Up & Out

by Ariella Papa

  It’s been a long time since we were able to communicate and laugh like this and I’ve missed it. I tell her that I’m going to come up and visit from Thursday to Monday. She has to do some fieldwork in the early mornings, but she is really happy for me to visit.

  “I just need some girl time,” she says. “And wait till you see the beach.”

  “I can’t wait,” I say. “It’s going to be fun.”

  17

  UR

  Lauryn is waving to me from the dock when the ferry pulls into the harbor on Martha’s Vineyard. It’s been a long train, bus and ferry ride to get here, but it’s all worth it when I smell the sea and see Lauryn.

  I file off the boat and hurry over to her. We hug. She looks so happy and tanned. She takes my duffel bag.

  “Did somebody say long weekend?” she asks in her old happy-Lauryn way.

  “Did somebody say tan?”

  “Oh, look,” she says, pointing to some birds skimming along the surface of the water. “Piping plovers. Aren’t they beautiful?”

  “Did somebody say crunchy bird girl?” She elbows me and looks at them for a minute, shielding her eyes from the strong sun. I can tell by the way she looks at them that it is more than a hobby.

  “We ought to get going,” she says. “Traffic gets brutal and I want to stop at the Net Result and pick up some lobsters.”

  I scoffed at the idea of traffic on the tiny island, but at almost six o’clock in the evening the one-lane highway around the island is packed with Jeeps. We are one of them since Lauryn has rented a Jeep for the summer. Her whole mood is brighter; she beats her tanned hands on the steering wheel along with the radio. Her laid-back chill is contagious.

  “Beach crowd,” she says, by way of explanation. “I figured you might be tired so we could hang in tonight and see if we felt like going out. It’s a bit of a walk to the bars, or we can take a cab. Whatever you are in the mood for.”

  “I don’t mind just catching up and seeing how we feel.” In truth, I’m kind of tired and just chilling with Lauryn is all I feel like doing after my six-hour journey.

  We park at a shack and get two two-pound lobsters that Lauryn called in for earlier. They have steamed them for us. The place smells of fish. My stomach groans and Lauryn laughs.

  “Within a half hour you will be eating the best lobster of your life.”

  Back at Lauryn’s rented condo, she makes a salad and I open a bottle of white wine. She heats up some butter for the lobsters. We set the table outside on her balcony. She is alone in a two-bedroom apartment. The two floors beneath her are full of college kids.

  “Are they loud?” I ask as we sit down for dinner. I watch her expertly crack open her lobster.

  “No, I hang out with them sometimes. I know, I feel so old, but everyone is pretty friendly on the island. I keep such weird hours. I mean, I get up so early and then at like one o’clock I’m back taking a nap until dinner.” She is already getting a stipend for her studies.

  “This seems like a nice little scam you’ve got going,” I say as I delicately dip some lobster tail into the butter. It’s delicious.

  “I know,” Lauryn says, smiling, “I feel so lucky. Wait till you see the beach tomorrow. I’m gonna go into the field pretty early, but then I figure we can go to South Beach for some sun and swimming.”

  “Sounds good. I’ve only been to the beach once this year.” I don’t mention it was the beach party I went to with Jordan. She hasn’t brought him up in a while and I’m not going to. I am getting less dainty with my lobster as I crack the claws. It’s so damn good, I hardly want to be sidetracked by salad.

  “Remember when we used to go to Jones Beach every weekend?” I nod. “That seems like forever ago.”

  “I know. Is it real crowded here?”

  “Sometimes. Tomorrow will be a great day. This weekend will be touristy, but I figure Friday we’ll go out.”

  “Yeah, I’ve got no problem hanging in tonight,” I say.

  “And getting crazy tomorrow night,” she says.

  “Are you getting crazy, bird girl?”

  “Just a bit. You’re not done with that, are you?” She gestures toward my lobster carcass.

