Love in Vein

by Britt Morrow

  She doesn’t ask about my dad. Fatherlessness runs rampant here, maybe even more so than addiction.

  I’m hovering awkwardly near her desk. A lifetime of accepting handouts hasn’t made it any easier to ask for help. She stands, leaning in to hug me, lingering a little too long for the embrace to be entirely professional. I’m not going to pull away though, I need her help. She can press up against me all she wants if it will result in getting that letter signed.

  “I’m happy to vouch for you if you need me to.” She glances at the clock on the other side of the classroom. We only have a few minutes until other students start arriving. “Why don’t you come see me before class tomorrow, and we can review the letter together?”

  She finally steps back, and I’m relieved to be able to take my seat. And even more relieved that I can count on her assistance.

  Despite my aptitude for physics, I’m finding it hard to concentrate today. Now that I have a potential solution to the signature issue, I can luxuriate in the excitement of attending Tennessee Tech. Unlike most college-bound kids, however, my daydreams don’t consist of keg stands and sorority girls, or the notoriety and admiration associated with being a student-athlete. Instead, I’m visualizing finally blending in and feeling a sense of belonging. I’m looking forward to being in the midst of students who aspire to more than just as six-pack and a hot wife at home - although that would be nice too. My fantasies do include drinking and living it up with an attractive female, but not some random co-ed that I brought home for the night. It always comes back to Charlie.

  Which is why, a couple of hours later, I find myself lingering in the parking lot of the town library, dry-mouthed and apprehensive. Charlie is probably already inside, studying at our usual table. I don’t want to leave her waiting, but I also want to delay having to deliver the news of my acceptance. I know that she’ll be happy for me, or at least she’ll do a good job of pretending to be, but I’m not ready to address any of the difficult conversations that will eventually follow.

  A knock at the window causes me to almost jump out of my skin.

  Charlie laughs at my startled reaction, “Are you planning on sitting in there all night?"

  I exit the truck, shaking my head. “Sorry, I’ve been distracted all day. I got a letter from Tennessee Tech.”

  She freezes midway up the sidewalk leading to the library and slowly turns to me. “And?”

  “They want me to play for them.”

  She throws her arms around me with a whoop of unadulterated joy. It was the reaction I’d most feared. It would be easier to leave if she was slightly jealous or resentful. Leaving someone who’s that genuinely excited about my good fortune, despite the impact on herself, will be heart-wrenching.

  She leans back so she can look me in the eye, while still keeping her arms around me in a tight embrace. “I’m so proud of you."

  Her enthusiasm is contagious, but I’m not ready to give in to it just yet. My attendance at Tennessee Tech won’t feel real until I cross this last hurdle of parental consent. I don’t want to jinx anything by celebrating too early.

  “It’s not official yet, I still need a legal guardian or another adult to sign the letter.”

  I’ve told her enough about Brandi for her to immediately recognize that this is an issue. “Your coach will sign for you, won’t he?”

  “The signature can’t come from him. I think one of my teachers will do it, though. I just hope the university will accept it.”

  “They want you. How could they not?” she raises her eyebrows suggestively. It’s an obvious ploy to distract me, but I’m far from opposed. After a day spent dwelling over how I’m going to get the letter signed, I could use something else to focus on, and I can’t think of anything better than Charlie’s bare skin roving over mine. We don’t even make it to the library door; any thoughts of studying are immediately abandoned.

  Instead, we spend the evening entangled as closely as possible, both out of physical attraction and an attempt to stay warm in the truck . I’m disappointed when we finally have to leave our cocoon to get Charlie back home before her curfew. The more likely my impending departure becomes, the harder it is to be apart from her.

  When I wake up, it’s cold enough in the truck to see my breath, and my fingers are slightly numb. Thankfully, I have enough time to head over to the locker room and take a hot shower prior to meeting with Mrs. Walker. I need to clean up a bit too, make myself look like a respectable student deserving of her help.

