Love and Other Things I'm Bad At (17 page)

11/18

Went to work this morning. Afterward, came to library, like other unattached people do on Saturdays, especially when they don’t want to be in their rooms. Supposed to be studying for sociology exam now. Students of the World, Unite!

Here are the key terms: Capitalism. Historical (Hysterical) materialism. Bourgeoisie. Exploitation. Alienation. Proletariat. Etc., etc., blah blah blah,
revolt.

Forget Marx. There is a little-known piece of literature, soon to become famous, known as . . .

The Courtney Manifesto

1. A specter is haunting Wisconsin. Her name is Beth. Or maybe his name is Grant. It’s hard to actually see a specter.

2. I must figure out how to react as a reactionary. What does that mean, anyway?

3. I must free myself by stopping harmful, low–self-esteem thoughts from entering brain.

4. There is strength in numbers, so . . . bring 5 fingers together to make a fist.

5. Use fist to punch specter(s) in the nose, mouth, anywhere painful.

6. Don’t forgive specters. Never listen to anything they say again.

7. Become dedicated to the cause. Any cause, so long as it does not involve people in Colorado.

8. Think only lofty thoughts regarding future of society, not future of my pathetic little life.

Manifesto is impossible to live up to. I can’t stop obsessing about what was happening 1 week ago today. Tonight. I keep picturing Grant and Beth. I don’t care if it only lasted 5 seconds, like they said. 5 seconds is too long.

Everything is so impossible to deal with, especially long distance. Oh God. Dave, such a Dave . . . I totally underestimated him. He was right. This is why he broke up with me last year. This is why LDRs don’t work, whether they’re half an hour away, half a country away. I can see it all so clearly now. That weekend I went home? It had already started. That’s why Grant and I had such a hard weekend. He was probably only hanging out with his grandmother because he didn’t want to tell me he’d rather be with Beth. Grandmother Superior was faking her illness, in on the plot. All a giant conspiracy. It started back when we applied to colleges. The reason Beth & Grant didn’t protest my going so far away was because they already KNEW they wanted to hook up. It was all a conspiracy to get me out of state of Colorado.

First Beth was going out with my brother. Then she’s going out with my boyfriend? What kind of a best friend is she? Regret telling her anything.

So maybe Thyme can be annoying as hell sometimes. But at least she’s a moral person. And at least she’s
there
for me.

Just went to library pay phone to call Thyme. She said she didn’t have time to talk to me because she and Kirsten were going shopping at outlet mall. She also said that it was time for me to get over what happened and get on with my life.

What? Shopping with Kirsten? Has she lost her mind?

11/19

It’s a sad day when Joe is actually looking like a better guy than Grant. Joe went to the cafeteria for brunch and brought back donuts and fresh fruit for me. Totally not like him. He’s trying to win me over or something—maybe he realizes I’m not on his side and never have been, and suddenly it matters to him that I like him?

Or no. Probably just overestimated how much food he wanted and had leftovers.

Anyway, Grant called again this morning. We talked but it was completely awkward. He kept asking what I was doing for Thanksgiving, and if I was still meeting my family in Nebraska. I said no. I said I had to stay here and work, which isn’t true, but I didn’t want to tell him what I’m really doing—staying in the dorm with foreign students and other jilted students like self. Kept it vague.

It’s snowing now. Hall is going sledding. Annemarie is threatening to drag me out the door in my pajamas, so I’d better get dressed.

LATER . . .

Got home and there was a message from Erik: “Courtney, where are you? We’re ready to organize Phase Two but we need your help.” Forgot all about Badicals meeting.

All for now. Hands are frostbitten and it hurts to write.

11/20

Life going downhill fast. I just looked up “finagle” in dictionary. It means “to obtain by trickery; swindle.”

Stupid corporate office thinks it means some sort of hilarious caper or something. All those cute things about finagling. So stupid! How dumb of them to not even know they’re blatantly advertising the fact that they
rip people off
.

There’s this “regular” who comes in on Mondays. He always tries to flirt with me a little, and I always ignore it. But today—I just couldn’t take it when he said, “Those new cranberry bagels look as sweet and delicious as you, Courtney.” Stupid Thanksgiving theme. I mean is that rude and over-the-top or what???

“Actually they’re really quite sour,” I said. Like my mood. “Cranberries. They’re like lemons.”

That didn’t even faze him. “You mean it makes your lips pucker? Now that I’d like to see.”

Har har har.

So I made his bagel haphazardly (he orders
double
cream cheese so I gave him like a half ounce of cranberry walnut and that was
it
), didn’t cut it in half neatly, didn’t even clean the old chive cream cheese off the knife first, and didn’t offer him a steal deal. He got his revenge by grabbing a customer comment card and covering it with comments while he ate his bagel, which couldn’t have been so terrible, because he
did
finish it, and all he had to do was
ask
for more cream cheese on the side if he was so unhappy.

