Better Than Running at Night (25 page)

He said something I couldn't hear, but I could tell it was a question from his intonation. His voice was so deep, it didn't carry over the music.

"Hang on," I said, turning down Tchaikovsky.

Sam's face was still fixed on the door.

"I said, Do you mind if I look?"

"No, go ahead!" I said. "You didn't have to stay turned around like that!"

"I don't know," he mumbled. "I thought you might want to keep it private."

He walked over to my easel.

The mirror was still leaning against the wall. Beside the mirror, I'd hung the old drawing, which I'd fixed up a bit since my talk with Ed. Books, photocopies, and sketches were splayed all over a table beside the easel.

"Whoa! Check it out!" Sam said.

"I'm still working on it," I said. "I'm having trouble with the ribs. It's hard keeping track of which line belongs to which rib."

"Ribs are your specialty," he said, smiling.

He looked heavy, with his bulky coat and overstuffed backpack.

I took a seat on my bed.

He kept standing.

"Hey, can I have some water?" he asked.

"Help yourself," I said. "But first take off your bag and jacket."

He took off the backpack and laid it by the door. The coat he
hung neatly on a chair. Then he went to the kitchen. I heard him opening cupboards, in search of a glass.

Just before I could tell him where to look, he said, "You keep poison on your spice rack?"

I laughed.

"It doesn't look like poison," he said.

"What, you're a poison expert?"

He walked toward me, holding the jar. "No, but I'm a different kind of expert. And I suspect this falls under my area of expertise."

"You sure?"

He opened the jar and smelled it. "Oh, yeah. I'm sure. But what are you doing with this? I thought you weren't a fan."

"I'm not," I said. "Someone gave it to me."

"Are you for real?"

"Unfortunately, yes. You can have it, if you want," I said. "I hear it's good stuff."

His eyes brightened as he lifted his cap from his eyes. "Really?"

"Yeah."

"Whoa, thanks," he said, standing stiffly before me. "I should do something to repay you."

I gestured for him to sit beside me on the bed.

He sat, leaving a two-inch space between us.

I scooted over and closed the gap.

I was about to put my hand on his back, when the side of his leg, his vastus lateralis, tightened and he backed away.

"We can't do this, Ellie."

"Do what?"

He kicked at a knot in the floor.

"You know," he said.

"What are you saying?"

He unscrewed the jar lid, then twisted it back in place.

"I think," he began, then took a deep breath. "I think you're flirting with me. And it's not that I don't like it. I do. It's just I wish you'd done this earlier."

"What are you talking about?" I scooted back a few inches.

He untwisted the jar lid again.

"Look, Ellie. I had a huge crush on you over Wintersession. You knew it. And you know I know you knew it. So don't play dumb. But I gave up because I thought you didn't want to ... you know..."

"What?"

"Go out, or whatever."

"But I was dating someone."

"Yeah, him. As if that mattered. You could've left him so easily."

"Let's not get into that. What about now?"

"Well, now I'm seeing someone. I met her over break and we really hit it off."

"You don't have to sound so apologetic," I said. "I don't really know what I was thinking, anyway." I took a deep breath and exhaled out loud. "This is all pretty embarrassing."

After a long silence, he looked at me and pulled his cap upwards.

"Don't be embarrassed," he said. "I'm just glad you're not still with that Nate guy. You aren't, are you?"

"No." I coiled up and hugged my knee. "I'm not. Sometimes I wish I was. But I know it wouldn't be right."

"Oh my God," he said. "Ellie, you're in exactly the same position as your drawing. That's got to be totally symbolic or something!"

"Long time no see," Nate said. His hair had grown out and sat tamely on his head.

I suddenly felt like shriveling up into a little ball and rolling away. I hadn't noticed him coming toward me down the hill, and I wasn't prepared to talk to him.

"Hey," I said.

"How are things?"

"Fine," I said. "But I wish spring would get here already."

"Do you want to hang out sometime?" he asked, touching my elbow.

"I'm really busy these days."

"No, I mean just as friends. I swear."

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if we just sat down and talked in some neutral place. Maybe what we really needed was to talk.

"We'll go for coffee," he said. "Completely platonic."

"How about now?" I wanted to do it before I changed my mind.

We went to True Brew on Main Street. And as we sat, I realized there was nothing to say. There was nothing to say as friends because we never had been friends. Right from the start we were lovers. The Devil and a gypsy.

"Hey, do you know who Elvis was?" I asked.

"Elvis? What do you mean? Everybody's heard of Elvis."

"No, the guy dressed as Elvis! At the Artist's Ball."

"I don't know," he said. "Some guy."

His hand was rumbling on the table and his knees wouldn't stay still.

"Why won't you answer my messages?" he asked.

"Because it's not right," I said. "We're not right. You have a girlfriend."

"But I told you, we have—"

He started swishing his coffee cup. Round and round.

"I know, an open relationship. I can't be a part of it."

"Well, if we never talk to each other again, it'll be all your fault," he said. "I'm trying."

I was about to disagree but before I could, the coffee slipped out of Nate's grasp and skidded to the edge of the table, where it finally fell on his lap.

"Shit!" he yelled. When he stood up, it looked like he'd peed in his pants. "Shit, shit!" he yelled again, and ran to the bathroom.

I grabbed a pile of napkins and brought them to the table. Coffee rivers were dribbling from under our table to the surrounding tables. A J. Crew modelly-looking woman snatched her suede purse from the floor to keep it from getting wet. A guy in a striped tie lifted what looked like a laptop.

I'd need another pile of napkins to clean it all up.

