The Trouble with Emily Dickinson

by Lyndsey D'Arcangelo

  They squeezed into Queenie’s BMW with a few other members of the basketball team, and proceeded to pick up three more people along the way into downtown Richmond. By the time they arrived at the club, JJ couldn’t wait to exit the sardine can that Queenie’s luxury car had become. Her ears were ringing from the stereo, since the bass had been turned up so loud.

  Queenie happily pulled into valet parking. She was also in with the bouncer, who called her by name once he saw her. They exchanged a half hug and a heartfelt slap on each other’s backs. He watched JJ suspiciously.

  “It’s fine,” Queenie told him. “She’s with me.”

  They walked as a group through the doors of the club under the bouncer’s watchful eye, and took the stairs to the second level where the entrance was.

  “Sometimes when I’m out with you, I feel like I’m with someone famous,” JJ said.

  “You are,” Queenie teased. “I’m the most popular lesbian in all of Virginia. Didn’t I tell you?”

  JJ laughed, though at that moment she wondered if maybe she should have just stayed home. But then Queenie wrapped her arm around her and yelled, “It’s going to be a great night!” and JJ’s doubt disappeared in an instant.

  They reached the second floor landing, walked down a narrow corridor and out into an open space that was packed wall to wall with every type of lesbian you could possibly imagine. The music was deafening, and you could almost see the walls shaking.

  “Let’s go dance,” Queenie yelled, and pointed in the direction of the dance floor. JJ nodded and followed the group through the crowd. She gently pushed her way through the sea of people and happily emerged at the spot where Queenie was standing. Queenie began dancing at once to the techno music that blared through the speakers while JJ tried desperately to find her rhythm, which was quite hard to do, since she had none.

  “You look ridiculous,” she told Queenie in order to draw attention away from herself.

  “Me? At least I move to the beat.”

  JJ frowned. She stopped dancing and moved through the crowd toward the wall where she’d do some people-watching instead.

  Queenie motioned for her to come and join in more than a few times, but JJ just nodded or waved in her direction. By the time Queenie found a suitable dancing partner who proceeded to put her spaghetti arms all over her, she’d forgotten that JJ was even there.

  An hour later, JJ was still leaning against the wall. A girl who looked about her age made her way over and struck up a conversation. She offered to buy JJ a soda, but all JJ could think about was the fact that the girl standing next to her wasn’t Kendal. Sure, she was cute enough. Her smile was the one bright spot in the entire evening. But she wasn’t captivating by any means, and as soon as their conversation fizzled out the girl moved on to someone else.

  At that point, JJ was ready to leave the club. She scanned the crowd for Queenie again, and spotted her off in the corner kissing the same girl who had been all over her on the dance floor. JJ once again made her way through the crowd.

  “Queenie!” JJ shouted, though she was standing right in front of her. “I’m leaving!”

  Queenie lifted her head and glanced around as if she’d forgotten where she was. “Why?” she asked, assuming JJ had been having the time of her life.

  “Because I’m ready to go!”

  Queenie stepped away from her make-out partner in crime, and pushed JJ to the side. “I’m not ready to go yet. I’m kind of in the middle of something.” She raised an eyebrow and motioned behind her where the girl was patiently waiting.

  JJ glared at her. “Do whatever you want,” she sputtered.

  Before Queenie could stop her, JJ took off through the crowd. She stomped down a narrow corridor, and pushed through the first exit door she saw. But when she stepped out onto the fire escape, she knew instantly that she’d made a wrong turn.

  JJ panicked and turned quickly to open the exit door but it was too late. It had locked firmly behind her and she was now stuck on the fire escape.

  CHAPTER 27

  “The fire escape?” Queenie stared in amazement. “You got stuck on the fire escape? At the club?”

  They both were still dressed in their pajamas, eating Queenie’s Chinese food order that had just been delivered. It was almost 3 p.m., and JJ still felt exhausted from their late night out.

