by H. D. Gordon
Nikki took the joint and sat down on Claire’s bed. “Or, you could play hooky and we could go shopping, get some Starbucks, see a movie or something. That’s what I think I’ll do today. Come with me.”
“Shouldn’t you be writing?” Claire asked.
Nikki smirked. “Woke up at eight this morning and cranked out three thousand words. I think I deserve a break. I’ll write more tonight, if I feel like it.”
For a moment, Claire considered it; skipping a day of classes to go have a fun with her sister. It was probably just what she needed. This was why she envied Nikki. Her sister lived as though there was no tomorrow. Claire lived only for tomorrow, but she had been seriously considering remedying that soon.
“Wish I could,” Claire answered, “but today is the review in my philosophy class, and Tuesday we have the mid-term. I need the review.”
“Yeah right. You’ll probably be the one providing all the answers to the review questions, but whatever. I knew you’d say that.”
“Fuck off,” Claire snapped.
Nikki blew out a cloud of smoke with her laughter. “Whoa, chill out. This stuff is supposed to make you more mellow. You got your teacher’s e-mail address?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Because you need today off. You’ve been depressed lately, and don’t try to lie because I know you have. I won’t have my baby sister going and jumping off a bridge because of the stress our uptight parents put you under. Fuck that. E-mail the teacher that you’re sick and see if she can send you the review.”
Maybe Nikki did know everything about Claire. The bridge would not have been her method of choice, but Claire had been considering alternatives. Pills seemed like a good one. She tried to laugh off the comment. Nikki eyed her closely. The laugh sounded too close to Claire’s nervous giggle.
“Doesn’t work that way,” Claire said, “We get the answers in class, from the class. We provide them and the professor tells us if we’re right. There is no answer key she can send me.”
“I don’t care about your excuses. You never know when life can be snatched from you. I’ll tell you this, you’re not going to be lying on your death-bed wishing you had spent more of your life working and studying. Give me the address. I’ll write the damn e-mail.”
Nikki gave Claire a shove so that she would get out of the chair at the desk. Claire stood up, and Nikki turned on the computer, taking a seat. “I really shouldn’t miss,” Claire argued. It was a weak attempt. She was used to obeying orders, and her sister was aggressive in her desires.
“And I really shouldn’t take a piss without washing my hands. Does that stop me?”
Claire’s nose wrinkled. “You’re disgusting,” she said, but she was laughing, and it was genuine. She knew her sister was only half joking. Nikki was crass in most people’s eyes, but Claire adored her. Nikki knew who she was and who she wanted to be. She decided.
Claire took a seat in the armchair her sister had vacated. “It’s on the syllabus right there. Sheesh, pass that back already.”
Nikki handed Claire the almost-disintegrated joint. The doorbell to their apartment chimed. The girls froze in place.
Nikki and Claire locked eyes. “You expecting someone?” Nikki asked.
Claire shook her head, panic boiling up in her stomach. What if it was the police? Or worse, her mother? Nikki stood up. Claire grabbed her wrist. “Let’s just pretend we aren’t here,” she whispered, her eyes darting down to the lit joint in her hand. She crushed it out in the ashtray.
Nikki picked it up, went over to the window, and shoved it up. “Both of our cars are outside, stupid.” She picked up a lighter on the desk and lit the scented candle she’d placed there for just such a purpose. She tossed a sweatshirt at her sister. “Hand me the cigarettes in your drawer and put that on.” She pulled a small bottle of eye drops from her jeans pocket and tossed it at Claire. “Put those in your eyes, go wash your hands and come out into the front room when you’re ready.”
Claire handed Nikki the cigarettes and proceeded as instructed. “You don’t smoke cigarettes. What are you going to do?” she asked.
Nikki smirked. “I know,” she said, lighting the cigarette and blowing out smoke, “and I’m going to flush this down the toilet and answer the door,” she added, and left the room.