  Once I’m warmed up a bit and finished rinsing off, I inspect my clothes. I try to scrub a stain from the thigh of my jeans, but it’s too stubborn - probably grease. My t-shirt’s a little ripe, so I forgo it in favor of a bare chest under my denim button-down. I leave an extra button undone. I know from the way Mrs. Walker reddens every time I talk to her that a little added sex appeal might help persuade her.

  She’s already waiting in her classroom even though I’m nearly thirty minutes early to class. I hope that isn’t an indication of any eagerness on her part. She was clearly following the same line of thinking, though. Her attire is more revealing than usual: a short skirt and an absence of her typical pantyhose. I don’t think either wardrobe choice is doing her any favors. Her legs are sickly pale and crisscrossed with veins like some kind of unsightly abstract painting.

  She mistakes my gaze as admiring and uncrosses them, leaving them slightly spread in a vaguely suggestive way. I wonder suddenly if I’ve made a mistake. I came in willing to flirt, maybe say something that would bring the redness to her cheeks, let her think that maybe someday, when I’m not underage and under her authority, there might be something there. She’s always been timid and flustered around me, around most of her students really, so I didn’t think there was actually any chance that she might try to take things further. However, I overestimated her shyness; the way that she’s rubbing my back while reading the letter from Tennessee Tech definitely defies appropriate student-teacher behaviour.

  If I was any other senior, I would probably lean into it - there’s no quicker way to ensure high school legend status than a hookup with a faculty member. I couldn’t be less interested, though. Every stroke across my back is just a reminder that she’s not Charlie. I don’t shy away from her touch, but I look away, hoping she’ll sense my discomfort and attribute it to nervousness rather than rejection.

  “I just need to sign here?” She indicates the bottom of the letter. She’s too close, and her breath smells of stale coffee and desperation.

  “Yeah, that’s it. And then I have to write a letter explaining why the signature isn’t from a legal guardian.”

  I haven’t written the letter yet, I didn’t want to show it to her. I plan on writing something that will tug on the heartstrings of whatever committee is charged with reviewing it. It’s much easier to be pathetic when I don’t have to bear witness to the expressions of pity.

  She writes her name in flowery cursive on the designated line, and I literally exhale with relief. She misinterprets this as me relaxing under her touch and moves even closer, giving my bicep a firm squeeze.

  “You’re strong, I’m sure you’ll do well on the team.”

  Strength doesn’t have nearly as much to do with being a good quarterback as being sharp and agile, but I don’t tell her that. Instead, I just mumble, “Thanks, I hope so.”

  “I hope you’ll invite me to one of your games. I’d love to see you play at the college level.”She grasps my shoulders, rotating me to face her. “I want to see you succeed.”

  I’m trapped between her and her desk, trying to think of a way to extricate myself from this situation. “I know, I appreciate that,” I reply with as much gratefulness as I can muster, given how uncomfortable she’s making me. I think to add, "I should probably go cram a bit before my English quiz this morning. The university can rescind the offer if I allow my grades to slip.”

  She takes a reluctant step back. I can sense that she doesn’t want me to leave,
but won’t push it.

  She didn’t grow up here, it’s just where she ended up after college, or at least that’s what I assumed. Maybe it’s where she ended up after an incident somewhere else: vague suggestions of inappropriateness and whispering in the hallways . I doubt it, though. It’s this town that introduces you to desperation, to a hopelessness that pushes you to act out in ways that you wouldn’t otherwise. It builds slowly, manifesting in ways that you don’t even notice initially, but eventually, it will crystallize into anger, usually accompanied by addiction or violence. I wonder how next year’s quarterback will fare.

  Chapter 11

  It was a typically wet spring. Atypical though, was my attitude about it. Usually, the stormy weather makes me despondent; the storms outside are nothing compared to the ones between Brandi and me when we’re both trapped inside the trailer. This spring I’ve had an excuse to stay away from the house, though: helping Charlie with her GED and reaping the (considerable) benefits of acting as her tutor. Her education is progressing almost as quickly as our relationship. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was ready to take the exam in just a few more months.