I started walking to the counter to get more, but instead of stopping when I got there, I walked right out the door. By the time I got to the corner I was running.

My quadriceps and hamstrings contracted and relaxed as fast as they could. I hadn't run in a while. I wished it was dark out, and nobody else was on the streets watching me run.

I remembered how exciting it used to feel, running home from Nate's at night. It's funny: I'd mistaken that exhilaration for independence, for a sense of confidence in a situation beyond my control. I would run there with the feeling that of all the girls in Nate's life, he liked me best. And I'd run home, trying to hold on to as much of that feeling as I could. But if Nate had really felt that way about me, I wouldn't have needed to run.

When I turned onto Artist's Row I was already winded. I kept going anyway.

And I ran all the way home without looking back.

A few days later I got an e-mail from Nate:

i'm not sure what's going on with you but you won't LISTEN to me so i'm writing and i hope you'll read this all the way through, i really feel like we're honestly HONESTLY soul mates, i feel like we could work things out. the only thing that's wrecking this is YOU. maybe you don't realize how good we are for each other because you're so inexperienced, i've been with a lot of girls, like i told you, and it doesn't get any better than it was with you. what about our father connection? how can you just give that up? we NEED each other, i need you to help GET ME THROUGH my mom's wedding, nobody else can comfort me right now.

and i hope hope hope this isn't about stupid sloane. remember, YOU were in on the joke. SHE wasn't.

that's all from me until you CARE, going once, going twice...

I didn't write back.

I had a feeling "GET ME THROUGH my mom's wedding" meant "GET ME SOME sex because nobody will give it to me this week."

The weird thing is, part of his note seemed right. Part of me felt like I still needed him. But I wasn't sure it was him exactly that I needed.

There was something he had dead wrong, though. One of us did know our dad.

Or at least knew enough.

Halfway through the semester, Gregg gave us midterm evaluations. We had to sign up for times to meet with him individually. We were supposed to prepare something outside of class to show him.

Blue mohawk guy was waiting outside the door to the classroom when I showed up for my time. Gregg was running a little behind schedule. I had brought my drawings for Ed with me, since I had nothing else to show.

Blue mohawk was carrying a plastic wastebasket.

"What's that for?" I asked him.

"I can puke on command," he said, grinning. "Gregg's gonna love it."

"I bet he will."

That was a talent I sometimes wished I had in Gregg's class.

In a few minutes, the door opened and Sam came out.

Blue mohawk entered the room.

"You next?" Sam asked.

"Yeah."

"Are those your drawings for Ed?"

"They are."

"Man, good luck," he said. "I was jumping around like a monkey and making ape noises, just because I thought he'd like it. But he said I was faking, and that I didn't really want to be acting like a monkey. Which I guess is right, but I thought it would get me a good grade."

"What a jerk," I said. "Are you going anywhere now?"

"I'm meeting someone for dinner," he said. "Why?"

"Do you want to hang out until dinner? You could stick around and wait for me."

"Sure."

When blue mohawk exited the room, he had a gleam in his eye. The wastebasket was empty.

The place stank when I walked in.

A puddle of vomit lay beneath Gregg's swinging legs. Stray specks were spattered on his shoes.

"He missed the bucket," Gregg said. His mini oval glasses barely had frames. The lenses looked like two clear disks floating on his face.

"By a lot," I said.

"What've you got for me? It's gonna be hard to beat the guy who went before you."

I unrolled my drawings.

"You've
got
to be kidding," he said.

"About what?"

"This is exactly the garbage I told you guys I didn't want to see in here."

"What's wrong with it?"

"It's so old school," he said. "There's no way you can do anything that hasn't already been done before."

"What if I don't care?" I challenged. "What if all I want to do is represent real life?"

"Why represent real life when we're surrounded by it? Art should be a way of escaping real life."

His legs swung faster.

"If you tore that drawing up, it would be more of a statement."

"What if I just walked out of this meeting?"

"That—" He laughed. "That's more like it! You've got me there!"

I stormed out, drawings flapping at my side.

"What happened?!" Sam asked when he saw me emerge from the room all worked up.

"I think I won him over," I said. "Not on purpose. But I won't fail."

"I've got to hear this," he said. "I'm supposed to meet Hannah in the dining hall in an hour. That should give us more than enough time."

"Is Hannah your girlfriend?"

"Yeah." His ears reddened.

"Let's not talk here," I said. "I want to get away from Gregg and his fan club."

It was almost completely dark outside. Without the sun it was pretty cold. We needed to find a nearby building to pass the time until Sam had to go.

"I've got an idea," I said.

The Garage was completely empty. I'd never seen it with all the lights off. It seemed like dead bodies probably could rise out of those sinks. But once the lights were on, it was the same old Garage.

Sam slouched across from me on a stool as I described my "evaluation" with Gregg.

"Right on," Sam said. "You know, you were right when you said I'd get sick of him."

"Really?"

"Yeah, for the first time I felt like a total idiot in that classroom."

"You never felt like an idiot doing Gregg's dumb assignments?"

"No, man," he said. "Usually it's fun, 'cause there are all these other people jumping around too. You're all in it together, you know? But doing it alone doesn't feel like art. It's just you acting like a weirdo in front of a guy who's judging you."

"That's part of why I can't stand him," I said. "He's so judgmental. I mean, I want my teachers to be hard on me, but his standards are so inconsistent. One minute he cheers you on if you're, let's say, acting like a monkey, and the next minute he accuses you of not feeling it enough."

"Maybe if I'd had a banana I would've seemed more into it. The worst part is, he'll probably fail me for not really wanting to be a monkey."