Claire ran to the bathroom to do as she was told. Nikki crossed the living room with her sister’s cigarette hanging from her mouth, to the front door of the apartment, where the caller was now knocking obnoxiously, and opened the door. She knew who it was by the knocking, so she wasn’t taken off guard when she found Mary Hoffken, their mother, standing in front of her.
Nikki blew out a puff of smoke, not quite in her mother’s face, but within drifting range of it, and smiled. “Mother, how good of you to drop by,” she said.
Mary wrinkled her sharp nose and waved a hand in front of her face. “Nicole Anne Hoffken,” she began, using her daughter’s full name, “now you have added smoking to your list of bad habits.” She shoved past Nikki, who was chuckling at her mother’s response to her, and into the apartment. Nikki waited a moment before shutting the door. Her mother wandered into the kitchen. Nikki held her breath, expecting her mother to say it smelled like illegal substances. Mary’s nose was still wrinkled in disgust, but she didn’t say anything. Nikki smiled and shut the door. Claire was probably safe if she played along.
“Where is Claire?” Mary asked, eyeing the countertops in the kitchen. “You need to clean up in here,” she added.
“I need to clean my ass, too,” Nikki mumbled.
Her mother’s head snapped toward her. “What did you say?” she demanded.
“I said she’s in the bathroom. Is there something I can help you with?”
At that moment, Claire emerged from the hallway. She looked fresh and clear-eyed, the way she was supposed to.
“Claire-Bear,” Mary began, her voice rising in a way that both girls found annoying, though only Nikki had ever voiced this. “You let her smoke in here? That’s not good for your health. You can tell her not to.”
Nikki flopped down on the couch. “I’m right here, Mom, and it’s not good for my health, either.”
“Well,” Mary said, tossing her head back in the way she did every time she wanted to make a point. Both girls hated that, too. “You’ve made your choices, haven’t you?”
Nikki grinned. “Ah yes, Mother, that I have.”
Claire smiled uneasily. She felt guilty about letting her sister take the blame, but she was used to it. In fact, when she looked back on her life it seemed to her that there was a long history of Nikki taking the heat for her and fighting her battles. Claire fought for her sister too, but Nikki was always jumping in to save the day. She said she was the big sister and that was the way it was supposed to be, but lately it seemed to be adding to Claire’s growing feeling of worthlessness. Her sister knew her too well. She was depressed with a capital D.
“She doesn’t smoke often,” Claire said, “and it doesn’t bother me.”
“Well,” Mary scoffed, “it bothers me.”
“You may leave anytime you wish, Mother,” Nikki offered.
Claire sighed. She didn’t want to deal with this right now, on top of everything else. This back-and-forth between her mother and sister was a frequent scene. It occurred almost every time the two got together. Their mother was really and truly ashamed of Nikki, and whether or not this outweighed her love for her daughter didn’t matter, because the shame outshone whatever love there was. Mary made this very clear.
What was insane was that Claire knew Nikki had nothing but love for Mary. She told Claire that she understood their mother, always putting emphasis on that one word. Claire had asked her what she meant by that. Nikki shrugged and said, “When you become aware of people’s natural inclinations and limitations, you can understand them, and if you don’t expect from them what their nature doesn’t give, you’ll never be disappointed.”
Claire was supposedly
the “genius” of the family, and yet Nikki’s insights often made her feel stupid and young. Nikki was wise beyond her years, an old soul. She’d been through a lot, much of it self-inflicted, but a lot, nonetheless. More than Claire had, for sure, and yet Nikki never cried or lost her cool. Claire cried if she got a C on a term paper. She was weak.
“Claire, did you hear me?” Mary asked.
Claire shook her head. “I’m sorry, what?”
Mary sighed. “I said, Dr. Murphy okayed your internship for this summer! It’s so wonderful, honey. Your father and I couldn’t be more proud.”
Oh, yes, so wonderful, Claire thought. “That’s good,” she said to her mother.
“Good? It’s great! You’ll have a leg-up when you graduate next fall. We’re just so proud of you, Claire-Bear,” Mary said, coming forward to embrace her younger daughter.
