Something Right Behind Her (7 page)

“I spent
two hours
reading this
shit,” Jill said. She seemed elated at the idea that she had actually studied,
even though it was probably the first homework quiz she was prepared for all
year. I ended up leaving three out of four of the essay questions blank. When I
went to hand my paper in, Mr. S stared at me. “Adrienne?” He whispered, “What
happened?” I shrugged. I didn’t know where to begin with that one, so I just
walked away, right out the door. I didn’t even wait for the dismissal bell.

Fortunately,
that afternoon, I had track to focus on. You couldn’t really be upset while
distance running. You had to be able to breathe. All through track, I tried to
focus on myself, my body, my running. On the track, I felt like I was literally
running away from something or someone. I even imagined a slightly portly,
out-of-shape Doug trying to catch up to me as I finished my mile. It was the
best time I had in months. Somehow, as I ran, the thought of Doug didn’t make
me feel upset like it had over the past twenty- four hours. I felt energized,
as if I were finally able to do something about the whole mess. As if running
mattered. As if the distance I ran was not, in fact, a circle.

That night,
after dinner, Mom told me Mr. S. had called concerned about me. I explained how
I studied the wrong chapter, and I was just pissed about the whole thing and
that was why I left the classroom early. Mom shook her head. You could tell she
was getting alarmed. “I don’t think it’s that simple, Andy. I think Dad and I
need to talk about this. You’ve never been in trouble in school. Not even in
kindergarten!”

“It’s nothing,
Mom. You’re turning a spaced out little mistake into some catastrophe. I am not
having a major melt-down. I was tired. I got the chapter wrong. That’s all.”

“Ok,” Mom
relented. She didn’t seem totally convinced, but then again, I can be pretty
hard on her when I want, and you could see she didn’t want to go to the mat
with me. I wasn’t ready to go bawling on her shoulder again either. I needed to
pull myself together. I needed to push Doug and all that happened permanently
from my mind.

I would have
succeeded too, if it hadn’t been for my stupid, insane dreams, and that
two-faced bitch, Sharon.

It was a couple
weeks after the thing with Doug, and I still hadn’t been over to Eve’s. I had
been planning on seeing her on Sunday, but then I got a text from her --
Can’t do it
today. Sorry.
I practically wanted to pull my hair out, freaking out about why
she was avoiding me, how she must hate me, how she must know all about Doug.

In a panic, I
texted her back asking why she was canceling, and then she had to explain how
she’d gotten her period, and it was a real horror show, since she couldn’t get
in and out of her chair or bed anymore without someone with her at all times. I
didn’t know what to say. It didn’t seem exactly like what she would come up
with as a cover story. So then I had to feel like crap for having made her tell
me the humiliating truth, for having made her have the nurse or her mom text me
her deepest secrets.

In my dream that
night I could hear her whispering in my ear. It was so real, could feel her
breath on me.

Get the keys,
she said,
get the keys.

I drove her in a
sort of makeshift car - half motorcycle with a sidecar, half VW Bug. I knew in
the dream the place we’d arrived in was heaven, but it looked like a giant
bathroom, with a white tile floor that was cool on our bare feet, and huge
white marble columns. I wanted to help Eve walk, but when I reached out to hold
her up, she danced away toward the stainless steel maxi-pad dispenser mounted
on the marble wall, which I remembered thinking looked entirely real. It was
one of those strange moments when you can tell, even as you dream, which images
are from real life, and which are weird dream fabrications. What confused me
was Eve walking. I wanted to know how it could be, what was the miracle that
had cured her? But she wouldn’t answer me. Suddenly, I was afraid. I realized
the reason she wasn’t explaining herself was that she was only better, could
only walk again, because she was actually dead - that we both were - only she
didn’t care, didn’t mind a bit that she’d died, and had taken me with her, so long
as she could walk again. She shook her hips, and flung her hair over her
shoulders, flaunting herself. Her legs looked long and lean beneath her flouncy
white skirt. I realized I was dressed still in my ordinary clothes, which
confirmed, in my dream logic, that Eve had somehow tricked me into coming with
her. My heart beat fast as I realized that this was the only possible
explanation: I was where no living person should have been. I kept trying to
prove that I was living, trying to show her I could do things she no longer
could do.

