Seneca Falls

by Jesse J. Thoma

  Dylan looked like she was holding her breath. It was very cute and not something that Seneca expected. Why would Dylan be nervous about having coffee with her?

  “Nefarious?” Seneca said, actually enjoying the teasing. “I never have nefarious intentions. Let’s go, Bob. I have to warn you, though, I’ve never understood the appeal of froth and foam and little pretty pictures on the top of my coffee. You have some convincing to do.”

  “Do I really seem like the afternoon latte type? Am I that transparent? Fine, well, I’ll buy and change your mind. You’ll see.”

  Seneca couldn’t for the life of her understand why she was agreeing to coffee. It felt too much like a date, too much like the type of thing she avoided at all costs. There was something about Dylan though that made her feel, not unsafe. Even that small admission scared her out of her wits, yet her boots continued to follow as if the damned things had a mind of their own.

  For almost an hour, they sat in pleasant conversation. Dylan kept up a steady stream of stories about her parents and her youth, each more entertaining than the last as they progressed from slightly silly to downright ridiculous. Seneca had never met anyone remotely like the woman Dylan described as her mother, but she was fascinated all the same.

  “Would your mom take one look at me and head for the door, screaming?” Seneca asked. “I can’t imagine she finds too many women like me roaming around her neighborhood or joining her book club.”

  Dylan seemed to find the thought amusing. “My mother does belong to a book club. She was brought into the group by a family friend who is much older, and my mother is the youngest person in it by thirty years. At least once every sixth month they get interrupted during the book club, or the meeting gets cancelled altogether, because someone has to go to the hospital. No one is under eighty. I was trying to picture an octogenarian with your haircut reading War and Peace with my mother.”

  “Does she like the book club?”

  “She hates it. It’s terrible.”

  “Why doesn’t she find a different one? Aren’t there a hundred of those things around? I hear people talking about them and see signs in places like this.” Seneca waved at their coffee shop surroundings.

  “Of course she could, but it’s expected she remain in the one she’s in. Socially, it’s important and it would be rude to leave. There are a lot of expectations on her, on all Walkers. Anyway, that’s lame conversation. Tell me something about yourself.”

  “I’d really love if you would tell me about Australia. I haven’t done much traveling,” Seneca said, enjoying Dylan’s company and her stories. Maybe this was what a normal friendship felt like. If so, it was sort of nice. Seneca vaguely remembered this kind of thing happening before her life went to hell. It helped that Dylan was willing to hold up most of the conversation, meaning Seneca could simply sit back and enjoy the sound of her voice without having to reveal anything about herself.

  “Oh, Australia was amazing, the most beautiful country. I could bore you with the details for days. I took pictures and wrote my mother letters, but all she’ll ever talk about is Kathleen. The woman has a one-track mind.”

  “Who’s Kathleen? Girlfriend?” Seneca asked, truly intrigued.

  “Girlfriend might be a bit strong, but in a sense, yes, girlfriend fits. Kinda the junior high, lasts two weeks and then you want to throw spitballs at them, kind of girlfriend. You know what I mean?”

  Seneca had no idea but nodded anyway. “So, the celibate Bob does sleep with women after all. And just what does one have to do to become the junior high school girlfriend?”

  “You offering yourself up for the job?” Dylan asked, her eyebrow cocked.

  Holy shit! Was I just flirting with her?

  Seneca must have looked terrified because Dylan’s face softened and she gently placed her hand over both of Seneca’s, which were crammed together so forcefully it was amazing nothing was broken. Seneca flinched at the contact, but didn’t pull away. What was wrong with her? She needed to get better at controlling some of these reactions if she was going to have friendships and normal human interactions.

  “I was teasing you, Seneca. But to answer your question, I think my mother is conservative, old-fashioned, and unenlightened, a little in the vein of Mrs. Bennett in Pride and Prejudice. However, she did teach me a few things that I’ve kept with me. One is that I want to be courted and swept off my feet. I know it seems like a fairy tale, but I’m not big on the casual sex thing. Don’t get offended. Everyone gets to make that decision for themselves. I want my knight in shining armor and I want to be wooed.”