Claire hugged her mother back, but she looked up at her sister sitting on the couch. It was only a flash, but Nikki could see the panic in her little sister’s eyes.
Mary continued to hug her daughter. “Everything we’ve planned for is falling right into place. It’s been a lot of work, but it’s all so worth it. We’re just so proud.”
Her heart contracted in her chest as another small weight was placed on her already overburdened shoulders, but Claire began to giggle. Behind their mother’s back Nikki had been mouthing the words that Mary was saying, and now she was holding up three fingers, counting the times their mother used the word “proud” before she left.
Mary finally released her daughter. She took a step back. “What’s funny?” she asked.
Claire smiled sweetly, the fake smile that she had given so many times in her life. “Nothing. Just very excited, Mom.”
“We’re so proud,” Mary repeated.
Nikki stood up from the couch, the thumb of her right hand tucked behind the other four fingers, which were wiggling at her side. Claire stifled another giggle, but also felt warm tears building behind her eyes. She couldn’t cry in front of her mother. She couldn’t let on how weak she really was.
“Well, while this has been a proud and wonderful moment, Claire has class in a little bit, so you’d better get going. It was so nice to see you, Mother,” Nikki said, ushering Mary toward the door. She opened it and Mary stepped out, looking only mildly insulted.
“You quit that smoking around your sister,” Mary said. “We can’t have you infecting her with lung cancer. She has a bright future.”
Nikki smiled. “Yes, yes, thank you for the concern.” She started shutting the door. “I’ll try not to get infected as well, thank you.” The door clicked into place. Nikki turned toward Claire. “Now, that e-mail. I’ll write it, you go change into something that will make me ‘proud’ to be next to you.”
Claire laughed, but inside her stomach was roiling. “You’re such an asswipe,” she said.
“So they tell me.”
“What are you going to say?” Claire asked.
“To what? The teacher? Oh, I’ll come up with something.”
It doesn’t matter anymore, Claire thought. I can skip because it doesn’t matter anymore.
She wasn’t completely resolved yet, but things just kept piling up, and now, this internship. Come Monday, after one last day of classes, Claire had decided she would take her own life.
Chapter Eight
Merion
Professor Gellar,
I will be unable to attend the 2:30 Philosophy class scheduled this afternoon. I have a stomach flu that has left me bedridden. I will be present on the following Tuesday for the exam, providing that I am able. Thank you for your understanding.
Claire Hoffken
Merion stared at the words on her computer screen, and then snapped the laptop closed without properly shutting it down. If she had a dollar for every time she’d read those words she would be happily retired by now, but the words only dealt out headaches.
She was just so tired of it all, and ready to be done. As far as she was concerned, she’d paid her dues to society. She’d spent all her youth, the good days, when her back didn’t hurt and her hair hadn’t paled, doing her honest work as a citizen. And she was done. So done.
Now that the end of her working days were drawing near, her retirement only six weeks away, she found she had less and less patience for the occurrences of her daily routine. She was sick of the politics of the workplace, the students’ never-ending, recycling bag of excuses, the co-workers she never really liked but had learned to tolerate, and Head Dean Craig Kraucker. She definitely wouldn’t miss him.
And no, it wasn’t all bad. The last thirty years of her time spent at UMMS had not all been bad. She’d met some really great people, some really smart people, students and coworkers alike, which was admittedly better than a career spent with all stupid people. But amazingly, stupid people managed to infiltrate the sanctity of a university, as well. Not just stupid, lazy too.
Her plan for retirement was simple: sell her house, buy a smaller one out in the country, and travel the world. The more she thought about this plan, the more anxious she became. It may not have all been bad, but somehow, when you’re six weeks short retirement, it all becomes intolerable.
She knew what it was, the monotony of it all, that same-shit-different-day kind of thing. It made her feel now like she wanted to run, to fly away, to be gone and never look back but for memories. As she sat at the carved oak desk in her office, she thought about getting up and leaving. She had always chosen the wise path, never acted on impulse. She didn’t want to be here anymore, so she could just get up and leave. Take her retirement early, be on a plane to Hawaii…
A knock sounded on her office door. Merion looked up, startled. After a moment, she said, “Yes, come in.”
