Behind me, I hear the voice of our floor’s Resident Assistant, Melody Katz. “Go back to bed, everybody. Try to get some sleep.” She glares at Kate, shakes her head, but she doesn’t say anything further to her; seeing Kate’s wretched expression, she doesn’t have the heart to berate her. “I’ll go find Rita.”
Rita Danelo happens to be–as far as any of us know–the only person in the dorm who knows how to open the fire alarm panel down in the lobby and turn it off. Otherwise we’d have to wait for Security to show up. And they wouldn’t turn the alarm off until they were satisfied that every single resident was safely out of their room and outside.
I’m not sure how Rita learned how to do it, and at the moment I don’t really care. It’s freezing outside and I don’t want to wait half an hour for Security to get here. Melody heads down the hall in her ridiculous bunny slippers in search of Rita. Reassured that we won’t have to trudge outside in our bathrobes or pajamas, the rest of us all retreat back into our rooms.
“’night, Kelly,” I mutter to my neighbor as her door closes behind her, and then, a little more sharply, “’night, Kate.” She doesn’t quite meet my eyes. And then I close the door gently behind me, relock it. Beth, of course, is still smiling, and still fast asleep.
***
It’s early in the afternoon on Friday, and the air outside is a little bit less frigid than it’s been for days. The sky is–well it’s still gray, but it’s a lighter gray, at least. And I have only two exams left to go, now that Biochemistry is done.
How did I do? Well, I did fantastic. No question I’m getting an A. Between that and Science in Western Thought, I’m done with two classes, and only three to go. I wasn’t happy with everything I’ve put together for the advanced Organic Chemistry lab, and I want to make absolutely sure I get an A there as well, so once physics is done next Wednesday, I can take as much time as I need to get it perfect.
I’m not even leaving until the following Wednesday–I made the reservations a month ago, before I had any idea what my finals schedule would look like. Brian’s last exam isn’t until Monday the 18th, the final day of exams and he’s leaving the next morning, so it works out well that I’ll have plenty of time with him. That’s especially good since we haven’t figured out how or when we’re going to get together over Christmas break. We worked out that it’s probably only about a forty minute drive from my house to his, but with family stuff who knows when we’ll be able to see each other.
On top of all that, there’s another reason I’m glad I’m staying on campus after my last exam: I can help Beth with her Statistics. That’s not until next Friday, and after what I saw in her head last night it’s obvious that she doesn’t feel remotely prepared for it. I’ll tell her my plan as soon as I see her.
I’m on my way back to the dorm right now, and then we’re going to go downtown together to see what we can find for Secret Santa. We’re supposed to start giving the gifts tomorrow, and all I’ve got for George so far is a slinky. He’ll get that tomorrow, so I need four more things. It’ll also just be nice to be off of campus for a couple of hours. I think I’ve earned a break.
Seven: Real Genius
(December 8-13, 1989)
It ends up being more than just a couple of hours; Beth and I don’t get back until almost eight o'clock. By the time we do, the temperature’s dropped at least twenty degrees, and it was pretty cold to start with. The minute the train stops at the University Circle station and the doors open, the frigid air hits me. I hurry out and down the platform and take the steps three at a time until I’m out of the station, with Beth right behind me. We cover the three blocks to Carson House at a dead run, and we’re both completely winded by the time we get there. I collapse onto the ugly purple couch, raising a small cloud of dust–which normally I’d find gross, but right now I’m too cold and exhausted to care.
And hungry, too, as my stomach loudly reminds me. Everyone in the lobby is already staring at me. Melody Katz laughs. “You shouldn’t skip dinner, don’t you know that?”
We got caught up shopping, and then I wanted to get back so I could spend some time with Brian tonight, so we ended up not eating. “We were busy,” I pant, pointing at our shopping bags. I just now notice that Joe Karver is hooking up the communal VCR to the TV. I take a couple of deep breaths until I can talk in something close to a normal tone of voice. “Sorry to interrupt. What are you guys watching tonight?”
