Night Swimming

by Robin Schwarz

  “BANG,” Skip said, “and that’s how the universe was created.”

  Blossom smiled. “I know from my own experience that when everything feels like it’s tightening around me, something bursts— like a frozen pipe. But when it bursts—and believe me, it does—the first thing you feel is relief.”

  Blossom recalled how horrible she felt when she’d gotten the news she was dying, and then how good she felt when she took some action—illegal though it was. She couldn’t tell Skip the details, but she could tell him it was the start to something much better.

  “Sometimes when life backs you against the wall, you’ve gotta pull the wall down.”

  “What happened to you?” Skip asked. It was a question in waiting. “You know...when you pulled the wall down?”

  Blossom closed her eyes. She couldn’t tell Skip about her prognosis or how she had stolen money from a bank and left town, or how she had taken on someone else’s identity. She couldn’t tell him how, for the first time, she was beginning to feel alive. She couldn’t tell him any of that. But there were other tiny revelations that had been born from her actions. Maybe she could talk about them. And so she began.

  “I had a friend,” she confided. “Her name was MaryAnn.”

  CHAPTER 29

  BLOSSOM SLIPPED INTO the blinking water and began her laps with the precision of a palace guard marching back and forth on sentry duty. Her arms sliced across the pool like sharp blades, and the rhythm brought her back to childhood, of teeter-totters and trampolines, of MaryAnn and herself sitting on the same swing, each of them pumping hard with tiny knee-socked legs. That was back when Blossom was Charlotte Clapp.

  “Throw your head back so you can see the world upside down,” exclaimed Charlotte.

  “I’m afraid to,” said MaryAnn.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll hold you.”

  And up they went, so high that the swing chain went slack before grabbing itself and becoming taut again.

  They put on their own talent shows in the finished basements where together they mouthed the words to “Soldier Boy” and pretended they were waiting for their boyfriends to return from the war. They nursed wounded birds caught by Charlotte’s cat and held continual vigil over each shoebox. They sat together and watched Magnum, PI reruns, swooning over Tom Selleck. They learned how to make cinnamon toast in Mrs. Paley’s home economics class, which was, Mrs. Paley said, the first important step in preparing them for marriage. And while they weren’t particularly interested in marriage at that point, they most definitely preferred the cinnamon toast to the paste they’d eat in art class. The paste always sent them to the infirmary.

  They would sign up for skating lessons at the local ice rink and practice their three turns and waltz jumps together. They would buy their matching sequined skirts and silvery capes and slide across the kitchen floor for hours, getting ready for their Olympic debut. They would meet the boys of summer at the roller rink and spend half their time at the snack bar waiting for these infallible champions to extinguish their thirst and then slyly corral them into the kissing corner. They would steal eggs from the refrigerator to throw against rocks up in the woods. Charlotte still pondered what motivated this rebellious phase.

  More than twenty years of confidences and friendship, many of them standing in the chill September air, waiting for the bus to take them to their first day of school.

  But after school, freedom rang like the bells of Saint Mary’s, and they would run through the red double doors at three o’clock sharp and into life again.

  They’d laugh down the high winter hill behind the Mobil station until Saturday slipped into Sunday, always finding their way to warmth in the form of hot chocolate and cider donuts at the 7-Eleven. There were so many years of tumbling into autumn and hiding themselves for hours under these colorful heaps of happiness. A time so faraway now, it was long lost like those fallen leaves that had blown away with the transient winds of childhood. To this day Charlotte could not smell the cold fires of late October without thinking of MaryAnn and endings. Endings. After all this time, Charlotte had not reconciled hers with MaryAnn.

  Their friendship disintegrated in their senior year over a boy named T. J.—Trevor James. Young, handsome Trevor James. Charlotte was thin and pretty and barely had a sense of who she was and what she looked like, but Trevor James knew what she looked like, and liked what he saw.