  “And you had your cell phone on you the entire time?” Queenie asked between mouthfuls of Kung Pao chicken.

  JJ nodded. The night had been a complete and utter failure. After she finally got down from the fire escape, she’d taken a cab back to school. Queenie still wasn’t home, so JJ crawled into bed. She heard Queenie come in an hour later. The two of them slept until after noon, when Queenie had finally rolled over and asked, “What in the world happened to you last night?”

  “Yes, and I’ll repeat it again for those of you who are hard of hearing. I got stuck on the fire escape at the club.”

  “So how were you able to get down?” Queenie asked.

  “I figured out how to release the latch on the stairs, only they didn’t fall all the way to the ground. I walked across them anyway, and they fell from underneath me. I managed to land on my feet somehow, and then I realized I was in the middle of a broken down lot with fire barrels, broken beer bottles, and random individuals lurking about. I sprinted down the first alley I spotted and jumped into the back of a cab, which cost me twenty-five bucks, by the way.”

  JJ had wanted Queenie to feel remorseful for what happened. But when JJ told her story, Queenie showed no remorse—only laughter and sarcasm. And, really, who could blame Queenie? Getting stuck on a fire escape at a club was not an average occurrence. And in hindsight, it was considerably amusing. JJ had even laughed at herself when she described how she’d finally gotten down.

  “At least you have a really good story to tell because of it,” Queenie said. “I mean, seriously, that’s the kind of story you break out at boring parties and other humdrum social functions.”

  “It wouldn’t be as funny if I had fallen or been robbed at gunpoint,” JJ replied as she nibbled on some white rice. “I should have never gone out.”

  “But, if you hadn’t gone out, you wouldn’t have had any fun sitting here pouting, and you wouldn’t have gotten stuck on the fire escape, either. That means you wouldn’t have lived to tell what I now consider to be the greatest story ever told.” Queenie pointed at JJ with her fork before she pierced a piece of chicken and gobbled it up.

  “Funny.” JJ sipped her soda. “So, now you know what happened to me last night. I still don’t know how the rest of your night was.”

  “Trust me. My story isn’t half as good as yours.”

  “Do tell.”

  “There’s nothing to tell.”

  “What happened with you and that girl at the club?”

  “Not much,” Queenie shrugged, and fished around in her carton for any remaining bits of chicken before tossing it aside on the table. Then she turned on the television as if she’d grown bored with the conversation.

  “From my perspective, it looked like more than ‘not much was going on,’” JJ pressed.

  “We hung out for a bit more and that’s it,” Queenie repeated, eyes fixed on the television.

  “I tell you what you deem to be the greatest story ever told, and you can’t even offer me a few simple words about a girl you met at a club?”

  “We were having fun, and then I lost interest.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, after the club closed we went our separate ways, and I felt—used.”

  JJ shook her head from side to side, “Wait a minute. You felt used? You? Queenie McBride?”

  Queenie turned off the television, and threw the remote control at the recliner in the corner of the room.

  “Do you have to make me sound like that big of a jerk?” she snapped.

  JJ paused. “Okay. What’s going on with you?”

  “Nothing, I’m just—maybe I’m think
ing too much.”

  “Queenie, seriously. What’s going on?” JJ set the can of soda aside and sat up in her chair. “Something is obviously bothering you. It’s me, you can talk to me.”

  “I don’t know what it is,” Queenie said finally. “I just felt sort of hollow when I woke up this morning, like I suddenly grew a conscience.” She pretended to pick off something repulsive from her forehead and flicked it to the ground. “How do I get rid of it?”

  “Your conscience? I don’t think you can,” JJ told her. “You’re pretty much stuck with it.”

  “It was so awkward when we left the club,” Queenie said, and stood up. She circled the room, focusing her eyes nowhere in particular. “We said this weird goodbye, and that’s it. But for some reason I felt like I should get to know the girl, you know? Like on a deeper level or something. So, I asked her for her number to see if she wanted to go out again sometime.” She stopped circling and glared at JJ. “And you know what she said to me? She said, ‘I’m not into that.’ So I said, ‘not into what?’ And she said, ‘relationships.’”

