"Whoa! Check it out!" Sam said.
"I'm still working on it," I said. "I'm having trouble with the ribs. It's hard keeping track of which line belongs to which rib."
"Ribs are your specialty," he said, smiling.
He looked heavy, with his bulky coat and overstuffed backpack.
I took a seat on my bed.
He kept standing.
"Hey, can I have some water?" he asked.
"Help yourself," I said. "But first take off your bag and jacket."
He took off the backpack and laid it by the door. The coat he hung neatly on a chair. Then he went to the kitchen. I heard him opening cupboards, in search of a glass.
Just before I could tell him where to look, he said, "You keep poison on your spice rack?"
I laughed.
"It doesn't look like poison," he said.
"What, you're a poison expert?"
He walked toward me, holding the jar. "No, but I'm a different kind of expert. And I suspect this falls under my area of expertise."
"You sure?"
He opened the jar and smelled it. "Oh, yeah. I'm sure. But what are you doing with this? I thought you weren't a fan."
"I'm not," I said. "Someone gave it to me."
"Are you for real?"
"Unfortunately, yes. You can have it, if you want," I said. "I hear it's good stuff."
His eyes brightened as he lifted his cap from his eyes. "Really?"
"Yeah."
"Whoa, thanks," he said, standing stiffly before me. "I should do something to repay you."
I gestured for him to sit beside me on the bed.
He sat, leaving a two-inch space between us.
I scooted over and closed the gap.
I was about to put my hand on his back, when the side of his leg, his vastus lateralis, tightened and he backed away.
"We can't do this, Ellie."
"Do what?"
He kicked at a knot in the floor.
"You know," he said.
"What are you saying?"
He unscrewed the jar lid, then twisted it back in place.
"I think," he began, then took a deep breath. "I think you're flirting with me. And it's not that I don't like it. I do. It's just I wish you'd done this earlier."
"What are you talking about?" I scooted back a few inches.
He untwisted the jar lid again.
"Look, Ellie. I had a huge crush on you over Wintersession. You knew it. And you know I know you knew it. So don't play dumb. But I gave up because I thought you didn't want to ... you know..."
"What?"
"Go out, or whatever."
"But I was dating someone."
"Yeah, him. As if that mattered. You could've left him so easily."
"Let's not get into that. What about now?"
"Well, now I'm seeing someone. I met her over break and we really hit it off."
"You don't have to sound so apologetic," I said. "I don't really know what I was thinking, anyway." I took a deep breath and exhaled out loud. "This is all pretty embarrassing."
After a long silence, he looked at me and pulled his cap upwards.
"Don't be embarrassed," he said. "I'm just glad you're not still with that Nate guy. You aren't, are you?"
"No." I coiled up and hugged my knee. "I'm not. Sometimes I wish I was. But I know it wouldn't be right."
"Oh my God," he said. "Ellie, you're in exactly the same position as your drawing. That's got to be totally symbolic or something!"
Completely Platonic Coffee
"Long time no see," Nate said. His hair had grown out and sat tamely on his head.
I suddenly felt like shriveling up into a little ball and rolling away. I hadn't noticed him coming toward me down the hill, and I wasn't prepared to talk to him.
"Hey," I said.
"How are things?"
"Fine," I said. "But I wish spring would get here already."
"Do you want to hang out sometime?" he asked, touching my elbow.
"I'm really busy these days."
"No, I mean just as friends. I swear."
Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if we just sat down and talked in some neutral place. Maybe what we really needed was to talk.
"We'll go for coffee," he said. "Completely platonic."
"How about now?" I wanted to do it before I changed my mind.
We went to True Brew on Main Street. And as we sat, I realized there was nothing to say. There was nothing to say as friends because we never had been friends. Right from the start we were lovers. The Devil and a gypsy.
"Hey, do you know who Elvis was?" I asked.
"Elvis? What do you mean? Everybody's heard of Elvis."
"No, the guy dressed as Elvis! At the Artist's Ball."
"I don't know," he said. "Some guy."
His hand was rumbling on the table and his knees wouldn't stay still.
"Why won't you answer my messages?" he asked.
"Because it's not right," I said. "We're not right. You have a girlfriend."
"But I told you, we have—"
He started swishing his coffee cup. Round and round.
"I know, an open relationship. I can't be a part of it."
"Well, if we never talk to each other again, it'll be all your fault," he said. "I'm trying."
I was about to disagree but before I could, the coffee slipped out of Nate's grasp and skidded to the edge of the table, where it finally fell on his lap.
"Shit!" he yelled. When he stood up, it looked like he'd peed in his pants. "Shit, shit!" he yelled again, and ran to the bathroom.
I grabbed a pile of napkins and brought them to the table. Coffee rivers were dribbling from under our table to the surrounding tables. A J. Crew modelly-looking woman snatched her suede purse from the floor to keep it from getting wet. A guy in a striped tie lifted what looked like a laptop.
I'd need another pile of napkins to clean it all up.
I started walking to the counter to get more, but instead of stopping when I got there, I walked right out the door. By the time I got to the corner I was running.
