Human Hieroglyphix - Dex & Leila (24 page)

"Why, Dr. Weatherby, do they need to be mutually exclusive?" the great thinking and most wondrous expert of fourteenth century German poetry asked.

"Natural selection, my good doctor.  Natural selection."  Dr Weatherby replied drolly and glanced around the table to ensure everyone in her department, everyone that attended this weekly meeting had caught onto her little joke.

And I watched as my department head turned her face to an unlaughing me.

*.*.*.*.*

I tried to keep on track with my day, my week, my life but I have to tell you it was so fucking hard.

Every day I had to talk myself into just getting up.  And then there was the whole getting dressed and ready to go speech that I had with myself. 

Some days it worked. 

And some days I forgot what day it was and found myself on the way to University on, like, a Sunday.

Had honestly considered buying the day of the week panties just to keep up. 

But even the thought of that seemed overwhelming.

Sigh.

Other people
survive
this stuff, though, right?  People survive a lot worse than this, if TV news was to be believed.

And people try to find comfort in familiar routines.

Like me bringing lunch and sitting at the faculty table, attempting to include myself in the discussions as they worked their way around to each of us around the table's rim.

I had just heard Dr. Marshall say something that I found especially witty and had added my agreement to the general consensus when I hear a loud and nasal, "I'm sorry, the only opinions that matter to the people of
this
table are those given to the ones
not
wearing heels.  Oops!  Guess that leaves you out of the study circle, Barbie!  Or should we call you,
Dr
. Barbie?"

I looked around the table to see who Emily was referring to but it was, you guessed it, me.

Childish?  You bet.

Effective?  You better believe it.

That is until I found a pair of bright pink, high-heeled pumps on my doorstep the next morning. 

Pumps that'd had their heels snapped clean off.

I called Grantham P.D. and they advised me that they would send a patrol unit out immediately which was comforting.

Being asked out by Officer Matthews, who obviously didn't remember me from his stint in my classroom four years ago, wasn't.

*.*.*.*.*

The next girl's night was at Frank-kay's, in the house he shared with Stan. 

Talk about a showplace! 

Frank took us on a tour describing the ten years of work that he and Stan had put into their former, practically falling down wreck of a house, located against one of the low lying hills that surrounded our town and offered the best views of the Grantham I'd ever seen.  Amazing place in an amazing setting for a couple of amazing guys. 

Loved it.

But I still felt like I was a sore thumb as I looked around the room.

Both Cait and Frank were so caught up in their really wonderful relationships to the point where you almost couldn't tell where one person began and the other person ended.

Marianne was doing a man-juggle and seemed to be enjoying it, although not quite as much as she used to.

Crystal was…well, Crystal.  Still hadn't seen her with the same guy twice and though, I didn't ask, she seemed to be okay with it.

And then there was me.

Enough said.

Was it any wonder why a completely faked, sudden on-set sinus headache had me leaving early?

*.*.*.*.*

It wasn't until I received that call from my mom, the one where she was so freaked out she was barely making sense, that two and two started to come together.

She said that she had received a call from the University's Psychologist detailing that they needed her permission to treat me for, and I quote, "the psychic break that had occurred due to Leila's unhealthy relationship with narcotics that she'd developed when she was inducted into the local chapter of Hell's Angels".  That my consistent run-ins with local law enforcement were due to both "public intoxication" as well as "an assumed but yet unproven second career in prostitution" in order to keep "my crew" out of jail and that my behavior was seriously jeopardizing my academic career.

Okay, I double-dog-
dare
you to tell me exactly where
you'd
break into that particular conversation in order to assure
your
mother that it was a crank call?

*.*.*.*.*

I was trying to lay low because even though I had a long-term habit of hiding my head in the sand to avoid the unpleasantness of life, I wasn't typically, habitually stupid.  I wasn't sure exactly where the threat was exactly coming from but I felt the threat of something, something
really
nasty, aimed my way nonetheless.

I just tried to keep my head down and just do my job so I could go home.

Because things had taken a turn for the worse.  The kind of worse that raises the hackles on the back of your neck.

I was no longer sitting at the faculty table during lunch. 

If I stayed on campus to eat I made sure that I sat at another table or ate in my office and even in the halls I only traded chin lifts with the other professors.

It was lonely.

Funny how, back in the day, I was often
alone
but I never felt
lonely
.

I guess it's no wonder then that when I was stopped by Dr Edwina Sorenson on my way out of the building, I was grateful for the interruption.

"Dr McCarthy?  I was told that you might now the answer to the riddle that was posed during today's lunchtime round table."

I paused.

I had nothing against Dr Sorenson, but at the mention of something from the faculty lunch table, I was immediately on my guard.

"Okay…," I said, drawing the word out hesitantly.

"Do you know what lowers a Barbie doll's IQ?"

I didn't respond, but I didn't look away either.

"New hair-do, wardrobe plus contacts!  You can actually watch as her IQ score lowers as her hemlines get higher."

It was funny.

Kind of. 

In its own unique way.

Until I had to call Grantham P.D. out a-freakin'-gain.

