by Pete Nelson
He headed for the Bay State. He needed a crowd to lose himself in and the distractions of multiple voices.
Doyle and O-Rings were at the pinball machine. McCoy, Bender, and Yvonne were seated at the bar. D. J. and Mickey were at the pay phone. Paul took a seat next to Yvonne, who lit a cigarette, took a drag, and blew the smoke toward the ceiling, holding the cigarette above her head as if that could keep her hair from smelling.
“What’s wrong?” she asked. “You look like shit.”
“Where’s Stella?” McCoy said.
“That’s pretty much what’s wrong,” Paul said.
“Aw, jeez,” McCoy said.
Then everybody knew. McCoy gestured to Silent Neil to set Paul up with a beer and to bring a couple of shots over. As people bought him drinks in sympathy, he learned another argument for suffering in silence: every time he told anybody his dog had just died, they insisted on telling him about the time their dog had died. It really wasn’t making him feel better.
He stumbled home, completely plastered. He’d been drunk before, but tonight he might have set a personal best, or worst, depending on point of view. “You need to look at some of the things you do,” Tamsen had said, “and consider what sort of changes you might want to make.” He was, at present, and in the recent past, and for the foreseeable future, more concerned with all the changes he didn’t want to make, and with hanging on to what he had, which, apparently, was not one of his options.
No sooner had he walked in the door than the phone rang. He expected to hear Tamsen’s voice but was surprised, instead, to hear his brother’s.
“Hey,” Paul said. “You still up?”
“I’ve been trying to reach you,” Carl said. “Your answering machine is broken or something.”
“I turned it off,” Paul said. “I should warn you — I’ve had a bit too lot to drink.”
That didn’t come out right.
“I can tell,” Carl said. “Bits told me you had to put Stella down.”
“She did?”
“I just wanted to tell you how sorry we are,” Carl said. “We know how much you loved Stella.”
“How did Bits know?” Paul asked. “I haven’t told anyone.”
“Apparently Karen called her,” Carl said. “She didn’t want you to be alone.”
“Oh,” Paul said, surprised to think that his ex-wife and his sister were in touch with each other. “Thanks.”
“It’s just the worst,” Carl said. “It’s hard enough when someone you love dies, but when you’re the one who has to make the decision, it’s a thousand times worse.”
“You said it,” Paul said.
“You should go to bed,” Carl said. “Get some sleep.”
“So should you,” Paul said. “It isn’t healthy to sleep four hours a night.”
“Let’s both get some sleep, then,” Carl said. “I just wanted to call you.”
“Thanks,” Paul said. “I appreciate it.”
“Let me know if there’s anything I can do,” Carl said.
He was tired and needed to lie down but knew that if he did, it would be a while before he got up again, and he had one last ritual to perform.
He found one of his landlady’s gardening trowels in the garage and put it in his back pocket, tucked the metal box containing Stella’s ashes under his arm, and walked to the cemetery.
There was a large oak tree in the center, beneath which Paul and Stella had sat on crisp fall afternoons and warm summer evenings to talk or just think, particularly on those occasions when Paul and Karen were going at it and he needed a place to go to cool off. They liked the way the oak leaves turned purple each fall, in contrast to the showier orange and yellow maples in the cemetery.
There, Paul dug a small hole, using the gardening trowel, cutting the sod on three sides and folding it back. From his pocket, he took the brass tag he’d removed from Stella’s collar, bearing her name, his phone number, and the message, “If you find me unleashed, please do not call — I’m okay. I’m just waiting for my master.” On more than one occasion, he’d exited Jake’s or the Bay State only to find Stella missing and, when he got home, a message on his answering machine from some well-intentioned rescuer saying, “I found your dog and took her home because I thought she was lost …”
He opened the tin box, set the brass tag atop the ashes, and then buried the box in the shade of the oak tree, dispersing the excess dirt and carefully replacing the sod atop the grave, lest the groundskeepers discover the surreptitious interment. He’d tried to explain the concept of irony to Stella once, saying that burying a dog in a boneyard would be a good example. She’d replied, “Oooh, I like that very much.” This was something she might have wanted.
