The Eyes and Ears of Love (6 page)

They load Donna’s car with all of Dorothy’s boxes. Donna groans in agony. “Well, we better get going, if we want to make it to the hotel by dawn.” She turns to her mom. “I love you, mom, I will call you when we get there.” They hug.

Dorothy looks at her feet, avoiding having to say goodbye. Her mom kisses her on the cheek. Dorothy captures a glimpse of her mother’s wide, glossy, regretful eyes. Her mother goes back to the house without saying a single word. Dorothy gets in the passenger’s seat. Hugs and kisses are a rarity from her mom, after the death of her father, so when they do happen, hugs feel suffocated and the kisses feel lifeless and forced.

They drive up the road, and in her mind, Dorothy sees a glimpse of an image of her father waving at her through the side view mirror like he had done when she rode her bike up this street when she was younger. She waves at her dad’s memory.

Donna looks in the rearview mirror. “Who are you waving at?”

“Dad,” she says still staring at the mirror.

Donna penetrates Dorothy with her dilated eyes and looks back at the mirror once more. “Do you mind if we make a quick stop?”

Dorothy shakes her head. After several miles and familiar landscaping, Dorothy realizes where they are going and panics. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Dorothy, it’s time. You haven’t been to daddy’s grave since the funeral.” Donna pulls the car over and parks. “You have opened up so much this summer that it’s time to find closure before you leave.” Donna gets out of the car and opens the passenger’s side for her. She grabs Dorothy by the arm and yanks her out of the car.

Dorothy begins slugging along. She looks back at Donna, who nods to keep Dorothy moving in the right direction. With each step on the usual gray cement sidewalk, Dorothy is absorbed with the transient beauty of August. The crisp cold air whirls and leaves tumble from their weary branches, falling to the ground like weightless feathers. Dorothy treads on each leaf, listening to the crunch. The fall season is here, it’s a remarkable vista, and she’s briefly paralyzed by the environment surrounding her father’s grave. The view of autumn leaves of golden and scarlet colors at the peak of their splendor is nothing short of breathtaking. She can still smell last night’s rain shower, leaving wet leaves and damp ground. She hears the honking of the geese migrating to the Southern region.

She steps in front of her father’s grave and reads TERENCE MONROE: BELOVED HUSBAND AND LOVING FATHER. Next to the grave a large, lovely azalea is planted with bashful pink-and-cream kaleidoscopic pedals. Dorothy doesn’t know who put it there it, but she adores both the gesture and the plant.

“Hey, Dad. It’s been awhile.” She stares down at her knotted fingers.

Don’t small talk! Talk about something he would care about,
she thinks.

“I’m leaving for college today,” she murmurs. “I’m studying Culinary Arts!”

A leaf falls slowly down to her father’s grave mimicking the snowflake in the snow globe, triggering the memory.

She continues, “Do you remember that one winter day we built a snowman together?” She grins. “You were so hysterical that day! It was such a happy day, not just for you and me, but mom and Donna!” She thinks momentarily and her smile slowly simmers to a frown. “You rebuilt me that snowman you destroyed. I wish I could do that with you, just rebuild you and everything would be okay again.” She shakes her head back and forth. “I suppose not, though. You destroyed that snowman with your own two hands, so it would only be right for you to restore yourself. You took your own life, Dad, and no one but you can fix that.” She raises her eyebrows. “Not even mom.” She weeps and comes down to her knees, burying her face in her hands. “I wish I would have been enough to keep you.” Tears drop on her father’s grave like bullets. “I wish that even though mom messed up, I would have been enough to make you happy. You died for mom, but you wouldn’t live for your children. And now! Now, I inherit your burden,” she snaps, lifting her head. She picks up a handful of dirt and tosses it. “I desperately want to hate you and not mom. Yes, she made her choice, but you had options, dad. I know you loved mom, but you’re supposed to love your kids more.”

Dorothy looks at Donna from a distance. Donna is slumped over, leaning against the car, arms crossed, attentively observing Dorothy. Dorothy then grips both sides of her father’s grave. “But I’ll never hate you, dad. I forgave you a long time ago. I love you and I miss you. I wish you were here to see me off to college.” Dorothy kisses the top of the grave.

She trails back to the car and sighs when she sees her sister. “Thank you,” Dorothy tells Donna.

Donna nods.                       

After three days and fifty and a half hours of driving, they enter the packed parking lot of the campus. It was then Dorothy receives a feeling that she was admitted to a significant institution.

Dorothy’s eyes widen and she feels like her jaw almost plops to her knees. She can’t believe this is her new life. It feels like a dream and everything is too good to be true.

Finding a parking spot is hell. It’s move-in day for freshman so naturally it’s hectic and crowded. Finally, Donna detects an empty spot. Dorothy opens the door, her eyes dance.

   During Dorothy’s high school days, she had a glimpse of college life from what Donna told her, but to actually experience it is mind throttling.

The campus is stunning and well kept. The grass is a bright green and the trees and flowers are all planted in a perfect pattern. Where it is the fall season in Oregon, it is still summer in Florida. There are hundreds of people walking in all different directions and sitting in the grass under shade trees.

The new students are divergent from the veteran students because of their high spirits and puzzled expressions.

Overall the students are free in their movements and can do whatever they want according to their free will on campus. Dorothy sees that there are no restrictions of attire, the clothes range from pajamas, casual, professional, and even swimsuits.

“Welcome to my world!” Donna smiles.

“It’s perfect!” Dorothy claps her hands and jumps up and down like a small child. She cannot contain her excitement.

“Woah! Dude, play it cool,” Donna scolds her.

A girl approaches Donna, desperation in her eyes. “Do you have any clue where the Arapahoe Dormitory is?”

“Yeah! We’re actually heading that way now; I can show you better than I can tell you.”

