Angst

by Victoria Sawyer

  Finally I have to go back, although I wish I didn’t have to, watching my cup to make sure it doesn’t slosh over the edge. When I finally do look up to make sure I’m going in the right direction, he’s watching me, his eyes hard to read in the dark, but I think he’s sort of upset? Maybe? I can’t really tell because right when I look at him, he looks away. As soon as I get back I can tell there’s trouble though cause Andy grabs my wrist and pulls me over to their circle.

  “Listen kids, let’s just all be friends,” he says with a laugh and Jared laughs, kind of stiffly.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” I say sarcastically, “I thought we were all BFF’s here.”

  While I’m saying this I can’t help but notice that Jared’s shirt has all kinds of other shit on it…scribbles that say things like, I want you. Your sexy, wrong “you’re” idiot bitch. I heart you with a little heart. No fucking guy would do that. Guys only draw penises on each other or lame looking tits so he’s had fucking girls all over him already tonight. Goddamn him.

  I stiffen at this knowledge and smile and Jared just smiles sort of awkwardly and doesn’t say anything.

  “Draw something on her to break the frigid ice,” says Andy with a sly grin, shoving a yellow highlighter into Jared’s hand. Jared tries to push it away but can’t ‘cause Andy suddenly doesn’t have hands that work. They’re all limp, non-accepting hands.

  ”Nope not taking that thing back…my hands don’t work so fucking do it. I said so and I’m your younger brother and I can demand shit out of you, fucking do it,” he says. Jared sighs. Is writing on me such a fucking chore? He can’t touch me? Fuck him. God I hate him. Hannah’s pulling on my arm now cause I’m just kind of standing there, bring my red cup up and down, up and down. I’m like a Goddamned robot. Let’s get fucking drunk kids!

  Jared gets close now and he really is going to write something on me. His reluctance has apparently turned into a tiny smile and he smells so damn good and seems so large, larger than life next to me. I wish he’d kiss me, I wish this wasn’t so fucking weird. Why did I have to push him last time? Why did I force him to admit that he wants me but doesn’t want me? What the fuck is wrong with me? And what the fuck does that mean???

  He leans in and clearly he’s going to write on my chest. I smile uncomfortably and as soon the marker touches me it’s like it’s an extension of him. I shiver. Touch me more, fucking touch me. He’s having a hard time writing on me, so finally gives in and puts a hand on my shoulder to steady me. Zing. Oh wow.

  The marker glides, warm and soft and now there’s a picture of a stick figure on my chest. A fucking stick figure, yeah. Now I know why Andy always makes fun of his drawing skills. They suck. But then he stops and writes something next to it that I can’t read. When he backs away and I can finally see it, it says, Wicked Victoria in sideways-ish letters and the stick figure is actually a mini devil with horns and a tail. I look up at him and he looks serious and a moment passes between us, like a memory, both of us remembering what he said and what I said. I shiver again and finally he speaks, his voice lilting like a joke, but I’m not sure it is a joke.

  “It’s an appropriate description, don’t you think? Although if there was room I would have drawn in like 10 more stick figures, you know, like your ‘horde’ of adoring hell-followers.”

  I swallow, okay. Then I force myself to smile like it is a joke.

  “Yeah, I guess that is fitting. I am totally a little devil,” I say and it’s still awkward between us, his words from the other night hovering in the background. He turns away, hands the marker back to Andy and leaves, heading toward the keg. I just stand there and play back his words, repeating them in my head, and I can almost feel his mouth on mine right before he said them, burning and urgent.

  “I want to fuck you, okay? I've wanted to since day one and I can't pretend anymore that I don't. But…you… piss me the fuck off… I want to fuck you, but I won’t.”

  December 9, 2004

  NASA ruined my life

  The planetarium lights start to dim and the show is about to go on. I’ve been sitting here with Hannah for about 10 minutes, trying to keep my mind off the whirling thoughts in my head. Of course I want to leave. Of course the damn radio station in my head that I’m always tuned in to is telling me to run away, that I’m going to be sick, that I’m going to have to leave during the show.

