Authors: Don Lee
Wow, I said, feeling defeated by the developments.
I know! she said.
Where are you thinking of applying to?
All the schools she mentioned were outside Massachusetts. Maybe you should apply to Walden as a backup, I told her.
Ive had enough of Walden, she said. I want a clean slate.
We went to Wordsworth so she could buy some GRE prep books. Her grades at Walden College had been spotty, and she would need to do well on the test.
I could help you study, I told her.
I dont know if thats a good idea, she said. Would you have a problem seeing me platonically?
Itd be painful, I admitted.
This always happens. Cant you be my friend?
I told her that I would try. Are you going to date other people? I asked. Have you?
No. Its important for me to be alone right now.
I wont be a nuisance to you, then, I said. Im not going to call you. When you want to see me or talk, you should call.
She ended up calling me every day, sometimes three or four times a day. Almost immediately, her newfound confidence collapsed. After her first day of work at Mount Auburn Hospital, she was barely able to mumble hello on the phone before bursting into tears. I went over to her apartment. She was slumped in her nightgown, her face swollen from crying. Its so demeaning being a secretary again, she said.
Then, during a thunderstorm, she came home to find water pouring from the windowsills, the ceiling leaking in rills, ruining her bed and sheets and her clothes on the garment rack. Can I sleep over at your place? she asked.
We saw each other just as much as before the BVIs. We went to movies and poetry readings. We dropped by Toscaninis for ice cream. We drilled through GRE practice tests. I quit drinking again and accompanied her to the occasional meeting. I made her coffee and French toast and omelettes. And we kept spending nights together in my bed, though chastely.
The denial of sex now, however, instead of pushing me further away, oddly intensified my feelings for her. I waited for Mirielle to swing around. At times, it seemed she was coming back to me, but then she would abruptly retreat.
You never call me, she said. I always call you.
I reminded her about our arrangement, about not being a pest.
Thats silly, she said. We talk every day, anyway. What are you doing Saturday?
Seeing you, I said.
One morning, she told me she was going to the Square to hang out, maybe see a movie. You want company? I asked.
No, she said. I think were spending too much time together.
Whyd you call me, then?
I dont know, she said. You sound strange.
Later that day, she appeared at the house, depressed by the movie, throughout which the characters had drunk copious amounts of wine. She had gone to a meeting afterward at the First Parish Unitarian Church but had left early, restless.
I had been about to head out. A jazz combo, Phil Sudo and Annie Yoshikawas friends, was playing at the Lizard Lounge, and I was supposed to meet them there. Yet Mirielle didnt want to go. She had not attended any of the 3AC potlucks since December, and she felt it would be awkward seeing Phil and Annie again with me.
Itd be like were double-dating, she said. As if were a couple.
God forbid anyone would think were a couple.
Were not a couple.
Were more of a couple than most people who have sex.
We have a weird relationship, she conceded.
Another night, she was limp with exhaustionshe had been on her feet all day.
Come here, I said. Ill give you a foot massage.
No. Youre too nice to me.
I know I am. Should I be meaner to you? Less nice? I asked.
She shook her head in alarm. Thatd be disastrous.
Several nights later, we lay in bed. We had gone to see a film at the Kendall and then had eaten pizza at Emmas. Youre so quiet, she said.
It gets to me sometimes. You know how I feel about you, I told her. Do you think theres a chance things could ever become romantic between us again?
I dont know if Im capable of feeling romantic with anyone right now.
I mulled this over in silence, dispirited.
You hate me, dont you? she said.
No, I dont.
I can tell by your face. You hate me.
No, just the opposite, Mirielle.
The next week, Planned Parenthood contacted her. Her Pap smear had come back abnormal, and they wanted to schedule her for a biopsy. Nothing I do makes a difference, she said. Another job or another apartment or another city wont change anythingIll still despise myself. This grad school thing is a pipe dream. And now I might have cancer.
I escorted her to Planned Parenthood, and then, on the morning she was to get the results, I waited for her to call me. She didnt. I left two messages for her at her office at Mount Auburn, but she didnt return them. Late in the afternoon, frantic she might have received terrible news from the pathologist, I finally reached her.
Oh, it was nothing, she said. Im fine.
Why didnt you call me?
Its just that Ive been on the phone practically all day, she said. She was typing, then I overheard her talking to someone and laughing.
Who was that? I asked.
No one. The new temp.
We can talk later, I said.
No, I can talk, she said, and continued to type.
Well, I said.
What?
If youre busy, we can catch up later.
Okay, she said, and hung up.
The following night, when she slept over, I explained how worried Id been about her the day before. I always go into a tailspin when you do things like that, I said.
Like what?
When you dont call me back.
I dont always have to call you back, she said.
Throughout January and into February, we worked on her applications to MFA programs. I convinced Paviromo to write her a strong letter of recommendation, despite the B-minus she had received in his British poetry class, and I also persuaded a local poet I knew, Liam Rector, to add his own endorsement of Mirielle, even though they had never met. We revised and revised her personal statement, deliberating over whether she should delve into her former addictions. Eventually, we decided she should, since her writing sample was filled with recovery poems.
She read a new one to me about the sponsor, Alice, who had died. I tried to be encouraging.
You dont like it, she said.
No, I do.
I can tell you dont.
I think its really powerful.
She was dejected, but then said, Well, I think I should be proud of myself for at least sitting down and completing a first draft.
Joshua was more frank about the poems merits, or lack thereof. While we were watching the Celtics on TV, I showed him a copy of the poem. I still didnt trust my ability to judge poetry. Maybe Im wrong, I thought.
