by Micol Ostow
Where was the bad?
After dinner, Sean walked me home. I had an early meeting with a study group on Sunday, but I promised him I’d come by as soon as it was over. He was totally understanding and didn’t pressure me at all to come back to his dorm. We stood outside of the front door to my dorm, arms circling each other’s waists.
“Thanks so much for tonight,” I said.
“Anytime,” he said. “And I hope there will be lots of other times in our future. Anniversary times,” he said, reaching out and smoothing an errant strand of hair from my face.
“Me too,” I agreed, sighing happily. “I’m sorry I have to cut our night short.”
“Not a problem, sweetie. You’ll just have to come by first thing tomorrow when you’re done studying.”
“Of course, I said I would. We’re meeting so early, you’ll definitely still be in bed by the time I’m done. I’ll bring coffee and bagels.”
He took my face in both hands. “I can’t wait.” He leaned forward and kissed me on the forehead. “Be good, Bee,” he said.
And then he left.
It was a cute moment. Sweet, even. Endearing. What with the forehead kiss and all. And yet, for some reason, that tiny, insignificant phrase left me with a nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach. I couldn’t figure out why. So there were two things on my mind: my boyfriend’s term of endearment, and Gabe’s abrupt shift in personality. Neither one really should have caused me so much angst. But they both did. Were still. And I couldn’t put my finger on why.
The whole thing was driving me crazy.
Eleven
By Thursday I wasn’t feeling any better. In fact, the small nagging feeling gnawing at the lining of my stomach had progressed to a fullblown preoccupation that was interfering with just about all of my basic day-to-day tasks. That morning, I had e-mailed my bio assignment to my history professor, and vice versa, and had nearly brushed my teeth with Charlies hair gel that night. When I finally climbed into bed, I lay, eyes wide open, contemplating the ceiling for what felt like hours.
“Be good, Bee.”
Sean had said that, and had kissed me on the forehead, every time we’d parted company since Saturday. And for some reason it was grating on me like nails on a chalkboard. Meanwhile, Gabe and I were studiously avoiding each other in pop culture, and I hadn’t been down to the paper once since turning in the West Hall piece.
I glanced at the clock: 1:02. Great. I could only imagine how much fun my morning classes were going to be. But sleep wasn’t coming anytime soon, so there was no point in lying in bed. I hauled myself up and padded over to my computer. Fortunately, Charlie was out on some Anu-related errand, so I didn’t have to worry about disturbing her. I opened my e-mail in-box and began sifting through and cleaning it out. The task felt tidy and productive, a means of sorting out my emotional clutter as much as anything else.
I hadn’t done an e-mail purge since school had started nearly two months ago. I don’t know what I’d been expecting to find. I skimmed through e-mails from Ellen bitching about Daria’s mood swings and the need for better organic produce down at Bryn Mawr. I noticed with some guilt that I hadn’t written to my parents nearly as often as I’d meant to.
And suddenly, there it was, in big block letters. And old e-mail from Drew. His first to me at school. Seeing Drew’s name and address pop up on my screen hit me like a sucker punch. I was winded. Knowing full well that this verged on Very Bad Idea territory, I opened up the e-mail.
Hi, Bee—
All moved in. Completely exhausted. Wondering if consuming the contents of an entire six-pack of beer on my own was such a fabulous idea.
Never a good idea. I was now in a position to speak authoritatively on the subject.
College! Crazy, right? I can hardly believe four years have passed since we first met. I know I’ve said it before, but I am so thankful that you found me and, uh, encouraged (let’s be honest here—forced) me to join the newspaper. And then, you know, encouraged me to ask you out.
I’m feeling a little nostalgic, my dear.
Bee good, Bee (hardy har har) and have an excellent first day. Keep in touch, but don’t feel like you have to write me back ASAP. I get the independence thing.
He was right; even sober, the nostalgia factor was high. But that wasn’t what struck me. I paused, and reread the last paragraph:
“Bee good, Bee.”