These customer comment cards are
so
stupid, and I’m not just saying that because I got all bad comments from this guy. “How was your visit?” Like it’s a national
park
or something.

He kept glancing over at me while he was writing, like maybe he was sketching my portrait:
Still Life with Bagel Slicer
. Then he got up to leave and stuffed the comment card in the box. “Have a nice day, Courtney,” he said. How
rude
.

I knew I had to get that card out right away. I ran around the counter and tried to pry it out, using the hot-bagel tongs. It took me a minute, tops. I really should have just put it in my pocket. But I had to see what the guy wrote.

Turned out that he filled both sides of the card with his insane ravings about poor customer service, plus he spelled my name wrong, plus he spelled “inconsiderate” wrong, plus I think he meant to say “snobby” instead of “snotty,” plus his handwriting is really bad. I had just torn the card in half when Jennifer appeared. She grabbed both halves, read them, then asked me to come to her office, where she told me I was on BF “probation.” “And what does that mean?” I asked.

“One more strike and you’re out,” she said.

“But that would only be a total of two strikes,” I pointed out.

“Courtney, do you
really
want to have this conversation?” she asked.

Um, no.

“You know I value all your hard work. You know I trust you,” she said. “But if you’re going to be rude to the customers just because you don’t like cranberries—”

“I love cranberries,” I said. It’s people I can’t stand. Do I even want to keep working at a place that uses “probation”?

“All we have to do is write a bunch of really positive customer cards for you,” Marcus said afterward. “To offset the negative press.”

“Jennifer will never go for that,” Ben said. “You just have to sort of fade into the background for a while. Thanksgiving break is coming, the place is closed because no one will be around, so she’ll forget all about it.”

“And think of it this way. You’re on probation, so you should wear these!” Marcus reached for the handcuffs dangling down over the cash register. “You’re going to look
so
tough and dangerous. You’ll get a new boyfriend in, like, days.”

“I don’t want a new boyfriend,” I said.

“Oh.” Mark and Ben looked at each other.

“I mean, I’m still with Grant. Sort of,” I said.

“Oh?” They nodded. “Well, okay.”

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing.”

I hate how everyone keeps saying that. I also hate the idea of being on my “best behavior” from now on. What if my standard is too low?

11/21

Went bowling with Wittenauer and the two Joes tonight. “The miracle isn’t that we’re bowling,” he said. “The miracle is that you’ve lived in Wisconsin for three months and you
haven’t
been bowling.”

Wittenauer thinks he’s so much better than me because he is a) a junior, and b) a decent bowler.

Anyway, I was really surprised when he came by my dorm room. Unheard of. I assumed he wanted to discuss our next meeting/protest, since I’d blown off the last one. I thought it was cool he came over, but at the same time I felt so weird about going out with him alone. Doesn’t he know I travel in a pack? “Let’s ask Thyme!” I said, and knocked on her door before Wittenauer could protest.

“
Bowling?
God, no,” she said. “Anyway, I’m packing.” Acting like a real snob all of a sudden.

Then I heard Mary Jo getting home so I ran back across the hall and mentioned it to her. Unfortunately Joe was in the room at the time, so it ended up: me, Mary Jo, Joe, Wittenauer heading off to Badger Lanes. All together now: why is Joe still in Mary Jo’s life??? Topic for a much longer entry.

Badger Lanes: very smoky place with many neon beer signs and seriously overworn shoes. They were having a Turkey Special: for every game you bowled, you got one free (a game, not a turkey). So we played enough games to give me carpal thumb syndrome.

A very distressing thing happened when we were getting to our lane. We were sitting down to put on shoes and were entering goofy names on computer score thing, when somehow my Grant story came up. Okay, it was my fault. I mentioned that the last time I went bowling was after graduation with, uh, my, uh, boy, uh. Anyway.

“Dean Sobransky told me you and your boyfriend broke up,” Wittenauer said as we were lacing up. “Sorry about that.”

“Oh well.” Felt my face get red. Then more red. Was probably blending in with hair color. “We didn’t exactly break up.”

“Did too,” Joe said. “She doesn’t even talk to him and she took down all his pictures and—”

“
Joe
,” Mary Jo said sternly. “It’s none of our business.”

Yes, I agree.

Mary Jo kindly changed the subject to a discussion of her best game ever, how she and her brothers had their own team, how they taught her everything she knows, etc. Cast her a very grateful look as I shuffled up to select a giant pink ball.

Then Joe got all competitive with Wittenauer and they were arguing about rules. Mary Jo and I were sitting there awkwardly; felt like it was a double date that had gone terribly awry; but it was not a double date, it was just a very bad combination of people.

