Me, Cinderella?

by Rose, Aubrey

  “Call who?”

  “Dr. Herceg. Just to see if we’re right about this part. It seems impossible.”

  “I can’t,” I said.

  “Why not?”

  “If he wanted to work with us, he would work with us,” I said. “There must be a reason he’s staying away.” I didn’t bother to mention that the reason might be me.

  “Just give him a call then. If he doesn’t want to answer, he doesn’t have to.”

  “Mark…”

  “What? Come on, what’s the worst that could happen?” He looked at me with pleading eyes, and I breathed a sigh of frustration. If there was one thing I didn’t want to do, it was to be dependent on Eliot’s help. Really, after everything that had happened between us, I thought it would be best if I never spoke to him again. After all, I had reached out to him, and he had pushed me away completely.

  “Come on,” Mark said. “Please?”

  “Fine,” I said. The problem in front of us did seem intractable.

  The phone rang four times, and I was beginning to think that Eliot wouldn’t pick up. Even though I was nervous to talk with him, I admit that I was disappointed. I wanted so much to hear his voice again. Then, just before the call would have gone to voicemail, Eliot picked up.

  “Hello, Brynn.”

  “Dr. Herceg?” I said quickly. “Hi! I have you on speakerphone. Mark’s here.”

  “Oh,” he said, and coughed. “Oh, hello.”

  “Hi, Dr. Herceg,” Mark said. “We just had a question for you.”

  “Yes?”

  “It’s about the projective algorithm. We’re stuck on one spot.” Mark explained what we had done and where we had gotten stuck. Eliot listened to half of the explanation before interrupting.

  “Wait one moment,” he said. “The general case for the second equation you mentioned. It isn’t solved yet.”

  “We’re just looking at one specific instance,” I said. “Letting the permutative variable equal one, just for this part.”

  The phone was silent.

  “And we’ve made some headway on that instance,” Mark said. “But we’re getting stuck when we try to put it back into the original algorithm.”

  Still nothing but silence.

  “Dr. Herceg?” I ventured.

  “No! I mean, yes, interesting. Very interesting, to look at that particular case. I’m going to have to take a peek at that tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow’s Saturday,” Mark said.

  “Oh, yes, yes, of course.” Eliot sounded distracted, and I thought I could hear the sounds of a pencil scratching on paper.

  “Did you want us to come in anyway?” Mark asked.

  No, I thought. I couldn’t. Tomorrow was the day I had planned to go visit the graveyard where my mother was buried.

  “Hm, yes, you’re working now?”

  “We’re just finishing up in the library now,” Mark said.

  “Would you mind just leaving your work for me to look at tomorrow?” Eliot said. “Just leave it at the main desk. I’ll be there tomorrow morning.”

  “Okay,” Mark said, a bit deflated.

  “Excellent work, you two,” Eliot said. “Brynn?”

  “Yes?”

  “Excellent work.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “I’ll see you both later.”

  “Goodbye, Dr. Herceg,” Mark said, but the line had already gone dead.

  “Well,” I said. “That didn’t help us solve our problem.”

  “I’m going to come in anyway tomorrow,” Mark said. “You in?”

  “I… I can’t.”

  “Come on, Brynn!” Mark was getting pumped up just thinking about it, I could tell. “He said our work was interesting.”

  “I know,” I said. “It’s just tomorrow I had plans to go see my mom.” I began to tear up just thinking about it. For the last week and a half, I had let everything else get in the way of the real reason I was in Hungary. Guilt washed over me as I thought about all of the lame excuses I had leaned on to prevent my going.

  “Oh,” Mark said. His face drew down into a serious expression. “Of course. I’m sorry, Brynn.” Mark put his arm around me and hugged me sideways.

  “Hey, whatever,” I said, leaning into him. “No big deal.”

  “I’ll take copious notes,” Mark said. “Whatever he says, I’ll write down, and I promise I won’t do any more work until you’re there.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “I owe you.”

  I always seemed to owe Mark. Especially once in college, especially after what happened at that party, I already owed Mark big time.

