Blind Squirrels

by Jennifer Davis

  “You – um – I,” he started. Then that flicker disappeared.

  “Did you want to say something?” I asked. He didn’t recognize me – I was safe.

  “You just remind me of someone. It was a long time ago. I’m sorry I bothered you. I’ll go now.” He stood up. Something was causing him to be uncomfortable. If he walked away, I’d never know if it was the memory of me or something else.

  Using more strength than I’ve ever known before, I forced myself to stand up. “Please don’t leave,” I said. “You aren’t bothering me. Really. You remind me of someone, too. Please sit back down.”

  Max obeyed me. I knew from the look on his face that he was trying to decide who I was. “It can’t be,” he said finally. “I must be mistaken.”

  “I remind you of something painful?” I asked.

  “Not exactly.” Then he looked deeply into my eyes. “Are you Kat? It’s me, Max.”

  He recognized me – now what would I do? “Max? You’re Max?” I couldn’t let him detect that I had known all along.

  A big smile came across his face. “Yes! It’s Max. Max Savage. You are Kat, aren’t you?”

  I smiled back. “Yes, I’m Kat. I can’t believe this.”

  Then Max did something totally unexpected. He hugged me. Not tenderly nor romantically – just a big bear hug. It was a long-lost-friend hug. He held me out before him at arm’s length and looked me up and down. “Kat, you’re all grown up now. You aren’t a little girl anymore.”

  “I haven’t been for a long time. I’m thirty-seven.” Why was I telling him my age? With my heart jumping up into my throat, how was I talking at all?

  “Yeah, I guess you’re old enough to have a little girl of your own,” Max said.

  “Old enough, but I don’t have one. I don’t have any children.” Pace yourself, I thought. Breathe slowly and don’t hyperventilate.

  Max looked distressed. I wondered if he thought he had mentioned a taboo subject. I added, “I guess I never got around to it. I’m a career woman. I wouldn’t make a very good mother.”

  “Are you married? Let’s see, who were you interested in back in high school?” He struck the pose of the “Thinker.” Was he serious? If he remembered my name, he had to remember who I wanted to marry.

  “I’m not married. I’m divorced.”

  Max looked slightly embarrassed. “I guess you didn’t marry the guy of your dreams, did you?”

  “No,” I answered. “I think he married someone else. After him, there wasn’t much to pick from.”

  “So you were married. How long?” Max ignored my references to him.

  “We married in 1981. I was just twenty. It lasted three years.”

  “Anyone I knew?” he asked.

  “No. Ben wasn’t from school. He was twenty-five when we married, and he had just moved to Foster’s Bank in the late 70’s. He’s moved on now. Tell me about you. I know you married.”

  “You do?” He sounded surprised. “You’re right. I married Julie in 1987. Julie is your age, but she went to Bragg. I was working at Thompson’s Machine Shop – I guess you know I’m a welder – and Julie became the receptionist there. We dated for about a year before we married. We’ve been together a long time.” At first, Max had almost beamed when he mentioned Julie; now he looked forlorn and miserable.

  “I’m glad you’ve been so happy,” I said, although I wondered if this was true.

  “We were happy – very happy. At least I was. Julie was a wonderful wife. She wanted children, but after she miscarried three times, we decided it wasn’t meant to be. Now that she’s gone, I guess it was for the best.” There were tears in his eyes. I felt wretched. Julie must have died, I thought.

  “I’m so sorry, Max. When did it happen?”

  “She told me about a month ago, but I told myself it would never happen. Then, suddenly last week...” Max stopped. He couldn’t continue without breaking down.

  “We don’t have to talk about it. It happened so recently. These things take time.” I fumbled for the right words, but inside I could only think that Max was free. My conscience would get me for that later.

  Max had recomposed himself. “No. It’s okay. Julie’s gone, and I have to learn to live with that. Maybe she’s happier. She hadn’t been happy in a long time.”

  “How did it happen?” I asked. I imagined that cancer was the culprit.

