by Fiona Zedde
“You don’t need to do shit tonight. Thursday is, like, eight days away.” Devi ran a hand through her short, spiky hair, then abruptly apologized to a passing classmate when her elbow grazed his shoulder. The boy grinned and waved a dismissive hand before continuing past.
“Yeah, but I have other things to work on too. That exam for my international relations class. And that ten-pager to finish for Gender and Sexuality.”
“That’s what all-nighters are for, gorgeous.” Devi grinned. “I’m having a little get-together at my place tonight. You should come over.”
Sara shook her head. She was an unrepentant nerd. Not to mention she felt that so many of the other students were smarter than she was. While most of them could party all week long before a test, not study, and still manage to get a hundred percent, she couldn’t. Every good grade she ever got, Sara worked hard for. Sometimes she envied her friends because there were days when she just wanted to let loose and have everything sort itself out later.
“Come on,” Devi said, slinging an arm around Sara’s waist. “It’s just one night. You can go back to being a good Vreeland girl tomorrow.”
“Easy for you to say. You barely need to study.”
Devi was the classic example of the other students Sara was up against. Though Devi was a chemistry major with a more than passing interest in philosophy, Sara rarely saw her in the labs or even in the library. But she heard from Raven that one of Devi’s papers had been published in the International Journal of Biological Chemistry. This was her last year at Vreeland, and the word on campus was that she was heading straight to MIT for her doctorate.
“I study plenty. But I also make time to have a little fun.” Devi grinned, showing her slightly crooked teeth. “Life is much too short not to sample the sweets along the way.”
Sara rolled her eyes. Devi was so cheesy. But Sara could also see her point. College was supposed to be the place to have fun before being thrown under the big bus also known as “the real world.” Sara adjusted the straps of her backpack that drooped heavily from its load of books. “Okay. If I get enough studying done for my exam, I might stop by later.”
Devi lightly bumped Sara with her hip. “Excellent. I’ll await your illustrious presence at my humble abode.”
Yep. Cheesy. Sara waved at her as they parted ways at the bike rack. Devi hopped on her shiny blue Schwinn and rode toward the bay and the chem lab while Sara climbed the steps leading up the overpass. She had her last class of the day in a couple of hours and wanted to reread her notes one last time.
*
At 12:18 a.m., Sara glanced away from the clock and back to the textbook spread out across her desk. The pink highlighter dropped to the desk as she pressed a fist to her mouth and fought back another yawn. Study time was definitely over.
Raven had long since left their room for more fun pursuits. She was off with fellow anthropology geeks on a late-night hiking trek through the dense woods adjoining the college. Sara had teased that in her short white shorts and tank top Raven looked like she was going out to catch something. Raven had confided that she had a “minor crush” on one of the boys in the hiking group, a pale-haired and blue-eyed ex-Jehovah’s Witness with a penchant for expensive weed, retro drugs, and wide-eyed first years. But Sara wasn’t worried about Raven. The most Raven would let the boy do was look at her ass, dreamy-eyed, across the campfire before she cut anything else short with the news that she had a steady boyfriend.
Sara blinked eyes that were beginning to blur and closed the international relations textbook. Devi’s party should still be going strong. She stood and stretched until her back popped with a muffled but satisfying sound.
Fifteen minutes later, dressed in the same jeans and T-shirt she’d been studying in, Sara knocked on Devi’s room door. After a muffled, “Just a minute,” the opaque glass door opened, releasing the thick sound of bass-heavy Bhangra and Devi’s smiling face. She held a glass of something clear and cold in her hands.
“Hey.” The word slurred past her lips. “You look hot in those jeans.”
The Indian music pulsed around Devi, seemed to flutter the deep green satin of her robe. She reached out a hand, but Sara stepped back, looking over Devi’s shoulder. There was no sign of a party happening in the room.
“Where is everybody?” Sara asked.
“Come inside and see for yourself.” Devi stepped aside, sweeping her arm wide in invitation. The smell of marijuana kissed Sara as she passed.
