The Longing

by Bridget Essex

  Sydney sighed and then stiffened, realizing that her sigh might have sounded a little…lovesick. But Thom had, apparently, not noticed, thank goodness. He was staring up at the ceiling with a slightly blissful look on his face.

  He was probably thinking about ice cream.

  “Anyway, wanna get ice cream after work?” asked Thom, glancing down to Sydney on the floor.

  She wrinkled her nose, shook her head. “I’m sorry, Thom. I totally would, but I have to go home right after work and let Max out.”

  “Oh, sorry, I forgot.” Thom swung his legs a little harder against the table legs. “Ask me what I’m doing tonight.”

  Sydney raised a brow and grinned. “What are you doing tonight?”

  “A guy.” Thom’s brows shot up into the air, and he was giggling at his own joke. “I’m doing a guy tonight.”

  “What?” asked Sydney, perplexed.

  “I’m going out on a date tonight, and I’m going to get laid—come hell or some pretty high water.”

  Sydney gazed at Thom. Normally, talking about things like this made her uncomfortable, stiff, tense. But, strangely, today she only stared at Thom with wonder.

  “How do you do it?” she finally asked him. Her voice was low; she wondered if he’d even heard her.

  “Do…it?”

  Sydney waved her hand, shrugged helplessly. “How are you so easy with it? With being who you are?” She swallowed a little, picked at the little bow on her flats. “What you are.”

  “Gay?” asked Thom dryly. “You can say it, you know. You won’t catch on fire if you say the damn word.”

  Sydney looked up at him and felt the pain from his tone pierce her like an arrow. “Thom…”

  “I’m sorry. That was kinda mean.” He sighed, his expression confused. “It’s just… I mean, did you grow up in a conservative household or something?”

  “Or something.”

  Thom’s face looked pinched. “Sydney, seriously. Nothing bad’s gonna happen if you just allow yourself to be who you are. You’re gay, right? You like girls? You’ve never looked at something as majestic as this”—he waved at his body, up and down—“and thought, ‘God, I just wanna fuck that dude.’”

  Sydney reddened like a flame. She shook her head, perhaps a little more emphatically than necessary. “Yeah, no,” she said, screwing up her nose. “Not ever. Not once. Not even a little.”

  “That hurts my feelings,” said Thom, but he was grinning down at her. “In all seriousness, you like what you like, and why in the world would that be wrong?”

  Sydney took a deep breath and let it out slowly through her nose. She knew, of course, why that was “wrong.” She knew every Bible verse that condemned being gay, couldn't forget every argument against homosexuality drilled into her in the Redeemer House. She knew why she shouldn’t have these feelings for Caroline…

  But despite knowing all of this, she still did. She still felt her heart knock against her ribs when she saw Caroline, felt an unmistakable longing.

  Sydney didn’t know what to tell Thom, and Thom—mercifully—let it slide.

  He sighed, though, and when he looked down at Sydney, his eyes were pained. “Just…try not to think about it in terms of wrong or right, okay? Maybe just think about it in terms of… Am I happy? Am I not happy? Always follow what makes you happy, Sydney. If you’re not hurting anyone, and if you’re happy, what else really matters?”

  Sydney considered that as she walked home in the evening. The mall was a relatively long walk from her apartment building, and normally, after so many hours on her feet, Sydney opted to take the bus. But not tonight. Tonight, she just wanted to walk slowly, carefully…

  And she thought about what Thom had said.

  She looped it over and over in her head, examining it this way and that.

  And Sydney allowed herself to indulge, if only for a little while. It wasn’t dark yet, but no one was paying attention to her. After her time spent in the Redeemer House, Sydney had almost believed that if someone looked at you long and hard and with enough conviction, they could tell what you were thinking. And, if they could tell what you were thinking, well, you were going to pay for those sins—and pay dearly. So Sydney had begun to fear her very thoughts while staying in that place.

  Tonight, however, she allowed herself to think them.

  Sydney stared down at the pavement, her hands shoved deep into her pockets, but she didn’t see the sidewalk: she saw Caroline’s face. Caroline’s face when she smiled, when she laughed, when she played music.

