Daniel
Chapter 24
Confusion
I am out of breath;
Confusion’s near; I cannot speak.
(Coriolanus, Act III, Scene 1)
I SPED AWAY FROM THE MADISON HOUSE in a fury. If I’d stuck around, I wouldn’t have been able control myself. I’d never felt such an overwhelming desire to hurt someone in my whole life, but I had to avoid making a scene. How the hell would I explain punching Matt Miller in the face? My hands shook as I clung to the steering wheel.
Driving blindly, I somehow arrived home alive, a scorching ball of jealousy churning in my gut and a horrible feeling spreading through my chest. This was not heartache. An ache is a dull pain, and there was nothing dull about this; shards of glass were being repeatedly thrust into my heart, twisted, and then violently pulled out. By the time I reached my condo, my breathing was labored and I realized with horror that I was on the cusp of another anxiety attack.
Once inside, I dropped onto the couch, head between my knees, breathing deeply and regularly and massaging my shoulder. Twice in the last few weeks these symptoms—which, for months, had been a distant memory—had resurfaced. Both times they were inspired by this ill-conceived relationship with Aubrey Price. When the first resurgence of anxiety had happened in the quad, mere moments after I’d told Aubrey how I felt for her, I’d been startled by the surge of panic, but not necessarily surprised. After all, I’d just openly confessed to having feelings for one of the students in Martin Brown’s class. Talk about stupid.
I’d managed to avert a full-blown attack that day by talking myself through the clutching pain around my heart. I did the same thing now, counting to ten with each breath until the stabbing in my shoulder blade slowly receded.
Though I was gradually mastering the immediate physical effects of Aubrey’s betrayal, my mind was a mass of contradictions. How could she do this? How could she so easily throw away what had the potential to be an amazing relationship? And wouldn’t you know it—the guy she’d turned to had been Matt.
I reeled with shock as I tried to fathom how she could do something so completely out of character. Then, almost simultaneously, something else dawned on me: Did I really know her? She’d captured my interest with her wit and intelligence, bowling me over with her understated beauty and assertiveness, but I’d made a blind leap of faith little more than a week ago.
Fuck, talk about rushing headlong into something. I should have heeded my instincts. I’d known Matt wanted her, sensed all along that he was watching for a tiny chink in her armor so he could weasel his way in. The expression on his face when he’d looked at her on Saturday, the way he’d affectionately caressed her hair—these were not the actions of someone who was content to simply be a friend. I’d heard them flirting and frolicking behind their closed apartment door the week before, but I’d allowed Aubrey to convince me to dismiss their obvious domestic bliss. What a fool I’d been.
If there was one thing I couldn’t abide, it was having my intelligence insulted. Now I felt like the butt of a cruel joke. I had another surge of panic as I wondered whether or not she’d pull the rug out from under me entirely and tell someone about our relationship and the advances I’d made. But surely she wouldn’t do that. Regardless of what had happened to turn her feelings against me, there’s no way she would want to hurt me that badly. Would she? She’d chosen Matt, but she still had to care for me, at least a little. But enough to protect me?
I needed a drink.
I rummaged through the unpacked boxes stacked against the living room wall until I found the bottles which would eventually fill my liquor cabinet. I poured myself a generous glass of scotch, knocked back a few mouthfuls, and shuddered deeply as the alcohol burned through the bitter lump in the back of my throat.
Thinking back to my conversation with Aubrey from the day before, I tried to puzzle out whether I’d missed something. Should I have known she’d decided to call it quits? It was hard to believe our ridiculous fight on Saturday had impacted her feelings so significantly. Sure, the way we’d parted in the taxi was unpleasant, but with a little effort, we could have easily gotten things back on track.
After class, I’d left Aubrey, thinking she was looking forward to talking and clearing the air, but hadn’t she claimed that something had crystallized in her mind as she agreed we had a lot to talk about? Perhaps she’d been intending to tell me she wasn’t interested in continuing our forbidden romance and that a relationship with Matt was easier and more satisfying. Then I’d screwed up her plan by walking into the bar unannounced, catching her red-handed.
