We eventually circled our way back to the river and sat at its edge. We threw rocks to the other side while Phillip told me what to expect from college when the semester started in a couple weeks. As for him, “I just want to be done so I can start making money as soon as possible. I take classes straight through the summers so it’ll only take me three years total. And when I’m done, I’ll take my CPA exam and start makin’ the big bucks,” he jokingly boasted. “Oh yeah, I’m gettin’ a big house. A boat. Two jet skis. And a giant RV because I’ll be goin’ on cross-country campin’ trips.”
The future frightened me. Even listening to Phillip’s playful version of it made me uneasy. The future meant change. In the future, familiar things could very likely no longer exist. In that moment, I felt content. Safe. Comfortable in my body. I tape-recorded his voice as we sat by the river. That day in the cemetery may not have meant much to him. But I never wanted to forget it. I wanted the feeling captured. I wanted to be able to relive it should moments like it no longer exist.
28
Paul’s Case
Against the wishes of my academic advisor, I took only English and humanities courses. I had some choices for the science requirements. Geology. Biology. Anatomy. But none of those interested me. And math, with all those numbers and symbols swirling about, was too intimidating. I was warned not to put off the core courses I dreaded. Otherwise, I’d be stuck with a punishing final year. But seeing as my intention was to simply be near Phillip, I didn’t see the point in any long-term planning.
College was different than high school. It was bigger for one. I could hide. Become part of the crowd. Disappear when I sank in my chair. There was relief in being anonymous. No one knew who I was, so there were no snarling faces waiting for me each day like there had been in high school. Occasionally I’d run into someone from high school. Mike Scheppers, one of Ian’s and Todd’s former groupies, spotted me in the hall. He held up his hand and shouted my name as if we had some sort of camaraderie just because we went to the same high school. I walked straight past him, ignoring him as if I were famous and couldn’t be bothered by some random fan. It felt good.
On my nights off from the grocery store, I’d hang out with Phillip. He was into cardio, so we continued biking to the Ruthsford Cemetery well into late fall. Visiting the cemetery with Phillip was one of my favorite things. I always brought my tape recorder with me, even though Thomas Gouldman proved to be uncooperative. The cemetery was at least fifteen miles from his house, but I was used to biking and could pedal forever without getting winded.
Unfortunately, on most nights, Phillip preferred jogging. Mortified that in the darkness I’d crush spiders or baby frogs, I’d keep my eyes intently on the sidewalk. When I spotted innocent creatures, I’d jump over them. Phillip would laugh. “You look like a deer leaping through the woods,” he’d joke. Running would quickly cause me shortness of breath and sharp cramps to shoot up and down my side. I’d often take a shortcut back and wait for Phillip on his porch. On nights he’d jog, he’d offer to let me off the hook. But I never skipped an opportunity to spend time with Phillip.
Between school, work, and evening cardio sessions, I’d come home exhausted. I’d lie in bed and fall completely asleep within minutes, not waking until the alarm forced me to. The bony fingers that had once gripped the back of my neck had weakened. The demons were distant. Silenced. As always, Everett had been right. Without my even having to ask for his help, Phillip kept the monsters in the shadows. I was happy then. It was a new feeling for me, getting through my day without fear and anxiety.
Sure, sometimes I’d feel like a balloon whose string had been let go of by a hapless child. Alone. Out of control. It was then that the campus, its long halls and unfamiliar faces, overwhelmed me. These feelings of insecurity were fleeting, however, confined to moments when Phillip wasn’t near, moments when I didn’t feel Everett in the air next to me.
Our schedules overlapped closely enough so Phillip would give me a ride downtown most days. Unfortunately, we managed to get only one course together: studies in fiction. He needed English credits, and it met the requirement for his transfer program.
In class, Phillip sat between me and Ginger. He wasn’t entirely subtle about glancing her way. Throughout the hour, he’d cock his head in her direction. I couldn’t blame him. She had smooth, olive skin. Full lips. High cheekbones. And chestnut hair that occasionally fell over her cheeks in loose curls. Her face was oval-shaped. I heard once that people with oval-shaped faces didn’t age as much as people with longer facial structures, something to do with how the skin doesn’t stretch as much over time.