My quadriceps and hamstrings contracted and relaxed as fast as they could. I hadn't run in a while. I wished it was dark out, and nobody else was on the streets watching me run.
I remembered how exciting it used to feel, running home from Nate's at night. It's funny: I'd mistaken that exhilaration for independence, for a sense of confidence in a situation beyond my control. I would run there with the feeling that of all the girls in Nate's life, he liked me best. And I'd run home, trying to hold on to as much of that feeling as I could. But if Nate had really felt that way about me, I wouldn't have needed to run.
When I turned onto Artist's Row I was already winded. I kept going anyway.
And I ran all the way home without looking back.
Going Twice
A few days later I got an e-mail from Nate:
i'm not sure what's going on with you but you won't LISTEN to me so i'm writing and i hope you'll read this all the way through, i really feel like we're honestly HONESTLY soul mates, i feel like we could work things out. the only thing that's wrecking this is YOU. maybe you don't realize how good we are for each other because you're so inexperienced, i've been with a lot of girls, like i told you, and it doesn't get any better than it was with you. what about our father connection? how can you just give that up? we NEED each other, i need you to help GET ME THROUGH my mom's wedding, nobody else can comfort me right now.
and i hope hope hope this isn't about stupid sloane. remember, YOU were in on the joke. SHE wasn't.
that's all from me until you CARE, going once, going twice...
I didn't write back.
I had a feeling "GET ME THROUGH my mom's wedding" meant "GET ME SOME sex because nobody will give it to me this week."
The weird thing is, part of his note seemed right. Part of me felt like I still needed him. But I wasn't sure it was him exactly that I needed.
There was somet
hing he had dead wrong, though. One of us did know our dad.
Or at least knew enough.
Escape
Halfway through the semester, Gregg gave us midterm evaluations. We had to sign up for times to meet with him individually. We were supposed to prepare something outside of class to show him.
Blue mohawk guy was waiting outside the door to the classroom when I showed up for my time. Gregg was running a little behind schedule. I had brought my drawings for Ed with me, since I had nothing else to show.
Blue mohawk was carrying a plastic wastebasket.
"What's that for?" I asked him.
"I can puke on command," he said, grinning. "Gregg's gonna love it."
"I bet he will."
That was a talent I sometimes wished I had in Gregg's class.
In a few minutes, the door opened and Sam came out.
Blue mohawk entered the room.
"You next?" Sam asked.
"Yeah."
"Are those your drawings for Ed?"
"They are."
"Man, good luck," he said. "I was jumping around like a monkey and making ape noises, just because I thought he'd like it. But he said I was faking, and that I didn't really want to be acting like a monkey. Which I guess is right, but I thought it would get me a good grade."
"What a jerk," I said. "Are you going anywhere now?"
"I'm meeting someone for dinner," he said. "Why?"
"Do you want to hang out until dinner? You could stick around and wait for me."
"Sure."
When blue mohawk exited the room, he had a gleam in his eye. The wastebasket was empty.
The place stank when I walked in.
A puddle of vomit lay beneath Gregg's swinging legs. Stray specks were spattered on his shoes.
"He missed the bucket," Gregg said. His mini oval glasses barely had frames. The lenses looked like two clear disks floating on his face.
"By a lot," I said.
"What've you got for me? It's gonna be hard to beat the guy who went before you."
I unrolled my drawings.
"You've got to be kidding," he said.
"About what?"
"This is exactly the garbage I told you guys I didn't want to see in here."
"What's wrong with it?"
"It's so old school," he said. "There's no way you can do anything that hasn't already been done before."
"What if I don't care?" I challenged. "What if all I want to do is represent real life?"
"Why represent real life when we're surrounded by it? Art should be a way of escaping real life."
His legs swung faster.
"If you tore that drawing up, it would be more of a statement."
"What if I just walked out of this meeting?"
"That—" He laughed. "That's more like it! You've got me there!"
I stormed out, drawings flapping at my side.
What Did It
"What happened?!" Sam asked when he saw me emerge from the room all worked up.
"I think I won him over," I said. "Not on purpose. But I won't fail."
"I've got to hear this," he said. "I'm supposed to meet Hannah in the dining hall in an hour. That should give us more than enough time."
"Is Hannah your girlfriend?"
"Yeah." His ears reddened.
"Let's not talk here," I said. "I want to get away from Gregg and his fan club."
It was almost completely dark outside. Without the sun it was pretty cold. We needed to find a nearby building to pass the time until Sam had to go.
"I've got an idea," I said.
The Garage was completely empty. I'd never seen it with all the lights off. It seemed like dead bodies probably could rise out of those sinks. But once the lights were on, it was the same old Garage.
Sam slouched across from me on a stool as I described my "evaluation" with Gregg.
"Right on," Sam said. "You know, you were right when you said I'd get sick of him."
"Really?"
"Yeah, for the first time I felt like a total idiot in that classroom."
"You never felt like an idiot doing Gregg's dumb assignments?"
