How Many Letters Are In Goodbye? (21 page)

She drinks some Coke. “God, that teen stage sucks. My first was exactly the same. Emily. At least now, horrible though the New York dating scene is, by my age most women accept the fact that they prefer to have sex with other women and not men.”

She says that just as the waitress is coming over again—with the bread this time—and my face burns because I know she's heard, but it doesn't seem to bother her and Tierney moves the glasses to make room, as if she's talking about the weather.

I want to ask Tierney about Emily, to talk more about Laurie, but Tierney's talking to Winnie now, asking about her daughter's pregnancy. That conversation goes on for ages and I eat two rolls and a breadstick. When they bring out a plate of pickles and coleslaw, I take one of each, just like Tierney and Winnie do, but I eat mine straightaway instead of waiting for my burger. When my burger arrives it's giant, too big for the bun, and once I take a bite I am starving, hungrier than I've ever been before. I take another bite before I've properly finished chewing the first. Bite after bite. I eat my way through the burger as if I'm a machine, as if I'm in a race. As if finishing it quicker will make Tierney turn back to me and start to talk about sex again.

Eventually, the dental guy turns to Winnie, says something about pain meds he's on, and she sits back in her seat to talk to him. My plate is empty, clean, and I take another breadstick. Tierney pushes her half-finished burger out in front of her.

“I'm not even hungry for this,” she goes. “I don't know about you but I can never eat when I'm upset.”

“I don't have that problem,” I go. “I wish I did.”

We both laugh and she lifts up my plate and swaps it with hers. “Here, finish it if you want.”

For a nano-second, I think about saying no but my hand decides for me and lifts it up to my mouth before I even say thank you.

Tierney flips her hair to one side and puts her chin on her hand and starts talking to me as if we'd never left off.

“The thing about Susan, the woman I was on the date with earlier,” she says, “is that she's great on paper. Good job? Tick. Nice apartment? Tick. Right age? Tick. We like the same movies, the same restaurants, all of that.”

I nod, chewing.

She shakes her head. “But there's just no—I hate to say it, there's just no spark, you know? I know I'm thirty-eight, but you need spark, right? You still need passion?”

I nod again. Answer her with my mouth full. “Yeah, you need spark.”

“Right.” She sucks up some more Coke. “I mean it's not that she's not attractive. She is. But when we kiss—I don't know—I don't really feel anything. It's like I'm going through the motions.”

I swallow a bite that I haven't chewed properly and it hurts my throat as it goes down. “Laurie's an amazing kisser.” I feel bold saying it, embarrassed but somehow proud too. I sneak a glance at Winnie across the table, but she's still speaking to dental guy.

Tierney giggles. “You know, I had such a hard time figuring out if I was gay or straight, all this angst. Then I kissed Emily and I just knew. Isn't it amazing, how different it feels?”

The burger is in my hand but I've nearly forgotten it. My face hurts from smiling. “Yes! Totally!” I go. “That's totally it.”

She drains her Coke so it makes that sound at the bottom of the glass. “It's a simple fact—girls are better kissers. I bet a good kiss would turn a lot of girls.”

I'm loving this conversation, and I want to tell her more about Laurie, to tell her everything, right from the start—how after the “Truth or Dare” kiss, we kissed again the next day and the day after and how we spent the whole time we were grounded lying on my bed or on hers, kissing each other and talking. It was so easy to talk, lying next to her, staring at the ceiling fan, and even when we weren't talking it was enough to lie there just touching, and even when we weren't touching sometimes breathing together was enough. I want to tell Tierney all that, I want to tell someone, but the waitress is clearing our plates and Tierney is pulling her wallet from her pocket.

“I've got to get going, early start tomorrow,” she goes, throwing a ten and a five on the table. “That'll cover it.”

She says goodbye to everyone, one by one. Winnie gets up to hug her, but I don't. She squeezes my shoulder as she passes by.

“Take it easy, Lisa,” she says, still smiling. “I hope I'll see you around.”

