Burning the Map

by Laura Caldwell

  Lindsey snorts and stomps over to her backpack on the floor. She takes off her shirt, rummaging in her pack for something to sleep in.

  A moment of uncomfortable quiet passes before Kat asks, “So what do we do about this, you guys?”

  I slump back onto my bed. What can we do? I’m so exhausted, I can barely speak. “Can we sleep on it?”

  “Fine,” Lindsey says, standing up from her backpack. “Fine,” she says again, before walking to the bathroom and closing the door behind her.

  I pull the sheet over myself and shut my eyes, not even bothering to take off my clothes.

  “Night, Case,” Kat says a few minutes later, turning off the lights. When I don’t answer, she says, “It’s going to be all right, you know.”

  I nod in the dark, although I doubt it.

  18

  Despite my fatigue, I sleep fitfully that night, shifting my legs every few minutes in search of cool spots on the sheets. I want desperately for everything to return to normal with Kat and Sin, but I’m tired of pretending things are all right when they aren’t. I see now that I’ve done this too many times, in too many different situations. I’ve put on a happy face and acted as if all were fine and dandy, ignoring the fact that things were about as dandy as a root canal.

  Take John, for instance. If I was honest with myself, I’d have to admit that the things about him that were beginning to gnaw at me, I knew all along. When I started dating him, we had healthy getting-to-know-you discussions, but in general, I saw that he wasn’t much of a talker, that he wasn’t going to spend long, candlelit nights with me chatting over a bottle of Beaujolais. Yet I had wanted a boyfriend so badly. I wanted a date for New Year’s Eve and someone to watch movies with on Sunday afternoons. I wanted to be able to use the term “my boyfriend” in conversation. My boyfriend and I saw a fabulous play this weekend. My boyfriend sent me these flowers. I have to meet my boyfriend for drinks. So I turned his quieter, more reticent personality into what I thought was a positive. I recall explaining to Kat in a bright voice, “It’s great. He’s not a big people person, but he doesn’t care if I am, so I can make the rounds at a party, and he’s okay to be left by himself.” I remember her barely nodding, looking at me as if I’d just said that the war in Bosnia had been a good thing.

  There were other things that bothered me about John, too, like his anal housekeeping, his insistence that all shampoo flip tops be securely closed after use to avoid accidental leakage, and his requirement that the toilet paper rolls be placed so that the paper pulls down, not up. I’d seen these things from the start, but I’d either ignored them or put an optimistic spin on them. “Isn’t that adorable?” I gushed facetiously when my mother overheard him admonish me to put the mustard in the door of the fridge, not on the second shelf. My mother made a face as if to say, “To each his own.” All these things had come back to haunt me and were taking on the quality of nails on a blackboard.

  I don’t want to let the same thing happen with Lindsey and Kat. There’s something lacking in our friendship, some element of understanding and ability to be on the same page that we’ve always carried with us. The distance I’ve created since dating John could partly, but not completely, be to blame. That’s why I can’t gloss over it anymore and say, “You’re right. Everything is fine. Let’s go back to the way we used to be,” as I had in Rome. Kat and Sin are too important to me.

  I’m finally able to steal a few hours of sleep, but I’m awakened at ten in the morning by Sin, already dressed in khaki shorts and a white baby-doll T-shirt.

  “Case,” she says, nudging me roughly in the hip. “Wake up. I want to ask you something.”

  “What?” I say, rubbing my eyes, trying to free myself from the twisted sheets. “What is it?”

  Sin is all-business this morning, standing with her hands on her hips. “I went to town and found out that we can take a boat to Mykonos at two o’clock today and get there by early evening. What do you think?”

  “Leave Ios?” I ask, somewhat startled, thinking that I’m not quite ready to move on.

  This has been happening to me for the last few years. I’ll panic at any small change in my daily routine, taking comfort in always knowing what’s around the corner, the ease of simplicity and repetition. Like here at the Sunset, for example. Although relations have been strained with Sin and Kat, I have my routine. I know what time the family serves meals. I know how to get an Amstel from the fridge and how many drachmas to leave on the counter. I know how to stumble my way home from the bars. What I don’t know is whether I’m ready to give up the safety of that routine.

