Light Years (22 page)

But after they left, I was back, living in the gloom. The days were short and gray. The nights were long and cold. I began to really regret coming to Virginia. I missed them so much and I ached to be warm, to be home again and not so far away.

I hadn’t spoken with Justin since our fight in the library. I had switched out of his section—a bureaucratic mess—and I didn’t have a class with him this semester. I didn’t walk by the history department at night anymore. If I could run away from my homeland, it was a simple matter to retreat from one human being.

One night, Tiffany, my hallmate and sometime friend, was getting ready for yet another party. She stopped by my room and invited me to come.

“It’s a frat mixer and I think you’ll really like it. There’re some really cool guys there and you’ve never really met my sisters. A bunch of them will be there.” Tiffany had rushed at the
same time that Payton had and been inducted into a sorority, though not the same one. Payton was gone for the weekend, on some sort of retreat, and I had the room to myself. But for once, I wasn’t looking forward to solitude.

“I don’t know,” I told her, rubbing my face. “I’m pretty busy.”

“Oh, just come. If you’ve never been to a frat party before, you have to give it a chance. It’s part of the college experience.”

I had been feeling low that day, and the thought of spending the evening alone with my stars and galaxies wasn’t a cheering one. I missed Dov at the oddest times. Not exactly grieving for him, just missing him. I missed my boyfriend, who was funny and smart and knew me so well.

“All right,” I said. “I’ll come.” She cheered and I smiled. “What do I need to wear?”

I went to my first fraternity party in tight black pants and a skimpy, shimmering shirt, walking quickly and shivering in the cold January night. On Tiffany’s advice I didn’t bring a coat, because it’d be hot inside the party and there’d be no place to leave it. When we got there, the party was well under way. The house almost shook under the blast of music, and the smell of spilled beer greeted us before we got to the door. I followed Tiffany as she pushed and maneuvered past the press of bodies at the door.

“First things first,” she yelled at me through the music. Her streaked brown hair looked gray in the flashing lights. “Beer.”

I nodded and followed as she made her way to the beer
line. I stood there, slightly swaying to the earsplitting music, waiting for her to come back. A few minutes later, she was there with my beer. We clinked the red plastic cups together.

“Cheers,” she yelled.

“Cheers.” I forced myself to match her grin.

I swallowed the beer in quick gulps for courage, for oblivion, and because it didn’t taste very good. It helped me feel reckless. I wanted to forget everything.

Tiffany started dancing to the beat, swaying and undulating her arms above her head.

“Where can I get another beer?” I yelled in her ear.

She whooped a cry of encouragement and pointed to a crowded corner in the rear. I didn’t get very far before a guy wearing a tattered baseball cap asked me if I needed more beer. I nodded and off he went, gamely pushing his way through the crowd. He made his way back to me, a triumphant beer held up like the Olympic torch. Tiffany had moved over and was huddled with a group of her sorority sisters, eyeing a nearby group of guys.

“Thanks,” I told him. I figured he’d be off to find another thirsty damsel in distress, but he stayed with me and we sort of danced, each holding a large plastic cup of lukewarm beer, not really bothering to talk above the ear-blasting music. He was taller than I was, narrow and thin. In the dim light I could not tell the color of his hair or eyes.

I finished the beer in my hand and he offered to get me another one.

“I’m fine,” I yelled. “Thanks.”

“Aw, come on,” he shouted. “How about I bring you one, but you don’t have to drink it if you don’t want to?”

I smiled at him, and off he went into the crowd for more beer. He was so friendly and he stood so close. When he leaned to talk into my ear, he touched my face lightly. It felt good to be close and to touch him effortlessly on the arm as I leaned in to hear what he was saying. I ended up drinking the beer he brought me and the one after that. The music was loud and the deafening bass of the anonymous song the speakers were blaring vibrated pleasantly in my stomach. It was dim in the frat house. As the night wore on, faces blended into one another. At one point, Tiffany tapped my shoulder.

“We’re going to Saint Elmo’s,” she yelled in my ear. “Are you coming?”

“No,” I yelled. “I’m staying.”

“See you later, girlie!” She winked at me, gave a thumbs-up to the guy I was dancing with, and left.