The girl sighs, “Thank you! I feel like I’ve been doing one big circle around campus.”

Donna leads Dorothy and the other girl to the dorms while carrying a few of Dorothy’s boxes. They arrive and it’s empty. Her roommate still hasn’t arrived, which is convenient for Dorothy because now she can pick her side of the bed and dresser.

After several trips back and forth from the car, the room is surrounded by blank white walls and littered boxes waiting to be ripped open and emptied.

“Well, I guess we’d better get started before your roommate decides to show up and get in our way,” Donna insists.

They fill up the room with color and pictures. It now looks like Dorothy’s old room, just more cluttered because of the tight space. She takes a picture of her father and hangs it right above her bed as the finishing touch.

They head to one of the university’s many neighboring cafes,
Petit Déjeuner.

“Why don’t you choose a table while I get in line to order?” Donna asks.

Dorothy hunts through the busy restaurant to find a clean, unused table. She spots one, but a group of guys blocks her from getting to it. They are all wearing purple and gold jerseys with the university’s name on it. 

“Excuse me?” she asks, polite as ever.

One of the guys turns around to meet with Dorothy’s face. He’s tall, slender, and handsome. “Well, look at you! Aren’t you a cute little thing?” he says, patronizing her with his tone.

Dorothy breaks eye contact with him. Her mind is suddenly paralyzed.

“Alright guys, let this girl pass!” he shouts to the rest of his group. They all hold up their arms and move aside to let her by.

At the table, she pulls out the chair and delicately sits crossing her legs. She surreptitiously gazes at the group of guys as Donna stands in line.
Why do they behave that way?
She wonders.

Donna returns with a tray, which she sets down on the small, round bistro table. The tray holds two tiny teacups with saucers. There are two lattes with leaf patterns imprinted in the cream, two Quiches Lorraine accompanied with croissants.

The same guy in the group that confronted Dorothy bobs his head smoothly at Donna. She returns the bob with a flirty smile.

“Ok, who’s that?” Dorothy pries.  

“Frat boy you’ll probably come to know.”

“Why?”

“Because in college, it is in our prerogative to party, and the only party you ever need to go to during your college career is the one hosted by the Calhan Delta Fraternity.”

Dorothy shovels a big bite of quiche into her mouth. “So they’re pretty special?”

“Yeah, but they’ve become more strict about who they allow in because they want to avoid scandals and a bad reputation.”

“Why?”

She exhales in mock annoyance at Dorothy’s questions, then laughs. “I don’t know. One of their boys was caught vandalizing the school or something.”

“So they’re bad boys?”

“Dear God! Can I eat?” She scolds Dorothy. “They’re not bad at all; actually they’re goodie-goodies. All of the fraternity guys play basketball and they wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize their spot on the team. I guess this guy Ben, they call him, had a loss in the family and he went a little berserk and vandalized the school.”

“What happened to him?” she asks, intrigued about this Ben guy.

“Nope! I’m done with twenty questions. You should eat too, you have orientation and we have a lot of touring of the college to do so you know where to go when classes begin,” she says.

“Okay, mom, geez.” Dorothy rolls her eyes.

“Speaking of,” says Donna, “are you going to call her?”

“I thought we were done with all the questions?” Dorothy snaps, while picking at the quiche with her fork.

“Dorothy, I’m only going to say this once,” she says, dragging out the words, “you are thousands of miles away from Oregon. You would only have to see mom on holidays and that’s with your discretion,” she says, shredding her croissant. “This would be a crucial chapter in your life to start a relationship with her. A good, healthy, long distance relationship.” She sighs. “Please, just call her and say we’re here and then hang up.” Donna stuffs the quiche down her throat.    

After a long day of orientation and touring the campus, Dorothy rests her feet in her dorm. It’s quiet and peaceful contrary to the jungle out in the hallway and in the other dorms.

She calls her mom from her cell phone and after eight short rings she gets an automated voicemail. Dorothy wonders if her mom is screening her call or if she’s out with one of her short term romances. Dorothy rolls her eyes at the thought of her mom with another man. She can only imagine what kind of slimeball this new one could be.
A corrupt car salesman?
She thinks while flaring her nostrils and sticking her tongue out.  

“Hey mom,” she blurts out in her message, “Donna and I made it safely and my dorms all unpacked. Ugh, maybe I’ll call you next week or you can call me. I can tell you all about college, if you would like. Ok, bye.” She hangs up. 

Dorothy curls up to her blanket for warmth and comfort, rendering her into a deep sleep.

Chapter 3

***

Bentley sits with his hands folded in his lap, tapping his foot anxiously. He concentrates on the young secretary behind the solid granite desk. Her face is plain, but she’s wearing the sharpest suit jacket and white collared shirt Bentley has ever seen. She looks immaculate. Bentley scrutinizes his attire. He could have at least worn a tie. His shoes, on the other hand, are pristine. 

“Mr. Menichelli, the board is ready for you,” the secretary politely informs him.

Bentley takes a gulp and clears his throat before going in. As he walks in, he notices the admission board’s eyes beating down on him. There is a single chair in the middle of the room, directly in front of the board.

“Bentley, take a seat and we will begin,” the director, Mr. Baldwin, enunciates.

Bentley takes his seat. He bites his lip and his eyes dance across every corner of the board committee. They shuffle through endless documents, their eyes are beady, and the chatter of their whispers is loud and amplified; even the quietest sound produces a deafening sensation. It was too much. He clenches his fists to conceal the trembling, and a cold sweat breaks out between his shoulder blades. He cuffs his ears to mute the whispers. The director moves his lips aggressively with flared nostrils and flushed cheeks. Bentley takes his hands down from his ears.

“Mr. Menichelli, do you need to be escorted out?”