Dinner with Julie. That must have been a ruse. Julie hadn’t even been there. If I hadn’t surprised Aubrey by heading into the Madison to get her, I’d have been none the wiser. She would have met me at my car, told me she’d decided she didn’t want to pursue our relationship, and then possibly gone back inside to continue her evening with Matt.
The memory of them clinging to one another—their bodies pressed together while she ran her hands all over his back—nauseated me. I spiraled from jealousy, to rage, and then to complete self-loathing before settling into a state of utter despondency.
She didn’t want me.
I drank glass after glass of scotch, pacing back and forth in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room and stopping occasionally to lean against the cool glass. The bright city lights mocked me. Knowing Aubrey was somewhere with Matt, possibly experiencing the satisfaction I was currently incapable of offering her, ate away at me.
And the lengths I’d considered—what I’d been prepared to do to hold onto her—what a complete fool I’d been.
I woke up the next morning on the sofa, roused by the sunlight streaming through the windows. I sat up slowly, the pounding in my temples rivaled by the churning rot in my stomach. I was still fully dressed, and my teeth felt like little cashmere sweaters had been knitted over them in the night. Revolting. Standing unsteadily, I staggered to the bathroom to brush my teeth.
Getting up was my first mistake. Walking was my second.
As soon as I started to move, my stomach lurched into my throat. Making it to the washroom with seconds to spare, I puked myself dry. But there’s one good thing about being bent over a toilet chucking up your guts: when you’re in the midst of it, that’s really all you can think about. It wasn’t until I was in the shower, leaning weakly against the tiles as the hot spray beat down on me, that I contemplated my day. It was Wednesday. I had to go to Martin’s class and then run a tutorial. The thought of calling Martin to tell him I was ill crossed my mind, but what was the point? I’d have to face Aubrey eventually.
After my shower, I gathered my notes and looked them over while I ate a couple of pieces of dry toast. Monday’s tutorial had gone well. I could muddle through again today. As for Friday? Well, that would be a different story.
Retreating to my office, I turned on some music in the hopes of quieting the sound of my inner monologue. Instead, I felt worse as one song after another reminded me of Aubrey and of what we could have had if she’d been patient—if she’d given me a chance to prove I was worth waiting for.
But was I worth waiting for? I couldn’t even be sure. Maybe I was too cynical and too prone to jealousy. Had I pushed her into Matt’s arms with my distrust? Or was my indecisiveness the final straw? Were my mixed messages and on-again off-again advances too much for her to tolerate? Was I the one being unreasonable? Fuck, I needed to talk to someone.
I tracked down my cell phone, sighing as I scrolled through my unread text messages. There were three from Aubrey. The first one had been sent shortly after I’d left the Madison House the night before:
Would you please come back so I can explain? -A
Another had followed about fifteen minutes later:
I’m heading home. We need to talk. Please answer me. -A
At nine thirty, she’d sent her final message:
I’m home now. I won’t bother texting ag
ain. I was going to call, but you’ll probably ignore that too. Very mature. -A
Shit. Now what was I supposed to do? I wasn’t about to reply, providing proof of our connection in black and white. I wasn’t prepared to phone her, either. What did she think I’d want to hear? She’d made a choice. Did I need to hear why I’d been found inferior? I’d swallowed my pride on Monday, giving her those gloves and my shirt—writing that note. She couldn’t have been under any misapprehension about my feelings for her, and yet she was still prepared to throw everything away.
I started dialing Penny’s number and then quickly abandoned the idea. Today was Wednesday. She and Brad were picking up the keys to their new house. The last thing she needed was me crapping on her happiness with my misery. I couldn’t even call Jeremy. His relationship with Julie would complicate things.
Shit, this was going to be messy.
I gritted my teeth as I let myself into Martin’s class room. I was early, my plan already formulated. I’d lose myself in my notes and ignore the students as they entered. That way I could avoid looking at Aubrey entirely.