Devi’s room was nothing like Rille’s. The thought came to Sara as she walked past the nearly five-foot-high water pipe by the door, her feet sinking into a thick Turkish rug spread across the otherwise bare floor. Where Rille’s room was nearly Spartan in appearance except for a few hedonistic touches like the deep purple Om tapestry on the wall and the thick black velvet draped from the ceiling and enclosing the bed, Devi’s room was downright cluttered. It was a beautiful mess: a stack of two antique looking trunks supporting a fringed lamp next to the queen-sized bed, a sofa sitting against the wall and piled high with thick violet cushions, elegant floor lamps, a mini fridge, and a television on top of an old-fashioned armoire. Devi had decorated the room like she intended to stay in it for a long while.
She batted at the air before her face. Smoke curled languorously around her, slipping into Sara’s clothes, her hair, her nose. And inside the beautiful mess was no one but her and Devi.
“I thought you said this was a party.”
“It is. A private party for me and you.” Devi closed the door and leaned back against it. The smile she gave Sara was not at all repentant.
Shit. “Dev, you know that I’m not interested in you like that.”
“Not yet, baby. But tonight that’s going to change.”
What? You’re going to transform yourself into Rille? Sara rolled her eyes and stepped deeper into the cluttered but comfortable room. Even though she didn’t feel like putting up with Devi’s antics, the alternative of going back to her empty dorm had no appeal. If Raven could take a guilt-free night off from the usual, so could she. Since the night of Rille’s party nearly two months ago, Sara hadn’t gone to any parties, just the study sessions at the campus café and a welcome event for the first year students in her dorm. An odd fear held her back. What if she saw Rille again? What if she didn’t?
Sara had seen Rille around campus a few times. They’d even had one brief conversation. But that was it. Sara was never one to chase after what she wanted, no matter how much she wanted. And looking at Rille, it felt like the most ridiculous of things to chase her, this lean lynx of a girl who seemed to relish the chase herself and would never allow anyone to catch up to her.
Without being asked, Devi poured Sara a drink over ice cubes shaped like stars, and she drank it, nearly choking on its intense sweet tartness. She sank into the sofa and moved aside when Devi slid in beside her, the satin robe rubbing cold into her skin.
“It’s vodka and peach schnapps,” Devi said.
She sat sideways in the sofa, leaning back against its arm, a bare leg curled under her. It was obvious she wasn’t wearing anything but the robe. Sara scooted back a bit more away from Devi until her back hit the opposite arm of the sofa. On the second sip, her drink wasn’t quite so bad.
“So what do you say, Sara?”
“About what? You didn’t ask me anything.”
Devi sniggered. “I guess you’re right.” She swirled the floating ice stars in her glass. “But I think you know the question I want to ask.”
Against her will, Sara’s mouth quirked in amusement. “I didn’t realize that it was a question.”
“Question. Statement. Whatever. As long as we’re on the same page.” Devi put down her glass and leaned into Sara with a shaky leer.
“Come on. It could be fun.” Her cold fingers traced down the back of Sara’s neck.
Sara shivered. Would anything change if she slept with Devi? Would she stop wanting to erase the memory of Rille’s touch from her ski
n? To get Rille out of her mind? To get the real thing back in her bed? She allowed Devi to come closer. The smell of the alcohol on her breath, the weed in her hair, the subtle gentling of her approach made Sara allow the light touch, the tugging off of her shirt. Then her jeans. Devi’s curious hands combed through her loosened hair.
“Nice.”
Devi sounded flatteringly pleased. Quickly, she shook off her robe and touched Sara’s face and throat. Her eyes touched everything else.
“Oh, you are magic,” she sighed. “Your body is so nice.” Her fingers wove feather-light patterns on skin. “Except for here…” She palmed the round curve of Sara’s belly. “…you’re perfect.”
Sara drew back, blinking at Devi who stared at her body with amazement, apparently thinking that she’d just paid Sara the best compliment of her life. Sara opened her mouth. Then a knock sounded at the door before it opened. A bright head appeared.