  They began dating, or at least, a relationship as close to dating as it could be for someone who was only sixteen and whose entire life experience was defined by the boundaries of Gorham, New Hampshire. Dating meant acting silly, French-kissing, even going as far as third base. While this was tame for the rest of the world, it was considered quite risque to the girls of Gorham. Charlotte had shared her secrets with MaryAnn, but as the months went by, MaryAnn still didn’t have a boyfriend, and Charlotte stopped talking about T. J. as much. She felt bad that her friend hadn’t had a steady boyfriend yet, and didn’t want her to feel left out. In fact, it was around then that all three of them started spending time together in a group. This was Charlotte’s quiet way of taking care of her best friend. And she’d thought MaryAnn was happy. MaryAnn never said anything to make her feel otherwise.

  But there was an ‘otherwise.’ MaryAnn secretly harbored amorous feelings for T. J. She had been attracted to him for months. But MaryAnn had never kept a secret from Charlotte in her life. How on earth was Charlotte supposed to know all this? How could she have had an inkling how upset MaryAnn would be about Charlotte going to the prom with T. J.? She assumed MaryAnn would find a date— there were dozens of boys looking for dates of their own. Poor MaryAnn had lied and claimed she opted to work at the punch table when, in fact, she had not been asked to the prom at all. If only she had told Charlotte the truth, Charlotte wouldn’t have gone to that stupid prom, either. They could have all protested together, ordered pizza, and rented movies that night instead. That would have been more fun anyway.

  But instead, MaryAnn watched Trevor James slow-dance with Charlotte across the floor all night under the pink and blue streamers she’d spent all day putting up.

  The three had planned to drive home together at the end of the evening, but by eleven-thirty MaryAnn was gone. Still, Charlotte didn’t have a clue. She simply suspected that MaryAnn had gotten a ride from someone else. Until the next morning.

  When she answered the knock on the front door, there stood MaryAnn.

  “Hey, what happened to you last night?”

  “I couldn’t stay. I had to . . .” And MaryAnn began crying inconsolable tears.

  “What? Tell me,” Charlotte insisted. “Did someone...?” She was afraid to say the word. Someone must have died, the way

  MaryAnn was weeping.

  “Do you love T. J.?” MaryAnn finally blurted out.

  Charlotte was taken aback by the question. What did this have to do with anything?

  “Do I love T. J.?”

  “Yes.”

  “I...I like him. Do I love him? ‘Love’ is a strong word. I like him.”

  “I love him, Charlotte,” MaryAnn said in a low, confessional tone.

  “You what?” Charlotte was shocked. “You love Trevor James? What are you talking about?”

  “I love him, Charlotte. I have... for a long time.”

  “MaryAnn, you never said a word to me about any feelings you had toward him. When did this happen? Why didn’t you ever say anything to me?”

  “I couldn’t. You were going out with him. What could I say? ‘I love him, Charlotte... stop seeing him’?”

  “Well, something. Jesus, MaryAnn, I had no idea. You and I are best friends. Why didn’t you ever say anything to me?”

  “I wanted to tell you, but I didn’t know how. T. J. used to talk to me, smile and joke with me. At first I thought he liked me, but then I realized he was doing it to get to you. He couldn’t get your attention, so he got mine, and through me he got you.”

  “That’s not true.”

&nbs
p; “Yes, it is.”

  “Jesus. Does T. J. even know how you feel, MaryAnn?”

  “No, but it doesn’t matter. He likes you now.”

  Charlotte was completely flabbergasted at this moment. She went back and forth, agonizing over whether she should say something. She cared for T. J. a great deal. And yes, maybe she did love him. But how could she admit that at this moment with her best friend in tears? She’d seen so many girls forsake longstanding friendships when they met a boy. Hadn’t she and MaryAnn promised never to do that? But Charlotte had such strong feelings for him. A paper valentine, that’s how her heart felt, a paper valentine about to be torn down the middle. She stared at MaryAnn, who now sat looking at Charlotte as if Charlotte held the keys to her eternal personal happiness. How could she let her best friend down? But then, she would have to let go of a relationship she didn’t want to end. This was awful. But, hard as it was, she knew what she had to do. Finally, she looked MaryAnn in the eye and said, “I’d like to say something to him, if it’s all right with you.”