  The new growth - mostly weeds flourishing in overgrown yards - emerging in the wake of the storms feels symbolic: the burgeoning of new life paralleling the life that awaits me at university. Tennessee Tech accepted Mrs. Walker’s signature, and I’ve been counting the days until school starts.

  Initially, the countdown was fun and anticipatory. But now, as the spring rains have given way to the stifling heat of summer, it’s starting to fill me with dread. It’s no longer a countdown to my freedom, but a constant reminder of the time I have left with Charlie. As the days are shortening, so is our time together, and my excitement has been almost entirely replaced by trepidation.

  Charlie has done a good job of concealing any anxiety she may have for my benefit, but I can feel her slowly withdrawing. She lingers in my truck for fewer minutes past her curfew with each passing day.

  We’ve managed to make the most of our remaining time, though. I got a summer gig bagging groceries, and we aligned our work schedules to maximize the time we can spend together. I pick her up once I’m done work, and she hops in with a smile, brandishing a burger for me - sometimes leftover fries if I’m lucky.

  Tonight is no different.

  “Hi.” She leans over to give me a kiss

  “How was work?”

  “Sweltering. You?” She discards her polyester waitressing uniform before reclining in her gauzy bra, which doesn’t serve to cover much. I make a concentrated effort to return my eyes to the road.

  “Same. To the creek?”

  “Definitely.”

  “I have refreshments.” I gesture to the glove compartment where I’d stashed a bottle of whiskey. I’ll probably catch hell from Brandi if she notices it’s missing. But I catch hell almost every time she can’t find a bottle - even though it usually results from her draining it and then smashing it in the yard out of frustration, not from any intervention on my part.

  “What’s the occasion?”

  “There isn’t one really. Just spending time with you is occasion enough.” It’s cheesy, but not untrue. A fun night with Charlie is more than worth antagonizing Brandi.

  The creek meanders through town, curving around the road leading to the lookout before turning to run nearly parallel to the highway leading out of town. There’s a popular swimming hole at the base of a narrow waterfall, but I drive past it, heading to a spot that’s a little more private. I pull off the dirt road when I spy the dogwood tree that overlooks the part of the creek that Charlie and I have claimed as our own. It’s a calm section where the brook curves sharply around a flat rock that we’ve spent many an afternoon tanning and making love on. Charlie has turned me into the kind of person who can actually make the distinction between fucking and making love. We do a lot of both.

  Our spot is obscured by overgrown oaks and underbrush, far enough away from any trace of civilization that we can shed our anxieties and inhibitions along with every scrap of clothing.

  The truck is barely in park before Charlie is shucking her remaining clothing and running for the cool water. I follow suit, a step behind as always.

  After a day spent hauling groceries in hundred-degree heat and marinading in my own perspiration, the coolness of the water is invigorating. The creek runs only knee-high in this particular area, so we sit on the muddy bottom, moving languidly and talking about nothing.

  “If you could live anywhere, where would it be?”

  “Nashville,” she replies. “I want to experience Broadway.”

  Of course she does. She would be right at home among the lights and dive bars: the perfect combination of eye-catching allure and self-effacing charm.

  “What about you?”

  I asked the question without actually thinking about my answer. “I don’t know. It’s not so much about the place as the lifestyle. I want to be able to afford a house that isn’t mobile. Enough room for a wife and a couple of kids. A dog probably. A covered garage to tinker on a truck that isn’t held together with rust.”

  She stretches her arms above her head, pulling her hair, made even wavier than usual by the humidity, into a topknot. She rarely wears her hair pulled back, and it reminds me of the night we met; she’s still the most beautiful girl I’ve ever laid eyes on and as ineffable as ever.

  “That sounds ideal. Do you ever picture me as part of the lifestyle?” she asks in a searching way, uncharacteristically vulnerable.