“Yeah, that is a good question,” Melody says, a little too sharply. Clearly we came in right in the middle of the regular Friday night argument over who gets to pick the movies. It’s bad enough when the debate is what to rent at Vidstar video up in Coventry. It’s worse on a night like this, when nobody’s willing to brave the Arctic conditions outside to go there and the choices are limited to what videos the folks currently in the lobby have in their rooms. Which doesn’t leave much.
After a couple more minutes collecting my breath I head upstairs, Beth right behind me, as the argument gets up to speed. I put my shopping down, throw my coat on my chair, and my hand’s on the phone and dialing Brian before I even realize what I’m doing.
Beth rolls her eyes while the phone rings once, twice, three times until Brian picks up. “Hey,” I greet him.
“I was starting to worry when I didn’t hear from you all day,” he answers me, but I hear more hurt than worry in his voice. I said I’d meet up with him sometime after my exam; I guess we had different definitions of “sometime.”
“I lost track of time. Beth and I went downtown, we only just got back,” I tell him, trying to put a bit of reassurance into it. I try to suppress the thought that I haven’t done anything wrong and I shouldn’t need to be doing any reassuring.
“Are we still getting together tonight?” Apparently, I do need to be doing it.
I put my hand over the mouthpiece of the phone, and I sigh. “Absolutely!” I tell him, trying again, and this time it seems to work.
“What were you thinking?”
Considering that it’s about minus two hundred degrees out right now, the options are pretty limited. He can come over here and sit on the couch downstairs with me while we watch a movie, I can ask Beth to give us a couple of hours to ourselves in my room or I can go over to him. It’s no choice at all, really.
“My roommate was talking about having her boyfriend come over here,” I say, looking over to Beth, and she nods, “so how about if I run over and meet you? Give me fifteen minutes or so,” I say, shuddering already at the prospect of going back outside, even to run a couple of hundred feet. “I need to work up the courage to go back out into the cold.”
“I’ll be downstairs to let you in,” he says, and the line goes dead. I can almost hear his door slamming shut as he heads for his lobby to meet me.
“That’s not a bad idea, actually,” Beth tells me once I’ve hung up the phone. “I wouldn’t mind seeing Ron, so long as I don’t have to go back outside to see him. Besides,” she says, “it’ll be better than watching Monty Python downstairs for the twentieth time this semester."
She’s on the phone almost immediately, while I’m getting my coat, scarf, hat and gloves on, ready to brave the elements once more. When I get back downstairs, wrapping my scarf around my neck, covering up every possible inch of flesh as I head for the door, I see that Beth was right–it’s “Monty Python and the Holy Grail” again. Somebody in this dorm really needs to stock up on some new movies.
***
It must be my imagination, but I swear I can feel icicles forming inside my nose, just from the thirty seconds I’m outside running from Carson House over to Allen. Brian’s already got the door open, and in I go. I notice he isn’t quite meeting my eyes, though. We head straight upstairs to his room, and when he shuts the door behind us, he still isn’t looking at me.
I can’t believe he’s upset that I didn’t call him earli
er. I sit down on his bed, and he sits across from me, on the spare bed. He doesn’t have a roommate. At least, he hasn’t had one, since the one he did have, Paul, started to have crippling panic attacks and withdrew from school two weeks before Thanksgiving
Brian looks like he’s about halfway towards having one himself right now. I really don’t understand. Does he really think–what? I don’t even know. “Brian, come over here. Sit next to me.”
He does, after a minute or two. “Look, I’m sorry I wasn’t around all day. I know I said we’d get together, and I should’ve waited to hear from you before I went downtown. Do you forgive me?” I haven’t done anything that needs forgiving, but I try very hard to keep that feeling out of the words I’m saying. I think that comes across because he relaxes a bit, nods his head slightly. “So how was your first college final exam?”
That’s what the problem is, right there. He thought I’d be waiting for him after he got out, to congratulate him. On top of which, he was probably terrified about his first exam, and if I’d been paying attention I’d have known that.