  “He won’t be mad?”

  “I don’t think so. We’re friends... mostly,” Charlotte lied.

  “Really, Charlotte? I wondered about that. ’Cause you don’t really talk about him as much as you used to.”

  Jesus, Charlotte thought, my whole plan blew up right in my face. She wanted to scream, “BECAUSE I DIDN’T WANT TO HURT YOUR FEELINGS! BECAUSE I HAD A BOYFRIEND AND YOU HAD NO ONE! BECAUSE, BECAUSE, BECAUSE,” but she held her tongue.

  “So, what are you going to say?”

  What am I going to say? “I don’t exactly know yet. I need to give it a think.”

  “And this doesn’t upset you...to do this?”

  Yes, it breaks my heart. But you’re my best friend, MaryAnn.

  “I Iike T. J. He’s a great guy, but... but I’m not in love,” she said stumbling, searching for that line in the sand that separates “like” from “love.” And then it was clear. That moment of confrontation forced her to define her feelings. Yes, she loved MaryAnn, but she loved T. J. as well. She dreaded the conversation she imagined having with T. J. She told herself that friendships last longer than boys. How would she feel if she had been the one without the boyfriend? MaryAnn had never been kissed, and it was true that Charlotte had many boys in school vying for her attention. But still, what if the tables were turned and T. J. dumped her? She would be miserable. Her thoughts were interrupted by MaryAnn, who seemed at that moment to be clairvoyant.

  “Won’t he be upset? He might be in love with you.”

  “I don’t know, MaryAnn; he’s never said those exact words to me.” This was true, and Charlotte had never said those exact words to him, either, but her feelings were as close to love as she’d ever had. She was nearly positive he felt it, too. Sometimes the unspoken is more clearly heard than a thousand words.

  “I’ll talk to him,” she said softly, in a voice so low only a dog might hear it.

  “Thanks, Charlotte, you’re a great friend.”

  And they hugged once more, securing their friendship with the belief that this sisterhood would always be thicker than water.

  “What?” T. J. had asked, stunned. “She loves me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, shit, Charlotte, what do you want me to do?”

  “I want you to go out with her.”

  “Go out with her? What about us?” T. J. was clearly stricken with this unwelcome news. Oh, God, this was about to backfire. Charlotte could feel her mistake about to erupt like hot lava pouring into a wound she’d just opened up.

  Charlotte didn’t want to give him all the insane reasons. It was hard enough without going into it all. She struggled to find words.

  “We can be friends,” she muttered. Jesus, there was that awful phrase no one ever wanted to hear, the “we can be friends” phrase. T. J. looked crushed. “Friends?” “Yes, I mean we are friends, and we’ll continue to be friends, only

  differently.”

  “I don’t want to be your friend. I thought this was something more than that, Charlotte.” He paused. “Isn’t it something more to you?”

  She didn’t say anything. She was grasping for words, vowels, consonants. Nothing came. She was sorry she had said anything now. She wanted to take it back, but it was all too late.

  “Shit, Charlotte,” T. J. said. He couldn’t even look her in the eye. He was embarrassed for feeling so much when she obviously hadn’t felt the same. If only he knew. If only. She had flashed a red cape in front of an angry bull. Then suddenly, he blurted out the only word he could muster. “Fine,” he said, but it wasn’t fine. It was as if she had put her hand down his throat and brought his heart up with it. He was hurt. His anger and sadness mixed like two dangerous chemicals that proved explosive when stirred together, and she stood away from him, afraid to apologize or take it back. And he stood away and said, “You’ll be sorry. You’ll see.” She was already.

  “T. J., wait, I’m sorry, I am. Please, wait...T. J.?”

  But it was over. He disappeared out of sight, leaving Charlotte feeling as if all the air had been sucked out of the room. How could she have done this? She had only wanted to do the right thing, and now everyone was miserable.

