Hurricane Days (34 page)

In that moment I knew I loved her. And I knew that love wasn’t only like what they described in poems or what you heard in songs. It was about the messy things too, wiping mascara that’s run down her cheeks, seeing the beauty of her face even when she was hungover with pink, puffy eyes…wanting to protect her even when I knew she wouldn’t take care of herself. Love was very inconvenient and annoying, and it felt so inevitable and permanent, as if no matter what happened from this point on, I knew I’d always love her.

Chapter Sixty

Andrew lay in the hospital bed with a few cuts and bruises decorating his pale face. He stared disappointedly at the elevated television. “It’s Cher, you idiot!” he hollered at a
Jeopardy
contestant. “Stupid straight guys,” he muttered to himself.

I knocked on the open door and entered cautiously, afraid of what I might see. I had gone over it in the hospital elevator on the way up here—if he had a missing eye or something hanging that shouldn’t be hanging, I’d pretend not to notice it.

“Hi,” I said.

Andrew’s face lit up. “Hey! Come in!” he said. “So tell me straight, so to speak. Did they mess up my face? The nurses won’t let me look.”

Relieved to be able to recognize him, I said, “No, not really. Just a few scratches. You looked worse last night.” I took a seat beside him. “I’m so pissed!” I exclaimed.

He closed his eyes and shook his head. “Channel that energy into something positive—like a new wardrobe. Ahhh!”

“I don’t believe it. You’re making jokes. How can you be making jokes?”

“It’s called morphine, sweetie.” He smiled tiredly at me.

“I think I know who did this to you.” At the sight of him, I had that familiar urge to slap Adrienne for associating with someone like Sean and his violent pals.

“One of ’em was Randy’s friend,” Andrew said. “The guy at the club.”

“Randy?”

“Oh, yeah. He was gay, just not okay with it. A freakin’ coward too. Had to have one of his friends do it.”

“Someone needs to have a discussion with those boys.”

“Don’t.” Andrew took my hand. “It won’t do any good. You be careful.” He coughed. “Is there any water?” He looked over in the direction of his tray, still with half-eaten food on a plate and a cup of green Jell-O. I scooted over to him and placed a plastic cup with a straw up to his mouth. “You know,” he said. “I’m starting to think I should have waited until after college to come out. You should consider it.”

My face was redder than a beet. “I don’t need to come out…I’m not…”

He coughed again, and I raised the cup to his mouth once more. “It’s not for the weak-hearted.”

I squeezed his hand. “C’mon, quit talking and get your rest.”

* * *

Later that afternoon, I came back to an empty dorm room. Flipping on the light, I went over to my closet and began unbuttoning my shirt. I could hear thunder rumbling outside.

Soon after, Adrienne came in. “Hey,” she said, carrying groceries. “How’s your friend?”

“He’s doing better.”

“Good. It’s gonna be a big storm.” She turned on the TV. A weather bulletin was flashing, but neither of us was paying attention. She absently put soda and beer in the minifridge, while I watched her.

“How did you ever go out with someone like that?” I faced her, letting my shirt hang open. I’d come a long way from the girl who changed clothes under a towel.

Adrienne took out another six-pack. “Not this again.”

“I…have to know.” I took a deep breath.

“I don’t know, okay?”

“I guess you had a few things in common, like the way you call certain people names.”

“Huh?”

“That girl down the hall. You had a lot to say about her. And Sean’s friends, shouting ‘faggot’ at my friend Andrew on the beach.” I also remembered the gang calling me a dyke outside the club, but I kept that to myself.

“I’m sorry if I made any queer jokes,” she said, not looking at me. My political correctness always seemed to annoy her.

“It’s kind of ironic.”

“Will you quit talking to me like that? I’m trying to apologize.” She looked at me, then glanced away sharply, as if she’d heard a gunshot on the other side of the room. The way I stood there with my shirt open, I had this new air of confidence. Adrienne was obviously uncomfortable, maybe even a little intimidated.

“Am I making you nervous?” I asked.

“Don’t flatter yourself.” She grabbed her backpack. Her discomfort was something I’d never seen before. She seemed anxious to get out of the room.

A bolt of lightning reminded us of the storm raging outside and getting worse. Palm trees bent to their sides, and the afternoon sky was suddenly dark as night.