I woke up
twisting my hands into my pillow, as if I were trying to turn the knob of the
maxi-pad dispenser. My throat felt sore, like I’d been moaning half the night.
A death-and-period-dream was something I was sure couldn’t be found in the
Interpret Your
Dreams
book I’d flipped through the day before at Barnes and Noble, but it didn’t take
a genius to figure out that the guilt was killing me, killing sleep. Figures
that was the one line I remembered from Macbeth: sleep no more.

The bad dream
feeling stayed with me through most of the day at school. I felt kind of
outside my own body, just sleepwalking through my classes, even though I tried
to tell myself Eve wasn’t actually mad at me, that her issues were about ten
times the size of what was bothering me.

I tried to get
my spirits up, eating lunch outside with Tom and Jill on the grass near the
cafeteria. Jill was leaning up against Tom’s shoulder, letting her Indian-print
blouse fall open so you could see whatever you wanted. I thought he was trying
pretty hard to look the other way. They were talking about some loser-girl’s
party they had both gone to Saturday night. I had made up some excuse about
having a cold so I wouldn’t have to go out with them. I didn’t think I was ready
for their beer-sodden company.

“Jill was in a
deplorable state,” Tom said. “You really need to have her by your side at any
of these jock parties. She sees those football players, and then can’t hold
herself back.” Jill had apparently had a few too many and had been spotted
making out with both Alexander Hirsch and Michael Sands. Jacob Abrams, Eve’s
old boyfriend, had finally intervened and told Tom to get Jill out of there
before something happened to her.

“What a guy,
that Jacob,” I said. “I miss spending time with the old chap.” I had spent so
many Saturday nights being the third wheel with Jacob and Eve I felt entitled
to bash the guy. Anyway, he seemed to have made himself scarce, was even
rumored to be going out with some freshman, since Eve had gotten really bad, a
fact I hadn’t gotten my courage up to ask her about.

“He isn’t so
bad,” Jill said. “He actually asked me how I was doing today. It’s those
asshole friends of his I can’t stand. What business is it of Keanan’s whether I
make out with someone?”

“Well, I guess
it’s that it was a plural night,” I said. Not someone, but somebodies.”

“Jeez, Andy, I
thought you were my friend,” Jill said and shifted away from Tom, putting her
head on my shoulder.

“I am, sweetie,”
I said, and gave her a little pat. It felt good to me to console Jill. Her
regrets made mine seem, if not smaller, at least more private. I hadn’t been
drunk with Doug. I hadn’t made a spectacle of myself. My problem was personal.
I felt like my mind was being stretched in so many different directions, I no
longer knew who I was. But this wasn’t anything anyone at school needed to know
about. As far as my friends were concerned, I was the same old Andy.

And in a way, I
was, until after track practice.

Practice was
amazing. It could have been the warm weather - I felt so loose and ready to go.
My mind felt sort of blank, the dream-feeling finally lifting, like the bonding
with Jill and Tom had restored me to a more normal state. As soon as I hit the
track, I knew I had upped my pace but I felt comfortable right from my first
stride. I could see Coach Landy was impressed with how I was running. Don’t get
me wrong, I’m no star. I am strictly middle of the pack as far as track goes,
but I love being a miler. I love the all-out run for the four laps. I can’t say
why. I guess sprints are too competitive. Everything’s about the start and then
the burn to the finish. Anyway, I knew I’d run well when I stopped and Coach
Landy gave me my time. It was 5:55, the first time I’d ever broken 6 minutes. “Oh
my God, “ I said. “Awesome!” I collapsed on the bleachers and Naya and Melissa
pounded my back.

After I got
showered and changed, I felt kind of hyper and I couldn’t stop talking. That’s
how I made my major error. I started chatting with stupid Sharon, who was
hanging around after cheerleading practice. I was feeling so expansive, I
started telling Sharon, of all people, about the day at the beach with Eve.
“She was down near the water in the chair,” I was saying, “and the most amazing
thing happened...”

“Wait a minute,”
Sharon said and held up her hand, “You three - you and Douglas and Eve went to
the beach? When was he home?”

