Tunnel Vision

by H. R. Kitte-Rojas

  “Your break starts tomorrow, right?” he asked.

  “Yes it does.”

  “Have you got plans for Friday?”

  “Friday?” she echoed dumbly.

  “You know: that day in between Thursday and Saturday. Named for Freya, leader of the Valkyries, the Teutonic goddess of fecundity.”

  Her own laughter caught her by surprise. She snorted it into the phone. This was the Frank she missed so much since the night of the opera. “I don"t believe I have anything scheduled.”

  “Good. You"re coming with me. Mark off the whole day.”

  “Excuse me,” she said, indignant. “It sure sounds like you"re bossing me around.”

  “You owe me,” he reminded her. “I warned you I would collect.”

  “Oh, that"s what this is,” she said. “Reciprocation?”

  “Don"t worry,” he said. “I remember your rules, and I"m not plotting any sneaky violation, here.”

  “Um, about that—” she began.

  “I"m not a serial killer,” he continued, as if unaware she"d tried to say something. “Or if I am, I promiseyou won"t be my next victim. So don"t freak out if you see my chainsaw and hockey maskin the trunk.”

  She chuckled. “In the trunk. Are we going somewhere in particular?”

  “Road trip,” he said.

  “Road trip to where?”

  “Don"t worry about where. You owe me.”

  She sighed. “Yes, I do. I said so, didn"t I?”

  “You did.”

  “Should I bring anything?”

  “Maybe a thermos,” he said. “Just dress comfortably. All food and snacks will be provided by Frankways, Inc.”

  “You"re really not going to tell me the destination?”

  “Nope,” he said.

  From then until Friday morning they emailed or talked on the phone at least once a day. At first she did so to force him to reveal his plans for the trip. But then she did it because she enjoyed their communication more than she could have guessed.

  On Friday morning she opened her door and there was Frank"s Mustang, idling in the driveway. She wore comfortable slacks, boots, a sweater, a furlined coat, and goose bumps. The nervous excitement of what this day might hold in store for her had Celeste almost dizzy.

  She slid in the seat beside him, shut the door, and asked, “So, are you gonna tell me where we"re going?”

  “Don"t expect anything great or fun,” Frank said. “This is all about me; not you.Completely selfish, but you owe me.” He shifted into gear and they were underway.

  “No fun. Hmm. Sounds greeeeeat. And a whole day of no fun, with a selfish friend. What more could a girl ask for?”

  Frank raised an index finger as if remembering something.“I did, however, arrange some entertainment with you in mind.” Using the same index finger, he pushed a button on his car stereo. The Beatles" “Day Tripper” warbled through the speakers.

  “Aww, thank-you,” she said. “So you"re only ninety-nine percent selfish.”

  He drove through her neighborhood to the nearest onramp, and soon they were on the freeway headed for parts unknown.

  “Can"t you at least give me a hint what this is about?” she asked, a little later.

  “You"re going to help me perform an exorcism,” he said.

  “Excuse me? You know somebody that"s demon-possessed?”

  He laughed. “No. But there is a haunting I think you can help me with.”

  “You"re freaking me out a little bit,” she said.

  “Relax,” he said. “You may think I"m weird by the end of the day, but nothing bad is gonna happen to you. And you won"t be required to do anything, really, besides just tag along.”

  “Am I going to be embarrassed?”

  He frowned, thoughtfully. “No. I don"t think so.”

  Are there other people…?”

  “Just you and me. But we"ll be in public, so the chainsaw and hockey mask stay in the trunk, okay?”

  “Oh, boy,” she groaned. But she didn"t really feel threatened.

  The scenery whizzed by, and they found themselves singing along with the Beatles, in between chattering about what they thought of different songs, and continuing their first debate on the subject of Ringo Starr, albeit in a much friendlier fashion.

