Grey

by Aundrea Ascencio

  Eventually, she knew she'd have to face him. As much as she wanted to write him off for bailing on her at the worst time imaginable, there was still an open wound there and she needed closure. If she didn't give him a chance to explain himself, then she was robbing herself of the chance to move forward. After all, she was still holding his MP3 player hostage, and he would fight to the death for that thing.

  Whether she was ready or not, that confrontation came sooner than she expected.

  Her phone vibrated with a text from Mia and she scanned over the message in the lock screen:

  Eric just got arrested!!! You need to get to the water fountain NOW!!!

  Chantel dropped everything. It made her sick how she didn't hesitate. The action was immediate. All of her questions and doubts were easily forgotten in the severity of that moment. By instinct and some untamable nameless power within her, she was driven to act. Nothing else mattered to her at that moment, except that she got to Eric.

  She grabbed her keys and was gone within that minute, hurrying down the hall to the stairs and out of Anne Spencer's Hall.

  I shouldn't have left him there, she chided herself, I should have made him come with me. Of course he was going to do something stupid!

  She could see the flashing red and blue lights of the campus police cars between the buildings. Anxiety stewed a sick feeling within her when she saw Mia standing outside the library waving for her to hurry up. Mia looked agitated by a scene that only she could see behind the library, and Chantel dreaded to think what chaos would be waiting for her when she rounded the corner. She broke into a run, fearing that things were worse than she imagined.

  "What did he do?" Chantel cried breathlessly, finally joining her friend. "What happened? Where he is?"

  "They got him in the backseat of that cop car," Mia told her. "Trey's in the one behind it."

  "Did you see what happened?" Chantel asked impatiently.

  "No, but I asked those guys over there and they said they saw everything. Eric and Trey were talking and all of a sudden they started fighting. Eric threw the first punch. He looks bad, Chant. I don't know what Trey did to him, but he's already bruised up. I'm sure Trey got what he was asking for though. I'm glad somebody finally busted him up."

  "They're going to jail, Mia! It's not a game!" Chantel snapped, feeling more agitated than ever. "This shouldn't have happened. You shouldn't be cheering either of them on. They're both so stupid!" She screamed those last words in hope that Eric would hear her from the backseat of the police car.

  Seeing how aggravated her friend was, Mia took Chantel's arm and guided her to the scene. "Come on, let's see if they'll let us get closer. They've been sitting like that for thirty minutes now, so maybe they're just talking to them. You never know. They might end up letting them go."

  Eric saw the girls approaching the cop car, but an officer asked them to step back and wait until the scene had been resolved. Chantel looked nervous, and she continued to search for him through the darkly tinted window of the police car. He was looking right back at her, but she must have not seen him because she finally turned away to confide her fears in Mia.

  Seeing her there brought him some consolation. There could be no doubt in Eric's mind that she still felt something for him, and that with time, she would perhaps even come to forgive him. His head fell back against the seat and he sighed, realizing that making up with Chantel would be difficult from a jail cell. That was the only regret he had when looking back on that fight.

  "I ain't going to jail again!" Trey could be heard swearing from the car behind. "That fool came harassing me. I was minding my own business and he just came up and punched me. I'm tellin' y'all the truth."

  "Do you know the guy in the other car?" the officer asked him, writing down Trey's comments in his notepad. "You guys ever have an altercation like this before?"

  "No, sir. I've never seen the guy before. I don't know him. I've never bothered the gentleman. I don't got any kind of problems with him. I don't know why he lashed out on me like that. I really don't," Trey swore.

  "Alright, I'm going to go over there and see what he says about it. Just sit back and relax for a second," the officer said, closing Trey's door and walking over to Eric's door.

  "You doing alright in here?"

  "Yes, sir," Eric replied.

  "It looks like he got you pretty bad. Do you need us to get EMS out here to check you out?" the officer asked.

  "No, sir. I'm alright."

  "Ok, can you tell me what happened here?"

