ODD NUMBERS

by M. Grace Bernardin

  “Don’t you remember? It was right after I moved in. Right after we met. You played American in Paris out your window one morning when I was walking to my car. I think it was my first day of work. I’ll never forget that.” It was true, Allison had never forgotten it, nor would she. It was the single most romantic thing anyone had ever done for her.

  “I did that?”

  “Yes, you did that.”

  “That was nice of me.” The wry smile, which just moments ago she thought she’d never see again, returned to his face.

  “Yes, it was. It’s good to see you smile.”

  “Here, take it,” he said handing her the album.

  “Thank you,” Allison said accepting it. Frank continued to flip through the stack.

  “Oh, I love this one, Schubert’s Unfinished Symphony. Look at this; it’s still got the plastic on it. It looks like it’s never been played.”

  “I noticed that about a lot of them. They’re in good shape, aren’t they?”

  He set the stack down on his dining room table and removed one of the records from its cover. “Unbelievable,” he said examining the record under the light. “Not a scratch on it. Some of these are real collector’s items. I can’t believe you only paid three dollars for the whole stack.”

  “Well, you know what they say? One man’s junk is another man’s treasure.”

  “How can I ever thank you?” he said in earnest.

  “I’ll think of something,” Allison said. They stood there smiling at one another and for a moment they connected, the same way they did just those few times when they first met. It was a short lived moment however; for it seemed that as soon as Frank realized what he was doing, he drew back. The color, light, and life left his face again, evaporating as quickly as it had emerged.

  “Well, thank you. It was nice of you to think of me. I owe you one,” Frank said forcing the saddest smile she had ever seen, so sad in fact it looked like his face muscles had to have ached to hold it in place.

  “You don’t owe me anything. I was glad to do it.”

  Allison didn’t know what to do at that point but she felt she had to do or say something; something to make it better for him. For a moment she thought it would be better just to leave, but then how could she? He looked so desolate. Was there nothing more irresistible to a woman than a vulnerable man? Not a weak man, but a strong man, who for whatever reason, lets his defenses slip for just a moment. That was what Frank had done. She had no reason to leave so soon. Why should she? So she could go back across the hall, close the door, and retreat into the solitude that inevitably followed.

  “Speaking of music, I notice you’ve been playing a lot of Bach lately,” Allison said, grasping for something to keep the conversation going.

  “You mean the disco queen of the Midwest knows Bach when she hears him?”

  “You know Frank, you’re a terrible snob. You know that, don’t you? Yes, as a matter of fact I do know Bach when I hear him. I took Music Appreciation in college.” An awkward pause followed.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be a jerk. So tell me do you like Bach?”

  “He’s okay. But, I mean I could learn to like him. So why do you like him?” Allison said, attempting to delay her departure as long as possible.

  “Baroque music and Bach in particular is the thing to listen to when you need structure and order in your life.”

  “You don’t say,” Allison said.

  Frank responded to this glib remark with one single abrupt nod of his head which ended the conversation. More awkward silence came between them in which Frank stood with his arms crossed staring at the floor. Allison didn’t know what to do so she stared down at the floor too. This was the first time she’d been to Frank’s when she didn’t notice the grooves of a freshly vacuumed carpet.

  “Well, thank you very much for the albums. I appreciate your thoughtfulness,” he said all at once sounding like a standard thank you note which one might send to an individual one barely knows. So Allison had the choice. She could pick up on his cue to depart and leave him all alone in his self-pity or she could get honest.

  “So tell me, Frank, truthfully, how are you doing? And don’t you dare say ‘fine’ because we both know that’s not true.”

  “Really?” he said disdainfully.

  “There’s too much evidence to the contrary. You’ve been listening to Bach, you need order and structure, you haven’t vacuumed, you haven’t shaved, and no offense but the Don Johnson look just isn’t you. And…”

  “And what?”

  “You’re slouching. I’ve observed you do that when you’re not a hundred percent. It’s obvious you’re depressed.” Frank gave a nonchalant shrug of his left shoulder. “Don’t you shrug at me!”

  “Excuse me, did I shrug?”

  “You most certainly did.”

  “And what exactly is the problem with shrugging?”

  “It’s a defensive gesture intended to dismiss what was just said.”

  “Still the authority on pop psychology I see.”

  “Don’t go getting snide and uppity and east coast with me. That’s just another defense mechanism. And don’t dismiss me. You’re depressed. Okay!? Just admit it. It’s perfectly natural after a break-up. I know you don’t want to talk about it and I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but I can’t just stand here and pretend that nothing’s happened. I miss her too, you know.” Allison noticed a slight crack in the armor at the inevitable mention of Vicky. His smug superior smile evaporated and the sad pitiful face returned He raised his eyes to her and Allison could see the pain behind those deep blue pools. He spoke in a voice that conveyed desperate pleading.

  “Please tell me, have you heard from her?”

  “Not since the night before she left.”

  “Do you know where she’s staying?”

  “She planned on staying with some friends until she found a place of her own. I have no idea who the friends are or where they live.”

  “I tried to find her you know,” said Frank. “I went to the River Inn looking for her. She doesn’t work there anymore.”