  “And that bothered you because . . . ?”

  “Are you kidding me?” Queenie exclaimed. “That’s my line! Where does she get off using my line?”

  “Wait a second,” JJ scratched her head. “Are you mad about her stealing your line or the fact that you are the one who got played in this little scenario?”

  “Neither. Both. I don’t know.” Queenie slumped down onto the recliner.

  “Okay. Try this one on for size,” JJ began. “What if last night was basically a chance for you to see yourself through your own eyes, or through the eyes of some of the girls you hook up with and leave hanging? You felt how they feel after you cast them aside. You felt the need for something more, something a bit more real. You felt the need to open yourself up to someone else. And it bothered you that you were actually the one who got burned.”

  Queenie squinted and shifted in her seat, as if she were contemplating JJ’s words long and hard. Then she grimaced and retrieved the remote control from beneath her because it was pinching her butt and tossed it aside.

  “Nope. I don’t think that’s it,” she said. “I think I just wondered—for a very, very, extremely brief moment—what it would be like to actually date someone. And thankfully, that girl’s response brought me back to reality.”

  “That girl?” JJ cringed, and rubbed her temples. “You don’t even remember her name?”

  “Shelia—Shannon. I don’t know. It was something that started with an ‘S’.”

  “Are you listening to what you are saying?”

  “What? She probably doesn’t remember my name either.”

  “Wait a minute. Five seconds ago you had a conscience. You had a moment of guilt. A moment when the enormous brick wall that normally hides your emotions came tumbling down. What happened?”

  “Eh. It passed.”

  “It passed?”

  “Yes. The moment passed.”

  “Just like that?”

  Queenie snapped her fingers, “Just like that.”

  JJ threw her hands up in the air, “How in the world is that possible?”

  “Simple. I realized who I was talking to.”

  “And just who are you talking to?”

  “I’m talking to someone who does the opposite of me. Someone who opens herself up to people. Someone who doesn’t have a so-called brick wall. So she ends up being someone who gets hurt on a regular basis.” Queenie weighed one hand against the other. “I figure, hey—it’s safer doing things my way. At least I’m not the one who gets hurt.”

  Though she didn’t admit it, JJ knew that Queenie was right on some level. After all, she’d been right about Kendal.

  CHAPTER 28

  JJ’s stomach tossed and turned in directions she didn’t know were possible. She sat in the dining hall, forcing down bites of spaghetti with marinara sauce, between ample gulps of milk. Queenie sat across from her, comfortably stuffing her face as usual.

  “How can you eat like that before a game?” JJ asked, as Queenie shoved a piece of bread slathered with butter into her eager mouth.

  “I’m hungry,” Queenie said, as if being hungry gave her the right to devour any and every piece of food set in front of her. “I need energy for the game. And so do you.”

  JJ set her fork down and rubbed her stomach. “I feel like I am going to throw up.”

  “It’s just a game,” Queenie said as she proceeded to mop up the rest of the sauce on her plate with another piece of buttered bread. “It really isn’t that big of a deal.”

  “I know.” JJ picked up her fork again, this time with determination. “I can’t help it. I get nervous.” She spun some pasta around the fork and opened wide.

  “You get nervous about everything. Maybe some Prozac would help?”

  “Prozac is an anti-depressant. And I’m not depressed. I just get a little anxious now and then.”

  “A little?” Queenie mocked. “You get anxious when it’s raining outside and you can’t find an umbrella.”

  “I’m not that bad.”

  “Trust me. You are that bad.”

  “Why don’t you ever get nervous?”

  Queenie shrugged and ate more bread and butter.

  “That’s just part of your character, I suppose,” JJ said enviously. “I wish I could be as carefree as you sometimes.”

