Providence: Once Upon a Second Chance

by Chris Coppernoll

  “Good evening sir! Checking in?”

  “Yes,” I told him. And no, I didn’t have any luggage. A minute before, I didn’t even know I’d be here. I grabbed my book bag and climbed out. A valet hustled my Jeep away to underground parking.

  This was all new to me. I knew next to nothing about the high-end hotel experience. I pulled out three one-dollar bills, handed them to the doorman, and walked through the rotating doors into the hotel. Floor to ceiling, the grand lobby was a splashy, extravagant world of excess, a far cry from the dreary winterland outside. An enormous Persian rug covered most of the marble floor, and the sound of splashing water drew my attention to a huge, intricate fountain in the center of the cavernous room. Near the lounge, businessmen and women in suits mingled sociably, waiting to be seated for dinner. I approached the front desk.

  “Welcome to the Hyatt Regency, Mr. Clayton” the man at the front desk said. “Will you be staying with us this weekend?”

  For a moment I didn’t know how he could have known my name. Then I remembered that my face was on the cover of Time magazine. This kind of recognition could only happen downtown, miles from the campus, where any novelty of fame had worn off, mellowing into friendly, aweless greetings from students and visitors.

  The clerk’s recognition didn’t signify to me any sense of my own importance, far from it. Instead, it perpetuated a mild sense of paranoia, one that had been building all week and had spiked that afternoon with Bud’s phone call.

  “I’ll be staying the night,” I said, handing over my driver’s license and credit card.

  While he typed my info into the computer, I wondered what he might think about local guests who check in with no luggage. Perhaps he thought I was planning a clandestine rendezvous for the evening. A little dalliance to help the writer write. He rang the desk bell twice, and a bellhop appeared out of nowhere.

  “Suite 704,” he said, handing the bellhop my plastic card-key and wishing me a pleasant stay.

  When we reached the seventh floor, the bellhop walked ahead of me to the room, unlocked the door, turned on the lights, and explained the switches that controlled everything from lights to window shades inside the luxurious suite. I tipped the only other bill in my wallet, a five. When he was gone, I bolted the room’s heavy door and peered out the fish-eye lens at the middle-aged man shrinking as he walked back down the hallway.

  I sat on the edge of the bed, kicked off my shoes, peeled off my socks, pulled off my damp parka and clothing, and crawled into the most comfortable bed in America. So this is what money can buy: a sumptuous night of sleep behind a locked door on the top floor of a fancy hotel, where no one knows how to find you.

  ~ NINE ~

  I have a picture pinned to my wall

  an image of you and of me

  And we’re laughing, we’re loving it all.

  —Thompson Twins

  “Hold Me Now”

  Twelve weeks had passed since Mitchell and I had left Overton. The days of autumn were growing progressively cooler. But Indian summer brought a June-like heat wave to Providence, and the campus morphed into a beach with students sunning themselves on blankets spread across fallen maple leaves.

  Mitchell had been “Joe Athlete” in high school. I guess he missed the ache-inducing workouts and brutal team practices, so on this extraordinary day, we dug out running shorts and T-shirts and hit the campus trails.

  We ran for forty minutes across north central, over the bridge from the Jeffrey Brown Arts and Sciences Building, and then to the hilly west side, where dorms house a third of the students. Racing up a grassy slope, we found ourselves at the doorway of a women’s dormitory, Lillian Hall. We were bent over at the waist, our lungs burning from lack of oxygen, our shirts damp with sweat. West Campus was practically unexplored territory. The view from the summit was sensational.

  Lillian Hall was one of three women’s dormitories at Providence. An impressive three-story expression of midwestern Ivy League distinction and modest old money. I sat on a stone bench in the courtyard while Mitchell pressed his face against the glass door.

  “I think window peeking is still illegal, Mitch.”

  “Very funny,” he said, his hands cupped around his eyes to block the light. “I know a girl who lives here.”

  “Really? What’s her name?” No sooner had I asked than a cute blonde opened the front door and leaned out.

