by gard, marian
Every rational fiber of my being is screaming for me to just let this go, let her go, to just go back to my own goddamn office, but when I hit the pavement outside of the restaurant I quickly pass my building and find myself propelled in the direction of hers, without a plan beyond finding her. When I arrive I'm surprised to discover her office building is a total wreck, clearly in the throes of some complete construction overhaul. There are workmen everywhere engaged in various deafening tasks, and I have to follow a narrow yellow-taped obstacle course just to get to the building directory. I find her office suite number, take a deep breath, and board the elevator up to the fifteenth floor. The elevator makes a ridiculous racket, shaking and jiggling, as though moving up and down isn't its singular purpose in this world. The doors open directly into her company's office and I'm faced with a young receptionist who immediately greets me with a boisterous, "Can I help you?" She gives me a bright grin and I smile back, my mind racing in circles trying to come up with my next move. After an extra beat of staring, in which she uncomfortably twirls her hair and bites her lower lip, I tell her I'm looking for Rachel Byrne.
"Is she expecting you?" she squeaks out. I suspect this girl has been issued some rather strict office protocol regarding unexpected visitors.
I flash her my most imposing smile and I can almost feel her melt behind the desk. I raise my eyebrows as I lift up the carryout bag to the desk level. "I hope not."
"Oooh," she practically gasps. "I understand." She gives me a conspiratorial wink and picks up the phone.
"Rachel, you have a delivery up here and they're requesting your signature. Yes, I know. I think it's weird too, but they're insisting that it's you that signs. OK, thanks!" She hangs up looking quite proud of herself.
"Nice." I praise her. I have to admit, I'm surprisingly impressed with little mouse girl.
A moment later, Rachel breezes through the door, storming around the reception desk and then stops short when she registers my presence.
"What are you…what the?!" She shoots me a shocked look and then turns and gives mouse girl a glare that wipes the cheerful grin right off of her face.
All the moisture leaves my mouth, and the confidence I had a moment ago vanishes. When there are problems at work I am quick as hell on my feet. Put me within ten yards of this one woman and I'm useless. Rachel turns her gaze back to me and then marches forward and grabs my elbow.
"We cannot do this here," she seethes. She glances over her shoulder at the bewildered receptionist who is currently trying her damndest to look at anything except us. Rachel hits the down button on the elevator with so much force that the light flickers in response before illuminating fully. "There's a room just off of the cafeteria downstairs that's usually empty. We can go there," she whispers. Each word comes out like it's intended to be a lashing. I can't think of a response. I can't manage speech. Every single nerve in my body has gone numb except for where her fingers are pressed deeply into arm. My heart pounds and I feel like it's all I can hear.
The elevator doors mercifully open a minute later and she releases her grip on me, crams herself into the corner of the enclosed space and folds her arms across her chest. I take in a long, deep breath and pinch the bridge of my nose—a weird nervous habit that used to belong exclusively to my mother, but over the years I've adopted as my own. It's my move. I need to de-escalate this or end it. There is no in-between. I glance at her. I would think she's all rage and anger if it wasn't for the fact her eyes are puffy and red, a clear giveaway she's been crying. I exhale slowly and try to get my shit together. When the doors close I turn toward her.
"I come in peace, Rachel. I feel horrible." I keep my voice even and calm, the opposite of everything I'm feeling inside.
Her arms loosen slightly and I see her exhale a shaky breath. She turns to look at me, her eyes wide, her lips trembling slightly, and then before she can speak, the whole elevator rocks, knocking us both off balance. The lights flicker, and then go out.
"Shit," we both say.
The darkness envelopes us and I feel my eyes struggle to focus on anything and nothing all at once. I right myself, gripping the brass panel behind me with one hand and begin to focus on Rachel's breathing. It sounds ragged and shallow like she's just completed a sprint. I close my eyes and let it fill my ears. A memory comes rushing back—the last time we were alone together in the dark. Her breath to me then was a guide, telling me where to touch her next, how long, how much. This sudden intimacy feels intoxicating, confusing and completely terrifying all at once.