  Caroline was older than Sydney—a lot older. Caroline’s hair was dyed a pretty blonde, but along the very thin line of roots, as Caroline sat at the piano and played, Sydney could see, and clearly, how much gray threaded through her natural brunette. There were lines around her eyes, lines around her mouth. These things didn’t bother Sydney; if anything, they attracted her more to Caroline than if Caroline had been her age.

  Sydney had been with someone her age, if only for a handful of moments.

  Someone her age couldn’t be trusted.

  Would Caroline have thrown her away so quickly? Would Caroline have denounced her?

  Sydney didn’t think so.

  But, of course, Sydney didn’t know for certain.

  Anyway, this was only a fantasy. She shouldn't think too hard, shouldn’t let her thoughts become dark and brooding. She tried to relax her shoulders, tried not to think about Laurie, tried not compare Caroline to Laurie…

  By the time Sydney drew level with the Hamilton, her head and heart were a jumble of emotions. Everything she’d been thinking about, everything she wanted…it didn’t matter. Not really. Because Caroline had no idea that Sydney was attracted to her, and that was important.

  If Caroline knew…

  There were many potential bad endings to that story.

  Sydney had been schooled, conditioned…tortured…into thinking that she shouldn’t and couldn’t love a girl. But Caroline wasn’t a girl: she was a grown woman with a passion for music that left Sydney stunned, speechless.

  That was different, wasn’t it?

  What a mess. Sydney dragged her hands through her hair, so frustrated and agitated that she couldn’t sit still, and she passed through the door of the Hamilton without really seeing it.

  Outside, a flicker of lightning struck the horizon.

  A storm was coming.

  Sydney checked her mailbox—there was nothing of consequence, save for a pizza flyer with a coupon—and then she began to walk down the hallway toward her apartment.

  But she stopped.

  Because there, next to the mailboxes, taped to the wall, was a flyer that looked very familiar.

  Caroline’s flyer.

  Some of the strips of paper had already been torn off on the bottom, and Sydney didn’t even read the flyer before she took off her own strip of paper, pocketing the thing with a surge of color in her cheeks. Then and only then did she read the flyer.

  Some new things stood out to her this time.

  Like the fact that Caroline charged $100 for an hour of lessons.

  Sydney's heart sank into her shoes. In her deepest heart of hearts, she had started to cook up a wild idea. It was ridiculous and silly and all of the other words you might use to describe something that was so wholly foolish that it must never, ever happen.

  But she’d thought about it last night before she fell asleep, as she stared up, the car headlights making patterns on her ceiling.

  Sydney had wanted to ask Caroline for lessons.

  It was the stupidest idea imaginable, obviously. She didn’t want Caroline to know that she had feelings for her, didn’t want Caroline to know that, every time she saw her, her heart began to beat faster. And being around Caroline—it was bound to stir up even more of these feelings. And make them bigger, more powerful.

  Besides, a hundred dollars an hour?

  Sydney could hardly afford food for herself and her dog, could hardly afford her small ap
artment.

  She certainly couldn’t afford expensive voice lessons.

  What had she expected? It wasn’t an outrageous rate for someone with talent, training, experience. Honestly, Caroline should probably charge more.

  Sydney shouldn’t have felt so gutted…

  But she did.

  And that’s when she heard a snort at her shoulder.

  Mrs. Williams stood behind her, her arms folded over her bright pink sweatshirt that proclaimed “God is goals;” her expression was a cross between gleeful and...hateful. It was an odd combination, but Mrs. Williams managed it with the finesse of an expert.

  “Can you imagine charging so much for listening to someone sing?” Mrs. Williams scoffed. She glanced Sydney’s way, and her eyes were glittering dangerously. “How exactly do you know Ms. Porter, Sydney?”

  Sydney didn’t want to answer the question, but manners won out yet again, and she cleared her throat. “Caroline helped me find my dog when he went missing,” she heard herself saying, as if from some far-off place.