  “Mitchell? Hi!” The young woman pushed a runaway strand of yellow hair behind her ear. “What are you doing here?”

  Mitch stepped backward, drawing the mysterious Lillian Hall girl outside. The two of them lit up like diamonds.

  “We were just out for a run,” Mitch said, gesturing toward me. “I thought I’d tempt you to enjoy this awesome day.”

  I was quickly getting the picture that our run was merely an excuse to get to Lillian Hall.

  “Jack,” Mitch said, gesturing, “this is Erin Taylor. She’s in my sociology class. Now behave yourself, she’s decent.”

  I stood and approached. She was only twenty, but her eyes were those of an old soul. She glowed when Mitchell introduced her.

  “Hey, Erin,” I said, taking her hand. Her grip was firm and confident like she’d known hard work.

  “Mitchell has told me a little bit about you,” Erin said, the corners of her mouth rising into a smile. Her teeth were perfect and white. Her shoulder-length blond hair curled up pertly at the ends. She gazed up at me through piercing sapphire eyes.

  “You seem like a nice person, Erin. How do you know a skunk like Mitch?”

  “Oh, Mitchell is not a skunk!” Those same eyes sharpened, and her voice took on a gentle defensiveness.

  “Just kidding,” I said, but I wouldn’t joke like that around her again. She was too sweet to make irksome.

  “We’re in the same class on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”

  “It’s a very intimate group,” Mitch said.

  “About sixty people!” Erin laughed again—a nice laugh.

  Mitch smiled, she smiled, then I smiled. These two were in love. Or destined for it. Where had she come from? How could Mitchell meet someone and fall in love so quickly?

  A steady stream of young women moved in and out of Lillian Hall while the three of us chatted in the courtyard. Without fanfare, another delicate and beautiful young woman slid into our conclave as if she already belonged. She entered my life unannounced, but over the next few years, she would overturn every stone I was.

  “Looks like somebody’s making friends.”

  “Hi, Jenny,” Erin said. “You know Mitchell, and this is Jack …” She squinted.

  “Clayton,” I said, turning to look at Jenny for the first time.

  “Jack is Mitchell’s roommate.”

  Mitchell’s roommate? Funny, I’d always thought of it the other way around.

  “And this is my roommate, Jenny. We’ve only been friends since about the sixth grade, so I hardly know her.”

  They giggled. Mitch, Erin, and Jenny started talking about Indiana’s unseasonably warm weather and unsympathetic class schedules that prevent poor college students from enjoying it. Their conversation buzzed around me, sweeping in and out, hushing their voices and slowing the seconds into a slow-motion film. Who is this girl? Who is this incredible girl?

  The striking twenty-year-old junior exuded a presence like no one I’d known. She was sharp as angel’s eyes, stunning in her beauty, elegant in her demeanor. A calm surface concealed a passion for life in the waters below. She was confident, fearless, and yet peaceful and content. I wondered what kinds of dreams she dreamed. I wondered if I’d ever have the chance to hear them.

  “Mitchell and I were thinking of catching a movie tonight,” I heard Erin say. “I won’t be back before nine thirty or ten.”

  “Sounds like a good time,” Jenny said.

  “You guys are free to tag along,” Erin added.

  For a moment I was excited by the thought of spending time with Jenny, but my nervous th
rill was short lived.

  “No, that’s all right,” Jenny answered, shifting the bag she held from one small hand to the other. “I’d love an excuse to play, but I’ve got a meeting at the library in an hour. I’m just here to pick up something.”

  “I’m going to buzz Mitchell in for a second,” Erin said. “I have some notes upstairs he needs. We won’t be long.”

  Erin and Mitch walked through Lillian Hall’s stately doors, leaving Jenny and me alone. I hadn’t spoken to her yet. She walked a few steps to a mailbox and opened it with a key. She removed colorful envelopes and smiled wide like a schoolgirl who’s just been handed a box of valentines. I wondered if one of the cards or letters was from a boyfriend. Women as attractive as Jenny always had at least one; it’s practically federal law.

  I needed to say something before Jenny disappeared into Lillian Hall, but I didn’t have a clue what that something should be.