"The construction," she mutters. "They've been doing all this work for months. I bet that's it."
I clear my throat, attempting to find my voice again. "Yeah, I noticed that when I came in," I manage to say.
"Our receptionist, Marissa, knows we went in here so I'm sure she'll inform whoever needs to be informed."
"That's good," I reply, though the way she said it I wasn't sure if she was talking to me or just trying to reassure herself. For a second I think of Marissa's baffled face when Rachel stormed into the elevator, and I want to laugh, but think better of it.
"I don't have my cell phone. Do you have yours?" Her voice is thick and demanding, all the earlier trembling is gone.
"Um. I think it's just about dead." I reach into my pocket, pulling out my phone and see that I have no service. Not all that surprising I guess, since we are basically trapped in a metal vault contained within an ancient building. I power it down, watching it dim and then fade entirely into darkness. The brief illumination has left me feeling even blinder than before. "Sorry Rachel," I mutter, "no bars."
"Shit," she repeats, sounding increasingly pissed off. I don't want her unhappy, but I'm guessing she'd just want to call Beckett again like she did earlier today, right before we met for lunch. I'm not really up for a front row seat of that again. Once was enough.
Another wave of silence ensues and all of my pent up fear takes hold. This may be the one and only time I have with her to say what needs to be said; yet nothing comes, just throat-choking paralysis. I press my thumb and index finger to the bridge of my nose and wince. Talk to her!
Then she speaks. "Why did you come, anyway? I acted so horribly. God, I'm so sorry, Collin. I just…I just don't know how to do this." This is an unexpected wane in her hostility. I'll take it.
"Do what?" I ask, wishing more than anything that we weren't in complete darkness. I want to see her face.
"Talk with you!" she exclaims, exasperated with me, herself, the situation—I'm not sure which, maybe all of it. "The last time I saw you. I mean, you know…before the whole gala thing…you were so…so angry with me. And then, I couldn't find you. I looked for you everywhere. Where were you, Collin? Where the hell did you go?"
I set the bag of food I've been clutching down, and sink to the floor beside it, putting my feet out in front of me. How can this woman both petrify and disarm me so easily? "Europe."
"Europe?" She sounds incredulous. "Um, OK?" I hear her slide down and sit too. "Guess I didn't think to look there."
All of sudden the elevator is filled with a deafening ringing noise. It's practically the third ring before I register that it's the emergency phone, and the fourth before I realize that Rachel has crawled over to my side and is clambering to get the phone.
"Hello?" She sounds breathless. I can hear the muffled sounds of a deep male voice talking to her on the other end. "Yes, it's me and one other person, a gentlemen, Collin Jackson." The same voice continues barking away into the receiver. "Yeah, I know. I'm sorry. I guess we just didn't think about using the emergency phone. We knew about the construction, so we just assumed it wouldn't be too long before it started up again…Yes, we're fine…OK, then…Thank you. Bye."
"What's going on?" I can hear her trying to hang up the phone and repeatedly missing the base. Finally it clicks and she lets out a little sigh.
Rachel
"Well, it isn't good. They think we're stuck between the twelfth and thirtee
nth floor. The power is out for blocks and they're not sure how long it's going to be before they get it back on. They obviously have much bigger problems than the two of us stuck in here." Collin gives sort of a guttural reply, that I'm not sure how to interpret. I'm thankful, that at least for now, we're being peaceful with each other.
Still kneeling from answering the phone, I slink back down, shifting both my legs to one side, acutely aware of my increased proximity to Collin. My knee is burning. I reach down to touch it and realize in my haste to get to the phone I managed to rip my pantyhose. "Damn it!"
"What is it?" Collin's voice is low and deep and now that I'm sitting on his side of the elevator, I feel it reverberate off the brass panels behind us, giving me chills.
"I gave myself rug burn and tore my stockings."
"Sorry, Rachel. I should've gotten the phone. It took me a second to register what the hell was going on."
