“Got sick of studying.”
“...” I swung my legs over the side of the bed. “Where are my pants?”
Out of the darkness of the room they came flying at me.
Gia, Beth’s roommate, was sitting on the common area couch highlighting scribbles in a notebook. When we were locking our door she looked up and asked where we were going.
“Out,” Griff said.
“Are you going to the basement?”
“No, we’re going outside.”
“If you go to the basement could you get me a Diet Coke?” She held out four quarters.
“All right.” Griff took them and stuffed them in his pocket.
“And if you don’t I need my quarters back.”
It was cold out, but a nice cold. We swiped two cardboard boxes from the Dumpster behind the dorm and tore and stomped them into flat sheets. Then we made our way up Beacon Street, past the snow-covered angel statue in the Gardens, to Boston Common. Carrying the cardboard we climbed to the top of the hill and leaned against the base of the tall phallic monument there. The moon was big and bright and the snow was frosted with an icy glaze that reflected us like we were walking on water.
Griff spread his cardboard on the snow and sat down, folded the front edge up against his knees. He shimmied forward until gravity began to take over.
“Coming?” he said. The snow scratched at the bottom of his cardboard and soon he was racing down, hair fwapping the edges of his blue hat. In front of him rose the city and all its tall buildings still lit at this hour, all glowing and white like a city of the future. It seemed as though at any moment Griff’s cardboard would lift off the ground and he would sail up through the night and fly into it.
“Whoo hoo hoooo!”
I dropped my cardboard on the ground and belly-flopped onto it and whipped down the hill with my fists stretched out in front of me like I was flying. The slope wasn’t incredibly steep but it was long and gave you plenty of time to build momentum. Cold air pressed into my lungs and made me gasp.
“Aw yeah!” Griff cheered as I flew. He’d reached the bottom and was standing, cardboard clamped under his arm. “Watch out for the light post!”
Shit—the light post. I tried to rudder the sled with my legs but instead of steering it just spun me into a pinwheel. I crashed into Griff at the bottom and my cardboard shot out from under me, slicing through the air across the plowed footpath and crumpling against a snow bank.
“Owh, wipe-out,” he said in a giggling groan as we struggled to our feet. “I told you you’d fly.”
“Let’s go again.”
“Haha. Nah, I think once is enough for me.” He was brushing snow off his legs.
“Are you serious?” I said, but when I turned around again he’d already taken off running back up the hill.
“See you at the top, sucker!” he called.
“Bastard.” I grabbed my cardboard and chased him. The snow was icy and I kept slipping. We stood together at the top looking out.
“Funny how all that can feel like home, isn’t it?” I said. “So big and yet so cozy.” But I wondered if it only felt that way because I was looking at it with him.
“I’m just looking for one little place,” Griff said. “One of these little houses I draw for class, just to live in with the One.” He pushed up his sleeve and looked at his watch. “Speaking of which, I have a Western Civ final in five hours. And I don’t even care.”
“You slack with such finesse.” I dropped the cardboard to the ground and stepped on it to keep it from sliding away. “Who should I go as this time?”
“The Silver Surfer,” he said.
“Yeah, right.”
“Hey, you asked me.”
“Fine, but you better be ready to haul my broken body back to the room,” I said. “Here goes.”
For nearly five seconds I rode it like a surfboard before falling on my ass and skidding the rest of the way down. Griff followed me down sitting, legs out, the missionary position of sledding, and zoomed past, grinding to a halt fifteen feet away.
“That was graceful,” he said. “Seriously. You could turn pro.”
“I think next time I’ll go on my ass.”
“So you don’t end up that way.”
“Haha!”
We ran up the hill and sledded down, and ran up and sledded down, and each ride down made the next trip up inevitable. We were laughing, swearing, getting the wind knocked out of us, and it was perfect, because when you’re twenty in the city at 3:00 a.m. with your best friend, everything is always perfect.
On one run I skidded to a stop at the bottom, my cardboard now damp and floppy, and leapt out of the way before Griff crashed into me. He sat up and dusted snow off his hat.
“Holy fucking shit, Vince.”
“What?”
He pointed behind me. “Look.”
I turned around and saw nothing, a nothing that made me gasp.
No dorm, no Prudential building, no Hancock, just an absence that stretched across the city. Behind us, the State House and the Financial District were still lit, but everything beyond the trees of the Public Gardens on the other side might as well have been open sea or the edge of space. In the distance we heard fire trucks wailing. We would see on the morning news that a power transformer under Copley Square had caught fire and cut electricity to most of the Back Bay.
“That’s freaky,” I said.
“This is as close to the apocalypse as we’ll probably ever see,” he said, bending down to pick up his cardboard.
“The end of the world.”
“Let’s go out sledding,” he said, and he turned around and started running once more up the hill.
*
Griff and Zane were kneeling over me. Griff’s lips were moving but all I could hear were our three deer splashing across the river. Through my fluttering eyelids I could see him peering at me. He had his hand against my cheek and when he withdrew it I saw blood on it. My blood?
“Just a tissue but it’s dirty,” Zane was saying.
