Solitaire and Brahms

by Sarah Dreher

  "What do you... think?"

  "I think I've never felt closer to you than I do right now." She touched Fran's hair. "Why couldn't you tell me?”

  Fran laughed harshly. "It's easy to see you've never been there."

  "I really want to know. What you've been through. What it's like. Why it's so hard."

  "I hope you never find out."

  "Does your moving out have anything to do with this?"

  Fran looked at the floor and nodded.

  She felt like laughing, or cheering. "I can't believe this. You were moving out just so I wouldn't find out you're a lesbian?"

  "Look," Fran said, "there are people upstairs. Would you mind not shouting?"

  "You broke my heart so you could keep a secret?"

  "I broke your heart to keep mine from breaking."

  Shelby looked at her. The silence between them was deep. "What do you mean?"

  "This is all screwed up." Fran pushed away from the window and crossed the kitchen. "You're the one who tried to kill herself, not me."

  "All right." So nothing was going to be solved, after all. There was still something unspoken between them. Her head was spinning and her whole body hurt. She wanted to lie down. She slumped against the window sill. "Fran, please. I've had a rough night. I feel like the bottom of a bird cage. Can't you just tell me what's wrong so I can go back to bed?"

  Fran glanced her way, then went to the table and sat, not looking at her. She stared down at her hands. "I tried not to fall in love with you," she said.

  Shelby felt her stomach tighten defensively, as if someone had threatened to punch her. "What?"

  "You heard me."

  She didn't know what to say. There was a low buzzing in her ears, and a fog in her head that obscured the shape of things. "Did you... Did you succeed? In not?"

  "No," Fran said.

  "But why?"

  "Because I knew it would be like this."

  "I mean... why did you fall in love with me?"

  "God's punishing me."

  Shelby felt something like hysterics welling up inside her. "Well, that's very flattering."

  "I didn't mean it like that."

  There were tears slipping down Fran's face. Slow and silent. "I swear I tried not to let it happen. For months I convinced myself we could be friends, that those other feelings wouldn't happen. But then I got sick, and you were so good to me, so kind... You touched me. It'd been so long since anyone… I couldn't help it, I couldn't fool myself any more. I hated this thing inside me, but it was there. It'd been there from the day I met you, I think. I loved you." Shelby handed her a tissue. Fran mopped her eyes and blew her nose. "I knew I'd lose your friendship."

  "You haven't lost my friendship."

  Fran looked up at her, her face tight with anxiety and sadness. "For God's sake, Shelby, tell me what's going on inside you."

  This was the hardest part, Shelby thought. She wanted to be able to say, "Everything's all right, you silly thing," or something light like that. But she didn't know if everything was all right. She didn't know if anything was all right. The one thing she did know was that she had to do this very carefully. A wrong word or gesture... She wished her brain weren't so soupy.

  She knew what she was expected to feel. She'd heard all the ugly names and cruel jokes and snickering. And she had to admit she was a little afraid of... well, of someone so different from everyone she knew.

  But Fran wasn't different, not really. Other than being the most understanding, most comfortable person Shelby had ever met. She'd loved her, not in the way Fran meant, maybe, but like a dear friend, a sister. She still did, in spite of the hurt in her heart these past weeks. It was her head that made her want to run, with its library of nasty whispers.

  "I can't believe I'm doing this," Fran said. She started to get up. "You're having a horrible time, and I'm just adding to it. Telling you this stuff, asking you to..."

  "No." Shelby leaned over and stared at the linoleum. She felt the chipping paint of the window sill beneath her hands. Speak the truth, she told herself. "I don't know what's going on inside me. A lot of things. Contradictions."

  "If you want me to leave..."

  "Of course not." She made herself look into Fran's face. She was still Fran, after all. "I don't know what I think or feel," she said. She sorted among her thoughts. "But I know you're important to me and I want it to be OK, and I'll do whatever I have to to make it OK."

