Misunderstandings (3 page)

November 2010

The crashing of our dorm room door against the wall woke me out of a sound sleep Halloween night. I sat up confused, rubbing my knuckles across my eyes so I could fully comprehend the sight in front of me.

“What the hell happened to you?” I asked, taking in the sight of Melissa standing in the doorway with half-inflated balloons covering her from her neck to her ankles. She looked like a cluster of grapes that had been left on the vine too long and had started to shrivel up.

“I met someone,” she squealed, bouncing up and down on my bed, not caring that she was crushing my legs.

“Again?” I asked, tugging at my legs to dislodge them from under her bony butt.

“This one’s not like the others. He’s different,” she said in a dreamy voice as she absently picked at the balloons that covered her body.

“Right,” I answered, swinging my legs off the mattress. Glancing at the clock, I grimaced when I saw the time. “Gahhh, Melissa. It’s two freaking
AM.
I have a trig exam in the morning,” I complained, heading to the communal bathroom we shared with the room next door. Whoever came up with the brilliant idea that four girls could share a teeny-tiny bathroom must have been smoking crack.

“Oops, sorry. I lost track of time. Rob and I spent hours talking. He’s so smart and funny. He’s some kind of business major, but he writes this poetry that makes your toes curl,” she gushed as she flopped backward on my mattress, popping the few remaining balloons on her back that still had air in them.

“You don’t say,” I mumbled. I was used to her immediate fascination with something that was new and shiny. I closed the bathroom door behind me, but I could still hear her chattering away like I was in the room.

“So, how did you meet this Rob the Poet character?” I asked once I was back in my bed.

“Bobbing for apples. He tied my hands behind my back,” she sighed happily, pulling the balloons off one at a time.

“Honey, I’d watch who I mentioned that to. You know, the whole bondage thing,” I teased, stifling a yawn.

“Ha, that’s so not funny,” she growled, throwing a balloon at me that missed the mark completely as it fluttered harmlessly toward the floor.

“I try. Now shut off the light. I’m exhausted.”

“Fine, party pooper,” she grumbled before plunging the room into darkness.

I fell asleep to the sound of more deflating balloons and Melissa still chattering on about how fantastic Rob was and how she couldn’t wait for me to meet him. She finally quieted down after I chucked a pillow at her, even though I heard her complaining quietly how it would have been easier to take her costume off if she had a little light.

• • •

“Hurry, Brittni, we’re going to be late,” Melissa demanded, hopping impatiently from one foot to the other while I pulled my favorite loosely woven sweater over my head.

“I thought you said it starts at seven,” I replied, adding the final touches to my appearance.

“It does, but Rob wanted us to get there early so we can support his friend. So get your ass in gear.”

“Fine, but need I remind you I’m the one doing you a favor here? Art shows really aren’t my thing.”

“I know, I know. How about you mention it another million times? But you agreed to go so Rob’s best friend in the world isn’t embarrassed if he doesn’t get a good turnout.”

“So, having me there to witness his misery is a perk, how?” I asked, pulling on my coat.

“Bodies are bodies. Anything that looks like people actually showed is better than nothing.”

“If you say so,” I said gloomily, wishing I’d stood firm on my original answer, which had been a resounding no. Melissa had worn me down over the last few days using every resource in her arsenal from begging to outright bribery. Her final last-ditch attempt was to offer to bring me morning coffee every day for the next month. That finally sealed the deal. What can I say? I’m a coffee whore.

“You at least have to
act
like you’re having fun or you’ll be getting decaf delivered in the morning,” she said as we made our way across campus huddled together. The brisk November wind was making a good effort at cutting through our jackets.

“You wouldn’t dare,” I gasped.

“I would. Now show me a smile.”

I finally let my lips spread into a smile that came off more as a grimace.

“Whoa, slow down, sister. We don’t want to scare them. How about a smile that doesn’t look like someone is pulling off your toenails with pliers?”

“How about this?” I asked, flashing an exaggerated smile that was all teeth.

“Better, I guess, but you might want to rethink the piece of spinach you have stuck between your teeth,” she chirped, nudging me toward the campus art museum.

“Crap, really?” I griped, using my nail to dislodge the offending leaf.

“At least I told you,” she pointed out as we stepped into the warm lobby. “Whew, it is freaking cold out there.”

“That’s nothing compared to what we get back home this time of year.”

“That’s insanity,” she replied, pulling off her jacket as she scanned the atrium. “Oh, there’s Rob,” she squealed, smoothing her hair down before dragging me off toward a dark-haired guy standing off to the side of the entryway talking to another guy who had his back to us.