  “She quit her job?” Allison said in surprise.

  “No. She was fired.”

  “What? Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I’m afraid so. I wasn’t about to give up until I got an answer from somebody. One of the waiters finally leveled with me. He said she missed work several days and when she finally came in she was so drunk she could hardly stand up. A friend of mine who regularly frequents the place verified the story. He’s not one to gossip so I feel certain it must be true.”

  “Oh, no!” Allison felt as if every organ in her body suddenly drooped, dragging her spirits right along with them into a sinking quagmire of futility and helplessness.

  “What can we do?” Allison said wondering why she always felt responsible for Vicky as if she were a sister or a family member who kept blowing it, the perennial black sheep, someone whom she ought to give up on but hadn’t quite yet.

  “I’ve asked around but no one knows where she is,” Frank said. “I have no idea where to find her. Unless she makes contact with me… or you, I guess there’s nothing we can do.”

  “Except let go,” Allison said as much for her own benefit as for his.

  “I don’t know how,” Frank said and it was the most honest moment Allison ever had with Frank. Perhaps it was the most honest moment he had ever had with anyone. He seemed to be pleading with those eyes of his for some kind of help.

  “May I sit down?” Allison asked.

  “Yes, of course. I apologize for my lack of decorum.”

  “Don’t apologize, Frank,” Allison said, and as they made their way to the living room she noticed he’d been sleeping on the couch. His sheets, blankets, and pillows lay there giving the room a disarrayed look so totally uncharacteristic of Frank. Allison wondered if perhaps it was too soon for him to sleep in the same bed he shared with Vicky not so long ago.

  For a mo
ment she thought about her father who moved to the couch when he and his mother began to have problems. A man sleeping on the couch was always a sign of a love gone wrong. It made her feel that old familiar sadness again.

  Frank quickly rolled up the bedding, tossed the pillow behind the couch and apologized for the mess. Allison sat in one of the wing back chairs. Frank propped up and patted down the couch cushions, then finally satisfied with their neatness he dropped into the midst of the comfortable furnishing with a heavy sigh.

  “Excuse me, you were saying?” Frank said furrowing his brows into such a weary expression it seemed he was too exhausted to even try and remember where their conversation last left off.

  “That you have to let go, Frank.”

  With great effort Frank moved to the edge of the seat, propped his elbows on his knees, put his head in his hands and said, “How could I be so stupid? How could I honestly believe that it would ever work between us? We’re just too different I guess. Talk about your doomed love affairs. I…I just thought in the beginning that it really didn’t matter… the way she is I mean. I thought once people got to know her like I did, once they got past that back woods hillbilly front she puts up, that they would see her for what she truly is, that they would see her the way I saw her.”

  “Did it matter to you that much that they didn’t?”

  “Yes,” Frank said looking her directly in the eye. “I hate to admit it, but yes. What kind of hypocrite am I? I told her it didn’t matter. I thought it didn’t matter.”

  “You were lying to yourself, Frank, because you wanted it to work so badly.”

  “I can’t stop thinking about her or worrying about her. God, I hope she’s all right.”

  “Me too,” Allison said. “Let me just ask you one question. If you did find her would you try and work it out. Could you ever accept that she is the way she is and just resign yourself to what others think about her?”

  “If she could accept it and not have such a chip on her shoulders then maybe. I don’t know. You know she started working on that degree. She’s determined to get this education and it seems like since she started college some of the rough edges have smoothed out. Most of my friends liked her.”

  “Most, but not all?”

  “No, not all. And unfortunately Vicky’s so insecure about her background it didn’t take much to set her off; a look, an off hand remark, a bit of a cold shoulder from someone and she’d take it to heart and fly off the handle. You know how Vicky is. It’s bad enough when she’s sober but when she’s had something to drink it’s even worse. Did you hear about the Christmas party?” Frank said looking up briefly then burying his head in his hands once again.

  “Yes, unfortunately I heard about it.”

  “She embarrassed the hell out of me. It’s like she’s looking for a fight, looking to stir things up if they get a little dull. She does it to herself, you know. Nobody can shoot themselves in the foot quite like she can. If she could just stop looking for trouble where there isn’t any. If she could just…be content, be more secure…”

  “Be more like how you want her to be?” Allison interrupted. “She is who she is, Frank, and we just have to accept it. You can’t change her.”

  “Is that what I’ve been trying to do? Change her?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. I know I just finally had to accept that Kent is the way he is and that we want different things out of life. It’s hard.”

  “By the way, how are you doing?” Frank asked, mustering up a sympathetic smile.

  “Better.”

  “I’m sorry. I’ve been so absorbed with myself I forgot you just went through the same thing not too long ago. It must have been especially hard for you. You two were together for… how long?”

  “Eight years. Since we were sophomores in high school.”

  “And here I am feeling sorry for myself. Vicky and I weren’t even together a year.”