  One thing she knew for certain. She couldn't be—mustn’t be, wasn’t—afraid to touch her. It would be horrible if she couldn't touch her. Her body wanted to stay where it was, unmoving, a statue. Because of the whispers. But to pull away from her that way... it was the cruelest thing she could do. This woman wasn't a monster. She was smart, and fun, and warm, and gentle...

  She was on the brink of giddiness again. She could feel it. This wasn't the right time for humor. Shelby forced herself to go over to Fran, and rested her hand against her friend's face. To do it felt the same as it had so many times before. When it was a gesture of pleasure and affection. But it couldn't really be the same. Because now there was maybe this thing between them, and gestures of affection might never be simple again. "I wish I could make it OK with you. I hope I can make it OK with me. God, Fran, if I can't make it OK with me… if all the nasty stuff I've been fed all my life is bigger than me, bigger than us… I don't think I can bear that."

  "You're too weird to live in this world," Fran said, and leaned against Shelby's hand. "I know, I know, speak for myself." She sighed. "Everything I've ever cared about I've lost because of what I am. I've tried to not be like this. It never works."

  "It's OK, Fran."

  "I don't want to do anything to hurt you."

  "Too late for that," Shelby said. "But at least it can't be any worse than the silent treatment."

  Fran covered her face with her hands.

  "Hey, I'm sorry." Shelby took her in her arms. "I'm nervous. It makes me say tactless things."

  “It certainly does,” Fran said.

  She wished she'd relax. Her body was still tight and hard. It was like holding a log. "Will you please loosen up? It's going to be OK."

  Tentatively, Fran softened a little.

  "What are you afraid of?" Shelby asked.

  "Your eyes. I'm afraid I'll see that blank, cold look. It happens every time I tell."

  Shelby knew that look very well. Libby had perfected it. It meant you were disgusting, lower than low, and to even acknowledge your existence would be to degrade oneself.

  It made you feel like something scraped off the bottom of someone' s shoe.

  "No blank, cold looks," she said. "Try me."

  Fran glanced up at her. "Oh, God," she said, and turned away.

  "What? Did I do blank-cold?"

  "You're just so incredible."

  Her heart felt as if it wanted to reach out and physically wrap around her. "What I am," she said, "is exhausted, and feeling like nothing that should be allowed to live."

  "I haven't freaked you out?"

  "The only time you freaked me out, as you so delicately put it, was the day I met you. "

  "I freaked you out?"

  "You sneaked up and spied on me just when I was chopping wood and being... well, tough."

  "Butch," Fran said. “You were being butch.”

  "I can see it now. I'm going to have to learn a whole new vocabulary. Lying down would be nice."

  "Do you want to lie down on the floor, or can you make it to the bedroom?"

  "Don't go off duty. I may need help."

  She managed to get there on her own. She flopped on the bed, grateful for the soft support of the mattress beneath her, for not having to hold herself up anymore.

  Fran sat on the edge of the bed, tentatively. "Is it OK?" she asked.

  "Is what OK?"

  “If I sit here."

  "For God's sake, Fran." She looked at her. "You're still you. I'm still me. We just have this... minor complicati
on."

  "Minor complication?" Fran's eyes widened. "This is no minor complication, Shelby. A whole lot of people don't like what I am, and if I get linked to you, they're going to think the same things about you."

  "Do you really think I care about that?"

  Fran looked at her for a long time, solemnly. "Yes, Shelby, I think you do care about that. I think that's part of the problem."

  Shelby groaned. "If you're going to sit there and psychoanalyze me, I'll throw up on you. I can do it, too. I'm right on the verge, and it's milk."

  "Get some sleep," Fran said with a little smile. "I'll call your office and then hang out in the kitchen."

  "Oh, shit," Shelby said. "My mother."

  "I couldn't have put it better myself. Time to have one of your handy headaches." She pulled up the cotton spread and tucked it around her. "Deal with her later." She started to go to the other room.

  "Fran."

  "Yep?"

  "Please don't move out. Of the house."

  "I won't." She turned back and looked at Shelby. "It wouldn't have solved anything, anyway. I was kidding myself."

  "Will it be hard for you? Being around me? Feeling... you know... like you couldn't not..." She laughed, embarrassed. "I sound so damned arrogant."