“Easier than I thought,” he says. “I was expecting…”
Something horrible and impossible. Exactly. My first final, freshman year, was Chemistry. I knew that class backwards and forwards. I’d gotten an A on every quiz, I did every piece of extra credit offered. I could have aced that test in my sleep. And I was still frightened when I walked into the classroom and opened up my exam book. I was so relieved afterwards, so proud of myself for getting through my very first final…
Just like Brian. And he wanted to share that feeling with his girlfriend, wanted me to be proud of him.
Oh, my. I just had another thought, and now it all fits together. I wasn’t just his first time. I’m his first real, proper girlfriend. Everything he does with me, he’s doing for the first time. Including the first time something happens that isn’t exactly how he imagines it should be–the first disappointment, however silly and minor. Like the first time his girlfriend blows him off when she said she’d be there, even if it is only for a couple of hours.
I move right next to him, touch his cheek, turn his face to me. Now he’s finally looking me in the eyes, and I take his face in both hands. I pull him closer and kiss him. I’m not sure how long it lasts, but it feels like forever.
***
It’s ten-thirty now. We’ve been–mostly–talking for the last two hours. I was absolutely right about him, about being the first girlfriend he’s had. I can’t believe I didn’t realize that right away. It was pretty obvious. It’s easy to forget that he’s only a few months out of high school. Then again, in my defense, I have been somewhat preoccupied lately.
My thoughts are interrupted by one of the most hideous sounds I’ve ever heard, and what’s worse is that it comes from me. Brian is so startled he backs several feet away. He’s looking at me as though he thinks something’s going to explode out of my stomach like the guy in “Alien.”
“I’m hungry, OK?” I say, and Brian bursts out laughing. I glare at him for a moment, and my stomach rumbles, very loudly, again. I can’t help it; I have to laugh too. “Wow, that was pretty bad, wasn’t it?”
Brian very gallantly offers to go to the only place we can think of that’s open at this hour, Little Caesar’s Pizza, and bring me back some much-needed food. I don’t feel right about sending him out alone into the freezing cold, and I definitely don’t feel up to going out there with him. Besides, I’ve got a better idea. I ask him how much money he has on him, and he says “Thirty dollars.” I ask him to give it to me. I pull my clothes back on–I did say mostly talking, didn’t I? take his money, and tell him to wait here.
I go down to the lobby. At the bottom of the stairs, I loudly clear my throat, and call out to the small crowd gathered there watching a movie on their dorm’s communal VCR (I notice they’re watching Monty Python, too. Clearly the video selection here isn’t any better than in my dorm. At least it’s a different Monty Python, “Meaning of Life.”). “I’ve got twenty bucks here for whoever will go to Little Caesar’s, pick up a double-cheese-and-pepperoni pizza and a two-liter of coke, and bring it up to me in room 411. Anybody?”
Someone answers, a redheaded guy I vaguely remember from a couple of my chemistry classes. “That’s Brian, right? 411?” I get a couple of questioning looks, which quickly become knowing looks when they–and I, at the same time–see that my sweatshirt is inside out.
Oops.
I go a little bit pink–but only a little. And–I’m kind of surprised at myself for this–I have no desire to run for it, or to try and make up some excuse and pretend that things are anything other than exactly what they appear to be. “It certainly is,” I say with the biggest grin I can manage. “And we’re both very hungry. Doesn’t anybody want twenty bucks?” The redhead agrees to go, so I give him the twenty, plus the other ten to pay for the food. “I’ll call it right now, so it’ll be ready when you get there,” and I turn around and walk back upstairs.
“I owe you thirty dollars. I’ll pay you back tomorrow,” I tell Brian when I open the door and sit back down on his bed.
“What did you do?”
I laugh. “I just did wonders for your reputation,” I tell him, and he blushes a very satisfying shade of red. “Oh, and I arranged for our dinner.” This time a week ago, I would never have done something like that. Instead of blushing slightly pink, I’d have been even redder than Brian is now, and I’d have slunk back upstairs as quickly as my shame would have allowed me to. But just now, it seemed like the most natural thing in the world to do. He is my boyfriend, and I do love him. Why shouldn’t everyone know it?
The redheaded guy–I finally did remember his name, Mark Maxwell, we’ll see if I remember it next time I see him!–brings us our pizza a half hour later, and we have our belated dinner. And afterwards, dessert.