The same exact phrase that Sean had taken to uttering every time we parted company.
Eerie coincidence? Not necessarily. I could tick off at least five friends and acquaintances who had at some point bastardized my middle initial into some permutation of “Bee” as a nickname. But there was something about the fact that Sean’s pet name for me paralleled Drew’s pet name for me, something deeply unnerving. Obviously, I could talk to Sean. I could let him know that when he called me “Bee” it dredged up weird associations. I was sure he wouldn’t be offended, and that he’d have no problem finding me another sickeningly sweet nickname. But with a sinking feeling, I began to mentally catalog the various other ways in which Drew and Sean overlapped. I couldn’t help myself. And, unfortunately, it was easy to come up with a bunch of examples.
Both were cute in a very accessible, meet-the-parents sort of way; not too jock-y, not too alt-y, not too nerdy. Both were disarmingly friendly and warm. Both were considerate almost to a fault, if there was such a thing.
Both were comfortable.
But hadn’t I broken up with Drew to break out of my comfort zone?
By the fourth year with Drew we were pretty much operating on autopilot. The butterflies were gone. And while I suppose in any relationship the initial passion eventually dies down, I’d hope that it wouldn’t have to disappear completely. Halfway through senior year, seeing Drew walk into a classroom just wasn’t sending my heart rate into high gear anymore, and that was how I knew: After four years, we were done.
Was the same true of me and Sean after only four weeks?
I gazed over the screen of my laptop and out the window, pensive. The fact of the matter was that while I adored spending time with Sean, physical contact with him was pleasant rather than over-the-top, out-of-control electric. In other words, a lot like the warm, familiar, friendly sex I had with Drew. And the things I liked best about Sean’s personality were the things I’d always loved about Drew. Not to mention, we spent time doing a lot of the same things that Drew and I had done when we were together.
Had I, in my weakened and vulnerable state as suddenly single (not to mention, a freshman), gone and cloned my last relationship?
I didn’t want to think so. Because if that was true, then where were Sean and I headed? But the fact of the matter was that when Sean walked into the room, I experienced a pleasant buzz. That wasn’t love, I knew. That wasn’t even excitement. Excitement was feeling like you were going to explode out of your skin just from standing next to someone for a fraction of a second.
It was the feeling I got when Gabe was around.
I knew Gabe was a lost cause. He’d been awkward and moody with me basically since the day we’d met. And besides, his girlfriend was a bona fide goddess. It was actually her nickname, for chrissake. There was no competing with that. But whether or not Gabe was available, I couldn’t keep lying to myself. I couldn’t pretend that Sean and I were falling in love. I owed him honesty.
And I owed myself even more.
The door burst open, and Charlie swept in. She stopped, sensing my mood. “What’s going on?”
“I have to go to class,” I told her, standing up and gathering my bag, wallet, and keys. “But, I just …” I sighed. “I think I have to break up with Sean.”
11/4, 10:14 a.m.
from: [email protected]
to: [email protected]
re: breaking news
I think I have to break up with Sean.
No, I know I have to break up with Sean.
I know I told you that he was wonderf
ul and that I adored him. This is still true. But another truism is that I’m afraid I got involved for the wrong reasons: comfort, familiarity, stability. All great things, but they need to go hand in hand with honest-to-goodness passion, don’t you think?
Well, I do.
And, unfortunately, being around Sean just doesn’t make me dizzy in the same way that being around Gabe does.
Gabe may be off-limits, I know, but the thing is that just knowing that I have the capacity to feel the way I do about him makes me reluctant to settle for feeling anything less. I deserve to feel dizzy (well, you know what I mean). And Sean deserves someone who feels dizzy about him.
So that’s that. We’re supposed to meet up for coffee after class. I guess I’ll tell him then.
Wish me luck.
—xx
11/4, 11:56 a.m.
from: [email protected]
to: [email protected]
re: Sadness!
