Awake (5 page)

-8-

Kat and I sit under a tree on a steep hill near the Janss Steps in the heart of campus. I’m between classes and she does a work study at Powell Library nearby.

“If you’re just going to lay there and stare at the leaves, I’m going to have a smoke,” Kat says.

“Kat, you’re not smoking again?”

“Oh, no, not tobacco.” She winks at me. “Something righteous Kip just handed me at the commons.” She reaches into her ample cleavage and digs a fat joint out from under her bra.

“Who are you now, Snoop Dog?”

“I do this for medicinal reasons,” Kat grins. “I have a chronic case of indifference.”

I roll my eyes and exhale. “I thought he was a big volleyball player. What about his athletic code?”

“He’s a senior,” she says. “He’s played final season.”

“Okay, big shot, are you going to smoke it or just hold it?”

“Do you have a lighter?” she asks.

“Put that thing away before campus police walk by,” I tell her.

She returns it to her bra and then leans back onto her elbows. She closes her eyes. A sudden breeze bristles in her dark hair. “You’re not fooling me you know,” she says softly and then opens her eyes to stare at me.

“What?”

She shakes her head at me. “The guy who got your name wrong. That snotty bitch’s fiancé. He’s more than a curiosity. He’s imprinted.”

“There’s nothing,” I say. “I think you need to smoke less medicine.”

“Kip and I like to be high when we have sex,” she says.

“Really?” I say. “That’s so unromantic.”

“Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it,” she says. “And stop changing the subject. I need to know what’s going on. I can’t hang out with this tepid version of my best friend any longer.”

I consider her sincerity and then gaze over the vast green expanse of Wilson Plaza below us. “I saw him again,” I say guiltily.

“In passing?” Kat asks concerned.

“Kinda. Sorta,” I say avoiding her eyes.

She leans forward craning her neck until I meet her eyes. “Erin, it’s me. Enough of the bullshit.”

“We worked at a homeless shelter together on Saturday.”

It takes Kat a while to comprehend my words. “You worked at a homeless shelter with this other girl’s fiancé?”

“I did.”

“Huh,” Kat says still trying to understand. “That’s so fucked up, Erin. It’s like so incredibly, I don’t know the words.”

“It’s not fucked up. We were not intimate. We fed the needy. It was completely innocent.”

“Bizarre, maybe, but innocent?” Kat counters. “I think if you had blown this guy all night it would have been far less intimate than a day together feeding the poor.”

“Vulgar much?” I say.

“Yeah, much,” she says.

We sit without talking. Her intense disapproval hangs in the air. I do not appreciate the feeling, but I know Kat means well and, even more, she’s probably right. Kat’s always right about these things.

“Erin, listen,” she tries to explain, “I’m really not worried about you getting hurt in this, because you’re tough and can handle that.”

“So I’m a slut and you don’t care if I get hurt,” I summarize.

“Don’t be stupid,” she says impatiently.

“Oh, even better, a stupid slut who you don’t care if she gets hurt.”

She punches my shoulder. “Will you stop,” she says. “It’s because I love you I am telling you this. It’s not fun for me.”

“But I’m enjoying it so much,” I say rubbing my shoulder.

“I know you can handle being hurt, but what you couldn’t handle is breaking Tori up from her fiancé and then having the pressure of staying with this guy forever.”

“Forever?’

“Yeah, that thing that ends with death,” she clarifies.

I have to admit, that does not sound good, at least the way my nomination for the worst best friend ever is putting it.

She touches my cheek tenderly. “Rin,” she says using her pet name for me, “you’ll feel horrible when you break them up, then you’ll feel pressure when you’re dating that guy and you’ll feel even more horrible if it turns out to be a passing fancy.”

We both wait until a tan guy in tight bike shorts walks down the steps near us. All I can think is that Wade has a cuter butt than this guy. I’m hopeless, obviously, but I’m in control. I think.

“You’re forgetting one,” I say finally getting her attention off the guy’s backside. “I’ll feel horrible when my best friend assumes I could ever do such a thing.”

“Nice try,” she counters, “but I can tell you are emotionally unavailable for me or anyone else right now. You are all about him and I’m guessing he can feel that too.”

“What does he feel?” I say perhaps too eagerly.

Yep. She shakes her head at my misplaced hope. “He might not know what it means, but he can pick up on your heart wanting to beat to his drum, if you know what I’m saying.”

I exhale. I no longer want to know what she’s saying. I want a subject change. “How about this, Kat? I never see him again and we never talk about him again. Problem solved.”

“Oh, that was easy,” she says dripping in sarcasm.

