The Universe is a Very Big Place (11 page)

The waitress returned with a sad-looking drink and sat it down apologetically in front of her. Spring took a sip and looked across the dark room at the bar. Third seat from the left. That was where he was sitting when they had first met. She had been standing in line, getting a drink. The bartender, a young braless woman, was ignoring her in favor of the men she was sure would tip more. But Trevor had caught the bartender’s attention for Spring and had helped to get the drink. He even paid for it.

"Thanks," she said, slurping up the thick cream through the straw. "I don’t think she liked me."

"I don’t think she likes anyone, really," he said, smiling. A wicked smile. Clover-green eyes shadowed by lush, black lashes. Dimples. White teeth. A bad boy smile. He was cotton candy, caramel apples, and saltwater taffy, all rolled up in one. Spring had seen boys like him before, those she knew she should stay away from. Heartbreakers. She was about to retreat back into the crowd, disappearing before he could spring the trap. But he smiled again and there was no turning back.

"Name’s Trevor," he said, extending a hand. He had an accent. Irish maybe? Spring balanced her drink in her left hand and shook with her right. Someone bumped into her from behind and she spilled her Piña Colada down the front of her dress.

"Oh no," Trevor said, taking a napkin and dabbing it on the spill. When he got to the place where he knew he shouldn't dab anymore, he blushed. Spring laughed.

"It’s okay, Trevor. My dignity was gone long ago." She took the napkin from him and finished the job. He ordered her another.

Instant chemistry. He gave her his stool and they spent the entire evening together, closing down the bar. When it was time for her to go home, he called her a cab but took her number. They became inseparable. Together they were like two kids, laughing, giggling, sharing secrets. Three months of that. Movies. Bars. Late night dinners. Mad sex. And then it was time for him to leave.

"I want to go with you," Spring begged him. "Don’t leave me here, please."

"We hardly know each other," Trevor answered, kissing her as they lie in bed on his last day. "It wouldn’t work."

"What do you mean, we don’t know each other? We’ve spent the entire summer together. You told me you loved me!" Spring sat up, wrapping the sheet tightly around her body. "I can’t believe you just said that."

Trevor looked at her, seemingly confused. "Spring. You know I care about you. It’s been fun. Can’t you leave it at that?" His tone was pragmatic. Before she could respond he softened. "I’m sorry. I’ve got to go to New York for a while, then abroad. We’ll stay in touch. Email. Phone. Whatever. True love takes time. If it’s meant to be, it will be."

She pled with him. Cried. Begged. Threw herself in front of the door as he tried to leave. She did all of those things she knew women shouldn’t do to hold on to a man. But it made no difference. And when he was gone, he was gone. Not a call. Not a letter. Not a forwarded joke in her junk mail. Every day she waited, certain he longed for her in the same way she longed for him. But no communication was made. She tried to console herself at first by saying he must have died (surely better than being a deserter) but a quick Google search assured her that he was still alive. The jerk.

Spring wondered if she had misread it all along. In her head it was perfect, and nobody walks out on perfect. She spent countless hours scanning her memory banks, replaying every moment, every scene. What had she missed? A word, a nuance, a shrug, a disagreement. Somewhere in all the fragments was the answer.
 

Sometimes she would think she’d have it, the a-ha moment. But nothing ever really made sense. She’d throw the memories up in the air and see where they’d land, a puzzle with some pieces facing in at times, some turned upside down, and some completely missing. She’d move them around, the best she could. Remember when he gave you that bizarre look when you mentioned you wanted to go on a road trip? Recall the way there was a pause that time at dinner when you said you absolutely loved shrimp? Remember that weekend you couldn’t reach him and he said he was camping? He even came back with scratches on his arms where he had to cut through some nasty bushes. Remember those times the phone would ring at random hours and he wouldn’t answer it, claiming the calls were from anxious telemarketers?
 

Remember...

"Must be some drink,” said a voice.
 

Spring looked up to see Debbie and Sarah with an armful of packets. She had almost forgotten they were coming to help. She wanted to stay inside her head and luxuriate in self-pity. She scratched at an eye that was beginning to twitch, but nodded amicably.

"Get any work done while we were prostituting ourselves for the silent auction?" Sarah laughed, but there was an edge to her voice. Jane had her on the phone all week, soliciting donations from local businesses. The silent auction was only one of a dozen fundraising events Jane conducted each year, though no one ever knew where all the money actually went once raised.

"Only if getting tipsy counts as work." Spring dropped her eyes, feeling guilty. "Sorry."

Sarah smiled. "It’s okay. This job blows. Drinking is the only thing that helps."

Debbie put the folders on the ground and fished into her large black bag for something else. "Look what I got." Debbie passed around ivory cards with purple lettering that read:
Welcome to the Hitchin’
. A farmer was tying up a mule to a wagon.
"This is Jack’s idea of a wedding invitation."

Are you supposed to be the mule or the wagon?" Spring handed back the card.
 

Sarah choked on her beer.

"Gah. Can you believe men?” Debbie stuffed them back into her bag. "Serves me right for marrying a guy from Wyoming."

