“What’s bothering you today, Annika. Can we talk about it?” Tina asks when I arrive for my appointment and we’ve settled into our seats. For the first time since I started therapy, I want to lie and fabricate an excuse for why my hair looks like I combed it with my fingers (because I did), the dark circles under my eyes (not sleeping well), and my unmatched clothes (pink skirt, red T-shirt). But that would honestly take more energy than the embarrassing, humiliating truth, so I spill it, and I spare no detail.
“Jonathan doesn’t want anything to do with me. And that’s exactly what I deserve.”
“I think you’re being incredibly hard on yourself.”
“It’s the truth.”
“Why do you think he doesn’t want to see you again?”
“Because,” I say, fully aware that I sound like a petulant teenager yet unable to stifle my frustration because things with Jonathan had not progressed in the way I’d expected. “I thought we could just pick up where we left off.”
“You mean the way he felt when he was waiting for you in New York?”
“Yes. I’m ready now.”
“What about Jonathan? Do you think he’s still ready?”
I barely understood my own thoughts and had no clue about Jonathan’s. “I thought he was until he left me standing on the sidewalk.”
“Do you think he’s punishing you in some way because of the past?”
“Isn’t he?”
“Could there be another reason? Ten years is a long time. I’m sure there have been lots of developments in his life, the way there have been in yours.”
One by one, I pull the Jonathan facts out of my brain where I’ve committed them to memory. “He’s divorced. No kids. I think he works a lot. He lives in an apartment not far from me.”
“Divorce is a major, and often very stressful, life change. Jonathan may have always seemed invincible to you, but he’s human and he feels pain just like anyone else. Could it be that it’s his current situation that’s influencing his decision whether or not to see you again, and not the past?”
Tina and I have spent hours working on the difficulties I have putting myself in other people’s shoes, and after I watched Jonathan walk away, I spent all day trying to figure it out on my own. My frustration grew because for the life of me, I could not put my finger on it no matter how hard I tried. I just assumed he was mad at me for what I’d done. Then I couldn’t relax and therefore couldn’t sleep, and I’ve been at a deficit ever since. Yet in less than fifteen minutes, Tina has effortlessly unraveled it for me, and I finally understand. All these extra steps are exhausting. I remember feeling stunned when Tina explained that most people can draw these conclusions instantaneously, without any extra analysis at all. How amazing but also heartbreaking, because I’ll never be one of them.
“I just … I wanted so badly to have the chance to show him that I’m different now. That I’m not the same girl I was back then.”
“But that’s something you want. He gets to have a say, too.” Tina scribbles something on the legal pad that rests on her lap. “Do you think Jonathan would have wanted you to change?”
“Doesn’t everyone? How could you not want someone to change after they hurt you?”
“Changing how you deal with something is not the same thing as changing who you are as a person. Jonathan isn’t here so I can’t answer for him, but I’ve spoken to a lot of people in my years of providing therapy. The one thing I hear them say the most is that the other person changed. And not one of them has ever said it like it’s a good thing.”
“What do you think I should do?”
Tina shakes her head. “That’s your homework for next time. I want you to tell me.”
8
Annika
THE UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS
AT URBANA-CHAMPAIGN
1991
Jonathan was walking out of Lincoln Hall when Janice and I passed by on our way to class. He smiled and said hi. I did nothing.
“Who was that?” Janice asked.
“Jonathan. Chess club.”
“The guy you beat?”
“Yes.” I didn’t want to talk about Jonathan. The thought of talking to Janice about any guy stirred up too many unpleasant memories. I could think about Jonathan in my head, but I wasn’t ready to talk about him out loud.
Janice elbowed me. “Is there a reason you didn’t mention how good-looking he was?”
“Are you hungry? Do you want to get some lunch? I’m hungry.”
“Oh, Annika. It’s funny that you think I’m going to let you off so easily.”
“I really wish you would.”
“Not a chance.”
“I can’t do it again. I won’t.”
“Not every guy is bad. A lot of them are very good.”
“Well, we both know I’m not capable of spotting the difference on my own.”
“Don’t worry. This time he’ll have to get past me first.”
“That won’t be necessary. I’m sure he doesn’t think of me like that.”
“Where do you want to eat lunch?”
“Actually, I’m signed up for a shift at the clinic. There’s an opossum with a broken arm I want to check on. Poor thing. He’s so cute. You should see his little splint.”
“Then why did you suggest lunch?”
“I just wanted to change the subject.”
“I’m disappointed in myself. I can’t believe I fell for it.”
* * *
The University of Illinois Wildlife Medical Clinic accepted native wild animals in need of care due to illness and injury, or because they’d been orphaned. The goal was to rehabilitate them and release them back into the wild. Veterinary students made up the bulk of the volunteers, but there were a few—like me—whose undying love for animals, and not our future vocations, had led us to the clinic behind the veterinary medicine building on the south side of campus. I had a tendency to gravitate toward the smaller animals, but I also felt a special affinity for the birds. They were majestic creatures, and there was nothing more satisfying than releasing one and watching it soar off high in the sky.