  She glanced up from her letters. “It was nice meeting you, Jack.” She stepped closer to the door and reached for the handle.

  “Is it your birthday?” I asked.

  “Tomorrow,” she said. “These are cards from friends, my mom … you know.” It seemed obvious she’d been loved all her life.

  “It’s a bummer not having your family here to help celebrate your birthday,” I said.

  “I’ll see them at Thanksgiving, and besides, I’ve got Erin. She’s as good as family.”

  No mention of Mr. Boyfriend. From the top of her chestnut hair to the soles of her patent-leather shoes, Jenny’s beauty shimmered in the light of the afternoon sun. As I write this today, I am back there with her in that moment. Time hasn’t erased what it felt like to meet her.

  “Good,” I said. “No one should be without loved ones on their birthday. Nineteen?” I asked.

  “This one makes twenty,” she said, unrushed. Perhaps she was flattered by the attention.

  “Well, Jenny …”

  “Cameron. Jenny Cameron.”

  “Well, Jenny Cameron,” I said, taking a step back. “Happy birthday. And have a great meeting.”

  “Thank you, Jack,” she said. Her eyes turned to the door, her body followed, and then she was gone.

  I didn’t wait for Mitch. I ran down the hill, my drive intensifying with every step. I sprinted a mile to the North Campus athletic complex and raced around the quarter-mile track until I’d burned my adrenaline back down to a manageable level.

  After my run I walked through a grassy field to cool down and stretch my muscles. The sun’s slow descent resembled the last embers of a beach fire, our November gift of a summer’s day succumbing to the earth’s slow revolution. The light became dazed and delicate, and I allowed myself to daydream about seeing Jenny again. I guess some daydreams come true, because right then Miss Jenny Cameron herself walked up in blue jeans and a beige sweater. I wondered if there was a certain something to this life, a certain something that lined events up just the way they ought to be lined up. She looked up and saw that our two sidewalks would soon cross, and if we maintained our current paces, we’d collide.

  “Still running? You must be in good shape.”

  “I think it’s the weather. I didn’t plan on being out this long.” We stopped in the centermost point of North Campus. “But bumping into you again makes me glad I stopped to run a few laps,” I said, too flirty but true. She ignored it.

  “Listen,” Jenny said, “I’m glad I ran into you. I wanted to say I’m sorry if I was short with you before, back at the dorm.”

  “You weren’t short. You were fine.”

  “I’ve been looking for a check in the mail, and it hasn’t arrived. I guess I’m sort of preoccupied.”

  We smiled, signaling that if any infraction had been committed, all was right now. We walked side by side, both of us headed in the same direction. At first we strolled in silence, but I wanted to hear her speak.

  “So, Jenny Cameron, what are you planning to do for your twentieth birthday?”

  “I don’t have any big plans. Erin and I will probably just have dinner in the dorm and go to bed early for a change.” She shrugged off my question like the birthday was no big deal.

  “So I guess you and Erin are really close?”

  “She’s my best friend. We’ve been roommates here for two and a half years too. I’d say we’re pretty close. How well do you know Mitchell?”

  “He’s been my best friend all my life. I couldn’t leave him back in Iowa, so I made him come with me to Providence.”

  “So you’re the brains in the operation.”

  It must have sounded like I thought I had the world in my pocket.

  “I don’t know about that. Sometimes I think Mitchell lives in a world all his own. Had you met him before?”

  “Once. The three of us had lunch at that little pita sandwich shop on Broadway last Friday.”

  We walked along the winding sidewalk to the central library, the night air rapidly cooling.

  “He’s a pretty good guy.”

  “Erin wouldn’t give him the time of day if he wasn’t.”

  “And yet maybe you should keep your eyes open just in case.” I smiled.

  “I’m sure Erin can take care of herself.”

  As we approached the Tillman-Aubry Center, Jenny’s body began to blend in with the dusk, mellowing it with her presence.

  “I’m going to have to make another quick exit, Jack. This is where my meeting is.”

