Sorority Sisters

by Claudia Welch

  “Just leave it,” I say, grabbing it off the bed when he tosses it there. I half want to run out the door, putting my shirt on as I walk, but I’m trying so hard to keep the tiniest bit of dignity. And then I think, Little late for dignity, Ryan, and so I walk out of the bedroom, thrusting one arm through a sleeve, see my bra smashed down in between the cushions of the couch, grab that, and walk out the door.

  Doug is murmuring something, but it’s not an apology and it’s not words of love or regret, so I keep moving; once I’m out, down the concrete stairs and out the gate and onto the street, I shove my bra into my purse and finish buttoning my blouse.

  I made it. I got out without making a scene.

  That’s when I start to cry.

  I’m still crying when I get to The Row, and it’s quiet, it’s almost dead, and so I’m alone on the street. Bastard didn’t even walk me home. I could have been raped, or mugged.

  “Hey, baby, what’s crawling out of your purse?” says some guy sitting on a lawn chair with a beer in the middle of what should be a lawn but what is, in fact, a dry patch of dirt. “I think you forgot something!” He laughs, swigs his beer, and I shove my bra deeper into my purse.

  “Up yours.”

  It’s past midnight, about one, I guess, and I just want to get into the house and crawl into bed, but then I look at the house, that big light over the door, and I can’t face it. I can’t face anybody yet. They’ll be up—someone will be up—and they’ll see my face and they’ll know I was out with Doug, and . . . Shit, I just can’t face it. It’s as I’m veering away from the house, digging around in my purse for my keys, when Karen comes out the front door. She’s wearing wide-legged jeans and her old navy blue high school sweatshirt.

  “Diane?” she says, holding the door open behind her.

  Shit. I don’t want anyone to see me now. I try to hide in the shadows, but I can’t; there are too many damned lights on The Row.

  “Diane? Are you okay?” she says.

  “Yeah. I’m fine, sweetie. You go back to bed.”

  She comes out, the big door closing behind her. She’s barefoot, and the hem of her jeans is dragging three inches on the ground.

  “I was playing backgammon with Ellen and saw you through the window. What happened?”

  Then I start to cry again and she comes down onto the sidewalk and puts her arms around me and starts rocking me, like she’s my mom or something, only my mom’s not much of a hugger.

  “What happened?” she says, rubbing my back, stroking my hair.

  “I’ve got to get out of here,” I say, my breath hitching in my lungs, my nose running like a faucet. I wipe my nose on my sleeve, trying to suck it up and pull myself together, but I can’t. I’m in a million, billion pieces and I can’t get it together.

  “Okay,” she says. “Let’s go.” I pull back to stare at her and she grins at me, pushing my hair back behind my shoulders. “You’re the one with the car, so I hope you have your keys.”

  “I have them,” I say.

  “Where should we go?”

  “Sweetie, it’s after midnight. I can’t just drag you off—”

  “If I had the car, I’d drag you off. How much gas do you have?”

  “Enough . . .” I say, sniffing hard, smiling a little bit. “Enough to get us to the beach and back.”

  “Great. I’ve always wanted to see the sun come up over the ocean.”

  “Wrong ocean,” I say.

  “Close enough,” she says.

  And so on the long, dark drive to Santa Monica, I tell Karen everything and she listens and swears at all the right parts and we do watch the sun come up, and it is close enough.

  * * *

  I’m sure by now everyone knows what happened. I fell into a dead sleep when Karen and I got home from the beach, skipped all my classes, but I told Karen she could tell the crew what happened. Actually, I wanted her to tell. Better her than me. I didn’t want to relive the whole thing again and again with each telling. When you live in a sorority house, there’s one true thing: no secrets.

  I take a deep breath, feel it catch in the bottom of my lungs as a huge sob, choke it down, and walk into the front five-way, the house party room. When we switch up rooms every semester, everyone wants this room.

  The conversation stops instantly and four pairs of eyes hone in on my face like sniper rifles. Of course they do.

