Rosethorn (31 page)

"Andrew."

"What about our plans? New York's gonna kill our budget. Where are we gonna live? We don't know anyone there. My uncle was counting on me to start this summer. What kind of jobs are we gonna get?” Andrew spread out his hands in agitation. "Have you thought about any of this? This is not okay with me, Sera."

"You don't have to worry about living there, Andrew.” Sera bit her tongue, chagrined that even with her best efforts, she could not keep the steeliness from her voice. She knew that now was not the time to tell him it was he who had made all those plans and it was he who had assumed that they were what she wanted.

She could see his whole body stiffening with realization. If only she could rewind the last few minutes, and begin differently, lay out her whole plan so that he could be made to understand that there was nothing dangerous about her decision.

"It's not as bad as you think," Sera quickly said, her words bursting out, as graceful as battering rams. "We'll have summers, Christmas, winter, and spring break. You could come visit me, too."

"Summers, Christmas," He repeated.

Andrew took a step back then leaned against the fireplace mantle as if for support, his face frozen in shock.  

She had prepared a speech outlining all the positives in her plan, the details of which were abandoning her at this moment when she needed them the most.

She rose from the floor and took a hesitant step towards him. When he did not turn away, she gently leaned against his chest and drew his limp arms about her.

"You're cold.” She held him for several beats of their hearts, her face against his icy skin.

"Take me somewhere, today," she enticed. "The lighthouse or the woods. Take me to the headlands where we can see the city and the red bridge rising from the blue sea.” He still felt like cool marble to her, but she stemmed her panic, still intent on weaving her spell.

"No, I changed my mind.” Sera looked up at him, trying to meet his unseeing eyes. "Limantour, where we can walk for miles on the dunes. Let's go for a long, long drive in your car. Or maybe," she said, when his eyes did not waver from looking out past her, "we'll stay right here, where I love it best. You know that, don't you? That right here, in your arms, is the place dearest to me?"

He mumbled something she did not catch.

"What, my love?"

"You have nothing but secrets from me."

Standing on tiptoe, she pulled his head down to her with both her hands and kissed his mouth open with hers. She felt him stir, come to life in her embrace and she was grateful that at least she had this to keep him to her. She quickly pulled his jeans down and led him to the pile of blankets on the floor. She cried out as he fell on top of her, crushing her with his weight and the roughness with which he gripped her. Throwing her head back, Sera arched her whole body to meet his. 

"Look at me," he said harshly. Sera opened her eyes. "I would have followed you anywhere. You only had to ask. All this time I thought only of a future with you in it, always with you."

"Andrew--",

"But you want me to wait for you here, like a faithful dog, waiting for someone who'll never come back.”

"Never come back? You're over-react-."

"Think I'm too stupid to know what's going on?” Andrew gripped both sides of her face with his hands, pressing them together as if he was meant to crush her. "You've been pushing me away for months now."

Mesmerized by the ferocity of his eyes, she did not tell him to stop hurting her, did not move from his vise-like grip.

Still keeping his hands on her face, he leaned in as if to kiss her, but stopped short. And in a voice she had never heard, like jagged glass had scraped his throat raw, "You don't know what you're throwing away, Sera."

She tried to snatch at him but he had already pushed off of her and had dressed quicker than she could get up.

"Wait, please!” she called out as he walked out the door.

A quick slam, then the outraged roar of the Mustang soon after, and the finality of heavy silence settling on her, as if she had been alone all along. Even the old house ceased its creaking. Now cold, Sera
drew the blankets tightly around her.

*****

"It'll blow over," she told Allison when Andrew passed them by at school, without an acknowledging word or glance.

A week or two of the cold shoulder, then unable to take it, for he never could stay away, even at his angriest, he would eventually drive up to her house, the Mustang announcing his arrival before a knock on her door or pebbles thrown at her window. She would turn a corner at the library or go walking and he would be there, slouching against a bookcase or a tree, with his head tilted in that boyish way, the hurt in his eyes pummeling her so that all she would have to do, all she could do, was enfold him to her and soothe away his pain.

She was not surprised when she could not seem to reach him at home or when he did not return her messages. None of his family told her outright to stop calling, so she felt justified. It was the pity in their voices which made her cringe.

When Saturday came around and she showed up early at Miss
 Haviland's, she headed straight for the backyard where she heard the familiar drone of the lawnmower. She was ready for her peace offering, what Andrew did not stay long enough to hear, a trip to New York for the two of them for the price of a hundred Saturdays at Miss Haviland's, a costly blow to her savings. They would do all the touristy things, explore like always, and he would help her settle in before going home to California.

She would be humble and agreeable, she who was always proud and unyielding, so that he would hear and mark well her words, that this temporary separation couldn't possibly tear down what was unbreakable, that it would only grow stronger with time. She would prove to him the truth in her heart.

Sera stumbled when she saw that it was Luis Gonzalez pushing the lawnmower and heard, as if from a great distance, Luis explain awkwardly that Andrew had offered him the job, as he said he had something better lined up.

And when Allison pulled her behind the Math building after second period the following week, her face full of worry, Sera already knew somehow what Allison had found out when she bought prom tickets, that Andrew and Vanessa Sadler were going together.

"It's punishment,” she calmly said. "Do you think in the great scheme of things, it matters who he takes to some high school dance? He wants to hurt me, but I'm above that. I'm not going to change my mind because he's trying to make me jealous. Why else would he have picked her, of all people, to go to prom? Nothing's going to keep me from doing this."

"You know I support you and everything," Allison said hesitantly when they were in Sera's room that night, "and I understand what you said about 'all great artists go to New York', but..."