“Melissa,” Rob said as he broke off his conversation and dragged Melissa into his arms for a quick hard hug.

“Rob, this is my roomie, aka college bestie, Brittni Mitchell,” Melissa said, tugging my hand so I was face to face with her current crush.

“Rob, it’s nice to meet you. Melissa thinks quite highly of your poetry,” I said, holding out my hand for him to shake.

“I’m more of a hugging kind of person,” he said, ignoring my outstretched hand to pull me in. I automatically stiffened since I wasn’t much of a hugger. It must be a trait I inherited from my dad because my mom is the exact opposite. She would hug a stranger on the street. Even Tressa and I were more the punch-in-the-arm kind of friends than hugging it out. “I’d like you to meet my friend Justin,” Rob finally said, releasing me. I knew by the chuckling behind me that it was too much of a coincidence to pray that his friend was not the same Justin who had hit on me the previous week.

“Brittni, is it? I told you I’d be alone the next time we met,” the same voice drawled.

I turned around to acknowledge him after flashing a glare at Melissa, who looked completely mystified.

“You two know each other?” she asked, looking questioningly at Rob, who looked equally confused.

“Yeah, we had the honor of meeting last week,” I answered sarcastically. “Did you leave your Playboy bunnies at the mansion, or are they fetching you a drink?” I added, making a production of looking around. I knew I was being an uber bitch. I had no idea what was wrong with me. So he was a flirt. Half the males at UW were flirts. It just rubbed me the wrong way that he had no problem flirting with me while he was with someone else.

“I told you, they’re just friends, so sheathe the sword, honey,” he answered smoothly, completely unscathed by my biting tone.

“What is the matter with you?” Melissa hissed in my ear.

“Nothing,” I mumbled out of the corner of my mouth, feeling slightly abashed at my behavior.

“Well, knock it off. It’s rude to insult the artist at his first showing,” she said through gritted teeth, looking embarrassed for me.

“This is
your
show?” I asked unbelievingly.

“Surprised again? How could a bad boy have actually left the tattoo parlor and dropped the beer long enough to create something, right?” he quizzed, smirking at me.

“Absolutely,” I answered, smiling grudgingly at him for the first time. “Of course, I’ll reserve further judgment until I look around.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less from you,” he answered, with the same smirk on his face. It was clear he was enjoying himself immensely.

“I’m sorry. That wasn’t nice of me,” I said apologetically, turning toward my friend, who was studying me like I was a creature that had just crawled up from the pits of some swamp. She looked at me with an equal mixture of horror and morbid fascination. I couldn’t blame her. In the year and half that we had been roommates, I had never acted like this. Sure, I could be standoffish, but I was never stuck up. It was like I was channeling my inner Mean Girl.

Rob, on the other hand, was openly laughing.

“What’s so funny, bro?” Justin asked.

“Did you say ‘bad boy’? More like ‘dud boy,’” he said, gasping for air.

“Don’t be a douche-stick. I could totally be a bad boy,” Justin complained, socking Rob in the arm.

“Riiiiight.”

“I’m so glad I asked you here tonight to lend some moral support,” Justin said dryly.

“Dude, I’ve got your back on your art, but the bad-boy status is a no-go,” Rob said, slinging an arm around Melissa’s shoulders. “So, let’s show these ladies your kick-ass artwork,” he added, leading Melissa into the main room of the building.

“You game?” Justin asked me, nodding toward the room.

“Sure, let’s see what you got,” I said, following along, but not sure what to expect. Maybe something abstract, like art created from metal or maybe beer bottles. Stepping through
the doorway, though, I was completely caught off-guard at what I saw. The art on display in front of me stopped me in my tracks.

“What do you think?” Justin asked, turning to look back at me.

I couldn’t speak as I took in the pieces scattered throughout the room. I wasn’t even sure if
beautiful
was the right word to describe his art. It deserved a word with more impact, like
breathtaking
, even though that didn’t seem quite sufficient either. They literally took my breath away. He didn’t use the typical canvas to make his mark. Instead, he used huge slabs of distressed wood that were easily six feet across and five feet high. Each piece of wood was different in shape, but there was no mistaking that every one belonged to him. He didn’t do the cutesy landscapes or abstract art that left you scratching your head in confusion. I guess an ignorant person would call what he did portrait art, but to call it that was almost an insult. Each piece depicted a different face. Some were young, while others were older. There was an equal mixture of women and men of all races. Each one was beautiful beyond words. Instead of covering the wood with paint, he had used the paint to enhance the natural coloring in all the different types of woods he used. It was as if he had stamped an image on each piece.