  “I don’t know, in some ways I think I may have had it a little easier than you. Kent and I were away from each other through so much of our relationship that we’d really grown apart. I fell out of love with him a long time ago. It was like kicking an old habit, like smoking. It was tough but now I’d never go back. Whereas you and Vicky…you were still so much in love.” Allison looked at Frank. His eyes were diverted from her, but she could tell from the slight reddening of his nose and the way the corners of his downward turned mouth quivered ever so slightly that he was about to cry.

  “You really did love her, didn’t you?” Frank held his hand up making a halting gesture as if imploring her to stop talking about it. It had become too intense, too personal and Allison could tell by the sudden tension in his body that it was taking all of his strength to restrain himself from breaking down and sobbing. “It’s okay, Frank let it go.”

  Frank took his handkerchief from his pocket, did a quick blot of his eyes, blew his nose, and blinked hard several times then with one deliberate purposeful gesture, he put his handkerchief back in his pocket, sat up straight and pulled himself together. He looked at Allison with glazed eyes that seemed like a dam holding back a deluge as he forced a pathetic smile. “I’m okay,” he said with feigned reassurance.

  “You don’t have to break down and bawl in front of me or anything, but it is important to cry about it. Not now necessarily, but at some point in time when you’re alone. Breaking up with Kent taught me the importance of grieving. You gotta grieve. It’s the only way you ever move on. Before Kent I didn’t do sad. I didn’t watch sad movies and I didn’t listen to sad songs.”

  “Why not?” Frank asked to her surprise.

  “Because I hate feeling sad. I guess I just had enough of it growing up what with being the fat little girl in school and my parents fighting all the time. I know, I know, poor me! We all had tragic childhoods to some degree or another. But anyway at some point I just decided that I wouldn’t dwell on things that bring me down anymore. I decided I’d be an optimist and think only positive thoughts, which is good except that when you suffer a loss you have to let yourself feel all those miserable feelings. I read a book on the subject.

  “See, you have all these poisonous toxins that build up in your body from stress and loss. Those toxins are released through tears. You have to get them out of your body or they’ll turn into cancer. I mean I know you’re a guy and everything and it’s not exactly real macho but you’ve got to get rid of those toxins. You’ll feel so much better once you do.

  “Now if you’re not accustomed to crying, which was my problem because I was so used to suppressing it, then you have to set the scene. So what you need to do is put on the saddest music you have and just wallow in it. Bawl your eyes out. Feel the pain then move on.”

  “How do you know when it’s time to move on?”

  “That’s a good question. The book I read never dealt with that. I guess it’s different for everyone. But the important thing is that when it’s time to move on, you move on. And don’t look back. No listening to the radio because they’re too many love songs. Get out of your apartment as soon as possible and whatever you do, don’t drink alone.”

  “I rarely listen to the radio except for NPR.”

  “Figures.”

  “And I don’t drink alone unless you count a glass of wine with dinner.”

  “No, that’s fine, unless of course you polish off the whole bottle.”

  “So I should be fine then.”

  “Except for the fact that you never leave your apartment.”

  “I leave my apartment.”

  “To go to work, that’s about it. That doesn’t count and you know it.”

  “But I can’t get out of my apartment until I’ve wallowed and gotten rid of all my toxins.”

  “Right, right. So you got any sad music you can start wallowing in.”

  “Yep, I saw one in that stack you got me. Barber’s Adagio for Strings.”

  “Is it sad?”

  “It’ll rip your heart out.”


  “In that case I better go. I don’t do sad anymore.”

  “Wait a minute, wait a minute! I thought you could do sad since you and your former fiancé broke up.”

  “Ah, but I’ve moved on. I’ve let go.”

  “You sure about that?”

  One look at Frank’s face and Allison felt certain she had. “Yes, I’m sure.”

  “Well, I guess I better get to wallowing then,” Frank said as he slowly rose to his feet.

  “Time for me to go,” Allison said also rising to her feet. “Make sure you go through that stack and get that sad album out.”

  “I will and don’t forget your Gershwin,” Frank said. Together they walked toward the door and Frank stopped at the dining room table to flip through the stack of albums. “Just to prove how sincere I am about flushing these toxins out of my system,” he said, his fingers moving rapidly through the stack as the muffled sound of cardboard slapping against cardboard accompanied his quick movements. “Here it is,” Frank said holding the album he’d been speaking of up for Allison to see.

  The cover showed a faded color photo of a conductor from the waist up; older, stout, dignified, in white tie and tails with baton raised and eyes closed; an intent expression of dramatic angst on his face and sweat glistening on his forehead as he led the orchestra who faded into the background of the picture. Some difficult to pronounce Slavic names adorned the cover along with the photo.

  “I’m putting this on as soon as you leave,” Frank said.

  “You’ll say anything to get rid of me. That’s okay, I can take a hint,” Allison said standing once again at his door.

  “Thank you, Allison. Sincerely, thank you for everything. I’ll get through this.”

  “I know you will. It just hurts like hell.”

  “Yes, it does,” he said looking down, the color and light completely gone from his face.

  “I care about you, you know. You were my first friend when I moved to Camelot,” Allison said. “When you’re ready to move on and get out of this apartment, I’ll be there for you.” Frank nodded with a slight bewildered smile as if he really didn’t know how to take that comment. That was good. She would leave him with that thought.