Running Against Traffic

by Gaelen VanDenbergh

  Paige sat down on the edge of her bed, fidgeting and taking rapid, shallow breaths. This was not good, this dark mood. Where it was coming from she wasn’t sure, but it was familiar, and like a black, sticky film all over her that she couldn’t shake. She knew that a long run would go to work on it. It would dissolve into her sweat and the heat from her burning muscles and churning blood would burn it away, sending it off in ashes, disintegrating into the cold sky.

  Never mind that, she inwardly sighed. It was a sheet of ice outside and eighteen degrees. She stood and walked to her dresser, reaching for her makeup bag. She picked it up and then dropped it back down. Why bother. She wondered if four o'clock was too early for a drink. It was New Years Eve Afternoon, after all.

  Paige left her shoes behind, threw on a hooded sweatshirt and drifted downstairs to light a fire. The house was quiet. She hadn’t seen the boys since early that morning.

  The crackling fire warmed Paige’s cold blood and she walked to the kitchen to see what preparations had been made for the dinner, as she had flatly bowed out. She glanced at the dining room table, which held a stack of plates, silverware and candles borrowed from the coffee table. Paige poked her head through the kitchen door and saw unopened wine bottles on the counter. She rummaged around until she found the opener and selected a bottle of Merlot.

  By the time Al clattered through the front door two hours later, Paige was finishing her second glass and feeling decidedly less angry. Al waved distractedly and flicked on the radio. “Paige, the troupes are arriving at eight. We have to clean. We all forgot to clean!”

  “Clean what?” Paige asked. Her feet were up on the coffee table, and she was surfing Facebook on Deirdre’s old laptop, which was on loan to their household until one of the roommates could afford to buy one. In other words, she had donated it to their household. Out of boredom, Paige clicked on “People You May Know” and Darnell popped up. His profile picture had obviously been taken years ago, and the young man in the photo was striking and fit, albeit unapproachably tough, his usual wide smile sucked into a more militant expression to match his marine uniform. Paige sent him a friend request and a quick message: “My, but you were a strapping youth!” She hit send and signed off, knowing he would be miffed. Seriously though, she thought, maybe I can convince him to take up running.

  “Paige, you with me?” Al asked. “We need to clean the kitchen, the floors, all that. It’s a mess in here. Get up and help me.”

  Paige groaned and pushed herself to her feet as Al headed to the kitchen. “I’ll do the top parts and you do the floors,” she said. “I’m not so good at floors. Where is Bryce? Why isn’t he here helping with this?”

  Al tossed her a rag and spray bottle. “His mother called, upset about something. I think he went to check on her. Say, how was that Merlot? I think I’ll try some.”

  When surfaces had been swept and wiped down, Al suggested they go and change for dinner.

  “What for?” Paige asked.

  Al looked her up and down. “Suit yourself.” He handed her the broom and headed upstairs. She heard the shower running moments later. She went to find matches to light the candles.

  By eight, Al was helping Darnell carry in covered trays of food from Deirdre’s car. Carmen and her boyfriend, a six-foot-four reed whose shoulders were slightly stooped, hung up their coats, chattering with Al and rubbing their hands together to get warm. Paige watched them all sweep into the house like a flock of happy geese, and she was starting to crack a smile just because it was contagious when Deirdre pulled an extra guest through the front door. Paige squinted across the room at a girl who could not have been more than twenty-five, with black hair tumbling down her back in thick curls, her puffy lips glossed and her eyes wide and dark like those of a deer. Al was already lunging to help her out of her heavy coat, revealing a tiny little body teetering in spike heeled black boots. The girl laughed up at Al, her pretty little head tilted back and her lashes dropping flirtatiously.

  Paige looked down at her old jeans, shifting uncomfortably in her frumpy sweatshirt and feeling old, watching the hot tamale’s smooth, honey cheek shine in the firelight. Paige pulled her pony tail tighter and stood to move toward the crowd to take drink orders.

  Deirdre gave her shoulder a squeeze when she reached the group. “Paige, thanks for having us. Why don’t you just open some wine and let everyone help themselves, would you? This is Adriana. She’s my newest tenant, and a graduate student at the university.”