He laid his hand atop the grave for a moment, patting down the dirt, and considered saying a few words, but what was there left to say?
“I’ll see you later,” was the best he could come up with. He recalled a hand-painted plaque he’d seen in a pet store once that read, THE FIRST THING YOU SEE WHEN YOU GET TO HEAVEN ARE ALL YOUR OLD PETS, RUNNING TO GREET YOU. It was, of course, only wishful fantasy, magical thinking, and he was above all that.
He rose and turned for home.
22
The Truth about the North Pole
Paul’s resolve hardened as the weather turned chilly. He withdrew, holed up with a bottle of vodka to slow his thoughts. He wasn’t sure when he would be ready to resume his responsibilities in the universe. There was also, apparently, some kind of unwritten rule, in that world beyond his own four walls, that said he was forbidden to feel sorry for himself, so he wanted to stay where he made the rules.
He was working late one night, researching polar bears online for the book, when Tamsen instant-messaged him. He’d told her after her last visit that he needed to be alone for a while. When she invited him down the following weekend, he said he had to work. She said she understood, but dark thoughts came to him that night and stayed with him. Hopelessness. A wish to become invisible, absent, deleted. A desire to quit, accept defeat, drink the Kool-Aid. He began to pull away, screen her calls. He was emotionally fatigued. The relationship, which had started out with such fire and optimism, so much laughter and engagement, was dying, if it wasn’t dead already, starting with his inability to consummate the relationship and flowing in all directions from there. Despite the many times Tamsen had told him it didn’t matter, he knew it did. He couldn’t untell his story, nor could he lay it at her feet for her to finish. He couldn’t keep apologizing all the time or allow her to feel sorry for him, and he couldn’t keep feeling sorry for himself in her company. The situation was pathologically pathetic, and he couldn’t talk to her about it without pushing the relationship farther in the wrong direction.
He was, in short, wasting her time.
He stared at his computer screen, trying to think of what to do, aware that he was in no shape to make any major decisions. Yet, even in the fog of grief and depression (the hours he was spending at the Bay State weren’t helping, but where else could he go and be both alone and not alone at the same time?), he knew he was being indefensibly selfish. He’d apparently been far less ready to enter into a new romance than he’d thought, trying unsuccessfully to fool himself. How to become ready, he hadn’t a clue. He really wanted her to break up with him and be with Stephen. He had a sense that she’d been working up to it, before Stella’s passing, but who could break up with a man right after his dog died? A temporary delay. The clock was ticking. He could hear it. She should leave him and move on as soon as possible.
On the other hand, he loved her.
He took a deep breath, held it, exhaled.
TamsenP: you’re still up.
PaulGus: Working.
TamsenP: on?
PaulGus: Did you know that they once tracked a polar bear wearing a radio collar who walked 4,612 miles straight across the North Pole from the Beaufort Sea off Alaska to Greenland all by himself? They think he was looking for a mate.
/> TamsenP: did he find one?
PaulGus: One would hope so. What’s new?
TamsenP: i’m totally nervous. sheila called and told me she’d accidentally booked two gigs on the same night and she needs a substitute for one of them.
PaulGus: When?
TamsenP: december 5. i think she has to sing at a christmas party. with just a piano player. that means i’d get to sing with her band. she thinks one or two rehearsals is all i need. i know the songs, so we just have to set up the intros and out-tros and decide what keys work for my voice.
PaulGus: You’ll be great.
TamsenP: i feel like we haven’t talked in way too long. what’s been going on? how are you holding up?
PaulGus: I’m okay. One day at a time.
TamsenP: i’ve been thinking about you a lot.
PaulGus: All good thoughts, I hope.
TamsenP: all good. how is your father?
PaulGus: Hard to tell. About the same.
TamsenP: did you tell him about stella?
TamsenP: still there?
TamsenP: you’ve been avoiding me. what’s wrong?
PaulGus: I’m sorry.