The tears are in my eyes again. That's the thing, Mum, the stupid thing about crying—after you do it once, it's like the tears are there all the time, the whole fucking time, just waiting for an opportunity to show again.
Dumbass.
That's what Laurie would say. I can hear her voice saying it.
You're such a dumbass, Rae. What did you think she was going to do, adopt you?

The waitress is writing out bills for everyone, plopping them in front of us, but Winnie scoops up mine. There's still bread left in the basket but before I can take it, the bus boy clears it away.

“I can pay,” I say to Winnie. “I have money.”

My voice sounds angry but she doesn't seem to notice.

“It's my treat this time,” she says, “maybe you'll treat me some other time.”

As she's counting out the money, I notice her fingernails, all painted different colours—blue, green, sparkly purple, silver. It's kind of funny looking but kind of cool too, especially on an old lady and I want to tell her—I would have told her if I knew the tears wouldn't come again.

Out on the street it's stopped raining, but it seems colder now than earlier. The others say goodbye and then it's just Winnie and me in the light from the diner window.

“Thanks for the burger,” I go. “You were right, it was good.”

“You're welcome. Where are you going now?”

I jerk my head downtown, towards Michael's. “The Village. Me and a friend have a place there.”

She smiles. “That sounds nice.”

“Yeah,” I go, “yeah, it is.”

She points over her shoulder. “I live that way—Hell's Kitchen, right on Ninth Avenue. If you hadn't anywhere else to go, I was going to offer you my couch.”

I answer her before I've even thought about it. “No, thanks. I'm grand.”

“Okay.” She nods. “I'd give you my number, but I don't have a phone. If you want to find me you could come back to the meeting.”

I want to go now, am already edging away.

“Or on Wednesdays and Fridays I volunteer at a soup kitchen on the corner of 28th and Ninth.”

“I don't need a soup kitchen.”

She slides her glasses up her nose. “I only meant you could find me there. It's a nice place, good food. I eat there after I volunteer and I've eaten there other times too. People fall on hard times, there's no shame in it, you know.”

We stand there for another few seconds and I say I've got to get going. I leave before she can give me a hug. I'm glad she told me where she lives so I can walk the other direction. And walking away, I have a feeling that she's watching me, so I don't look back. I cross the street, head towards the subway as if I really am going to Michael's and when I finally sneak a look behind me, she's not there, she's gone. Walking through the Times Square crowd, back to my step under the awning, with my belly full of burger and my head full of Laurie, I'm imagining what it would have been like if I'd said yes to Winnie's offer, what her apartment would be like and if her couch would be comfy and if I'd tell her today was my last day being seventeen.

But there's no point in writing about that, Mum, because I'm never going to see her again, her or Tierney. She must want something—even if I don't know what it is yet—maybe she even recognised me from the posters, maybe she wanted the reward.

Whatever it was, it doesn't matter, but I know she wanted something.

Everyone always does.

Rhea

Battery Park, New York
12th May 1999
5:34 p.m.

Dear Mum,

Today's my birthday. You know this, of course, you're my mother. I hope you know.

Now that I'm an adult, there's all these things I can do today, that I couldn't do yesterday:

1. Have sex
   
2. Get a tattoo
   
3. Get married
   
4. Get divorced
   
5. Sue someone
   
6. Be sued
   
7. Buy a gun
   
8. Be incarcerated in prison
   
9. Go to a strip club
   
10. Sign a legal contract
    
11. Vote
    

I'm sure there's more but they're the ones I remember from when me and Laurie looked it up on the internet in the school library. One thing I can't do in this crazy country is drink yet. I could marry someone, buy a gun, shoot them, be incarcerated for it, sue my lawyer for not representing me properly, but I can't order a bottle of Bud Light.

Of these eleven things, ten are new and I don't really want to do any of them, at least not today. And the first thing, the thing I've already done, I don't want to do today either, I don't know if I ever want to do it again. Sex gets people into trouble, Mum, I told you that already. I know that, but the thing is, since talking to Tierney in the diner the other night, Laurie is all over my mind again, worse than before.

