Blind Squirrels (24 page)

“We don’t have to talk about it. 
It happened so recently.  These things take time.”  I fumbled for the right
words, but inside I could only think that Max was free.  My conscience would
get me for that later.

Max had recomposed himself. 
“No.  It’s okay.  Julie’s gone, and I have to learn to live with that.  Maybe
she’s happier.  She hadn’t been happy in a long time.”

“How did it happen?” I asked.  I
imagined that cancer was the culprit.

“A few weeks ago, she decided
that she wanted out.  She had no specific reason for her decision; she was just
tired of me and our marriage, I guess.  I begged her not to go.  She agreed to
stay for a while, but almost every day she would mention it.  Last week, I came
home to an empty house.  She moved in with her sister, and she won’t even talk
to me.”

Max’s story stunned me.  I felt
his pain, but it wasn’t as great as mine.  Max still loved Julie.  He could
never even learn to love me while he yearned for her.  I wanted to comfort him,
but I couldn’t.  Max needed Julie.  No one else would ever be enough for him.

“That must be painful,” I said. 
“I want to help you.  What can I do?”

“Why would you want to help me? 
I haven’t even seen you in twenty-something years.  I’m little more than a
stranger to you.  I don’t know why you would care enough to want to help.”

I wondered if I had overstepped
my boundaries.  My next words to Max could be my last words to him.  I knew I
had to choose them carefully.  “You’re right.  I don’t really know you, but I
would like to get to know you.  You seem lost – like you need a friend.  I
could be your friend.  Maybe I can help you work this out.”  I hoped that I
wasn’t being too pushy.

“Maybe...I have felt better
talking to you.  There’s really no one else I can talk to.  My dad is
sympathetic, but he really doesn’t know what to do or say.  I do need a friend,
and I’ve already shared much of the story with you.  Are you sure you don’t
mind?”  He wanted my help.  I didn’t know whether to be happy or depressed. 
Helping Max might mean reuniting him with Julie.  Being his friend could rule
out the possibility of anything romantic ever happening between us.  An image
of Brad popped into my mind.  Ultimately, I had to choose to be Max’s friend or
to lose him again – maybe forever.  I decided that Max as a friend was better
than no Max at all.

“I don’t mind.  I consider it an
honor.” 

He smiled for the first time
since he’d first mentioned Julie.  “Great.  Let’s go somewhere and catch up on
old times.  Maybe that will cheer me up for a while.”

I suddenly remembered that I was
meeting Olivia for lunch.  “I need to make a phone call first,” I told Max as I
reached into my purse for my cell phone.  “Excuse me for a moment.”

I called Olivia’s number.  I knew
she wouldn’t mind.  This was Max after all.  She picked up the phone on the
first ring.

“Hello?  If this is Kat, you
better be on your way to the Taco House.”

“Olivia, it is Kat.  I have a
huge favor...”

“Katrina...How many times have
you canceled on me?  I’m not forgiving you this time.”

“Please listen!” I told her. 
“I’m at Hurricane Gardens.  I’m talking to Max.  He wants me to go somewhere
with him.  We can go out some other time.”

“Fine!  You go out with Max.  I
thought you were maturing.  I guess I was wrong.”  Olivia was not happy with
me.

“It’s just lunch, Olivia.  I’ll
buy you dinner at Taco House later – or wherever you want.  Don’t be so
dramatic.”  You would think I owed her something.

“Do what you want, Kat.  You
always do anyway.  I don’t think you’ll ever figure out what being a friend
means.”  I heard a click, and the phone went dead.

“If you can’t make it, I
understand,” Max said over my shoulder.

“Oh, no.  That’s not it.  I can
go.  I’m free – no one’s tying me down.”  Still, I felt a twinge of guilt.

We walked to the parking lot. 
Max headed for a white and rusted old Camaro.  My Accord sat across from it. 
“You might not want to ride in my old car,” Max said.

I glanced from my car to his.  A
beat up old Camaro never looked so good.  “I’ll ride with you, but I should
drop my car somewhere safe.  Will you follow me back to my apartment?”