* * *

My last class gets out just before noon on Friday. It’s my favorite moment of the week normally, but today I shoot out of my honors physics class into the beautiful Californian sun just to struggle with a dilemma that’s been eating at me for days.

Vivi’s play is opening tonight.
Kiss of the Spider Woman
.

I google mapped the historic Pico House on Olvera Street where she will perform and left the printed directions on the island in my kitchen this morning. I enter my apartment and pick up the single sheet of paper. Its 12.9 miles but the trip is not one I am sure I should travel.

When I told Vivi I would not miss this for the world, I was under the narcotic of Wade’s cooking and the charm of all that enlightened company sitting around the table in the kitchen at the shelter.

They are noble people and I am, at best, a reluctant debutante. I was an easy mark for the warmth and generosity of their soulful attention. I would have said yes to anything that day if it meant they would accept me deeper into their colorful lives.

Wade possibly being there should be a deal breaker. I should not see him. I cannot trust myself in his presence. I want to be as noble as they all are and to do that I need to stay as far away from his sexy grin as humanly possible.

None of this is Vivi’s fault and Kat has been on me all week to take her to the play. She loves that old building and she wants a reason to dress up. I know the truth. She wants to check Wade out.

I warn her that although he looks harmless he can wreck a girl’s panties faster than a heavy cycle. Kat and I allow each other to be vulgar. It’s so damn liberating and necessary in this bullshit world.

The last couple weeks I have literally felt my brain compressing more and more with each passing day. Kat and I deserve a sober night out. I put the directions down and I dial her number. I tell myself it will be fine with her there to keep me grounded, but even while her phone rings I begin to sense another bad decision being born.

Rodrigo drives us to the Pico House. He tells us the place was built over 150 years ago. It’s obvious he holds the place in reverence so I invite him to join us for a night of theater. He declines with his usual understated grace. He insists on getting out, opening our doors and taking us by the hand to lift us onto our feet.

Kat has on a spectacular bright jewel Tibi Nuit strapless gown that she convinced Kip to remove from his mother’s closet for the night. She manages to look both elegant and curvy which is a rare double.

I’m going with a rather unimaginative black strapless embroidered cocktail dress. Kat accused me of consciously being all shoulders and hips in this dress as a prop for Wade’s imagination.

I can’t win with that girl.

Cesar approaches us with a date on his arm. For a moment I can’t place him as his transformation from sleeveless tank top at the shelter to a black suit with a black tie that he wears like an ascot under his open collared white shirt is so drastic it took me a moment to recognize his always joyful eyes.

“Dude, that’s so rad,” Kat says before I have a chance to greet him. She reaches out and touches his hidden tie. “That takes balls.”

“Cesar, this is Kat,” I say. “As you can see, she’s a shy one.”

“It’s all good,” Cesar says with a cool grin. “Good to see you, Erin. Nice to meet you, Kat. You ladies look so fine tonight.”

“I’m Marta,” his tall date says with an interesting European accent.

“Oh, yes, this is the divine Marta, my especial friend,” Cesar teases Marta who glares at him.

Marta shakes our hands sweetly. “I’m his unlucky girlfriend. Very nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Kat says. “Where’s the bar?”

“I’ll show you,” Marta says and takes Kat’s hand. They walk through the crowd. I smile as men of all ages check them out.

I stand uncomfortably with Cesar before deciding on a safe question. “Will we see Alodia tonight?”

“She’s here. Vivi called her backstage,” he says. “Alodia is like a good luck charm for the universe.”

“Vivi gets nervous?” I say trying to keep the conversation alive.

Cesar smiles at me knowingly which makes me suddenly uncomfortable. “When we want something badly,” he says, “the blood sets all our sugar on fire.”

Apparently, I am an open book to all these saintly creatures. “I’ve heard this is quite a challenging role.”

“Vivi’s a champ, don’t worry,” Cesar says as something across the lobby grabs his attention. “There they are,” Cesar continues, “I knew he would find a way to be here.”

I don’t have to look. My blood becomes a meth lab cooking up all the sugar. Cesar’s prophecy realized in an instant. When I turn around I am already preparing myself to appear friendly but indifferent.

The hot sugar turns instantly cold when I see her before I see him. Tori. She’s sculpted into a flowing white gown with an open front. She has cleavage so tan and shapely even I stare at it. I can’t compete with this woman. She’s oozing Sophia Loren in that dress. I must look like a boy to Wade.

Tori can’t take her eyes off me. I wish I could say she appears happy to see me. Not so much. Eventually, she paints a smile back on her face just before she stops in front of me.