Yes, Ginger was beautiful. Yet more than that, you just knew she was more intelligent just by looking at her. It was in the way she sat with her back perfectly straight. And when she looked at you, if you should be so lucky, her lips sort of pouted, and she brought down her thin eyebrows. There was something about her that made you feel inferior. Yet rather than displaying her status with dominance, she looked upon you with sympathy, which was even worse. It was as if she felt sorry for you because you had to be in her presence. Sorry because, being next to her, your faults and flaws were only magnified. She was simply perfection in the form of a human being.
One day, my insecurities regarding Ginger slipped into the open. It began when the young, enthusiastic instructor’s voice boomed, “OK, you young scholars! Willa Cather. Paul’s Case. I hope you read it. Because we are about to discuss it!” I switched on my recorder. I had a tough time concentrating in class, so I’d listen to the lectures later.
Something connected me to Paul. He had escaped the doldrums of Pittsburgh for New York. Through an expensive hotel room and the beautiful music of an orchestra, he became a small piece, if only a glimmer, of the culture there. I listened as the class discussed the symbolism of flowers in the story. How they stood for all things appealing about high society. How they were an extension of Paul himself. And how near the conclusion of the story, when his time in New York had come to an end, the carnation in his coat drooped.
The discussion then focused on the possible reasons why Paul had jumped on the tracks in front of the oncoming train. That’s when Ginger delicately raised her hand. Her fingers curled until they made a partial fist and only her index finger was left pointing to the ceiling. It was as if all the knowledge in the world dwelled in that finger. “I see Paul as a coward,” she proclaimed. “He steals two thousand dollars to fund his journey and is then overwhelmed with shame. Though that’s not the part that makes him a coward. What makes him a coward is that he believes facing his father and coming clean would be more unbearable than killing himself.”
The instructor squinted and nodded, processing Ginger’s comment. Ginger curled her lips upward slightly, satisfied with her interpretation. But I knew there was more to Paul than that. It was more than guilt that drove his premature transformation. “Very thoughtful analysis, Ginger,” praised the instructor. “Is there another young scholar who would like to speak of Paul’s decision?”
I became hot. My fingers tingled. My arm was weak as I raised it over my head. Phillip turned to me, shocked. I had yet to voluntarily participate in any class discussion. And I’d sink in my desk and avoid eye contact with the instructor in hopes of never being called upon. “Ayden!” She pointed. “We don’t hear from you enough. Please. Enlighten us.”
“Paul’s not a coward,” I countered. I started out softly, my voice trembling. “There’s more to him than that. More than what she said. All he wants to do is escape reality. He uses Carnegie Hall, and art, and music, and theater to escape. Actors and opera singers.” I began to speak faster, forgetting to pause as Phillip held his look of astonishment. “And when he was forced to wake up, forced to separate his fantasy world from reality, he had no other choice but to throw himself on the tracks. Why would he go back home? He wasn’t happy there. He knew his future there would be miserable. It had nothing to do with feeling shame for stealing the money. H
e was defeated, just like the dying carnation in his coat. He had to end his life. There was no other way!” I took deep breaths, as if I had just run a mile.
Ginger’s brown eyes widened, just slightly, as she adjusted herself in her seat. I didn’t dare look at her for longer than a glance as I waited for her retort. And sure enough, she was quick to clarify her original response: “Yes, it’s true. There was nothing Pittsburgh could offer him in terms of aesthetics, which he craved. So in Paul’s eyes, going back would mean he had failed. He couldn’t bear to face his father, his teachers, the people of Cordelia Street. But instead of addressing his failures and legitimately working his way back to the world he loved, he took the easy way out.”
“Jumping in front of a train doesn’t seem that easy to me,” I snapped.
The class began to murmur and shift uneasily in their seats. Phillip jabbed me with his elbow and whispered, “OK. You can stop. You’re never going to win an argument with a woman. So you might as well not even try.” But I did win! Why couldn’t Phillip see that?