  When we walked in a few minutes ago, I picked a seat near an exit. Hannah wanted to sit somewhere else, but I held my ground, sitting down and refusing to get up. I’m so fucking weird. So she finally gave in and came over to sit by me after trying to plead with me for a few moments about how the seat she was standing in front of was so much better. I kept telling her, nope, I’ve chosen, my butt is down and I’m not getting up again. I can tell she’s a bit irritated, but I’m adamant about being close to escape in case I need to leave. And so we’ve been waiting. I hate waiting. But finally everyone is here and now the lights are going down and the show is about to begin.

  As the presenter starts to go through the spiel, the lights fade and the solar system is suddenly projected on the ceiling, slowly turning and moving, and all I can think about is damn NASA. NASA ruined my life. Not really, but it’s funny to think about. I mean, seeing the shuttle lift off when I was a kid should have been really cool, a highlight of my childhood, but instead of being a highlight of something good, it was something negative, burned into my memory. So being here brings that trip back to me. The Kennedy Space Center, the shuttle lift off and the best part, the irrational fucked up crazy fear. Fackkkk.

  But thinking about these things makes my heart pound, and a sheen of sweat forms on my forehead and upper lip, so I try to distract myself and pay attention to the show. I’m sort of on the verge of fear sickness right now, trying to hold it down and not run out of here. It’s low lying, under the radar, but definitely still there.

  Plus, Hannah asked if she could ride back with me because she doesn’t want to take the bus. I agreed, what else could I say? So that ups it a bit. My newly named VSUX crazy-fear station starts to play loudly in my head as the lights get even darker, the doors disappearing into the shadows, with only the glowing Exit signs still showing. Thank God those are there. So yeah, then the talk show blasts me…be afraid dumb bitch. You can’t escape. You can’t leave because you told Hannah you would take her with you. Well, technically you could leave and make her ride the bus. She wouldn’t be happy, she would think you were some kind of freak…but you could manage it. So calm the fuck down. Stop quivering like some kind of terrified helpless puppy. Gawd.

  So I deal with myself and somehow I’m able to get through it. Luckily it doesn’t explode in my face like my other dealings with the universe, outer space and planets. So weird. How weird is it that my fucked-upness is somehow tied in with space travel? Haha. Ridiculous! So now the lights finally come back on and I breathe a sigh of relief. I’ve done it. Now just to drive the 45 minutes back to NHU and then I’m off the hook, made it through another test of wills. But, there is another yet to come. The dreaded and yet excitement inducing Holiday Party at the McKinley house. I can never freakin relax.

  December 12, 2004

  I want him to ask me out again

  I pull on a dark green sweater, the seventh I’ve tried on tonight. Nothing is working and this is my last option. I’m frustrated, looking at myself in the mirror, annoyed that I have a zit on my chin, my hair is weird and full of static electricity and I have to leave for Jared’s house within 10 minutes. Oh this sucks!!! And per usual, my anxiety is eating me up inside causing every physical sensation, compressed chest, harsh breathing, warped belly and a lovely feverish trembling. It’s devouring my confidence, eroding my will. I can’t do this, I think, examining my face again, trying to see if I can detect the blemish under my concealor. It looks okay, but why oh why can’t I have perfect skin! This sweater will have to do, I decide, turning around in the mirror, looking at myself from every angle.

&nbs
p; I’ve been invited by Jared to a Holiday party at his parents’ house. Well technically I guess Andy invited me and Jared nodded, yeah, he nodded. That’s a good sign, right? We were at the frat last weekend and Andy says, “Oh you and Hannah should come to our annual holiday party at my ‘rents house,” and Jared nodded, smiling. Ok, what the hell does that mean? I have no idea. I really can’t figure him out. Does he want to be with me? Is this a sign? We’ve hung out a few times at the frat, definitely not together, but as part of the group. But no other personal dates. It’s really weird to me, cause usually guys want to get up close and personal ASAP, but Jared hasn’t made even the hint of a move since that first night. I’m going, but I don’t get it. I guess it means nothing because Ian, Samantha and Seth were invited too.

