This World We Live In ls-3

by Susan Beth Pfeffer

  “No,” Alex said. “We can’t keep on like this. It’s a sin. Either we get married in the eyes of God and the Church or we stop now.”

  I reached out to him and grasped his hand. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I can’t say yes, I’ll marry you, and leave everybody I love behind. I love you and I want you, but I’m not ready for that yet. I don’t think it’s what you want, not really.”

  “You have no idea what I want,” Alex said.

  “So tell me,” I said. “What do you want, Alex? To be with me? To be a Franciscan? Make me understand what you want.”

  He stood there so silent I could hear his heart beat. “I want to be good,” he said softly. “But I don’t know how.”

  “Oh, Alex,” I said, longing to hold him and knowing he’d resist if I tried. “None of us know anymore.”

  He nodded and then he wept, like a little boy who’d asked for the moon and been told he could never have it.

  July 4

  I used to love the Fourth of July. Hot weather. Fireworks.

  Today was gloomy and 50 degrees.

  The guys celebrated the day by chopping firewood. Mom made her regular inspection of our food supplies. Gabriel, I suppose, cried, and Lisa most likely hovered around him.

  Syl doesn’t eat breakfast. She says she never did and she doesn’t see any point starting now. This, of course, drives Mom crazy, but good mother-in-law that she is, she keeps her opinion about breakfast being the most important meal of the day to herself.

  So when everyone was busy and Syl was hiding in Matt’s bedroom, I went up to talk with her. Which I’ve hardly done since I’ve come back, and which, frankly, I wouldn’t want to do except there was something I had to ask her.

  I knocked on the door and told Syl it was me and she said to come in. She was lying on the sofa-bed mattress, covered with blankets even though the electric heater was going full blast.

  “I’m never warm enough,” she said. “Except in the sunroom with the woodstove.”

  “You could come downstairs,” I pointed out.

  “I will later,” she said.

  I looked at her and thought about how she’d let Horton out to die, and then I told myself not to think about that, because there was a chance Syl knew something that could help Alex and Julie. “There was something you said once,” I began. “About truck drivers.”

  “What about them?” she asked, propping herself up with her elbow.

  “You said they stopped sometimes when they were going to safe towns,” I said. “And picked people up.”

  “Girls,” Syl said. “They never stopped for guys. And they never did on the way to safe towns. The trucks would be filled with supplies then. On the way back they might stop for a girl.”

  “Did they ever stop for you?” I asked.

  “What business is that of yours?” she said.

  “No,” I said. “You don’t understand. I was wondering if one of them told you where he’d come from, where the safe town was. That’s all.”

  “No,” Syl said. “They knew better than to talk. They could lose their jobs if they told anyone where the safe towns are located.”

  “Okay,” I said. “I’m sorry if I bothered you.”

  “Sit down,” she said. “I hate the way you’re standing there, glaring at me.”

  “I’m not glaring,” I said, but I did as she said and sat on the mattress by her side.

  “It doesn’t matter where any of the safe towns are,” Syl said. “None of us could get in. We’re not important enough. They’re for politicians, people like that.”

  Syl and Lisa have gotten pretty close. If Dad had told Lisa about the passes, Lisa would have told Syl. Dad must have kept that knowledge to himself, figuring it would upset Lisa. I had to be careful I didn’t let Syl know why I was asking.

  “It’s stupid,” I said. “I thought maybe because Mom is a writer, we could get in. That’s all. I remembered you mentioned them, so I thought I’d ask if you knew where one is. But you don’t, and I’m sorry I bothered you.”

  For the first time since I’ve known her, Syl looked uncomfortable. “Look,” she said. “There are things I’ve told Matt and things I haven’t, but the only reason I haven’t is because he hates hearing about them. All right? I’m not ashamed of anything I did. I’m alive and I’m here because of what I did. Matt knows that. He accepts that. But he doesn’t like the details.”