TamsenP: just be honest with me.
PaulGus: I’ll try.
TamsenP: i’m going to hang up and call you.
PaulGus: I’d really rather not.
TamsenP: we need to talk in person, paul. not like this.
PaulGus: I prefer this. This is safer.
TamsenP: i’ll call you tomorrow then.
PaulGus: Are you breaking up with me?
TamsenP: if you don’t want to talk in person tonight, then i’ll call you tomorrow.
PaulGus: Are you breaking up with me? Please answer the question.
TamsenP: i’m not going to let you keep your distance like this. we have to talk. in person. voice-to-voice if not face-to-face.
PaulGus: I have to go.
He got off-line, turned off his answering machine, poured himself a drink, went out onto the porch, and then listened to the phone ring and ring. It stopped after sixteen rings. A minute later, it rang again, this time for thirty-four rings. When he thought it was safe, he went back inside. He realized his head-in-the-sand approach wasn’t going to work for very long. He realized his head-in-the-sand approach wasn’t actually working now. He knew what was coming. He’d known it since Stella died. He’d been horrible to Tamsen ever since, and now the cows were coming home to roost, as his mother might have said.
He logged back on, briefly, to see if Tamsen had sent him an e-mail. Immediately she interrupted him with an instant message.
TamsenP: are you okay?
PaulGus: I’m fine.
TamsenP: have you been drinking?
PaulGus: A little.
TamsenP: a little?
PaulGus: More than a little.
TamsenP: can we talk on the phone?
PaulGus: No.
TamsenP: why won’t you let me call you?
PaulGus: This way we can’t say things we don’t mean. Or blurt things out accidentally. I want to be able to read this later. I’m not feeling particularly sharp right now.
TamsenP: this is not the way to do this.
PaulGus: Do what? Are you breaking up with me?
PaulGus: Hello? Still there?
TamsenP: i’m sorry. yes. i don’t think we should see each other. i think you’ve probably been thinking the same things i’ve been thinking. i think it’s evident that something is wrong between us. and i think i should have said something a long time ago but i let it go on too long and i shouldn’t have done that.
PaulGus: I was thinking earlier that I’m not ready for a relationship. The problem is, I can’t learn how to be in a relationship again without being in a relationship again. But that’s not your job.
TamsenP: emotionally and spiritually, there’s so much that you already are and so much you could become. you’re very giving. i could see that every day in the way you treated stella. you’re extremely loving when you let your guard down. but it’s like when you’re with me, instead of opening up, you go back inside yourself. you opened up at first and that’s what i responded to, but then … i don’t know what happened, but i felt like you turned into the sort of little kid who runs up to his room when he’s upset, hoping mom or dad will come get him. when i love someone, i want the other person to hold their position and not run away. you can’t make people chase you. maybe you’re just too afraid of being hurt. i’m afraid of that too, particularly when i think of how my marriage failed. i so don’t want to fail again, or hurt that much, or hurt someone else. everybody is afraid, but you can’t just give someone glimpses of yourself to see if they like it and then hide. you have to stick your neck out a little and give your whole self, 100 percent. you have to bet everything, even when it would be safer to hold back. you can’t keep parts of yourself secret, thinking, “if i get rejected, it won’t hurt so much because they don’t know the real me.” it’s also as much my fault for thinking we could limit ourselves. that was stupid of me. my thought at first was that we were just going to be friends, and then i thought, “okay, maybe we can be friends who can kiss each other and mess around a little bit,” but it just kept getting more and more involved. i should have known i couldn’t keep talking and talking to you and feeling like we were getting closer and closer without wanting to go further and further. that’s what attraction is. it doesn’t happen in the eyes. it happens in the heart. but it was unfair and weak of me not to say something when i felt myself pulled in the other direction. i haven’t lost faith in you, even though i’m sure that’s what you think. i’ve seen you do some stupid things, like when you lied to me. that was hard to get over. and i’ve noticed how somehow we always end up talking about you and your problems when you’re not the only one who’s got ‘em, but i can also see through all that because if you weren’t also a great guy, believe me, i would have walked away a long time ago. i believe in you more than i’ve ever believed in anybody. but i also think this relationship is getting in the way of your becoming the person you could be, and that makes it wrong to continue.