  Al reached out his hand past Paige, smiling down at Hot Tamale. “Pleasure. Let me get you a glass of something.”

  “I’m setting out wine so people can help themselves, remember?” Paige said, a little too loudly. Al ignored her and winked at Adriana before turning to saunter to the kitchen.

  Paige hiked up her jeans and followed him, aware that she was wearing only thick granny socks with a hole in one toe.

  “Why don’t you make us a martini,” Paige suggested, airily, as she busied herself with retrieving wine glasses from the cabinet.

  “Yeah, that sounds good, but can you make them? I need to get everyone else set up.” He didn’t look her way.

  Paige carried wine glasses to the dining room table, as the front door opened and Bryce slid inside.

  Paige skidded across the floor and took Bryce’s arm. “Where have you been? We’re about to eat. Come sit.” Paige guided him to the table and pulled out a chair.

  Bryce plopped down heavily. “Oh, wine,” he cooed. “Paige, be a peach and get me a glass of the white. A big one,” he mouthed.

  “No,” Paige said. “But our guests will be having some, so you’re going to just have to be strong.”

  Bryce snorted. “I’m strong. I’m strong, and thirsty.” He leaned toward the wine glasses with an arm outstretched and nearly knocked over a lit candle. Paige caught the candle and looked around the room for Deirdre, who was already on her way.

  “Bryce, kiddo, come help me dish up the food. I think you could use a meal right now. We all could,” she added.

  Bryce didn’t move. His watery eyes glazed over and his mouth was slightly open. Deirdre put her hands on his shoulders and gave him a slight shake. “Where were you?” she asked. Her voice was clipped.

  Bryce twisted to look up at Deirdre. He smiled and leaned his head back against her stomach. “Visiting with Tina,” he mumbled.

  “Oh, how is she?” Deirdre asked, quietly.

  “Th’ sames ever.”

  “Come in the kitchen, let’s fix some plates. You can tell me all about it.” Deirdre helped Bryce up and they walked into the kitchen, Deirdre motioning to Paige behind his back to take care of the others, pour wine, chit chat. She used the universal signs – pointing at the group in living room, making a pouring motion, and duck billing her fingers together in a rapid motion. Paige was unenthusiastic about all but the pouring.

  She glanced over at Al, who was in close conversation with Adriana, his dimples deep with laughter. Darnell was sitting on the couch with Carmen and Paul, leaning forward and gesturing with his large hands. His expression was fond. They laughed at his rumbling story.

  A plate crashed in the kitchen and Paige set down her wine glass as everyone turned to look over at the dining room table where she was still slouched. “That’s our version of a dinner bell,” she called to them, pushing back her chair. “Come and get it!”

  She looked into the kitchen and found Deirdre clearing up the china as Bryce stuck a large spoon in one of the food platters and held out his hands. “Voila. We’ve decided on buffet style. Tell everyone to get a plate and come on in.”

  Paige missed most of the conversation ping ponging about the table, as Adriana reached out to touch Al’s hand lightly with her dainty, manicured fingertips every time he said something that made her giggle. At each of those moments, Bryce would give Paige a sharp kick under the table, adding injury to insult. As the laughter and chatter went on, she slipped back to the parties of the fake, glittering gan
g led by Simone, always in a pack, always snatching up David and leaving Paige on the outskirts. She swirled the wine in her glass and looked around the table at the designer dresses, the bawdy men groping other people’s wives under the table, the women leaning in to cut throats in low tones. She was repulsed by them all. She could have ignored it all, remained inside herself, if they hadn’t made her feel physically sick. These dark days were perforated by small flashes of light to lift her up, for a few years, anyway. Seeing Jeremy, living in that fantasy land, and even David’s post-party alacrity, his crackling humor warming and patting her and encouraging her to laugh it all off the way he did.