I looked to Ginger, to her perfect lips. Her white, fluffy sweater was so soft and feminine. It contrasted with her skin, accentuating her healthy glow. She sat perfectly calm, with her fingers curled around her pen. It was then I understood. Phillip was right. I was never going to win. Not really. My tape recorder reached the end of the tape and shut itself off. I sat through the rest of class without documenting further discussions. Like Paul and his carnation, I was defeated.
29
Ginger the Meteor
“She likes me, huh?” Phillip asked as we tossed food on our trays.
“Who likes you?”
“Ginger. C’mon. She likes me, don’t you think?” He shoved his face in front of mine and cocked his head, forcing his wild grin on me. “You know she wants me,” he persisted.
I couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m sure she does,” I agreed.
Phillip was the first to spot her. I could tell something had grabbed his attention the way he suddenly went mute and put away his nutty grin. She appeared as if summoned by the mention of her name. She was alone. People like Ginger had no need to travel in groups, I figured. We watched as she confidently strode into the cafeteria, her loose curls gently bobbing. There was a certainty in the way she slid open the glass door to the cooler and selected a sandwich and bottled water.
Phillip waited until she stepped in one of the checkout lines before dashing across the cafeteria. My plate of fries nearly slid off my tray as I hurried after him. “Hey, Ginger,” he said as he stepped smoothly behind her.
She spun toward us, her lips lifting in a gentle greeting. “Phillip, right?” she asked.
“Uh, if you think I’m a tool, then it’s Chad,” he said with a smirk. “If you don’t, then yeah, I’m Phillip.”
She bit her bottom lip and laughed delicately. “Hey, you’re taking statistics, right?” she asked.
“Yeah. How’d you know?”
“I saw you had the book.”
“You taking it this semester too?”
“After lunch. Who do you have?”
“Manglitz.”
“Me too. He’s tough. But it’s not that difficult if you actually pay attention.” She rolled her eyes. “A lot of people are dropping already. There are some real weak students in that class.”
“I’m not weak.” He grinned. “I know what you mean, though. I don’t really mind him either. In fact, I’m sure I’ll ace it,” he said with a touch of that faux boastful charm of his.
I slouched behind Phillip, resisting the temptation of peering into her brown eyes, as if her gaze would turn me to stone. I was so sure she hated me after our sparring over Paul’s Case. Yet when I finally looked to her, the look she gave back didn’t seem like one of hatred. More like perplexed curiosity.
“Are you eating here?” asked Phillip.
“Yeah. I have a half hour to kill.” As she approached the cashier, she had her money ready, exact change included.
“So are me and Ayden. Want to sit with us?”
I stepped out from behind Phillip, officially exposed. And Ginger, in turn, officially set her soft eyes on me. “Sure,” she replied and then bestowed upon me her customary look of pity.
Ecstatic she had accepted, Phillip eased his playful smile into one of sincerity. I did my best to smile too, but my stomach—it burned with acid. It felt like a tiny meteor had crashed into the tender lining. It was Ginger. She was lodged there, burning my insides.
Phillip led us to a table next to the full-length windows overlooking the roof of the activities center. Despite all the smokers who congregated on the roof, he knew I liked sitting there. Beyond the smokers were a line of bird feeders bolted to the ledge. I enjoyed watching the birds while eating. And with the awkward silence that day, I desperately needed their company. Focusing intently on the birds, I was well on my way to joining them, becoming one of them, when Ginger’s voice brought me back to the table. “So, Ayden, you’re a fan of Willa Cather, I take it?”
I should’ve known it was coming: retribution for challenging her in class. She just couldn’t resist. My face became flushed. I wished I hadn’t ever opened my mouth about Paul’s Case. I wasn’t prepared to debate her in the cafeteria—again in front of Phillip. “I guess,” I replied. “I haven’t read anything else she’s written besides that story.” I braced myself to be destroyed.