This is unadulterated crap, he told me. Pure excreta. She actually said shes proud of herself? You see, she comes from the school of the emotionally crippled wherein they pat themselves on the back for accomplishing what people do as a matter of course. We come from the school where only national recognition will satisfy ambition, and thats the way it should be. Whats this chicks appeal to you? I know shes pretty, but why are you so in love with her? Because you cant have her?
Its not that.
What is it, then? You spend the night together, and what, nothing? No hand jobs, even? You dont touch each other at all?
I give her massages sometimes.
You give her massages. Jesus, shes walking all over you. Youre embarrassing yourself. What she wants is someone to support her and be a slave to her, and you happen to be available. Lets face it, she feels nothing for you. Either she puts out, or you get the fuck out. Youre making a complete fool of yourself.
I lit candles. We slow-danced to Johnny Hartman. I gave her a massage. She was wearing her nightgown, lying on her stomach, and I straddled her ass while I kneaded her back.
This is all very familiar, she said.
When I finished the massage, I lay down beside her. Lets make love, I said.
Are you crazy?
Its been almost two months.
Were friends.
Will you give me a kiss? Just one kiss?
She pecked me on the cheek. Whats gotten into you tonight? she asked.
Whats gotten into me? Look what were doing. How am I supposed to feel?
She got up and pulled on her jeans underneath her nightgown. You know what you should do? she said. You should go out to a bar, have a few drinks, get loose, and pick up someone wholl fuck your brains out.
I dont want to fuck anyone else. Why wont you make love with me?
To be honest, she said, I dont know if Ill ever be able to have sex with you again.
How come?
The closer I get to someone, the less I feel like having sex with himwhereas I could probably let some stranger fuck me twelve ways to Sunday.
That doesnt make any sense, Mirielle. Why do you feel that way?
Because I can only have sex when its degrading, she said.
That was a mistake, Jessica told me. Youre not being sensitive to her at all. You should have gotten it by now. Pushing sex, even playfully, is going to upset her after her history.
Youre right.
Honor her privacy. Dont make demands on her. Dont try to change her or pressure her. If youre there for her, shell come around eventually.
Joshua thinks Ive been humiliating myself.
Hes just jealous. Hed love to see you guys break up so he can have you all to himself again. Cant you be patient?
I apologized to Mirielle the next time we saw each other, which seemed to mollify her, but something was different. All of a sudden she was mysteriously busy on weekends, and there were fewer nights when she was able to sleep over, worn out or feeling sick or wanting to nest in her own room. More and more, her roommates would have to tell me that Mirielle wasnt home when I called. Id leave messages for her with them, and still I wouldnt hear back from her. Sometimes shed claim not to have received the notes, and I thought she was lying, just like when she would insist that she had called me back and had left a message on our answering machine, until Joshua confessed to me one night, Oh, yeah, I forgot. I must have accidentally erased it, whereupon I installed a code and disabled the erase function on the machine.
She would say that she was on the run, could she call me back, then wouldnt. She would make plans to get together with me, then renege.
Youve been canceling on me a lot, Id say.
Its been a rough week, shed say.
I knew full well what was going on, but I wanted it not to be true. She had gotten back together with David, or she had met someone new altogether. Someone older, with money, in AA. Someone who could relate to her in ways that I never could. A father figure.
I thought about her every moment of the daywondering what she was doing, imagining her going on dates with anonymous men, having impersonal, degrading sex with them. I was in torment, yet I had such pity for her, for her horrible childhood, for being so sad. I wanted to continue seeing her somehow. I wanted to tell her that I loved her, that I cared about her, that no matter what, wed find a way to remain friends. I called to tell her all of this. She wasnt home. She didnt return my message.
In the morning, when she picked up the phone at her office, she was laughing, in the midst of a conversation with a coworker. She never laughed like that with me anymore. Can I call you back? she asked me.
Will you promise to call tonight?
I dont know when Ill be home, she said.
It doesnt matter. Ill be up late.
Okay, she said.
She never called.
Three nights later, we met for dinner at Pho Pasteur. She was uneasy, nervous. At last, she said, I have something to tell you. Something big.
I know already, I said.
You do?
Youre seeing someone else.
She nodded. Ive been afraid to tell you.
Who is he? Whered you meet him?
At the office. He was a temp there.
How long has it been going on?
A couple of weeks, she said. I couldnt figure out how to tell you. I didnt want to lose you as a friend.
So you tortured me instead.
I should have told you. Its stupid I didnt.
The worst part, I said, is that you deceived me. You lied to me that you were busy or tired when really you were going off to see him. You only called me when you needed me for something.
Im sorry.
Are you?
Im disgusted with myself, Mirielle said. I thought of killing myself last night.
Dont do that, I said. Dont make this into another excuse to feel sorry for yourself.
She took a folded check out of her purse. It was for the money I had lent her to buy her plane ticket to Tortola.
The waiter brought us the bill, and Mirielle and I split it down the middlethe first time I had ever let her pay for her share of a meal.
Do you think we could stay friends? she asked. Id like to.
Is he white?
What?
Your new boyfriend.
She nodded.
I knew it, I said. A yellow cab.
What?
All the crap about not wanting to jump into another relationship, how difficult it is for you to get close to peopleit was all bullshit. It wasnt that at all. Its just that you didnt want to be in a relationship with me.
Cant you be my friend?
Im right, arent I?
She wouldnt look at me, stared down at the caddy of sriracha and hoisin sauce on the table.
I never thought you were capable of something like this, I said. I thought I knew you, but I guess I dont. Youre a stranger to me, I told her. Youre a bad person, Mirielle.