  “A few weeks ago, she decided that she wanted out. She had no specific reason for her decision; she was just tired of me and our marriage, I guess. I begged her not to go. She agreed to stay for a while, but almost every day she would mention it. Last week, I came home to an empty house. She moved in with her sister, and she won’t even talk to me.”

  Max’s story stunned me. I felt his pain, but it wasn’t as great as mine. Max still loved Julie. He could never even learn to love me while he yearned for her. I wanted to comfort him, but I couldn’t. Max needed Julie. No one else would ever be enough for him.

  “That must be painful,” I said. “I want to help you. What can I do?”

  “Why would you want to help me? I haven’t even seen you in twenty-something years. I’m little more than a stranger to you. I don’t know why you would care enough to want to help.”

  I wondered if I had overstepped my boundaries. My next words to Max could be my last words to him. I knew I had to choose them carefully. “You’re right. I don’t really know you, but I would like to get to know you. You seem lost – like you need a friend. I could be your friend. Maybe I can help you work this out.” I hoped that I wasn’t being too pushy.

  “Maybe...I have felt better talking to you. There’s really no one else I can talk to. My dad is sympathetic, but he really doesn’t know what to do or say. I do need a friend, and I’ve already shared much of the story with you. Are you sure you don’t mind?” He wanted my help. I didn’t know whether to be happy or depressed. Helping Max might mean reuniting him with Julie. Being his friend could rule out the possibility of anything romantic ever happening between us. An image of Brad popped into my mind. Ultimately, I had to choose to be Max’s friend or to lose him again – maybe forever. I decided that Max as a friend was better than no Max at all.

  “I don’t mind. I consider it an honor.”

  He smiled for the first time since he’d first mentioned Julie. “Great. Let’s go somewhere and catch up on old times. Maybe that will cheer me up for a while.”

  I suddenly remembered that I was meeting Olivia for lunch. “I need to make a phone call first,” I told Max as I reached into my purse for my cell phone. “Excuse me for a moment.”

  I called Olivia’s number. I knew she wouldn’t mind. This was Max after all. She picked up the phone on the first ring.

  “Hello? If this is Kat, you better be on your way to the Taco House.”

  “Olivia, it is Kat. I have a huge favor...”

  “Katrina...How many times have you canceled on me? I’m not forgiving you this time.”

  “Please listen!” I told her. “I’m at Hurricane Gardens. I’m talking to Max. He wants me to go somewhere with him. We can go out some other time.”

  “Fine! You go out with Max. I thought you were maturing. I guess I was wrong.” Olivia was not happy with me.

  “It’s just lunch, Olivia. I’ll buy you dinner at Taco House later – or wherever you want. Don’t be so dramatic.” You would think I owed her something.

  “Do what you want, Kat. You always do anyway. I don’t think you’ll ever figure out what being a friend means.” I heard a click, and the phone went dead.

  “If you can’t make it, I understand,” Max said over my shoulder.

  “Oh, no. That’s not it. I can go. I’m free – no one’s tying me down.” Still, I felt a twinge of guilt.

  We walked to the parking lot. Max headed for a white and rusted old Camaro. My Accord sat across from it. “You might not want to ride in my old car,” Max said.

  I glanced from my car to his. A beat up old Camaro never
looked so good. “I’ll ride with you, but I should drop my car somewhere safe. Will you follow me back to my apartment?”

  “Sure, just lead the way.”

  He followed me. When I pulled into the apartment complex and parked, he parked beside me and got out of his car. “Kensington Villas? You’ve come a long way since high school. They’ll probably tow my car away if I leave it here too long.”

  “Does that mean you’d like to see my apartment? I live on the ground floor. It’ll only take a minute.” My apartment was clean, so I didn’t mind showing it to him.

  “I was wondering if we could just talk here? My house reminds me too much of Julie, and my dad’s house...well, I just don’t want to go there. Would you mind?” Was he kidding? I’d waited more than half my life to have Max come into my home.

  “Whatever you want to do is fine. I want you to be comfortable.” I was trying to conceal my glee.

