Sixteen, Sixty-One

by Sixteen, Sixty-One- A Memoir (epub)

  After that, they met regularly outside of class, never acknowledging anything more than a close friendship and always parting with excited promises to see each other again. When the weather improved, they went for walks around the campus and argued about the various merits of snow versus sunshine. On one particular afternoon, he’d driven them to Huntersfield Forest for a picnic. Jess was telling him she had only had one relationship at high school and it had been an awkward one; that sometimes she wondered if she wasn’t just some freak destined to live alone. He looked at her and allowed some of the feelings he’d been suppressing for the past few months to seep through the dam of responsible teaching and the threat of losing his job. He touched her face and told her that would never happen, that she was the most remarkable girl he’d met. Without warning, he found himself telling her that he was scared of the feelings she aroused in him, that he knew they were wrong, not just because he was her tutor but because she was so young and he shouldn’t be telling her even this.

  It was Jess that kissed Mr Atlas rather than the other way around. But after that kiss, something shifted. Sometime between that first taboo confession of feelings and their final fraught fumblings, she shed her confident, Texan Lolita-meets-Natalie-Portman-in-Leon-and-perhaps-a-bit-of-Sharon-Stone skin and discovered something altogether more vulnerable beneath. She insisted everything was fine, but gradually stopped allowing Atlas to hold her, and he noticed she withdrew each time she saw even a hint of a rising in his pants.

  In her dorm one night, Jess threw up four times in a row. She kept throwing up for two more days before dragging herself to the counselling service. In violent floods of tears she waited until they gave her an emergency appointment. Her parents were called and told their daughter had been having suicidal thoughts and it was probably best that she come home for the last two weeks of the semester. It was hell for about six months and Jess’s doctors prescribed various cocktails of anti-depressants until one began to work. She spent her junior year in Texas, attending classes at the local college and working at Wal-Mart. It was quiet and simple and she got her life back together, trying not to think about Atlas and how she’d freaked out. Her family was supportive and Rosella made provisions for her grades to transfer. By the time she arrived on 3rd September 2003, she was deemed competent and happy, though still, of course, mildly medicated.

  Once the car had been emptied of suitcases, boxes and last-minute remembrances that’d wedged themselves under the seat and into the glove compartment, and Jess’s new room was stuffed with a disorderly pile of books, clothes and mostly green furnishings, she and her parents made their way down to the fluorescently lit dining hall.

  Jess stood in the line for hot food wearing her pale green Rosella sweatshirt with baggy black combats spattered with paint from numerous get-ins and strikes. She’d shoved her strawberry-blonde hair into a messy ponytail and her feet were encased in beat-up Chuck Taylors. Before her was something claiming to be vegetarian lasagne, next to some rather anaemic-looking chicken, a bowl of broccoli, two different types of potato and some cold garlic bread. She picked out the least offensive bit of chicken while her mom, next to her, smiled broadly at the students working the kitchens and made faux-satisfied noises as she helped herself to the smallest possible slice of lasagne. Her dad whispered not very quietly in her ear that he’d seen a Cracker Barrel down the street and maybe they’d go there later.

  She stood waiting for her parents to finish collecting their food and looked around for three free seats. She noticed a girl who’d lived on her floor in their first year. She asked if they could sit in the seats next to her and felt reassured by the slightly confused look of recognition on Stacey’s face. She saved her the embarrassment of trying to remember where she knew her from by launching into a strained but chirpy: ‘It’s Stacey, isn’t it? You lived in McKinley, didn’t you? I’m Jess, I was Emily’s roommate.’