“Insane, right?” Melissa squealed, joining me. I hushed her, not wanting to spoil the mood with mindless chatter.

“So come on. What do you think?” Justin asked earnestly as Melissa melted away into the background. I took a moment
to answer as I studied the painting of the elderly woman in front of me. The attention to detail blew my mind as I took in every wrinkle and crease on her face.

“They’re amazing. You’re going to be famous,” I breathed, finally able to speak.

“Did hell just freeze over, or did you just give me a compliment?” he asked, winking at me as he reached for my hand with excitement. “There’s hope for us yet.”

“Hope? That’s an awfully strong word to use,” I said, looking down at our linked hands. “I’m not going out on a date with you, even if you’re not a typical bad boy,” I added, pulling my hand from his. I tried not to think about how warm and inviting it had felt wrapped around my fingers or whether every part of him was equally warm.

“Give me one good reason why not,” he coaxed.

“I’ll give you two. One, you’re a terrible flirt,” I said, holding up a finger.

“Hey, I think my flirting skills are top-notch,” he interrupted, deliberately being dense.

“Exactly, you’d flirt with anything that has a pair of tits.”

“Not true. I’ve never hit on a cow,” he teased.

“Only because there aren’t a whole lot of cows walking around the Seattle area,” I pointed out.

“I think you’re exaggerating the flirting, but that’s a doable fix. What’s reason number two?”

“I don’t date smokers. Ever.”

“Again, easy fix,” he bragged.

“How so?”

“I’m not really a smoker. I enjoy an occasional cigarette, but that’s about all.”

“I don’t date people in denial who only smoke occasionally,” I stated skeptically.

“No, I’m serious. I bet I smoke a cigarette a week, if that.”

“Even one a week is a deal breaker for me. I hate the smell and the smoke.”

“Done. I won’t smoke while we’re dating.”

“Who said anything about dating? We were talking about one date,” I squawked, wondering how he’d gained the upper hand. I wasn’t sure how I felt about his persistence.

“Fine. Go out with me once. If you hate it, no harm, no foul.”

“I can’t go out with you. I don’t even like you,” I said, less convincingly than I had the last time I’d seen him.

“Sure you do. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here,” he said confidently. “Come on, one date.”

I studied his earnest expression for a few seconds, mentally weighing the pros and cons. “Fine, but I’m going to hate it,” I said, caving as he grinned at me.

Present Day
11:20
AM

I came to with Justin hovering over me. My eyes focused on his, and for a moment I thought I saw a flash of concern before his stare hardened again. “I never thought you’d take the damsel-in-distress route,” I heard him say as he backed up to the far side of the elevator.

I closed my eyes again to try to get my bearings. Whatever asshole comments he had, coupled with the fact that I was lying on some nasty elevator floor, were the least of my concerns. My biggest problem was that I felt no movement beneath me, meaning I was still stranded in this death trap. I slowly slid myself up until I was sitting against the wall of the elevator.
Feeling no less panicked than when I blacked out, I focused on keeping my breathing steady to move my attention from the elevator walls, which still felt as if they would smother me.

“What did she say?” I asked, indicating the call box.

“Just that there’s some kind of power failure and we should sit tight while they call the experts,” he barked out. He couldn’t even bring himself to look at me as he held his phone in the air. “I’m not getting dick for cell service either. I’m going to kick Rob’s ass when we finally get out of here.”

His words slowly registered in my brain.
Sit tight?
What the hell did that even mean? Sit tight for the next few seconds? A few minutes? Several hours? Seriously, who tells someone to sit tight while they’re trapped with their ex in a small enclosed space hundreds of feet in the air?

“You’re not going to pass out again, are you?” he asked sarcastically as he studied me from across the elevator. “I don’t remember you being such a pansy.”

I ignored his ribbing while I concentrated on my breathing. “Did she guesstimate how long it would take?” I tried to sound unconcerned but knew it was pointless.

“Does it matter? We’re stuck together. Talk about irony at its worst,” he snapped. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’d had something to do with this.”

“Oh yeah, you got me,” I snapped, sitting up straight. “I’ve missed your winning personality so much that Rob and I worked out this whole plan to hijack an elevator so I could be alone with you and tell you how much I missed you, and how
I can’t live another day without you, and how I’ve tried to get hold of you for the last two years. Oh wait—I haven’t.”