  "Whatever it looks like, sir. We fought," Eric replied.

  "Ok, but he says you threw the first punch. Is that true?"

  "Yes, sir," Eric replied with stark honesty. "I'm the one who started the fight."

  "You don't sound very reluctant about it," the officer remarked. "Can you tell me why you hit him?"

  "Because he deserved it."

  "That's not an answer that'll get you cleared of assault and battery charges," the officer warned him.

  "I'm not trying to get cleared of anything," Eric answered. "I did exactly what he's saying I did. I should be charged with assault and battery."

  "You got a form of ID on you?" the officer asked, jotting down his statement.

  "It's in my back pocket but I'm kind of in a bind right now."

  "You got anything on you that might hurt me?" the officer asked.

  "No, sir."

  "Go ahead and step out of the car," the officer instructed him, moving aside so Eric could stand on the sidewalk. The officer uncuffed him, but with a warning, "You do anything funny and I'll put you right back in. Go ahead and hand me your ID."

  Eric reached into his back pocket, unfolded his wallet, and gave the officer what he wanted.

  "Colorado, huh? Is your permeant address in Colorado or do you live in California?" the officer asked.

  "I just go to school here," Eric replied.

  "How long?"

  "A year and a half."

  "Alright, let me just run this through. Stay here," the officer instructed him.

  Eric could feel Chantel's eyes burning through him, but he didn't look at her. He didn't give anyone a reason to think that he knew her or that the reason for the whole fight had been because of her. Because some lowlife disrespecting asshole had dared to put his hands on her and thought he could get away with it. According to Eric's sense of justice, Trey got exactly what he deserved, and if Eric had to go to jail for it, fine. More than likely, he would have ended up behind bars eventually anyway. At least now, he'd be in there for a decent enough reason.

  The officer approached him again. "Come over here. I want to show you something," he told Eric, beckoning him to follow him back to the third and foremost car in the procession.

  Once they were out of earshot of the onlookers, the officer told Eric, "You got a clean record. I don't have any reason to believe that you're some kind of hoodlum out to cause trouble, so I find it unusual that you're even involved in something like this. Your buddy over there, on the hand, has got a history of misdemeanors, vandalism, public disturbances, illegal weapon concealment, and a few cases of domestic abuse that confirm his tendency toward violence. And that's about to be topped off by harassment, assault and battery charges after tonight."

  "Sir-"

  "Let me finish," the officer put a hand up to stop him. "Now I understand you wanting to be a man about it, and make people believe that you actually hit him first. I know you don't want to look like a wuss for losing the fight. You can tell me what really happened. Nobody but me will know that he actually hit you first, and I won't judge you for it. Guys like him need to be taken off the streets so we can all feel safer, and you'd be benefitting the rest of us by helping us put this guy away."

  "But he didn't hit me first," Eric insisted. "I hit him, like I said before, and I take full responsibility for what happened tonight. It was my fault. I can't speak for the rest of his criminal history, but in this case, he's clear. He's innocent.
He didn't do anything but swing back to defend himself."

  "Ok," the officer said, nodding and handing him back his ID. "Well, Mr. Chandler, that's all I need to know at this point. You're free to go. I'm letting you off on a warning, but I better not catch you causing trouble on this campus again. Settle your scores somewhere else."

  "You're letting me go?" Eric asked, confused.

  "I get it, kid," the officer told him, lowering his voice. "Black guy attacks you, and you fight back to defend yourself. You're just being a good Samaritan about it. Now get out of here before I change my mind and start writing down your version of the story instead."

  Truce

  Eric flinched when Chantel pressed the alcohol swipe to his forehead. "Goddammit!" he cursed. "Is that really necessary?"

  "Does it burn? Good. You deserve every bit of it."

  "Can't you just slap on a Band-Aid and call it a night?"

  "Well if you would stop being hardheaded and just go to the hospital, I wouldn't have to do this."

  "I don't need to wait around in a fucking emergency room for 5 hours. I'm fine."