  Stacey smiled, relieved. ‘Hi! You were away last year weren’t you? Did you go abroad? Sorry, these are my parents, they just brought me up today.’ Stacey’s face was so genuine, Jess felt momentarily happy to be back at Rosella. The girl before her was pretty, but in the modest way of those who really don’t know it. Jess remembered now that she and Stacey had spent an evening discussing Texas over milk and cookies (the one Rosella tradition Jess had missed) because Stacey’s father was a pastor in Dallas, only a few miles from the church Jess’s mother volunteered at. Jess was glad her mom and Stacey’s dad were now sat at opposite ends of the table because she didn’t feel like a merry discussion of religion that would undoubtedly end in her mother enquiring as to whether Jess planned to attend church on campus this year, ‘Because she was rather slack in her first and Sophomore years and it really breaks my heart to think of the good Christian upbringing she had and, well, I worry it reflects badly on us as parents.’

  Instead, her and Stacey’s moms were politely discussing the nutritional value of the meal-plan and how they wished there was a larger salad bar. Stacey’s mom was from Costa Rica and, sitting side-by-side, Jess could see where Stacey’s genes came from.

  Stacey smiled at Jess and she couldn’t help returning it. Stacey’s sweet, Jess thought. Good and studious, happy and kind; she’s not the type to make enemies, not the type to flirt with a professor then glue her head to a toilet. This is the sort of girl my therapist wants me to make friends with.

  ‘Are you taking any theatre this semester?’ Stacey was asking Jess between tiny mouthfuls of salad.

  ‘Yeah, I decided to major in it.’

  ‘Cool, me too.’

  ‘Really? I think I’m doing the ’Twas the Night Before … practicum and I have to do a design course sometime this year. What about you?’

  ‘Wow, what are you doing for ’Twas the Night Before … ? I think I’ll audition but I doubt I’ll get a part. Greg told me I should try anyway.’

  ‘You know him? What’s he like? He wasn’t here when I left and I just emailed Lyn over the summer asking if she knew of anything coming up. I think I’m assistant directing, or possibly dramaturging, whatever that is.’

  ‘Greg’s really fun. He used to be an actor, then went into directing, so he has all these stories. He’s a good teacher. I took his Acting 2 last semester. He doesn’t give As, though.’

  ‘Fuck, I need good marks in my theatre classes ’cause there’s no way I’ll get anything good in the physics requirement I still have to take.’

  ‘Oh no, poor you, you still haven’t done that? I got all my requirements out of the way last year; I guess that was one good thing about not studying abroad.’

  ‘You stayed here? Who else was here?’

  ‘Oh, some of the theatre people, like Alex and Hannah, but a lot went to London and Paris. Vic went to RADA, which is pretty cool. There was quite a big Sophomore group in the department so it worked out.’

  The conversation went on. It was weird for Jess to think of Ruff Theatre having gone on in her absence. She’d worked on most of the plays it had staged since she arrived and had been close to a couple of the professors, both of whom had now left, one to finish his PhD and the other to teach at the neighbouring co-ed. She still vaguely knew the head of the department, Henrietta, but the only other people Jess would still recognise, according to Stacey, were: Carol, a tenured director from Michigan; Bill, the head technician; and Lyn, the department secretary. She was nervous to meet the new additions but excited too, sure the only way to survive this year would be to wrap herself in drama of a theatrical rather than a personal kind.

  Knowing none of this yet, I stood awkwardly in the theatre lobby and wondered if I was meant to wait here or find the auditions for myself. Professor Russell had said 7pm and it was still only ten-to, so I decided to sit in one of the three chairs opposite the makeshift bar. I took out the photocopied script and read over the character list again. I knew I wasn’t very prepared; even though I’d read the whole play yesterday on the porch, I couldn’t have told someone what it was about an
d hoped Professor Russell wouldn’t expect me to have anything too detailed to say. More and more, I felt like a fraud doing an English degree when I could quite capably read an entire novel while my mind danced through any number of thoughts and fantasies until I realised Jane Eyre, Silas Marner and Nicholas Nickleby were still no more than names and I’d have to Google them before class. Not only that, but I read slowly too, which felt like a punishable crime in academia, so I tried to keep it quiet, sitting up through the night and telling people the bags under my eyes were because I’d gone out and, yes, I too had just scanned the book an hour before the seminar.