“Sure, just lead the way.”

He followed me.  When I pulled
into the apartment complex and parked, he parked beside me and got out of his
car.  “Kensington Villas?  You’ve come a long way since high school.  They’ll
probably tow my car away if I leave it here too long.”

“Does that mean you’d like to see
my apartment?  I live on the ground floor.  It’ll only take a minute.”  My
apartment was clean, so I didn’t mind showing it to him.

“I was wondering if we could just
talk here?  My house reminds me too much of Julie, and my dad’s house...well, I
just don’t want to go there.  Would you mind?”  Was he kidding?  I’d waited
more than half my life to have Max come into my home.

“Whatever you want to do is
fine.  I want you to be comfortable.”  I was trying to conceal my glee.

Once inside, Max looked around a
bit, and then we sat down on my sofa to talk.  I thought we were going to talk
about Julie, but he asked me about Ben.  I hesitated, and Max said, “We can
talk about me later.  I’d like to get my mind off Julie for a while.  I’d like
to hear what you’ve done since high school.”

“Okay,” I said reluctantly.  “But
I usually don’t discuss Ben with anyone.”

“If I’m going to spill my heart
for you, you can do the same for me,” he said.

He was right. 
If I couldn’t open up about Ben, how could I expect him to talk to me about Julie? 
I leaned back on the couch and shut my eyes.  Surprisingly, I could see Ben
clearly.  I hadn’t really thought about him in years, but now everything was
replaying in my mind.  I found myself sharing the whole story with Max, and
even as I droned on relentlessly, he listened wholeheartedly.

Chapter 14

College was certainly not like
high school.  First, I had never had to stand in line to register in high
school – never mind the money I was shelling out.  It was a cold December day
in 1980, and there were many things that I would have enjoyed more.  But I had
promised myself that I would start college in January, so I withstood the
tedious line.  I had already delayed entering college for more than a year, and
I knew I might never go if I kept putting it off.

I wasn’t sure what I was going to
major in, but I was leaning towards English.  My father kept telling me that I
could never make a living as a writer, but I didn’t believe him.  For now, I
was listing myself as a general degree seeking student.  In two years I would
graduate from Foster Community College with my Associates Degree.  After that,
I could transfer to Fort McRee College (which was in Foster’s Bank) or The
University of West Florida (which was in nearby Pensacola) and eventually get
my Bachelor’s Degree.

I finally made it to the front of
the line.  An attractive young black woman motioned for me, and I walked up to
her window and handed her my registration form.  She typed some things into a
computer terminal, and then she put several marks on my form.  She pushed the
form across her desk and said, “The composition class you requested is full.  I
have another opening for Monday, Wednesday, and Friday from eight until
eight-fifty in the morning.”

“I guess that’s okay,” I said.  I
had tried to avoid 8 AM classes, but I needed to take a writing class.

“Also, Introduction to Data
Processing is full – all the classes.  Do you have a second choice?”

“No...I’m new at this.  What do I
need to do?”  I needed to go to college full time to receive financial aid.

“If you need to be a full-time
student, you’ll have to make another choice and come back.”

“Stand in line again?” I asked.

“I’m afraid so.  You’ll actually
need two new choices.  French I is full, too.  Unless you want to have an
evening class.”

“That’s okay.  I’ll find
something else.”

In the end, I managed to register
for Composition I, Accounting I, Psychology I, Music Humanities, and Tennis,
but only after a total in-line wait of two and a half hours. 

The book store wasn’t any
better.  I could not find any used books – only new ones, and I had to pay for
books out of my own pocket.  I had to stand in another line, and I wound up
paying almost two-hundred dollars for six books.

Since high school, I had been
working at Kmart, and I continued to work there until the semester started.  I
worked at the service desk – making only three-twenty-five an hour.  Everyone
hated to see me go, but I knew I couldn’t do well in school and work a full
time job.  Since I still lived at home, I could afford to quit.  On my last
day, the store manager and some of my coworkers took me to lunch.