  Finally I look as good as I’m going to and there’s just enough time for a quick trip to the restroom to try and ease my achy mid-section and then it’s time to leave. Finally I’m ready and go downstairs to say goodbye to my mom.

  “Don’t you look nice,” my mother points out, looking me over from head to toe. “A little too much cleavage, Daughter, you don’t want him expecting things,” she says, motioning for me to pull up my sweater.

  “Oh mother,” I mumble, pulling my stretchy sweater front even lower, revealing even more cleavage than before. “Ha,” I laugh, as my mother reaches out to swat my hand away from my chest.

  “What a bad daughter you are,” she teases, pulling me in for a hug. “Be safe,” she says, pulling away to look me in the eyes. “How are you feeling?”

  “I’m okay, well, actually, I’m pretty nervous,” I moan shrugging in misery. “You know how it is, Mother,” I say, my eyes tearing up a little.

  “I know,” she commiserates, “I’m sorry this had to happen to you, I really am.” We hug again and I fight to hold back the tears that threaten to ruin my make-up.

  “I’ve gotta go, Mom, I love you,” I say, gathering up my jacket and handbag, heading for the front door.

  I drive to Hannah’s dorm in a daze. I try to pay attention to my driving, the snow covered landmarks sweeping by the window, but all my focus is on how I’m feeling. I’m going to be okay, I tell myself. Everything is fine. I will get there soon and I’ll be fine as soon as I see Hannah and I can lose myself in our conversation.

  Twenty minutes later when we arrive at Jared and Andy’s house, I’m surprised to find that they grew up in a large old New Englander. The house is down a long driveway, surrounded by tall old oak trees and I’m impressed by the large yard and the house itself, although it looks a little worn, is definitely homey and inviting. As we pull into a parking spot, the driveway is packed with cars of all kinds, there’s definitely a festive air to the atmosphere.

  “Nice house,” says Hannah as we get out of the car near a large old red barn with sagging sides, the kind typically found in New England towns.

  “Yeah,” I agree, the butterflies in my stomach working on overdrive, not fluttering like they should be but slamming against my mid-rift. The beginning of the night is always the worst for me. Entering a new situation or a place I’ve never been before always makes me really anxious. Shit, be honest, every Goddamned thing makes me nervous. I take a deep breath and look over at Hannah for approval as we make our way up the gravel walk. Hannah smiles at me encouragingly and I think about how ridiculous it is that she has no idea that I feel like I’ve got the flu. I tear my mind away from that train of thought and instead wonder, again, why I’ve been invited? It’s so weird. In the meantime, Hannah raps on the beautifully carved red wooden door decorated with a fir wreath that smells heavenly. I can hear holiday music playing inside and a blast of warm delicious aromas greet us as an older woman with shoulder length curly hair opens the door.

  “Hi, you must be Mrs. McKinley,” Hannah says as she holds out her hand to the woman. Mrs. McKinley’s face breaks into a huge smile and she pumps Hannah’s hand with vigor, pulling us into the warm delicious smelling room.

  “You must be Hannah, Andy told us to expect you and your friend, Victoria, right?” says Mrs. McKinley holding out her hand toward me. I smile and offer my hand and Mrs. McKinley draws us on into the house through the kitchen and down a short hallway papered with an old fashioned rose pattern.

  “The boys have told me very little about you girls,” she says, turning back to smile at us over her shoulder. “They aren’t very talkative with their old Ma, but they both mentioned that they had invited some very nice girls to our annual holiday party. I’m very pleased to meet you two!” She ushers us into a large long living room with a blazing fireplace at the end. A huge tree dominates a corner of the room, its white lights twinkling in the dim lamp light. Guests are mingling throughout the room, some sitting on well-worn and comfortable looking furniture, while others stand in groups with little plates of hors d’oeuvres. A table is set up near the entrance with all kinds of goodies, from home-made mini quiche to a delicious looking chocolate cake and chocolate chunk cookies. Soft holiday music wafts over us, reminding me of Christmases spent at my grandparents’ old farm house.

