Hung Up (15 page)

Lucy:
I’m not saying it’s easy. I’m trying to make you feel okay about stuff.

James:
I wish these things didn’t happen. I mean, it’s like all those wars I read about. Yeah, some people survive. But I wish all that stuff never had to happen.

Lucy:
I feel the same way.

James:
That’s why I broke up with Nan.

Lucy:
Because she liked wars?

James:
No, because she always drank on the weekends. Usually it was just beer. But this once, at a party, she drank vodka. And the smell . . . It made me want to throw up. And when I looked at her, I didn’t just see her. I saw Bo, too. And it was too much.

Lucy:
Are you telling me that Nan’s an alcoholic?

James:
No, Nan likes to drink. It’s a social thing for her. I told her that I couldn’t deal with it. She said I was too controlling and that she liked the buzz. So I broke up with her.

Lucy:
Because she drank vodka one time at a party?

James:
It didn’t work for me to have a girlfriend who drank and who didn’t understand how it affected me.

Lucy:
Oh.

James:
And it’s not just vodka. The smell of any booze makes me physically ill.

Lucy:
So you won’t even drink when you’re in college?

James:
I don’t think so. You know, not everybody drinks in college. It’s not like freshman composition. It isn’t a requirement.

Lucy:
I know. I guess if you don’t want to, then you shouldn’t.

James:
I can’t believe I told you about this.

Lucy:
Did it make you feel better?

James:
Yeah. But only because Bo is doing well. If he was still stumbling around the kitchen shitfaced, I’d probably feel differently about sharing this story.

Lucy:
I’m glad you told me.

James:
Listen, I get the feeling there’s some things you’d like to tell me, too.

Lucy:
I’m not ready. I mean, we’ve already covered a lot of ground tonight.

James:
I know. But it was all my ground.

Lucy:
It might have been
your
ground, but my heart is literally racing.

James:
I know. It was an awful story.

Lucy:
I hate awful stories.

James:
Everybody hates awful stories.

Lucy:
People who read Stephen King novels don’t seem to mind them.

James:
Ha-ha.

Lucy:
It’s late.

James:
Yeah. But, Lucy, whenever you’re ready to talk to me, I want you to know that you can tell me anything.

Lucy:
Anything?

James:
Yes.

Lucy:
Are you sure?

James:
Positive.

Lucy:
Okay. Good night, James.

May 5, 6:23 p.m.

Lucy:
I’ve been thinking about what you said about being honest.

James:
Yeah.

Lucy:
You’re right.

James:
About what?

Lucy:
I haven’t been totally honest with you.

James:
Okay.

Lucy:
It’s related to my limitations.

James:
This is not the sort of phone call I expected to get from you on Cinco de Mayo, but I’m listening.

Lucy:
I’m being serious.

James:
So am I.

Lucy:
I need to tell you something before we meet.

James:
Is it about track?

Lucy:
No, it’s a larger issue.

James:
Okay. Spit it out.

Lucy:
It’s not that easy.

James:
Do you want me to try to guess?

Lucy:
It’s nothing you’d be able to guess.

James:
Is it about the plaque maker?

Lucy:
I’m not joking around.

James:
Neither am I.

Lucy:
I want us to hang up, and I want to call you back.

James:
What does that accomplish?

Lucy:
I don’t want you to answer your phone. I want to leave you a message.

James:
That’s cowardly.

Lucy:
James! Do not call my bravery into question.

James:
Are you still being serious?

Lucy:
Yes. I want you to hang up. I’m going to call you back and leave four messages.

James:
Four? Holy shit. What do you need to tell me?

Lucy:
I need to tell you four things, obviously.

James:
You’ve told me four lies?

Lucy:
Stop trying to guess about what I have to say. Let me just tell you.

James:
Are you crying?

Lucy:
Yeah.

James:
Don’t cry. It’s okay if you bragged yourself up or something. It’s not a big deal. I’m tough. You haven’t said anything that’s worth crying over. Trust me.

Lucy:
I think you’re going to hate me.

James:
Don’t be so melodramatic. Of course I’m not going to hate you. I like you.

Lucy:
This is hard.

James:
Now that you’re crying, you’re making it hard for me, too. Please. Stop.

Lucy:
Stop telling you?

James:
No, stop crying.

Lucy:
But I feel really bad about this.

James:
Just tell me.

Lucy:
Hang up, James.

James:
Okay. But I can’t think of anything you’ve said that could be this bad.

May 5, 6:27 p.m.

Lucy:
I know Beth Howie and Nan.

May 5, 6:29 p.m.

Lucy:
I know your brother, Bo.

May 5, 6:31 p.m.

Lucy:
CeCe is short for Cecil. She used to date Bo. She was at that party. So was I.

May 5, 6:33 p.m.

Lucy:
My name isn’t Lucy Villaire.

May 5, 6:40 p.m.

Lucy:
I didn’t expect you to answer your phone. You probably think that I’m a big liar. But it’s not like that. Not totally. My first name really is Lucy. I lied about my last name because . . . Well, I think I’ll wait to tell you the reason. I’m sorry, James. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Sometimes people do the wrong thing for the right reason. That probably doesn’t make much sense to you now. Maybe one day it will. I’ll call you later.

May 6

May 7

May 8

May 9

May 10, 7:17 p.m.

Lucy:
According to NOAA, it’s supposed to be over eighty degrees tomorrow. I think that’s a record high. If you ever wanted to get together and go jogging or something, we could do that. Okay. I’m not sure what to do, James. I lied to you. I know I hurt you. Beyond that, I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say. I’ve been reduced to calling and leaving your voice mail lame messages about the weather. I better go.

May 10, 8:20 p.m.