  “I won’t tell Matt,” I said. “I swear.”

  “Scout’s honor?” Syl asked, and then she laughed. “All right. I believe you. It doesn’t matter, anyway. I was in an evac camp. This was, I don’t know, maybe a year ago. Pretty early on. The camps have guards, military police, young guys mostly. And one of them had gotten his hands on some bottles of vodka, so he and his buddies decided to party. Which they did with some of us girls. We left the camp and broke into an empty house and had a good time.” She paused. “It was important to keep the guards happy. If one of them liked you, you might get extra food or a blanket.”

  I understood why Matt didn’t want to hear any of this. And I started to understand why Alex and Carlos were so desperate to protect Julie.

  “There were lots of girls at the camp,” Syl continued. “The guards had their pick, so you did whatever they asked and you tried to make them feel important, like they were the star quarterback and you were head cheerleader.”

  “Matt isn’t like that,” I said.

  “No,” Syl said. “Matt isn’t anything like that. Neither is Hal or Charlie or Alex. The guards wouldn’t have been like that, either, probably, if things hadn’t changed. But things did change, so they were full of themselves, and if you wanted some extra food, you acted like they were the greatest people on Earth. They loved reminding you how powerful they were.

  “We were all a little bit drunk that night, and they started bragging about how many people they’d killed. Then they started talking about the first time they’d killed someone. And one of the guys said the first time he’d killed people was when he’d been assigned to clear out a college to make it a safe town. It was funny, he said, because it was Sexton University and he’d applied there and been rejected, and there he was, shooting professors who were resisting. I said I hope he got the dean of admissions, and he laughed.”

  “How can you remember the name,” I asked, “if you were drunk?”

  “I wasn’t that drunk,” Syl said. “And I was still trying out different names, so I thought about Anne Sexton, only Anne is pretty dull and you can’t call yourself Sex. So I went with Sylvia Plath instead. I like her more anyway.”

  I had no idea who she was talking about but it didn’t matter. “Did the guard say where it was?” I asked. “Sexton University?”

  Syl shook her head. “He’d said too much as it was,” she said. “The next day I heard the girls who’d been at the party were being rounded up and put in a holding pen. I left before they found me.”

  “But if you knew the name, couldn’t you have found it?” I asked.

  “I didn’t care where it was,” she said. “I was trying to make my way east to see if any of my family was still alive. Which they weren’t.”

  “You have family now,” I said.

  “That’s what Matt tells me,” she said.

  There was nothing I could say to that, except to ask Syl not to tell anyone I’d been asking. I didn’t want Mom to find out, I said. Syl agreed.

  And now I’m in my closet, writing all this down, trying to figure out how to find out where Sexton University is and what to do if I can find out.

  July 5

  I have no idea how many colleges there are in the United States, or how many there were, because for all I know now there aren’t any. But Dad used to work at Denning College, so I figured there was at least a chance he’d heard of Sexton University and might know where it was.

  The only problem was I’d have to give him an explanation why I was asking. It’s not like I could say, “Well, I’m thinking about applyi
ng there next year because I’ve always wanted to go to a school named for Anne Sexton, whoever she is.”

  I have a feeling he’d believe me more if I said I always wanted to go to a school that had Sex in its name, but it doesn’t matter. Maybe there are still colleges out there, but unless they’re biking distance from Howell, PA, I won’t reach it in time for orientation.

  I’d have to come up with a different reason why I wanted to know, and there wasn’t one. It’s not like I could say it came up in conversation or in a game of Name the Most Obscure University. And Dad can always tell when I’m lying.

  I figured he could break me down in two steps, if it took that long.

  Most likely Mom’s heard of Anne Sexton, but that doesn’t mean she’s heard of Sexton University. And she could break me down in one step without even trying.

  Back in the time when life was easy, the Internet would have told me what I needed to know. The great thing about the Internet was it didn’t care why you were asking.