We kept dancing, a little closer now. He smelled good, like soap. I closed my eyes and leaned into his shoulder.

When I told him I was too hot to dance anymore, he suggested we go upstairs.

“I’m a brother here,” he said with some pride. “I have a room upstairs.”

I can’t say that I didn’t know what he meant or what it would lead to. It wasn’t that I’d had too much to drink or that I didn’t know what I was doing. I did. I wanted to. I thought, a little viciously, that this is what Justin meant, right? A one-night stand with a stranger. I’d never done it before. Might as
well give that a try, since nothing else seemed to work. So I jogged up the steps, following him.

It was a little cleaner upstairs; the floor wasn’t slick and sticky with spilled beer, but it was grimy with dirt and dust. I could feel tiny pieces of what seemed like sand, but couldn’t have been, grind under the thin soles of my shoes. He unlocked his room, but he didn’t turn on the lights.

I thought I could make out a desk, a pile of clothes on a chair, and a bed only slightly rumpled. We sat down on the bed. He took off his hat and ran his fingers through his hair.

“You’re really pretty,” he tried. “Um, your eyes are so amazing.”

“Don’t,” I said, touching his arm. “Don’t talk.”

He leaned over and kissed me tentatively on the lips. After a moment, his tongue edged inside. I kissed him back. I could feel his heart racing. The sounds from the party below were coming in muted but clear. The room was very dark, with stripes of light from a street lamp seeping in through the blinds. We lay down on his bed. I closed my eyes.

I woke up at five in the morning, not tangled in sheets but lying side by side with a boy whose name I didn’t know. I eased off his narrow bed as quietly as I could, taking care not to touch him as I slipped out from under the covers. I had a headache from the beer and my mouth felt coated in fuzzy lint.

I felt stupid and disgusting. This was the first time in my life that I hadn’t made love with a guy, just had sex. I’d never realized the difference before. With Justin, it had been different. It
had been tender and loving. But this … I looked over at the boy. His face was turned toward the wall. This was a mistake.

I gathered my clothes and put them on. He rolled over and I glanced at him to make sure he was still asleep. I wasn’t sure I’d ever told him my name. I don’t think he ever asked.

The stairs creaked with every step, sending trills of alarm through me. I eased open the front door, left unlocked for guests like me. My steps echoed softly down the dark street, the sunrise still hours away. I had never felt so alone. The trees loomed over Colonial-style mansions, each home to a different sorority or fraternity. I hunched my shoulders, trying to keep warm. Several meters ahead of me was another figure, slowly walking home. The walk of shame, I had heard someone call this. I had laughed at it then. I did not find it funny now.

Tiffany grinned at me later that day when I ran into her in the stairway. Grinned at me like we’d just shared a wicked little adventure.

“So I’m guessing you enjoyed your first frat party?”

I managed to stifle a snarl. Barely.

I don’t remember what I answered. I returned to my books and tried to take comfort in my stars. They provided no warmth, but no shame either. I tried to find delight in the rings of Saturn, the moons of Jupiter. My nights were even more restless than before. I couldn’t close my eyes without summoning up the picture I must have made, sleeping with the boy who smelled like soap and beer. My face would flush and I would roll over, burying my head in the cool pillow, as if to block out the sight.

Payton returned Sunday night, full of stories about her weekend. I let her talk. I felt like shit. Her stories about a ropes course and a food fight seemed like they belonged in an alternate universe. How could such things exist?

“How was your weekend?” she asked.

“You know,” I shrugged. “Like always.”

“You’ve got to get out more,” she said. “There are so many amazing things going on every weekend, you’ve got to get involved.”

“Sure. You’re right.”

“Maybe you should join a sorority,” she said, eyes wide. “Wouldn’t that be fun?”

I gave her a look.

“You might like it, you know.”

But she didn’t pursue it and neither did I. She finally fell asleep, and I stayed huddled on my bed, feeling old and guilty, a dark blot of a person amidst sunny yellow swirls.

The next day, my father called and told me that Adam had applied to join a combat unit the next year. The bottom of my heart fell out. I barely managed to stay in my chair.

“He can’t,” I said. “You can’t let him.”