  Missy is lighting up, the sound of her lighter clicking the noisiest thing in the room in that instant. She looks at me on a stiff inhale, her eyes squinting against the smoke.

  Karen and Pi, who room in the five-way this semester, are scattered and sprawled on sloppily made beds around the room.

  Ellen is over at the window.

  It’s a shocked tableau, like the last supper or something. All of them caught in mid-gossip, and here I appear, like Christ on the mountaintop.

  Or something.

  “Diane,” Pi says, “what the hell happened? What did that stupid shit Doug Anderson think he was doing?”

  Pi is ten sticks of dynamite. She’s Hawaiian and her real name is Linda, but no one has called her Linda in years. Because she’s Hawaiian, someone started calling her the Pineapple, and before a week was out, she was Pi to everyone on The Row. As the phrase stupid shit slams out of her mouth, she enfolds me in a quick, hard hug.

  I love Pi.

  “I think I’m the stupid shit in this case,” I say, walking across the room to plop down next to Karen.

  Karen leans her shoulder against mine and puts her hand on my thigh. “You don’t have to talk about it,” she says.

  “What’s there to talk about?” Ellen snaps. “I say we kill him.”

  We all laugh a little at that, and it lightens the pain more than the crying did; plus, I don’t feel so alone in all this self-inflicted agony. I knew better; Dad told me what to do, or not do, and I didn’t listen, and now I’m so completely messed up. I did this. I’m responsible.

  Laurie walks into the room just then, stops cold, and says, “Oh, my God. Who died?”

  “Doug Anderson. In about twenty-four hours, give or take,” Ellen says.

  My heart wants to laugh, even if my face doesn’t have the strength for it.

  “What happened?” Laurie asks, dropping down on the floor to lean against a bed.

  They all look at me. Of course they all look at me. It’s no secret that I’ve had it bad for Doug Anderson since forever. It’s also no secret that we’ve been going out for a few months, if by going out you mean hanging at the Four-O and taking him to Beta Pi parties, which I do. “I did the deed with Anderson last night,” I say as casually as possible. “Anybody got a Coke?”

  Laurie gets up, slings her purse over the back of her desk chair, and reaches up for a Tab from her stash on the shelves above her desk. She holds the Tab out toward me, a questioning look on her face.

  “I can’t drink that shit, McCormick,” I say. “Forget it. Anyway, back to the sordid tale of my unruly love life.” Karen squeezes my leg and puts an arm around my shoulder. “He took me to a movie in Westwood, then back to his apartment, and so we did it, and then about a half a second later he gets all weird and turns to me and says, ‘Diane, I like you, and this was great, but I have to tell you something. I feel no love for you.’”

  Of course, now I’m crying again, and not even a Coke to drown my sorrows in.

  I’m not going to mention the little detail that I told Doug I loved him while we were doing it. Some things you just don’t share with anyone. I’m really sorry that I shared it with Anderson. Just look where it got me.

  “‘I feel no love for you’? Who the hell says that?” Ellen snarls.

  “Doug Anderson,” Missy says.

  “Did he tell you he loved you before?” Pi asks, pacing around the room
.

  “Yeah. Sort of. He said that he really thought he was falling in love with me,” I say. Because I don’t just sleep around, okay? And I really love him. Or I did.

  No. I still do.

  The tears start up again, burning a hole in my chest.

  He was everything I ever wanted. Everything. I just couldn’t believe he was actually paying attention to me, wanting me, falling in love with me.

  I guess I should have remained skeptical.

  He said he was falling in love with me, or that he could see himself falling in love with me, things like that. Circling around it, like a shark around a baby seal, and I’m the seal, with big monkey ears. But when he was saying this stuff, when those beautiful words were coming out of his beautiful mouth, I believed every word. I wanted to believe. Who wouldn’t?

  I still want to. How could he have said all that, looked at me like that, and not meant any of it? He meant it; he had to have meant it. I must have screwed it up somehow, messed it all up, been boring or ugly or something equally unforgivable and sloppy and stupid. I had him, and then I blew it.

  I just wish I could figure out what I did wrong.

