In the Stillness (7 page)

“Okay,” she spoke cautiously, “look, your mom called earlier. She said she called your cell phone a bunch of times . . .”

My mom and I had a huge argument the day before when I tried to get her off the phone to spend time with Ryker.

“Make sure you don’t lose your focus on school,”
was her main concern.
 

My dad was more understanding; told me to tell Ryker he was proud of him. I’m sure he said that out of my mother’s earshot. She thought soldiers were all dumb or poor; it ruffled her cashmere fucking feathers when I told her Ryker was a student at Amherst College.
 

I didn’t call my mom back. I took a shower instead, and washed all the blood and the pain from the morning down the drain. The pain felt strangely good. I controlled it. It felt like the only thing in my life I could control inside that moment.

* * *

Now I sit in the bathtub, feeling good again. Pulling the razor across my hip, slow like a bow on a cello, every skin cell bursts open along its path. Just one time will do. Just one. My hair stands on end; my body jumps into fight-or-flight mode as my heartbeat thuds through my chest. My body knows a normal person would run away from this pain, but my brain knows I’m not normal.
 

That poor fucking girl.

Seconds after Danielle left I was reliving Ryker’s deployment, and I wanted to cut. The urge muscled its way to the front of my brain to focus on a pain I could control.
 

Inhaling through my nose and exhaling through my mouth, I revel in those first few seconds when the pain goes away. It feels so good to have pain go away, just like that. Then I make another cut.
Just one more, I promise this time.

As I drain the bathtub, I reach for the almost-empty bottle of peroxide splash it over the razor; wincing a little as it spills across my hip. I sit in the empty bathtub until I hear Eric get into bed.
 

I have to leave him.
 

We don’t love each other. I don’t love him, and there’s no way he can really love me after what I’ve put him through over the last four years. He’s not blameless in that regard; he had choices, too. We all have choices. It’s pointless to wonder what our relationship would be like if we hadn’t had the boys. I know what it would have been; we’d either be broken up or in some strange long-distance relationship. I was supposed to be traveling the world and studying cultures for my Ph.D. He would still be in that lab. It wouldn’t have worked.

But man, it would have been awesome.

I dread the thought of going to bed right now, to lie next to the man I once cautiously planned a future with in my head before one was planned for us. I suddenly remember I have fresh laundry folded on the living room couch. Grabbing my cell phone, I tiptoe over to my favorite dress. It’s just warm enough outside for the paisley boho dress that makes me feel ten years younger. I call Tosha.

“Nat?” She’s clearly in a bar.

“Where are you? I’m coming to meet you for a drink.”

“Woo! Praise the
Lord
, Natalie Collins is busting out! I’m at The Monkey Bar, you snit, get your ass over here.”

Thank God I can walk there, I’ve got some drinking to do.

Half a block and a world away, I find Tosha smoking outside. Ditching her conservative professional wardrobe, she’s wearing an almost too-short sleeveless black dress with ridiculously high red pumps. I love her.

“And just how often do you and your sexy-ass girlfriend come drinking a thousand feet from my apartment?” I hug Liz—Tosha’s girlfriend—first. She’s wearing red skinny jeans and a black tank. They match but I don’t mention it. They’d kill me.

“A few nights a week. You know that.” Tosha smacks my butt as we head inside to the glorious noise of anything but toddler screams and marriage cries.

Chapter 8

“So what brings you out on this fine night?” Liz hands me a margarita to get started.
 

She’s a hilarious contradiction to Tosha; Tosha is a funhouse of crazed dirty blonde curls and wicked green eyes, while Liz is polished with perfectly ironed mocha hair and almond-shaped eyes. They met during what became our senior year. Tosha’s a year younger than me, but was my roommate during my sophomore year. She met me just a few months before Ryker left and stayed by my side. She’s more than anyone could ever want in a best friend.

“Ugh,” I grumble, “end of the semester. Eric’s all bi-polar these days.
God forbid
I ask about his job prospects.” I slam my empty glass on the bar and motion the baby bartender for another.

“What’d he say when you told him you were coming over here?” Tosha raises her eyebrow behind her beer.

“He’s asleep, he has no idea I left.” I shrug.

Tosh and Liz freeze in place and stare at me bug-eyed before Tosha speaks again.

“She’s back!” Tosha exclaims, “My
screw you
roommate is back!” We’ve referred to each other as “roommates” ever since we were.
 

“Sort of. He was just such a jerk today to one of his students. I wanted to punch him in the throat. I’ve never seen him behave that way. He’s buckling for sure.” I lick the salt from around my glass.

Liz rests her hand on my barstool. “What’d he do?”
 

I sigh. “I was at his office for the first time in
forever
to actually apologize—imagine that—for pissing him off this morning. This girl walks in, pale and crying, and he barely acknowledges her.” In the middle of my story another one of Tosha’s friends joins our group. “So the girl says her Marine boyfriend is leaving today and—”

“You’re fucking kidding me, right?” Tosha sets her beer down.

I shake my head. “And Eric tells her that while he’s proud of her boyfriend,
she still has responsibilities.
” Tosha rolls her eyes while Liz scrunches up her face. “Anyway, I told him he was being an ass, walked her to her car, and told her to kiss the living piss out of him before he leaves. Then,” I finish my second margarita a little too quickly, “I broke a wine glass, took a bath, and came here.”

Tosha doesn’t break her gaze from me, but snaps her fingers over her head and points to me. A few seconds later, I’m holding another margarita.

“Jo, you remember Natalie, right?” Tosha looks over her shoulder to her colleague that entered in the middle of my story. She teaches sociology classes at both Smith and Mount Holyoke. Her pixie cut is dyed bleach blonde and spiked. Deep blue eyes soften her features.