***
…Sara’s sitting in a comfortable chair, looking at a painting on the wall that seems very familiar to her, although she can’t quite recall why. She gazes around the room–the bedroom–and all of it seems familiar. The brass lamp on the side table, the sliding closet door that’s never–it doesn’t occur to Sara to wonder why “never” is the word that comes to mind here–closed all the way, the Rolex watch on the dresser. She knows she’s seen all of it before, but for the life of her, she can’t imagine where. And then the door opens, and a man, a large man, comes in, with a brown-haired girl who can’t possibly be older than sixteen. Now Sara knows exactly where she is and what she’s seeing, and she can’t leave, can’t look away, can’t do anything except…
***
…“Stop! Stop it! Oh, God, oh, fuck, stop it!” someone’s shouting, in a ragged voice filled with anger and mixed and absolute revulsion.
It’s me. I’m in that bedroom–no, no, that was the nightmare. I’m in–where? Brian’s room. Brian’s bed. He’s looking at me, eyes full of confusion. I can tell exactly what he’s thinking–“why is she yelling at me to stop? I wasn’t doing anything. I was asleep,” or something along those lines, and then the penny drops.
“Sara, you’re in my room. You’re safe,” he says, in what ought to be a reassuring voice. But I’m not in a state where words are any comfort. I put my arms around his neck, pull myself to him, and I squeeze, holding on for dear life. I think I’m probably hurting him, but he doesn’t say a word, doesn’t even wince. He just wraps his arms around me, holds on to me equally tightly. We lie there like that, not saying anything, until I can feel my heart rate start to fall back close to normal. I don’t know how long it takes, but it feels like forever.
***
We’ve been talking about it for an hour. We keep going around and around. That’s all I’ve been doing since the nightmares started, and I am so, so tired of it. “There’s got to be some kind of logical way to figure this out,” I say. “You’re going to major in me
chanical engineering, I’m in pre-med. We’re both intelligent and logical and all that other crap, and we’re taking all these stupid science courses and, damnit,” I punch my hand into the wall, which does nothing at all except hurt, “we ought to be able to come up with some kind of answer!”
Brian’s expression says very plainly that he’d gladly give everything he owns to be able to tell me something helpful right now. He starts to say exactly that, and I hold up my hand. “I know, I know. OK, one more time?” I yawn. I don’t want to go back to sleep, but my body does and it feels like my body is winning the argument. Still, I’m determined to take one more stab at an explanation.
“So the first time this happened, it was you. You turned me on,” I say, and I’m not sure if it’s because of exhaustion or my sometimes-slow sense of humor that it takes me a good ten seconds to realize what I said and why Brian is fighting to keep from laughing.
“You flipped my switch,” I try again, and Brian just looks at me, a tear starting to leak from his left eye from the effort of not laughing. “I give up,” I say, throwing my hands in the air. “There’s no way I can say it and not have it be a bad pun, is there?” he shakes his head. I almost smile, it’s the most I can do right now. Even though, actually, it is pretty funny.
“Fine. It was you. You dreaming about me is what started this. You were close by, it’s probably not even two hundred feet, right, from here to my room?” he nods. “You were dreaming about me, and you had very powerful feelings so maybe,” this sounds absurd as I’m saying it but I press on, “it’s all electrical signals, right? Maybe we do broadcast when we’re dreaming. Maybe it’s too weak to measure, or maybe we just don’t know as much as we think about our brains.”
“OK,” Brian says. “That makes sense so far.”
I’m glad one of us thinks so. “So, fine, you’re broadcasting, I’m broadcasting, everybody’s broadcasting, every night. And that night, you broadcasted just a little louder than usual, in just the right way, and my brain picked it up. Maybe it’s like a radio,” and this is starting to make sense to me too, now. “You know how, when you get really bad reception, all you hear is static, right?” He agrees. “But then you finally manage to tune in a station, and once you’ve heard that you get better at hearing the other stations in the static. Maybe they’re not as clear, but once you hear the first one, you know what to listen for.”