  “What? Should I suck the bones?” She shakes her head at me as if I am some sort of amateur eater. She proceeds to scrape another quarter pound out of my lobster through some kind of strange lobster surgery she must have learned on this island.

  “Who would have thunk a girl from PA…” I say.

  “Ms. Gordon would be so proud.”

  We watch the sun go down and open another bottle of wine. For dessert we eat Ben & Jerry’s Cherry Garcia and listen to music. We stay up until midnight talking with our legs folded up close to us on the chaise longues and I tell her in detail about everything that happened with work and Seamus. She tells me all about her fieldwork. I can’t really understand it all, but I know enough to see that it fascinates her. She has smiled more tonight than in the entire past year. I yawn involuntarily and Lauryn goes inside to set up the AeroBed.

  “Sorry I’m so lame tonight,” I say.

  “Don’t worry about it, I have to get up in like four hours. I’m glad you’re here. We have plenty of time.”

  I wake up around ten-thirty. I vaguely remember Lauryn coming in here to grab her laptop early this morning and relishing the fact that I could still sleep. And it’s nice and cool in the guest room. I never do this, but I brought my sneakers. I’ve been running pretty consistently all week and I know that if I don’t keep at it, I’ll never get stronger.

  I throw on my shorts and a T-shirt and grab my Walkman and go outside. I have no idea where I’m going, but I figure that I can stay off the main roads and keep turning left. I run about fifteen minutes and then turn around and start heading back. It’s much cooler on the island than in muggy Manhattan and I think I feel stronger because I’m not fighting the oppressive heat. I run by lots of little houses, and realize how much I would enjoy a more quiet summer off. If I ever work again, maybe I’ll get a summer house…but then I’ll have less time to spend there. There is more than one downside of working.

  I see Lauryn’s Jeep in the driveway and jog around back and up the stairs to the deck. She is sitting out on a lounge chair in shorts and a bikini top and drinking an iced coffee. She smiles at me.

  “Look at you, marathon runner. I never thought I’d see the day when you ran for anything but your supper.” She pulls her sunglasses down her nose.

  “I’m still running short distances. I foolishly agreed to do a 10-K with Kathy. I think it’s a ploy so she can have a more attractive bridal party.” Lauryn rolls her eyes.

  “There’s an iced coffee for you in the fridge. Do you need to take a shower? I figured we would just go to the beach and get sweaty, anyway.”

  “That’s cool, lemme just change.”

  The beach is not crowded like Jones Beach on Long Island but there are plenty of people on it, mostly families and college kids. Lauryn and I set up our blankets and break out the giant sandwiches we bought. I bought this mile-high veggie sandwich called the Tree Hugger and Lauryn got a Cuban with meat and pickles. It’s big enough to rival the Carnegie Deli’s. I only get through half of mine and then wrap up the rest.

  We put sunscreen on each other and lay back on the blankets with books and magazines. Lauryn says she canceled all her subscriptions, finally. She looks a lot better in her bikini than I do, even with my week of running. Will these giant thighs ever be lean? After about forty-five minutes I’m really hot, so I get up to go in the water.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to digest a little longer?” Lauryn says like a mom. She takes out a cigarette and lights it. She holds the pack out to me and I shake my head.

  “I’ll wait until you are done and then we’ll go.”

  “Here, why don’t you read this.” She tosses me a magazine article about getting over your ex by changing your hair.

  “Thanks, I tried this already.”

>   “With amazing results,” she says, exhaling smoke.

  “Tell me, guru, how you did it,” I shoot back at her. It’s a testament to how far she has come that she can laugh at that.

  “I’m ready,” she says. She stubs her cigarette out in the sand and puts it in her empty water bottle. She is certainly concerned for her environment, if not her lungs.

  I follow her down to the water. The waves are huge. We stand for a minute, letting the water lap our toes. It’s cold. It’s now or never, so I run and dive in. Lauryn follows me in, screaming. My body freezes, then numbs, then starts to feel okay. We play and body surf in the waves.