  They pulled over for brunch at a truck stop. By then their conversation had transitioned from the Beatles to music in general. And when she began making fun of some of the hip-hop she detested, he laughed so hard they became a spectacle in the place. But she enjoyed making him laugh, so she kept going, until he was beet-red and seemed he could barely breathe.

  When the road trip resumed, Frank sang along with the stereo some more. Celeste found herself studying him from the side. His face was ruggedly handsome. She loved his eyes and his jawline, dark with stubble. All day she"d had a strange compulsion to caress his neck and jaw. She loved his muscular arms and powerful-looking hands, too.

  “What?” he asked, evidently feeling her eyes on him.

  She looked away. “I heard about you and Nikita,” she said.

  “Oh, yeah. Your sister. Do you hate me, now?”

  She shook her head. “Nikita"s a big girl.”

  “She"s got another boyfriend already. So I guess she"s fine with it all.”

  “What made you break up with her?” Celeste asked.

  Frank sighed. “I guess what did it was this time I heard her talking on the phone to somebody after we did some swimming. She used the phrase „our pool".”

  Celeste inclined her head, inviting elaboration.

  “Well, it"s not „our pool",” Frank said. “It"s my pool.”

  “So? Probably a slip of the tongue,” Celeste said.

  “Well it"s presumptive. And it forced me to confront the idea of our future. Or if we had one, rather. When I was honest with myself, I could see we didn"t. At least not a good one—mutually fulfilling, y"know? And I couldn"t justify sleeping with somebody that I"m not gonna have a future with.”

  Celeste turned her head to gaze out the window, trying hard not to think about her sister and Frank sleeping together. She was relieved to know they hadn"t; but even just the idea of it turned her blood cold.

  “Don"t get me wrong,” he said. “Your sister"s a fun person and I like her.”

  “You just won"t ever love her,” Celeste suggested.

  “Probably not.”

  Celeste shrugged. “Well, you lasted longer than a lot of men have, with her. You might not be as big of a loser, either.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  She shared a couple anecdotes about Nikita"s dating life—funny stuff. Not too personal. Something she said reminded Frank of a joke he had heard. They spent the next hour telling each other jokes.

  Then, out of nowhere, a vaguely familiar landscape appeared outside the windshield. Frank pulled off the freeway, and soon they were rolling through a place she recognized from deep, deep back in her memory. Longforgotten sights and sounds came rushing back to her over the years.

  Now her pulse was really pounding. She could feel it in her neck and chest.

  Frank wheeled through the campus and parked next to the oldest conglomeration of buildings.

  “Um, Frank? What is this?”

  “This is where I went to school. Boy, has it changed over the years. That wasn"t here last I was here. Neither was that, or that.”

  He opened his door and stepped out, stretching. She also got out, looking around with a mixture of nostalgia and nervousness.

  Before them were four large, block buildings forming a square. Immediately before them was the building she remembered taking Economics 101 in. At a right angle to that hall, on the left, was the building where most of the administrative offices were located. Nursing classes were also taught on the upper floors, if she remembered correctly. On the right, perpendicular to the hall directly before them, was the hall where the science classes were mostly taught. Hidden from view right now by the building it was opposite, was the hall
where English, History, and some sort of video courses had been taught. In between these buildings was the Quad. This was the heart of the campus.

  “Come on,” Frank said, and began walking.

  Reluctantly, she followed. “Frank, why are we here?”

  “Relax. Just tag along.”

  She saw people walking in between buildings here and there, but not very many of them.” “Aren"t they on winter break, here?”

  “Starts tomorrow, he said. “Today"s the last day of Fall Quarter. All the students and teachers in Tuesday-Thursday classes are already gone. This is mostly a blow-off day. Only a few profs are actually giving their finals today.”

  So the university was officially open for business, but resembled a ghost town. Frank strolled around the outside of the nearest building, glancing around like a sightseer. Once around the end of the building, he led her past the Quad.

  Straight toward the building where it happened.

  “Frank!” she called after him. “Frank?”

