An Off Year (17 page)

 

 

Within a few hours, I emerged in good old Wisconsin. I followed Dad's directions until I reached a small lake and a dome appeared on the horizon. I drove toward it and suddenly, after traveling the cold veins of the highway and passing roadside oases and crappy chain restaurants, I was spit out into a small town, with cute restaurants, cute theaters, cute stores, and young people strolling around. This was it. I turned right and found a parking space. I pulled out my cell phone.

After I'd described where I had put the car (somewhere near a bar, and a store, and a coffee shop), Josh found me and helped me with my stuff. I didn't recognize him until he came up to the car; he wore a maroon sweatshirt and his hair had gotten a little longer, curly and unrulier on top than usual, plus he had a few days' beard.

“Hey,” I said, getting out of the car. I wasn't sure whether we should hug. We typically only hugged when we were expected to.

“Hey,” he said. “Pop the trunk.” Instead of hugging, he went to help with my stuff, which was more efficient anyway.

We walked down the street, turning and heading past a church, then some houses that looked like they should have been condemned, except that they all had neon beer signs in the windows, indicating to me that they were indeed occupied, either by college students or people who worked for the Miller factory.

Josh led me to a brick building, and we hiked up two flights of stairs. “Here we are.” He opened the door. It had never really occurred to me that Josh could be living anywhere other than our house. Whenever I had heard about his freshman-year dorm, I just imagined a version of his room at home, only with a roommate. This was an actual apartment. The living room was carpeted in dingy brown, and the window looked out across the alley, so we had a good view of his neighbor's truck on cinder blocks. Josh flipped on a television, and soon the room was illuminated. It obviously provided the main source of light for the place.

“Jesus, Josh. How big is that thing?”

“You like it? It's a plasma screen. Oh, you should call Dad, probably,” Josh said, handing me the phone. “He only told me, like, ninety times to have you call when you got in.”

“Hi, love,” said Dad after I called, and immediately, I heard Germaine screaming in the background about whether I had gone into her bathroom.

“Hi, I just wanted to let you know that I made it and I'm alive. Josh does not live in a hellhole and I drove the speed limit the entire time.”

“Hold on a second,” Dad said, his voice rising with annoyance. “I can't hear you because your sister is home and she's speaking right now.” I heard the phone rattle and then “WOULD YOU SHUT UP?” I smirked at the phone.

“Okay, well, I'm glad to hear that everything is fine,” he said, getting back on the phone. “Did you give Josh that cash?”

“I spent it at a strip club off the highway,” I said, pulling the wad out of my pocket and handing it to Josh, who didn't seem to find it weird that I was handing him a bunch of money.

“Nice,” said Dad. “Put your brother on the phone, please. Have fun this weekend, okay? I want you to look around at the campus and talk to people, but I want you to have fun, too.”

Josh took the phone and asked Dad about a paper he was working on for class. I looked out the window. A couple of girls were lying on towels in the grubby yard across the street, listening to iPods, their tank tops folded up to show their blindingly white stomachs. It was only May, and it was cloudy.

“Well,” Josh said when he got off the phone, “do you want a little tour of the campus?”

“Sure. Oh, before I forget, Germaine said she wanted a something Bucky shirt.”

“Fuck 'em Bucky?”

“Yeah, I guess that's it.”

He snorted. “What is she going to do with a Fuck 'em Bucky shirt?”

“I don't know, maybe she wants to give it to Conrad. Anyway, I've heard so much about these famous Fuck 'em Bucky shirts and I still have no idea what they are, so I'm just curious now what it is we're talking about.”

“I'll show you,” Josh said. “I'll buy Germaine's and I'll get one for you, too.”

We walked down the street and turned onto the main drag, which was lined with bars, restaurants, and head shops, which had small clumps of dingy-looking kids gathered in front. We turned into one of the numerous college apparel stores named things like Badger Bin and Madison Madhouse. The store was brightly lit, and racks and racks of T-shirts and sweatshirts and shorts and mugs stretched to the back of the store. Clothing hung from round displays, on the walls, on shelves. It had the smell of fresh sweatshirts and iron-on decals. A local radio station blared a weird mix of heavy metal and hip-hop.

The university name was printed on everything, from underwear to child-size cheerleading uniforms to gigantic beer steins. My favorite was a T-shirt that said UNIVERSITY OF WISCONSIN on it over a pattern of Hawaiian-looking waves, as if surf was always up in the Midwest.

We reached the back of the store, and Josh pointed up on the wall. A handful of T-shirts featured a crabby-looking badger puffing out his chest, wearing a turtleneck sweater and turning up his middle finger (claw?) at the wearer. And they said FUCK 'EM BUCKY!

“Bucky?” I was dismayed to see a cute animal behaving so rudely.

We strolled around campus. I liked that there were some wooded areas and was intrigued by a hill that Josh said students used cafeteria trays to go sledding down when it snowed. He kept pointing out buildings that I instantly forgot the name and purpose of. The library, the arts building, the gym, the bad dorms, the good dorms, the frat houses. They were all nice, but frankly I didn't care that much about where people took their science classes or didn't.

“So what do you think?” Josh asked as we stopped in front of some hulking building so I could tie my shoe.

“It's very nice. Brick,” I said. I hoped he wasn't going to give me a quiz like Dad, because I wasn't sure what this one was, even though he had just told me. The astrology building?

“No, I mean, you know. Overall.”

“It's fine,” I said. “It looks like campus back home, only different.” This was true. It was even on a lake, although one inferior to Lake Michigan. “It's more spread out. But otherwise the same.”

“Yeah,” said Josh. “In a lot of ways, they're all sort of the same.”

“That kind of sucks,” I said.

He shrugged. I wished I were home.