  Mrs. Williams raised a brow, her lips pursing. “Ah,” she said, the word snipped off. “Well, you shouldn’t go near that woman, Sydney.”

  Sydney stared; she couldn’t help it.

  Who says something like that?

  “Why?” she forced out, despite her shock.

  Mrs. Williams’ glee seemed to grow—a foul, slick glee that dripped with condescension. “She’s not like us, dear.”

  It was immediate, the sick feeling. It blossomed in Sydney's belly, with a poison that seeped into her bloodstream.

  “Us?” she whispered.

  Mrs. Williams leaned close—so close that Sydney could smell the expensive perfume on her skin, could smell the shampoo she used, the breath mint Mrs. Williams had popped into her mouth before hurrying down the hallway to corner Sydney.

  “She’s a sinner, honey. It would be one thing if she repented, if she put that lifestyle behind her, but she keeps testing God’s patience and doesn’t seem to be sorry for her evil choices. She’s a homosexual, honey.” The woman's face looked sympathetic now, as if she was worried that the news would shock and confuse Sydney. “Do you know what that means?”

  Sydney stood there, dizzy. It felt like the scene around her was changing. As if every wall had flipped around and become something different. The world she had thought she knew was not the world that truly existed. Not the world that she now found herself in.

  Caroline loved women.

  Sydney drew in a deep breath.

  Mrs. Williams was looking at her a little strangely, and that’s when Sydney realized that Mrs. Williams had asked a question.

  But Sydney hadn’t heard it.

  And she wouldn’t have answered it, even if she had.

  Sydney had certainly been right about Mrs. Williams.

  The woman was small-minded, ignorant, a bigot. Sydney had pegged her as such from their first meeting. She was sure that the woman was nice to some people, that she had dreams and even good intentions in certain circumstances.

  But it had been people like Mrs. Williams who had watched—and approved of—what had happened to Sydney. Who had told Sydney that it was all for her own good.

  Sydney had no room in her heart for people like that.

  “Is that why you wouldn’t talk to her in the grocery store?” Sydney asked suddenly. She was surprised by the sweetness in her voice, but Mrs. Williams responded to it like a bee to pollen.

  “Of course,” said Mrs. Williams, shaking her head woefully. “Don’t worry, dear. We’ve just got to pray for her. I’m sure she’ll come around eventually. But just in case she doesn’t, you should be careful. You shouldn't associate with someone so—”

  “Ignorant?” Sydney tilted her head to the side.

  Mrs. Williams paused, blinked.

  “Caroline was nice to me, helped me when I needed it. You’ve only been nice to me, Mrs. Williams, because you think I’m like you.” Blood pounded in her ears. “But I’m not.”

  The woman remained silent.

  Sydney had spent a lot of time, after leaving the Redeemer House, considering the things she might say to the people who had hurt her. Now she summoned those words, and she said, her voice clear, strong, “I have no space in my life for bigots who walk around, preaching the Bible, picking and choosing the parts that serve them, ignoring the more pertinent commandments about loving one another.

  “You think that by being cruel to someone you deem unworthy, it’ll make you better in God’s eyes? You’re judging her because you feel insecure about something in your own life, and it makes you feel better to take your discomfort out on someone else.

  “Fuck you, Mrs. Williams. If God were real, he’d be pissed at you for presuming to be his mouthpiece when you’re so incredibly ignorant of the being you claim to worship.”

  Sydney started to walk, adrenaline pounding through every vein, but then she stopped, added, “And I’m not like you, Mrs. Williams. I like girls. A lot.”

  Without another word, Sydney paced to her apartment, inserted the key in the lock, turned the doorknob, and slid inside. It was only then that the adrenaline seemed to pool, drain, making her limbs feel limp.

  Max sank happily into her lap—for she suddenly found herself sitting on the floor.

  Sydney held him tightly.

  What had she done?

  And why hadn’t she done it sooner?

  She knew that she had just made her life more difficult. At least, she was worried that she had. But if Mrs. Williams started to treat her like she’d treated Caroline at the grocery store, maybe that was a good thing. Maybe she’d leave Sydney alone now.