  And then, to the amazement of all who knew T. J. and Charlotte, T. J. began dating MaryAnn the following day. Everything suddenly became awkward and strained for Charlotte. T. J. would never look her straight in the eye when they were all together. But MaryAnn seemed oblivious and happy. She built her days and nights around this new and flourishing relationship. She saw her future surrounded by children and PTA meetings and family holidays on Lake Winnipesaukee. Mrs. Trevor James, MaryAnn James, Mrs. MaryAnn James. She would write it out on napkins and note cards and immediately throw them away for her silliness, though once Trevor saw it and Charlotte thought she saw him cringe.

  It was a year later, practically to the day, when everything went terribly wrong. T. J. had told MaryAnn he wanted to talk to her. She was excited. He’d put the evening aside especially. He never did that. He was going to propose; she was sure he was going to propose.

  But it wasn’t that at all. He had other news to deliver to her that night, awful news, the worst kind of news someone could hear. The truth was, he told her, that he couldn’t pretend anymore and that he was still in love with Charlotte. That try as he might, he had never stopped being in love with her, and he was going back to ask if they could make a go of it again.

  MaryAnn sat as still as a stump. She could not believe what she was hearing. This was supposed to be her proposal night. Instead, it felt as if a denial of clemency had come down from the governor. Let the execution proceed. He might as well have taken the kitchen knife and run it through poor MaryAnn’s heart.

  When T. J. stood to go, she stood, too, grabbing his arms, his waist, begging and pleading with him not to go, to stay, to talk, to figure it out with her. But his mind was made up, and he said he was sorry, but he had to do this and he knew it was hard and he was sure in time that things would be okay, and he was sorry and he was so sorry and he was so very, very sorry. He left her in a slump, weeping in the kitchen.

  Charlotte was home when T. J. knocked on her door. She was surprised to see him alone and asked where MaryAnn was. He wanted to sit down. He was acting oddly. He was drunk. He held a glass of whiskey and ice in his hand from wherever he had just been. She had never seen him drunk before.

  “Charlotte,” he began, “I want to talk about something that happened between us, something that happened a long time ago now.” His words were slightly slurred. Charlotte could smell the Jim Beam lifting off him like a heavy mist. “Something that hurt me more then you can imagine.” He paused before continuing. Charlotte was nervous. Where was MaryAnn?

  He told her how hurt he had felt when she told him that they were not going to go out anymore, that MaryAnn loved him. He was angry, and he had left the relationship angry. He had thought, by going out with MaryAnn, Charlotte would be jealou
s. He had purposely paraded around, generously bestowing his new affections on MaryAnn to show Charlotte how awful it felt to be rebuffed. But it had all backfired. And now he had hurt everyone, including himself, with this stupid charade. He wanted to come back. Wanted to try again. Wanted Charlotte to try again.

  Charlotte could not believe what she was hearing. She’d missed him so, yet had tried her best to move on. But she couldn’t really move on in her head, and she failed completely in her heart.

  “Just tell me you’ll think about it,” said T. J.

  “T. J., I...I...” The truth began spilling out as if a watering can had been knocked on its side. “It was the worst mistake I could have made. There hasn’t been a day that’s gone by that I didn’t wish I could reverse the whole thing. I thought my friendship with MaryAnn wouldn’t have survived if I continued going out with you. But I had it all wrong. If it was a true friendship, it would have.” She began to cry.

  T. J. threw his arms around her, held her, and cried, too. “I love you, Charlotte. I always have.”

  “God, this is awful.”

  “Awful?”

  “Awful and wonderful, all at the same time. I mean, there’s another person involved here. A person who loves you very much, thinks she’s going to marry you. A person who happens to be my best friend. You have to tell her, T. J. It’s the right thing to do.”

  “I did, Charlotte. I told her I still had feelings for you.”

  “Oh, God, but she has no idea I still have feelings for you. It makes it so much worse. Poor MaryAnn. Think of how she’ll feel— I’m about to break my best friend’s heart.”

  “I think I already did that, Charlotte.”

  “You broke it in two. I’m going to break it into pieces. Jesus, maybe we shouldn’t do this, T. J.”