“I didn’t know you were busy tonight, Dev.” Rille’s eyes swept over Sara, seeming to miss nothing.
Sara imagined how Rille must see them. Her. In a pale copy of the night they had shared together. Devi drunk and Sara willing. The embarrassment she felt before was nothing to the heat that scorched over her face, her pride, at the look on Rille’s face. She curled up in the sofa, pulling her knees up to shield her breasts. She didn’t go as far as dropping her face into the dark comfort of her knees, but she wanted to.
“It’s only Rille, baby, relax,” Devi said.
But Sara shook her head. Gripped one cold hand with the other at her ankles. Devi looked away from Sara to Rille who was still perched in the doorway, hand on the doorknob, looking as if she already stood inside the suddenly too-warm room gazing at them with naked curiosity. She might as well have stood against the wall with arms crossed, watching the two like a movie she’d like to see play out. But something else moved behind those clear yet opaque eyes.
Sara could feel herself shut down. Whatever it was that she had been willing to do with Devi was over. It couldn’t continue beyond what it was now. And Devi sensed that.
“Shit,” Devi muttered and sank back in the sofa, making no move to put on her robe. “Come on in, Miss Merille. I was busy, but not anymore.” She grabbed her glass and raised it to her lips.
And still, Rille didn’t move.
Tired of the standoff, Sara reached for her shirt and pulled it on.
“No need to rush off,” Rille finally said.
But Sara shook her head. She was doing a lot of that lately. With cold fingers, she pulled on her jeans and slipped her feet into sandals.
“I’m going,” she said.
Sara glanced briefly at Devi before slipping by Rille and her crisp scent of the sea, and out the door.
“Is that what you called me over here to see?” Sara heard Rille ask as she fled down the stairs and back to the boring safety of her room.
Dry
Sara/1994
He wasn’t in that box.
The words came swiftly, like pain. Sara heard plates fall, a crash, and the sound of shards flying. The Vreeland catalogue slapped the floor as she ran to the kitchen.
“Mama?”
Her mother stood clutching her belly, staring wordlessly at the television. Her mouth in a silent O of denial. On the screen, breaking news about a downed flight to Nicaragua. Everyone on board suspected dead. Sara knew what she was thinking.
“That’s not his flight. It’s okay.” He wasn’t in that box.
Her mother had been putting away plates, the clear ones that were Syrus’s favorite. Their jagged shards trapped light on the kitchen floor. Footage of the wrecked plane floated inside the tiny screen on top of the fridge, the local news channel’s logo lay fixed across the screen, branding the scene of death, of charred lives, and ruined families as theirs. They’d got there first.
Sara winced. “Daddy is at work. Should I call him?”
“No,” her mother said. “No.” The word repeated, spilling from her lips like blood. She covered her mouth, but the word came still, wrenching itself out of her throat, crowding into the small kitchen.
Sara blinked under the suddenly bright fluorescent lights and turned to the phone, shutting out her mother’s voice. The “no” now an animal scream, a wailing cry as her mother sank back against the kitchen counter, sliding toward the floor. Toward the broken glass. Sara pivoted from reaching for the phone and pulled her mother up. Hands under her mama’s hot armpits, the sour scent of her fear in her nostrils.
He wasn’t in that box. “It’s okay.”
She lifted her mother into her arms, the body limp except for the corded and veined neck, the word spilling through her fingers. Sara put her mama to bed, under the sheets—apron, slippers, wailing, and all. Then she walked back to the kitchen, called the factory, left a message for her father. Tracking bloody footprints across the linoleum.
Now. Or was it Then. The pallbearers lowered the coffin into the ground, carefully. Slowly. Mama and Daddy clung together, their black clothes fluttering in the breeze. Sara stood at her father’s side in jeans and a Jimi Hendrix T-shirt, staring at the lowering coffin strewn with purple irises. Dry-eyed.
He wasn’t in that box.
Grief, some said, can be a long process. It could take weeks, months, or even years to work through. Sara didn’t want to wait that long.
