaligned I stayed wary.

  What occurred to me instead was trying to use her place to hide. That if I could keep spending my nights there he might not find me so easily.

  Something about her made this seem impossible. I couldn’t quite discern what it was. The drug emboldened me enough to ignore it. But it wasn’t doing much of anything else. And even though I knew this wasn’t about the way I’d put it into my body, that didn’t mean I wouldn’t go back to get more.

  I waited for her, waited for her to say anything. She looked tired in a way that made me wonder if she’d really spent the day here working. Or if like me she’d spent the day somewhere else and had only recently arrived.

  I kept looking for a way in – a way to ask could we go to her place. Not finding it made me think beyond her reasons, and clear through to my own. I couldn’t drag her into this. I couldn’t put her at risk because what if he found me there? This led to the new problem of then where would we go? I sure couldn’t take her to my place, and I couldn’t tell her why, and staying here seemed too uncomfortable.

  I muddled this over while she continued not to speak. I got so lost inside my own skull that when she did finally say something I didn’t hear her. I didn’t even know she’d leaned toward me. Not until she was jostling my knee. And then I noticed how close our chairs were again. I stayed with this thought, wondering when she’d moved them. Then she took my hand and said, “Hey, are you there? Are you there at all?”

  “Huh,” I said, which I’m sure sounded convincing.

  “Are you on something?”

  I thought this a ridiculous question. She hadn’t exactly worried about this yesterday. Yesterday, she’d liked me on junk. She’d liked the way I’d fucked her.

  I pulled my hand away from hers and crossed my arms against my chest. I said, “Sweetheart, I’m always on something. Hell, you like it that way.”

  She pulled back, too. She looked stung and disappointed and I was disappointed, too – in myself and this childish game I still couldn’t let go of.

  She was staring out the window, though not really since the shade was drawn. As if without meaning to, I’d gotten up. Not to get away from her, but to go to her. I was kneeling in front of her. I’d taken her hand. “I’m sorry,” I was saying. “I didn’t mean that.”

  My other hand was on her thigh, first over her skirt and then slipping underneath it. I was stroking her, pushing her skirt up a little.

  I slid my hand between her legs, trying very hard to keep as gentle as she would’ve. She still wasn’t looking at me and so I stopped looking at her. I pushed her skirt up farther and undid just the one stocking. Pulled it a little ways down and began kissing her thigh. I felt better about this when she put her hands in my hair. When she leaned back and let go some, opened her legs more.

  I took off her underwear. Put my arms around her and pulled her closer. Began to kiss her and lick her until she started making sounds. And from this, I stopped worrying.

  When I’d finished her, I stayed on my knees and held on. She didn’t move. She stayed quiet and kept her legs wrapped around me. This felt comforting before it began feeling that same too close way. But then she took my hands and pulled me on to her lap, facing her. Now it seemed she knew more of what happened inside me than I did, or could ever.

  She held my face in her hands. Looked at me in a way I didn’t know. Saw me as someone I didn’t know. I stayed with her eyes before I closed mine. Did this when she kissed me, first near her hands and then on my throat. Finally kissing my mouth and me opening mine, tipping my head back into her hands, feeling them stroking my neck, one of them opening my shirt.

  My body went taut before it went loose, and then she was trying to get up. At first I didn’t know what it meant. She was saying, “Come on, sweetheart.”

  She’d taken my hand, was leading me out of there and into the waiting room, to that big wide couch where I lay down.

  She lay down beside me and was stroking my chest. She let the whole of her hand rest between my breasts, staying there long enough that all those same feelings settled underneath it. I took a breath that spread me out. It left me shaking and needing way too much.

  She’d unb
uttoned the rest of my shirt. Had begun on my pants. She did all this so slowly. It seemed wherever her hand went it found more of my need. And then she followed her hand with her mouth, and nothing had felt so soft to me as that couch. It took in my body and so I lay there, letting my breaths come in this deep, faltering way that made me afraid of what else they’d uncover.

  I wanted to touch her but couldn’t move my arms. I just let them lay there beside me while she did these things to me. While she kept stroking me, my stomach, and then between my legs – stroking me in this soothing, soft way that left me dumbstruck. And when her fingers went into me they stayed soft and didn’t stay long and then went back inside me. I knew I’d never known this before, not in this way. That if I could’ve asked, could’ve spoken at all, it would’ve been to make her stop this.

  My breaths were halting and turning into sobs and I didn’t want her to see this. I didn’t want her to know this about me except she already did. She knew more what I’d needed always than I did.

  I didn’t try to stop any of it any longer. Instead I let myself wail and bawl and, when I tried to curl up, she put her weight on me. Kept me still so I couldn’t. Brought me off in that way I couldn’t distinguish from the rest of it. That way that was part of the rest of it. Or only that, that howling massive mess.

  And then she’d put her hand so deep in me, drew the rest of her body up next to me, close to me, and I felt my hands holding her hand in me. Felt my legs fall open while I held her hand inside me, and she just kept saying, “It’s all right, sweetheart. It’s all right now.”

  She said this again and again until I believed it. Then I let go of her hand and grabbed hold of her, pulled her to me. I wrapped my legs around her and this put me back to that howling place, but she kept talking to me, and I could hear her. I could hear her there with me.

  She kept telling me it was all right. She said this with such unmistakable love, and I loved her, too. I loved her so much in that moment, it seemed nothing, no one, could hurt me again. Like this feeling for her bathed that hulking place that’d been so sore, sore from my very beginnings.