  But even though we have electricity more often than not, we don’t have phone, or cable, or Internet. Maybe they do in safe towns, but I don’t live in one.

  I tried to remember how people found things out before the Internet existed. They had to have questions, after all, and they couldn’t always ask their parents. Or teachers. Or librarians.

  Librarians! Librarians always know how to find out things. That was their job even before the Internet.

  There was only one problem: The Howell library closed months ago.

  But that didn’t mean all its books were gone. Maybe there was a book that listed all the universities in the country. And if the library ever did have a book like that, it was probably still there, because who would have stolen it?

  The next question was whether I should go to the library and see if I could find the book and get Sexton University’s address. If I don’t, I won’t have to tell Alex. But if I do go, it’s specifically to tell him, because why else would I want to know where Sexton University was located, except to fantasize about going to a school that had Sex in its name?

  If I told Alex, he would leave. It wouldn’t matter how far away it was. He’d wait until he was sure Julie was up to the trip, and then they’d take off and I’d never see either one of them again, unless I went with them, which apparently would require the approval not just of Mom and Dad but the eyes of God and the Church.

  But how could I not tell him? And how could I be certain Syl wouldn’t let something slip during Bible studies with Lisa and Charlie? Alex would hear about Sexton University, and he and Julie would leave, but he’d leave hating me.

  If we were never going to see each other again, I wanted him to at least feel bad about it.

  So I biked to town. I lied to Mom, saying I was going to Dad’s to play with the baby, and Mom didn’t try to break me. I guess some lies are more believable than others. My bike was in the garage, but she didn’t notice when I got it, or if she did, she didn’t run out to demand an explanation. Nobody else did, either. I biked the four miles to town all on my own.

  I don’t like going to town. It’s a reminder of everything that isn’t anymore. It was never a big town, but there were places to eat and to shop and to hang out. And now it’s dead, except for City Hall, open on Mondays to hand out food. For as long as that lasts.

  As I biked to the library I thought about having to break one of the windows to get in. That seemed horribly immoral, as bad as breaking a window of a church. But lucky for me, someone else didn’t feel that way, because the window was already broken. I let myself in.

  It was filthy. I don’t know why that surprised me, since we scrub frantically to keep the soot manageable and there was no one at the library to do that. But there was something about the library being so cold, dark, and dirty that broke my heart. It felt like losing Horton again.

  I didn’t cry, though. There’s enough to cry about without shedding tears over a building. Besides, if a miracle happened and Mom went to Dad’s and found I wasn’t there, I’d be grounded for life, which I pretty much am anyway, but this time it would be official.

  I walked over to the reference section. Most of the books were still there. Of course most of the books had nothing to do with colleges. I had to dust off the covers of a lot of no longer useful books before I found what I’d been looking for: The American College Guide.

  I almost didn’t pick it up. I told myself I could pretend I hadn’t seen it and bike back home before anyone noticed I was gone and forget all about it, and Alex and Julie would stay with us. At least Jon and Julie would be happy. Didn’t I owe it to Jon to keep Julie from going? And Dad and Lisa? And Charlie? And if Jon was miserable, then Mom would be miserable, and if she was miserable, she’d make Syl miserable, and that would make Matt miserable. And everyone would make me miserable.

  Ignorance is bliss.

  I picked up the book.

  The colleges were listed in alphabetical order.

  Sexton University was located in McKinley, Tennessee. It had a student enrollment of 5,500 and was best known for its agricultural and veterinary programs.

  There’s something about succeeding, even at a job you don’t like, that makes you push harder. I tore out the page about Sexton University, then located a road atlas. There were five pages devoted to Tennessee, and I ripped them all out. Alex would have to find the state on his own, but once he got there, he could follow the map to McKinley.

  Then, because I was all alone in a library and had already destroyed two books, I found my way to the poetry section, located an anthology of contemporary American poetry, and took it for Syl. I might even give it to her someday.

