Pretty Things Don't Break

by Lauren Jayne

  “We need a ‘No Vacancy’ sign; no more fucking people. I want our sleepy town back!” I said as we dusted off our backs and headed to Ted’s car.

  *

  Two months to the day after I’d met Ted, I told him, “I’m going to my mom’s timeshare condo in Baker. I have to sleep, or I’m going to lose it. I’m out with you and Carmen until three and at work at six. I can never get the salty sting from my eyes. I’m going to sleep all weekend.”

  “You can’t go to Baker alone, but I promise, I won’t bother you. I won’t even talk to you, but you can’t go alone,” he said.

  On the way out of town a few days later we stopped at a gas station. He came out with a Mountain Dew for him, a Diet for me, a pack of smokes for both of us, a bag of crunchy Cheetos, and Pop-Tarts.

  “Did Carmen tell you?” I asked, looking at the goodies he’d bought.

  “Tell me what?” he said, tugging at a piece of beef jerky with his teeth. “Here’s the map. I highlighted the way, but you’re the navigator, OK?”

  Eating my Cheetos, I held up my orange fingers and asked, “Did you grab a napkin?”

  “Nope, use my jeans.”

  I reached over and rubbed my hands down his leg and laughed.

  “You’re so fucking hot right now the way your hair is falling over your eye,” Ted said as he drove. “You know, when I was little, I had dreams about what my wife would look like and be like.”

  “And?”

  “She looked just like you, I swear to God. Bright blue eyes, brown hair, fair skin – I love your skin.”

  When I stepped out of the car, the sweet essence of the fall mountain air almost dropped me to my knees. Surrounded by massive evergreens, we walked to the condo.

  “I’m going to jump in the shower. I feel gross from the drive.”

  “I’ll be here,” he said and smiled back to me from the patio where he sat and smoked.

  When I came out, he said, “I heard something over there, let’s go check it out.”

  Ted led me through the dark woods to a creek.

  “When I was young, I was swinging on a rope swing over a creek, and it broke, and I dropped onto an abandoned car. I got like twenty stitches right here,” he said, pointing at his chin. “No, that’s from the time I was skating down our hill, hit a rock and landed in the gravel pit. By the time I got home my white t-shirt was soaked with blood down to my waist. I saw a bump in the mirror, and as my mom walked in I pushed the rock out and it fell into the sink. My poor mom.”

  Back at the condo, Ted stirred the fire and I went to bed. The next night I made fettuccini with roasted red peppers, chicken, and my parmesan cream sauce.

  “This is the best thing I’ve ever eaten, and you are the most beautiful girl I’ve ever known or even seen in my life,” he said.

  While I was in the kitchen doing dishes, wondering why I never really let any guy into my heart, I started to think. I was born to parents I couldn’t trust. I knew I could always trust God, and beyond that, everything’s really a bonus. So, if I was going to choose someone to let into my heart, I had to know that they would not only protect it with their life but that they wanted me and only me. My heart was black and white, and theirs had to be too. After finally letting Ben truly inside of my heart only to have him cheat on me because I was out of sight for a while, I could never do that again. I had to know for sure that whoever I was with, no matter what, wouldn’t touch my kids in any way, would always be good to them and me. Above everything else, I knew that.

  Even though I did whatever I could to push Ted away, including encouraging him to be with the girls who always flirted with him at work and school, he’d just laugh and say, “I’ve done it all and been with every kind of girl imaginable. And now that I know you exist, I’m done. You can do what you want, but for me, it will either be the two of us, or just me – my work and my life. That’s it. I can’t do another girl with crunchy hair and no brains. Yep, I’m good. I’ll be your friend forever, or we’ll be together as a couple. But I’m done with other girls.”

  After two months of being together almost daily, I’d started to trust Ted and thought, “Here’s this guy – he’s easy to talk to, hysterically funny, worships the ground you walk on and isn’t shy about his feelings. He not only likes you for you but actually likes you more when you’re just being you. Yet you won’t be with him because of some rule. How did the Jewish rule work with Mark? You always say you hate it when people judge by anything other than the individual person, yet you are judging him because he’s – what? Not Jewish? And because his parents are divorced? You are a stubborn idiot. He’s the nicest, smartest, most loyal guy you’ve ever known. When you are with him, you feel safe, treasured, like you’re the only girl in the world. He’s a total guy’s guy, yet with you, he’s…”

  I put the towel down, walked over and stood in front of him, then sat on his lap, straddling him on the couch.

