Out of the Blue (22 page)

I ricocheted between the silent apartment and the corridors of Cameron where I already felt like an intruder. I could tell by the way my fellow faculty members behaved toward me that the word had gone out. My old friend Dee Sunderland asked if she could take me to lunch. Grant haunted my homeroom and left me e-mail messages about the evils of repression. But I avoided everyone. I suppose I was in shock, which seemed a bit ludicrous after all my prior twittering about the imminent possibility of getting fired. Maybe I’d labored under a superstition that worrying about it would prevent its actual happening.

Ironically, what kept me sane was work. I knew I had papers to grade, exams to prepare, problems to solve. Beautiful Will came to say he’d gotten the word that he wouldn’t be coming back next fall. As we discussed life after Cameron, I felt a silent kinship with him. Jennifer had had surgery on an ankle broken in the dance studio and needed extra help with missed classes. So between eight and four every day, I was anchored to something real. It was in the empty hours afterward that I sat around like a leftover on an hors d’oeuvres platter, gradually turning brown at the edges and waiting for the slide into the garbage pail.

I ate my dinner in front of the TV at night, often keeping the audio off on account of the jarring voices. One night, I caught a glimpse of myself reflected in the window, sitting on the couch with my take-out carton. I was so transparent that the painting on the wall behind me was clearly visible. Anxiety rose in my chest like indigestion. I got up and retrieved pen and paper from Ma’s desk. I could feel my pulse beating in my fingers where they held the pen. I was sweating, the cold drizzle sweat of fear.

ANNA MARIE BOLLES,
I scribbled, and underlined my name several times, as if to ensure that I did in fact exist. Then I started compiling a list:

Joe’s girl

Ma’s daughter

Teacher

Athlete

MS victim

I couldn’t think of another thing. I stared at the words, slowly coming to the realization that the only accurate descriptions at this moment were daughter and victim. Everything else warranted an
ex-
in front of it. The anxiety thickened into something darker. I hastily added
Friend
to the list with
Grant
after it in parentheses.

It seemed unthinkable that something as important as losing my job could occur without Joe’s knowing. My need for him felt physical, as basic as hunger, thirst, the craving for sleep, the avoidance of pain. I stared at the phone and half expected it to ring, as if a psychic connection between us would inform him. I put my hand on the receiver, leaving a clammy palm print. I was so cold, cold as a corpse.

That weekend, I walked alone with my cane across Seventy-ninth Street. There was a motorcycle chained in front of the New York Society Library. I stared at it, remembering the rumble of the engine, the leather under my legs, and the warmth of Joe’s back. What a euphoric ride, both of us leaning into the curves in unison as if we were one creature. I knew I was hanging onto my memories with the same tenacity that I had clung to Joe that afternoon. It might not be healthy, but I simply couldn’t help it.

Then outside the Guggenheim Museum on Fifth Avenue, I saw a woman pushing a man in a wheelchair. The woman’s face was weary and sad. At the curb the man looked up at her to speak. Instantly, she masked the exhaustion and replaced it with alert interest. As if performed for my benefit, here was the portrait of our future had we stayed together.

When I got home, the phone was ringing. My heart started beating fast. It was a difficult habit to break, imagining Joe calling in from some anonymous hotel room in Burlington or Montreal. But it was Dr. Klewanis.

“Hiya, sport,” he said. “What’s up?”

“Just took a walk,” I said. “You checking up on me?”

“Yup. How’s the vision?”

“Pretty good.” I didn’t feel like telling him I’d just been fired.

“How’s your ma?” he asked. “I’m more worried about her anyhow.”

“What?” A surge of panic. Did he know something I didn’t?

“I practically had to get a court order to make her leave town. She’s still away?”

“Yes.”

“Excellent. Okay, kid, I’m outta here. Keep me posted.”

He hung up.
Thanks for removing my life support, Doc,
I wanted to tell him.

I sat by the phone for a moment and tried to get my bearings. Joe was gone, Ma was gone, and I could no longer turn to my work for respite. I walked to the TV and snapped it on. There on the screen was an old movie with Robert Redford shushing expertly down a ski slope. It almost made me laugh.

