Alma Mater

by Rita Mae Brown

  "I don't know. Maybe we show it differently. I was just thinking, maybe it's easier to love a woman. For two women it's the same world. A woman and a man live in different worlds."

  "Jinx, maybe we each live in a different world."

  "And growing up is building bridges?"

  They sat there looking at one another, and Vic broke the silence. "I want to build bridges. I do. I don't want to be closed off from people, from life. I don't want to turn into a lot of what I see, closed and controlling. God, Jinx, I feel like I'm shedding my skin. I feel so raw, but I feel so alive. I have never felt this alive."

  "Gotta shed your skin to get bigger."

  I

  love you. Only you." Charly's voice sounded strong and clear. "Where are you?" Vic had just walked into her apartment when the phone rang. "Phone booth at Ewell Hall. I had a half hour before class. I had to call you. I want you to know I love you. I just want you."

  "Hey, last night was my idea." She leaned against the kitchen counter.

  "It's you, Vic. Last night was great, but I'm in love with you. I'll always be in love with you."

  "I love you, too." She meant it, although that wasn't the whole story. Vic wished that she smoked. This would be a perfect time for a cigarette.

  "Can I see you before you go home? I want to talk to you." "Charly, let's do it after Thanksgiving. You have the game. Concentrate on that and—"

  "You'll be there?" he interrupted.

  "You know I will."

  "Good." He was glad for the reassurance.

  "And Mom and Dad and Mignon and Aunt Bunny and Uncle Don and Jinx and Chris. Aunt Bunny will be wearing her binoculars."

  "Chris is going home with you?"

  "Yes." She inhaled and then exhaled, concentrating on breathing.

  "Last night was unique, but I'm still me and you're still you." She adroitly dropped Chris from the conversation.

  "llh, well, it was . . . unique." He hoped she believed he loved only her. He didn't really look at other women.

  "That's the truth." She laughed and felt better when he did, too. "Charly, really, don't worry. I'm not worried about you. Things will all work out. They always do."

  "Yeah, you're right."

  "Guess you haven't been back to the dorm yet."

  "No, after this class. I'm walking in like nothing happened. Why volunteer any information? No one may have noticed I wasn't in my room."

  "Good idea. Let me know what happens. Well, I guess you can't because you'll be talking on the phone in the hall."

  "I'll let you know. Hey, I've never missed a night, never missed a practice during the season since freshman year. They can stuff it."

  "It will be your best game, Thanksgiving."

  "Yeah?"

  "Didn't I tell you I was clairvoyant?"

  "I'm glad somebody is. Time to boogie. Vic, I love you. I want you to know I love you."

  "I love you, too. Don't worry."

  "Okay. Bye."

  "Bye." She hung up the phone. A light breeze ruffled the leaves like feathers outside her window.

  A few flaming maple leaves swirled to the green lawn, falling among the yellow oak and poplar leaves. She opened the window and let in the cool air filled with the fragrance of fall. Aunt Bunny bitterly complained about winter, comparing it to death, but Vic felt winter contained the beginning of life. Those beginnings were hidden from view, but they were there, waiting.

  Being in college was a bit like being a seed in the ground during winter, Vic thought. Everyone watered you, put nutrients in the soil, waited for sunshine. At graduation you sent up your first shoot. It was a silly picture she had in her mind, all these seeds marching off the stage wearing mortarboards, tassels wiggling. Odd pictures often popped

  into her head. She wondered if other people's minds worked that way, too. She wasn't going to ask them in order to find out.

  Maybe graduate school was a greenhouse. You could sit there for a few extra years before going out into the world. You still wouldn't need to fight the elements. But sooner or later, people did have to survive outside the university. If she married Charly, a burden would be lifted from her mind. She'd go where he'd go. His career, not hers, would be central. She didn't mind that, because in her fourth year she still had no pull in one direction or the other. She only knew she wanted to be outside.

  And now, she knew she didn't want to marry Charly. Emotional truth was not something Vic avoided, but, like most people, it usually took her much longer to discover that emotional truth. She shrugged off the pressures from her family about marrying. To them it seemed a fait accompli. Everything was done except for the actual proposal, the actual ceremony. In their minds, she was already married—or so it seemed to her.

  If Chris hadn't appeared, she probably would have married him. It was the right thing to do. She loved him. But somewhere, sometime a Chris would have walked into her life. What then?

  Despite the tightening in her chest when she considered what she was going to have to do, she was grateful that Chris had appeared when she did. She was going to have to tell Charly that she wasn't going to marry him, tricky, since he hadn't formally proposed. She was going to have to tell her family that she wasn't getting married, and that if she could, she'd marry Chris. She wouldn't put it that way, exactly.

  How do you do that? Tell people?

  Jinx was right, Vic thought. People assume they know you. They create a future for you, and then are shocked when you have the audacity to create your own future.