  “I wish I could write like you sometimes,” Queen returned. “Besides, what makes you think I’m so carefree?”

  “Gee, I don’t know. How about the fact that you barely blink under what I would consider stressful situations.”

  “Such as?”

  “Such as—talking to girls, taking exams, playing in basketball games, graduating from high school, getting into a good college—pretty much life in general.”

  “It’s all trivial, JJ. You put too much stock into things that don’t matter.”

  “Exams don’t matter? Basketball doesn’t matter? College doesn’t matter?”

  “Not in the big scheme of things. Life is too short to worry about the small stuff. You think I care if Coach chews me out for missing a shot that would have won us a game? There’s always going to be another game. There’s always going to be another girl to talk to. And in life there’s always going to be another exam or test of some sort, on paper or otherwise. Why break a sweat over each one?”

  “Come on, Queenie,” said JJ. “There are things in life that are worth sweating over.”

  “Maybe. But just hear me out.”

  “Okay. I’m listening.”

  “Take your stage fright, for instance. What is it that you really are afraid of?”

  “I’m afraid of what people are going to think about my work.”

  “That’s just an excuse and you know it,” said Queenie. She pointed a knowing finger about an inch away from JJ’s nose. “People are going to critique your work whether you read it out loud or not. You’re a writer, JJ. It’s part of the game you’re in.”

  “Then what am I afraid of?” asked JJ.

  “What you really are afraid of is success. Because once you get up on stage and read your stuff—just once—you’ll be able to do it again without thinking twice. You’ve just got to do it knowing that you are going to get up there again, knowing that there will be other opportunities to do so, knowing that the first time you get up there isn’t the end-all, be-all for you. Deep inside, you know you can do it. Deep inside, you know you want to do it.” Queenie pressed her finger to JJ’s nose as if she were pushing a button. “You just have to quit stalling, and do it!”

  “You know,” JJ started her response, and then whacked Queenie’s finger away from her face, “Despite all the nonsense you have ever spouted before, this time you are actually making sense.”

  Queenie smiled, folded her hands and began to twiddle her thumbs.

  If JJ didn’t know any better, she would have assumed that Queenie was wise beyond her years. But she did know better.
She also knew how easy it was to give sound advice to other people, rather than taking advice yourself. She gave Queenie a long look.

  “What about you?”

  “What about me?” Queenie continued to twiddle.

  “Come on, Queenie. Isn’t there anything in this world that you’re afraid of?”

  Queenie tipped her toes and leaned back, tilting the front legs of her chair up in the air, and stared up at the ceiling. JJ waited patiently for her to respond, and picked at her spaghetti even though she knew she was finished eating.

  “Yes,” Queenie said at last.

  “Yes?”

  “Yes. There is one thing that I am afraid of.”

  “And that would be?”

  “Becoming my parents.”

  JJ glared at her, “I was being serious.”

  “So am I.”

  “You’re way too hard on them.”

  “Listen. You know my parents, but you don’t really know my parents. I don’t want to be anything like them.”

  “That’s fine,” JJ said, sliding her plate aside. “But don’t push it to the limit by taking advantage of them at every turn, or belittling them every chance you get. You never let it rest. It’s almost as if you enjoy making life difficult for them to appease your own agenda when maybe, if you just talked to them, you might be able to find common ground you can share with them.”

  “Trust me,” Queenie said as she settled her chair back into an upright position, “There’s no common ground.”

  “I wonder sometimes—” JJ posed. “If you didn’t have your parents to torment on a regular basis, who would you be? You define yourself by defying them.”

  Before Queenie had a chance to respond, a shadow fell over the table. Both JJ and Queenie looked up. Kyan Stevens loomed over them.

  “Do you know him?” Queenie asked. She pointed her thumb awkwardly in his direction, like a hitchhiker lazily hailing a ride.

  “Can I talk to you?” Kyan asked, keeping his eyes planted on JJ, ignoring Queenie altogether. “It’s important.”