Because I discovered underneath my driver side windshield wiper, in front of God and everybody else parked in the designated faculty parking lot, there was a naked, blonde Barbie doll whose hair had been snipped close to her head.  And she had what was apparently blue ink on various parts of her anatomy that looked like they were supposed to be tattoos.

I didn't cry about it, though.

Not when Officer Matthews asked me out
again
.

Not when I tried to listen to my Nano on shuffle and Bill Evans came up. 

Or, The Cowboy Junkies. 

Guess what came up next?

You got it.  Dave Matthews Band.  "Crash."

Sometimes life just seems to want to find you on your knees, head to the rug holding your arms against stomach, hugging yourself so you don't fly apart as pieces of you break away.

While you listen to some of the most beautiful music you've ever heard.

Alone.

*.*.*.*.*

And just when you've sunk just about as low as you think you'll ever feel without shattering completely to smithereens, a storm can blow in. 

Storms in the Rockies are fierce, raw.  They have a life of their own with the long, sharp bolts of lightning and their hard, booming peals of thunder that are sometimes so loud that you can't hear your own heart beat much less a frenzied knock.

I did, though. 

The frenzied knock that turned into thumps as I made my way to the door to find Crys soaked through to the bone, clumped mascara streaming from both rain and tears.  She had been calling every couple of days, and sometimes showed up unexpectedly just to talk. 

But I could tell that she was worried about me.   

I knew in my heart that what Dex and I had shared in those few days was a real connection.  And broken connections tend to affect both the 'hurter' and the 'hurtee'.

And I knew I was hurting because I carried the pieces of my heart, my broken rattling old heart, inside me each and every day.

But it wasn't until she showed up unannounced during that storm that I realized that our broken connection would hurt anyone else.

Especially, most especially, Crys.

I did what I think most people would do, offered her a warm shower, some warm food (although Dex had been right, I didn't keep a lot of food on hand) and my soft, billowy couch to sleep on.  And I tried, I really did try, to understand what she was so upset about.  But the only thing that I
could
understand or unjumble from her was some sort of convoluted thing about not wanting to live as a spare part and that she could see that Dex and I were both miserable and needed to just, 'get the
fuck on
with it for God's sake'.

From your sweet mouth to God's ear, baby girl.

*.*.*.*.*

"You want to stop by Henry's for a nightcap," James asked as we got back into his car.  James as in Dr. James Miller who was a professor in the Engineering Department at the University.

"Okay," I said trying to keep my voice normal.  What I wanted to say was take me anywhere but there, but unfortunately, there wasn't a single restaurant in town where I wouldn't have a memory of Dex.

James was very nice, thoughtful and attentive which is why I agreed to a second date with him.  That and it had been a full month since that stupid Sunday when my heart was torn out of my chest without me even being aware of it.

"Hey, Dirk," I said climbing up on the barstool and rearranging my dress.  It was a wrap dress in a pretty salmon color but tended to open and show just a little bit more leg than I wanted to expose.

"Hi, Leila, haven't seen you in a while," Dirk said putting a coaster down in front of me.  "What'll you have?"

"A glass of red?"

"You got it," Dirk said moving down the bar to get my drink.

"Wow, you sure know how to get great service.  First Luigi's and now here?  I'm impressed," James said sitting next to me.

I choose not to answer as Dirk brought my wine and took James' order.

Gloria made her way over and gave me a hug as she admired my dress. 

Spring had officially come to our corner of the Rockies and it was warm enough now to wear dresses without sweaters or jackets.  I'd been slowly adding to my new wardrobe and had been leaning towards dresses for a while now.  As well as strappy little sandals with a heel.  The ones I had on tonight were a rich camel color which complemented both my dress and the gold jewelry I had on.

"I'm so sorry.  James, this is Gloria and the best waitress at Henry's."  I said, a little embarrassed that I had allowed myself to talk with Gloria so long without introducing James.  But then, on the other hand, I really didn't give a rip.

Actually, there was quite a few of things I didn't give a rip about and I was becoming really disenchanted with academia, its players and rules, all the way around.  From the petty and unnecessary politics, to the gossip of who is sleeping with whom and the constant excuses from students and the TA's. 

I was fast becoming done with it
all
.

Live free or die.

I glanced over at James and saw him align the olives that garnished whatever drink it was that he ordered until each of the three were lined up exactly the same distant apart from each other and each end. 

Kill me now, I thought, taking another sip of my wine.

James was my third date, or if you're counting this second date as a date, in the last month then this was my fourth date.  But I really wasn't interested in any of the three men that had escorted me out, had wined and dined me.

I admit it.

I wasn't attracted to anyone.

Not their hair, their car, their fucking diplomas.

And, worst of all?

I couldn't imagine and didn't want to imagine any of them whispering to me to touch myself while they watched. 

Who wanted to or even would dance with me in my kitchen on a Sunday morning with the sun shining bright around us making a moment so wonderful that it brought tears to my eyes. 

Or who would still have the list of how they re-invented themselves when they were in their mid-twenties and be willing to show it to me on a soft night over coffee before taking me to bed and helping us both find bliss.

I swallowed thickly as I nodded and 'uh-huhed' in all the right places but I couldn't tell you what … uhm… what's his name?