  After almost an hour we get out and I start to shiver. Lauryn hands me a towel and we wrap ourselves up and huddle close together on the blanket. My feet are covered in sand, but I don’t mind.

  “I could stay here all day,” Lauryn says.

  “I know, you must be psyched to have the summer off.”

  “It’s sort of cool. Are you happy to be out of the city?”

  “Yeah, I really am. How are you doing?” I ask tentatively. “You know, with everything?”

  “I’m doing good,” she smiles. “With everything.”

  “Are you still taking the pills?”

  “Yeah. They help. You know, they really help. Do you want to talk about this?”

  “Only if you do.”

  “I actually do, I mean I wish people would ask me more. I don’t mind talking about it. The more I can talk about being depressed I think the better I am. I remember the day when I told you I was taking them. I felt like you were really uncomfortable.”

  “I guess I was.”

  “I know I wasn’t easy to put up with during the whole Jordan thing.”

  “I guess I just never knew what to expect.” I can’t believe I am saying this to her.

  “Things were pretty intense for a while. You know, did you ever just not feel like yourself or even know what that meant? It’s like I couldn’t get out of my own way. I used to be happy, you know. I used to be funny.”

  “You are funny,” I say, touching her arm. “You seem back to the way you used to be. Even the last time we talked.”

  “I know, but like, why did I have to go through all that shit? Why did I take it? Was I that scared of being without him? Was I that scared of being alone?”

  “It’s where we come from. I mean, back home we would be married with kids. You know, my mother thinks I’m an old maid at twenty-seven.”

  “But there’s got to be some resentment in that. I mean, here you are with all these things going for you.”

  “What? Unemployment?”

  “You’re unemployed now, but you had a show. Your thing, you know—not everyone gets to do that.”

  “But, in the end, did it help anything? Was it meaningful?”

  “Yeah, I think it was. There are a ton of little girls out there who don’t mind wearing glasses now.”

  “Um, now they do. She isn’t wearing them anymore. Now she’s just like all the other girls on shows. Glasses weren’t sexy.”

  “It’s bullshit. I wish there was a way you could still be in charge of Esme. With the next show, you have to be in charge.”

  “What next show?” I shake my head and bury my feet in the sand. I tell her about Kathy calling me during her mini breakdown, saying she felt like there were too many choices.

  “She’s going to be so let down after the wedding. When all the gifts are opened and the dress is shrink-wrapped it will just be them. Alone together and in debt.”

  “Well, Ron’s got money.”

  “But what does she see in him?”

  “I don’t know. I have to think when they’re alone together something happens.”

  “What’s Beth up to?”

  “I don’t know. She’s the one I worry about the most. She is still partying as much as we ever did.”

  “With who?” I shrug. I know Lauryn well enough to see her study me, but also well enough to lie.

  “I guess, work people. I don’t know how she does it.” I decide to change the subject. “I can’t party like I used to—the body just doesn’t recover. But I will tonight.”

  After showers and a nap, we walk to a pub in town. We sit in one of the high booths and order pints and mussels and a small pizza with fig, roasted tomatoes and feta. I smoke cigarettes with Lauryn and we chat.

  On the way to the next bar, we stop in an upscale beach shop and I buy a toe ring and a sarong. I may be working out, but I still need the coverage. At the next bar, peanut shells cover the floor and we order pints of their home brew. We find two bar stools and drink and smoke until a few college kids come to sit with us and all their names go by me in a blur, but I’m drunk enough to revel in the fact that they think we’re their age.

  I wind up talking to two beefy nameless guys about college basketball. Yesterday, I would have said I knew nothing about this subject, but the home brew has given me a lot of knowledge on the subject.

  I smile over at Lauryn. She is standing particularly close to another guy who is wearing a Block Island sweatshirt. Perhaps he is an island Lothario who hops from island to island wooing young divorced women. His biggest dilemma is trying to decide between going to Nantucket or Shelter Island next. I am smiling to myself and feeling carefree.