Lucy:
I should have said I’m sorry. That’s something I forgot to say in my earlier message. I really didn’t mean to lie to you. I tell a lot of people who I don’t anticipate having lasting relationships with that my last name is Villaire. Because sometimes when I say my real name, they want to talk to me about something that I don’t want to talk about. I’m sort of
famous. Not because I’m a movie star or anything like that. I’m famous in a bad way. I mean, people know me because of something bad that happened to me. It was a few years ago. It made it into the national news. I just don’t like talking about it. And by the way, when I told you my last name was Villaire, we weren’t really involved yet. You were somebody I’d accidentally called on the phone. So don’t hate me. Because that wouldn’t be fair. Also, don’t forget to tell your mom happy Mother’s Day tomorrow.

May 14, 5:09 p.m.

Lucy:
I’m going to tell you how I know Beth Howie. Okay. I first met Beth Howie in kindergarten. She sat in front of me. She played with her hair a lot and used to hum theme songs from television shows I’d never seen. I can remember that she liked to wear ponytails. She also used to eat her eraser rubbings. I never really clicked with her. My best friend in kindergarten was Samantha York. I don’t know who Beth Howie’s best friend was. She used to spend a lot of time with the class rabbit. Okay. So it’s not like I hid some big secret friendship with Beth Howie from you. I knew her a long time ago. She was sort of a geek. Sounds like she grew out of it. Unless the two of you used to eat eraser rubbings together and clock a lot of time with rabbits. I’ll call you again later.

May 15, 8:02 p.m.

Lucy:
So today I’m going to tell you how I know Nan. She and I were in second grade together. I have to be honest. I didn’t like her very much. She was sort of a tease. Even with the teacher. I know that sounds gross. But she was always trying to get Mr. Pinter’s attention. Also, she used to wear skirts a lot, and in second grade that’s sort of weird to me. I caught her cheating on a test once. It was a geography test. We were labeling the seven continents and I saw her looking at my paper. I covered up my Antarctica with my hand. And she pinched me on the arm and said I wasn’t good at sharing. I stomped on her shoe and she screamed. I ended up having to miss recess. I was never a very big fan of Nan’s. Also, her name is Nanette. She started going by Nan in third grade. I moved pretty soon after that, from Burlington to Montpelier, and I never kept in touch with her. So, that’s how I know Nan. She wasn’t the most sensitive person on the planet. I’m not surprised that you had to break up with her. Or that she started dating your best friend. Hey, one of these days you should answer your phone. Because it would be nice to talk to you again. Seriously.

May 16, 11:28 p.m.

Lucy:
You’re probably expecting me to leave you a message about Cecil and the party and how I know Bo. But if I
do that, I’ll also have to tell you about the awful thing that happened to me, and I don’t think that’s the sort of thing a person should leave on another person’s voice mail. Okay. I guess I can tell you this: I only met Bo a couple of times when he and Cecil were hanging out. They weren’t really dating. I mean, they just weren’t. He was really intense. But I know him another way too. He wrote me a letter when I was in the third grade. I still have it. I think he’s a very nice person. I felt really bad when I found out that he had such serious problems. He seems nice. I hope everything works out with him. Bye.

May 17, 9:12 a.m.

Lucy:
Hi, James, today is Armed Forces Day. I know this because it says so on my calendar. But I don’t know any traditions associated with Armed Forces Day. Do you? Okay. I’ll be away tomorrow. My parents and I are leaving for Maine this afternoon. We’re taking a tour of Bowdoin. I think that’s where they want me to go. Because it’s small. And my parents equate small with safe. Which is stupid, because sometimes bombs are small. And poison capsules. And deadly bacteria. And scorpions. Anyway, I worry that I’m not going to like it there. They keep using the words “cozy,” “nourishing,” and “comfortable.” It sort of sounds like they’re describing how I feel about waffles. And should
going to college be like eating waffles? Okay. I won’t call you tomorrow. But I’ll call you Monday. And I’m going to list all the things that I like about you. Because I think if I flatter you enough, you might forgive me. And answer your phone. Listen, I didn’t lie to you because I’m a mean person. It’s hard for me to be totally honest, because that means that I have to say things that make me feel vulnerable. And sad. And I didn’t want to feel those things with you. I wanted to feel happy. Is that so wrong?

May 17, sent 10:10 p.m.

Lucy:
I miss you.

May 18, 2:35 p.m.

Lucy:
I am calling you from the south side of the quad outside Hubbard Hall. If I sound weird, it’s because I’m whispering. And crouching behind a bush. There is no way that I can go to school here. It’s so small. It would be like going to college inside a coat pocket. It’s
that
small. I’ve thought about what you said about how I’m like a tortoise. How I might miss stuff. You’re right. I don’t want to miss stuff. For college, I want the “big” experience. I want to be near a city. I mean, this place is twenty-five miles from Portland. And a hundred and twenty miles from Boston. Seriously. I’ve already spent the best years of my
life living in Montpelier. No. Wait.
East
Montpelier. I want a new existence. I’m ready to blow the lid off my life. I know the world isn’t always safe. But you can’t stick to eating waffles forever. It can’t be done. It’s not supposed to happen. Seriously. I’m ready for omelets. And sausages. And breakfast burritos. Thanks for helping me see this. Wow. I bet this message sounds really weird. Sorry. I’ve been eating sugar all day. I’ll call you back later when I’m less wired. Or you could always call me back. I’d like that.

May 18, 9:51 p.m.

Lucy:
I know. Two messages in one day. I must sound so desperate. James, I want you to know that if you call me, I’ll tell you everything. I’m ready to talk to you and be really honest. Also, the awful thing that happened to me isn’t just about me. It’s about my sister. Her name is Kathryn. I tell people I’m an only child because Kathryn isn’t around anymore. It’s a sad story. And it doesn’t even have an ending.

May 19, 6:42 a.m.