 

 

Later, after we'd seen most of campus, Angie met us on the patio of the student union for dinner. It was still a little chilly and gray, but with our jackets on, it wasn't too bad out. It was nice sitting on the lake, even if it was a lesser lake than what I was used to. Groups of students, adults, and families with little kids clustered around the metal tables scattered about, enjoying the tolerable weather. I had to admit, I had been looking forward to seeing Angie. I had simply given up on trying not to like her.

“So, Cecily,” said Angie, “do you think you might want to go here?”

“I probably won't—I didn't apply anywhere else, and it looks like Kenyon will take me back if, you know, everything works out. But I don't see why I wouldn't otherwise. What are the people like? Is it, like, a big party school?” I cringed saying that phrase.

“Sure,” said Josh.

“It's not annoying?”

“Sometimes it is,” Josh said. “But I just think that you can't really get away with a lot of the same stuff once you graduate, so I enjoy it. I mean, I hope I don't become one of those guys who is a college guy after college or anything.”

“You probably will be,” I said.

“Thanks,” Josh said.

 

 

The next morning I woke up in Josh's bed and briefly panicked when I couldn't remember where I was. Then, when I did, I panicked again, realizing I still had another day to spend here, away from home. The room felt stuffy and hot. It was sure to be a long day.

After I showered (with the tiny dried-up sliver of the only thing in the bathroom that resembled soap), I stood in the steamy bathroom, almost crying from exhaustion as I tried to comb out my hair. I had forgotten a hairbrush, and the only thing available in the bathroom was a tiny black plastic comb, the kind they give out on class picture day. It was totally inefficient in my hair, which could be so thick sometimes that I was convinced a family of birds could live in it with no problem. I wondered if it would be acceptable just for me to leave the comb in there. Finally, I half combed it out with my fingers and pulled it back with a rubber band. By the time I was done, I was hot and sweaty.

Josh was sitting on the couch watching TV when I got out of the bathroom.

“You look uncomfortable,” he said.

“I
am
,” I said. “Thanks for asking.”

“Well, I went and got us bagels while you were in the shower,” he said. “One of the perks of getting up early on a Saturday: you get first pick, since everyone is still sleeping it off.” He heaved himself off the ugly plaid couch to grab a coffee off the counter. Slightly mollified, I picked an everything bagel from the paper bag.

“Sorry to keep you from going out and getting hammered,” I said.

“Well, I don't do it that much anyway,” Josh said. “But I appreciate the sentiment.”

“I didn't really know that was an option in college,” I said.

“What?”

“Not drinking.”

“Well,” Josh said, stirring his coffee.

“But you drink.”

“Sure. But not so much now that I'm dating Angie. We're not really the get-shitfaced-together kind of couple.”

“What did you do before Angie?” I crammed bagel halves into the toaster and prayed that they wouldn't get stuck and catch on fire.

“Sure, I went out. I bought a fake I.D. It was the worst. It was from Wyoming, supposedly. The photo didn't even fit into the frame that well. There was a little space of just clear plastic to the side.”

“Did you like it?”

“The I.D.?”

“No, going out.”

“Sure. Why not? But after a while it feels like a routine, I guess. The same people going to the same places, dancing to the same songs. And I only really went out on the weekends; some people go out more than they stay in, so I don't know what that was like for them.”

“What do you do when you don't go out and drink?”

“There are things to do on campus. Cheap movie night. Concerts. Some big bands and comedians come in.” We settled on the couch and finished our bagels in silence as Josh channel-flipped on the huge TV. Part of me wanted to know if this is what I came for—hanging out on the couch, which I could just as easily do at home—but at least I was watching TV in a different state. That had to count for something.

After breakfast, Angie came by. She and Josh were going to multitask—showing me more of Madison while simultaneously buying supplies for the party that was to come tonight, the one that would inevitably publicly reveal my many issues and probably scar me for life. “Are you having fun so far?” asked Angie as we headed to the car.

“I haven't done much so far,” I said. “But sure, I'm having a good time.”

“Cecily isn't doing anything at home anyway,” said Josh. “So this isn't much of a vacation for her. It's like a weekend-long playdate.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” I asked. “And anyway, screw you. I've been working and going to class. I haven't just been sitting around.” We had reached the car. Angie was standing in front of it, and Josh and I were standing by the driver's side. “What are you doing?” I asked.

“I figured I could drive,” he said.

“I drove up here,” I said. “I know how to fucking drive a car.” My face felt hot and I was embarrassed to be doing this in front of Angie.

“I know,” he said. He stopped and tried again in a quieter voice. “I know. But I know the town better than you, and it might be easier if I'm driving than us yelling directions at you and stressing you out.”

I looked over at Angie, who was carefully studying the hood of the car.

“Fine,” I said, and handed him the keys.

I was ready to have a good, babyish mope in the backseat, but Angie wouldn't let me sit there.

“You kids are fun to hang out with,” she said.

“Do you have roommates, Angie?” I asked as Josh backed out of the parking spot.

“Yeah,” she said. “I live with five other girls. It's hell on earth.”

“Jeez,” I said. “I wouldn't be able to stand it.”

“Yeah,” she said. “It sucks unbelievably. And the thing is, they're all—well, they're mostly—all my good friends,” she said, “and we still are. But we just can't live together.”

“How come?” I said.

“Oh you know,” said Josh. “They're always stealing one another's boyfriends and being prettier and thinner than one another.”

“I wish that was all bullshit,” she said. “But that's some of it.”

“What's the rest of it?”

“I think it's a little easier when you are just in a dorm room, because there's less to worry about. It's one room,” she said. “But when you're in an apartment, there are more common areas. There are groceries to worry about, and the kitchen. And some people don't know how to do dishes, which is fucking pathetic when you're twenty years old. Like, wouldn't you think it was bad to put dishes away when they still had food stuck to them?”