  Last night, I’d emailed Professor Russell saying I absolutely loved the play and offering some hopefully intelligent-sounding comments about absurdity and tone, but his reply had simply expressed curt satisfaction at my willingness to assistant direct and told me to come today. Now, I worried I’d sounded gushing and foolish.

  ‘Are you Nat?’ A kind-eyed girl with a clipboard poked her head out of a door I hadn’t noticed. ‘I’m Mel, the stage manager. Greg and the others are waiting in the theatre, come on in.’

  I followed Mel back through the door and found myself at the top of the steep left-hand aisle of the auditorium. I could make out the dark shadows of two girls sat three rows from the back and saw a mess of notebooks around one of the middle seats. Professor Russell was moving plastic chairs from the stage to the wings and looked up when I entered. ‘Nat! How are you? Take a seat, I’m over there, sit next to me.’ I followed orders and Mel kindly pointed to the two girls, introducing them as Jackie and Jessica.

  ‘Just Jess,’ one corrected, smiling vaguely at me. ‘So what you doing?’

  ‘Um, assistant directing I think. You?’

  ‘We’re both assistant directors and dramaturgs,’ Jess replied and, not knowing what a dramaturg was, I nodded and kept quiet.

  ‘We’re the Texan ’Turgs – We just made that up! Turns out we live like ten minutes away and we only just met! Are you a fresher?’ This came from Jackie.

  ‘Exchange student, I think I count as a senior.’

  ‘Really?’ Jackie’s suntanned features fell into a frown. ‘Probably just for registration and stuff, you don’t graduate with us or anything, do you? I mean, that wouldn’t be very fair. How old are you?’

  ‘Nineteen.’

  ‘Oh my God! And you’re ’06? That’s kinda cool.’ I quickly decided Jess was nicer; Jackie was looking really quite put out that I could be counted as a senior when I was only the same age as the first-years. ‘I was twenty-two yesterday,’ Jess continued. ‘I feel so old!’

  *

  From: Natalie Lucas

  To: Matthew Wright

  Sent: 7 September 2003, 10:54:03

  Subject: Hello

  Hello darling,

  How are you? I’m doing really well. I’m sorry I haven’t emailed sooner – I still can’t get the internet working in my dorm room, so I’m sending this from the library. There’s a technician coming out this afternoon, though, so hopefully it’ll be sorted by tonight. Maybe we can Skype?

  How’s England? How’s Annabelle? Are you surviving?

  I’m good. I’m going to be assistant directing a play, which is quite exciting. We had auditions last night and I got to know the other assistant directors and the director who is this professor called Greg who is really cool. I think you’d like him. He seems odd and tuned in, maybe Uncle material.

  My classes haven’t started yet, but I’ve been given my reading list for one of them. I’m meant to have started on it this morning, but I just got sidetracked for an hour reading the Wikipedia page about the Babylonian bible and Adam’s first wife. Did you know the Christians just totally pinched the story for Genesis and cut out the coolest character? She slept with an angel and got kicked out of Eden and banished to suck the blood of small children and animals. There’s something kind of awesomely sexy about that isn’t there? I wonder if I can weave it into one of my essays this term.

  Talking of awesomely sexy, I haven’t exactly fallen into lesbian paradise like Rose told me I would. I’ve heard a few things, but the only people I’ve seen have been quite scary and butch-looking. And the first-years and international students on my floor keep shrieking and giggling whenever someone mentions anything that could be construed as even slightly gay, so I haven’t really said anything yet. Maybe it’s me; maybe I’ll never find anyone. But still, the theatre stuff will be fun and keep me occupied until I can see you. And the campus is lovely – all old buildings and big trees in oranges and browns. There’s a tiny town across the street with a bookshop and a café, but apparently you have to get a bus to go anywhere else, which I haven’t tried yet.

  I miss you so much. It’s horrible not being able to just hear your voice or text you. I keep picturing you a million miles away and wishing we could just curl up on your chaise and read Whitman and send the rest of the world away.