  He didn"t seem to hear. He climbed the front steps to the swinging glass doors and held one open for her. When they stepped inside, both of them were taken aback.

  “Holy cow,” he exclaimed. “What did they do?”

  The building had been gutted. Hollowed out. Each floor was now like a balcony, surrounding a great cavernous empty space that stretched right up to the ceiling, which now had a skylight.

  “Holy cow,” he said again. “Nothing is the same. The library was kind of like this, before. They made this like the library, only without the books. I feel disoriented. I wonder if the library is the same as it was.”

  He shrugged, then, and began walking through the gigantic open area. There was still a student lounge, roughly where the old one had been. But then the whole building seemed to be a student lounge, now. He made a right turn and went a few more paces before stopping in his tracks.

  “The Mass-Com video suite used to be right here,” he said. “I wonder where it is, now.”

  He turned on his heel and crossed the open area back almost the way they had come, toward the elevators. They were still in the same spot at least. And there was still a staircase next to them, though no longer enclosed. Frank stopped in front of the staircase and just stared at it.

  Celeste caught up to him and asked, “Frank, why are we here?”

  He turned to her with a sad smile. “This is part of the exorcism I told you about.”

  “Could you explain that, please?” she requested, her voice faltering.

  He nodded toward a padded bench against the nearest wall. “Let"s sit down for a minute.”

  Once seated, he turned so that his body was facing her, but he stared past her, into the walls and floors and classrooms that were no longer there.

  “I was a painfully shy kid,” he said. “Insecure, socially backwards, not to mention kinda" wierd. I only had one girlfriend before I graduated high school.”

  “Really?” she replied. This didn"t jive with the player rep at all.

  He nodded. “There was this girl that went here. I never knew much about her. Not even her name. But she was beautiful, and smart, and nice. And there was something about her that just…”

  “You were attracted to her,” Celeste offered, hopefully.

  He nodded. “But I was dense, and shy, and socially inept. I had no idea how to even strike up a conversation with her.”

  “So you never even spoke to her?” Celeste asked, baiting him and enjoying it a little, despite those kamikaze butterflies crashing into the walls of her stomach.

  Finally. Finally, she was going to get the full scoop.

  “We spoke. She initiated it. I was too retarded to say anything clever or even competent, but we spoke.”

  “That"s it?”

  He sighed. “No. That"s not it. While I was busy being a chickenshit, she had the courage to try to get a friend to introduce us. It was right by that stairwell over there.”

  “What happened?”

  “I guess you don"t know this about me yet, but I have a bad case of tunnel vision.”

  “Tunnel vision?”

  He rolled his head around on his neck for a moment. “I tend to get focused on one thing, and I"m almost completely unaware of everything else around me. I may look like a normal, conscious human being, but I"m off in my own little world. A herd of pink wooly mammoths could stampede right in front of me and I might not notice. Well, the day she did this, I was depressed and had a lot on my mind and, long story short, what she had done didn"t even register until after it was over.”

  “What do you mean, „didn"t register"?” she asked.

  “It"s like I recognized her, and heard what was said, but it wasn"t until later that I put it together and knew what it all meant.”

  Now it was Celeste"s turn to stare into space.

  “I just went up those stairs without saying anything. It must have been humiliating for her.”

  “Ya think?” Celeste snapped, unable to keep the ire out of her tone.

  “I just walked away, my mind consumed with shit I can"t even remember any more. That"s how damned important it was, in the context of my life as a whole.”

  “What is that?” Celeste asked, disbelieving. “This girl puts her neck out on the block for you like that and the best excuse you can come up with is, you had a lot on your mind?”

  “I"m glad you understand,” he said. “I kind of assumed you would think this was weird or silly, hanging onto it for all these years.”

  “Just what is it that I understand?” she asked.