  He put his beer down and said, laughing, “What’s up – is this another one of your tests?”

  I leaned in and kissed his lips, loving the taste of his beer in my mouth. We kissed in front of the fire until we fell asleep. I’d never felt safer in a man’s arms than I did that night.

  Chapter 32

  The Mountlake Mess

  While I nervously added yet another pencil to my backpack, Ted was trying to nudge me out the door.

  “You ready? We have to get to the Park N Ride in Kirkland in ten so we can jump on the bus.”

  We’d been going out for a year now, and he was my rock.

  Sitting in the packed double Metro bus, holding Ted’s hand, looking out as the cars zoomed by, I saw the University of Washington campus as we trudged through traffic on the 520 bridge. It looked as untouchable as it always had, except this time I was on my way to school there. Feeling like I would barf or faint, we pulled up onto campus in front of the HUB. Without a moment’s pause, Ted grabbed my hand and started walking me to class. I stopped in my tracks, jerking him back to me.

  “What’s wrong? I want to get you there early. Let’s go,” he said.

  “I’m just – look at this – the deep green leaves on the trees even look smart. These people are meant to be here. Their parents are doctors and lawyers, and I’m a twenty-three-year-old–what?” I said, voice quivering like admissions somehow made a mistake by letting me in.

  “You’re the smartest girl I’ve ever known. Come on,” he said, pulling me through the crowded quad area that was surrounded by four ivy-draped brick buildings, with carved stairs that led up to double doors.

  Ted walked up the steps, onto the stage, and pushed through the black curtain without a second thought. A handsome man stood up, wearing a black V-neck sweater and glasses. Towering over me, he embraced Ted like his favorite nephew.

  “Lauren, this is Al Black. He’s the best professor UW has to offer,” Ted said.

  “Hey, Ted, good to see you. How’s law school treating you? You still catching the bad guys down at King County?”

  Ted just laughed, like he was barely making it, even though he had never gotten less than an ‘A’ on anything.

  “This is my girlfriend, and she’s in your class,” he said.

  “I’m glad to have her. You going to stay for class?” he asked.

  “Do you mind?”

  “Go grab a couple of seats, and don’t be a stranger.”

  Mr. Black’s teacher’s assistant tested the microphone and attached it to his sweater as we walked down to find a seat. Ted took me to each of my classes and introduced me to the teachers that he’d had before, each of them greeting him like the son they’d never had. Watching the same scene unfold, I thought, “please don’t compare me to him, or think that somehow by association I’m like him and can spit out an A with my eyes closed.”

  Sitting on the couch at Mrs. Miller’s on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, studying for my first midterm exam at The University of Washington, I was surrounded by note cards and notes with underlines a
nd highlights. My books had pages marked with ripped notebook paper so I wouldn’t have to keep thumbing through the chapters we were covering for the pertinent information. Knowing this would be my last complete day to study, I barely got up for a glass of water. I could drink when I knew all my material front and back. Quizzing myself, I jumped when I heard the phone ring. I looked up, ready to push all the crap off my lap, then let it go. Ring, ring, ring…the answering machine picked up while I stared at the phone.

  “Hey Lor, are you there? How’s my UW girl doing? I’m so proud of my college girl. So I’m in this class, you know I’ve always wanted to be a confirmed Catholic. Don’t laugh,” Carmen said, laughing. “The priest said something to me, and I know you have an inside track with God, so I need your opinion, Lor.”

  Just then I stood up, sending all of my papers flying as I ran to the phone across the room.

  “OK, call me. Love you,” she said in her half-laughing voice.

  “Carmen, Carmen…” I said into the blue receiver.

  Dial tone. I stood there for a second to see if she’d call right back and figured it was a sign that she’d hung up. Knowing that Carmen wasn’t afraid to call my house sixteen times in a row if she really needed me, I went back to studying.