Now Griff was touching my front teeth with his thumb, and then he had his fingers in my mouth, rubbing his index finger against my teeth, top and bottom. They were rough against my inner cheeks. It was the oddest feeling.
“I think he just bit his tongue,” he said. “His teeth are all there.”
Why were they talking about me like I wasn’t here?
“His chin, though,” Zane said.
“That’s just a scrape. Don’t worry about that.” Griff leaned down at me, his face close enough to mine almost to give me an Eskimo kiss. His features were bent with worry, his hair messed, one side pushed behind his ear. I could see beads of sweat on his forehead, even though it was below freezing out. “You’re OK, Vin,” he told me, studying my eyes. “You took a pretty good knock on your chinny-chin-chin.”
“Oh.”
“But you’re fine, right?”
“OK.”
“Can you move?”
I started to sit up, could feel Zane’s hands slide under my shoulders to help me.
“Sit a minute before you get up,” Griff told me, and then he stood up and went down to the river. He took off his hat, but put it back on. Then he took off his jacket and laid it on the snow, and quickly wriggled out of his top layer, a long-sleeve t-shirt. After putting his jacket back on he dipped his shirt in the water, wrung it out and brought it over to me. It was cold against my face.
I love you, I wanted to say.
“Want me to carry you?” he said. I shook my head; my stomach felt a little funny but I was OK to stand. “Remember that time you carried me?” he said, and I nodded. “I’m sorry,” he added, “I shouldn’t have had us out chasing deer.”
“It was my fault,” Zane said. “I pulled the branch.”
“I’m fine, guys,” I said, but the words felt clumsy on my lips. I touched them and they were big. Griff’s white t-shirt was pink in my hands. I raised it back to my face.
We crossed the street.
Griff started the car and aimed the heater vents at me.
“You’ve shed blood for this car, Vince,” he said, rubbing the dashboard like it was the neck of his prized pony. “Now I have no choice but to buy it.”
By the time we got back to the dealership, though, he seemed less sure.
“I should do this, right?” he whispered to me. We were parked in the dealership lot. Ashby was walking out to meet us.
“Yeah. You sure about gray, though? I would’ve pictured you in something more colorful.”
“I’m always in something more colorful,” he said. “I like my vehicles neutral.”
“Then do it.”
“I’m gonna do it.”
“Good.”
We went into the dealership with Ashby—he noticed my face and his eyes bulged and his mouth dropped open but then he looked away and brought out the paperwork.
“You know what, guys,” Griff said, “you can get going. You don’t have to stay here for this stuff.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. Go put something on that. I’ll see you at your house.”
The cold air outside felt better on my forehead. I scooped some clean snow off the bumper of the yellow Beetle and pressed it to my face.
“Want to drive?” I said to Zane.
He shrugged and we swapped keys for plant. On the way home I sat with my head back and my eyes closed, listening while Zane speculated about the new creative team on Action Comics.
When I woke up we were parked in Zane’s driveway and he was poking at my chin with a green stick. No, not a stick—it was a snapped-off branch of the aloe, gently dribbling sticky liquid into the pain.
“That’s for burns,” I told him, blinking myself awake.
“I don’t want it to get infected or anything.”
“I’ll wash it when I get home.”
“Do you want me to drive you? I can get Ralph to pick me up from your place.”
I wanted to say yes. Waves of throbbing pain were rolling one after another across my jaw and mouth, and I wanted the company, wanted him. Just wanted him.
“I can manage by myself,” I said, faking a smile that made my lips ache. “Thanks for taking care of me today.”
He reached over and wiped his thumb against my chin; it came away glistening with milky liquid. We both seemed to realize at the same time how much it looked like jizz.
He cleared his voice and turned away, grinning. “I like taking care of you,” he said finally, but not in a romantic or sentimental way; it was only a statement. He put his hand on my hair for a few seconds—I was sure he was going to kiss me—and then he opened the door very slowly, allowing me all the time in the world to tell him to stay.
“You should take the plant,” I told him instead, holding it out with both hands as a dilapidated peace offering. I felt like E.T. “And—Zane?”
“Yeah, Vince?” A hopeful smile appeared.
“—Don’t forget you’re opening tomorrow.”
“Oh. Yeah. I won’t.”
I slid over into the driver’s seat and watched him slice through the headlights on his way to the door. He disappeared into a rectangle of light and then the door closed behind him.
I drove myself home. When I got there, the new mattress Griff ordered was leaning against the garage door wrapped in plastic. I balled up my fist and punched the fucking thing, as hard as I could, when I walked by.
I stood naked in front of my bathroom mirror, a double dose of aspirin dissolving in my stomach. A purple bruise had formed around the scrape on my chin and there was a painful bite on the side of my tongue—but it only made me look like how I felt.
Steam from the shower filled the empty space around me, was a cushion against it. The walls dripped. I wiped the mirror, looked again at the swatch of myself, poking with the tip of my finger at the puffy redness of the scrape. I put my clothes in the hamper and left my shirt, two days worn and now with blood around the collar, on top of it, blood-stain side up as a reminder that it needed extra attention in the wash.