  "It'll be hard. Not as hard as never seeing you. But you have to promise not to pity me."

  "Why would I pity you?"

  “Because of my proclivity for impossible loves."

  "You have your impossible loves. I have my impossible situations." She remembered something she'd said last night. "I can't believe what I said to you. About the bed and sex."

  "That was a little awkward, but I’ll live. I haven't completely lost touch with reality. I don't think." Fran smiled down at her. Her face was soft and open, the way it hadn't been for weeks. "Thanks for everything, Shelby."

  Shelby dismissed it with a wave of her hand. "Oh, please..."

  "I'll call your office now, OK?"

  "OK." She wanted to ask her to come back and lie beside her the way she had before, or sit with her. But that was ridiculous. She wasn't a baby.

  Shelby turned on her side and invited sleep.

  It was Fran who ended up talking to Libby. Three times in a half hour Shelby had reached for the phone, then frozen with anxiety and decided to wait another few minutes.

  "Maybe I shouldn't cancel the dinner. Maybe I should just meet her."

  Fran shook her head. "You're worn out. To say nothing of barfing up your socks half the night."

  "I'll make it a quick dinner and an early night."

  "You'd rather do that than change your plans?"

  "It'd be less awkward."

  "Are you trying to cover up what happened?"

  "I guess so," Shelby said with a shrug.

  "Well, it won't work. You look like death warmed over. Even your usually unobservant mother would know something's up."

  "My mother's observant. All too observant."

  "Then you definitely shouldn't go. Shelby, do you really think you could handle that."

  She shook her head. She didn't know what to do.

  She felt trapped again, the way she had last night. Even if she got over this hurdle, Libby wasn't going to go away. There'd always be another problem, and another...

  Halfway through her third period of procrastination, the phone rang.

  Shelby felt herself go cold. She knew it was Libby. Libby had undoubtedly called her at work with some minor detail to remind her of, and been told she was at home. She stared at the phone.

  “Aren't you going to answer it?" Fran asked.

  "It's my mother."

  "Great. We can get it over with." She picked up the receiver.

  "I can't do it," Shelby mouthed silently.

  Fran nodded. "Hello?" she said into the mouthpiece.

  Shelby didn't even want to listen to this. She wanted to leave the room. She wanted to find a nice, safe place where the Libbies couldn't get her. She started to stand up.

  Fran put a firm hand on her shoulder and pushed her back down. "Oh, yeah, hi, Mrs. Camden," she said warmly into the phone. "This is Fran Jarvis... uh-huh, that one. How're you today?"

  In spite of her anxiety, Shelby had to smile. Fran was doing her San Antonio charm routine. She'd performed it for her one evening when they were sitting around swapping life stories. Fran claimed it had oiled a thousand wheels and gotten her out of a hundred scrapes, and even though those Texans knew it was as phony as a three-dollar bill, they were too polite not to play along.

  “Yes, Ma'am, I have given some thought to moving closer to campus.... No, I'm still looking .... I'll certainly do that. The minute I'm moved in I'll have you all over for a drink." She looked at Shelby and rolled her eyes. '''Scuse me? Yes, Shelby's here, except she's asleep right now... I know, she felt terrible this morning. But I think it's just one of those twenty-four hour things.... I really would hate to wake her, she was up all night... you know, throwing up and stuff…. Yeah, it just came on her like a bolt of lightning.... No, I really don't think I should disturb her.... Wait, I think I heard something."

  She covered the mouthpiece with her hand and looked questioningly at Shelby.

  Shelby shook her head.

  "Sorry, I guess I was wrong. She's out like a light. I'm not surprised, the way she was throwing up. It was really bad... Well, from the looks of it, she won't be up to calling you back tonight, but I can give her a message. Hang on a minute." She pretended to look for pencil and paper. "OK, sorry to keep you. The message is…."

  She mimed writing very slowly.

  "Think... about... the... pink fabric... in...' could you repeat that? 'Aqua.' That's it? And call you when she feels better.... Yes, ma'am, it was nice to talk to you, too. You have a good evening."