  At Thanksgiving the next day, I kept my note cards with me and read through them every chance I had.

  On exam day, I pulled into the Mountlake parking lot, raced up row after row of escalators, and ran through the quad and up the marble stairway to my building. My wet Doc Martins squeaked down the old building’s hallway that smelled like books and old wood. I walked into my classroom, taking a seat by Colleen right in the front. I lined up my pencils and my Scantrons that I’d bought at the bookstore a week ago.

  As Tom walked by he said, “This is half of your grade. Good luck.”

  Hearing my dad’s voice echo in my head, “All you’ll ever be…stupid, whore…” I shook it off and said to myself, “God goes before me,” and opened the test.

  Line after line, I knew each answer without guessing. The answers were there, staring me in the face. I thought, “OK, this could get harder, you are at UW now. Focus. Breathe.” Now to the essay portion of the test, this counted as half of the test, which was half of our grade. I read the entire question and laid out my answers point-by-point so that anyone reading it would know that I knew exactly what I was talking about.

  With five minutes to spare, I was reading through my answer, when Tom said, “OK, put your pencils down.”

  On the bridge, I wiped my sleeve to clear the fog from my windshield, let out a deep breath of relief, and thought, “I may be able to do this. I might actually graduate from UW.” Realizing I’d never called Carmen back, I raced home.

  Walking through the glass door, kicking off my wet shoes and running up the stairs, I wondered why Mrs. Miller didn’t yell down, “Hi honey, how was your day?” like she always did.

  I walked into the kitchen, grabbed the big blue phone off the wall and pushed Carmen’s number into the square buttons. “Hey, this is Carmen. Leave a message and maybe I’ll call you back.”

  I hung up and started to empty the dishwasher under where the phone sat on the wall when I heard Mrs. Miller walking down the hall.

  “Hi!” I said, still a little high on adrenaline from my test.

  Mrs. Miller turned the corner, and her eyes were red, and her face was emotionless.

  “What’s wrong?” I said, scared.

  “It’s Carmen,” she said.

  “What, what’s Carmen…” I said, the words running together.

  “She…she…”

  “What!” I snapped, having never ever used that tone with Mrs. Miller.

  “She committed suicide.”

  Grabbing my keys that I’d just laid on the counter, I turned and said, “Where is she? Where? I’m going to go now. Where is she!” I was frantic and screaming.

  “No, honey, she’s dead,” she said, shaking.

  “She’s not! Don’t ever say that again!”

  Just then the phone rang. I stood, knowing it was someone to say there was a mistake, as Mrs. Miller spoke.

  “Yes, I’m with her now. I just told her,” Mrs. Miller said.

  She turned to me and said, “That was Carmen’s dad, they are with her body now.”

  She grabbed me and I pushed her away and ran to my room. Running, screaming and bawling, instantly soaked down to my waist, unable to breathe, my chest was being squeezed tighter and tighter. Gasping for breath, I slammed my door.

  Running to my closet, I ripped down box after box. I had to see her, see her and her writing. Ripping through my closet to find clothes that she’d worn for her smell, I lost my balance. I fell to the floor clutching the silky cream shorts she had worn, washed wrong, and shrunk down to the size of a baby’s. The earth was spinning under me as I bawled, screaming into a pile of my clothes she’d worn. The hole in my heart was in my stomach now, grabbing my chest like a vine wrapping me tighter and tighter, suffocating me.

  I heard a tap on my door.

  “Honey, it’s Noah,” Mrs. Miller said in her quietest voice.

  I picked up the phone, but couldn’t speak; I was crying too hard to get enough air.

  “What? What, Lauren!”

  “Carmen…” I dropped the phone.

  In what felt like a blink Noah was by my side as I was hunched on the floor, tearing through our box of old photos. He hugged me into him, and I fell onto his big body.

  “I, I…” I tried to talk, feeling like a knife was ripping through my chest, twisting and twisting, until I felt to see if there was an actual hole. How could this pain not be physical? My guts were being ripped and turned and every time I stood, something bashed me from behind, leveling me. Unable to open my eyes more than a crack, I crawled into my bed with her shirt and notes, under the covers that we had laughed under a million times, and sobbed.