As it turned out, my strategy wasn’t necessary. The students filed in, and while a few came over to chat about the upcoming test, Aubrey didn’t arrive. Neither did Julie. Were they together? Was Aubrey ashamed or too embarrassed to face me?
Regardless of what had inspired her absence, I was grateful as hell and made it through the lecture and tutorial in one piece. After meeting with Martin about the following week’s test, I escaped to the sanctuary of my condo, relieved.
I knew I was going to have to face Aubrey eventually and make an effort to clear the air. Having a romantic relationship was inappropriate for a TA and student, but so was harboring grudges about personal conflicts. I couldn’t bring myself to deal with the situation, though. I had this vague uneasiness lurking in the back of my mind—a strange feeling that I wasn’t allowing myself to acknowledge.
To deter my wayward thoughts, I kept busy. Order—that’s what I needed. Unpacking would fit the bill perfectly. It took me three hours to unpack and break down the remaining boxes. I was gripped by a sort of mania, not stopping until I was completely finished. Drained, I finally allowed myself to relax, ordering a pizza and then cracking open a beer, my morning hangover long forgotten.
Chapter 25
Cold-Hearted
Cleopatra: Not know me yet?
Antony: Cold-hearted toward me?
(Antony and Cleopatra, Act III, Scene 11)
WHEN I ARRIVED ON CAMPUS Friday morning, I picked up the key to the Committees Room from the Hart House porter, ready for the afternoon tutorial and its new venue. I settled into my spot at the front of Martin’s classroom, keeping my eyes fixed on my notes and books, just as I’d done on Wednesday.
Students arrived individually and in small groups. A couple of minutes before twelve o’clock, Aubrey and Julie walked in right on Martin’s heels, claiming two spots near the door where they’d sat earlier in the semester. I stole a quick look at Aubrey, enough to confirm that she was as unwilling to make eye contact as I was. I feigned disinterest as I’d done so often in this room.
As Martin lectured about Othello, my mind wandered—pure self-preservation. I wouldn’t be able to check out during the upcoming tutorial; I’d simply have to put on my game face and prove that I could maintain a professional demeanor.
With the class winding down, Martin reminded students of the upcoming test and notified my seminar group of the change of location for their tutorial. I quickly packed up my bag and dashed out of the class. I had to get over to Hart House first so I could have a few moments to breathe before everyone arrived.
The second-floor meeting room at Hart House was a hell of a lot less claustrophobic, partly due to its size, but also thanks to the three large windows which lined one wall. The tables were set up in a square U-shape. I took a seat at a corner where two tables met, angling myself so I’d have the best vantage point.
As the students filtered in and gradually filled the tables, I tried to measure the tone. Despite the change in location, Mary probably wasn’t far from everyone’s thoughts. There was definitely a different vibe, and I’d have my work cut out for me today.
By the time Aubrey arrived with Julie, there were six seats left, three of them in a row along the side of the table nearest me. Aubrey chose the farthest seat, and Julie took a seat between us. I couldn’t bear to look at Aubrey or permit myself to acknowledge the pain her presence aroused in me. I had to stay focused on my job.
I was about to begin when Neil Hammond, a shy young man with chronic acne, rushed in and sat beside me. I assumed that would be it for today. Cara and Lindsay had been notably absent from class.
While everyone unpacked their books and settled in, I took a moment to try to make sense of my papers which were a chaotic mess, mirroring my brain perfectly. I assumed a business-like tone and launched into the day’s topic.
“Welcome back. Today we have to try to squeeze in a quick discussion of both Antony and Cleopatra and Othello, so let’s get started. Based on Professor Brown’s lectures this week or thinking about your own reaction to the play, what did you learn from reading Antony and Cleopatra?” I asked, trying to open general discussion.
I was met with silence; the only sounds were some throat clearing and paper shuffling.
Come on. Someone say something.
“Life’s a bitch and then you die?” Shawn said, laughing softly.
