Hurricane Days

by Renée J. Lukas

  Why did I ask her when I knew I was going to get the unfiltered truth, even if I couldn’t handle it? “Fine.” My lips tightened, and I walked faster.

  “Hey, wait! Are we running a fuckin’ marathon?”

  “You could keep up if you didn’t smoke all those cancer sticks.”

  “God, you sound like my mother.” She coughed, catching up to me. “I would’ve failed you, yeah. Deal with it.”

  I stopped and swung around. “Why?”

  “’Cause I couldn’t tell what the hell your movie was about.”

  I chewed my lower lip, realizing that Carol, in all her apparent cruelness, was actually right. “I guess I was going more for an artsy style.”

  “An incoherent mess.” Her medication, or her condition, sometimes made her sound more agitated than she intended. And she seemed particularly frustrated with me today. We resumed walking. “You gonna keep in touch over the summer?”

  I imagined how my parents would view someone like Carol; they’d judge her immediately for the nose ring, for everything having to do with the way she looked. But what would they say about her mental illness? I hated myself for thinking of everything now through the prism of my parents’ narrow viewpoint. It was as if while here, on campus, I’d been living in a bubble of total freedom. Once I climbed out of that bubble, into the outside world again, everything would be different. And not in a good way. I thought of returning home with a sense of dread.

  “Hey,” Carol shouted. “I asked you a question.”

  “Yeah. Sure.”

  “People always say that, but they never mean it.”

  “I mean it!”

  When Carol went her separate way back to her dorm, I was grateful to have some time alone before returning to my own room. I saw some kids in the parking lot already packing up their cars. I was going to stay one more day, especially because Adrienne would be here. I hadn’t even begun packing yet. I was sad the year was actually coming to an end.

  It was late afternoon. Clouds were clustering together for an afternoon storm. I rushed inside the dormitory just in time to escape the first few raindrops. I got out of the elevator and turned the familiar corner down the hall, to the room. When I opened the door, nothing could prepare me for what I would see.

  Two naked bodies were curled up under the white sheet of Adrienne’s bed. When I realized that the other body was Sean, I tried, but couldn’t, catch my breath. He was resting with one arm possessively hanging over Adrienne’s breasts, his hairy forearm secure in its place, and some of his chest hair sprouted over the top line of the sheet. Adrienne’s eyes were closed, and her arms were above her head on the pillow.

  I gasped loudly, waking Adrienne. “What are you doing!” I cried hoarsely, throwing my backpack so hard it sailed across the room.

  Adrienne gathered up the sheet around her as fast as she could, as if it made any difference. “Hang on!” she kept saying.

  I couldn’t stay and look at the sight any longer. My fists were clenched so tightly I nearly crushed the keys in my hand before tearing out of the room.

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  I drove for an hour in the rain. Ironically, “Alone Again” came on the radio, and I turned it up. What a fool, I repeated to myself. Such a fool. Of course Adrienne slept with him. She was playing me. She was having it all. And always I would return to the image now engraved in my mind: Sean’s arm over her chest. How could she let him touch her? How could she touch him? After us, how could you go to him? The whole thing was unfathomable.

  Then there was Andrew. I thought of his bruised face and skinny neck popping out of the hospital gown. That’s what happened to gay people. Never mind the constant whispering in the halls; they got beaten to a pulp or worse. I came to a fork in the road—literally—and started laughing hysterically at the irony of it. Thankfully I was alone in the car, because my wailing laughter sounded like that of a crazy person. Wet hair stuck to the back of my neck, and I wiped away the strands that were falling and dripping in my eyes from the rain. Not realizing that one of the windows was open a crack, letting more wetness inside, I kept wiping it from my face.

  I leaned on the steering wheel, grateful the road was deserted. The part of it that branched off to the left led me back to campus. I knew what was there, what to expect. The other part that veered to the right went to some unknown destination. I didn’t know if it led to a good or bad part of town or even whether it led out of town. And the literal symbolism, like Dr. Gentry talked about during both semesters of film theory, it was so obvious it was almost silly. I knew the path to take for the familiar, the one that I knew, although it made me feel humiliated to even be considering it. The other path was unknown darkness, possibly the part of town that was usually on the local news. I always wanted to be strong and brave, someone who would make Bette Davis proud. But as I turned the wheel, heading back toward school, I thought about my English literature class in high school and the poem about the road not taken. The last line: “It has made all the difference.” I recalled how that line, which seemed to be a good thing at the time I read it, could also be taken to mean something good or bad. A road not taken could be the difference between an easier, comfortable life and an extremely difficult one. As much as I hated to admit it to myself, I’d never be able to look Bette Davis in the eye again.

  * * *

  “I don’t want to hear it.” I had begun packing my clothes, a task which I’d been putting off all week.

  “Please,” Adrienne begged. But she couldn’t get me to look at her. “Okay, fine.” She sat on her bed and lit a cigarette.

  I immediately opened the window to show my disdain for her smoking. “I can’t stand that smell!”

  “I told you,” Adrienne said. “I’m not a queer.”

  I whipped around. “Is that what you think I am?” My armor immediately came out again for protection. “I’m not…queer either!”

