Truths of the Heart (26 page)

The windows raised, a spring breeze billowed the thin white curtains. Scents
of thawing earth. A flash of lightning, muffled thunder, it began to rain.
Smelling the rain, he stared at his computer screen and, as ideas stirred, he
began a final draft of “Ben's Story.”

A little after 5:00 A.M. he finished the story, ran a spell check,
grammar check, and printed the manuscript.

Looking at the inch thick stack of pages, he leaned to look at it from
a slightly different angle and fear nagged—Rachelle might not like it. Then he
rationalized that it was only a class project and Rachelle must have read much
worse. More intriguing, he realized that one of the things that had kept him
working on the story through the past months was his need to please her, how he
could have her. More to the point, he wanted his thoughts to be inside her, a
part of her. These words, read by her, would be a part of her forever.

Damn!

“Tomorrow,” he whispered. “Tomorrow, I'll take the manuscript to Rachelle.”

CHAPTER FIVE

Asleep on his sofa, Seth woke to a light tapping sound outside an open window.
He went to the window and looked out. Chirping sparrows flittered about a rain
gutter and came a thought:
birds, the world over, chirp pretty much the same
language.

After a glass of milk and toast with pineapple jam, Seth showered,
groomed himself and dressed. He chose slacks from a gray suit (the only suit he
had), long sleeve white shirt (also one-of-a-kind), light blue sweater, and his
black flight boots. As he readied to depart, he stepped to the desk and, before
putting his manuscript in a manila envelope; he paused briefly and looked at
the neatly stacked seventy five pages. It was almost as if he didn't want to
part with the work. But the thought he had earlier—Rachelle reading his words,
the words becoming a part of her … he put the manuscript in the envelope.

He had a thought:
creative works or writings never live until seen,
held, are read by another human being … a book not read is like a life unborn.

He smiled to himself.
If things go smoothly, she gives me an
opening, I'll ask her to pose for a painting, maybe even go to lunch.

Hope, promise of a new beginning, manuscript under his arm, he went to the
door to leave, opened it, stepped into the hall and almost stumbled over Laura.
He drew back.

Curled up, dressed in a black rain coat, she lay on the hallway floor.
Her hair knotted, mascara smeared, smelling stale, she looked up at him.

“Laura, what in the deuces are you … are you insane!”

Pathetic eyes mooned up at him.

“Laura, get up.” He took her arm.

She stood.

He said, “What are you doing?”

She stared blankly through strangled hair.

He took her inside to the kitchen. Sat her at the table.

She said, “What's that under your arm?”

“A class project, I have to go to the campus, I have to turn it in.”

Picking her hair, “I'll wait.”

“Laura, get something to eat, make yourself some coffee, take a shower,
I have to go.”

In a whisper she said, “When … you be back?”

“I don't know, I have classes, work.”

She handed him her car keys, “Take my car.”

“Laura … no. I'll take the bus. Get yourself cleaned up. I have to go.
But listen to me. Are you listening?”

She nodded.

“When I get back you better be gone. It's over, understand. Understand?”

She folded her arms on the table and buried her face.

Seth, mind in a daze, arrived at Dr. Zannes's office at 9:50. Assistant
Kay Jackson greeted him, “Good morning, Senior.”

“I have an appointment with Dr. Zannes.”

“Can't you say good morning?”

“Good morning … is she in?”

Flippantly she turned to her computer, began typing, and said, “Yes,
she is.”

“Would you please tell her I'm here for my appointment?”

Keying information, Kay said, “She's in conference with Dean Rait.”

Seth said, “I'll wait.”

She stopped, looked at him, “She'll be awhile, last minute budget
stuff, just came up. What did you want?”

“I have my writing project, Com. 501.”

“Oh, just that.”

“Oh, just that!”

“Chill out.”

“I'll wait.”

“Suit yourself. But, like I said, she'll be awhile.”

“No problem.” Seth sat beside the door to Dr. Zannes’ office.

He could hear voices, faintly, Rachelle, another male.

It became 10:30. Kay looked up from her keyboard. “Are you sure you don't
want to leave that thing with me?”

“Thing, did you say thing?”

“Give me a break … okay, your project.” She stood and expanded her
chest toward Seth. “Did you want a cup of coffee or something? Z could be in
there another hour, then she has a luncheon.”

“Would you just please tell her that Seth is here to turn his project
in, I have a class at 11:00.”

“Whatever makes you happy.” Kay went to Dr. Zannes’ partially opened
door and rapped gently.

“Yes,” Dr. Zannes responded from inside.

Kay opened the door a crack more and said: “Dr. Zannes, excuse me. Seth
Trudow is here to see you, he has his writing project … Com. 501, says he has
an appointment....”

“Who?”

“Seth Trudow, Com. 501.”

Seth:
She sounds like I'm some bar code on a box of cereal
.

Rachelle’s voice: “Oh, yes, just tell him to leave it with you, and
close the door, thank you.”

“Thank you.” Kay closed the door, smiled a cocky told-you-so, and said,
“Hey guy, I tried to tell ya.”

Seth squeezed the envelope. His thoughts were upside down. Rachelle might
not even read his words. This Kay bubble head would skim through his work, red
pencil it, and throw it in a pile like yesterday's newspaper. Rachelle didn't
even seem to remember his name. He felt betrayed, sick. His palms stuck to the
envelope.

Kay, holding her hand out, smiled.