  “You still have time to see Billy Boy if you want,” Sin says.

  “It’s not that. I’m just trying to think. What does Kat want to do?” I look around the room for her.

  “She’s getting breakfast. She wants to go.”

  When I hesitate, Lindsey looks pissed off. “Look, in light of everything that’s happened and our talk last night, I think we need to get out of here. Just the three of us.”

  I nod, trying to think this through.

  “We have to make a decision,” Lindsey says. “I need to get back to town and buy the tickets.” She drops her head a little. “Casey, maybe this will help.”

  I feel a surge of hope. “Let’s do it,” I say. “Yeah…let’s go.”

  “Great,” she says, and she gives me a clumsy pat on the leg before she leaves.

  After a shower, I go looking for Billy. I don’t want to leave without at least saying goodbye. No one answers when I knock on the thin wood door of his hut. As I start to turn away, I hear a voice call from inside. I look back in time to see Billy stick his head out the door. His black curls are dripping wet and the only clothing he has on is a tired purple-and-yellow beach towel, slung low over his hips, a happy trail of dark hair leading from his lower abdomen to the towel.

  “Hey!” he says, looking happy to see me, and I feel a ridiculous pride that I can cause such a reaction in him.

  “Good morning.” I give him a slow once-over, the pride, along with the knowledge that we’re leaving, making me bold.

  He smiles, somewhere between bashful and seductive. He glances down at the towel, but makes no effort to hike it up. “Want to come in?” he asks, raising his eyebrows like Groucho Marx.

  I laugh. “I thought we’d have breakfast.”

  “Well, I thought I’d have you for breakfast.”

  Normally, this remark would send my eyes rolling, but Billy is sporting such a mischievous grin, I want to follow the happy trail and rip the towel from his hips. He reaches out and takes my forearm, his touch giving me another ping.

  “So what about it?” Billy says, gesturing with his head toward the room, his fingers a soft presence on my skin.

  “Where are Noel and Johnny?” I ask, stalling for time.

  “Already at the beach. C’mon,” he says, pulling me into his chest, which is still slightly wet and smells of soap. I want to rub my face against him.

  “C’mon,” Billy says again, holding me closer to him, leaning in to nuzzle my neck.

  “I shouldn’t,” I say feebly, but like some swooning heroine in a hoopskirt I let him pull me inside.

  Billy’s hut looks about the same as our room, although his is littered with Amstel bottles and dirty clothes. We’d at least made some effort to keep ours presentable. His room makes me think of the one-too-many fraternity houses I’d spent nights in, fighting off lecherous advances. When I think back to how many close calls and scary situations I allowed myself to get drawn into, I feel like making the sign of the cross—a skill that has decidedly atrophied over the years—in thanks that I’d survived those situations relatively unscathed.

  “I’m sorry about the mess,” Billy says, seeing my expression. He begins dumping bottles in the trash, collecting errant garments hanging from doorknobs and the mirror. “I wasn’t expecting company.”

  Billy isn’t at all like the frat boys whose clutches I’d broken away
from, but the reminder has brought me back to earth. I still have a boyfriend at home, a fact I’ve conveniently ignored for a while, and I still want to make things better with Kat and Sin. Bopping Billy in this hut is certainly not going to help either situation.

  “Listen,” I say, watching him scoop tubes of suntan lotion off a bed and into the garbage. “I really think I need to get some food to calm my stomach. Too much booze last night, you know? How about meeting me on the terrace when you’re ready?”

  “Wait a bit,” Billy says, stopping his frenetic cleaning. “What’s the matter, eh?”

  “I just can’t do this.”

  I start to try to explain, but Billy jumps in, “We’re not doing anything, Casey. It’s all right.”

  He moves closer to me, his towel swinging with the movement, and for a moment I both fear and hope that it’s about to fall off. But at the same time, the room feels tiny and cramped.

  “Just meet me for breakfast, okay?” I lean in and touch my lips to his cheek, a sort of a peace offering.