  “Okay, well why are you so mad?”

  “Because…because… you said he wasn’t your boyfriend!”

  “He’s not. He’s just…he’s not.” She seemed confused and off balance.

  My eyes filled. I couldn’t look at her without that lump in my throat. I was back to feeling like a fool.

  “I hope,” she said, “this doesn’t change our friendship.”

  A bitter chuckle. “I don’t know.” I resumed my packing. Go. Please go.

  “It shouldn’t matter to you,” she said.

  “Well, I guess it does,” I snapped. “I told you something, and you ignored it. But it was true. I do love you.” Quickly I added, “But not anymore, so don’t worry about it!”

  “I want to still be friends.” Her voice was thin.

  “Please leave.” I didn’t know how much longer I could last before the tears would come. Finally I heard the door close, and she was gone.

  I leaned against my dresser, breathing out, feeling my whole body tremble. What was happening? I couldn’t understand my reality anymore. After all that had happened between us, how could she act like this was no big deal?

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  I wasted no time packing my car the next morning. I saw that Adrienne’s car, parked a few slots away, was only partially filled, with her boxes full of wires in the backseat, stacked up almost, but not quite, to the ceiling.

  When I came back into the room for another load, it reminded me of the first day, when everything had looked so barren. Her shrine to heavy metal had been ripped off the walls. I pondered it sadly. Amazingly, we’d added color to the dead cinder blocks with reminders of our favorite things. We’d made a life in that little prison cell. I thought of the two roommates who would share that room next year, and the year after, and the year after that. No one would know what we’d experienced together, and no one would care. To every new student, that dorm room would look as cold and uninviting as it had looked to me. And somehow each student would have to find a way to make a home of it.

  Last night, we moved about
the space, and each other, with unspoken uneasiness and tension. We went to sleep without a word. Something had been lost—for good, it seemed.

  Before I left that morning, Andrew made it over to see me. Even on crutches, he looked good. There was color in his cheeks, and he’d gained a little weight back. I was relieved to see that.

  “Are you going to be okay?” I asked.

  “Oh, you know me.” He grinned at me. “You have fun being a Georgia peach. We’ll see each other next year.”

  “I mean, you have a place to stay?” I remembered that his home wasn’t exactly a welcoming environment.

  “Yeah, I’m staying with some friends here.”

  “You could still report it as a hate crime,” I said.

  He shook his head. “I don’t want to make trouble. It’s better if I stay under the radar.”

  “With that laugh?” I smiled at him. “You’ll never be under the radar.” I meant it as a compliment.

  I hugged him gingerly, not sure what part of his body was safe to squeeze. I didn’t want to break or dislocate anything. When he left, I said good-bye to him in my mind. He didn’t know the plans I’d made last night. No one here did.

  After I walked in on Adrienne and Sean last night and drove around in the rain, I went back to campus and called my parents from the library. I told them I wanted to transfer next year. They were all too happy to have me closer to home. Dad said something about “beating the liberal” out of me, pretending it was a joke, but I didn’t care.

  My plan was to attend Emory and major in political science. Of course Dad was elated at the news. Even though he loved FSU, he worried that it had changed since the fifties and that it was the school’s fault for putting “crazy” ideas in my head.

  I didn’t tell Adrienne. How she could want to live with me again next year “as a friend,” I had no idea. But I couldn’t. We both filled out the forms for the dormitory again next year. But I was set on my plan. I’d simply call the registrar and residence offices when I returned home, and I’d undo it all, cut any ties to her and this school forever.

  I wouldn’t tell her about transferring because I didn’t want her giving me any grief about giving in to my father or how I really didn’t have a rebellious bone in my body—all things Adrienne might say out of hurt or anger. Even if they were true, I didn’t want to hear them. I was getting pretty good at ignoring anything I didn’t want to hear, even the things my dad was saying over the phone in his elation. He must’ve said “goddamn liberal” a hundred times, but I refused to hear it.

  Most of all, I felt quiet relief to know that the fear—of Adrienne and the feelings she evoked—was almost completely behind me. From this point on, I’d run away from the things I feared most. I’d keep running, feeling sure that the past could never catch up with me.

  That morning, I finished packing. Adrienne was outside at her car. I saw her through the window. She had a few more trips left to make, with a couple of her suitcases still waiting on her bare mattress. There was just one more thing left to do. I made sure to leave the heavy metal tape she made for me on the nightstand. I wanted to leave that music—and everything I associated with it—behind forever. I also wanted to send a message, that I was no longer pining for her, even if it wasn’t true. It would be true someday, I assured myself. Most of all, I wanted Adrienne to believe that if what we had meant nothing to her, then it meant nothing to me either.

  In the parking lot I found Adrienne waiting for me. “I guess this is it.” She shrugged. There were a million questions on her face.

  “Yeah,” I said.

  She squinted in the light without her sunglasses. Her dark blue T-shirt seemed to fit the mood of the day. “I’ll see you next year,” she said, holding out her arms for one last hug.

  I hugged her back, knowing it would be the last time. I squeezed her so hard, then finally let go.

  “Next year, huh?” she repeated, shielding her eyes from the sun.