He eyed me critically for a moment before looking away, almost satisfied. My sudden anger had dissipated any panic I was feeling. Judging by the look on his face, it was as though that had been his intention all along, but I knew better. It would be a cold day in hell before he ever did anything that came close to helping me.

The little bit of adrenaline I felt from my outburst was short-lived. Slumping back against the elevator again, I no longer felt like the walls were closing in on me, but it didn’t make the situation any more comfortable. We both sat in stubborn silence, as if the first one to talk would somehow lose the battle. The tension was high and began to feel heavy and oppressive, but I wasn’t about to cave.

“Since when are you scared of elevators?” Justin asked, without looking at me.

I silently celebrated my small victory and even debated being petty for a moment and not answering him, but the silence was wearing on me. “Since always.”

“Why didn’t I know?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because we never went on an elevator together—or maybe we just didn’t talk about those things.

“Yeah, you’re pretty good at keeping secrets.”

I sighed loudly. This was why there would be no reconciliation, even after two years. I had made a decision that threw down a gauntlet between us. I clamped my mouth closed,
determined not to say another word until we were out of this situation. Pulling my iPhone from my bag, I began to scroll through my apps in search of anything to help pass the time. No bars meant no Facebook or Twitter, so I clicked on Spider Solitaire. I could feel Justin’s eyes boring into me, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of looking up. By the time I was playing my second hand of solitaire, I had successfully managed to put him somewhat out of my mind. When he finally did speak again, the suddenness of his voice made me jump.

“So, why the hatred of elevators?” he asked.

Glancing up, I weighed his question, wondering if it was even worth it to tell the story. Surely the elevator would start moving at any time. Justin continued to stare at me, waiting for an answer. This was how it had always been with us. He was always asking questions about my life before college, wanting to hear all my stories. I had chalked it up to the artist in him, who seemed to look at life in layers, as if it were a painting or a sculpture. Looking back now, it seemed crazy that I had never shared the elevator story with him since it was such a traumatic moment in my life.

“When I was in seventh grade my hand got crushed in an elevator door,” I answered, flexing the fingers on my right hand, which to this day still tended to tighten up and often went numb.

He didn’t say anything, waiting instead like he had so many times before for me to continue. It was so achingly familiar that my heart actually hurt. In the two years since our breakup, I had convinced myself that our relationship had
been nothing special. That it only seemed that way because it was so intense and new at the time. Now, sitting here, it was painfully clear that I was kidding myself to think I could dismiss what we had shared.

“We were on a field trip to the public library in the big city not far from Woodfalls. It was a yearly tradition for seventh graders and believe it or not, was a pretty big deal for us considering the library in Woodfalls at that time was a joke. We were supposed to be doing research for some class project on influential figures of the twentieth century. Our teacher was old school and wanted us to use actual books for research in lieu of the Internet. Anyway, this library was huge and had two floors with an elevator. Well, for some reason—I don’t even remember why anymore—a few of us decided to go for a joyride. Then, that creep Tommy Jones, who knew I was scared anyway, had convinced everyone to run off the elevator just as the door was closing. Afraid of being on the elevator by myself, I stuck out my hand to stop the door, but my hand didn’t make it to the rubber sensor that should have caused the doors to bounce back open. Instead, the elevator door closed against my fingers for the entire ride up to the second floor. I screamed bloody murder the entire time and freaked out everyone in the library,” I said, grinning wryly. “Especially when they saw my hand,” I added, wagging my fingers at him. “I broke all four fingers on my right hand and also sprained my left hand in my frantic attempt to try to pry the elevator door open. By the time I got to the hospital, my fingers were swollen to the size of sausages.”

“Did you pound the prick Tommy Jones with your cast?” he asked.

“Nope. I didn’t have to. Word spread to his mom, who happened to be the principal of our school. She stuck it to him, made him shadow me for six weeks. He had to do all my writing for me in my classes. I had a cast on one hand and an Ace bandage wrapped around the other, but watching Tommy doing double work was almost worth it.”

“I would have still pounded his ass,” Justin growled.

“That’s because you’re quick to overreact in a situation,” I said, instantly wishing I could recall the words.

“At least I react in some fashion, like any normal human. I’m not some freaking robot that can’t show any emotion,” he snarled, turning away from me. My heart dropped. We were never going to get past this. He thought I was emotionless, but he hadn’t been there to see what had really happened. I wouldn’t allow myself to dwell on how harsh he sounded, because I knew the truth.