“Of course, mile-long sinister black hair and even darker eyes? Who’d forget a face like that?” Jo winks and kisses my cheek.
 

“Sinister? I like it.”
 

Tosha butts in, “Geez, Nat, with the last few days you’ve had, I’d say all we’d need is for Ryker to walk in here any minute and that will make this week’s trip off the deep end complete.”

My teeth are numb. Her eyes are glassy. This is the land where it’s okay to talk about Ryker.

“Ryker?” Jo asks, “Who’s Ryker?”

* * *
 

After a fancy, post-graduation lunch filled with awkward Ryker-induced silence at the Lord Jeffery Inn, I kissed my parents goodbye. Eric and I wandered to my new apartment on Kellogg Ave. He’d helped me move my things throughout the week.

“Your parents seem nice,” Eric said as he stretched his arm around me on the couch.

“Yeah, they seem nice.” I rested my head on his shoulder and took a deep breath.

He laughed. “What, they’re not?”

“No, they are. My dad more so. Despite the tweed.” That elicited another laugh from Eric. “My mom, though, she’s more . . . difficult. I mean, my little brother is fourteen, but they didn’t let him come to my graduation because he’d miss a day of school.
Seriously.
” Liam wasn’t even in high school yet and they were already cranking up the pressure.

Eric didn’t seem to know what to say, so he didn’t. We sat in silence for a few minutes, listening to the breeze flow in from the windows. It was a rare quiet moment in Amherst, the evening after graduation, and most of the summer folk hadn’t moved into my building yet. We’d only been together for a few weeks, but everything felt so right and so comfortable with him. He was sure, focused, and stable. He knew what he wanted and I respected that.
 

“So,” Eric paused for a moment, “who’s that Ryker guy that had your family in a WASP-y tizzy?”

I laughed out loud at his glorious description of their reaction to my near “episode” after the ceremony. Then, it hit. I needed to tell Eric
something
about Ryker. Given the short time we’d known each other, though, I couldn’t tell him the nitty-gritty. Not yet.

“I figure he’s probably an ex-boyfriend that they didn’t approve of?” Eric started.

“My mom, definitely not. My dad . . . my dad secretly supported us. See, Ryker was a student at Amherst and was in the National Guard.” I leaned forward, so did Eric.

Deep breaths. It happened. It’s fine. You can talk about it without reliving it.

“So,” I continued, “we started dating in May-ish of 2001. Then . . . September 11th happened.” Eric shot me a sideways glance. “He was deployed to Afghanistan around Christmas of that year.”

“How long was he gone?”

I act like I have to think about it for a minute. “Five months.”
 

 
. . . Three days, nine hours, and precious minutes.
 

“That’s not that long, right?”

I took a deep breath and shook my head. “I guess not. They were supposed to be gone for a year. He was shot.”
 

Eric sat back and ran a hand through his hair. “Jesus. Is he—was he . . .”

“He was fine, all things considered. He was shot in what turned out to be an okay spot, if one has to get shot in the back.” I let out a nervous chuckle and decided not to mention Lucas. I’d tell him later.

Eric went to say something, but I held up my hand. He rubbed my knee instead.
 

“Anyway, he was home the summer before our junior year, but he didn’t re-enroll in classes right away. It was a hard adjustment for both of us . . .”
 

PTSD, shit hit the fan, the end.

“When did you break up?” Eric asked quietly.

“I don’t remember. I know that sounds weird, but it was kind of a disaster so there’s no specific date.”
 

Besides November twelfth, 2002.

“Have you seen him since?”
 

“Not at all. Not a word.” I finally leaned back on the couch, exhausted from the story and everything I left out.

Eric reached down and grabbed my hand, rubbing his thumb over my knuckles. “Does this have anything to do with why you graduated a year behind?”
 

Bingo!

“Sort of,” I shrugged, “but that’s a whole other story.” I rested my head on his shoulder. He didn’t need to know that my parents were the ones who pulled the plug—or why.

“Okay,” he whispered as he kissed my forehead, “when you’re ready.”

* * *

“Ryker,” I smile through numb teeth, looking at Tosha, Liz, and Jo, “is an ex-boyfriend from college. He was hot. Remember, Tosh? Remember how absolutely heartbreakingly
hot
he was?”

“And with that, girls,” Tosha slams her hand on the bar with a forced smile, “concludes Natalie’s forty-five minutes of girls’ night. Come on, Champ, I’ll walk you home. Liz and Jo, I’ll catch up with you at the Pub.”

“The Pub? I want to go to the Pub, it’s been so loooong since I’ve been to the Pub,” I whine.

“We were just there for lunch, Nat. You’re drunk enough.” Tosha wraps her arm around my waist and leads me down the narrow steps of The Monkey Bar.

When we cross the street, she pulls me up the walk to the Jones Library and sits me on the cold stone stairs.
 

Tosha lights a cigarette. “Are you going to tell me what the fuck is going on?”
 

I grab her pack and take one for myself. She hands me her lighter without question. She’s patient while I slowly inhale two drags, begging my head to clear a little.
 

It’s Tosha. Don’t lie to her.
 

Wordlessly, I stare ahead to the parking lot next to the Amherst Cinema and extend my left arm—bottom side up—across her knees. She roughly grabs my arm, squeezing it hard. She starts to say something, but stops herself; instead she hums and runs her thumb across my skin. The cuts from last week have scabbed over and almost disappeared; but it’s clear they’re new—not the scars from ten years ago.
 

“What happened?” Tosha runs her hand through her hair and takes another drag. “You said you haven’t seen Ryker . . .”

“Jesus Christ, Tosh, this
isn’t
about Ryker.” I dramatically exhale smoke through my nose.

“Sure, but you went to Lucas’s grave last week—”

“Yeah . . . but . . . it’s not because of Ryker.” I rush.

“Does Eric know?”