  Maybe Sydney would no longer have to worry about leaving her apartment, anxious that Mrs. Williams would accost her and try to convince her to go to church.

  Somehow, Sydney doubted that Mrs. Williams would attempt to drag a “homosexual” to church—especially when she’d spoken that word with such obvious disgust.

  Despite Sydney’s exhaustion, she walked Max. She had to. The poor dog was nearly vibrating in place, he had to relieve himself so badly. Thankfully, Mrs. Williams wasn’t in the hallway now, and she didn’t run out to meet girl and dog, either.

  But Sydney couldn’t shake the foreboding feeling that she’d said a bit too much. That her words would come back to hurt her. Badly.

  Lightning flickered along the horizon again, and this time, the boom of thunder was close. Sydney stared up, past the thick cherry tree leaves, to the dark gray sky overhead.

  “Hurry up, Max, I don’t want to be stuck out here in a downpour.”

  However, Max, being a dog, didn’t understand his owner’s admonition and continued to gleefully follow a scent in the thick underbrush of the courtyard, his tail wagging with a gusto that made Sydney smile in spite of herself.

  Thom was right; the storm was bringing a coolness with it. Sydney walked over to the wrought iron fence that stood alongside the gate leading onto the street.

  She turned then, and she looked up and up and up. To the seventh floor.

  To Caroline’s window.

  She knew it was her window because of the balcony, and the gauzy curtains.

  As she stood there, she revisited the knowledge of what Caroline was.

  Caroline was like her.

  Light gleamed behind the curtains as Sydney yearned.

  Just then, a shadow walked between the light and the curtain. Sydney's heart leapt into her throat: There—seven floors away—stood Caroline. Her shape was silhouetted in the window, and her head was bent—to a book, perhaps, in her hand.

  “Oh,” Sydney whispered, feeling tears well at the corners of her eyes.

  She was so beautiful.

  And so far away.

  And she could never be Sydney’s.

  Sydney knew why: she was too afraid, after what had happened at the Redeemer House. She wondered if she would ever feel brave enough to try to be with a woman again. She might never kiss anyon
e for the rest of her life. What she had experienced had scarred her so deeply that she often wondered if there was any hope of recovery from it.

  Besides, Caroline was, perhaps, already in a relationship.

  And even if she was not, Caroline likely viewed Sydney as a young girl with a singing dream, nothing more. She was someone to pat on the head, to indulge, to listen to and encourage.

  Caroline didn't see her as she really was—as someone who wanted to know her, hold her, love her...

  It frightened Sydney, this ache in her heart.

  Suddenly, rain began to fall down all around her. Sydney didn’t care, hardly noticed. She stood in the rain and watched the shadow.

  Until the world went dark.

  Every light in the Hamilton had gone out. And behind her, on the street, the other buildings had lost power, too.

  As the storm rumbled overhead, Sydney called to Max, and the dog came running.

  A torrential downpour washed over girl and dog before they tumbled into the pitch-black hallway.

  Chapter 9

  Sydney moved down the hallway slowly, trailing her fingers along the wall. Max wasn’t happy about the darkness and stuck to Sydney’s side like a burr.

  When she reached what she hoped was her door, she traced the metal apartment numbers. Yes, it was hers. She fished the keys out of her pocket and inserted them, turned the knob.

  Finally in her apartment, the door shut and locked behind her, Sydney’s sense of unease increased. Perhaps it was because the power had gone out, or it could have been a leftover sense of dread from her interaction with Mrs. Williams. Regardless, the unease filled her with the notion that Something Bad was going to happen.

  She stood in the middle of her living room and shook out her shirt. She and Max had made it inside relatively quickly, so she was only a little damp. She ran her fingers over her wet hair and then turned around to check the lock again.

  Still locked.

  Sydney thought long and hard for a moment. She had no flashlight or candles. All she had was her phone, but it had run out of battery, and she hadn’t bothered to plug it into the charger.

  She owned nothing that made light. Nothing.