  “I want you to know that I really did love Jordan,” I hear Lauryn say to me as one of the boys tells me he’s premed. By the time I turn around to talk to her she is making out with sweatshirt guy.

  I don’t bring up what she said about Jordan during our walk back home. We slipped away from the college kids. It was clear that Lauryn’s Casanova liked her and wanted more, but she gave him her number and firmly told him we were going home. This is the benefit of being a little bit older; we no longer behave like floozies, we are firm. (Truth be told, I missed out on some floozy time by starting to date Tommy junior year, so maybe I have one minor indiscretion left before becoming absolutely firm….)

  We sing one of the songs from the bar, “Come on Eileen,” all the way home. Lauryn raises her voice high and holds my hand as we cut through alleys and walk along the road single file.

  On Saturday, we go back to the beach. The water is calmer today, and for some reason, I decide to wear less sunscreen. I feel a tightness around my eyes at the end of the day. We decide the best remedy would be to hit one of the pubs along the pier. We sit out on the open wood patio and drink frozen drinks and eat steamers.

  “These are delicious,” I say as butter rolls down my chin.

  We watch the sun dip down along the sea and feel the faintest wind. To think some people are able to live like this. The corporate world seems a million miles away.

  “Are you spacing out?” Lauryn asks.

  “I should have come up here with you as soon as I got laid off.”

  “You like it, huh?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, remember you’re on vacation.”

  “I know. I should have spent my time and severance up here.”

  “I think you’d get bored eventually.”

  “Maybe I could work in a store off the books or something. I guess I couldn’t collect unemployment, though.”

  “I can’t see you working in a store forever.”

  “What can you see me doing?” Lauryn shrugs, and makes a slurp sound with her straw against the bottom of her glass.

  “Another round?” says the perfectly tanned waitress. We nod.

  “And more steamers, thanks,” I say. I look back at Lauryn. “Well?”

  “Aren’t you just going to go work at another network?”

  “My phone hasn’t been ringing off the hook.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to network? No pun intended.”

  “I guess so. It’s tough times, though. Lots of networks are cutting back.”

  “And you know this because you’ve done all this research.” She is being a smart-ass. “You’re going to run out of severance soon, right?”

&
nbsp; “Soon.” I sigh. “It’s such a beautiful thing, that severance.”

  “So, what are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, never mind if you don’t want to talk about it.”

  “I don’t think I want to deal with it, but I guess I have to. Maybe I’ll change careers just like you.”

  “You should follow your bliss.”

  “What does that mean exactly? Does following your bliss allow you to pay your credit card bill and eat an occasional meal at a decent restaurant?”

  “Occasionally,” Lauryn says, raising an eyebrow in a Lauryn way.

  “Hey, I’m cutting down on my food obsessing. I’m serious, how can we follow our bliss when we’ve got to make ends meet? Or what if we think we’re following our bliss but we realize that our bliss is controlled by ad revenue and Internet critics?”

  “What is it that you want to do, Rebecca?”

  “Who the hell knows? I thought it was creating shows for kids.”

  “So you believe children are our future?” She is doing a good job of keeping this conversation light. Our roles have flip-flopped. All last year, I tried to cheer her up and help her figure out her life. Now she is doing the same for me.

  “Something like that. When I think about it, I wonder what the point is.” Our next round comes. We hold up our glasses, clink and sip. “These kids are just going to watch my show and see Esme start out cool and outspoken and then turn out high-pitched and wearing a half shirt. Honestly, that’s a lesson they’ll learn, anyway. Growing up sucks. What do you get?”

  “Divorce,” Lauryn offers thoughtfully.

  “And cellulite.”

  “Ulcers.”

  “Debt.”

  “Prescription medication.”

  “Sexual dysfunction.”

  “Men who can’t commit.”

  “No men, period.”

  “Maybe an STD.”

  “If you are lucky enough to be getting laid,” I say. “Speaking of which. What are you going to do if the guy from last night calls?”