  Miss you with all my being,

  Your Lilith

  xxxx

  *

  One evening, after about two weeks of rehearsals, I sat with Jackie in Bobst café, the only place apart from the dining halls offering food on campus. We were savouring the late-night grease when she blurted, ‘So, are you gay or what?’

  ‘Excuse me?’ I choked on my curly fry.

  ‘Well, the cast have been placing bets and I said I’d try to find out. Because Mia noticed your rainbow socks, bracelet and belt, but Stacey thought maybe that meant something different in Europe.’

  ‘Wow.’ I felt heat reaching my ears. ‘Well, um, I don’t know, no one’s ever asked me that before.’

  ‘Really? ’Cos you’re like a walking Pride flag with all that crap on. So are you?’

  ‘Gay? Um, I guess, I mean I want to be.’

  ‘Awesome. You certainly came to the right place then.’ Jackie winked.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah. Only, lose the paraphernalia – rainbows are way obvious, you know?’

  Over the next few weeks, I began to notice certain things about Rosella and the surrounding area. I noticed students walking to lectures and dining halls in their pyjamas, holding hands. I ventured onto the free bus to the nearest town and saw seven female couples showing affection on the sidewalk and only one boy and girl sharing an ice-cream. And cycling by the sports centre early one morning, I witnessed the rugby team growling their terrifying motivational cheers.

  I rang Matthew to tell him what I’d seen.

  ‘So, Rose was right,’ he mused with a hint of jealousy. ‘How long until you find a little girl for us then, Baba?’

  I didn’t know. Rosella was beginning to feel like an upside-down world to me. It was suddenly queerer to be straight than gay, and people stared with curiosity at boys and girls in simple jeans and jumpers more than at transgender teens in leather jackets and lesbians with tattoos. My rainbows may have been too obvious, but I was beginning to notice a whole army of badges and signs, not hidden shyly beneath layers or worn as secret messages like I had, but presented proudly for the world to see, even by some of the teachers. I felt like a child in a sweet shop, frozen to the floor because, though the brightly coloured jars made my mouth water, I didn’t recognise any of their contents and had no idea how to approach the counter with my order.

  As I strolled through the library and lecture halls, I imagined myself part of each of the attractive fem-couples lolling on benches and carrying each other’s books. Learning the lingo day by day, at night I dreamt of U-Haul clichés and a feline-filled future. Each time I left my dorm, I hoped that today I’d brush my Sapphic destiny, catch her eye and smile an apology. I pictured the two of us having coffee or agonising over flavours at the ice-cream parlour. I even scripted flirty conversations, followed by a first hesitant kiss and regular dates to hang out in companionable silence while doing our homework. After leaving my classes and finishing my errands, I returned to my dorm, deflated a
nd angry at myself, wondering if my life might have changed had I worn a different sweater or eaten in a different dining hall.

  I heard an element of concern in Matthew’s telephone voice, but he continued to whisper about sweet, peach-like girls we could take to New York when he came to visit. I giggled and moaned in all the right places, but more than anything, his stories reminded me how different I was, how hopeless it was to imagine I might fit in, even here. I cried most evenings, wishing Matthew’s arms were around me, wishing the world was full of Uncles. I talked enthusiastically about the play, but checked airfares daily and finally booked a flight to go home for Christmas. I told my parents I’d be spending the whole winter break with Becky in Philadelphia, but plotted a weekend in London with Matthew, followed by turning up on my mum’s doorstep as a surprise on Christmas Eve. Knowing I’d see Matthew soon soothed my nightly loneliness and I stopped rushing home to Skype after rehearsals.

  16

  ‘Hey, Greg! Are you gonna invite us for dinner again?’

  I gaped at Jess who was standing in her ‘Don’t Mess With Texas’ T-shirt as if she hadn’t just asked a senior faculty member to feed us for the second time in a week.