Knowing Is Not Enough (4 page)

“All right, I’ll take you home.”

I shook my head. “No, that’s okay, we can go. I need to call Tobey and let her know what’s up, though.”

“Okay, call her while I get the car.”

“Don’t pull around. I can walk with you. The lot’s not that far.”

I called Tobey and Sanford. I started with Tobey. She had fifty million questions that I wasn’t up to answering.
“It went as well as could be expected,” I said. Tobey sensing I wasn’t in the mood to talk cut the conversation short. I wasn’t in the mood to go to eat, either. I shouldn’t have said I would go.

Linda talked nonstop as we drove. I didn’t know what she was talking about. I think she believed she was taking my mind off things—it actually made me feel worse. The only saving grace was they actually had tables available when normally there’s a wait. Breakfast was no different. She kept talking and talking. The hostess grabbed two menus and escorted us to a booth in the back of the restaurant. From my window seat I had a clear view of the street outside. I was unbelievably thirsty. The server brought over two glasses of water while Linda and I perused the menus. Normally, a picture of eggs, pancakes, and waffles would make my mouth water. Today, I felt nauseated at the sight of it. I put my menu down when the server returned, “Just coffee for me,” I said.

“I’ll have the breakfast sampler, wheat toast with mixed fruit jelly.”

The server retrieved both our menus and returned with a cup of coffee and creamer.

I forgot to call Sanford, but he knew today was D-day. I thought he would’ve called me. I poured creamer in my coffee and grabbed a few sugar packets, “I forgot to call Sanford?” I told Linda. “Did you hear from him?”

“No, he didn’t call me,” she responded.

“That’s strange, right?” I opened the sugar and poured it in my coffee, grabbed a spoon and stirred.

“He probably waited for you to call him,” she said comfortingly. “You’ll talk later.”

Taking a sip of coffee I shrugged. She’s probably right . . . we would talk later. I just thought it was kind of odd that he hadn’t called me by now.

Linda’s breakfast arrived at the table. She spread jelly on her toast and between chews and swallows continued chattering about everything from the kids too Jake for the next thirty minutes. The noise made me think too much. Two cups of coffee later I was all caught up on the kid’s soccer games and dance, along with the error of my inability to reconcile with Jake. Finally, Linda was done eating, time to head home. “Let’s get outta here,” I told her.

“Okay, we don’t have to stay. We can talk more in the car.”

Talk more?
“Linda, I’m so tired. I just want to go home.”

She seemed unperturbed. “Okay, I’m taking you home.”

“I’m just not feeling up to talking anymore.”

“I’m talking. You’re listening. Are you sure you don’t want me to stay with you?”

“Linda, you’re killing me. I’m sure. Please—just drop me off.”

I barely managed a wave bye to her. It felt so good to be in what was officially my house. No Jake anymore. Jake moved out a long time ago, but it felt like he’d just left. I felt that hurdle should have been conquered by now. The images in my mind of Jake and Taylor were fading.

My thoughts were clear. I’m going to put on my pajamas, climb into bed and pull the cover over my head, and I’m never coming out.

Along with the mental and physical deportation of Jake, I shut out all the external noise filling my head concerning him. This meant no more incessant thinking about him and unrelenting conversations featuring him. I desperately needed a timeout, distancing myself from friends and family, no returning calls to well intentioned, but inquisitive friends, declining party invitations and happy hour with the girls, and stopping all posts to Facebook.

All except for Sanford, I wanted to talk to him. Although disappointed, I accepted acquaintances whys and lies for not telling what they heard or saw regarding Jake and Taylor. Sanford, that’s a different story. We were friends–I trusted him. I wanted to know why he didn’t tell me what he witnessed. I didn’t necessarily need to agree with his reason. Perhaps I just wanted to understand.

Sanford and I had a long history. We met in 1995, my sophomore year in college. Carla, my roommate, and I walked across campus to what Greeks hyped up to be the
party of the year. The fraternity house would’ve been an enviable residence if it were located anywhere else. On campus, the most popular social gathering place, stocked to the rafters with liquor, boys, and of course girls . . . lots of girls. We could hear the music thumping a quarter mile from the house. Campus police had already made a preemptive strike to ensure the party didn’t overflow on the main campus. The plantation style mansion wrap around porch filled with overly spirited party goers’ uncharacteristically relaxed swaggers, dangling from the balcony railings, cuddling on the porch swings and cups filled with liquor. Carla and I took in all the sites outside, spoke to a few party goers before navigating our way up the steps, through the grand entrance where we were greeted by a crowd of boys proudly displaying their fraternity hype. Neither one of us possessed boyfriends, so a group of cute boys was a welcome reception.

Standing under the archway to the smoke filled living room we scanned the area in search of our friends. In a field of infamous campus stallions it was going to be tricky to find a unicorn. House was the music of choice and every dorm was represented, including fraternities from other universities. We made our way through the living room familiarizing ourselves with the lay of the land: living room is for sitting and talking, dining room for dancing, and the bathrooms were down the hall. Searching for a seat we joined in with another group of girls standing, eagerly awaiting someone to vacate their seat. I nudged Carla with my elbow, “Do you see that guy with all that food?” Carla moved her body to and fro. Through the sea of Greeks she spotted a guy eating what appeared to be a mountain of food. “Oh my God! Is he going to eat all
that?” Carla shouted above the music.