  Jenny climbed the first of the wide cement library steps and turned around. Behind her the building’s facade was lit by yellow light shining through tall rectangular windows. The smell of smoke from a campfire drifted in the air as Jenny said good-bye to me for the second time that day.

  “Good-bye again,” I said. “I hope you have a great meeting and a great birthday. Um … I already said that, didn’t I?”

  She offered a sweet smile.

  On impulse I added, “Well, if you’d like to have dinner with someone who’d love to make your birthday special …” The words met the air sounding brash and forward. They hung precariously until Jenny replied, instantly turning my awkward words into a friendly invitation.

  “That’s very nice of you, Jack,” she said. She paused for a moment, processing the request, I suppose. “Actually, I’m sure Erin and Mitchell will be in the mood to see each other. Would you and Mitchell like to come over for cake tomorrow night?”

  I had my answer ready before she’d finished her question.

  “Yes. We’d love to come over for cake. We’ll bring the ice cream.”

  “I’m sure Erin will approve.” We stared at each other in the final moments of twilight. “Good night, Jack. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  She walked up the steps into the building, and I turned for home. I don’t recall wondering if I’d made an impression on her. But the impression she’d made on me was transformational. I felt there was something significant about the way we’d met, and then met again. About how Jenny had invited us over to watch her blow out the candles on her birthday cake. About how lucky I was to be one of only two men on campus, or in the entire world, with such an invitation.

  As I walked back to the apartment in my sweat-damp running clothes, I replayed everything that happened over and over again in my head. I barely noticed the chill in the air or the lingering smell of burning campfires.

  ~ Ten ~

  At night I wake up with the sheets soaking wet

  and a freight train running through the

  middle of my head.

  —Bruce Springsteen

  “I’m on Fire”

  The next morning I opened one eye to find myself in a strange world. A magnificent clear blue sky filled the enormous hotel window. I climbed from the king-size bed and pressed against the glass for a better view. I’d never seen Providence from so high up before, and the city below looked as quaint as a snow village. But it was a quiet village, shut down by a blanket of fresh wet snow. Nothing moved on the streets.
<
br />   I looked around my room by the light of day.

  My suite was amply stocked with every comfort from Pellegrino water to toothbrush and toothpaste, deodorant, and Hershey bars. A yellow legal pad and black-felt pens invited me to sit down and write at the work desk. I ignored them and called room service, ordering eggs, bacon, and a pot of decaf. No one knew I was here except the front-desk clerk, and if he wasn’t talking, neither was I. I’d checked in feeling as taut as piano wire. But what a way to unwind.

  While waiting for breakfast, I called Peter’s cell phone.

  “This is Peter.”

  “So I’m not fired, right? You’re going to let me come back to work when the book’s finished?”

  “No, you’re fired,” he said, kidding, I hoped.

  “In that case, maybe I will consider moving to Jamaica. I could get used to a little relaxation.”

  Peter Brenner grew up fifteen miles south of Providence. He’d come on board less than two years after I did, and we’d hit it off straight out of the box. Peter has been like a brother, calling on weekends, checking in on me. He drove me home from the doctor’s office once after a minor outpatient procedure. And he helped me move in when I bought my house.

  “Aaron said he thought you were down at the shop yesterday afternoon. You aren’t going to make these stopovers a habit, are you?”

  “No, I’m done for good, Peter. I needed to get CMO out of my system, but I won’t be back.” I’d meant during the sabbatical, but the words sounded more emphatic, and perhaps prophetic, than intended.

  “Where was everyone? I thought I’d at least see Mrs. Burman.”

  “Don’t you watch the weather where you live, Jack? Aaron closed the shop at two thirty so we could all beat the blizzard home. We got more than a foot last night. Everyone with any sense left Dodge by midday.”

  “No kidding.” I took the phone over to the window and looked down to the street again. I could see only the whitewashed concrete and huge drifts that, upon further study, turned out to be buried cars. “Anything new going on?”

  “The office isn’t the same without you, if that’s what you wanted to hear. Aaron’s asked Nancy to go back to a five-day workweek.”