The weekend inched along as did I, since a severe case of mock sunburn made every movement torture. Since this particular symptom hadn’t cropped up in a while, I thought perhaps it had surfaced in honor of Ma’s Florida vacation. Not that my skin showed any tinge of pink. It was just confused pain receptors.

“I hope you’re using plenty of sunscreen,” I told her when she called Sunday evening. Her voice made me ache to see her. Only four more days and she’d be home to cheer me with her prickly comfort.

“Yep. Not a freckle on me. How’re you doing? Work?”

The words were on my lips.
They fired me, Ma. There’s nothing left for me now.
But it was only the slightest hesitation. “The usual,” I lied.

“You sure? How’s your speech? You sound funny.”

“Fine. I’m eating a bagel.” She’d be angry when she’d find out, but I knew the truth would bring her home on the first plane. “How about you? Dr. Klewanis wants to know if you’re getting a good rest.”

“Uh, I’m having a great time,” she said. “I think I’ll hang around a while longer. That is, if you’re feeling all right.”

“I’m perfectly okay, Ma,” I said. “How much longer?” I think I succeeded in keeping my voice neutral.

“Couple of weeks, I guess,” Ma answered.

Two more weeks! I had thought I was managing very well under the circumstances; i.e., I had not yet flung myself out the window. But two more weeks! “What’d you do, meet a guy?” I asked.

“Shit, no. Unless you count the hotel gardener. He may be ninety but he pinched me on my way past the begonias.”

“Do you have another cold?” I asked.

“Maybe.” I heard her blowing her nose. She never got colds.

“Ma, are you thinking of giving up the bakery?” Maybe that’s what this was all about, a career crisis.

“No.”

I wasn’t going to ask her if she was going to give
me
up. “I haven’t checked on Carmen today,” I said. Hard to do that when it feels as if your skin is peeling off down to the bone.

“I phoned. She’s fine except for Father Dewbright. He shows up every day looking for me no matter what Carmen tells him.”

“So when exactly should I expect you?” I asked. I wanted her home, to make me believe that somehow things would turn out all right.

“I’ll let you know. I’ve got an open-ended ticket.” She blew her nose again and I heard her mutter, “Goddamnfuck.”

When I was on my own, straight out of college, I’d lived on ice cream, pizza, and Ritz crackers. But now it was time to take a crack at cooking. How tough could it be to make spaghetti sauce from scratch? I figured. What I learned was, the can opener remains a blessing.

The sunburn gradually eased, and I only needed my cane for street security and for brandishing in the face of certain unruly students like Eddie, whom I caught building a snowman in Sukey’s locker. It was a good trick requiring a fair amount of resourcefulness, given the fact that it hadn’t snowed in almost two months. He claimed he was making a creative statement about the cycle of the seasons, but nevertheless.

The week passed, and the next. I began to take some pride in my newfound self-sufficiency. When my hands were uncooperative at the end of the day, I used kitchen utensils especially made for the disabled. Most of them were still in their bubble wrap in the drawer. Who needed them when I had Ma? The same applied to managing my clothes. It took a little maneuvering to learn some of the techniques, but pretty soon I was quick with the buttons, even little ones. I found that Mozart could be depended upon for moral support when hooks and zippers were recalcitrant.

For the first time since I got sick, I began to imagine moving back into a place of my own. Surely I could fend for myself, and in the event of a serious relapse, Ma would take me back in temporarily. I resolved to discuss it with her when she got home. I lay on my bed listening to
Don Giovanni
and decorating my little studio apartment. I imagined the wallpaper—Joe’s face reproduced hundreds, thousands of times—so that no matter which way I turned, he’d be there.

The morning Ma was due home, the dean called me back into his office. I figured they’d found someone to fill my position and weren’t even going to let me finish out the semester. I rehearsed my defense all the way to Conley’s office, how I had regained nearly all my speech proficiency and hadn’t misplaced anything more valuable than a paper clip. Conley was standing against the window, backlit so that I couldn’t see his features, merely the glowing outline of his body.

“Sit down, Anna.”

I could tell by his voice that I’d better damn well do it. So I sat.

“You’ll have your job here next fall if you want it.”