  Once inside, Max looked around a bit, and then we sat down on my sofa to talk. I thought we were going to talk about Julie, but he asked me about Ben. I hesitated, and Max said, “We can talk about me later. I’d like to get my mind off Julie for a while. I’d like to hear what you’ve done since high school.”

  “Okay,” I said reluctantly. “But I usually don’t discuss Ben with anyone.”

  “If I’m going to spill my heart for you, you can do the same for me,” he said.

  He was right. If I couldn’t open up about Ben, how could I expect him to talk to me about Julie? I leaned back on the couch and shut my eyes. Surprisingly, I could see Ben clearly. I hadn’t really thought about him in years, but now everything was replaying in my mind. I found myself sharing the whole story with Max, and even as I droned on relentlessly, he listened wholeheartedly.

  Chapter 14

  College was certainly not like high school. First, I had never had to stand in line to register in high school – never mind the money I was shelling out. It was a cold December day in 1980, and there were many things that I would have enjoyed more. But I had promised myself that I would start college in January, so I withstood the tedious line. I had already delayed entering college for more than a year, and I knew I might never go if I kept putting it off.

  I wasn’t sure what I was going to major in, but I was leaning towards English. My father kept telling me that I could never make a living as a writer, but I didn’t believe him. For now, I was listing myself as a general degree seeking student. In two years I would graduate from Foster Community College with my Associates Degree. After that, I could transfer to Fort McRee College (which was in Foster’s Bank) or The University of West Florida (which was in nearby Pensacola) and eventually get my Bachelor’s Degree.

  I finally made it to the front of the line. An attractive young black woman motioned for me, and I walked up to her window and handed her my registration form. She typed some things into a computer terminal, and then she put several marks on my form. She pushed the form across her desk and said, “The composition class you requested is full. I have another opening for Monday, Wednesday, and Friday from eight until eight-fifty in the morning.”

  “I guess that’s okay,” I said. I had tried to avoid 8 AM classes, but I needed to take a writing class.

  “Also, Introduction to Data Processing is full – all the classes. Do you have a second choice?”

  “No...I’m new at this. What do I need to do?” I needed to go to college full time to receive financial aid.

  “If you need to be a full-time student, you’ll have to make another choice and come back.”

  “Stand in line again?” I asked.

  “I’m afraid so. You’ll actually need two new choices. French I is full, too. Unless you want to have an evening class.”

  “That’s okay. I’ll find something else.”

  In the end, I managed to register for Composition I, Accounting I, Psychology I, Music Humanities, and Tennis, but only after a total in-line wait of two and a half hours.

  The book store wasn’t any better. I could not find any used books – only new ones, and I had to pay for books out of my own pocket. I had to stand in another line, and I wound up paying almost two-hundred dollars for six books.

  Since high school, I had been working at Kmart, and I continued to work there until the semester started. I worked at the service desk – making only three-twenty-five an hour. Everyone hated to see me go, but I knew I couldn’t do well in school and work a full time job. Since I still lived at home, I could afford to quit. On my last day, the store manager and some of my coworkers took me to lunch.

  Olivia and I hadn’t really kept in contact now that high school was over. She was still pursuing a career at Mac’s – in management. I saw her on occasion. She was living in an apartment with one of her coworkers – Jenna – and they seemed to be doing well.

  Olivia was dating a guy named Chris that she met at the dog track. Chris worked at one of the betting windows. He became interested in Olivia because she didn’t bet on the dogs; she just went because she loved to watch them race. Honestly, Olivia couldn’t bet on the dogs – she was only nineteen. Jenna was twenty-five, and she always managed to sneak Olivia in without much fuss. Jenna sometimes blew her entire paycheck in one night, but Olivia never spent one penny on gambling. Olivia’s extraordinary ability to refrain from gambling fascinated Chris. I had never met Chris, but he completely charmed Olivia. Back then, I imagined that they would someday marry and live happily ever after.