  David would wake up laughing, he had that ability, to laugh at the world, and even himself, though only in private. “Paige, could you believe last night?” He elbowed her under the covers. “I can’t get over the Ice Queen’s latest attempt to set up Christian. She was responsible for his divorce, for Christ’s sake! God, I’m hungover. What the hell was I drinking last night? I had to keep it up, whatever it was, to make the incessant chatter bearable. Tell me,” David threw back the covers and leapt to his feet, poised to start the show. “Why the hell do those women think that I give two shits about their shopping and personal trainers?”

  David was a terrific gossip, rivaling the worst offenders in the gang, especially the morning after a few too many. He loved to launch into irreverent reenactments of the prior evening, mimicking people in exaggerated tones and gestures but nailing them with ruthless accuracy. Paige sat up in bed and hugged her knees, smiling in relieved amusement. He was unapologetic in his impressions, and utterly forgiving of the horrid side of humans, because it provided him with endless amusement. Those mornings would melt the frost that had settled on her skin, and she was grateful to have him. He was with her, not with them.

  Darnell was pushing back from the table. How much time had passed? He announced that he had to get back to work, it being his busiest night of the year. He had hired temporary staff for the evening, so Al wasn’t needed. Deirdre stood and trilled that she knew he was counting on her to help clean up, and Adriana would probably love to ring in the New Year with them, wouldn’t she? The sweet young thing nodded affirmation, and that set Al to bustling with coats and promises that he would stop by there later to help out as well.

  The group bundled up and stepped outside, Deirdre rushing to get her car warmed up. Al stepped out after them to continue his chat with Adriana, and closed the door behind them. Paige reached out and locked it.

  Bryce disappeared into the kitchen with a few plates. A few sodas and the heavy meal seemed to have sobered him up. Then again, he was tidying up, Paige noted. He would never do that voluntarily, sober. She headed for the kitchen as the door knob rattled behind her.

  “Yo, what the devil? Who locked the door?” Al’s muffled voice called from outside. Paige stifled a snicker. He can stay out there for a few minutes and cool off, she thought. Al continued to knock. “Paige, what’s going on?” He said, turning his voice sweet. “Let me in.”

  “I did let you in, and look where it got me.”

  “I mean let me in the damn door!”

  Bryce floated out of the kitchen and crossed the living room unsteadily to turn the lock. “What is it with you two and holidays?” He said, blowing smoke on Al as he pushed his way inside. Al coughed and shot Bryce a look of disgust.

  Paige quickly bustled off to the kitchen, grabbing dishes and her wine glass as she went. “Don’t worry about us,” she called, turning on the faucet and running hot water over the dishes. “We’ll clean up. You go have fun.”

  “I wanna go have fun,” Bryce said.

  The boys appeared in the kitchen doorway. Bryce took a drag off his cigarette and Al stepped back again. “Man, go outside with that nasty thing.”

  Bryce took a deep drag and pursed his lips, blowing a stream of smoke into Al’s face as if blowing him a kiss. “I need a drink,” he said, elbowing his way into the kitchen as Al waved his hand in the air. “Who’s bartending?”

  Paige tossed a plate into the sink and snapped off the water. “You’re not drinking any more tonight.”

  “Paige, I think you owe me an apology,” Al said, folding his arms and looking stern, his chin thrust forward.

  Paige whirled to face him. “I owe you an apology? You’re the one messing around and…Confusing me!”

  “What can I say, I’m a man.”

  “You’re a dog!”

  “Tomato, to-mah-to,” Bryce said. He put his cigarette out in one of the wine glasses and sat down cross legged on the kitchen floor, pulling rolling papers and a plastic bag of weed from his pockets.

  Al looked down at him. “Look, man, I know you’ve had a rough day with your mom and all…”

  “Yeah, yeah, boo-hoo. Now get me a drink.”

  Al grabbed Paige’s arm and steered her into the dining room. “Look, what do you want from me? It’s not like you’re planning to stay here, anyway.”

  Paige opened her mouth but no words came out.

  “Don’t even try,” Al said. “It’s been six months and you haven’t even finished unpacking. And you list your residence on Facebook as Philadelphia, not Wells Lake.”

  “If that was your first clue, you’re dumber than you look,” Bryce called from the kitchen floor.