The Ma lurking in my lower layers burbled up as I thought,
Look, don’t fuck with me, man.
It must have showed. Conley took his seat and emerged into focus. He was smiling.

“I mean it,” he said. “You’re unfired.”

“How can that be?”

“The department’s had a change of heart.”

“Wait. I’m trying to … you wouldn’t kid a person?”

“A number of us felt you got a raw deal and that the students would lose out if you were to leave.”

“But what if I get sick again? I mean, I could go for years without another relapse, but there’s always the chance.” I wanted it sorted out once and for all. A roller coaster is no place for somebody with compromised balance.

“We’ll deal with it if the need arises.”

I sat there in numb silence. I felt as if I’d been clubbed over the head, but with affection. “The bell’s going to ring,” I murmured, and it did. “I have a class to teach.” I got to my feet and shook the hand that Conley extended. “Thanks. Thanks.” It was all I could think of to say.

I tried to concentrate in class but I suspect that I gave Thomas Hardy short shrift. As soon as I had the chance, I e-mailed Grant. He showed up in my doorway at the end of the day. “Tea, darling?” I could see he knew all about it.

“Oh, yeah,” I said.

Spring was far enough along now so that the four o’clock daylight was not too dreary. Grant took my arm and hurried me in the direction of the park. I started to say something.

“Hush,” he said, cutting me off. “Not till we’re in neutral territory.”

“Where?”

“Where no teacher on a private school salary ever goes,” he said. “The Stanhope.”

It was bliss in the old hotel’s tea room—overstuffed furniture and brass lamps with Victorian shades. Grant commandeered a corner table and sat, ludicrous with his lanky frame sprawled across a chintz settee. There were other muted conversations going on, but none in English.

He raised his teacup.
“Salut,”
he said. “This has to be a first.”

“Did you do it?” I asked.

He sniffed. “Not hardly. Nobody on the staff has that kind of clout.”

“Does everybody know?”

“Just those of us on the inside track. But of course it’ll get around.”

“Poor Leonard’s nose must be out of joint.”

“A solid punch’ll put it back.” Grant helped himself to a scone.

“Were they worried I’d go to the A.D.A.?” Grant had urged me to make a formal protest with the association. As a disabled person, I qualified for their assistance. But the problem was, I half agreed that I was no longer fit to teach.

“No.” He checked out the patrons for possible undercover agents and leaned across the table. “It was Deke Cross, but don’t ever say I told you.”

“Michelle’s father?” I wasn’t sure I’d heard him right.

Grant nodded and stuffed a tea sandwich into his mouth.

“I have no idea what you’re driving at.”

“I know,” Grant said. “I’m having so much fun.”

“Come on, come on, you’re killing me.”

“Well, you know how Cross is financing the new science lab with his millions?”

I nodded.

“Michelle found out you were fired and she went straight to her daddy. He called an emergency meeting of the board and informed them that unless you were reinstated he was withdrawing the funds.”

I dropped my teacup. It smashed to smithereens on the table. I knew it was the kind of thing you see in bad movies, but the combination of shock and MS fingers just did me in.

“Well, Christ, if I’d known you were going to start breaking things, I would have taken you to the diner,” Grant grumbled, mopping at the spill. A waitress with a ruddy Irish face came over with a new teacup and efficiently removed the shards of china.

“What should I do?” I asked.

“Oh, don’t be an ass,” Grant said.

“I love teaching,” I said.

“Yes, Anniekins, we know. Don’t you recognize the footprints of fate here?”

“Deke Cross’s size ten Guccis?”

“Look, if Cross thinks you’re worth two million bucks, maybe we’d better respect his judgment.”

“Shouldn’t I write him a thank-you note or send him a box of chocolates or something?”

“I think you’ve got it backward. The way Cross sees it, you saved his daughter’s ass and this is
his
thank-you note.”

I waved at the waitress. “Could we have two glasses of champagne, please?”

The waitress looked a little confused, but Grant grabbed my hand. “We just got engaged,” he explained.

I went home and slept off the crushing fatigue that hit me with the second glass of champagne. I hadn’t been near a glass of wine for weeks and my tolerance was low. But Ma’s plane was due in at eight, and by the time she got home, I had heated up a vegetarian lasagne from my weekend cooking experiment and thrown together a green salad. When she walked in, the table was set and there was the pleasant smell of food wafting through the apartment. She looked tan and dramatically thinner. I gave her a hug and inspected her at close range.