Also, Mary Jo can make even bowling shoes look cute. How can she get away with this? Tiny little 6 on the back of her shoes. Me? 9. Isn’t there another way to keep track of shoes besides displaying the size? Not necessary on any
other
kind of shoe.

As I was bowling, I started to get a weird feeling (in addition to my sprained thumb). Started asking myself why Wittenauer wanted to take me out bowling. Has nothing to do with, like, anything we usually do. He asked what I was doing for Thanksgiving and I said nothing. I said I planned to just sort of hibernate in the dorm and I was looking forward to time alone in my room without anyone else around. Unfortunately I was saying that when Mary Jo came back from picking up a spare. She wouldn’t sit next to me at the scoring table and insisted on sitting on Joe’s lap instead. She knows exactly what will get to me and does it anyway. She is even bringing Joe to her house for Thanksgiving, not realizing that he doesn’t deserve it, and that he will be beaten to a pulp by her brothers. Or maybe they’re too nice for that.

Anyway, afterward, it was really, really cold out, but Wittenauer and I stood outside the dorm and talked anyway. Then I was about to go in when Wittenauer sort of jogged after me and tugged on my jacket sleeve and asked if I wanted to go out again sometime. To do something other than in an organized group, or at work. “It would be like a very small, exclusive group,” he said cutely. “No roommate, no Joe. Two of us.”

“I can’t. I mean, I’m, uh, still seeing Grant, you know,” I said.

“Oh,” he said. “I didn’t know. I thought . . . Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I mean, I’m sorry,” I said. Totally awkward.

“Hey, no big deal. I just thought . . . So, okay, well, good night.”

Parted on really uncomfortable terms. I’m glad we won’t be seeing each other for a few days.

11/22

2
P.M.
Mary Jo just left. Joe went with her. Everyone gone. Dorm deserted. Krystyne just came by, doing her “clear-out” check, told me I was supposed to be gone. This dorm isn’t heated during break, so I have to move into another one. What?

A person pays a price for solitude.

Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

Is it too late to hitch to Nebraska to meet family like original plan? Maybe I’ll call that motel/bus station, check schedules.

2:35
P.M.
“Well, hello,
you
,” woman at motel/bus station desk said. “How are things going, honey? I’m so glad you called to catch up.”

“Actually I was hoping to get to Ogallala, Nebraska,” I said.

She checked everything on the computer, and then came back and said she had some bad news and hoped it wouldn’t plunge me into another dark depression. I had missed today’s last bus. No bus tomorrow due to Thanksgiving. I could leave Friday, but wouldn’t get there until Saturday. Etc.

“Sorry, sweetie. Why don’t you come to my house for Thanksgiving?” She invited me for like ten minutes straight, I said no for nine minutes straight, and then finally the conversation was over. She made me write down her address just in case. I will now put it on now-vacant bulletin board. You never know when you might need a friend. With, um, bus schedules at the ready.

9
P.M.
You won’t believe where I am right now. Sitting in a farmhouse bed under a giant down comforter, cup of hot herbal tea on bedside table. Heaven.

Mary Jo came back for me!!! She and Joe and parents got halfway to her house, and then she made everyone turn around and come back for me. There wasn’t going to be enough room in the crew cab pickup, so they dropped off Joe at a convenience store sort of near his parents’ house and came back for
me.
She marched upstairs and said, “Look, Courtney, I don’t even know why I’m asking you this, because you’ve done everything in the world
not
to be my friend. But would you please come home with me for Thanksgiving? Because I don’t want to leave you here alone, I’m worried about you, and I think it would do you a lot of good to just get out of town for a few days.”

It was quite the speech, and I was very touched. She chose
me
over Joe? I quickly packed a bag, grabbed my backpack full of homework, ran downstairs to the idling car. Mr. and Mrs. Johannsen are shy but so sweet. At their house, they have a sign out front with their names and all the boys’ names on it. Can’t tell all the brothers apart yet (except for my pal Ed). Too many twins spoil the pot. Also, one of them hasn’t spoken yet and I can’t remember his name. Very strange, because Mary Jo doesn’t look anything like her brothers. They are very tall and strong and sort of thick-looking.

Mary Jo gave me a tour of the farm and told me about all the different kinds of cows you can have. Her family has Brown Swiss ones. They have really pretty coats, actually beautiful—color like elk antler velvet, sort of.

“I just can’t thank you enough for taking me in,” I said to the family as we were gathered in front of a giant ham carcass. Words did not fit picture.

“God, Courtney. You make it sound like you’re an orphaned pioneer or something,” Mary Jo teased me. Hearty laughter from six boys almost put out the two tall pumpkin-scented candles on the table. “This isn’t
Little House on the Prairie
.”

“It isn’t?” I asked. Then I started to laugh uncontrollably, too.

Orphaned Pioneer. That’s how I felt, okay?