  Maybe life was one big curve ball, breaking high and outside. Vic folded her arms across her chest. Yes, maybe it was, but at least she was standing at the plate and not sitting in the stands. Better to strike out than to sit and watch. Better yet, hit the goddamned ball into the bleachers, curve ball or not.

  A surge of energy flowed through her. It was her life.

  A pounding in the stairwell diverted her eyes from the trees. The door flew open.

  "Let's run away!" Chris announced as she entered, her lips glistening. Vic hugged her. "Chris, I think we're going to have to face the music and dance."

  "You lead, I'll follow," Chris answered with a kiss.

  "How do you know I can lead?"

  "I trust you."

  Vic thought about that a moment and realized she trusted herself. She'd get through this. She'd get them both through it and Charly, too, she hoped. "The first thing I have to do is tell Charly I can't marry him. The second thing I have to do is tell my family I can't marry him. The third thing I have to do is tell them I'm in love with you."

  Chris hugged her ever tighter. "They won't want to see me after that."

  "Fine. Then they won't see me either." Vic kissed her cheek. "They'll be okay. At least, I think they will after the shock wears off. God, I hope so."

  They both stared out the window. The wind blew a little stronger now.

  "I don't especially like my family," Chris said. "I don't know when I'll tell them. I'm not being a chicken. I'll come out if that's what we're doing, but I don't know when I'll tell them. Is that cheating?"

  "If you wait until I'm thirty, it is." Vic laughed.

  Chris put her arm around her waist. A brilliant red leaf blew against the windowpane and remained there.

  "About last night . . ."

  "Uh-huh."

  "Are you going to do it again? I know you've been sleeping with Charly. I never said anything. I wanted to, but, well, you know, he was first, I mean he knew you first, and you love him. But are you going to keep sleeping with him?"

  "No."

  Chris sagged with relief. "God, I am so glad." Then she stiffened a bit. "Will you miss it?"

  "Sex with Charly?" Vic shrugged. "No. But if he walks out of my

  life—and I guess he'll have every reason to—I will miss him. I do love him, Chris, I really do. But not in the way he needs to be loved and not in the way I love you. I never felt for anyone what I feel for you. I didn't even know those feelings existed. It'
s kind of like . . . a tornado." She shrugged. "Not very original, but something powerful, uncontrollable, a force of nature."

  "Me, too." She paused a long time. "It would kill me if you slept with him without me."

  "Do you want us all to sleep together?"

  An even longer pause followed. "You know, it was wild, just . . .

  wild. But I don't need to do it again." She held up her hand. "But I'm

  not sorry we did it. In a funny way, it makes me feel closer to you." "Me, too." Vic had no desire to figure it out. Feeling it was enough. "I wonder how it feels for him?"

  "Confusing, maybe." Vic thought about his warm smile, his deep voice.

  "Does he know about us?"

  "I don't know." Vic thought he did, but the truth was she didn't know for certain.

  "Poor guy." Chris watched as another leaf stuck to the windowpane, held there by the wind.

  "He's very lovable, isn't he?" Vic said.

  Chris nodded and then added, "But I have to admit that I want you for me even if he gets hurt. I don't want anyone to get hurt. I hate that, but it just happens."

  "I'm starting to think that a lot of stuff just happens. People who think they can control life are full of bullshit. Major bullshit."

  "When are you going to tell him?"

  "After Thanksgiving. It'd be pretty shitty to screw around with his head before his last big game." Vic thought for a moment. "I hope it's the best game he ever plays. I hope he gets pro offers, you know. It would be great if something happened to kind of offset my telling him that we aren't going to ride off into the sunset."

  Chris sighed. "I still wish we could run away."

  "Maybe we will . . . afterward. Maybe they'll run us out of town.

  Although I don't think I'd give people the pleasure of turning tail. I haven't done anything wrong. Neither have you."

  "I'm a lover, not a fighter." Chris laughed.

  "You might have to be both." Vic put her finger on the windowpane, as though touching the maple leaf. "You know, I never thought about being gay. I still don't really. But I've been thinking about my life—that it's my life, your life. Nobody is telling me what to do. It's funny, Chris, I never really had to fight. I'm white. We aren't poor. Well, we are now, but you know what I mean. I suppose being a woman imposes limitations on me, but I haven't run into them yet. Maybe that comes more when you're out there trying to get a job. I don't know. I never felt pressured to be anything but myself. I never felt out of step."

  "We are now. We aren't dancing to their tune. You said face the music and dance, right? We aren't even on the same dance floor as most people."

  Vic's face brightened. "I know and it's great. I feel so free. It's just great."

  "You're great."

  "Flatterer. I don't know why I feel this way, but I do. I feel like I could fly."

  I

  sn't your lavaliere getting heavy?" R. J. bemused, touched the heavy, powerful binoculars hanging around her sister's neck. "Worth it. Look, we can get in and out of here." Bunny pointed to the slope of the pasture.