  “Enough!” Paige dug her fingers into her hair and pressed her fingernails into her scalp. She didn’t know why she was even listening to this. What did she care? About any of it? She was alone. She was Paige Scott, they were everyone else, and they could go to hell. “Happy bloody new year to both of you! Good night, and good riddance!” She turned and stormed up the stairs to the bathroom.

  Paige turned on the hot water faucet to fill the tub. She wiped steam from the mirror and pulled the elastic band from her hair, letting the dark curtain fall.

  “Nice work,” she said to her reflection, not quite sure who it was she was talking to, anymore. She watched the mirror slowly steam over again, her image receding behind the clouds.

  Chapter 16

  The cold sun reflected off the snow on the evergreen outside Paige’s window and onto her face, waking her on New Years day, in time to watch a crimson cardinal alight clumsily on a branch and send a mountain of snow sliding off. The startled bird flew away.

  Paige rubbed her eyes and turned away from the bright sunlight and reached for her cell phone. She hit David’s speed dial, waiting through the ringing to wish him a Crappy New Year. After he didn’t answer she dropped her phone onto the floor and felt around for her journal with her fingers. She caught a corner, slid it out from under the edge of the bed with her fingertips and shoved hard, sending it spinning across the floor.

  David had likely not returned home from Simone’s glittering New Years bash, starring the Ice Queen herself, dripping with jewels, proffering decorative finger foods and snapping her fingers at the caterers to keep the Dom Perignon flowing. She would circulate, flirting with all the men, gossiping about all the women, and David would have had a little too much of everything, as he always enjoyed life most when it was a little too much of something, and he would stay over, if he wasn’t living there already.

  Paige put her bare feet on the cold floor and glanced once more out her window. Fresh snow had fallen overnight, and all she could see was white, and sprays of silver as breaths of wind blew the snow off of branches into the sunlight. Paige was calmed by the nature around her, the simplest of stirrings in the world outside, and realized she didn’t care so much about where David had stayed last night, or why he wasn’t answering his phone. Why would she want his voice to be the first that she heard in this New Year, anyway? Talk about getting off on the wrong foot. Of course, she had already jumped off the wrong cliff, much less took a step on the wrong foot, and this thought was calming as well. There was nowhere to go but up, this year.

  She reached for a thick sweatshirt and socks and pulled them on, and padded lightly to her bedroom door. She paused, opening it a crack
and peeking out. The other bedroom doors were closed, and there was no sound in the slumbering household. She had slept so hard the night before that she had heard nothing, no doors opening and closing, no one going in or out, or going to bed. She had successfully missed the whole shift to the New Year, sparing her the pressure of feeling any sense of fresh commitment to…Anything. Yet.

  Paige reached to pick up her journal from the floor and slipped through her door and to the stairs, descending as quietly as she could. The living room looked as if someone had cleared up, she noticed, surprised, as she stacked wood into the stove and lit the fire. The dining room table had been wiped to a shine, the candles had been returned to the coffee table, and the dishes were gone. At least they cleaned, she thought, smiling for the first time that year as she padded into the kitchen.

  The kitchen was a disaster. The boys had managed to clear every plate and glass from the dining room all the way to the sink, where they were stacked in precarious sculptures of porcelain and glass, painted in dried up remnants of food and drink. Foil wrappers lay on the platters of leftover food, now rancid, their sour odors mingling with the smell of stale cigarettes from the ashtrays still on the floor.

  Paige pulled her hood over her head and opened the kitchen door to let the smells out and a great whoosh of icy air in, that made her do a little dance in place. She quickly slammed it shut again and set the coffee pot to brew before filling the kitchen sink with scalding water and dish soap. She began scraping and soaking away all evidence of the mess from the night before. She tried to clear her mind as she cleared the plates, tried to not think of how bad things could really be, how much she might be to blame, why she even cared. She scrubbed and rinsed and dried each steaming dish, carefully stacking Deirdre’s platters on the dining room table. She fumbled with the broom for a while, eventually getting the dirt from the floor into enough of a pile to herd it under the kitchen doormat. The coffee was ready, and she brought a large mug of it to the chair before the fire.