“You shouldn’t go out in this,” I said.

“I’m fine.”

As soon as Adrienne opened the door, Lydia strode up the hall in her loud swishy pants. “Bad storm brewing. Everyone is advised to stay in.”

“We can go anytime we want,” Adrienne argued.

“It’s not advised!” Lydia’s eyes narrowed, daring her to defy her. “If something happens to you, the school is not responsible, because you’ve been warned.”

“What the hell’s a matter with you?”

I came out to check on the situation. “Come on, Adrienne. Why not wait it out inside?”

“I don’t want to.” She turned into a child who wasn’t getting her way. Then she looked at Lydia again. “I mean, really? What the fuck is your problem? Why are you so weird? Were you dropped on your head as a kid?”

“Adrienne!” I exclaimed. “She’s under a lot of pressure,” I explained to Lydia apologetically.

“No, I’m not.” Adrienne kept arguing as I yanked her back inside. I gave Lydia an apologetic nod as I closed the door.

“You’d better stay put,” Lydia called, “or I’m gonna write you up!”

“You do that!” Adrienne hollered from the other side of the door.

“What’s the matter with you?” I was exasperated.

She dropped her backpack and fell onto her bed, staring up at the ceiling. “I don’t like people telling me what I can and can’t do.”

“You know she’s kind of nuts. Why do you have to make it worse?”

“Because maybe I don’t care, okay?”

There was a long silence. I curled up in my own bed and took out some books to read while flashes of lightning pierced the room, followed by thunder that was getting closer.

The lights went out. In a moment, Adrienne struck a match and lit a nearby peach candle. The wick was nearly buried in wax, barely tall enough to hold the flame, but she was able to connect with it.

“You’ll burn your fingers!” I squeaked. Then I saw the lit candle and the glow on Adrienne’s anxious face. “What’s going on with you?”

“What about you?” She set the candle by her bedside. “You’re so mad at me all the time.” She seemed sad. “Nothing I do is right. And you’re still pissed because I used to see this guy, and you’re blaming me for everything he does. That doesn’t mean I’d do the same thing, you know. You always talk about stereotypes and how wrong they are. But you stereotyped me from the start. You treat me like I’m stupid if I don’t have all the same opinions you do. You’re a total snob.” There was a lot inside of her, boiling to the surface.

I closed my eyes, taking it all in. I understood that I had to make things right again. “I know it doesn’t sound like much, but I’m sorry. I’m sorry I misjudged you. I guess I was never real comfortable around Sean, and I guess I was a little threatened by him.”

Her face softened as she moved to my bed. “You don’t have to be,” she said softly and held my hand. Then she kissed it.

“I know.” Without thinking, I wrapped my arms around her and said, “I love you.”

There was silence. I didn’t notice right away, but Adrienne’s body had tensed up at the sound of those words. After another moment or two, she went back to her side of the room.

Chapter Sixty-One

Spring in Florida didn’t feel like spring, just a slightly less hot version of hell. I knew, though, that with summer around the corner, I didn’t have much longer to be with Adrienne. I began to wish summer would pass quickly. I couldn’t stand the thought of not seeing her, of being at home where I had to keep my feelings zipped up tightly. So many times I’d thought about calling my brother this semester, but I didn’t. I was always afraid that Adrienne would walk in and overhear my phone conversations.

The end of the school year was drawing near. I survived a week of finals, and this afternoon had been the last hurdle. Carol and I walked together under the sprawling oaks of the campus. I breathed in the aroma of nearby flowers, relieved that it was finally over.

I admitted the most embarrassing thing to her: “He gave me a B,” I said, talking about our film production teacher. “But he wrote that he wanted to give me a C. Why did he have to write that? You know? It’s just hurtful.”

“You’re lucky. He could’ve flunked you.”

“Thanks.” I was troubled. “You think I should have failed?”

Carol gave me her best smart-ass face. “Yeah.”

Why did I ask her when I knew I was going to get the unfiltered truth, even if I couldn’t handle it? “Fine.” My lips tightened, and I walked faster.

“Hey, wait! Are we running a fuckin’ marathon?”

“You could keep up if you didn’t smoke all those cancer sticks.”

“God, you sound like my mother.” She coughed, catching up to me. “I would’ve failed you, yeah. Deal with it.”