  He gave her a confused look. “That that moment…that blunder…that idiotic whatever-it-was has been haunting me all my life.” He rose and paced. “Maybe it is silly, or pathetic. I mean, we were just kids, really. That was ancient history, right? I should have got over it and moved on, but I haven"t been able to. I would give anything to go back to that moment of time and do the right thing.”

  She stared up at him. “What was the right thing?”

  “To blow off my final exam, the administrative screw-up in the Registrar"s office…all those details I can"t even remember and don"t even matter in the big picture of life. Stop, go up to her…” His voice trailed off.

  Two students walked in the swinging glass doors, glanced curiously at them, then continued across the empty space to find seats on the padded benches against the opposite wall.

  Frank sat again. “She used to sit right over there,” he said, pointing toward the two students. “I passed her all the time, but didn"t have the guts to talk to her. Wouldn"t have known what to say, anyway.”

  “You could have tried, „hi. What are you reading"?” she offered.

  He squinted at her. “She wasreading. How did you…”

  His eyes fell on the students across the building, now with textbooks open. “Oh. Duh. Student lounge. Students, school, books. Okay.”

  She considered the sincerity in his eyes and voice; the regret dripping from his words. It was becoming difficult to stay mad at him.

  “So I need to get over it,” he said. “Forgive myself. It"s long overdue. Well, after today, I can.” Some breath hissed out of him that might have passed for a laugh. “I mean, look at my track record with women and I"m sure, if I hadn"t screwed it up before it got started, then I would have screwed it up at some point later on. It"s a psychological thing, is what it must be. I"m haunted by her face and her smile because she"s the one that got away. She"s become this symbol of missed opportunity. Right?”

  “Is that what she is?” Celeste asked.

  He laughed again, then used one hand to muffle his voice, simulating an intercom. “Paging Doctor Freud. Paging Doctor Freud.” He leaned forward, elbows on knees. “What do you think? You must have taken more psychology classes than me, being a teacher.”

  “Frank, why did you want me along for this?”

  He frowned, sheepishly. “Please don"t get freaked out, but you really, really remind me of that girl. When I first saw you,
I thought maybe you could be her. But you went to Central—you didn"t even go here.” He sighed again. “But still, you remind me so much of her, and there"s something about you I just… I thought if I could come back here and have kind of an experience, and I shared it with you, I"d be able to put it behind me once and for all.”

  “When did this idea occur to you?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “Sometime between when I broke up with your sister and when I called you.”

  “Nikita reminds you of her, too,” Celeste mused, out loud.

  He shrugged again. “Only as far as looks, really.”

  He stood again, and swept his gaze around the building. “Am I crazy? Or just childish and abnormally fixated?”

  She stood and took his hand. “Of course you"reabnormal. That"s why we get along. I"m hungry again. Let"s find the cafeteria.”

  “Good idea,” he said. “That should complete the exorcism.”

  She hung onto his hand, and he gripped hers. Neither of them tried to break the contact as they sought the cafeteria. The sensation of his hand holding hers was intoxicating. His touch felt very good.

  The cafeteria they talked to each other in so many years ago no longer existed. It looked like it had been converted into a recreation room.

  “So much for that,” Frank said, softly thumping his head into the locked door.

  “Don"t do that,” she said, restraining him with her free hand. “We"ll get in trouble for damaging school property.”

  He smiled at her. Oh, how she loved that smile.

  “The Rathskeller will be open,” he said. “If it"s still here. It stays open for the students that live on campus and don"t go home on breaks. They"ve got pizza, subs, stuff like that.”

  “Lead the way, Mister Alumni,” she said. They were still holding hands.

  The route he took was a winding, scenic one through the campus. She didn"t mind. He turned to smile at her again as they walked. “I"m so glad I brought you with me. That was a good call. Thanks for coming.”

  “I did owe you one,” she conceded, cheerfully.

  “Two,” he corrected, and they both snickered.

  “Is your exorcism working?” she asked.

  He nodded, chewing his lower lip. “I think it is. I feel like a burden is already lifting. Closure, and all that.”