  Dylan caught Seneca’s eye, probably hoping to reassure her she wasn’t judging Seneca’s casual flings. Seneca didn’t care if she were. They served her purpose, and she wasn’t ashamed that she got what she needed, when she needed it. “Wooed? Is that even a thing anymore?”

  “Yes, wooed. And it is to me.”

  Seneca found it completely adorable that Dylan held on to the idea of a fairy tale love. She wasn’t about to tell her there was no such thing.

  “What about you—” Seneca’s shoulders elevated and she wrapped her arms around herself, and Dylan left her question in mid-sentence. Which was good, because if Dylan continued, Seneca couldn’t guarantee she wouldn’t bolt out of her chair and be gone. She had been running so long it was a hard habit to break, even when she was having an enjoyable afternoon and there was nothing to run from. At least, she didn’t want to think she needed to fear Dylan. She moved her hands from around herself and gripped the seat of her chair. She felt like she was holding herself in place, but at least she was staying put.

  “What about your plans for dinner?” Dylan said, tapping her watch, pointing out that they were going to be late getting back to their houses.

  “Oh,” Seneca said, caught off guard. Her defenses were up, and she hadn’t expected Dylan to ask about her stomach. “Uh, I don’t have any plans for dinner. Was that really what you were going to ask me?”

  “No,” Dylan said bluntly. “Dinner with me? Downtown or back on campus?”

  “Why didn’t you ask me what you wanted to, then?”

  “Would you have answered?” Dylan asked, looking gentle but curious.

  “I don’t even know what the question was going to be,” Seneca said, but after the glare from Dylan continued, “but no, I wouldn’t have answered, and you certainly wouldn’t have gotten the opportunity to be taken to dinner because I would have already been halfway up to campus by now.” Sometimes it felt good to let some of the burden go by telling the truth.

  “Well then, good thing I didn’t ask, because I’m hungry. Now, where do you want to go?” Dylan seemed content to let Seneca dictate how much she shared, which was the only way this would work. Like Seneca’s encounters at the bar, she only felt safe if she was in control.

  *

  Britt was at her desk as usual when Seneca returned. In addition to being a college student, she was a writer, and her computer had become a natural extension of her fingers.

  It was late, but Seneca felt anything but tired. Dinner with Dylan had been wonderful. Their conversation was light and easy, and for the first time in as long as she could remember, Seneca didn’t feel the pit of loneliness quite so acutely. Maybe another friend wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

  “Hey, Sen,” Britt said. “Out on the prowl? Unsuccessful again? Even you can’t have been studying already.”

  “No, not studying,” Seneca said. “Hey, Britt, you’ve been on dates before, right?”

  Britt looked at her, clearly amused by her question but not about to laugh in her face. “Yes, once or twice. Why do you ask?”

  “Well, I never have.”

  “Ever?” Britt asked.

  “Nope,” Seneca said. She thought back to what she had always thought of as dating, when Shannon was in her life. She shivered. “How do I know if I’ve just been on one?”

  Britt looked like she was trying too hard to not think this was the m
ost adorable thing she’d ever seen. Seneca wasn’t sure if she was amused or embarrassed by Britt’s reaction.

  “Are you going to put me on a Hallmark card or help me out?”

  “I would come over there and give you a big squeeze and gross, sloppy kiss on the cheek, but I know you’d freak out and whack me with your cane so I’m just going to sit here and grin a bit. Does this have to do with the cutie named Bob?”

  “Some help you are,” Seneca said, although she wasn’t really mad. If she hadn’t just had a great night, perhaps she would be feeling differently, but Britt always got more leeway anyway. Not enough to get away with sloppy kisses though.

  “Okay, seriously now. Was the word ‘date’ ever used?”

  “No.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Coffee, and that led to dinner.”

  “Kiss? Sex?”

  “No and no.”

  “How did you end up out together and any plans for round two?”

  “She wrote me a note in class, and not really. I hope it happens again, though. It was…nice.”

  “Did it feel like a date? Were you flirting, touching hands? Keeping obnoxiously long eye contact?”

  “Is dating really this complicated? She made me try a latte. Does that count?”

  “For you, oddly enough, I think so. Keep seeing this one, Sen. I think she has potential.”

