An Off Year (14 page)

“Cecily?” she said. “My advice? Don't worry so much.”

“Aren't you paid to get me to worry about it?”

“No,” she said. “I don't get kickbacks from schools for sending them there. I'll get your money regardless of whether you go to college or go get pregnant and have six kids and move to Peoria.”

“What?”

“Our hour is up,” she said sweetly. “Come back and see me if you want. Or don't.”

“Okay,” I said. I did sort of want to come back and see her again, just to talk to her, not even to help with college stuff. Maybe in some alternate universe.

“Okay,” she said.

I got up and put my vest on. “Good luck,” she said as I opened the door.

“You too,” I said. I had closed the door before I realized that I meant to say, “Thanks,” because I wasn't wishing her luck on anything, but I let it go.

 

 

The walk home wasn't nearly as bad as I had dreaded; in fact, it felt good to actually move around. I bought a hot chocolate on the way, which, of course, made the entire world more pleasant. Except for Germaine, who was in the kitchen when I got home, heating up a Lean Cuisine and basically making the entire kitchen reek.

“How was Leah?” she asked.

“Fine,” I said suspiciously. I didn't know Germaine was so in on my plans.

“I saw her once, you know,” she said. “She didn't help me at all. I think she's an idiot.”

“Well, I kind of liked her,” I said. She snorted and took out her dish of sadness, stirred it, and put it back in the microwave.

“So? What did she say?” she asked.

“Oh, you know . . .” I said, hoping to make that profound statement last until I could find Superhero's leash and get back out of the house. This was unpleasant.

“No, I
don't
know,” Germaine said. “I'm just curious about what she told you.”

“Why?” I asked. “Why should it matter to you?”

“Everybody just wants to know why, Cecily. That's really it. Once we know why, then we can just go back to ignoring you and let you have your little year off.”

I rolled my eyes. “Well, I don't know why, so fuck off.” The only thing that really bothered me was the way she said “everybody,” like everybody was gathering together to whisper about me. But of course, to her, that was what I wanted.

“Oh, come on,” said Germaine. “You can't have been that scared. It's not like you haven't gone away before. You're not completely socially inept. You're not fat. Are you crazy? Or are you just acting crazy because you want attention?”

“Yes,” I said. “That's exactly it. And oh how I enjoy this. I'm really having fun with the attention I'm getting right now.”

“I bet you are,” she said.

“You know, contrary to what you might think, I didn't orchestrate this just to piss you off,” I said. “I didn't really think this through at all. Okay? I did something and I clearly didn't have a follow-up plan. But I'll tell you this: if I knew it would be this much fun, I probably wouldn't have done it.”

“I want you to get a job,”
said Jane at our next appointment. This was possibly a good idea, as I was starting to get cabin fever as most people in Chicago did. Even though the rest of the country was apparently undergoing something called “spring,” here it was still winter. Still, going to work wasn't really my idea of what to do on spring break.

“Ah,” I said. “Believe it or not, I don't really need a lot of spending money. I'm actually saving money, when you think of it.”

“That's nice. It's not really so much about you earning cash. It's about direction.”

“Well, actually, I met with a college counselor—”

“You did?”

“Yeah, and we agreed that I probably should go back to school anyway.”

“Well, first of all, I think that's great that you met with a counselor,” said Jane, who looked so legitimately happy it was weird. “Was it helpful?”

“Um, yes and no. I'm probably just going to try to go back to Kenyon. I still think it's the school for me. We'll just see if it's the year for me.”

“Cecily, that's great! You have a plan, at least. That's a big step.”

“Oh stop. You're much too kind,” I said with pretend modesty, although I did feel embarrassed all of a sudden. I felt like I was being congratulated for getting a C on a test, or maybe just putting my socks on right-side-out.

“Well, anyway, you clearly still need to get out of the house and occupy yourself. And, yes, get a little spending money. Go out and have fun.”

“I'm not a big shopper,” I said. “Maybe you could take me.”

Jane ignored me. “Your dad works at the university, right? Maybe he can get you something?” She pulled out a piece of paper and began scrawling.

Actually, it wasn't unheard of for me to go help my dad out with filing from time to time (like when I wanted to escape having to see people). I didn't exactly love it, but there was something pleasant about hanging out in the offices.

“I guess, yeah.”

“And you'll at least be around some people your age. Ooh! In fact, maybe you can sit in on a class or two.”

“Okay, Jane. Let's not get crazy. Maybe I don't want to be around people my age. Maybe I should just work in a geriatric home or something. All the old people I know seem to take a shine to me—Dad, you . . .”

“You're very funny, you know that?” Jane said, and handed me the paper, which read, “Rx: Work!”

Ugh. For the first time I wished I
was
taking a fancy year off, because I bet I could be in Greece right now or something, getting swarthy and eating flaming cheese instead of agreeing to get a job
and
go to class. Greece definitely sounded more fun.

“Good-bye, Cecily.”

Gina was wearing headphones when I came out, listening to music so loud I could hear it from several feet away. I pounded on the countertop, just once, hard, with my fist, and fled before I could see her look up.

 

 

At home, Dad and I got into a stupid fight about me going to work with him. To summarize, it went something like this:

“Jane the Shrink says to ask if I can work with you a few days a week or something. I need structure and to get out of the house and to socialize.”

“Good, because I was going to tell you that you needed to find a job anyway.”

“Oh, you were going to
tell
me this? You were going to
make
me?” Suddenly the idea of working for my dad, which was only mildly annoying before, now seemed completely unfair.

“Yes.”

“What if I didn't want to work? What if I wanted to travel?”

“Well,
do
you want to travel?”

“No.”

“Sometimes I don't get you, Cecily.”

I shrugged. “I'm an enigma!”