The door opened and a male student stepped in the room. Merion recognized him from one of her Monday/Wednesday classes. His name was Eric, and he was a decent student. Not particularly bright, but a hard worker.
“Professor Gellar,” Eric said.
Merion gestured to the seat opposite her desk. “What can I do for you, Eric?”
Eric sat down on the edge of the chair, his hands wringing together. “Professor Gellar, I was wondering if I could reschedule Monday’s exam…I have a really important appointment I have to make that afternoon. Would that be possible?”
Merion was silent for a moment. Oddly, she had to stop herself from bursting out into laughter. Same shit, different day.
Instead, she said, “I don’t usually allow make-up exams…This appointment, you can’t reschedule it?”
Eric shook his head, serious brown eyes never leaving hers. “No, ma’am, afraid I can’t. I can’t miss it, either.”
Merion stared at Eric for a moment. It was obvious by his eyes that he was going to keep his other “appointment” Monday afternoon whether or not she agreed to reschedule the test. Well, she was a tired, old professor, but that didn’t make her an asshole.
She stifled what would have been a heavy sigh. “All right, I’ll set up something with the Testing Center on Tuesday. Will you be able to take it then?”
Eric’s face lit up. Merion smiled back unconsciously. Whatever he had going on Monday was important to him, and he hadn’t missed a class or turned in a late assignment all semester. She’d done the right thing. Six weeks left.
“I can’t thank you enough, Professor,” Eric said.
Merion waved her hand in dismissal. “No problem,” she replied.
Eric left the office, shutting the door behind him. Merion sat back in her chair and released the formally seized sigh. Maybe she should just leave now and start retirement early. Jeepers, wouldn’t that be great?
However, with six weeks left, she could stick it out. Maybe she would take off tomorrow, which was Friday, and have an early weekend. But come Monday, she would be right back on campus, finishing up her job, and dreaming about her future.
Chapter Nine
Eric
It was a good day. For
the first time in what seemed like forever, things were looking up for Eric. Professor Gellar had been surprisingly understanding about his needing off Monday afternoon. Now all he had to do was get the final approval from his parole officer, and he was good to go.
Eric wrung his hands together tightly, rubbed his palms on the thighs of his jeans, and went back to wringing. His P.O., Ryan Jackson, always kept him waiting. Eric failed to believe that Jackson’s day was so hectic that he couldn’t be punctual to their scheduled meetings, mainly because Mr. Jackson was too fat to be a truly busy man.
And Eric couldn’t show up late. Oh no, Eric had better be early. By now he had learned how to play the game with these people; that is what it was all about.
The secretary, a Latino woman with large, curled bangs and a slicked-back ponytail, sat behind a glass barrier, so as to keep her separated from the lesser forms of society, like Eric. She stopped filing her nails long enough to tell him that Mr. Jackson would see him now.
Eric stood, wiping his palms on his jeans once more, and entered the P.O.’s office. Behind a poorly-crafted desk sat the poorly-crafted parole officer, the man who had been making Eric’s life hell for the past three and a half years. Ryan Jackson was a prick without the rose.
Eric took a seat opposite his P.O., reminding himself to be as friendly as possible. There was a lot riding on this visit. He put a smile on his lips.
Mr. Jackson stared at him for a moment. “How’s it going, Eric?” he asked.
“Very well, sir, and yourself?”
Mr. Jackson laced his stubby fingers together and rested them at the peak of his mountainous stomach. “Oh, just keeping an eye on convicts, as always,” he said.
Eric crushed his tongue between his teeth. This man was gifted at pissing him off. Smiling again, he nodded. “Noble work, sir,” he replied.
The P.O. blew out a breath. Eric gave himself a mental pat on the back. Jackson was always testing him, challenging him to slip up and lose control, but Eric wasn’t as stupid as Jackson thought. Spend three years in prison and you’ll learn how and when to keep your mouth shut and take the high road.