This was a classic knee-jerk reaction to the uncomfortable atmosphere and undoubtedly a reference to Antony and Cleopatra’s tragic story, but it was also an unfortunate reminder of Mary’s absence.
“And if you’re dating a bitch, you’ll want to die sooner,” Vince added.
The two of them looked at each other and chortled.
“Well, that’s not the most critical literary analysis of the play I’ve ever heard,” I said dryly.
I wasn’t sure how to proceed. I didn’t want to be too heavy-handed on the first tutorial since Mary had passed; by the same token, I didn’t want the session to be reduced to a three-ringed circus, either. The space around Aubrey was virtually crackling with tension. Even Julie seemed completely on edge. Was it safe to assume she knew what had happened? I hadn’t talked to Jeremy so it was difficult to know for sure.
Whereas in the past I’d always counted on Aubrey and Julie to have something intelligent to say, I concluded that neither one of them was going to do anything to save my ass today.
But I was wrong. Sort of.
Aubrey looked across at Vince. In a weary monotone, she said, “The nineteen fifties called, Vince. They want their uninformed, narrow-minded views back.”
“Wow, Aubrey, settle down,” Vince said.
She looked at him disparagingly. I couldn’t blame her. His comment had been pretty asinine.
“Don’t talk to me like I’m a frigging five-year-old. And for the record, just because Cleopatra is strong and powerful, that doesn’t make her a bitch.” She looked vacantly up at the windows on the opposite wall, crossing her arms in front of her.
Shawn and Vince exchanged a look that said, “Who the hell pissed in her cornflakes?”
Julie glanced at her sympathetically. People shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Would it be inappropriate to dismiss the tutorial after only five minutes? I had to do something and quickly.
“Well, I may not agree with the word choice used to voice the opinion, but I’d echo Miss Price’s sentiments,” I said, trying to elevate the tone of the discussion. “A few weeks ago, we broached the topic of misogyny, and as it turns out, Miss Price is pursuing that topic with her independent study.”
Simply saying those words called to mind our so-called meeting to discuss her topic at the Pratt Library. Aubrey raised her eyes to mine, and I felt like she could see right through me and knew exactly where my mind had wandered. Her lips were pursed, and her jaw was tense and set. I couldn’t understand where she got off looking at m
e as if I’d been to one to rip her heart out. I took a deep breath and broke eye contact.
“I don’t necessarily agree that Shakespeare is being misogynistic in Antony and Cleopatra,” I continued. “Some critics argue that Shakespeare was modeling Cleopatra on Queen Elizabeth. Cleopatra’s expertise in guile and seduction make the male characters around her uneasy, but ask yourselves if it necessarily follows that Shakespeare intended this portrayal as a negative one. You’d all do well to think about that. Always consider context when assuming a theoretical or critical lens in textual analysis.”
Shawn interjected, attempting to give credence to Vince’s ridiculous analysis. “Maybe what Vince’s saying is that Antony was a total mess because of Cleopatra. She totally screwed with his head. He lost everything because of her.”
Trina, a slight girl whose hair color seemed to change weekly and who often seemed surly and reluctant to share her opinions, put up her hand. I was open to any contributions today, and Trina’s Hamlet paper had been good. She was no slouch intellectually.
“Miss Collins?”
“Cleopatra didn’t hold a gun to Antony’s head,” she said. “He followed her ships and lost the battle at sea because of a poor military decision. Even Enobarbus said Antony’s affection beat his captainship. That’s not Cleopatra’s fault.”
I held my tongue, waiting to see if Shawn would respond.
He leaned forward. “But later she totally manipulated him. Like, when she sent word that she was dead when she really wasn’t? That’s mind games, pure and simple. Right, Daniel?”
All eyes turned to me, expecting me to mediate. It was time to fall back on my lecture notes. I looked at the collection of papers in front of me and immediately realized I wasn’t going to be able to make sense of them. Instead, I tossed my pen on the table and rubbed my temples, hoping I could patch together a coherent response.
The Weight of Words (The WORDS Series) Page 28