  “Sure,” Billy says, although he doesn’t sound thrilled. “Be right there.”

  When I get to the terrace, I’m relieved to find Kat gone already. I don’t want her to see me with Billy.

  I walk to the bar, which is being manned by Spiros’s daughter, Samantha.

  “Hello, Casey!” she chirps, her bright eyes gleaming. Pencil in hand, she’s ready to take my order. Ever since our journey to the hospital, she seems to favor me over the other guests, unfailingly cheerful and cute. “What you want for breakfast?”

  I smile at her accent and her eagerness, wondering if I’d ever been that hopeful and motivated.

  “Hmm…” I study the breakfast menu written on a blackboard above Samantha’s head.

  I know the menu by heart already, but I’m giving myself time to launch a full-scale food debate in my head—egg whites versus cheese, sliced tomato versus toast. My mouth waters at the thought of real scrambled eggs with feta cheese and thick slices of freshly toasted Greek bread laden with butter, but I’m liking my body better after having shed some poundage. Then I realize that the real reason I’m trying to stay away from the eggs and toast is the knowledge that Billy is on his way to meet me, and I don’t want to eat like a pig in front of him. I give myself a mental smack for this idiotic line of thinking, as if Billy would actually think I was thinner if he didn’t see me eat. Ridiculous! Hadn’t I denied certain parts of myself for years because of John? No more tennis, no more late nights with the girls, no more live music.

  “Scrambled eggs with feta and toast,” I say to Samantha, “and extra butter.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Billy walking toward me. I turn and see he’s wearing a huge smile and, unfortunately, clothing now. He has on wrinkled green shorts and a white ribbed T-shirt with three buttons undone, giving a glimpse of a tanned chest.

  “Hey,” he says to me as he bends down to give me a kiss. I’m not sure if he’s shooting for my mouth or my cheek, so I wiggle around a bit, and it lands awkwardly on the right side of my nose.

  Billy doesn’t seem to notice. “Can I buy you breakfast?”

  “Sure, big spender,” I say. Breakfast is included in the room rate. “But I already ordered.”

  “I’ll do the same. Be right back.” Billy squeezes my shoulder and gives me another smile before striding off to the counter.

  My feta eggs are delicious. I shovel them on my toast and wash them down with a big, cold bottle of Evian, not letting myself care what kind of image I’m presenting to Billy. His food arrives shortly after mine, and he eats with similar gusto. We must look like a couple of starved refugees.

  I steal glances at him, wondering if I will ever see him, or for that matter, Francesco, again. Francesco had given me his address and phone number, and I assume Billy and I will exchange digits. My knee-jerk inclination is to try and keep in touch with both of them, but my sane mind tells me this would be a bad move for two reasons. The first, of course, is John. It had been betrayal enough without bringing it home with me. The second reason is my belief that vacation romances should be left on vacation. In the bright light of real life, it’s impossible to escape the annoyances and incompatibilities that are glossed over when basking in the golden hue of a sunset or hiding in the dark of a hotel room.

  I’d learned this lesson all too well when I met a nice boy from New Jersey while spending a weekend in Key West. We strolled the boardwalk and had a picnic in the sand. It was romantic and dreamy, but when he visited me a few months later, everything irritated me. I found his “Joy-Zee” accent gauche. He wore immense amounts of cheap cologne that lingered on my sheets. He spent an inordinate amount of time in front of the mirror parting and reparting his hair from side to side. And his clothes! I’d essentially seen him in bathing suits and T-shirts in Key West, but in Chicago, when I told him we were having dinner with some friends, he exited the bathroom in tightly pressed acid-washed jeans, black high-top Reeboks and a teal silk shirt. I claimed mysterious female difficulties to avoid introducing him to my friends or partaking in any physical contact that evening. I was relieved to drop him off at the airport the next day.

  “So,” Billy says when we’re finished eating. “Everything all right with your friends, then?”

  “Yes and no,” I say. “Lindsey was pissed off and still is, but we talked about some things.” I shrug, not wanting to rehash it or go into specifics.