“Erin,” she says with an intonation similar to a question.

“Hi, Tori,” I respond. “That dress. Wow.”

She stares at me and then considers Cesar who does that half hug guy thing with Wade. I can see her trying to remember the words I just said in order to respond. “Is it too much?”

“No, it’s something no one will ever forget,” I say sincerely.

“That’s good, right?” she says.

“Real good,” Cesar says hungrily which earns him a friendly shove from Wade.

“Hi, Erin,” Wade says.

His voice. Damn. I have so many conflicting emotions right now the fact that his very sound sends an electric current right through me is not exactly welcome.

“You know Cesar?” Tori asks trying to get her head around my presence in her world.

For the first time I witness Cesar unable to speak. He senses like I do that just the right response would be good. Tori turns to Wade who smiles easily trying to calm his new fiancé.

“At the shelter,” I say beginning the sentence at the end as if suddenly channeling Yoda, “we met. Doctor Hendricks took me along on one of his adventures.”

Cesar takes a deep breath when Marta and Kat emerge from the crowd with four highly-needed drinks. I quickly grab one of the two Midori sours, which Kat and I both love. We agreed tonight was to be sober fun which means two drinks or less for us.

Kat’s expression on seeing Tori says it all, perhaps too much, and then she takes an obvious and embarrassing inventory of Wade’s assets. She quickly recovers by turning her attention to her own drink and projecting a cool indifference.

“Marta, this is Tori,” Wade says.

“Now that’s a dress,” Marta says to Tori as they shake hands.

“So nice to meet you, Marta,” Tori responds sweetly. “You two make such a cute couple.”

On cue, Cesar takes Marta’s hand affectionately and winks at her.

“And we’re the token Lesbian couple,” Kats says. “Every theater needs at least one.” She wraps her arm around my waist and pulls me in for a squeeze.

“Everyone, this is Kat,” I say almost apologetically after her last remark, which was not a big hit.

Wade reaches out and takes Kat’s hand lightly. “I’m Wade.”

“Charmed,” Kat says putting her other hand over his. I’m surprised to see her blush from the flash of his delicious eyes. Kat doesn’t really blush. This Wade dude is toxic. I knew it. It’s not me. It’s him.

I catch a break. The lobby starts to thin out as people move inside the theater. “Have fun,” I say to all and lead Kat away.

-9-

Vivi lights up the stage. She’s playing Aurora who is some kind of phantom of a movie actress who lives in the imagination of a gay prisoner in a non-specific Latin American prison. She pulls it off wonderfully even though wearing heavy makeup and portraying a character decades older than her.

I am spellbound by the passionate and touching portrayals of isolation and loneliness in the surreal mindscape of the prisoner.

A few rows ahead of us, Tori is less mesmerized. I see the flash of her cell phone screen on at least three occasions. At one point she lifts her phone to take a photo. I imagine her sending an instagram to show off her night at the theater to her clone-like friends.

At the intermission, Kat goes for a second round of drinks and I hurry to the ladies’ room beating the crowd. Washing my hands, I stare at my face in the mirror. The fact that I like the way I look structurally makes the emptiness I feel at my core that much more obvious on my pointless face.

Some girls, like Kat, can make the muscles of their faces light up a room as if they have all the answers to life. Not me. I’m that stone-faced, pretty girl at the back of the party that some guys find mysterious.

Trust me, guys, there’s nothing fucking mysterious about me. I’m nothing more than unimpressed. I’m disengaged. Checked out.

I’m worse than a snob because I spend all my energies pretending not to be. I really want to be more than that. I’m trying to find a path. The first step is admitting it, right?

When I wipe my hands and turn around I’m suddenly surrounded by Tori’s breasts and her almost diabolical smirk. It’s like her eyes and breasts are aimed at me like weapons. Locked and loaded.

“Oh, hey,” I say pleasantly trying to get her to play nice.

“I didn’t take you for a soup kitchen volunteer,” she says making no attempt to hide her doubts.

I’m really hoping not to get competitive with her, but she’s making it hard. We’ve been this way since the first day we met when we were twelve. “Nor did I,” I finally say, “but if you know Doctor Hendricks, he doesn’t give you much of a choice.”

“You mean that freak who calls himself Lyric and feels up all the lonely housewives on the weekend?” Tori responds stepping to my side to powder her nose.

“He is eccentric,” I say.

“He’s a total fruit ball,” she says turning to me, “but, you know, a straight one.”

I’m almost happy to see that the old Tori is back again in all her stuck-up glory. Her recent run of happiness seemed to make her an almost decent human being for a while. False alarm. The Sun still rises in the East and Tori’s still a bitch. All is right with the world.