Gagging inside, he handed her his manuscript, left, skipped classes,
lunch, wanted to skip it all, not hungry,

The rebuff killed him.
Like spring's promise quashed in a foot of
snow,
he thought as he walked, just walked, walked, walked around campus,
around, down to the Red Cedar. Walked and thoughts raced:
I had stupidly
thought I would be meeting with her, sitting at her conference table, looking
at her,
shaking her hand, smelling her, seeing her, talking to her. I
even had the asinine idea of asking her to lunch. Even fantasized that she
would go. Jerk.

He went to his shift at da Vinci's but, his mind a million miles away, dropping
things, ignoring customers, he was sent home early.

Thoughts of going home, images of Laura still at his apartment … he
didn't need this. He had to talk. He took a bus to Pudd'nheads. Entering the
tavern, he heard Jude playing “They Didn't Believe Me”. He put a dollar in her
case, made a little waved to her, went to the bar, and ordered a ginger beer.

Jude, seeing famine in his posture, face, movement, finished the song
and went to him. “Tru, you don't look so hot.”

“Damn.”

“What?”

“Damn.”

“What?”

“Long night of doubt. I hate it.”

“What?”

“Art and all its skinniness feeling sorry selfishness. And for what?
Give me money, not gifts. My stomach hurts, my chest hurt. My head hurts.”

“Like wow, what happened?”

He took one of Jude's Kents and lit it.

“You don't smoke.”

He inhaled deeply, coughed.

“Give me that.”

“You think this is a movie. This is real. I hurt.” He recited: “'O
rose, thou are sick! The invisible worm, That flies in the night, in the
howling storm, has found out thy bed, of crimson joy, and his dark secret love
does thy life destroy.'”

Jude: “Oh, wow. What's that from?”

“'The Sick Rose,' William Blake.”

“It's the apparition isn't it?”

He stared into his ginger beer.

“I knew it, I told you.”

“That doesn't help.”

Rubbing his back, “Poor Seth.”

“This is crazy, I have to get out of this. Who needs this rot, for
what, to get what, go where? I'm going to re-up. Uncle Sam feeds you, clothes
you, houses you, pays you....”

“Kills you.”

“You gotta die of something.”

“Wow, original. Why don't you just go hang yourself, get it over with quick.”

“A dreamer, a rotten dreamer.”

“Marry me, I'll make it go away.”

“I love you too much.”

After a minute to think that over, she said, “So what did the
apparition do to start all this moody blues do-a-diddy.”

“Nothing.”

“Come on.”

“I took my project over there and she didn't even know who I was.
Didn't even know my name. I was some bar code on a box of cereal.”

“I told you before you were living in a dream world with her.”

“More help. Thanks. Why did you have to tell her I was in the
hospital?”

“Oh, now it's all my fault.”

“Wish you had not done that.”

“No you don't.”

“Yes. I was getting over her.”

“Listen to you.”

“I was.”

“Maybe this is good, maybe this is the time to get her out of your
system once and for all, futile anyway, and besides professors never read any
of that project stuff anyway. Grad assistants do the grunt work.”

“Great, just great, more help. You could be a nurse, tending to hospice
patients.”

“Come on, you're being ridiculous. I love you.”

“Go sing.”

“What are you doing later tonight?”

“I don't know, go home, I have a ton of work to do, but….”

“But what?”

“Laura might be there.”

“Are you shittin me? I thought you had ... what do you mean, might be there?”

“She just showed up this morning, spaced out, like she had slept at my door,
what was I supposed to do?”

“Kick her ass out, that's what you're supposed to do.”

“I couldn't do that.”

“You're hopeless. I'm going to finish my gig then come to your
apartment. If she's still there I'm personally going to kick her ass out, then
rape you.”

“No, you're not.”

“Wanna bet.”

“No and don't even think about it.”

****

Seth took a bus, got home. Not knowing what to expect, afraid what he might
find, he opened the door to his apartment and stopped—stale cigarette smoke,
smell of alcohol, marijuana, the stench of vomit.

He heard water running in the bathroom. The door partially closed, he pushed
it open. The tub overflowing, Laura, nude, lay on the floor. An empty Asti
bottle lay to one side. To the other, a spoon, syringe, and cigarette lighter.
A thin rubber tube dangled loosely from her outstretched left arm.

Vomit on the floor, he swallowed hard, stepped around her, turned the water
off, then knelt beside her.

“Laura.” He felt her arms, wrists. Cool, but she had a pulse.

He managed to get his arms around her, pick her up and drag her to the kitchen
where he began stumbling with her to the living room, back and forth.

She rambled and he thought he caught her smiling. He let go and she
fell to the floor. He got her up and after a half hour, coffee into her, he put
her to bed

He tried to sleep on the sofa. But he had visions of that greyhound
dog's throat being slit at Laura’s Valentine party. He went to the bath, locked
the door, spread a towel, and slept on the floor. Maybe all this was a sign, a
really good season to get way from everything in this nutty nightmare story of
his life.

Split, leave the insanity, chuck it all. Re-up. Damn this insanity....

****

In the morning, when Laura had awakened from her stupor, Seth sat her down
and told her eye ball to eye ball, for the last time, it was over, done, could
never be, they were worlds apart, and that was it. He didn't love her. He
wanted to say he was sorry if he misled her but he knew if he showed any sign
of weakness she would read mountains into it and he would be right back in the
soup.

“Laura, do you understand what I'm telling you? It's over.”