Like today, I'm walking up Sixth Avenue and I see this blonde girl from behind and I think it's her. She's wearing a white T-shirt and jeans and her hair is Laurie's length and it sways like Laurie's hair sways and I have this whole story made up in my head about how Laurie's here with Aunt Ruth, looking for me and putting up posters. I'm walking right behind the girl, really close, when she stops to look at something in a shop window and I nearly bump into her and she's not Laurie, she's nothing like Laurie at all. Last night, I rode the E train all night. It's funny because I never liked the E that much on your map, but it's the line I spend most time on now. If I had one wish to make, one birthday wish, it wouldn't be to see Laurie, it'd be to have my Discman and all my CDs, and out of all of the music I could play I'd play “Comfortably Numb” on repeat, over and over and over again, riding that train. But that's about Laurie too, that wish, because “Comfortably Numb” was what I was listening to the night she came into my room, the night of the day we'd had the big fight, the first fight we'd had in a long time.

I don't hear the door, because of the music, but I see the light change, her shape in the dark. I remember sitting up, pushing myself back against the pillows. “Laurie?”

I think I'm being quiet, but I'm not, because of the music, and I see her put her finger on her lips. She takes my headphones off, gently. Her hand on my face is cold.

“What are you doing here?”

“Move over.”

She pushes me gently back in bed so I'm against the wall, she's on the edge. I'm wearing my Zeppelin T-shirt and knickers, no bottoms, and I can feel her leg against mine, skin against skin where her pyjama leg is riding up. I push back further into the wall.

“Laurie, what are you doing?”

She doesn't answer, just reaches over and kisses me. Her mouth is warm, familiar, exciting. I can taste cigarettes, a trace of beer from the party. That was what part of the fight was about, why I won't go to parties with her anymore, why I spend every Saturday night at Glenda's. It's been five weeks since I've kissed her, but kissing her again, it's like I'm missing it and enjoying it and hungry for it all at the same time. I pull away for a second and then we both close the gap and we kiss and kiss and kiss.

It's me who pulls away again.

“What?” she whispers.

I gesture towards the wall, make a face. “What do you think?”

“They're out cold,” she goes. “They were loaded when they came in.”

“Were they?”

“Yeah. I could hear him snoring when I was in the hall.”

She moves in again and I move a little out of her way.

“What if they wake up?”

Her voice is impatient. “They won't.”

The kiss begins where the other one ended and I am in it and not in it because my head is catching up with my body. I break away again.

“Rae, what's the problem? I'm telling you, they're sleeping! Nothing wakes Dad when he snores like that. Trust me.”

My lip is a little wet where hers has been. Her hand is on my hip, the skin above my knickers, under my T-shirt. It's hard to speak.

“It's not that.”

“What then?”

My arm is trapped under me and I shift a bit to free it.

“What, Rae?”

I don't know how to tell her. How I was getting to be okay about it, the fact that we'd stopped kissing, that signing up to art club on weekends and taking extra shifts at the restaurant and hanging out with Glenda kept me from thinking about it every second of every day, kept me from wondering how she could be dating Ryan Matthews after everything that happened between us. But if we did it again, if we did any more than kiss, I mightn't be able to forget. And I mightn't be able to stop.

“We've never done this, Laurie.”

“We've kissed.”

“Not like this.”

Her fingers are on my stomach now, tracing a line of fire, everywhere is on fire.

“Don't you want to?” she goes.

My breath is hard, my headphones are choking me. “Comfortably Numb” is still playing, how can it be still playing? I rip the headphones off, throw them towards the end of the bed. “Do you?”

This is where she will say that she's doing it for me, to give me practice being with a girl, that it doesn't matter to her either way. For a minute, there is silence, her breath in the dark. I can see her eyes now, wide open.

“Yes.”

“I don't mean just because you think I want to,” I go. “I mean what do you want? Do you want to? For you?”