  “Yeah.” My face was ice cold, as I opened my car door. I could tell she wanted to talk more, to somehow wipe away the other day with a wink and a smile as she’d done with other things. Only this time it wouldn’t change anything. In an odd way, it was the saddest and the best day of my life. The person who scared me most, who challenged me more than anyone else had, would soon be out of my life forever. It was a comfort, a supreme relief, to know I wouldn’t have to deal with her—or this—anymore.

  As I drove out of the parking lot, I saw Adrienne in the rearview mirror, waving good-bye. I held myself together until I left the campus and turned onto the next street. Then I allowed myself a few tears. They were the last tears I’d shed for her for almost thirty more years. From time to time, though, I’d remember the sight of her, like my fear, getting smaller in the rearview mirror, and how she looked that day, her deep brown eyes squinting and shining in the sun.

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  Robin knocked on Kendrick’s door. “Hon? It’s Mom.”

  “Yeah?”

  She came in to find her daughter staring at her iPad. That was her closest relationship these days, the one she had with her iPad. She obviously didn’t have time to quickly pull out her Bible or textbooks, but strangely, Robin didn’t seem to care.

  Robin said, “Tomorrow I have to go to—”

  “Tampa. I know. The big debate.”

  Robin wanted to talk to her about marriages, how they sometimes don’t last, as if she didn’t already know that. She imagined some cleverly scripted TV show parent-teen conversation that would end in tears and a hug. Then she realized she didn’t have the emotional strength for it.

  “How is everything at school?” Robin asked. “With your friend?”

  Kendrick looked down and traced the outer line of her iPad. “We’re not going to be friends anymore. It’s pretty much over.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. I really am.”

  “It’s okay. I told you, I still hang around with the others.” After a pause, she looked at her mother and said, “I miss her.”

  “I know you do.” Robin patted her leg. “You always will. But it gets better over time. I promise.” She looked at Kendrick’s iPad and headphones that were lying beside her. “What were you looking at?”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  Kendrick seemed very uncomfortable. Her face alternated between embarrassment and anguish.

  All kinds of thoughts raced through Robin’s head. Was it porn?

  Kendrick turned the tablet around to face her mother. It was a video of Adrienne’s band, Eye of the Storm.

  “They’re all over YouTube,” Kendrick said. “Don’t be mad, but I like them.”

  “I’m not mad.” Robin smiled. She wasn’t her normal fiery self. She was odd, floating toward the door, as if she’d taken a bottle of sedatives. She turned slightly. “I wish her the best.” She patted the doorframe and left.

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  On the plane to Tampa, Robin went over her notes. It would be a town hall-style debate, so any question from the audience was possible. She had to be prepared for anything.

  “How are you holding up, Governor?” Peter asked.

  She held up her hand. “I’m fine. You know, you really should direct some of your attention to your family once in a while.”

  “Excuse me?” He was bewildered. “It is the final—”

  “I know what it is.” She resumed reading, occasionally sipping her Diet Coke, and looking out the window with a calm gaze that unnerved her entire staff. They could almost feel some seismic shift in the atmosphere, although they couldn’t be sure what it was exactly.

  Though she appeared calm, Robin was unable to relax enough to recline in her seat. In fact, she hadn’t even removed her overcoat; she was still wearing it long after takeoff.

  “Should be a short flight.” She heard the pilot say something like that in the speaker—his voice always so oddly saccharine, reassuring. Even if they were abou
t to slam into a mountain, he’d say there was just a little turbulence ahead.

  In times of stress, she couldn’t bear calm voices. She remembered Tom’s unsettling, pleasant tone as he got dressed for the family holiday photo shoot. Hearing his voice in her head, she leaned against the armrest, her fingers supporting her forehead. As she did so, she heard a crackle sound inside her coat. She realized that Adrienne’s gift to her was still in her pocket, a small, wrapped mystery. Robin had forgotten this was the coat she had worn to Adrienne’s apartment. She had planned to open it immediately, instead of doing as Adrienne said and waiting until before the debate to open it. But with all the distractions of the last few days and memories of their night together, Robin had forgotten about the gift. She was surprised at herself for forgetting something like this. She tore the wrapping paper and glanced up to make sure her staff wasn’t watching. With everyone either reading or arguing with each other, she resumed her unwrapping. She peeled back a big piece of paper to reveal what it was—the heavy metal cassette tape Adrienne had made for her years ago, the tape that Robin had made sure to leave behind before she said good-bye.

  Robin held the tape, noting Adrienne’s now faded handwriting inside the case. She’d kept it all those years. Robin took a deep breath. This was a treasure worth more to her than all of the money she had.

  * * *

  The crowd rustled and chattered in the packed Tampa auditorium. There was an excited anticipation and crackling energy in the place.

  Preparations reminded Robin of what warming up for a boxing match might be like. Political advisors rubbing candidates’ shoulders, coaching them on their talking points.

  Peter kept repeating, “Whatever you do, don’t say the word ‘scandal.’ Remember!”

  His voice had begun to fade like an annoying bug in her ears or the sounds of traffic noise, especially tractor-trailers, whenever she tried to sleep in a hotel…