I stopped and swung around. “Why?”

“’Cause I couldn’t tell what the hell your movie was about.”

I chewed my lower lip, realizing that Carol, in all her apparent cruelness, was actually right. “I guess I was going more for an artsy style.”

“An incoherent mess.” Her medication, or her condition, sometimes made her sound more agitated than she intended. And she seemed particularly frustrated with me today. We resumed walking. “You gonna keep in touch over the summer?”

I imagined how my parents would view someone like Carol; they’d judge her immediately for the nose ring, for everything having to do with the way she looked. But what would they say about her mental illness? I hated myself for thinking of everything now through the prism of my parents’ narrow viewpoint. It was as if while here, on campus, I’d been living in a bubble of total freedom. Once I climbed out of that bubble, into the outside world again, everything would be different. And not in a good way. I thought of returning home with a sense of dread.

“Hey,” Carol shouted. “I asked you a question.”

“Yeah. Sure.”

“People always say that, but they never mean it.”

“I mean it!”

When Carol went her separate way back to her dorm, I was grateful to have some time alone before returning to my own room. I saw some kids in the parking lot already packing up their cars. I was going to stay one more day, especially because Adrienne would be here. I hadn’t even begun packing yet. I was sad the year was actually coming to an end.

It was late afternoon. Clouds were clustering together for an afternoon storm. I rushed inside the dormitory just in time to escape the first few raindrops. I got out of the elevator and turned the familiar corner down the hall, to the room. When I opened the door, nothing could prepare me for what I would see.

Two naked bodies were curled up under the white sheet of Adrienne’s bed. When I realized that the other body was Sean, I tried, but couldn’t, catch my breath. He was resting with one arm possessively hanging over Adrienne’s breasts, his hairy forearm secure in its place, and some of his chest hair sprouted over the top line of the sheet. Adrienne’s eyes were closed, and her arms were above her head on the pillow.

I gasped loudly, waking Adrienne. “What are you doing!” I cried hoarsely, throwing my backpack so hard it sailed across the room.

Adrienne gathered up the sheet around her as fast as she could, as if it made any difference. “Hang on!” she kept saying.

I couldn’t stay and look at the sight any longer. My fists were clenched so tightly I nearly crushed the keys in my hand before tearing out of the room.

Chapter Sixty-Two

I drove for an hour in the rain. Ironically, “Alone Again” came on the radio, and I turned it up. What a fool, I repeated to myself.
Such a fool.
Of course Adrienne slept with him. She was playing me. She was having it all. And always I would return to the image now engraved in my mind: Sean’s arm over her chest. How could she let him touch her? How could she touch him?
After us, how could you go to him?
The whole thing was unfathomable.

Then there was Andrew. I thought of his bruised face and skinny neck popping out of the hospital gown. That’s what happened to gay people. Never mind the constant whispering in the halls; they got beaten to a pulp or worse. I came to a fork in the road—literally—and started laughing hysterically at the irony of it. Thankfully I was alone in the car, because my wailing laughter sounded like that of a crazy person. Wet hair stuck to the back of my neck, and I wiped away the strands that were falling and dripping in my eyes from the rain. Not realizing that one of the windows was open a crack, letting more wetness inside, I kept wiping it from my face.

I leaned on the steering wheel, grateful the road was deserted. The part of it that branched off to the left led me back to campus. I knew what was there, what to expect. The other part that veered to the right went to some unknown destination. I didn’t know if it led to a good or bad part of town or even whether it led out of town. And the literal symbolism, like Dr. Gentry talked about during both semesters of film theory, it was so obvious it was almost silly. I knew the path to take for the familiar, the one that I knew, although it made me feel humiliated to even be considering it. The other path was unknown darkness, possibly the part of town that was usually on the local news. I always wanted to be strong and brave, someone who would make Bette Davis proud. But as I turned the wheel, heading back toward school, I thought about my English literature class in high school and the poem about the road not taken. The last line: “It has made all the difference.” I recalled how that line, which seemed to be a good thing at the time I read it, could also be taken to mean something good
or
bad. A road not taken could be the difference between an easier, comfortable life and an extremely difficult one. As much as I hated to admit it to myself, I’d never be able to look Bette Davis in the eye again.