  “Help yourselves to snacks and I’ll rustle up the boys. I know they’re here somewhere. They probably snuck off to the basement to play video games.” Mrs. McKinley shakes her head, making her short curls bob as if she just can’t understand boys. I feel slightly ill at ease and am glad that Hannah is here with me. We step up to the spread and began to fill little glass plates with food.

  “Try the mushroom and bacon mini quiche,” says a masculine voice over my shoulder as I stand in indecision in front of the large variety of quiche. I turn my head, surprised to find a tall good looking man with dark brown hair, wearing a light blue polo shirt standing behind me. He looks so much like Jared and Andy that he has to be their dad. I’m surprised because he doesn’t really look that much older, though, with boyish good looks that have apparently withstood the years.

  “Why are they the best of all the quiche?” I ask, smiling up at him. He laughs, eyes crinkling.

  “I really shouldn’t know since supposedly ‘real men’ don’t eat quiche. But I can personally assure you that this man does eat quiche and you really can’t go wrong with bacon.” I laugh and he holds out his hand. “I’m Jared and Andy’s dad and you must be Victoria. Jared described you to a T when he said you were coming so we’d be sure to know who you were.” I blush, amazed that Jared had actually told his family about me. I pick up a bacon and mushroom mini quiche as Jared and Andy bound into the room from the hallway.

  “Hello, ladies!” says Andy, clearly in good spirits, with a beer bottle in one hand and a mini quiche stolen from the kitchen in the other. “Glad you could make it,” he says putting an arm around Hannah. Jared stands a little to the side of his brother and just grins at me.

  “Hi, Vicky, I see you’ve met my old man,” he says, slapping his father on the back as he elbows his way toward the goody table. “I’ve got to get some of this Spinach and Artichoke Dip. It’s soooo good,” he says, scooping up dip onto a plate and grabbing a handful of chips.

  “Let’s give the girls the grand tour,” says Andy, pulling Hannah toward the doorway while Jared and I follow, our plates overflowing with food. I’m surprised to notice, almost standing back away from myself in a detached sort of way, that I haven’t been feeling nervous since everything is happening so fast. My attention is focused on Jared as we make our way down the hallway and up a large staircase to the second floor.

  “This is the glorious second floor of our familial abode and you girls are in for a treat because you are about to witness the macho man-cave that is the shared bedroom of Andrew and Jared McKinley. Don’t hold your breath, Hannah, it’s going to be okay,” says Andy with a wink as he steers us down a large hallway to a door on our left. “And yes, Jared and I still share a room even though we could have separate rooms now if we wanted to. Many years ago our parents took down a wall between two rooms and gave us this massive sweet room.”

  We enter the large
room to find two twin beds set on either side of a large open space. There are several windows letting in the last of the fading light. The room is filled with sports equipment, rock ‘n’ roll posters, an old TV, a record player and stacks and stacks of old records and two matching desks. I smile as I step into the room with Jared right behind me. He ducks his head in embarrassment as I examine his Tinker toys and Legos in the corner.

  “Still playing with toys, are you, Jared?” I ask, a little grin on my face.

  “Well, being ‘mechanically inclined’ I find that I do enjoy fooling around with that stuff and I couldn’t get rid of it,” he says sheepishly. I laugh as I pull out the huge plastic container of Legos.

  “Jared, I absolutely love playing Legos! It was my favorite thing to do as a child. That and matchbox cars. I used to love to play with them outside in the dirt, driving them around,” I say with a smile. Jared smiles back as he pulls me toward his desk. Arranged on the top shelf are several complicated Lego structures, vehicles of all kinds.

  “These are the kits I got as a kid and I’ve never wanted to take them apart or put them away. I had so much fun putting them together.” I sit down in his chair, enthralled that I’m witnessing another side of Jared. His desk is arrayed with books, engineering texts, a few photos of family and friends. One features Jared and Andy with a large group of friends near a lake. Jared sits next to a pretty blonde, his arm around her waist.