“Just, I don’t
know - last month,” I started to say. I could see something was on her mind.
“Why does it matter when it was?”

“I just didn’t
know he was home,” Sharon said. Then I felt my throat tighten, because why
would Sharon be surprised Doug was home if she wasn’t in touch with him? If he
wasn’t calling her when he came? Sharon was pretty slutty and she’d been going
over there to visit Eve once in a while. There must have been some look of
dread on my face, some shadow of guilt in my eyes, because when our eyes met,
it seemed like Sharon was having more or less the same thought about me at the
same time, so that I sort of flinched and looked away. Of course, Sharon is one
of those bitchy girls who can figure a thing out pretty damn quick and go right
on the offensive, even without any real evidence, so she just screamed out,
“You slept with Douglas O’Meara, you slut!”

It wasn’t that
she called me a slut that made me lose it. What happened between me and Doug
was all I’d thought about for the past few weeks; it was preying on me, so,
naturally, I’d figured it had some sort of significance. But if Doug was
messing around with Sharon too, then what happened between us was just Doug
being a dog and me crushing on him, like an idiot. I didn’t think Doug was in
love with me, but I didn’t think he was that much of a man-slut either. At any
rate, there was only one critical point that still mattered: I absolutely did
not want Eve to know what had happened, and if Sharon knew that was it. I was
screwed. That was when I started screaming. At first, I didn’t even know what I
was saying. It was like I was speaking in tongues.

“Jesus Christ,
you’re such a fucking freakshow,” Sharon said. And off she went. I was still
shaking as she walked away, but a part of me knew I was the crazy one. Crazy
for that night with Doug. Crazy for letting Sharon see what I was thinking.
Coach Landy and my loser track friends were all standing there at the top of
the grassy hill, still staring at me. Naya made a move like she was going to
come running toward me, but I saw Melissa hold her back, which was smart since
I was in no shape to talk. I just got in my car and left. I had tears in my
eyes that I kept wiping away with the sleeve of my sweatshirt. I kept imagining
what dad would say, how unsafe it was to cry while driving.
Either pull
over and weep, or get your act together and drive. I’m trying,
I told him in
my head.
Can’t
you see I’m trying?
When I got home, Mom was still at the after-school center.

Milly, in the
meantime, got dropped off by a friend’s mom, and let herself in. She saw me
sitting at the kitchen table with my head in my hands. “What’s wrong? Andy,
where’s Mom?” Milly got this panicky look on her face. I meant to just push her
away from me, because I couldn’t take her big brown eyes staring up at me, but
instead of hitting the side of her head, I caught her in the face. Of course,
since she’s like sixty-five pounds and has this tiny little nose, she started
bleeding all over the place. “Oh my God, Mill, I’m so sorry,” I kept saying,
grabbing half a roll of toilet paper, because I couldn’t find any damn kleenex.

“I know you
didn’t mean it!” She wailed, but you could see from the look in her eyes, I’d
really whacked her hard, and she was still a little afraid of me.

When Mom got
home five minutes later, there was blood all over the kitchen, and the two of
us were crying. I was done for.

I tried to keep
a low profile after that, thinking the whole thing might blow over. I sped
through dinner, and got back up to my room as quickly as possible. My room was
usually my favorite place to be. I had this amazing baby blue bean bag chair,
and this really cool painting Jill did last year. She’s hugely talented. It’s
of all these girls lying on beach chairs, but they’re all upside down, floating
in the air over the water. It usually gave me a calm feeling when I looked at
it - the kind of feeling you get when you read a poem and you think the poet
really got something right. That was the cool thing about Jill. She was
clueless, and she didn’t really see how awesome she was, but she could pull off
a painting like that. This time, though, I couldn’t find anything in the
picture to relate to. The girls just seemed dumb, or lazy, not caring where
they were. I wished Jill was a different sort of girl, one who wasn’t so
obsessed with bathing suits and bodies. I wished Jill had painted something
that showed how I felt then, buried up to my neck, unable to get out. I hated
Sharon. I hated myself for taking my shit out on Milly. Naturally, Mom told Dad
the whole story. Now, they were leaving me alone. Downstairs, no doubt, they
were having a grown-up style conversation about what the hell to do with me.