“Enjoying the play?” I ask knowing full well it’s not her cup of tea.

“Please,” she says and leaves it at that.

“I better get back to Kat,” I say and step away.

Tori grabs my arm. “Wade’s cool, huh?” she asks.

I turn to look at her and I see such a fragile girl beneath her ice cold exterior. “Wade?” I say. “Yeah. He seems like a great guy.”

She smiles and lets me go. I leave the ladies’ room wanting nothing more than to run and hide. Shame courses through my veins as I grab another Midori sour from Kat and gulp it down like water.

Before the intermission I thought of Tori as the Spider Woman, but after the break I sit in the dark of the theater realizing it’s me. I am the Kiss of Death. I am the shadow that creeps into your bones, the darkness at the edge of town. It’s my desire that wants to take a forbidden bite and let loose all the evils upon the world.

The curtain falls and the audience rises with a hearty ovation. I grab Kat’s hand and drag her down our row in front of clapping patrons. We burst out into the aisle and speed toward the door.

I turn back just before I leave and I see Wade. His arms are raised banging his hands together in applause. He glances behind him with an innocent grin searching for and eventually finding our empty seats.

* * *

When it starts to rain it’s past 3AM. I have slept a little but I’m restless. I decide to open my bedroom windows and listen to the downpour. It’s lovely and I let myself think of Wade.

I remember his wet hair sticking to his temples and his thin tee shirt soaked through and clinging to the slight curve of his muscular chest. He stood at a distance, watching over me, while I waited for Rodrigo to arrive late that afternoon when everything seemed to be spinning and the sky was spilling down all over us, cooling off our animal urges.

Tonight at the theater Wade refrained from engaging my eyes in any meaningful exchange. Perhaps this entire passion exists only in my lonely soul and Wade merely responds to my delusional desires in a polite way. He can’t help oozing sexuality and sensitivity. The boy’s a total prince, a sexy saint. Even the fact that he has decided to marry that troll disguised as every man’s fantasy shows he has the ability to see the good in anyone. Or maybe he just likes big breasts. Whatever.

None of my business.

A memory of my mother emerges now. I remember her using the word
troll
too. I love when an old memory surfaces. It’s like a vault in the basement of my being opens up and she comes to life.

She once called a Minneapolis journalist a troll. There was a negative piece in the paper regarding my father’s business dealings. My mother was sweet, but a fierce protector of our family. She swore a bit in Swedish, which always made me smile, and then she explained that the journalist was the eater of the moon and the swallower of heaven.

The phone rings out in the dark. The rain has been falling for ten minutes. The blood in my veins immediately begins to ache almost painfully. My heart gallops up into my throat and I think I have imagined the whole thing. When the phone rings again, I know it’s him and I know I can never answer that phone. It might as well be ringing in another world. It’s not for me. I’m not that girl.

There is no third ring.

My room expands and I become smaller in this new silence. The night air gusts through the open windows and chills me to the bone. My little Victoria Secret nightshirt is useless against the cruel temperature. I pull up the puffy comforter and wrap myself in it, but even my blankets are suddenly made of ice.

The universe is meaningless. If we listen at certain moments of quiet we can understand things we don’t want to understand. We are all disintegrating day-by-day, minute-by-fucking-minute.

My life is just a long march of stupid. My fantasies for a simpler life, for a
do-over
in rural Minnesota are just a rich girl’s lame excuse for her own inability to have purpose. How about I blame everyone else, everything else? That works. Not. Not even a little.

A shiver runs suddenly through my whole body. My fingers and nose are frozen. I get out of bed to close the window. I can feel my body trembling with each cold step. At the window, before I push it shut, I see a car down below with its hazard lights blinking.

The knock at my door startles me. This is not happening. This is not fair. If it’s Wade I’m just going to jab him right in his beautiful face and tell him to go to hell.

He keeps knocking like a psycho while I hurry to the door. How did he even get past the front desk?

I peak through the peephole and then unlock the door angrily. I keep the chain on the door because he’s scaring me and my little top and panties and frozen nipples would be like an invitation.

“Wade, what the hell are you doing here?” I say hiding behind the door and glaring at him through what space the door chain will allow us. Another soaking wet tee shirt on his chest. That’s just great.

He breathes heavily and stares at me intensely. “You know why I’m here,” he finally says in a tortured whisper.

“Yeah, because you’re an idiot,” I say having trouble breathing.

There’s a vulnerability to him now and he glances down at his feet. “It started to rain and I wanted to see you,” he says. “I should go, Erin. I’m sorry.” He flashes his eyes at mine again and I realize he’s trembling.