  As for me, I had given up on casual sex and revolving boyfriends. I had outgrown my crush on Max (I thought), and I decided it was time to take life seriously for a change. College was going to help me launch my new life, and one day I would find someone to share my new life with. I was in no hurry; at nineteen, my life was just starting.

  My first day of college was not nearly as stressful as past first days of school had been. The semester started on a Tuesday. I soon learned several things. First, you must come at least an hour early to find a parking spot that is within two miles of your first class. Second, never give up the parking spot you find. Even if all of your other classes are clear across campus, you should not move your car. Stay there all semester if at all possible because you’ll never find one that close again. Finally, in college you no longer have teachers. They are instructors, professors, or doctors – but never teachers.

  My first class – accounting – was at eight in the morning. Mrs. Brooks – a thin, blonde, middle aged woman with very little patience – was the instructor. She revealed to us on that first day that she had just passed the CPA exam, and she explained – for those students majoring in accounting – that the test was extremely hard. She then added that her class would be a breeze for those of us who came to class, did our work, and paid attention.

  There wasn’t a single familiar face in my accounting class, but I no longer grew anxious in a crowd of strangers. Sitting beside me was a very charming blonde. She was older than me, but she seemed younger – maybe sixteen or seventeen. Her name was Loni Patterson, and she had recently married her childhood sweetheart. On my other side was Larry Wilcox. Larry was a disabled Vietnam veteran. He’d lost several inches off one of his feet, and he wore a special built up shoe. He was almost repulsive: his black hair was oily and it matted down on top of his head and across his face. I’m sure he hadn’t washed it in weeks. His clothes were dirty, too, but he seemed to be clean – at least he didn’t smell bad. In time, I would learn to overlook Larry’s disability and his unattractiveness. In spite of those things, I grew to despise him. He constantly made irritating remarks to me, and he repeatedly tried to get me to go out with him – even though he was forty-five years old. He was also an unscrupulous rogue, and Mrs. Brooks finally threw him out of class for copying my final exam.

  Psychology was at 10am. Dr. Harrison had the daunting task of teaching a class full of students who had grown up on drugs, free sex, and Vietnam about the workings of the mind and its different abnormalities. Dr. Harrison – a small,
charismatic man in his forties – maintained his psychology practice and only taught one class per semester. I was lucky to be in his class. He was a remarkable educator, and by the end of the semester he would completely reshape my views on mental illness and its treatment.

  Once again, strangers surrounded me, but Dr. Harrison had a solution. Beginning in the back of the classroom, he had each of us stand up and tell a few things about ourselves. After the groans died down, I discovered that there were some very interesting people in my class. Jerome was a retired house painter who wanted to teach mathematics. Tanya was a semi-pro tennis player. Michelle had grown up in Paris. Simon arrived in America as a Vietnamese refugee. Patrick claimed to be the world’s biggest Alice Cooper fan. Ben announced that he was wanted for murder in Alaska. After everyone acted appropriately shocked, he confessed that he had indeed murdered a Kodiak bear with the help of his father and his best friend. The classroom erupted in laughter.

  From that point on, I couldn’t concentrate on anyone else’s remarks. My own were vague and unremarkable – and unmemorable. Ben had made an impression on me, and I became determined to get to know him. I needed someone clever and spontaneous in my life.

  After class, I tried to meet Ben, but his new fans were already surrounding him. He seemed a little uneasy with all that attention. I decided I would wait until a more opportune moment to make his acquaintance.

  I had my other three classes on Wednesday, beginning with composition. The classroom was enormous, and there were over a hundred students in my class. Dr. Cozen stood way up front and spoke through a microphone. He was an older man – about sixty – but he was rather handsome. His hair was entirely gray, his eyes were sky blue, and his smile could melt the heart of even a young girl of nineteen. Dr. Cozen would become my mentor during my two years at FCC. He would also become my friend.

  Surprisingly in a class of this size, I recognized someone. It was Ben from my psychology class. He was sitting just two seats away. After class was over, I walked over to him.