  Last year I had dared to venture out to a party at one of the dorms on campus. I danced and drank with Shannon and had fun, really I did. But then Shannon left and I had to go to the bathroom. Somehow I ended up in the back courtyard of the dorm, where off in the bushes a group of stoners passed around a pipe. I turned to leave them alone, but as I went back through the doorway some frat guy caught me by the arm and pulled me through the open door of a dorm room.

  “Hey!” I said.

  “Hey, you,” the guy said. “You look like you might want to have some fun.”

  “Sorry, I’m just lost,” I said, and tried to push my way out. He blocked my way with his arm and grabbed my ass with his hand. I tried to slap him off of me, but he was too strong, and as I looked up into his eyes I realized what he wanted. Opening my mouth to scream, I kicked out but he pressed his mouth down on mine, stifling the noise. His mouth tasted like beer and cigarettes, and I kicked out with my legs, unable to get out of his grip.

  “Brynn?” Mark was in the doorway, his eyes wide. The frat guy loosened his grip except for one hand that still held me tight around the wrist. I tried to speak, but my mouth was so dry that all I could do was cough. Apart from a couple of classes, I didn’t really know Mark back then. We had worked together on one project for linear algebra, that was it.

  Mark took in the scene quickly and must have realized what was going on. “Everybody’s waiting for you to go out.” He turned to the frat guy, whose eyes were glazed with alcohol and hate. “Come on.”

  “Okay, yeah, let’s go,” I said, but the guy didn’t let me go.

  “We were just having some fun,” the guy said. He started to close the door, but Mark stepped forward and blocked the door with his foot.

  “Her friends are waiting,” he said firmly. The guy looked at him like he wanted to kill him, and he probably could have. He stood at least a foot taller than Mark, and his arms felt like pure muscle, the way his hand circled my wrist like iron shackles. I could tell Mark was scared, but he stood fast.

  “Let me go!” I cried out finally, and the guy shoved me out the door and into Mark.

  “Fatass bitch,” he mumbled.

  “What did you say?” Mark stepped between me and the guy.

  “It’s okay, Mark, let’s go.” I pulled frantically on his arm. The party—and safety—beckoned just down the hallway. “Please, let’s just get out of here.”

  “You heard the cunt,” the guy said. “Fuck off.”

  If I hadn’t pulled Mark two steps away, he would have swung at the guy, I’m certain. But I didn’t want anyone to get hurt because of me. The door slammed and we walked down the hallway.

  “You okay?” Mark said. His voice trembled.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks,” I said.

  He had tried to convince me to report the guy, and eventually I had gone to one of the deans and filled out a form. I didn’t hear what happened with the guy, and I never saw him again. But the fact that Mark had stepped forward and stood up to a guy almost twice his size—that was something. Not a lot of people would do that, especially for a girl they barely knew.

  I snapped out of my thoughts as Mark was finishing a sentence. “…see what happens?” He was looking up at me eagerly, his dark eyes sparkling.

  “Sorry,” I said. “What was that?”

  “Do you want to try it as an inverse functio
n, the way the assistant was showing us? We could see what happens when we try it backwards.”

  “Huh,” I said. “Yeah, that sounds good. Maybe just a couple more minutes. I’m pretty tired.”

  “Me, too,” Mark said, although he seemed buoyed up with enthusiasm now that Eliot had talked with us about the problem.

  I bent over to the page and got through the first part of the proof without any trouble, then got to the hard section. It took some manipulation, but eventually I got everything reduced to a simple two-part solution. No way, I thought. Hope rose up in me as I double checked all my work to make sure it was right. I couldn’t get excited about this. Not yet, not until Mark had seen it.

  “Hey, Mark,” I said. “Check this out.”

  He leaned over to see my page.

  “How did you get—wait, what? Holy shit, Brynn!” He pushed back his chair and stood up, the paper held inches away from his nose. “No way!”

  “Check to make sure it’s right, first,” I said, but he was already pulling me up into a bear hug, a huge grin on his face. I couldn’t help but laugh, he was so excited.

  “Of course it’s right,” he said. “Wow!”

  “It’s just the first part,” I said, pulling back slightly.