I pulled back the yellow shower curtain and stood at the back of the tub. The spray burned my toes. I adjusted the temperature and stepped cautiously forward. I put my hand on the slippery soap tray jutting from the wall and leaned into the stream of water, letting it lap my face.
It stung.
After I soaped I sat down on the floor of the tub, my back against the tile, my feet flat on either side of the water spout. The water was a steady vibrating rain on my thighs and crotch and stomach. The water spout drip-drip-dripped between my feet. The stream of warm tickling water made me hard. I covered my boner with a facecloth and leaned back against the tile.
“...”
“What? Why are you staring at me?”
“What are you doing in there so long?”
“Sitting. Relaxing.”
“The water’s still going.”
“It’s warm. I was cold.”
“How’s your face?”
“Hurts. I’ll live.”
“Want some company?”
“...OK.”
“Hold on.”
He let the curtain fall closed and I heard his sneakers thump-thump onto the linoleum floor. His silhouette got undressed, clumsier than in those noir movies but sexy in its way. He pulled back the curtain again and stepped in, first one foot and then the other, tall and thin like a stork. Water streamed down his body and left paths through the hair on his chest and legs.
“I’ve never seen you naked before,” I said.
“You haven’t? Sure you have. You must’ve.”
“Not the full—you know.”
“Well how is it? You tell me. Mine’s the only one I’ve seen up close.”
“It’s standard.”
“I guess I can live with standard. Ow, it’s too hot. Push over, will you?”
“Sit at the end.”
“Your tub is too small.”
“It’s not meant to be shared. Especially by two people who aren’t going to have sex.”
“How do you know we’re not going to have sex? We’re naked and sudsy together.”
“I don’t think we’re going to have sex.”
“Well then just... just put your legs on mine—like this—so I can get out of this boiling spray.”
His toes lay against my hips; my feet rested on his thighs. The water spout lay against his neck. I asked if he was comfortable.
“Not really, no,” he said. “But it’s fine. The water’s nice. It was so cold out today. I got snow all down my shoes stomping around in the woods.”
“Yeah.”
“So are you sure we’re not going to have sex? This is a pretty sexy situation.”
“Don’t worry. Just sit with me, huh?”
He nodded. Water dripped off his nose. “Why are you wearing a loincloth, by the way? Are you modest?”
“Oh, no—I had a boner. It happens in the water.”
I pulled off the cloth; it had gone down.
“I’ve never been able to get aroused in the shower,” he said, “to the chagrin of my girlfriends. Isn’t that weird? Hey, I need to shift your legs for a sec.” He raised my feet and bent his legs Indian-style, put my ankles down on his thighs again. “The drain was digging into my tail bone.”
“Your coccyx?”
“Haha. My coccyx.”
“Better now?”
“Actually, hand me that facecloth.” He took it and folded it and put it under his butt. “That’s better.”
“I don’t know why this isn’t weird.”
“What?”
“You sitting in the tub with me.”
“It’s pretty weird.”
“But it doesn’t feel weird.”
“What’s weird is that your boner went down when I got here. Don’t I turn you on, Vinny? What’s the deal?”
“I don’t know.”
Suddenly the bathroom door clicked and the curtain pulled back again. It was Melanie. She had on the Gum
by t-shirt I gave her. Her brown hair fell in lively waves against her shoulders.
“Oh, sorry guys— I didn’t mean to barge in.”
“It’s OK.”
“Is there room?”
“Sure.” I pulled my legs off Griff and wrapped my arms around my knees to clear the middle of the tub for her.
“Thanks. It’s freezing out!”
Melanie got undressed and stepped in, sat down between us, her back against the tile wall, her smooth legs pulled up in front of her. She was directly under the water; it soaked her hair, laid it flat against her skin. She had a spray of freckles across her breasts, freckles that once upon a time I connected into shapes and words with soft strokes of my finger while she tried to guess what I was spelling. Would she mind if I touched them again? Would Bernie mind?
“It’s a little hot,” she said.
“It’s OK once you get used to it.”
“This shower has always run hot.”
“That’s like the first thing he told me when I got here,” Griff said. “Welcome to my house. And oh yeah the shower will melt your flesh off.”
I put my toes under Melanie’s bum and wiggled them. “Griff, can I have the facecloth back?”
“Vince is caring like that,” Melanie said.
“Then you shouldn’t have dumped him, Melanie. Remind me why did you do that again?”
“Griff—” I tried to cut in.
“Shush, Vin, I want to know. You shouldn’t just dump someone after you’ve painted in their room. You painted in his room, Melanie.”
“I told him I felt bad.” She looked at me; water ran down her cheeks. “I told you I felt bad.”
“Well yeah,” Griff said, “but couldn’t you have picked a better place to do it than a fast-food drive-thru?”
“Griff, come on. No fighting. We’re naked. You can’t fight naked.”
The curtain pulled back again. I flinched. It was Zane. “Yeah,” he said. “Fighting naked is a bad idea.”
“Hey dude,” said Griff.
“How did you get here?” I said.
“I don’t know,” he said, “the door was open.”
“Oh. Well you know Melanie, right?”
“We met at the store a few times. Hi.”
Melanie said hi.
The Cranberry Hush: A Novel Page 16