  I stopped in at Dad’s on my way home. Gabriel was yelling his little baby head off.

  “He’s teething,” Lisa said, like he needed an excuse to scream.

  Alex, Jon, and Julie were in the parlor. Alex was giving them a world history lesson. Alex probably felt history still mattered. Julie believed Alex still mattered, and Jon believed Julie still mattered. Or maybe all three of them were actually interested.

  I could have interrupted, told Alex then and there about the safe town in McKinley, Tennessee, waved good-bye as he and Julie left us forever, consoled the brokenhearted, consoled my own broken heart.

  Instead I gave Alex a quick nod, returned my bike to our garage, and came up to my bedroom closet to write all this down. I’m spending so much time in here, I’m thinking about putting up curtains.

  Alex told me to trust in tomorrow. Well, maybe tomorrow I’ll know what to do.

  July 7

  I still haven’t decided.

  Instead of thinking, I scrubbed the house so clean that if decorating magazines still existed, our house would be the cover.

  Chapter 16

  July 8

  I didn’t sleep well last night, and when I did, I had the same dream over and over, that I was alone in the house, which was our house but didn’t look like our house. It was sparkling and new and I couldn’t get over how beautiful it was, but every room I entered was empty. The more I had the dream, the more I knew the house was empty because everybody had died and I was the only person left alive.

  After a while I gave up trying to sleep.

  I thought about my choices. They seemed pretty simple at first. Either I told Alex or I didn’t tell Alex.

  Then it got more complicated. I could tell Alex now or I could tell Alex next week. Or I could decide whether or not I’d tell him next week. Or next month. Or next year. Just because I didn’t tell him now didn’t mean I’d never tell him.

  Of course when you can’t be really sure you’ll be alive a year from now, postponing decisions is the same as making decisions.

  That got me back to either I told Alex or I didn’t tell Alex. Because it would take him and Julie months to get to Tennessee, and winter comes early these days. Like by the end of August. If I delayed telling him until then, he and Julie would set off anyway and have a lot harder time making i
t to Tennessee.

  For all my talk about choices, I really didn’t have any. I’d tell Alex where the safe town was, and I’d tell him right away. He and Julie would stay through Monday. Two days from now.

  They’d already stayed much longer than Alex had intended. If the convent had still been open, they’d already have been gone for more than a week. My fantasy that Alex would have stayed with me was just that, a fantasy. He’d made a deal with God. Julie in the convent, Alex in the monastery. And Miranda? Miranda was just another dream.

  So I’d tell him. I’d hand him his walking papers.

  Nothing lasts except fear, hunger, and darkness. Five weeks ago I wouldn’t have been able to imagine what I would feel loving, truly loving, a boy. I’d had feelings. I’d had fantasies. But nothing like what I’ve felt for the past five weeks. It would have been like picturing a color you’ve never seen.

  Five weeks. Maybe I’ll live five more years, or five more weeks, or only five more days. But I’ve been given the gift of those five weeks, and I shouldn’t be greedy for more.

  Once I accepted that, it was a matter of waiting until morning. I’m pretty sure I fell back asleep, but the dreams were gone.

  I walked over to Dad’s after breakfast. Alex and Julie were in the parlor praying. I thought, I have the answer to their prayers, but of course I don’t know what their prayers are.

  When they finished, I let them know I was there. “I need to talk to you,” I said to Alex, but there was still a part of me that thought I didn’t have to tell him.

  He waited for me.

  “Outside,” I said. “Let’s go for a walk.”

  I didn’t give Alex a chance to ask any questions. If I hesitated, I might not have gone through with it. We weren’t ten feet from the house before I handed him the sheets of paper. “Syl says there’s a safe town there,” I said. “At Sexton University.”

  Alex stared at the pages. “Has she seen it?” he asked.

  “No,” I said. “She heard about it from someone who was there when they turned it into one. She didn’t know where it was and I lied about why I asked. I went to town, to the library. This is what I found.”