Claud, my heart is breaking for you! I’m sorry that it’s not going to work out for you and Sean, but it sounds like you’ve really thought things through and that it’s for the best. I think it’s very brave of you to hold out for the real deal and I just know that, in the long run, you’ll find someone who will make you so dizzy, you’re practically sick to your stomach (in a good way).
I met Sean outside of Brew and Gold after my comp sci lab. I could tell he’d just woken up. He had that sleep-confused look on his face, and his hair was half-brushed. It was pretty cute, and made my job just that much more difficult. After we bought our coffees, he gestured to one of the couches, but I suggested instead that we walk over to the library roof. It was a clear, crisp day and I thought the view would be nice.
We trudged up Memorial Steps and past the academic quad, down toward the library. I couldn’t help but notice that Sean hadn’t bothered to try to hold my hand. I wondered if he could sense that something was up.
As we settled ourselves against the railing of the roof, my question was answered. “So,” he began, setting his coffee cup down. “What’s on your mind?”
I blushed. “How can you tell?”
“Claudia, you haven’t said one word since we met at the coffeehouse. For you, that’s totally out of character.”
“Not true,” I protested.
“When have you ever gone more than five minutes without speaking?” he teased.
I glared at him, but couldn’t really argue. He was right.
“So, spill it,” he prompted. “It can’t be that bad.”
“No, not that bad,” I began carefully. “But yeah, there’s something.”
I tilted my body so that I was facing him more directly. “I really, really like you, Sean.”
“But …”
“But … when I first came to college I made it a point to break up with my long-term boyfriend so that I could stand on my own two feet for a while. Of course, when I got here, and the classes were hard, and the boys were predatory, and the beer was cheap … well, suddenly that seemed a lot scarier to me than I had anticipated. And I thought I had lost my touch with guys.”
“You? No way.”
“Way. Seriously. Way. So I practiced going up to guys and talking, and sometimes it backfired really badly and sometimes it didn’t, but for the most part it was what it was. And then, finally, I met you. And it just felt so comfortable, right from the start, and such a relief from trying so hard all the time.”
“Okay, Claud, so where’s the part where this is a bad thing?”
I smiled sadly. “I guess there isn’t one, really. I mean, it’s not bad that I met you—it’s amazing. But I’m afraid that I’m allowing myself to fall into another situation because it feels comfortable.”
“And that’s not what you want right now,” he finished for me.
I shook my head. “No, it’s not.”
He sighed deeply. “Well, this isn’t what I want, Claud, but I do think it takes guts to choose to be on your own rather than fall back on a relationship.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I wish you weren’t making this so easy for me. It almost makes this all harder.”
“Would you rather I tossed my coffee in your face and stormed off?” he said, picking up his cup and pantomiming.
I pretended to consider this for a moment. “It’s an idea … ,” I said. “But no thanks.”
He laughed and leaned over to hug me. “I’m not going to sit around waiting for you, obviously,” he said. “And, you know, I’m going abroad next semester, anyway, so maybe this is good timing. But if you change your mind or want to just talk, you know where to find me.”
“I will,” I promised him.
He stood up, zipped his jacket up more tightly and, with a wave, he was gone.
Miraculously, Charlie had a few hours off from pledging hell, and we’d arranged to meet for dinner at Luigi’s for pizza. I arrived at seven and settled into a booth. Charlie showed up ten minutes later, looking frazzled. Frazzled was not a look I was accustomed to seeing on Charlie, and it took me a moment to adjust to the wisps of hair escaping from her ponytail in every direction, her untucked shirt, and her shiny T-zone.
“Ugh, I swear I am going to kill that girl in her sleep,” Charlie groaned, sliding into the seat across from me.
“Anu?” I guessed.
“Yu-huh. Today she wanted me to write a haiku in tribute to one of the Sigma-Nu boys. Then I had to read it as I performed an interpretive dance. All this in front of the Inter-Greek Council at their weekly meeting.”
“No!” I gasped. Even for Anu, even for sorority pranks, that sounded bad. A thought occurred to me. “Wait a minute,” I said suspiciously. “Which guy?”