"No, man," he said. "Usually it's fun, 'cause there are all these other people jumping around too. You're all in it together, you know? But doing it alone doesn't feel like art. It's just you acting like a weirdo in front of a guy who's judging you."
"That's part of why I can't stand him," I said. "He's so judgmental. I mean, I want my teachers to be hard on me, but his standards are so inconsistent. One minute he cheers you on if you're, let's say, acting like a monkey, and the next minute he accuses you of not feeling it enough."
"Maybe if I'd had a banana I would've seemed more into it. The worst part is, he'll probably fail me for not really wanting to be a monkey."
"I'm sure you won't fail."
"Who knows?" he said. "Maybe if he flunked all of us, he'd think of it as art."
"Maybe," I said. "But he'd probably lose his job."
Sam adjusted his cap and looked at the ceiling.
"Remember that night we were in here and you told me people would never understand me if I kept my thoughts to myself?"
"You were in your chill space."
"Right." He smiled. "That's what did it."
"That's what did what?"
"That's what made me able to talk to Hannah. If I hadn't thought about that stuff you said to me, I wouldn't have opened up to her when she first started talking to me over break."
There was a long silence before I said, "I'm glad to hear that. It's no good to keep everything packed away in your head."
"Yeah," he said. "I think that's what I liked about Gregg's class at first. It gave me the chance to let all my thoughts out. It let me be the loud person I'll never be. But that excitement is wearing off."
"I know what you mean."
Another long silence.
"Hey," he said, unslouching, "do you want to have dinner with me and Hannah?"
"You don't think that would be weird?"
"No way," he said. "Do you?"
"Well, after what happened a few days ago..."
"That was nothing," he said. "And it would be my honor to introduce my two favorite NECAD people to each other."
Crunchy Like Me
She was waiting by the dining hall door in her dreadlocks and long tie-dyed dress.
"I brought a friend," Sam said as Hannah hugged him.
The back of Sam's neck muscles seemed to relax.
"Ellie?" she asked when she released him.
I nodded.
"Great to meet you." She smiled and stretched her arms out to hug me, too. She wasn't fat, but her body felt pillowy. With anyone else, I would've felt strange about hugging at our first meeting, but with her it seemed natural. Like this is what she probably did with everybody.
"That's some awesome weed you gave Sam," she said. "I can't believe you just gave it away. Join us anytime if you have second thoughts."
"Thanks," I said, "but I don't think that'll happen."
"I'll save us a booth," she said. "You two get in line. And Sam, let me take that bag for you. The thing looks like it's gonna explode."
He handed his backpack over.
"She's crunchy, like me," Sam whispered to me as we filled our trays.
"Birkenstocks and all," I said.
When we got to the table, Hannah went to get dinner.
"I can't wait to hear about the midterm critiques!" she said, with an emphasis on critiques that made me think she knew what Gregg's class was like.
Sam sat on her side of the table and I sat across from him.
"What's her major?" I asked.
"Illustration," he said. "She illustrates kids' books. She's graduating this year and she's already got a deal. Some kind of potty book."
"Like how to go to the potty?"
"Yeah, like that." He raised his cap and turned to watch her at the salad bar. "Hannah's vegan," he said. "Like Ralph. I never thought I'd
date a vegan."
I laughed. "I never thought you would either."
He gave me a What're you gonna do? shrug. His arms finally looked relaxed when they moved.
When Hannah came back with her big leafy salad, she said, "So tell me about the crits."
Sam and I took turns telling her about our day.
"Right on, Ellie," she said. "Gregg's no teacher. He's a bully. That's what I've been trying to tell this guy all along." She took off Sam's cap and ruffled his flattened dreads.
I'd never seen the top of Sam's head before. It looked smaller without his hat.
"I know, I know," he said, yanking his cap back. "You don't need to convince me anymore."
I spotted the fruit bin. "Hannah, did you know Sam thinks Gregg would've been more impressed with his performance if he'd been jumping around with a banana?"
Hannah let out a hearty laugh. It came out so easily, like she really meant it. "A banana? Sam, tell me she made that up!"
"No," he said sheepishly. "It's true. I think I would've seemed more into it."
"Dude, I'll buy you a banana," Hannah said. "You can try it for us right now. Maybe you'll actually convince us that you want to be a monkey."
Sam shoved her playfully. He rolled his eyes at me.
As I walked home that night, I was glad that nothing had ever happened between me and Sam. He and Hannah were so good together. Plus, I don't think I ever really wanted him.
It's just, it would've been so easy...
Stopping By
At times I'd pass Nate's place without the thought of him ever crossing my mind.
But other times I'd see a light on, and I'd be tempted to stop by, just to see. To see what? I'm not sure. Maybe to see if anything had changed. At those times, it was like there was a magnet in my heart. And there was an oppositely charged magnet in his house, trying to drag me through the path from the road. I'd have to cross the street and walk on the other side, just to fight off the tug.
Sometime in spring, I thought I'd see if he was in.
My head was down as I went up the path to the side of his house, thinking of what I'd say to him. "fust wanted to say hi, see how you were doing..." Something that would sound friendly, but not too inviting.
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