"It's fine. I'm fine." I take stock of the irritation in my voice, realizing how angry I must sound, and exhale. I need to calm down.
"This is like your worst nightmare, isn't? Being stuck in a dark elevator with me." Collin sounds like he's joking, but without being able to see his face, I can't really tell.
"I don't hate you, Collin."
"No?" He lets out a small humorless laugh.
"You were my best friend," I whisper, like it's a confession.
"You were mine, too." He answers me quickly. His tone has shifted and sounds closer to the one I recognize from afternoons spent by the river, or nights we stayed up late talking.
"OK, what were you starting to tell me about before the ringer on the phone took ten years off my life?" I needlessly close my eyes at my prompt for him to continue talking. His low, deep voice used to be such a comfort to me. A haven.
"You'd asked me where I'd gone...after, um you know, uh, during graduation," he stutters.
There's no easy way to reference the night you slept with someone when you're no longer sleeping with them. "Did you go to graduation?"
"No," he whispers.
"I figured as much." I knew he didn't walk, but I always wondered if he was there somewhere. I wouldn't have put it past him to show up for part of it. The silence drags out and I remember this is the way he is. Beck and my boss, Tim, are the two men I spend the majority of my time talking to. One will never shut up and the other talks to you as though he's an auctioneer. Collin can be comfortable in silence. I don't remember the last time I was.
"Was it how you hoped it would be?" He asks tentatively.
"No," I murmur. No good can come from me elaborating on this point. My one word answer triggers silence in him, but I'm not sure what else to say. He wouldn't understand my disappointment surrounding that week or the ceremony. He had such a disdain for all of it. I'd been so excited and had thought it was going to be one of the best weeks of my life. The reality couldn't have been more opposite. I was a wreck. I ended things with Spencer, who first flew off the handle, and then called me an hour later, crying and begging me to take him back, to make it work. He said he would do anything. I very nearly recanted, but I knew there was no going back. If nothing else, I no longer felt deserving of the life he offered. I was too much of a chicken to tell him what I'd done, and so instead I just fed him ambiguous break up lines about it being me and not him, it just wasn't working out, etc. It was awkward and horrible.
My friends thought I was nuts. Even my mother, who'd previously expressed concerns about me settling down too soon, was aghast. Spencer managed to avoid me at graduation, tearing off quickly with his friends, but I saw his mother just after the ceremony. She congratulated me in the peaceful, classy way that was true to her character, but her eyes told another story of hurt, confusion and grief. I felt like she could see through me and sense my betrayal. The shame I felt as a result was overwhelming. That same feeling quickly translated into anger toward Collin. How could he have just blown up everything like that? Why did I let him? Then to top it all, he just disappears as though the disastrous aftermath had nothing to do with him. Now, I find out he was in Europe? How rough for him! My life was in shambles with every plan I'd made ruined and he was gallivanting around Europe doing God knows what with God knows who.
He breaks my train of thought. "How was the ceremony?"
"Fine, I guess. You know, it's all just a blur in my memory now."
We're both silent and I think about my yoga teacher and how she talked about envisioning a stream when you feel stressed. Then, when you're ready, you're supposed to picture each worry you have dropping down onto a passing leaf. Collin was in Europe while I was back home, losing my mind. Plop!
"Did Vanessa throw that party she was talking about?" He asks.
"I can't believe you remember that!" I feel a smile erupt on my face and my anger wanes a little. It feels like pressure being released from my chest. "She had it, but I didn't go. Spencer was going with all of his friends and I just…well, um, I ended up doing something else that night."
I think back to how Vanessa had pleaded with me to come, but eventually gave up when she understood that in some very slight way, I was trying to do right by Spencer. At the time it seemed like a ridiculously small consolation for such a significant crime…not that he was aware. Here Spencer, I made your worst nightmare a reality, but, um, you can go to this party instead of me. How's that for fair?