  "You don't want anything to get infected," she insisted. "I can't believe you did this. You almost ended up in jail, you know that, right?"

  "Ya, well I'm here now."

  "I wish you would take this a little more seriously," she snapped. "Do you ever think or care about what happens to you? You really have absolutely no purpose or goal for your life, do you?"

  "The goal is to survive," Eric replied, wincing again as she smacked him with another alcohol swipe. "Sometimes to survive you have to fight. I've been fighting to survive my whole life. It's just what I'm destined to do, I guess. You wouldn't understand that, and that's a good thing. It means you're lucky."

  Chantel had no idea what he meant by that. It sounded like the introduction of a very long autobiography, and she had no interest in him telling it at the moment. She was more disturbed by the bruises and gashes running along his arm, and pushed back his sleeve to get a better look at them. They didn't appear as fresh as the ones on his face. In fact, they looked like they were already starting to heal, a process which would take weeks at least, not a span of a few hours. "Are you sure he did all this to you?" she asked, examining them closer.

  "It wasn't just him," Eric said. "Some other guys jumped in with him, but they got away before the cops came. I told you that."

  Chantel shook her head at the ugly bruises and roughly pulled his sleeves back down. "You're so stupid, Eric. Go ahead and take off your shirt. I should look at those too."

  "I'll live," he said.

  "Don't be a baby. Let me at least get you an ice pack to hold under your shirt."

  "I'm ok, Chantel. Just relax," he told her. "You've already done enough for me."

  "You don't got to be tough around me. I've seen you naked, remember? Come on. I'll be quick," she said, grabbing the hem of his shirt. She caught a glimpse of the gashes and scaring underneath before Eric pushed her hands away and stood from the bed. "I said I'm fine!" he snapped at her. "Let it go."

  "Were those stitches?" she asked him, confused. "Eric, whatever that was, that couldn't have all happened tonight."

  "I got stabbed and the medics stitched me up," Eric told her. "It was nothing though. He just grazed me."

  Eric's heart pounded rapidly as she gazed at him critically, trying to make sense of it all. He was thankful she couldn't hear it. He knew he would have to come out with the truth eventually, the real reason he had disappeared for a month, but at that moment, it felt like the worst possible time to discuss something like that. Instead he said, "You're right. I shouldn't have got involved. I'm sorry."

  The words seemed to satisfy her because she dropped her eyes and began reorganizing the First Aid Kit. "You can stay here for the night, but tomorrow you have to find another dorm."

  "I'm not getting another dorm," Eric told her. "I'm leaving again on Thursday. I already dropped out of my classes and bought a plane ticket back to Colorado. I won't be coming back to California again after this."

  "Oh," she answered quietly. "Well, that's abrupt, but then again abrupt is your style."

  "I really should have graduated last semester. I'm done with all the classes I need for my degree. I've basically just been hanging out here avoiding going home," he said. "But I can't do that anymore. There are things I need to start taking care of back home, and I can't stay in California any longer."

  "Oh. I see," she said, even quieter. "Well, I'll let Robert know we'll be looking for a new sponsor then."

  Eric laughed. "So I tell you I'm leaving and the first thing that comes to your mind is who's going to pay for your club?"

  "Life doesn't revolve around you, Eric. I know you believe it does, but when you disrupt other people's lives, eventually they have to move on," Chantel said. "The rest of us have responsibilities too."

  "True," Eric agreed. "But I guess I was hoping that I meant a little more to you than just a checkbook."

  "You were expecting me to play the violin for you? Fall on my knees and beg you to stay?" Chantel asked. "Boy, you got another thing coming."

  "You're right. That would be creepy," Eric said. "I don't know what I was expecting. A different reaction, I guess. Anyways, I'd better get going. I got a lot to do before Thursday, so I'd better get some sleep. Thanks for being my nurse. Maybe I can call you before I get ready to leave, you know, to let you know I made it on the flight."