  “The part we were stuck on! You’re amazing!” He looked at the paper again, his eyes tracking each line. I saw him pause on the step where I had manipulated the equation into a solution. Tossing the page down on the table, he shook his head in wonder. He turned to me and placed his hands on my cheeks. His fingers felt warm against my skin.

  “You. Are. Amazing,” he said, and kissed me.

  At first I was too startled to say a word, and I froze under his embrace. His lips pressed against mine, insistent, and I was shocked to find myself responding to his kiss. My body began to lean forward just as Mark pulled back. His face was filled with joy.

  “Amazing,” he repeated, but now his eyes darted back and forth to mine, searching me for an answer to the question he had just posed. We had been friends for so long, and I never realized that he might want anything more. Now I felt utterly confused, and my mouth dropped open, searching for the right words.

  “Mark…” My words ran away from me. They always had.

  A slight noise from the front of the library made me look up over Mark’s shoulder.

  Eliot was standing not thirty feet away, and from the looks of it, he had seen everything.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  After hanging up the phone, Eliot became possessed with curiosity. They were only students, to be sure, but he knew what Brynn was capable of, and he was intrigued by the partial solution. He wanted to see more, and after some tossing in bed he realized that his brain would not let him sleep until he had satisfied his curiosity. He hopped into his car quickly and drove to the library, eager to examine their work. He hadn’t expected to find them still there, and he certainly hadn’t expected to find Brynn in the arms of that boy, Mark.

  What’s more, he hadn’t expected the surge of jealousy that turned over in his stomach as he saw Brynn kiss Mark back.

  Poisonous thoughts flooded his mind as he stood there, watching his hopes unravel in another man’s arms. He had not known how much he cared for Brynn, or maybe he had pushed the thoughts down again, suppressing his heart with his intellect so as to protect himself from hurt. As much as he rebelled against the feelings of hurt and rage that washed over him, he found his normally impenetrable inner defenses worn to a thin shield that buckled and broke even as he stood, eyes fixed on the scene before him.

  Eliot could not bring himself to step out of sight until it was too late. Unable to think of anything to say or do, he simply turned and walked back down the stairs he came from. Initially he thought she might run after him, catch him, but he was at the bottom of the stairs and nothing had happened. Still in shock, he walked out to his car and drove away, and kept driving.

  He didn’t know where he was going, and didn’t care. The city of Budapest loomed overhead, oppressively tall. People downtown swarmed the sidewalks, so he drove away, finding the less inhabited neighborhoods that stayed empty at night. Here the snow fell quietly under the street lamps, and only a few pedestrians bothered to wander the streets.

  Spired churches and decaying walls loomed over him at every corner, and he soon came to the Danube, the dividing line between the two parts of the city. He parked at the side of a bridge and got out of his car. The cold of the night could not numb the hot rage he felt boiling inside of him. He walked to the middle of the bridge and stood there, looking out onto the river below him.

  He remembered the last time he had been in Hungary. Over a decade ago, and every moment of that day stood out as clear in his memory as a picture in a frame. They lowered her into the ground, the coffin made out of fine polished oak. To last for years, the undertaker had said, and Eliot wanted to shake him by the shoulders and scream at him for the careless words. Years? What did that matter? The body inside of the casket would stay lifeless, forever, no matter how expensive the wood crate around it.

  White rose petals covered the top of the coffin, and as the military men lowered it into the earth—Otto had insisted on a military guard—one corner had dipped down briefly a few inches lower than the others, sending a cascade of white petals over the dark glossy side of the coffin. The men quickly corrected the error, but Eliot could not erase the image from his mind. The petals like snow coming down like an avalanche over the coffin’s edge. The smell of the roses and the wet cold earth. The people around him crying, and his cheeks dry through it all.

  When he returned home, sitting on the mantle inside of the house was another bouquet of white roses, sent from his brother; nobody else knew his address. A card of condolences tucked into the top, unsigned. Eliot had hurled the vase of roses against the wall and still felt nothing inside of him as he watched the glass shatter, the petals fall to the floor. There the shattered bouquet stayed for three days, the flowers wilting and turning brown on top of the burnished hardwood floor, until it as just another sweet dead thing. The housekeeper would sweep up the glass and the petals carefully when she came the next week, and then they would be gone too.

