our direction to the nearest ridge.
“I don’t know how I’d endure this alone,” she said. “Thank God for you.”
“Yes, thank God. Thank God I am in hell with you.”
“I didn’t mean it like—”
“It’s okay, I know,” I said. “It’s ironic, though. Isn’t it?”
“That I’m thanking God for you being in hell with me?”
“No, that you have the good mind to thank God. Was that a mindless remark or were you truly thanking God? You do believe in Him, don’t you?”
“I do. And I was,” she said. “I’m not the best Christian, but I believe in the Lord Jesus, and that he is our savior.”
“I just don’t get it. Maybe I deserve to be in hell, but why are you here? You belong in heaven, if I do say so myself.”
She raised her brow at me. “Well… we don’t know that this is hell for sure, do we?”
“I don’t anything for certain.”
“I do know that what happened to me caused me to be here; that means I didn’t survive the fall. And because of that, I suspect you probably died of a heart attack or something there in your office.”
“Yes, I believe you’re right.”
“Maybe this is heaven, and we’re just working our way to the pearly gates.” Her grin, faint as it was, was endearing. “And that you’re with me in heaven, maybe you’ll be my husband here.”
I laughed. “Are you proposing to me?”
“No, that’s your job.”
“Things just turned silly.”
“I know. Might as well make the most out of our situation, huh?”
My calf was both burning and itching, so I paused to give it some attention. I raised my pant leg and scratched at my wound. My nails scraped away some of the scab inadvertently. I had peeled scabs prematurely before; wounds always bleed because of it. But here there was no blood. It puzzled me. I then tinkered with part of the scab that had roots deep in my flesh. I felt the pain of it, but there was no blood.
“What are you doing to yourself?”
Instead of replying I squeezed my wound, to evoke bleeding. Then scratched at it ruthlessly. Still nothing. I put a nail inside the pink tissue and pushed deeply. It stung like a bastard.
“I can’t bleed!”
She swooned. Her eyes rolled up just as she began to fall. I lunged and caught her, lowered her unconscious body to the ground.
“Julie? Are you all right?”
I knelt beside her, swept a sheaf of hair out of her face. Why did she lose consciousness? I really doubt it had anything to do with watching me abuse my wound a little. It wasn’t that disgusting.
I sat there at her side staring off into the distance as she slept. I put her hand in mine on my lap, laced my fingers through hers. She had said poor Chris. Yeah, poor Chris indeed. I wondered what this Chris guy might be doing now. Perhaps he was at her funeral this very moment, hating himself for instigating this tragedy. How could he live with himself knowing that she died because of him? I don’t think I could live with that degree of guilt.
I reflected back to when Anna was a freshman at LSU. I had begun dating Mary shortly after she moved away. I was writing letters to Anna before that, but they pretty much stopped altogether after Mary stole my heart. I did call her a couple times, but most of the calls were from Anna’s end. I remembered one such call. The reason why I remembered this particular call I couldn’t say. At first. But sure enough there was a reason for it, and it would give me more heartache as I relived the memory.
“Well hello there, Mister Jeffrey Jay Jacobs!”
“Hey Anna. What’s up?”
“Have I ever told you I love saying your name? Anyway, I’m just taking a break from studying for my English exam. It made me think of you, you know, studying literature. How are your classes going?”
“Eh, not bad.”
She must have sensed that my mind was preoccupied. “So, have you met anyone in school yet? Any girls?”
“Yeah,” I said. “One.”
“Oh? What’s her name?”
“Mary.”
“Mary Mary quite contrary. Are you two dating?”
“Yep, we’re kind of seeing each other.”
“Really,” she said, feigning happiness for me. “Good for you. I’m happy for you.”
“Thanks. How about you? Meet anyone yet?”
“Nah. Well I’ve met some guys, but nothing like you and Mary. You’re so shy, I bet she asked you out, didn’t she?”
“Actually, she did. It was indirect, but yeah, she kind of paved the way for me.”
“What’s she like?”
“I don’t know. Just a normal girl.”
“I bet she’s really pretty.” (I imagined Anna looking in the mirror just then)
I wondered why she thought that. Mary wasn’t that pretty, but she was all right. I didn’t say anything though.
“And smart,” Anna added. “Probably doesn’t have freckles and I bet she doesn’t stutter.”
Okay, that was a little odd. Anna did have freckles, though they were scant and didn’t diminish her beauty whatsoever. If anything they were a boon to her allure. And stutter? What was that about? Anna didn’t stutter.
“No she doesn’t stutter. Why do you say that?”
“You’re so sweet. You don’t have it in you to hurt my feelings.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I sometimes stutter,” she said.
“Bullshit. I’ve never heard you stutter.”
“It’s kind of rare, but I do. You’ve heard it.”
“Anyway, I should probably get in the shower. We’re going to see a movie.”
Silence on her end. Then, “I hope you’ll still write me. And call me. Will you?”
“Of course.”
“Good. I miss you, Jeffie. I mean Jeffrey. Sorry. I mean it, I miss you.”
“I miss you, too.” I put zero emotion in that sentiment and currently hated myself for it.
Another pause, then, “I love you. Take care, Jeffrey.” She hung up.
I looked at the phone a little thrown off by that, then hung up.