"I'm so sorry, Rachel. It never occurred to me, I—um…" His voice trails off and I'm suddenly intensely aware of the tension that continues to shift and morph in the compact space we occupy. "I'm really sorry if I fucked up your graduation in any way. I…" he starts again, but then falls silent.
"That was a long time ago, Collin, and that whole big mess with Vanessa's party and everything, that was my fault." The truth crystalizes in my head about all of it. I was an equal partner in what happened. What's worse, I let Collin go, thinking I wasn't feeling anything for him. I lied to myself and to him—that part was all me.
Suddenly the phone rings out just as deafening as before. This time I'm more adept at locating it. I rip it from the holster and yank it to my ear.
"Hello?"
"Ma'am?" a gruff voice questions.
"Yes?"
"Are you both doing OK?"
I turn toward Collin in the dark, uselessly—I can't see a thing. "Yes, we're fine."
"I'm glad to hear it, because the outage is more extensive and serious than we originally thought. It may be quite a while before we can get you out. Try to remain calm and conserve your energy."
"OK," I reply, feeling helpless. What does someone even say to that?
"Use the phone to contact us if your status changes, otherwise we will get to you as soon as we can."
"OK."
He hangs up and so do I. I sit back down and lean against the wall. "It's going to be awhile, Collin. I guess the outage is pretty widespread and I didn't get the impression that we're much of a priority."
"I'm sorry," he whispers, sounding truly apologetic. "You wouldn't be stuck in here if it weren't for me."
I rest my head on my knees. "That's not true, Collin. I dragged you in here, remember?" He doesn't respond and I exhale slowly trying to compose myself. I can't sustain this anger toward him. He doesn't deserve it; and frankly, it's exhausting. A decade ago, I would've given anything to just see him again, hear his voice, see his face. And now here he is, right next to me—an answered prayer and I'm drowning us both in my guilt and anger. I take a deep breath. "Looks like we've got some time to kill. Would you tell me about Europe?"
Collin
As always, Rachel shocks the hell out of me. I'm not dumb enough to think she isn't still plenty ticked at me, but she sounds calm, and kind, just like I remember her sounding years ago. I can tell she's making an effort. Some of it may be forced, but I came here to get her to talk and that's what we're finally doing. I push my fear aside as best I can. I close my eyes and try to summon memories of graduation week in my mind. "Well, first I went to this
shitty motel off campus, finished out finals, and then after only about a day I got on a flight to London. Classic post-college trip: backpack, youth hostels, drunken nights—as clichéd as you might think. I was gone for five months."
My words hang in the air for a moment. It feels strange to talk casually about such a painful and confusing time. In the blink of an eye, a dark, cold glacier had formed between us. It was vast, steep and impassable. At the time, I saw no other option than to disappear and dissolve away into a place where no one knew me, or anything that had come before. It didn't really matter where, or for how long, because I couldn't fathom a path back to her. It was all over.
I'm expecting her to drill me about something else, like the unanswered emails, but then she says, "Five months, eh? So, tell me, who was the craziest person you met?"
I laugh in response, thinking how only Rachel would ask that. She doesn't want to hear about the British Museum or The Louvre, or any of the incredible scenery. Nope, she wants to hear about the nutty people I met along the way. I tell her about this completely crazy chick who ran one of the youth hostels, who kept trying to convince me to work there with her. I describe a few more things that I think would interest her, and try to cover up for the fact that much of it's a hazy blur, due to me being either wasted or hung over most of the time. When I've run out of stories, I ask her about work.
"It's good, I guess. I work more hours than I'd like, but so does everyone I know. Well, except Vanessa, I guess. She's at home with her kids for right now. Did you know? She and Ryan got married."
"Yeah, I saw that on Facebook," I reply.
She fails to suppress a laugh. "Am I allowed to say that that's weird?" she asks.
"What? Me on Facebook? Yes, that's plenty weird. It's a long story, but it wasn't my doing." An image of Leighton flashes in my mind. I dismiss it. I don't want to think about her. All I want right now is to be in this moment with Rachel, and if that means pretending the rest of the world doesn't exist—so be it.