  "Ya, that'd be great. Good luck out there. By the looks of it, you're going to need it. You have absolutely no kind of common sense whatsoever. It's been one hell of a misadventure, but I really do hope you find some peace eventually. And if you do continue to fight, I hope it's for a better reason than what you've been doing already. You're a strong person, Eric. Stubborn, impulsive, and sometimes incredibly stupid, but deep down there's a good heart in you, and I have faith that you'll find the right path," Chantel told him.

  Eric smiled and she smiled back at him, but it was a bittersweetness that they both tasted as the reality of a last and final goodbye began to sink in. "Chantel, I..."

  Unfortunately, Eric could not top the elaborate speech that she had given him, and certainly not without saying what he really wanted to say. She gave him no encouragement or sign that she wanted to hear it, so instead he said, "I hope you get what you're after too."

  He leaned over and kissed her forehead, pausing to inhale her sweet, candy perfume for the last time. "Keep the mp3 player, you know, in case you miss me," he whispered. "There's that smile. That's how I'm going to remember you."

  He gazed at her for a final moment, and Chantel fought to keep her head up and her eyes dry.

  Then he walked out.

  Chantel locked the door behind him and that was it. He was out of her life.

  She wiped away the tears which had broken through her defense, turned off her lamp light, and fell onto her bed, feeling every minute of his absence gradually break her heart into tiny fragments.

  Fighting for You

  She didn't step outside her room again that night, but if she had, she would have found that she was only alone because she believed she was, and that her door had never been left unguarded.

  Eric had taken only a few steps down the hall before his feet grew heavy, as if some invisible energy were preventing him from taking another step. He felt like he had left himself in that room, and that now he was just a phantom walking around in Eric Chandler's clothes and Eric Chandler's shoes, a hollow outer shell of himself. His inner self was still there in Chantel's room, lying beside her as she slept and whispering into her dreaming ear everything that he never had the courage to say.

  Unable to convince the real Eric to come out of Chantel's room, the phantom Eric walked back to her door and sat down beside it. There he waited all night, staring at the wall in front of him as if studying it long enough would give him some kind of answer.

  It was 6:30 am when he heard Chantel stirring inside the room, indicatin
g that she was up. It didn't occur to him immediately that eventually she would come out and find him sitting in her doorway like a creep. By the time that idea came to his head, she had already opened the door and jumped back at the sight of him. "Oh my god," she gasped. "You scared the crap out of me! Have you been there all night?"

  He looked at her, his eyes red with fatigue and strain, but determined as ever. "This is the only way it's going to work for me, Chantel," he said, standing to her level. "You have to come with me."

  "Come with you where?" Chantel asked.

  "To Colorado."

  "Boy, are you crazy?" she cried.

  "That's why you love me."

  "Get out of my doorway," she ordered. "Don't come back until you start talking some sense."

  "Then I'll come back for you on Thursday," Eric told her. "Have your shit ready."

  "You better not," Chantel warned him. "I won't open the door."

  "You would if I asked," Eric said. "If I really sincerely asked you to, you would follow me anywhere. Same with me. Wherever you are, I have to be there. If I have to face a day where I can't find sanctuary in you by the end of it, my life would be pointless. You are my right path, and if I have to keep fighting to make you see it, so be it. I'll fight to my last for you."

  "Eric, it's not that I don't appreciate your feelings, it's just that I don't have the same luxury you have," Chantel told him gently. "I can't just drop everything because you ask me to, or because you think it's a fun idea for the moment. After I graduate, I don't have a family business or any money to back me up. I have to continue to build from the bottom, and I have worked my ass off to get where I am now. I'm going to spend the rest of my life working hard, and it's not going to make things any easier for me if I drop out of college so close to graduation. I don't have a life waiting for me in Colorado like you do."

  "My life would be our life," he said. "I would take care of you, Chantel."

  "With what?" she cried. "What exactly are you going to do? Sit on a corner with a guitar and a jar of pennies? No, that might work in your romanticized fantasies, but that's not reality. It's not enough for me."