He shook his head. “Don't be cute. Here's the deal. I'm not going to fund your year of sitting around doing nothing anymore. You're coming to work with me on Monday. End of story.”

“Fine!” I said, and ran outside with Superhero to try to calm down and figure out what I was upset about anyway. Dad and I hadn't been getting along so great lately, and it was making me feel guilty. Either I was clearly bugging him for, I think, not knowing what I was going to do with myself, or he was irritating me with his attempts to help me. I guessed he was being helpful, but I didn't want it.

It didn't help that by this time Germaine had found a job, too, one downtown doing some assistant work at a law firm. I don't think she was happy with it at all: she came home every day crabby from the commute and from doing boring work, but despite her irritability, she seemed to get along better with Dad, who was nicer to her now that she wasn't just lying around all the time. I didn't mind the concept of working when it was my own idea, but I didn't like it when it sounded mandatory. Plus, shouldn't I try to find a job somewhere other than Dad's university? I already knew that place. I was used to the vision of kids in backpacks crossing long paths on their way to class, the fliers taped to the ground advertising sit-ins or walkouts or dance marathons. I had been in the huge, scary library where everyone seemed strange and serious. I had seen the tour groups, wide-eyed or sullen kids and their parents being led around by some jerkoff prep kid walking backward, explaining excitedly how old the old clock tower was and the differences between the various a cappella singing groups on campus.

Dad would be farming me out for odd jobs around the department offices for a few days each week. To start off, I'd be filing for him. He had implemented a new filing system, finally, but he didn't want to inflict the pain of reorganizing everything on his personal assistant, Sue, so he was going to inflict it on me for ten dollars an hour.

We drove to his office. Dad showed me how the new system would work, and I sat on my butt on the floor, reorganizing in the history department's cozy reception area. I worked like this, in silence, for three hours. I didn't mind it, really. I liked organizing things. It brought hope to whatever I was working on at that moment, like everything would be new and clean and ready for the future. Every once in a while, Hugo, the snippy receptionist, would clear his throat in a way that seemed like he was hinting at something, but I'd look up and he'd still be looking at the computer. Hugo always pretended not to know who I was anytime I came by to visit or called Dad's office. For some reason, he seemed like he hated me, and that was fine. It probably would be a lot more boring in the office without someone to hate.

“Cecily,” Dad said, popping his head out eventually, “I have some meetings at lunchtime, so I can't eat with you. Is that okay?”

“Fine,” I said. “I understand you don't want me to cramp your style.”

“Here's some money,” he said. “You know where the food court is, right? Hugo can show you.”

“I know where it is,” I said. I didn't want to have to make small talk with Hugo, and I'm sure he felt the same way.

A chilly wind was blowing off the lake, making campus inhospitable, so I decided to avoid the food court and walk to Kafein, a dark and cozy café a few blocks away, where I could hide in a booth.

“'Scuse me,” said a girl walking past me on a cobblestone path that was typically shaded by trees in the summer. She looked about Germaine's age, maybe a little older. “Do you know where Kedzie Hall is?”

“Sorry,” I said. “I don't go here.”

“Oh,” she said, looking annoyed. “Thanks.” I couldn't really blame her for being annoyed. I probably looked like I went there. Otherwise, why would I just be running around on campus, unleashed?

At lunch, I had a tuna salad sandwich on a pita and some potato chips and read one of the many free weekly papers that were spread carelessly throughout the coffee shop. Life in the city. It was sort of a mystery to me. Of course, we went into town all the time for dinner or plays or museum exhibits or baseball games, but we always came back home. Growing up and moving into a high-rise, walking to the grocery store, taking the bus a few blocks to listen to a concert? It seemed as attainable to me as becoming a professional skier.

I took a hot chocolate to go, walked back, and sat on one of the many cold marble benches that were scattered around campus—they all had dates stamped in the stone, for the class that had donated them. You'd think an entire class could afford to donate more than just a bench, but maybe they were more expensive than they looked. I felt like a spy, blending in with these other kids. I played a game—could I see myself among these students? Was I one of them, just waiting to bloom? Or was I really just not cut out for college? My hypothesis was that I'd find 75 percent of the people who left or entered the building repellent in some way.

At first I was pleased. A bunch of girls exited a dorm looking like the Louis Vuitton Mafia: they all wore expensive winter ski coats and carried big purses on their arms and sported jeans that I recognized from Germaine's closet as costing close to two hundred dollars a pair. They seemed to be giggling about something, probably guys. And, as they passed by me, I saw their eyes glance over me, just quickly enough to know that they were evaluating me somehow. To be honest, I would have thought they were bitches even if they hadn't looked at me.

But then classes must have let out, because dozens of kids suddenly came pouring out of the nearby classroom buildings. I saw all different kinds of people at once—nerds, athletes, weirdos, but mostly people who I couldn't really categorize, people in jeans and backpacks and gym shoes. I got cold, and the game grew boring.

 

 

Dad also liked Jane's idea of me taking a class, so he arranged for me to audit an introduction to art history. It was a lecture, so I wouldn't have to participate and I wouldn't have to take the final or even do homework if I didn't want to.

“What's the point, then?” I asked when he told me on the drive home from campus, and I instantly regretted it, because I already knew what he'd say.

“Are you really asking me this question?” he said. “This is what I do for a living. What's the point? Oh, I don't know, how about
to learn
?” he said, his voice rising. “To sit around with people your own age and do what people your age do? Or maybe I'm just trying to torture you.”

“You're right, I'm sorry,” I said.

He was quiet for a second. “If you really don't want to do this, then don't, Cecily,” Dad said. “But I'm trying to help you. I'm not really sure how to help you right now, so you either need to give me input or just give me a break.”