  “I’ve never seen any others. How would you know if she has potential for me or not? Not that I’m arguing,” Seneca said. “Oh, hey, I got a job today.”

  “Seneca! You already have three jobs. Please tell me you’re not serious.” Britt looked horrified.

  If it had been anyone else, Seneca would have recoiled at the note of censure in Britt’s voice. However, somewhere along the way, she had realized Britt’s chastisements and suggestions weren’t an attempt to control her; they were an indication of her genuine concern. She’d been Seneca’s only friend, even if Seneca didn’t open up as most friends did. Britt seemed undeterred and never asked for more than Seneca could give.

  “No, this job actually replaces the other three. It’s with the athletic department. It was an offer I couldn’t turn down.”

  “Sweet,” Britt said. “Who you working with?” Britt was on the squash team and knew most everyone in the athletic department.

  “Kate, the new trainer,” Seneca said, reflecting on her very odd afternoon.

  “Ooh, she is so damned hot. Real nice too, from what I hear. I foresee a season of extra sore hamstrings for me and probably every other lesbo on a sports team.”

  Seneca rolled her eyes and laughed.

  “Well, she said she’s going to train me to patch up all you injury-prone fools, so you’re out of luck, thanks to the instant healing powers of Seneca King.”

  “Oh no, if you and Kate are in there together, that seals the deal. This is going to be the worst season for mild, nagging injuries in the history of sports. I hope you enjoyed your coffee non-date because you aren’t going to have time for any more. You are about to become one of the two most popular women on campus.”

  Chapter Six

  Seneca scrambled down the hill to the soccer field, skidding to a halt next to Kate, trying to look composed. She was three minutes late for her first day of work. Seneca was never late. She knew exactly how much time it took to get everywhere and set off to any destination with breakneck speed, mindless of her protesting leg. Whether that was because she was constantly running from her demons or compensating for her limp, she never bothered to consider. What did it matter anyway? On every other day, it took her twelve minutes to reach the soccer field from her room. Today, it had taken fifteen.

  “You’re late,” Kate said without looking at Seneca. “Why?”

  Seneca was caught off guard by the question. She didn’t sense anger or rebuke in Kate’s voice, just mild curiosity. She had expected a lecture, not an opportunity to provide an excuse.

  “I stopped to look at a tree,” Seneca said honestly, grimacing at how ridiculous it sounded.

  In truth, she hadn’t had a choice. The tree was in full spectacular fall brilliance and had looked like it had caught on fire, a slow burn that started from within and reached out to the tip of each leaf. It looked like she felt some days. She was mesmerized and had taken the time to stare at its beauty.

  The sight, and her almost physical reaction to it, threatened to bring tears, but tears were a false promise because she hadn’t been able to cry in three years, no matter how badly she burned for release. Completely unbidden and mostly unwelcome, Dylan’s face had flashed in her mind, her red hair blending with the colors of the fiery tree. She had started to smile at the memory of just how beautiful Dylan was, and that unconscious gesture was enough to spur her into action. She practically flew the rest of the way to the field, trying to leave her competing emotions and Dylan’s beautiful face far behind. It had been so long since the thought of a friend had brought a smile to her face that the thought of it felt like the taste of a long forgotten, exotic food.

  “The trees are beautiful this time of year. It’s important to seek out some beauty every day. If your arboreal pursuits are over, however, would you like your first lesson?”

  Kate didn’t look like she bought that Seneca was telling her everything about the tree, but she moved on anyway, and Seneca followed her to the locker room. Apparently, when Kate said “lesson” she meant purgatorial level torture chamber of frustration cleverly disguised as a learning opportunity.

  Taping an ankle was not nearly as easy as Kate made it look. Seneca watched Kate place the initial stirrup strips and the figure eights, but when Seneca tried, her tape looked like a tangled web made by a drunken spider. Kate had enlisted the assistance of the soccer team’s manager for practice, and the girl was remarkably patient. She didn’t complain even when the tape was bone crushingly tight, which was Seneca’s attempt to keep it even and smooth.