PaulGus: You wrote that out before you got online, didn’t you?
TamsenP: i was writing out my thoughts earlier, yes.
PaulGus: I can’t exactly argue you into staying with me, can I?
TamsenP: i’m so sorry. i shouldn’t have strung you along.
PaulGus: I don’t see it that way. Can I ask you a question?
TamsenP: what?
PaulGus: Has something changed in your relationship with Stephen?
TamsenP: that’s a separate issue.
PaulGus: Not really. I see it as losing to the competition.
TamsenP: that’s not the way it is.
PaulGus: But you can see how I might feel like it is.
TamsenP: i can see that, yes.
PaulGus: So just answer the question and tell me the truth. The thing I’ve always liked best about us is that we’ve always told each other the truth. I’d hate to see that change, even under the present circumstances.
TamsenP: yes, things have changed.
PaulGus: How so?
TamsenP: they continue to evolve.
PaulGus: Don’t be coy, please.
TamsenP: stephen asked me to marry him. paul, i would never have told you that this way if you’d given me a choice.
PaulGus: What did you say to him?
TamsenP: i said yes.
PaulGus: Congratulations. When’s the wedding?
TamsenP: january 8.
PaulGus: That’s Elvis’s birthday.
TamsenP: i don’t want you to joke right now.
PaulGus: I’m not joking. That really is Elvis’s birthday.
TamsenP: that’s not what I mean.
PaulGus: My hands are shaking. Hang on.
TamsenP: hello?
PaulGus: Are you moving to California?
TamsenP: that’s the plan.
PaulGus: When?
Ta
msenP: not sure. next summer maybe. maybe sooner.
PaulGus: His ex and his kids too?
TamsenP: yup. they’re going after the holidays. we’ve all met each other, so it looks like we’ll be one of those complicated extended families.
PaulGus: Maybe I’ll move to Greenland. It’s only 4,612 miles by foot.
TamsenP: you’ll find someone.
PaulGus: Just don’t say that, okay? Just don’t.
TamsenP: all right. you didn’t do anything wrong, you know. and i know you’re going to focus on the sex but that’s not it either. let me repeat that: THAT’S NOT IT EITHER. that had nothing to do with it.
PaulGus: If you say so.
TamsenP: paul.
PaulGus: I love you.
TamsenP: i know. i love you too.
PaulGus: No phone calls.
TamsenP: i think not. it just makes it harder.
PaulGus: So we’ll never see each other again?
TamsenP: i don’t know. i have to go now.
PaulGus: Don’t.
TamsenP: it’s late.
PaulGus: I love you.
TamsenP: i know.
PaulGus: Okay.
TamsenP: you will be all right. i know that.
PaulGus: If you say so.
TamsenP: i have to go. logging off.
PaulGus: Tam?
PaulGus: Tam?
PaulGus: Are you there?
23
When
The leaves turned yellow and orange and red, then dropped from the trees. The wind blew the leaves up and down the streets of Northampton, past the Smith girls wrapping themselves in more layers of clothing each day, past the black-clad crow babies furtively slipping one another controlled substances in shadowed doorways, past the sidewalk glad-handers and street-corner preachers, past the shopkeepers eyeballing and thumbnailing their storefront windows in advance of Christmas, past the cars with their bumper stickers, past the houses and the factories, and out into the autumn landscape. The November rains fell as if they would never stop, and the roads turned slick and sharkskin shiny. The days grew short, and the nights long, as the stars slowly wheeled into their winter positions. Paul worked, ate, slept, went to movies, went to bars, and stuck to his routine, even though he now knew, for the first time in his life, that it was exactly that, sticking to his routine, that had gotten him precisely nowhere, or less than nowhere, really, because he felt as if he had fallen into a deep hole from which he would never escape.