  “But once he sampled the goods, then he figured out he didn’t?” Ellen says. “What a dick. Oops. Sorry, Diane. I didn’t mean to hit so close to home.”

  “God, you are so sick,” I say, laughing weakly. It feels great. For a few seconds, and then the sledgehammer hits me in my chest all over again. I start to cry mid-laugh. “I really loved him,” I sob. “Stupid prick. Oops,” I say, giggling through the tears.

  “He’s a total jerk,” Laurie says. “I never understood what you saw in him.”

  “He’s kind of boring, isn’t he?” Karen says. “All he does is stand around and wallow in his good looks. Did he ever say anything interesting? Ever?”

  Karen has her arm around my shoulder, brushing my hair back from my face. It’s a very motherly gesture and I really appreciate it at the moment. I’ve never been big on motherly gestures from people, including my mother, but I think I could get talked out of that.

  “‘I feel no love for you,’” Missy repeats, working her jaw to make smoke rings that drift toward the ceiling. “It’s not exactly Shakespeare, but it does linger.”

  “Like a fart?” Ellen asks.

  Missy laughs and kicks off her shoes.

  “How in the hell does it work that he figured out that he didn’t love you once he got into your pants?” Pi snaps. “What did you do—tie his dick in a knot?”

  “There’s a thought, but I think I missed my big chance,” I say, smiling through my tears.

  “He’s got a way with words,” Laurie says. “Doug I feel no love for you Anderson.”

  “Hell of a middle name,” Missy says, stubbing out her cigarette.

  “And yet, it works,” Ellen says. “I never liked him. He was too perfect. Fake to the core. I hate that kind of guy.”

  “You acted like you liked him at the last party,” I say, slumping down farther on the bed, my shoulders braced against the wall, my soul braced against despair. I feel like I’m sinking into the darkest, coldest, blackest depths of the sea, the weight crushing me so that I can’t breathe, and my heart is beating sideways and lopsided, but my mind is still cruelly intact. I can still see his face and I can still hear him say, “I feel no love for you,” and I can still feel the sharp pain of that moment. I’ll always feel it. I know I will. I’ll remember those words, and that moment, forever.

  “I was faking it for your sake,” Ellen says. “It’s a hell of a relief that I can tell you what I really think about that guy. Finally.”

  “Yeah? Don’t hold back,” I say. I mean it. Someone, please, blast Doug so hard and so far away that I don’t feel the pain of this anymore. I’m that ugly girl again, the monkey baby with the Halloween mask, the girl not pretty enough to take out in public.

  My tears burn in my throat, begging to be let out.

  “Finally?” Pi says on a bark of laughter. “She’s been bad-mouthing Anderson for the whole semester.”

  “Yeah?” I say. I can hear the thready hope in my voice; I’m both embarrassed and too exhausted to be embarrassed. “What? Tell me.”

  Pi and Ellen exchange a look and my heart begins a downward spiral into the murky depths again. I can’t breathe. I’m collapsing in on myself. It’s all a lie; they never said a bad word about Doug. He is perfect. I’m the one who’s not perfect. He didn’t want me. No, that’s not quite it. I failed the taste test.

  “In case I didn’t say it well the first time,” Karen says, shifting her weight to sit cross-legged on the bed. “I thought he was boring. Boring. Come on, did he ever make you laugh? Come on. Be honest. Laughing because you’re falling-down drunk doesn’t count.”

  “Him or me?” I ask.

  “Either,” Pi says. “Come on. He was a stone-cold snore, right? I mean, once you close your eyes and can’t get assaulted by all that Ken-doll prettiness.”

  “Ken doll . . . That about fits,” Missy says. “Was he, you know, missing his man parts like a true Ken doll? It’s okay—you can tell us; we won’t breathe a word.”

  “Speak for yourself,” Ellen says. “I’m stealing a megaphone and riding up and down The Row with it.”

  “He’s not in a fraternity,” I say.

  “Yeah, but he hunts here,” Ellen counters.

  That’s probably true, isn’t it? I feel like I’ve been hunted, gutted, and tied up on a car hood, Idaho-style. I have an uncle who lives in Idaho. I’ve seen the snapshots.