The small animal I cradled in my gloved hands—the aforementioned opossum, who I’d decided should be called Charlie—had a long road ahead of him, but with the right care and attention, he had a good shot at returning to his natural habitat.
Sue, a senior who’d been volunteering at the clinic almost as long as I had, and whom I felt very comfortable with, walked into the room. “Hey, Annika. Ah, look at that little guy.”
“Isn’t he adorable? I just want to take him home with me. Do you know opossums don’t actually hang by their tails? People always think they do, but they don’t. They have Mickey Mouse–shaped ears and fifty teeth, but they’re not dangerous.” The other day when I was at the library studying I got sidetracked by a book on opossums, and I learned so many fascinating things. It took almost ten minutes to get through them all, but I shared every last one of those facts with Sue because I was certain she’d want to know.
“Clearly, he’s in good hands.” Sue glanced at her watch and squeezed my arm. “I’ve got to get going. I’ll see you later, okay?”
“Okay.”
I spent the rest of my shift cleaning cages, helping to administer medicine, and giving attention to any animal that needed it. Before I left for the day, I returned to Charlie’s cage to say good-bye. I thought about how much I would miss him when it came time to let him go, and I wondered for just a moment if I would ever feel as attached to a person as I was to the animals.
And I wondered how much it would hurt if I was ever the one they had to let go.
9
Annika
CHICAGO
AUGUST 2001
“I’m going to eat lunch,” my coworker Audrey says. She and I share the small office that houses our desks and computers and a couple of file cabinets. There have been several times when she’s walked into the room and caught me staring off into space. She jokes about how I need to
stop slacking off, but it doesn’t sound like she’s teasing when she says it. And I’m not slacking off. Staring into space is how I clear my mind so I can work through whatever problem I’m trying to solve.
“Okay,” I say, because Audrey hates it when I don’t acknowledge her statements. It’s just that I’m not sure what she wants me to say. I didn’t announce that I was going to eat lunch when I took my peanut butter sandwich out of my bag the way I do every single day. It’s lunchtime. Eating is what we do.
As soon as Audrey leaves, I pull a piece of paper from my desk drawer. On it I’ve written everything I’m going to say when I call Jonathan, and all I have to do is read it out loud. I’ve thought long and hard about what Tina said, and I want Jonathan to know that I understand where he’s coming from but that I’d like for us to spend some more time together. Jonathan was so many things to me, but he was also my friend, and I don’t have very many of those.
I’m relieved when I get his voice mail, because that will make this so much easier, but just before the beep, Audrey walks back into our office. I don’t want her to see me reading from a script, so I shove the paper under my desk blotter and wing it.
“Hey, Jonathan. It’s Annika. Again. I just, um … thought you might be interested in doing something on Saturday.” My throat feels dry and I take a fast sip of water, dribbling it down my chin in the process. “The weather’s supposed to be nice so maybe we could pick up some lunch and take it to the park. If you’re busy or you don’t want to, that’s okay too. I want you to know I understand where you’re coming from. I just thought I would ask. Okay, bye.”
I disconnect the call and gasp for air.
“Was that a personal call?” Audrey asks.
“It was nothing,” I say. I need a minute to regulate my breathing and vent the adrenaline racing through my bloodstream from one stupid phone call.
“It didn’t seem like nothing. Who is Jonathan?” I don’t report to Audrey, but she’s been here three years longer than I have and acts like she’s entitled to know all of my business, professional or otherwise.
“He’s just someone I used to know.”
She leans against the edge of my desk. “Like an old boyfriend?”
“This is my lunch hour.” Why didn’t I say that before? And can’t she see the sandwich on my desk?
“What are you talking about?” she asks in a bitchy voice, the one she uses when she thinks I’ve said something particularly strange.
“I just meant … when you first came in and asked if it was a personal call. This is my lunch hour.” I shut my eyes and rub my temples.
“Are you getting sick or something?” She talks to me like I’m a toddler. Her voice is always very loud, so it feels like she’s yelling at me.
“I’m just getting a headache.”
“Will you be able to finish out the day? I can’t cover for you this afternoon like I had to last week when you were gone. I had to stay late that night.”
“I’m sorry,” I sputter.
“It was a lot of extra work.”
“I won’t need you to cover for me. I’ll take something for my headache.” Audrey stares at me, making no move to leave. I pull out my desk drawer and shake a couple of pain relief capsules into my hand. I choke a little when I try to swallow them because I didn’t take a big enough drink from my water bottle.
Audrey sighs and reaches into her desk drawer for some crackers. “I’m sure my soup is cold now,” she says as she leaves the room again, and though I had nothing to do with it, it somehow feels like my fault.
When Audrey returns, I slip into the break room to make a cup of tea and I see my coworker Stacy. She always has a smile for me and her voice is very calming. When Stacy burns her finger on the meal she takes out of the microwave, I tell her I’m sorry and give her a little side hug.
“Oh,” she says. “Hi, Annika. Just give me a second to put this down.” She sets the meal on the counter. “What was that for?” Her voice doesn’t sound as calm as it usually does. It’s higher pitched now.