"I guess we should discuss work," Spring said. "In case Kimberly wants a report."

Sarah bit on the tips of her fingers where her nails used to be. "You know that woman wants me to throw condoms at the Memorial Day parade downtown?"

"You have to do the parade? In May? In Arizona? In that costume?" Debbie almost fell out of her chair with each realization. “What the hell is wrong with her?"

"Don’t get too cocky," Sarah said. "I heard you might get the honor of joining us."

Spring’s phone buzzed and she looked to see that Sam had left her a voicemail.
 

Sweetie. Bought a cappuccino maker for you! Was not cheap...but only the best for my Pooks! Kisses!

She turned off her phone and sighed.

The waitress returned, handing Spring a bill. "Want me to add anything else?" Spring wanted another drink, but she resisted. "No. Thanks. One is all I can afford." The waitress smiled and walked away. "I shouldn’t even have the one," she said to the two girls seated with her.

"I can buy the next," Debbie offered, digging into her purse.

Spring shook her head. "No. I’ll be fine. I only need to pay a few bills, get Mom her meds, pay off some auto body work for a complete stranger and develop a sudden love for cappuccino.” Spring shook her cup, letting the ice melt before taking the final swig.

Eight

1983

"There he is!" The fat boy who never ironed his shirt and smelled like gasoline, pointed. The two boys beside him followed his gaze and Sam knew he had been spotted. For a moment he wasn’t sure if he should run, or stand and fight.

Sam did the calculations. There were three of them, each weighing twice as much as he did. He could probably outrun them, but they were not weighted down as Sam was, with necessary items like books and ballet slippers. Still, it might be his only chance.

"Get him," the pasty one said.
 

Sam thought his name was Lewis but he wasn’t sure. Though he had been classmates with the trio for most of his life, nothing had ever inspired him to learn what they were called. Uncivilized apes did not deserve names.

Sam took off running, zigging through a swarm of students in white shirts, navy pants, and plaid skirts. He passed Mary Jane Drinsel and gave her a quick smile, but she turned away from him, as most of the girls at St. Mary’s did. He took no heed of it and continued his escape, feeling the heat of the three dirty thugs behind him. Sam thought about ducking into the bathroom, but realized if they found him there he’d be cornered. Besides, the bathroom smelled. Bad. Sam made it a point to pee right before school and to hold it until three p.m. so that he would never have to endure the unsanitary conditions of the St. Mary’s urinals.

Bump. Bump. Bump. Sam turned his head. They were closing in on him. Sam thought about throwing his copy of
Anna Karenina
at one of the boys, but he wasn’t going to lose a prized book, even if it meant taking a beating.

The hall had cleared as students settled into their classrooms. The exit sign was straight ahead and Sam pushed through the double doors leading out onto the blacktop. But the boys continued their pursuit.
 

"Step on a crack, break your mother’s back," Sam said, aiming for every tear in the asphalt.

This, however, took up precious time and he could feel the energy of the boys behind him. It took his entire will to ignore the cracks but there were more important things to consider at the moment. Sam noticed a pair of tin trashcans and rushed towards them. Nimbly skirting around them, he pushed the bins over with his right hand and sent them rolling in the direction of Lewis and pals. He listened for the crash of their bodies as they fumbled over the receptacles but was dismayed to hear nothing but their heavy breathing and the steady pounding of their puffy feet.
 

These things never worked out in life the way they did in his story books.

"This is it," Sam said, hoping they would choke him, rather than beat him to death. If he was going to die today he wanted to die clean. He stopped and waited for his demise.

Dong! Dong!

Sam turned his head in the direction of the bell and a building came into view. A colossal, brick monstrosity that caused the hairs on Sam’s thin arms to rise up in protest. A place more horrible than the boy’s bathroom. The Chapel.

He felt one of the boys tug on his elbow and he realized he had no choice.
 

He changed direction, running towards the bell as fast as his long, tired legs would carry him. In a leap of faith he vaulted the three stairs and pushed open the great wooden door. Sam thought he heard Lewis yell, "No!" but wasn’t certain. His heart was beating too loudly. When he caught his breath, he turned to look at his pursuers. He was dumbfounded to see that they stood immediately outside but would not cross the threshold into the church. The boys waited a moment and, seeing that Sam was not going to emerge anytime soon, stomped their feet, called him a queer, and left.

Sam had only ever been inside the chapel when he was forced to by his grandmother or the nuns.
 
But here, alone in the chapel with nothing but stained glass and music, he found it to be a much different place. It was sanitary and quiet, even more so than the school library where he usually hung out.

"Sanctuary," he said, and it all made sense.

From that day on, Sam took to retreating into the chapel whenever he needed an escape. He could spend hours lying flat-backed on the wooden pews with The Hardy Boys or Sherlock Holmes and nobody bothered him. In fact, his teachers seemed to approve and Mary Jane Drinsel actually smiled at him one day as he left the Cathedral. And on those rare days when he was without reading material, he even perused the Old Testament that the church was kind enough to provide him with.