How could this not be hell? Remembering these things was torture. How could I not see things back then that are so clear to me now? She was contrasting Mary to herself, to see why I would choose a girl like Mary instead of her. Perhaps because of the freckles and stutter. It was heart-wrenching. I had totally forgotten that Anna had said I love you at the end of that phone call. And the take care, Jeffrey, that was almost a farewell-sounding thing to say. And true enough, after that phone call correspondence between us only grew rarer and rarer. It was I who killed our friendship, there are no two ways about it.
It’s a hell of a lot easier to hate someone else than it is to hate yourself. Sitting there beside the sister of she who once possessed my heart (and let’s face it, still does), I utterly hated myself. I deserved to be here. This poor girl at my side didn’t, though. I had never been more sure of anything.
I checked the time on my watch: 2:15 PM. I wished time really was moving backwards. I’d give anything for a re-do (as Julie had so eloquently put it) on the bench outside of the Macintyre’s that long ago autumn afternoon.
All at once I felt tired. Maybe it had been cumulative, but I had just noticed it. I laid down beside Julie with her hand in mine, and stared up at the gray misty clouds. My eyes became too heavy to keep open. I didn’t fight it. I allowed myself to slip into unconsciousness.
I didn’t dream. I was awakened by a mouth upon mine. I opened my eyes to see Julie’s open eyes, bleary and sedate, smiling at mine. I tried to speak but her mouth was against mine. I turned my head and asked why she was kissing me. My words were slurred, as if I had a reunion with my old pal Johnny Walker.
“Good morning, sweetie,” she said, words also slurred. She moaned and sought purchase on my lips again.
“Don’t. Wait, Julie.”
She made a game out of it, trying to catch my mouth w
ith hers.
“Stop!”
She did take that to heart. She backed off of me.
“Why are you kissing me?”
“Sorry. I didn’t think you’d mind. Oouu… I feel good.”
I knew exactly what she was talking about, because I felt it too. “How long have we been here?”
“How should I know?”
I looked at my watch: 1:50 PM. If my watch was accurate (in its backward keeping of time) it had been about twenty minutes.
“May I kiss you again?”
“No! Why do you want to kiss me?”
“It helps,” she said. “I’m not thirsty anymore.”
Nor was I. “Kissing me made you not thirsty anymore?”
She nodded and twitched her brow devilishly.
“That can’t be.” I sat up. “I’m not thirsty, though. How about that? I feel… drunk.”
“Me too!” She lunged playfully at me, put her arms behind my head and kissed my mouth. I kissed her back, and kind of expected a flow of liquid to pour into my mouth and satiate me. But that didn’t happen, and her tongue possessed no distinction of taste. Her flavor was neutral.
I’d be lying if I said her kissing me wasn’t enjoyable. Joy didn’t come cheap lately, milk it for all you can. It grew more passionate. I believe that it very easily could have escalated into sex. I had an idea that if we did have sex, that the sensation of being inside her would be neutral, just as her tongue’s flavor was neutral. That truly is hell, when sex produces no feeling.
I pulled away from her mouth and said, “Let’s think this through. Stop, please. Why did you pass out earlier, do you remember?”
“I don’t.” She leaned in for another kiss: I put my hands on her upper chest and pushed her away. “Aww, don’t do that.”
“I feel drunk, too. And I’m not thirsty. What happened while we were asleep?”
She shrugged, big cheese eating grin on her face.
I got up and offered my hand, pulled her up. I began breasting the hill, Julie close at my side, saying silly things. She was having all kinds of memories of her past and felt it imperative to enlighten me of every single one of them. I was growing annoyed, and chose to ignore most of it. The dirt ended and rock replaced it, steep and growing steeper. We cut diagonally to lessen the angle.
“I couldn’t believe he said that to me!” She ranted. “Can you?”
I said nothing, was panting pretty hard. She wasn’t even winded yet.
There had been no shift in the daylight since my arrival. It was growing later, contrary to what my watch would have you believe, but nothing had changed with the diffused light of the invisible sun through the cloud layer.
I yearned to stop to rest before reaching the top, but was resolute in my purpose. I wanted to reach the top and look over. If it was more of the same on the other side, I didn’t know what I’d do. What if this was all there ever was? Me and her, for an eternity, in this wasteland. It wouldn’t have seemed like such a bad thing earlier, but damn she was getting on my nerves lately. She wouldn’t shut up. She was drunk or high. I felt buzzed at the bottom of the ridge but that pleasantry was gone. Fucking distant. I had never been more sober. And the thought of seeing over this hill was my saving grace. It fueled me as I went, even as this bumbling fool was like an anchor being dragged behind me.
“Do you think when Chris dies, he’ll be here too? Is that wrong of me to wish he will be? That would be great if there were more than just you and I, wouldn’t it?”
“Could you please stop talking, Julie? Please? I get it, you feel good and want to share it with me. But for the love of God, please give it a rest.”
She giggled. “For the love of God. If you had love for God maybe you wouldn’t be here.”
What could I say to that? She had a point and I had no retort. My plea didn’t go unheeded, though, because she did tone it down for a while. She kept grabbing at my hand, couldn’t stand to not be holding hands. I needed my arms for balance and told her that. She huffed and folded her arms under her breasts to punish me. Punished me by not allowing me access to hold her hand. She was out there, all right. It wouldn’t be a full minute later before she tried holding my hand