  The day after the ceremony he stood on another bridge overlooking the Danube. Perhaps it was the same as the one he stood on now, but he could not remember. The winter had come on full force and the ice floes crackled, breaking and refreezing under the surface frosted in snow. An hour he stood there, looking down and wondering if the fall would be enough.

  Sometimes all there was to live for—all he held onto—wasn’t enough. Numbness only masked the guilt that threatened to break through at any moment and send him over the edge, but still he stood, and stood, until someone called the police and an officer came to the bridge to see what the trouble was.

  “Just sightseeing,” he said, when asked what he was doing.

  “You don’t live here?” the officer asked. Eliot couldn’t tell if the man recognized his face.

  “No,” Eliot said. “I don’t live here.”

  As he said the words, he knew they were true. He couldn’t continue living in a place where the same ghost occupied every street corner, every sidewalk. He went to the airport and asked to buy a plane ticket to America. He wanted to leave the continent behind him, to start anew, and he knew that America would help him. In America, nobody knows or cares about ancestors. In America he would be able to look to the future, and let his past stay where it was, frozen under a layer of ice.

  Now he stood again, looking at the Danube. The same, yet different—the water, all of it, different. How can we give rivers names when they change from right underneath us? The name points to the idea of the river, not the water. Not the river itself.

  He had fled to America to escape the grief that he knew would haunt him here. He returned to Hungary buoyed by hopes and faint memories of wonderful things, icicles like lace on the rooftops and roses in the garden. But the roses had died back in the late chill of fall a
nd would not bloom again this year; the icicles hung sharp from the entryways, pointed and dangerous. Dead and deadly things.

  Brynn lured him with her beauty and snared him with her mind, and he had dutifully avoided temptation. He’d thought selfishly that she would wait for him until the time was right, but he could not blame her for her impatience. Beautiful as she was, she deserved a young man whose heart was not stitched up halfheartedly with still-festering wounds. His was a burden to carry alone, and he had no right to hope that she would love him, much as he desired it.

  Eliot leaned out, hypnotized by the darkness of the frozen river below. The only way to stop a river from running was to freeze the water in it. But under the ice he could still see the dark water roiling, turbulent. He felt lost, an outsider here as he was in America, an expatriate returning to a country that had long forgotten his place. How could he run away from the trouble that Brynn had brought about in his heart?

  He had already run away from his homeland once. He did not know if he could escape the pain again.

  I woke early in my room, guilt churning my stomach. The thin sun coming in through the windowpane reflected off of the motes of dust hanging in the air. They twinkled like snowflakes as soft invisible currents of air tumbled them. They turned randomly in my vision, but I was filled with a sense of purpose even as guilty thoughts invaded my mind. Today was special, not just another day.

  Today was the day I would go to visit my mother’s grave.

  Watching the sunlight twirl circles in the room, I felt detached from yesterday and all that had happened. I hadn’t meant to do whatever I had done that led to Mark’s kiss. Every step taken up until that point had been so normal that when he kissed me I did not know what I could have done to take it back, were I to do it over again. It had felt strange—his lips pressed against mine in the joy of discovery, nervous and desiring. Not anything like Eliot’s possessive and confident embraces And then he had looked at me expectantly.

  I recoiled at the memory. Pleading sleepiness, I’d escaped from Mark’s company at last, but not before he had tried to get me to talk about it. I didn’t want to talk about anything just then—I had seen the look on Eliot’s face, and it had hit me like a punch to the stomach. That I could wound someone in that way was unthinkable, but his expression made it clear that my ill-timed embrace with Mark had not gone unnoticed. And Mark’s insistent glances only made me sicker to my stomach that I would have to hurt him too. I loved Mark as an intellectual equal and a friend, but no romantic feelings had ever turned my heart toward him, not even now after we had shared a kiss. Indeed, even remembering it made me feel uncomfortable and itchy under my skin.