“You’re soaking wet,” I say. We stare at each other for the first time without restraint. “Just get in here.”

I close the door, unlock the chain and pull the door open. He steps in and smiles sweetly. I close the door and turn to him. His eyes drop to check me out. Legs and panties and frozen nipples.

“Wade, you have to be good,” I say but my voice breaks and is barely heard.

We stare at each other a long time, terrified. He takes me in his arms so fast I gasp. His wet shirt makes me instantly drenched. His mouth presses against my mouth and I can taste the alcohol he’s been drinking.

My upper lip loves being kissed by his two lips but I push him away quickly with all my strength. “Wade, stop it,” I say. “You’re drunk.”

“It’s a fever,” he says.

“I know what it is,” I tell him. “You can go in there and dry off. You’ll find a fresh towel. That’s all this is going to be about. I owe you a favor.”

“I made you all wet,” he says pointing at my wet shirt.

“Wade, stop being an asshole,” I say hoping it will sober him up.

I push him toward the bathroom and he finally backs off.

In my bedroom I exhale deeply and lean back against the door as I feel light-headed and flushed. I recover as fast as I can and take off my wet little night shirt and dry off. I find the least sexy tee shirt I can find and pull it on and then slip into my knit robe as well.

I close my eyes and catch my breath and my balance a second time. As I attempt to control my heart rate I think of Wade’s car. I go to the window in a rush and see a cop car behind it with his lights on. This is not good. Wade’s been drinking. I could get dressed, maybe.

When I leave the bedroom to tell Wade, I see him standing in my dining area wearing a towel around his waist. I ignore the best I can his shining chest and six-pack. Okay, I noticed the six-pack.

“They’re going to tow your car, Wade,” I tell him. “There’s a cop down there.”

“Yeah, I guess,” he says unconcerned. “That happens.”

“What are you going to do?”

“What can I do? I’m drunk and naked.”

He has a point. “Want me to go down?” I offer.

“No,” he says, “you’re wearing a pink robe.”

Pink. I hadn’t realized. It’s actually lavender rose, but still a bad omen after our history with pink dainties. “So they’ll tow it away,” I say with no particular purpose.

“Listen, Erin, I’m not feeling well suddenly,” he says. “Do you have a piece of bread?’

“A piece of bread? Ah, sure. One piece of bread coming up.”

I walk into the kitchen and find some French bread and put it on a plate. I hand it to Wade.

“Thanks,” he says. “It’s 4am. Sorry about all this, Erin.”

“Hey, alcohol will make us do funny things,” I say. “And you’ve seen me at my worst. I can have your clothes dry in 45 minutes.”

“It’s okay. Just put the clothes in and go back to sleep,” he says chewing on the dry bread. “I’ll crash out on your couch, if you don’t mind, until the city impound opens.”

“Let me find something for you to wear,” I say and return to my bedroom. I find some oversized sleep boxers that were a present but I have never actually used.

When I return to Wade I find him lying with his legs hanging over the edge of my couch which is more of a love seat. He’s using the towel as a blanket. “Here, try these,” I say and hand him the boxers.

“Maybe I’ll just sleep on the floor,” he says giving up on the love seat. He stands turning away and letting the towel drop.

I spin around as quick as possible, but not before the image of his near perfect butt burns into my mind. His backside seemed almost muscular and much paler than his tan back and thighs.

“What do you think?” he says.

I turn nervously around to the intoxication of his grin. My big sleep boxers are tight around his strong thighs and they are, what I can only describe as, strangling his manhood. There’s a moment when I realize I am staring at all of him, itemizing him like he is a hot image online.

I snap out of it. “You can’t sleep on the floor. It’s too hard and the loveseat is too small.” That has to be my subconscious choosing those words. “Take my bed,” I say blushing. “I often sleep out here. I’m little.”

He smiles at me in a way that makes me shy. “Erin,” he says softly, “I’m not going to bust in here and make you sleep on the couch too.”

I lift my eyes to let him see how vulnerable he makes me. I hope he’ll give me a break and help me get through this night. “I’ll go get your clothes started,” I say with an unintended whisper. “Just, I don’t know, you can go sleep in my room and stay on your side of the bed.”

His clothes are waiting for me in the bathroom. I scoop them up. They are wet and heavy. The stupid boy got nostalgic in the rain and raced over here drunk. He got cold feet. He got drunk.

He wants to escape his reality. It’s nothing. It’s not me. He’ll sleep it off and in the morning return to his regularly-scheduled life.