Olivia and I hadn’t really kept
in contact now that high school was over.  She was still pursuing a career at Mac’s
– in management.  I saw her on occasion.  She was living in an apartment with
one of her coworkers – Jenna – and they seemed to be doing well. 

Olivia was dating a guy named
Chris that she met at the dog track.  Chris worked at one of the betting windows. 
He became interested in Olivia because she didn’t bet on the dogs; she just
went because she loved to watch them race.  Honestly, Olivia couldn’t bet on
the dogs – she was only nineteen.  Jenna was twenty-five, and she always
managed to sneak Olivia in without much fuss.  Jenna sometimes blew her entire
paycheck in one night, but Olivia never spent one penny on gambling.  Olivia’s
extraordinary ability to refrain from gambling fascinated Chris.  I had never
met Chris, but he completely charmed Olivia.  Back then, I imagined that they
would someday marry and live happily ever after.

As for me, I had given up on
casual sex and revolving boyfriends.  I had outgrown my crush on Max (I
thought), and I decided it was time to take life seriously for a change. 
College was going to help me launch my new life, and one day I would find
someone to share my new life with.  I was in no hurry; at nineteen, my life was
just starting.

My first day of college was not
nearly as stressful as past first days of school had been.  The semester
started on a Tuesday.  I soon learned several things.  First, you must come at
least an hour early to find a parking spot that is within two miles of your
first class.  Second, never give up the parking spot you find.  Even if all of your
other classes are clear across campus, you should not move your car.  Stay
there all semester if at all possible because you’ll never find one that close
again.  Finally, in college you no longer have teachers.  They are instructors,
professors, or doctors – but never teachers.

My first class – accounting – was
at eight in the morning.  Mrs. Brooks – a thin, blonde, middle aged woman with
very little patience – was the instructor.  She revealed to us on that first
day that she had just passed the CPA exam, and she explained – for those
students majoring in accounting – that the test was extremely hard.  She then
added that her class would be a breeze for those of us who came to class, did
our work, and paid attention.

There wasn’t a single familiar
face in my accounting class, but I no longer grew anxious in a crowd of
strangers.  Sitting beside me was a very charming blonde.  She was older than
me, but she seemed younger – maybe sixteen or seventeen.  Her name was Loni
Patterson, and she had recently married her childhood sweetheart.  On my other
side was Larry Wilcox.  Larry was a disabled Vietnam veteran.  He’d lost
several inches off one of his feet, and he wore a special built up shoe.  He
was almost repulsive: his black hair was oily and it matted down on top of his
head and across his face.  I’m sure he hadn’t washed it in weeks.  His clothes
were dirty, too, but he seemed to be clean – at least he didn’t smell bad.  In
time, I would learn to overlook Larry’s disability and his unattractiveness.  In
spite of those things, I grew to despise him.  He constantly made irritating
remarks to me, and he repeatedly tried to get me to go out with him – even
though he was forty-five years old.   He was also an unscrupulous rogue, and
Mrs. Brooks finally threw him out of class for copying my final exam.

Psychology was at 10am.  Dr.
Harrison had the daunting task of teaching a class full of students who had
grown up on drugs, free sex, and Vietnam about the workings of the mind and its
different abnormalities.  Dr. Harrison – a small, charismatic man in his
forties – maintained his psychology practice and only taught one class per
semester.  I was lucky to be in his class.  He was a remarkable educator, and
by the end of the semester he would completely reshape my views on mental
illness and its treatment.

Once again, strangers surrounded
me, but Dr. Harrison had a solution.  Beginning in the back of the classroom,
he had each of us stand up and tell a few things about ourselves.  After the
groans died down, I discovered that there were some very interesting people in
my class.  Jerome was a retired house painter who wanted to teach mathematics. 
Tanya was a semi-pro tennis player.  Michelle had grown up in Paris.  Simon
arrived in America as a Vietnamese refugee.  Patrick claimed to be the world’s
biggest Alice Cooper fan.  Ben announced that he was wanted for murder in
Alaska.  After everyone acted appropriately shocked, he confessed that he had
indeed murdered a Kodiak bear with the help of his father and his best friend. 
The classroom erupted in laughter.