  “Yeah, you’re always in the background.” I didn’t mean for it to come out like that, but it’s the honest truth. When I picture our future, she’s playing a supporting role to my aspirations. Which is a gross injustice. She’s much too brilliant and vivacious to be relegated to the background. She has her own ambitions to star in. A junior high art class teacher once told me that the background is the most important part of an image, though. That it grounds and lends perspective to everything else around it. I worry that that might be equally true of Charlie. I’m only charismatic, considerate, and passionate in relation to her.

  She doesn’t reply, just nods in a way that suggests that she’d expected the answer. She hoists herself up onto the flat rock, hugging her knees to her chest even though the late afternoon air is still scorching.

  I join her, unsure of what to say. She looks younger than her seventeen years huddled up like that, and I feel the need to reassure her. “There are lots of restaurants near the university campus. You could work and finish your GED out there, apply for school next fall.”

  She shrugs. “University is your dream, not mine.”

  “You’ve been hard at work on your GED, though.”

  “To prove to myself that I’m smart enough to do it, not out of any real desire to go to school. I’m still figuring out what I want.”

  Her indecision troubles me. I’ve seen how quickly irresolution transforms into apathy here. And how often apathy devolves to the throes of addiction. I worry if I try to encourage her to pursue school though, she’ll think that I’m trying to influence her to follow me. Maybe I am.

  She reaches for me, grasping my shoulders firmly and straddling me. She’s been initiating intimacy pretty often lately, but today feels different. Our movements are usually feverish, stemming from unchecked desire, and teenage exuberance. They’re equally feverish right now, but tinged with something more akin to desperation than desire. Charlie’s gripping me a little too tightly, moving above me in an almost frenzied way.

  I flip her over gingerly, careful not to scrape her back against the rock, in an attempt to slow her down. I stare down at her body, supple yet taut in the late afternoon sunshine. She scoots to the edge of the rock so that I can enter her while standing in the creek. I hesitate though, wanting to commit her curves to memory. I’ll need this for inspiration when I’m alone in my dorm room.

  “Hurry, I need you.” The way she says it is beseeching and ruins my resolve to take
it slow. As much as I want to savor this, I’m not capable of restraint with her. She clenches hard as I finish as if trying to hold me there for as long as she can. I’m spent though, and need to take a step back to regain my breath and wits.

  “I think we should take a break when you leave for school.” She says it without looking at me. I can’t tell if it’s because she’s afraid of my reaction, or afraid of me seeing hers. I’d been expecting her to say it at some point, but not immediately after sex, when we’re supposed to still be holding each other, basking in post-coital bliss. The shock is physical - a blow to my gut.

  “I don’t want to be away from you,” I reply. It sounds whiny, even to my own ears, but it’s how I feel.

  “I’m dreading you leaving, but I don’t want to be selfish. I don’t want to be a burden to you while you’re off creating this new life.”

  “It’s not a burden, I want to come back to visit you.”

  “That’s what you think now. I’m sure that will change once you get busy with classes and practices… and college girls.”

  “It won’t. I might get busy, but you’ll always be in the back of my mind.” She doesn’t reply, so I continue, “And there will be opportunities for me to come home. Thanksgiving and stuff.”

  “Come home to what? Your uneducated, trailer trash girlfriend? Come on, you’re going to move on to bigger and better things. And you should. You deserve it.”

  I recognize that this is just a tactic to push me away. She can’t really think that I perceive her that way. It bothers me to hear her describe herself like that, though.

  “No, I want to come home to the first girl that I’ve ever loved.” I’ve never said it aloud before, and this probably isn’t the most opportune time to do so, but I can’t help it.

  “I love you too, Levi. Which is why I want what’s best for you. To get away from this place and accomplish everything that you’ve worked your ass off for. I’ll be here if you decide to come back, or maybe I’ll figure out how to save up enough to afford my own place near campus.”