“You should read My Ántonia,” she suggested. “It’s considered her masterpiece. There’re parts that read just like poetry. I think you might like it.” I couldn’t believe it. She had her chance to finish me off. Yet she didn’t take it. Instead, she offered me a book recommendation?
She then turned her attention to Phillip, who had yet to avert his attention from her. “What’s your major, Phillip?”
“Accounting,” he answered. He puffed out his chest. “I’m going to be a CPA.”
“Mine’s business management. I’d love to manage a nonprofit like a hospital. Or a charity organization like United Way. What’s your major, Ayden?”
“I don’t have one,” I replied before sheepishly returning my gaze back to the birds. Surely Ginger couldn’t relate to someone so unsure of themselves. I was willing to bet she had her entire future meticulously mapped out. All she had to do was follow her plan. Must’ve been nice.
“That’s smart,” she responded. “Might as well take some classes here and figure out what you’re into before going on to a university.”
Her responses weren’t what I was expecting, but they had me flustered just the same. “Why’s your name Ginger?” I blurted. “You have brown hair. It doesn’t make any sense.”
She let out a laugh. “Well, I’m named after my grandmother’s sister. And actually, she wasn’t a redhead either. So I think it’s OK for just about anyone to be named Ginger.”
I shoved a fry in my mouth and bowed out of the conversation at that point. I wouldn’t have been able to offer much anyhow as they began discussing finance classes and where they wanted to travel abroad. “No way! Me too!” Ginger exclaimed, raising her voice beyond its typical reserved tone when she found out she and Phillip had the same plan to finish college early by taking classes year-round. I rolled my eyes. Both overachievers hardly touched their food. Ginger just kept sipping her water, somehow making it look seductive without even trying.
Slowly, so as not to disturb their riveting conversation, I pulled my tape recorder from my backpack and held it under the table. I flipped the tape over and pressed play. I strained to listen, trying to block out the sounds of the cafeteria and focus only on the noises coming from the tiny speaker. “Hello, Thomas. My name is Ayden,” my voice from the tape said. The volume was turned up a bit too loud, causing Ginger to stop midsentence. “I’m going to ask you a few questions—if that’s all right.”
“Is that your voice, Ayden?” she asked.
Phillip let out a light laugh and answered for me. “Yeah. It’s him. He was screwing around in the ce
metery.”
“In the cemetery?”
“Yeah. Hey, Ayden and I are going to the movies tonight.” Phillip quickly changed the subject to save me—or perhaps himself—from embarrassment. “Would you like to come?” I laughed to myself at the proposition. Why would Ginger, the intellectual beauty queen, want to go to the movies with us?
“Well.” She thought a moment. “It depends what you’re going to see.”
“We were thinking Natural Born Killers.”
“It’s a satire,” I added.
“A satire of what?” she asked.
She had me right where she wanted. I swallowed hard while providing her only a vacant stare. I may have had an idea, but I wasn’t confident I even knew what a satire was, much less what the movie was supposed to be a satire of.
“I think it’s supposed to be a satire on how the media sensationalizes violence,” responded Phillip, saving me. Bravely, he asked her again: “So. Do you want to see it with us? Or . . .”
“Sure. I’ll go.” She smiled.
I could feel her burning, burrowing deeper—when suddenly my voice on the tape interrupted again: “Could you tell us how you died? We’d really like to know.”
Wind came through the tiny speaker, sounding as if someone were crumpling a piece of paper too close to the microphone. Yet through the interference, from behind the wind, a faint voice called out. “I Wa. Sss,” it said. It was barely audible, so I turned the volume up even louder and brought the recorder to the surface of the table. The light voice repeated with just a bit more clarity, “I Wa. Sss. Ca. Ar. I. Wa. Sss. In. Ca. Ar.”
“Phillip? Is that you?” asked Ginger.
“No,” Phillip answered in shock. For the first time since she had entered the room, Phillip’s attention had successfully been drawn away from Ginger.
The voice continued to break through the wind. “In. Ca. Ar. It. Hap. End.”
Where the Cats Will Not Follow Page 18