“I don’t know,” I giggled. “He has it on his plate . . . what else would he do with it?”

“Wow, that’s all I can say is . . . wow.”

“I didn’t realize they served food at these things.”

“Maybe he brought it with him.”

I said, “How tall do you think he is?”

“I really can’t tell with him sitting down . . . 6’4 or 5, maybe?”

“At least.”

“Probably about three hundred pounds? I’m guessing.” Carla faced me, “Give or take.”

I continued to stare at him. “Hopefully its take, he could use a little less give.”

Carla and I continued to stand at the living room staring at this guy. We locked eyes for a split second. “I’ve got to stop staring at this guy. He’s going to think I like him,” I said.

Too late. After devouring his food, he stood up and walked over to me. “Hey.”

I looked at him like he’d attacked a small village and eaten all the people. “Hey.” I didn’t know what to say beyond “
hey
.” He was even bigger standing up. The music blared. Everyone headed to the makeshift dance floor in the dining room. He got to me just before it reached capacity.

Leaning into my ear in a soft whisper,” I said. “You dance?” I wanted to, but I said, “No.”

“But you’re dancing now?”

Whoops!
I was twisting from side to side, “Yeah, but I really don’t want to dance . . . dance. I’m just enjoying
listening to the music.”

He raised his head, shifted his body to stand directly in front of me. He looked at me “You think one of your girls want to dance?”

“I don’t know. You have to ask them.”

He turned to my roommate who stood next to me. She also said no. As did all the girls standing in our group. Clearly this guy didn’t know the rules of engagement. If you ask one girl in a group to dance and she says no, you’re pretty much guaranteed a ‘
no
’ from all the girls standing there. Defeated, he walked away. I watched him as he headed back to the living room. He grabbed another slice of pizza and walked toward the front door.

The only way to describe him would be to say he looked a lot like Grizzly Adams, except he looked more like the bear than the man.

After our brief meeting at the frat house, we met again in the student-learning center. He didn’t attend our school . . . only came to up for the party. A math exam forced him into the lab in search of a computer.

And I camped there looking for my math tutor.

I didn’t want to take Math 102. Not one more quarter. The large computer lab, with about twenty-five different systems in it granted students plenty of room to spread out. It was barely anyone in there. I always sat in the back of the lab, that way I could run my computerized math problems, and meet with my tutor.

My tutor didn’t show up.
Figures
.

I wasn’t there to socialize like other students, I failed math once, and I had no intention of doing it again. I needed to study. Then into the lab walked the guy from the party, standing near the entrance, scanning the room
through his thick glasses looking for a seat.

The room was empty. No need to sit next to me. He slowly moved beyond the front door toward my computer.

“Is anybody sitting here?” he asked.

I tried to pretend like I didn’t hear him, but he said it again, “Excuse me, is anybody sitting here?”

I turned my head slightly to the left, looked down into the seat next to me, then back up to him, “No.”

He took his book bag off his back and placed it next to the chair he intended on sitting in. I remember thinking . . .
this is a big guy. I felt unexplainably nervous
. He must have sensed it. Sanford pulled the chair out to the side just a little before he sat down. Then I felt bad, I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. Everything irritated me. My tutor not showing, and the thought of taking math class again.
I shouldn’t have even been at that party last night. I needed to study
.

We continued working quietly until he broke the silence. He turned and looked at me. “Weren’t you at that party last night?”

“What party?” I knew what party. He knew I did too.
I can’t even believe I said that. Why would I say that after the way I looked at him last night, how could he forget me?

“The party last night?” He wasn’t giving up.

I kept looking at my computer screen. “Oh, were you there?” I don’t know why I’m being such a bitch. He finally turned his head back toward his computer screen and said, “Oh, all right, never mind, you didn’t see me.”
Okay, not only am I acting like a bitch, now he thinks I’m a bitch
.

“Oh, yeah, the party last night. You were there too?”

He smiled. “Yeah, I was there. I thought I saw you come into the living room. My name is Sanford by the
way.”

I finally turned toward him, deciding to have a conversation like a real person. “Yeah, I came into the living room looking for my friends. It’s Alex—my name is Alex.”
Hopefully he won’t bring up asking me to dance. He asked a lot of girls to dance
—
maybe he won’t remember me
.

“Alex, that’s a nice name. You go to school here?”

“Yes, sure do—sophomore year,” I said. “What about you? I’ve never seen you on campus.”

“Ohio.”

“What about it?”

“That’s where I go to school.”

Sanford told me about his school, the fraternity and how came up with his fraternity brothers. I’d gotten the feeling that Sanford was
king
of the nerds. We continued to talk. I discovered we both had so much in common. He was also from a big family and didn’t have many friends. We both shared a love for music, books, museums and art history. Once I put my bitch in my bag, we connected. He’d been all over campus and contemplated transferring (and in fact he ended up doing so for his junior year to be closer to home).

Trite, but true, what happens in the dark invariably comes to the light, and I’ll be damned, Liz would be the one to tell me about seeing Jake and Taylor– and Sanford, in the same restaurant at the same time. He couldn’t have missed seeing Jake and Taylor together.
So, why didn’t he tell me? It bugged me. I couldn’t let it go
.