“You’ve lost a ton of weight.”

“They put all kinds of sickening crap in the food.” Her typical lament. Never eat out for fear of toxins. She removed her coat and sniffed the air. “What’d you do, hire a caterer?”

“Simply moi,” I said. “I’ll put dinner on while you wash up.” I watched her head off to the bathroom. She’d bought a new pair of slacks that looked like they were maybe a size ten. This new sleek Ma was disconcerting. It would take me some time to adjust.

At the table, Ma stared back at me with the slightly baffled expression I suspected I was wearing myself. “You’re pretty skinny yourself,” she said. “A tad on the wan side. Everything all right?”

“Actually, Cameron fired me, but don’t freak out. I just got rehired today.”

“Holy God,” she said. “You’d better start from the beginning.”

We sat at the table for a couple of hours, then moved to the couch with our peppermint tea. A month is a long time when you’re accustomed to sharing most of the details of your life. Furthermore, we were both conscious of a shift and were struggling to reconnect.

“Ma,” I said after my third cup. “I’ve been thinking.”

“Always a frightening prospect,” she said.

“Do you suppose I could manage on my own?”

She had switched to Diet Coke. “What do
you
think?” she asked me, setting the can down.

“That’s a shrink response,” I said.

“What’s the difference what I think? You’re the one who’s got to feel confident enough to do it.”

“I have to say it surprised me how well I did once I got used to being alone. You’ve spoiled me rotten.” I could see I’d blasted her with too much at once, the job and now this. “Anyhow, it’s just something to think about. For sometime in the future, maybe.”

“Anna, you’ve lived on your own before and I’ve already gone through the empty-nest thing,” she said, sliding her soda away. “Don’t be worrying about my tender sensibilities, because I don’t have any.”

“Yeah, and the Pope wears high-heeled sneakers,” I said.

We smiled at one another. Things were beginning to feel more familiar again, but still, something had changed, that was certain.

The sense of disorientation, palpable since my hospitalization, persisted. I still felt that I was picking my way across territory that had been ravaged by an earthquake. I stepped gingerly over jagged crevasses and struggled over chunks of rock. First and foremost, there was the absence of Joe. A dozen times a day I felt the impulse to tell him something. An anecdote about one of the kids that I knew would reward me with his laugh. Or the glimpse of a head of streaked hair disappearing into the subway entrance made my throat constrict. The hurt from missing him became as familiar as the feeling of air against my skin. It was always there.

Then, there was the peculiar alliance between me and my job. I was out, now I was in, but my confidence was damaged. I found myself giving thought to the issue of my competence. If I couldn’t be a great teacher, I didn’t want to hang around. And if I wasn’t teaching, what would I do with myself?

And lastly, there was my relationship with Ma. Not that we didn’t share stories about our day, and laugh as always, and confide our frustrations. Not that Ma wasn’t as tuned in as always to every nuance of my gestures and speech patterns. Yet there was an almost imperceptible stepping back from one another. Only a crack, perhaps, but cool air penetrates even such a tiny fissure. And now that Ma had lost weight, I suspected that her lap wouldn’t feel the same. Anyhow, I didn’t find myself so inclined to sit there anymore.

One Friday afternoon when I was packing up exams to grade over the weekend, Dee Sunderland poked her head into my homeroom and asked me if I felt like joining her for a cup of coffee. She’d done this every few weeks over the years, faithfully demonstrating that her friendship was still available. This time, I zipped up my bag and told her I’d love to. I’d forgotten her ear-to-ear grin. It made her look like she’d just hatched a plot to abduct her favorite Renoir from the Metropolitan Museum. We headed straight off to Starbucks and started dishing the dirt as if there’d been two weeks instead of three years since we’d last gossiped together. I noticed a couple of gray threads mixed with the tangle of auburn curls, but her hands were the same as ever—in perpetual motion and stained with every conceivable color.

“Do you have any recent pictures of the kids?” I asked.

She gave me a look. “Are you sure?”