  I should have kept my mask on. I shouldn’t have let him see me, the real me, the me who is scared she won’t make it in the navy and the me who is only occasionally secure about her looks and the me who struggles in Navigation. I should have been the me he expected. I should have stayed slightly drunk and completely cool and very sure of myself. I should have shown him I was perfect, and then he would have loved me. But I didn’t do that. No. I let him see me, and he bolted, kicking me out of bed.

  “He’s a total bastard,” Missy says, lighting another cigarette and popping a Tab. “You wasted enough time on him, Ryan. Life’s short. Move on and move up.”

  Move up? That doesn’t even make sense. There is no moving up from Doug Anderson. Doug Anderson is everything I’ve ever wanted, even before I knew I wanted it.

  “Hell, yes,” Pi says. “McCormick, give me a Tab.”

  Laurie tosses Pi a Tab across the six feet that separate them. Pi backs up and puts her hands over her face. “Dammit, Laurie! What am I? Some sweaty AG jock? I’m supposed to catch the damn thing?”

  By this time we’re all laughing, my giggles turning into hiccups and then back into giggles. “I know it’s a damn AG who’s knocking over our bikes,” Ellen says. “She does it every damn day. I’m going to catch her at it.”

  “That explains the window watch,” Karen says. Since the AG house is right next to ours, it’s not difficult to see what’s going on over there.

  “I thought you were impersonating a lighthouse keeper,” says Laurie. “All that’s missing is the thick fisherman’s sweater. I’ve got one, if you want to borrow it.”

  “I think I could fit maybe one boob in one of your sweaters, Laurie, but thanks for the fashion tip,” Ellen says.

  “God, not you and your boobs again,” Pi says. “You need a damn theme song for them.”

  I laugh, even though I feel like I shouldn’t, and not because my heart’s breaking for Doug, though it is, but because Ellen really has this pure hate relationship going with her boobs, among other things. It’s not like she has monkey ears or anything like that, something truly hideous.

  “There goes one,” Ellen says, staring out the window. Laurie moves to stand next to her. Missy and Pi join them after a minute. I’m too wrung out to move; Karen stays at
my side, her body pressed against mine, a warm core of comfort that silently promises to be as strong as steel cable. I lean against that promise and it holds, taking the weight of my pain and need without a quiver.

  “Did she knock over the bikes?” Karen asks. “I was expecting a play-by-play.”

  “No,” Ellen says.

  “But she was joined by her fellow delinquents,” Missy says.

  “How many?” I ask.

  “Four,” Pi says. “No, five. One more just crossed the street. Damn AGs, standing right in front of our house.”

  “I think the sidewalk is public domain,” Laurie says.

  “Don’t tell me you’re taking their side in this!” Ellen says, not taking her eyes off the street.

  “Absolutely not!” Laurie says. “I just wanted to be clear about the legality of everything. For the lawsuit. Later.”

  I find myself laughing. I’m not sure why, but I love it, and I’m grateful.

  “Here comes the one who’s a cheerleader,” Pi says. “She’s dating a fraternity brother of Jared’s.”

  Jared is Pi’s brother, a total fox, and a great source of blind-date material for half the house.

  “She looks like a slut,” Ellen says.

  “You think so?” Pi asks.

  “Totally,” Ellen says. “Look at her panty line. I can see it from here.”

  “At least she’s wearing panties,” Karen says. “Did you see Cindy Gabrielle yesterday? She wasn’t wearing anything at all, and you could see her pubes through her white pants!”

  “God, no! Where did you see her?” Pi asks.

  “We have Geography together,” Karen says. “I couldn’t take my eyes off her. The professor did an admirable job, though. He looked once, and then didn’t look at her again for the whole class.”

  “I really like Cindy. What the hell happened to her?” I ask.

  “She fell in with Andi Mills. She’s been turned,” Ellen says. “I’ll be so glad when Andi graduates and gets out of here. Maybe we can turn Cindy back once she’s gone.”