  Seneca knew the girl was probably just happy to have her attention focused on her feet. There were hundreds of rumors about Seneca floating around Sophia’s campus, each more outrageous than the last. Seneca neither confirmed nor denied any of them, probably adding fuel to the roaring inferno. She imagined having your ankle taped by the notorious Seneca King was probably the most terrifying thing happening within twenty miles of Sophia today, maybe even this week. It was a shame it wasn’t closer to Halloween. They could charge admission, dim the lights, and call it “The Scariest Fifteen Minutes On Campus.”

  When Seneca finally produced a tape job that looked halfway decent, seemed functional, and allowed circulation to her patient’s foot, Kate magically appeared by her side, offering praise and subtle suggestions. Seneca felt a tremendous sense of accomplishment, more than she had in a long time.

  “Enough learning for today. Keep practicing if you have some poor soul you can bribe into providing their ankles. If not, wait until they fall asleep. I’ll give you some junk tape we’ve got lying around.”

  “God, I don’t know what Britt would do if she woke up to me taping her ankle.” Seneca enjoyed Kate’s sense of humor. “I’ve gone through enough roommates already. I can’t afford to piss her off.” Seneca suddenly looked down, horrified she had shared that with Kate. She tried to cover with a joke. “She does wear earplugs when she sleeps though. I’d have the element of surprise.”

  “You snore that loudly?” Kate asked.

  “Something like that.” Seneca realized she needed to get better at keeping her mouth shut if she was going to spend time with people. There was something about Kate’s calm, non-judgmental-ness, her quiet strength, and the lack of pity in her eyes that seemed to make Seneca a veritable babbling brook.

  Kate didn’t pursue any further questions, although she looked at Seneca curiously. The door was definitely open if Seneca wanted to talk. She didn’t. She turned and motioned Seneca to follow her to the golf cart nearby. They slid into the seats and both put their legs up on the dash.

  Afte
r a few minutes, Seneca started to fidget. “Shouldn’t we be working?” she asked, concerned. She didn’t like the idea of getting paid while doing nothing. If felt too much like charity.

  “We are working.” Kate’s body was relaxed, but her eyes were alert when she looked over at her. “Right now our job is to watch the game and hope no one gets hurt. If anyone does, we go. Until then, we sit in the sun, watch a game, and try to keep the smug grins off our mugs. Everyone knows we have the best job on the planet. No need to rub it in.”

  Well, ain’t this the shit. She had no idea why Kate had really offered her this job, but damn if she wasn’t right. Seneca would have paid to come sit out here and watch the beautiful game she loved, even if she would never play it again.

  *

  An hour after the game, Seneca sprawled on a treatment table in the main training room. The training room wasn’t glamorous. It consisted of one large central room, with taping tables, treatment tables, and an island for supplies. Two smaller rooms connected to it, one housing the hot and cold whirlpools and the other the trainers’ offices. It was in the basement of the athletic building and had cold, concrete floors, but there was a comfort to the space that put Seneca at ease.

  Kate appeared by Seneca’s side, a hot pack in hand. She gently set it on Seneca’s injured leg, placing it directly over the injured area. “Did the heat help last time?”

  Seneca nodded. Her impromptu jog to the field earlier, after her “arboreal pursuits” as Kate had called them, followed by an hour on her feet handing out ice packs and tending to after-game injuries had left her leg aching painfully. The heat was welcome relief.

  Kate tossed her a pillow for her head and then gently placed one under her knee as well. She went back into the office and Seneca closed her eyes, letting the heat draw away some of the pain. In a matter of minutes, she was nearly asleep and didn’t hear Kate approach.

  Kate dropped three pairs of khaki pants on Seneca’s stomach. As the pants landed, Seneca jerked awake, jumping so violently that she almost fell face first off the table. She thrust her leg out toward the floor to catch herself, her full body weight landing on her injured leg. Pain shot from the damaged muscles and through her body as if her quadriceps had exploded, sending shrapnel into her blood stream. Even if the pain hadn’t been so great, the leg wouldn’t have been able to support her weight. She cried out in pain, fear, and anger and fell to the floor, breathing heavily, and trying to get control of her body and emotions. The pain was always bad, but the emotional experience of the pain was probably worse. It brought back too many memories and promised too much struggle ahead.