  Ted came after work and hugged me into him, but I was unable to speak to him. He promised he’d check on me later.

  When I fell asleep that night, I heard Carmen’s voice, “I’d die without you,” and I shot up in my bed covered in sweat. The tears started, and the hole in my chest was taking over my entire body. I dozed off again and dreamt I was in court.

  The judge hit the gavel, saying, “We sentence you to twenty years in prison for murder.”

  I stood in my dream and said, “I want the death penalty. You have to kill me like I killed her.”

  Then I’d see her family in the front row of court saying, “You killed her. You murdered our sister.”

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I pleaded in my dreams. “I know I did, and I want to die. I have to go with her. Please kill me.”

  Every time I woke up I’d pray Carmen’s death was a dream, but the first thing I’d feel was the deep pain in my chest – I couldn’t escape it – it followed me into my dreams. I felt like I’d never breathe again. My lungs were being crushed, and I welcomed the pain.

  On the day of Carmen’s funeral, Ted walked into my room and handed me a piece of paper with directions to the church and said, “Are you sure I can’t go with you?”

  I took the paper from his hand and walked down the stairs.

  Driving out and out and out to a town Carmen hated, I heard her voice in my head. “This is creepy, let’s get out of here,” she’d said when she’d dragged me to an Easter brunch or party at her dad’s house.

  As I drove, surrounded by only my own cries and pleading voice in my head, tears fell into my lap and soaked my paper. Every song on every station had a memory tied to Carmen. I hit the power button on the radio.

  Frozen in my car, I stared at the little church in Black Diamond that looked like it was built with fresh lumber that very morning. I parked in the gravel lot and lay my head on the steering wheel. My body ached. Walking up the wooden steps and into the small building that looked like the shell of a manufactured house, the sickening smell of lilies, formaldehyde, and
death punched me in the face. I turned my head to the right and jumped back. With my hand over my mouth, I screamed and started to sob again, filling the tiny room with my loud cries.

  People sitting in the front looked at me over their shoulders and I wanted to scream, “This is my best friend, the only person that knows me in the world, and she is laying here in this box alone in this terrible room, and you’re mumbling about what she did? Fuck you! You don’t deserve to say her name.”

  I walked over to her in the shiny wooden box, blinking the tears from my eyes, and saw her lying there, her head propped up on a pillow, her arms crossed over her stomach. She was puffy everywhere, her tiny body puffed out like a blowfish, her narrow face now full. I thought, “She’d die if people saw her like this,” and then the tears came back in a rush. Does death make you bloat or was it the carbon monoxide from her car? If she’d known it would blow you up, she would have thought twice, I guarantee it. Her hair – she’d be so pissed if she could see her beautiful curls looking like a frizzy mess. An image came to me of her walking down the steps of King County Jail, in the middle of the summer, white as a ghost, with frizzy hair. When she’d opened the car door, she’d said, “I had to wash my hair with bar soap. They washed my body when I got there, Lor, like in the movies, but it hurt. My body was red from the brush, and I had to wash my hair with a bar of soap for a week and wear a gross jumpsuit with scratchy fabric.” She’d sobbed into her hands, looking like a piece of her had died in that jail.

  Focusing on her body, I just stared, praying, “Dear God, let her chest move, let her fucking chest move or her eyes flinch. Anything, please God, let her move.” I stared without blinking until my eyes hurt, but nothing. She wouldn’t move. She was dressed in one of her black baby doll dresses, her skin gray and covered in thick pasty make-up, making her normally dewy, perfect skin look like a monster’s.

  I heard her voice in my head, “Get me out of here, Lor, it’s creepy.”

  I flashed back to us sitting at Jimi Hendrix’s grave overlooking Mt. Rainier and hearing her say as we lay in the grass holding hands, “You know, he didn’t want to be buried here. He wanted to be in London or maybe it was Paris, but not here. Can you imagine, being Jimi Fucking Hendrix and not being able to be buried where you want? It sucks.”