Wet
Sara/1994
“I’m glad that I get to see you outside of class,” Devi said, peeking at Sara over her tall glass of iced tea. Tiny mint leaves floated in the glass of pale green liquid.
“Yeah. It’s good to talk about Fanon and cultural liberation outside the classroom. It makes me feel like what we do in there is actually relevant.”
“That’s not what I mean. And you know it.” Devi smiled, pretty and butch from her slouch in the chair.
Around them, the small campus café released more of its lingering customers. The girl behind the register flicked annoyed looks their way while her co-worker packed up the day’s unsold pastries and took them to the back. Above the counter, a clock ticked closer and closer toward eleven. Closing time. But Devi didn’t seem to care. If anything, she slouched even deeper into the chair, adjusted her feet in the one across from it. Sara sucked up her guava smoothie through the gigantic yellow straw and tried not to look at her.
“I think you’re really hot,” Devi said. “From the second you walked into the party the other night, I thought that.”
Sara touched her burning cheek to the sleeve of her white blouse. She’d gotten more attention at Vreeland in her first month than her entire four years of high school. It felt good. But strange.
“I’m not…” She paused. “I don’t really want to see anyone right now.”
“Anyone except Rille. Yeah, I get that.” Devi looked only slightly disappointed. She put her glass on the table, gazed at Sara from under her spiky blue-black hair. “Just try me. I’ll be gentler than Rille.”
The breath left Sara’s chest in a rush. Yes, Devi had been there that night. She, along with anyone else at that party who’d cared to look, had seen what Sara let Rille do to her. What she’d enjoyed on that naked balcony. Yet not. Her blush became a brushfire that consumed her face, her pride. She shook her head.
Devi held up her hand. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. Rewind. Erase. Start again.”
But they couldn’t. In some part of her, Sara wanted to think that no one had seen her on that balcony. That no one was interested enough to watch Rille’s skilled seduction and Sara’s inevitable fall.
“Rille isn’t—”
“We’re closing.” The cashier, a gaunt Goth girl with a silver hoop in each nostril, appeared behind Devi. She carried a limp wet rag in one hand and irritation in her eyes.
“We’re not done,” Devi said.
Sara pushed to her feet. “Yes, we are. Thanks for being patient with us,” she said and grabbed Devi’s arm.
Devi slowly stood, kicking the chair away from her
legs, then rising to her full height. Goth cashier was still taller.
“Yeah, thanks.” Devi gave the girl’s body a dismissive leer before allowing herself to be towed away. She didn’t leave a tip.
They stepped through the glass double doors and into a moist late night. The hands of Sara’s watch pointed to 11:17. Although it was October, the air still throbbed with heat; no sign of a crisp Halloween in sight.
“Let’s go down to the bay.” Devi reversed their positions until she was the one leading them into the night. “At least I know they won’t throw us out down there, and I can get you a real drink.”
She pulled Sara underneath a low-hanging bluff oak tree. As they passed, trailing waves of Spanish moss brushed their shoulders. Couples and some threesomes and four, passed and called out to them as they made their way down the stone path, past hulking banyan trees and through the rose garden bright with scent, the flowers bleached of their vibrant color by the jealous moon. Other shadows and veiled whispers reached Sara with each step, but no more greetings came. Devi didn’t stop her friendly tug until they sat, hips pressed together, in a cement womb of a chair—someone’s midterm project from years before—nearly hidden in a small wilderness of palm trees. Though they weren’t alone on the lulling bay front, with the enclosed chair and the view of the water waving like a dark hand under the moon, their perch felt completely isolated.
Devi burrowed into the tufted grass in the broken corner of the cement chair and came up with an opaque bottle that looked white in the moon’s meager light. Liquid sloshed inside as she held it up to Sara’s gaze.
“Vodka. The good shit.” Devi unscrewed the cap and took a long swallow before passing it to Sara. “Try it.”
She wrinkled her nose, but reached for the bottle anyway. Why not? The burn made her nearly drop the bottle. Devi caught it, laughing, while Sara sputtered open-mouthed and chuffing air to dampen the fire in her chest.