"Not you too, Alli," Sera turned to her. "I don't think I can take you and my grandmother. I thought I had you in my corner."

It had hurt Sera to tell her grandmother, who after the shock, had pulled Sera to her bosom and held her there as she cried. Yet her grandmother had almost seemed resigned, as if she had secretly feared this would someday happen.

“I won’t stand in your way,” her grandmother had said quietly as she held Sera. “I know better.”

"I am on your side. Always.” Allison assured her now. “It's just that New York is so far away and you'll be on your own. Why New York?”

Allison was going to State, despite acceptance letters from prestigious universities so that she can be with Paul, who wanted to stay put in the Bay Area. She couldn’t fathom why Sera would pick Columbia, when Berkeley had been her top choice, her only choice, for years.

"Remember what this song's about?” Sera asked as Stevie Nicks's old-young voice sang "Landslide" from her boom box. "It's about making the tough choices, right? About whether to go all out and brave the unknown in pursuit of your dreams or give up and go home to what's familiar."

"But is it your dream?"

"Yes, of course it is. Home of the Pulitzer in the most exciting city in the world--"

"You've never even been there."

"I don't need to have been there to know that's where I should be. This is my 'Landslide,' Alli."

"You know she was high when she wrote that, right?” After a look from Sera, "Yes, fine, I guess you can't argue with Stevie's wisdom. What about this mess? What would Stevie say about it? I know!” Rummaging through Sera's music, Alli pulled out a 45 triumphantly. "The B side."

"Silver Springs?"

"Stevie says you can't let him get away with it.  Haunt him, don’t let him forget that you love him.” Sera had to laugh at Allison's outrage on her behalf. Here, too, her best friend could not understand Sera. Allison would fight tooth and nail for Paul, but then she and Paul rarely disagreed. Sera could not imagine Paul ever willingly leaving Allison’s side.

"You remember Paul's friend? The big, beefy guy who drives a blue sidestep? Why don't you ask him to go to prom? Two can play at this game."

Sera shook her head. "I'm not playing any games, Alli. Besides, that's exactly what Andrew would expect me to do and he'll just get even madder."

"What if...Andrew never....?"

"Forgives me?” Sera finished.

"He seems really angry this time. This whole Vanessa thing is so unlike him."

"He'll come around. He just needs to get it out of his system and then he'll realize what an idiot he's being.” Sera's bravado was absolute, her conviction unshakable. “This is how he works through things. He blows up, does things he regrets, then comes crawling back ready to do whatever it takes to make peace. Don’t worry,” she laughed, “I’ll put him through shit before I forgive him.”

"You're probably right. I mean he was ready to move in with you."

"Yes," Sera nodded, "And there's no half-measures with him. It's either all or nothing.”

Allison looked at her curiously.

"Stevie would say---" Sera paused, thinking. "I don't know what Stevie would say. All the songs I can think of are about loneliness and tragic endings, The Highwayman, Dreams, Ooh My Love, --

"How about this then?” Allison interrupted as she dropped on one knee. "My dear Sera, would you do me the honor of going to our senior prom with me?"

For the first time in weeks, Sera laughed lustily and without restraint. Wiping the tears from her eyes, Sera turned to her friend, "Oh, Alli, poems have been written about you. If this were a story or movie, you would be the girl that men would fight battles over, and die happily for love of you. You're good and true and beautiful and how I ended up being your best friend I don't know."

"You could wear a gorgeous dress that Andrew's never seen," Allison persisted, "And make Vanessa look like the vapid, insipid girl she is."

"Vapid, insipid? Let me write that down."

"I'm serious. Fight for him, Sera."

"Ah, you mean wear something like a low-cut, red silk dress and red lipstick and red heels?"

"Yes!"

"And I'll appear at the top of the staircase of the Sir Francis Drake Hotel, setting the room on fire in my hot dress, and he'll be so overcome with desire for me that he'll leave Vanessa's side and prostrate himself at my high-heeled feet?

"Why not?” Allison asked in frustration.

"Because I couldn't possibly pull anything like that off. I'll only look ridiculous. Thank you anyway. That's the sweetest thing anyone has ever tried to do for me. But I would be the worst best friend if I made you go to prom with me and not Paul."

"If you don't go, I'll just be in a room full of people I detest. Besides, I already went last year. That was enough for me.” She sighed. "Alright Plan C. Let's take the money we would have spent and watch movies all day and night at the Castro. Silent Movie festival that weekend.” Allison pulled out a pamphlet. "Nosferatu, Jazz Singer, Douglas Fairbanks, Mary Pickford, Charlie Chaplin. You in?"

"Again, I'm speechless. Won't Paul mind?"

"Mind not having to rent a tux and shiny shoes and being forced to dance? What do you think?"

"Okay then, the Castro it is."

If she had time to think, she would wonder where it came from, this single-minded focus which
diminished all the whispers that followed her, the snickers and looks of pity into the background.

Everything was a blur, unreal, even Vanessa Sadler striding confident and ethereal in the sunshine, while she was consigned to some shadowy limbo, waiting for forgiveness.

She had never faltered before and wasn't about to start now. She met deadlines for the paper, studied for AP exams, finished her research project for history, and even took in extra housecleaning jobs. She left the light by her unlatched window all night, and when she had a free hour, of which, even with school and jobs, she seemed to have too much, she would ride to Rosethorn and wait. She would not concede an inch to the any doubts that attacked her.

Sometimes she felt that if her back stood any straighter or her chin any higher, she would break, but instead she would double over in a bathroom stall and cry wordlessly for a minute or two, her mouth open in a silent howl, as she did whenever she saw Vanessa and Andrew walking together on campus, noting how tall they both looked, both seemingly glowing with their own special light as if they belonged together.