“Zach Masters, of course.”
“Oh, is she still giving you trouble about him? Doesn’t she realize that I was the one who was hitting on him?”
“Actually, Claudia, he was the one who was hitting on you.”
“Whatever. Charlie, I think you need to stand up to Anu.”
Charlie leaned forward across the table. “Yeah, that’s a fabulous idea. Because I never actually wanted to be initiated, anyway.”
“I’m serious, Charlie. This chick has absolutely no reason to be carrying a vendetta against you, and I think, objectively speaking, that it’s pretty obvious she is treating you unfairly in comparison with the other pledges. You need to deal with this. Until you stand up for yourself, she’s not going to respect you.”
Charlie eyed me for a moment, contemplating.
“You were nervous,” I prodded. “The whole Greek scene was new, and it was something you really wanted to be a part of. You didn’t want to blow it. But its not like you, and you can’t go on like this. Besides, Miss Georgia Peach—didn’t you take first in the interview sections of all of your many pageants? If anyone can broach a difficult topic diplomatically, it’s you.”
“You’re right!” she said, banging her fist on the table. A few nearby patrons turned to stare. “You’re right,” she said more quietly, patting the table softly. “I’ll call her tonight and ask if we can find a time to sit down and talk. And if she refuses …”
“She won’t refuse,” I said with certainty. “Not if you phrase it in just the right way.”
She nodded. “You’re right. Have I mentioned that you’re right? When did you get so smart?” She leaned across the table and eyed me. “When did you get so depressed? What’s wrong? Is something wrong? And here I’ve been blabbing on all about my boring problems.”
“No! Well, yes, but I mean, I wanted to hear about your day. I’m glad you’re going to talk to Anu. I think it’s the only solution.”
“Yes, but now we’re talking about Claudia,” she insisted.
“Well, on the subject of being true to oneself …I broke up with Sean today,” I confessed.
She made a face. “At least you’ve got it done with?” she asked uncertainly. “It must be slightly better than having the whole thing hanging over your head?” She sighe
d heavily. “I just feel like the least perceptive friend in the whole world. Here I thought you guys were so happy.”
“We were happy,” I said. “But, unfortunately, it was more the ‘hangin’ with your best bud’ kind of happy.”
“As opposed to the ‘rip my clothes off and have your way with me now’ kind of happy?” Charlie countered.
“Exactly. And I know that, in a relationship, the stable friendship is as important as the heaving passion, but isn’t it okay to want a little bit of both?”
“More than okay,” Charlie asserted.
“Anyway, I felt like I was just replicating my relationship with Gabe all over again, and that’s the last thing I wanted.”
Charlie blinked, but didn’t say anything. I was surprised; I’d been expecting something along the lines of a “you go, girl!” or the like. Not the fish-eye she was leveling at me with unnerving intensity.
“Now’s the part in the conversation where it’s your turn to talk, Charlie,” I said, prompting her.
“Claudia, did you hear yourself?” she asked.
“Yeah.” I shrugged. “I was replicating my relationship with—” I stopped, color flooding my cheeks. “Yikes.”
“Can you tell him how you feel?” she asked. “In the interest of being true to yourself?”
I shook my head vehemently. “Charlie, he has a girlfriend. I’m not a home-wrecken Or, dorm-wrecker.”
“I understand,” she said. “I don’t like it, but I understand. I’ll talk to Anu tonight. Ill be true enough for the both of us.”
I sighed. “It’s a deal.”
After dinner I headed toward the Chronicle office. I wanted to pick up some press releases that I knew were waiting for me. First I swung by the Brew and Gold for a caffeine hit.
“Looking for Gabe?”
It was Kyra, stirring a sprinkle of cinnamon into her soy chai. Even her beverages were serene and elegant.
“Uh, no. I mean, yeah. Well, I was just going to pick up some papers that I need for my next article,” I said. “Have you seen him?”
“He went home a few hours ago.”