  “Then we’ll spend a bit of time together today, yeah?”

  I look at my watch and realize we have to leave in about an hour for the boat, and I still have to pack.

  I shake my head. “We’re taking off today. We’re going to Mykonos.”

  “When was that decided?”

  “This morning. Lindsey and Kat want to move on.”

  “You’re going then,” he says, a statement, not a question.

  “Yeah, I’m going.”

  Billy is silent and actually looks sad. “How long do we have?”

  I glance at my watch again. “I need to leave in about an hour, and I have to pack first.”

  “How about I help you?” he offers, giving me the Groucho Marx eyebrows again.

  I laugh, imagining Billy sitting on my bed, holding my backpack while I give him long kisses every time I place something in it. But then I imagine Lindsey walking in and going berserk.

  “I don’t think so,” I tell Billy.

  “I guess you’re done with me,” he says, standing from the table. “You’ve used me, and now you’re casting me off.”

  I laugh and stand with him.

  “It was a treat,” he says, moving around the table to hug me.

  I squeeze him back. “It was.”

  He turns and walks away, and I stand there like an idiot, a wistful smile on my face. It’s only when I’m back in the room with the door shut that I realize Billy hadn’t asked for my address or my phone number.

  PART III

  MYKONOS, GREECE

  19

  It’s hard to leave the Sunset. A week and a half in a climate and culture so different than my own seemed much longer. Even though things with Kat and Sin had been strained, I’d become attached to all the other people at the Sunset, the slow-moving lifestyle.

  I take one long look around before getting into Spiros’s pickup, hoping to spy Billy rounding the corner, possibly professing his love, begging me to stay. Instead, I see Gunther on the terrace, his arms around the Swedish girls, who are waving and blowing kisses. But no Billy.

  Spiros gives us big bear hugs when he drops us off at the ferry and yells warnings about watching our purses and backpacks. The air is stilted between Sin and Kat and me. You’d think I’d be used to it by now, but after almost ten years of friendship, a decade of spring breaks and happy hours and late-night crying sessions over boys whose names we can’t remember now, there’s no way that stilted is ever going to feel normal. We lumber awkwardly onto the boat, our packs strapped firmly to our backs, no on
e speaking. The ferry isn’t as crowded as the one we took to Ios, and we’re lucky enough to land a table in the bar area of the ship. Formica covers the entire room, while music blasts from the speakers—the stereotypical Greek music you’d expect to hear at Epcot Center in Disney World. In order to compensate for the climbing heat outside, they’ve cranked the air-conditioning to Everest-like temperatures.

  We order hot teas, put our backpacks on the floor, our feet up on our packs, and lean back in our chairs. As I sip my tea, I steal quick glances at each of them, trying to read their moods, their thoughts, but they give nothing away.

  Lindsey finally breaks the uncomfortable quiet. “So, did you say goodbye to Billy Boy?”

  I glance at her to see whether she’s being serious or throwing verbal darts at my head. Her face is bland, and she seems to be waiting for an answer.

  I respond with a simple, “Yeah.”

  She nods, as if thinking this over, her face as serious as a doctor delivering bad news. “Will you talk to him again?” she asks.

  “No,” I say, in an “of course not” tone of voice, secretly wishing my answer was a hearty “yes.”

  “What about Francesco?” Lindsey asks, her expression a little amused now.

  It’s patently unfair that she can still read me so well after two weeks of barely speaking.

  I shrug, wondering how to change the subject, and slurp away at my tea.

  “Are you going to write love letters and drive up your phone bill?” She’s leaning toward me now, looking sadistic.

  I lean in, too. “Fuck off, Sin,” I say, in a lowered, measured tone. “I’ve already apologized for Billy, and I’m sick of your crap.”

  I sit back in my chair, shaking my head, tired of the bickering and the chilly air. Why is she doing this? Because she let her guard down once and let us see that she isn’t happy? Who is?

  Lindsey’s mouth opens immediately as if to retort, but Kat slaps a hand on her thigh to stop her. “She’s right,” Kat says in a firm tone. “Lay off, okay?”