  R. J. tapped the toe of her right boot against the ankle of her left, the sandy loam falling off. "Right. And there's plenty of shade over there. Be a good place for azaleas. They sell like hotcakes. Down by the water we can run willows. They love water. Redbuds, mmm, have to think about that. Got my soil map." She reached into her jacket pocket. "Bunny."

  Bunny, binoculars to her eyes, was watching a red-tailed hawk. "You know, R. J., there's a whole world in the air." She dropped her binoculars, looking down at the earth. "And one down here, too."

  "This is the one we have to work with." R. J. knelt down and pulled

  her pocketknife from her pocket, slipping the blade into the moist earth, cutting away the hay stubble. "See." Then she pointed to the spot on the map that Bunny had opened.

  Both sisters hunkered down, studying the map. "Peters out if we get on higher ground."

  "Yeah, but we can still use that soil. There's tough stuff that will grow in it or we can put pots in, you know, rich soil in the pots, the

  plants are already in the pots and when they're two or three years old, they're ready to go. We won't have to pot them."

  "That's a good idea."

  "The only problem is we have to buy the pots now. I was hoping not to lay out too much money. We need to buy seeds for the long haul. We'll make more money if we grow from seed. But we've got to get something going right off. We need saplings, small, but still, those plugs will run a couple of dollars each, depending on the type of brush or tree. And then we need a tractor, a fertilizer spreader. Big expense."

  "I'll get the tractor. You're providing the land," Bunny said resolutely.

  "Good." R. J. smiled and then returned her attention to the map. "Now here, all along the river except for in front of the house, I think we can use sod. There's a good return on sod farming. But the land is relatively level, soil's good from alluvial deposits. We'll have to pull it up in strips. Another expensive attachment for the tractor."

  Bunny reviewed R. J.'s figures scribbled in pencil on the right side of the soil map. "You have been busy."

  They both stood up. A half-mile walk would take them back home. "I like to work. It's always better."

  "Frank?"

  R. J. shrugged. "He took his name off the deed. He rewrote his will. I am not responsible for his debts. Whatever he has in his portfolio will pay his debts. He says. Who knows? If there's a surplus, the girls get it, fifty-fifty. He signed everything last night in front of two witnesses."

  "Discreet, I hope."

  "Yes. Frank's depressed, of course." R. J. raised her voice. "But

  there's no other way. The leopard can't change his spots. You are what

  you are. You might be able to recognize a situation that will set you – off, but if gambling's in your soul, it stays there."

  "You don't think people can change?"

  "Only so much. Look at us, Bunny. Have we changed?"

  "The mirror tells me I have."

  "That's superficial. Inside."

  "Yes. You're a mother. That changed you. As for myself "—she

  wrapped her forefingers around the binocular strap— "youth slips away and with it the idea that the future is exciting. I go from day to day."

  They walked through the woods, the pine needles softening their tread.

  "You can only live one day at a time," R. J. finally said. "And maybe what we lose are our illusions. Something better takes their place."

  "I haven't found something better. You have the girls. Your hopes are in their future—don't you think?"

  "Sure, but I have a future, too. Starting up our nursery." She jammed her hands in her pockets. "I don't know how we're going to do it, Bunny. It's hard, hard work and we can't afford to hire help, but dammit, we're going to do it."

  "I'll do it to lose weight." Bunny could perform hard labor, which wasn't to say that she liked it. "And to make money. I don't feel that I have a place at the dealership anymore. Don asks my advice. He's good about that, but when I drive in, it's not like the old days. It's gotten so big, people have offices, and there's different departments, and I'm just Don's wife."

  "Oh, sugar, they know you were the brains behind it. The Wallace girls came to you to find their Cadillacs. People know."

  Bunny lifted her binoculars to inspect a huge nest in a tree. "Hmm, raptors, or could be a squirrel. Never saw so many squirrels as I have this year."

  "Charly called Frank yesterday afternoon at the office."

  "I knew it!"

  R. J. smiled. "Now we don't know anything yet, but he made an appointment to talk to him first Saturday in December."

  Bunny, binoculars now again on her chest, clapped her hands. "I knew it. A Christmas engagement."

  "Don't put the cart before the horse." R. J. linked her arm with her sister's. "I reckon he will ask for our daughter's hand—but, oh, Bunny, she's young. They're both so young."

  "Youth
is wasted on the young. Who said that?"

  "Most recently, you." R. J. pulled Bunny closer to her.

  "Young but pliable. They'll grow together more easily, and they

  get along great. They're a good pair, and it is a brilliant match. That won't be lost on anybody."

  "Least of all you."

  Bunny laughed at herself. "When the money's gone love flies out the window. The money will never be gone for Vic if she marries that kind of wealth. A beautiful girl like that, my God, R. J., it's like seeing you at twenty-two all over again. Different haircut. Different clothes. It's eerie."