  She hung up the phone and flashed Shelby a Cheshire cat grin. "Your mother likes me today. Must be because she thinks I'm moving."

  "I'm sure it helps."

  "She's a cold one, isn't she?"

  "Cold?"

  "I tell her you're feeling lousy, and all she can talk about is bridesmaids' dresses. Eat that." Fran handed her the half of the peanut butter sandwich she'd let sit and go stale, hoping Fran wouldn't notice.

  Shelby frowned at it. "I haven't eaten this much since last Thanksgiving."

  "You've probably never thrown up that much in your life." She was silent for a moment. "Your mother really doesn't like me, does she?"

  "Not a whole lot. It's nothing personal. She doesn't like most of the people I like."

  "Well, if she knew what you know, she really wouldn't like me."

  "You better believe it." Shelby took a bite of the sandwich. The bread was dry and brittle on the outside, too soft and kind of spongy on the inside. It reminded her of railroad food.

  “People like your mother can be dangerous.”

  "Don't worry. I can take care of her."

  Fran laughed. "Sure, you can. Shelby, you can't even answer the phone when you think she's calling."

  What little taste there was went out of the peanut butter. "You're right. I'm a fool and a coward and undeserving of your love." She realized what she'd said and rubbed her face with her hands. "Oh, God, this is going to be one of those things where I try not to say things and end up doing it constantly like when you go to a funeral and keep saying stuff like, 'Well, I thought I'd die laughing.'"

  ”I guess it will be, for a while." Fran perched on the back of the couch and smiled down at her. "Don't worry about it."

  Shelby let herself take in the warmth of the moment. "You look tired."

  "It was a long night for me, too. You really scared me."

  "I'm sorry."

  "You still do."

  Shelby looked away from her. "I know. I'm scared, too. It's all a big mess and I don't know what to do. I mean, everything's just awful." She felt like crying. "I really don't like myself very much, and I don't know why anyone else does."

  Fran reached toward her, hesitated.


  Shelby took her hand. "I know it's crazy," she went on, "but I thought I could handle it, as long as I had you to make me feel sane. Then things went weird between us, and you said you were leaving, and it was as if... as if everything that was holding me together was gone."

  "I couldn't believe I could be that important to you. I really was stupid about that." Fran laughed a little. "Was stupid, am stupid, probably always will be stupid."

  Shelby shook her head. "I didn't know it, either. Honestly. Until last night." She hesitated. "I knew I liked you. I didn't know how much I needed you."

  "I knew I needed you," Fran said. "But at least I was only going to leave the house, not the world." She looked at her quickly. "Was that insensitive?"

  "No." She squeezed Fran's hand. Even that slight exertion made her head pound. Her muscles ached. In spite of drowsing away most of the afternoon, she felt so tired she could fall asleep in the middle of a sentence. But it didn't matter. They were together.

  There were a million things she wanted to tell Fran. A lifetime of things—about the first time she saw a robin's egg shell, in the grass by the driveway. About the night she went walking on the beach in Cape May, and the sand was littered with jelly fish, glowing in the moonlight. The time she took a pine cone apart and discovered it wasn't a seed itself, but full of seeds. About the kid at camp who yelled at her for being homesick. And her secret feeling of power and pleasure the day the kid stepped in a yellow jacket's nest. College. The first time she tried pot and got so silly she and her graduate school friends had wandered around The Village until dawn, having mystical experiences and composing Beat poetry.

  But mostly she wanted to stay here, the way they were, absorbing the quiet, the clear and gentle air after the weeks of murkiness.

  "Hey," Fran said, "where'd you go this time?"

  "Nowhere. This is good, isn't it?”

  Fran smiled. "Very good. I really missed you."

  "Know what we are?" Shelby picked up her glass of water from the coffee table and took a sip.

  "I'm afraid to ask. What?"

  "Idiots."

  "Well, this country needs a few good idiots."

  "We can't tiptoe around what's going on. Neither of us. We should have just talked about it, instead of making ourselves miserable."