“I can’t stop him.”

“You have to. He’ll be killed! How can you let that happen?” I was trying to be cruel. “Don’t you think enough people have been hurt?”

I didn’t know what I would do if my little brother was killed as well. Could God work like that? Would Adam pay for
my sins? Or maybe, the thought occurred to me, he felt he needed to avenge Dov’s death?

“He’s grown up. He isn’t a child and he knows what he wants.”

“This is because of Dov,” I said, my voice shaking. “This is because he wants revenge. Tell him not to be an idiot. Tell him—”

“Stop it, Maya.” There was steel in my father’s voice.

I stopped.

“Adam has his reasons. It isn’t any one thing that’s driving him.”

“You could change his mind. There’re still months left before he needs to go.”

“Maybe, but don’t build your hopes on that. He’s focused on what he wants.”

“You can’t let him,
Abba.
” I wanted to cry.

“I can’t stop him, Maya.”

“Let me talk to him. If you can’t keep him safe, then I will.”

“No, Maya, don’t.”

“He’s just a kid!” I slammed my fist on my desk. “He doesn’t know shit yet. It’s up to you to keep him safe—why won’t you do that? He’s your son!”

“Someone needs to defend Israel,” he said. “If I won’t let my son do it, how can I ask other people to let their sons go?”

“I don’t care,” I said. “Don’t you think we’ve suffered enough? Haven’t I suffered enough?”

He was silent for a moment.

“This isn’t about you, Maya.” He sounded tired and sad.
“It’s about Adam. You can’t take responsibility for everything that happens to the people you love.”

I hung up and laid my head on my desk and cried. Would my loved ones never be safe?

That afternoon, in astronomy class, I signed up for all the night labs I could. If I couldn’t sleep at night, I might as well spend those hours with a telescope.

Some nights I could catch a university bus to get to the observatory. The rest of the university would be left behind as the bus climbed the steep hill until it finally arrived at the observatory. It would stop short of the lab so its headlights wouldn’t ruin the observers’ night vision. Other nights I walked the whole way.

Those quiet nights, lit only by a dim red bulb, helped. No thoughts of war, no bloodshed. There was no guilt in a telescope, there were no accusations in the stars. Just cool blue light full of secrets and mysteries.

The observatory was a round little building, all red brick and climbing ivy. It had a silver dome that opened down the middle to let the telescope peer out. This was my ivory tower, and it was beautiful, serene, and safe.

Sometimes there were other students there and some nights I was there alone. It didn’t matter to me. There was always the feeling of stillness and magical precision. The perfect balance of the telescope, thirty feet long, that could rotate with the lightest push seemed miraculous to me. To get to the eyepiece, I had to climb a narrow wooden ladder, then settle
into the padded seat and stay there, hidden from sight, peeping in on celestial activities, taking notes.

Chris and I still went jogging twice a week, meeting at eight, finishing by a quarter to nine. I still hated running, but it always left me calm and steady for the night’s work. He didn’t talk as much about his girlfriend anymore. They had reached a decision during the vacation. He would go to Japan without her. They were free to date other people.

“It wasn’t fair to keep pushing,” he told me. “It wasn’t the right sort of life for her.”

He seemed more at ease now, and I was happy for him, but a little sad that their relationship hadn’t worked out. With this newfound peace, however, he canceled more and more of our running dates. Too cold, too windy, too much work, and maybe, too many new girls to flirt with, though he never admitted that. He was right, of course; it was stupid to go out in the freezing cold when the gym was nearby, warm, well lit, with rows and rows of treadmills. But running on a treadmill, like a hamster on a wheel, just didn’t give me the same release.

So I ran alone.

I hated running. I hated the burning in my lungs. I despised that rubbery feeling in my legs when I first started. It was even more hateful in the cold, in the dark, alone. But suffering proved I was alive. Pain spurred me on to run past it. And every once in a while, the misery faded, the pain disappeared, and there would be a moment of grace. In this moment, I didn’t feel my legs at all, my breathing straightened out, and I
was flying. In those crystal moments, time could stop and I could step outside everything. Remembering nothing. Just being. Feeling so light I floated above the ground, legs touching the earth merely out of habit.