“I feel bad that you burned your finger.”
“You’re always so sweet, but I’ll be fine. Thanks, Annika.” She grabs her lunch and leaves the room in a hurry. She must be late for a meeting or something.
It isn’t until the end of the day when I’m shutting down my computer to go home that I remember the only reason Audrey had to cover for me last week was because of an off-site meeting I attended at the request of our boss.
* * *
My headache never really went away and I’m completely worn out when I get home from work. I’m fostering a mother cat and her five kittens, and they’re currently in a cardboard box under my bed. I spend an hour lying on the floor next to it listening to their calming little meows as my headache finally fades away. For dinner, I pour a bowl of cereal, and when I finish eating, I put on my pajamas and crawl into bed with a book, even though it’s only eight thirty.
The phone rings an hour later. I don’t have caller ID because not very many people call me, and I usually let my answering machine screen the ones that do so I have time to decide if I want to talk to them. It drives my mother absolutely nuts. It drives Janice nuts, too, so she always yells, “Pick up the phone, Annika. I know you’re there and I know you want to talk to me.”
I want to hold out so the answering machine can do its thing, but then I remember that it might be Jonathan, and I snatch the handset with only seconds to spare.
“Hello?”
It is him, and I’m flooded with happiness. Plus, I’ve always found the sound of Jonathan’s voice to be very soothing. He never speaks too loud and there’s something comforting about the way he strings his words together. To me, they sound like a melody. Audrey sounds like a foghorn whenever she blows into the room, and the way she strings her words together does not sound melodious. It sounds like screaming death metal.
“I didn’t wake you, did I?” he asks.
It’s only nine thirty, but if there’s one person who’s familiar with my sleep patterns, it’s him.
“No. You didn’t wake me. I’m reading in bed.”
“I can get together on Saturday,” he says.
“That’s great!” I say it way too loud.
“Yeah, well. It’s just lunch, right?”
“That’s what I said in my message. I said it was lunch.”
“Yeah, I know. What I meant was … never mind. Lunch is fine. Lunch will be great. Do you want me to pick you up at home?”
“I’ll be at the Children’s Theatre Saturday morning. Can you pick me up there? Around noon.”
“Sure.”
“Okay. I’ll see you then.”
“Good night,” he says.
“Good night.”
We hang up, but I don’t go back to my book right away. I spend the next half hour thinking about Jonathan, replaying the highlights of our relationship like a “best of” reel, and when I wake up the next morning, he’s the first person I think about.
10
Annika
THE UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS
AT URBANA-CHAMPAIGN
1991
The sound of footsteps echoed loudly on the sidewalk, and I turned around in time to see Jonathan sprinting toward me. When I left, he’d been talking to Eric and a few of the other players, and I assumed he would be going to dinner with everyone. We had played each other again, and I’d managed to win this time. Jonathan must not have minded too much, because he said, “I like playing with you, Annika.”
A warm feeling had spread through me, because no one but Eric had ever said that to me before, and I didn’t remember it having an effect on me the way it did when Jonathan said it. It was becoming easier for me to talk to him without clamming up or stammering my reply. I’d just needed a little time to ease into it, the way I always did with new people.
“Hey,” he said when he caught up to me. “You forgot your book.” He thrust out his hand and I spotted my dog-eared copy of Sense
and Sensibility nestled in his large palm.
“Thanks.”
“It’s getting dark. You should always try to walk home with someone.”
“Everyone always goes out to dinner.”
“Why don’t you?”
“I don’t want to.” I put the book in my backpack and we crossed the street. Usually I abhorred small talk, but my curiosity got the better of me. “Why don’t you go out to dinner?”
“I have to work. I bartend at the Illini Inn on Saturday and Sunday nights. Do you ever go there?”
“No.”
“You should come in some time. Like when I’m working.”
“I don’t go to bars.”
“Oh.” He hoisted his backpack higher on his shoulder, and we walked in silence for a minute.
“Have you ever thought about joining the competition team? Eric asked me to consider it, and I think I’m going to.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t want to.”
“There must be a reason.”
“It would just be too much for me.”
“Because of your course load?”
“I can handle the academic load, but I volunteer twice a week in the Wildlife Medical Clinic and then there’s chess on Sunday night. That’s enough for me.” I required more downtime than most people. I needed to be able to read and sleep and be alone. “If you’re so into chess, why did you wait until your senior year to join the club?” I asked.
“This is my first year here. I transferred from Northwestern.”
“Oh.”
He stopped walking suddenly. “Thank you for being literally the only person I’ve told that to who didn’t immediately ask why.”
I stopped, too. “You’re welcome.”
He stared at me with a blank expression for a few seconds and then we started walking again.
“Why do you always smell like chlorine?”
“That’s the question you want me to answer?”
“Yes.”
“I swim almost every day. It’s what I do for exercise. I had my growth spurt later than everyone else, so I didn’t go out for football or basketball. If you don’t start early, you can never really catch up. I’m good at swimming though. I’m sorry if the smell bothers you. Seems like it never quite goes away, even after I shower.”
The Girl He Used to Know Page 4