The Watermark

by Travis Thrasher

  “Seemed like a nice enough place.”

  “Seemed like a nice enough place? Come on. Hawaii’s a nice place, not Covenant.”

  I laughed in agreement. “Actually, to be honest, the reason’s pretty lame.”

  “What? Parents paying for you too?”

  “Well, yeah, but my reason’s even lamer.”

  “What?” Erik asked as he took another swallow from his beer bottle.

  “I followed a girl here.”

  “What? Who?”

  “You don’t know her.”

  Erik nodded. “Still seeing her?”

  “No. Not for a long time now.”

  “Then you’re right. Pretty lame reason.”

  I looked at the phone number Mark had left me. Mark Everly knew the whole story. He and how many others? And how many of those were still around?

  “What happened to her?”

  I almost jumped, did a double take. “What do you mean?”

  “The girl you followed to Covenant. What happened?”

  “Oh. Well, she had a life to live—a life that didn’t involve Sheridan Blake. She made that clear the summer after my junior year. I vowed I’d never come back to this place.”

  “So why did you?”

  I thought for a moment on the legitimate question. The honest answer hurt. “People change,” I said.

  “Have you?”

  I faced my younger roommate. “I don’t know, Erik. I really don’t know.”

  October 31

  Dear Amy,

  I know there are so many things I should say to you. To say I hurt you and your family—that doesn’t begin to express everything in my heart. I want you and your parents to know how truly sorry I am. I never thought things could work out like this.

  I wish I could honestly say that what happened has changed me forever. And I guess some of the externals are different. But inside… I really don’t know if I’ve changed or if I ever will.

  This truth haunts me.

  Sheridan

  five

  I entered the peaceful atmosphere of the bookstore and breathed in deeply. This was proving to be harder than I had initially thought it would be. I walked to the back of the store where the coffee shop was and where, true to her word, Genevie sat contentedly reading a book and sipping a drink. She wasn’t surprised to see me.

  “You’re too late,” she said.

  “Excuse me?” I asked, taken off guard by her statement.

  “I already have my coffee. You’ll have to come back on another day to buy me one.”

  “I was hoping you were going to buy me one.”

  “Okay,” she said, standing up without hesitation. “This time.”

  I let her buy me a vanilla latte. If I had thought this was going to be awkward, her affable response instantly made me feel at ease.

  “You can buy next time,” she said, handing me the tall cup.

  “Thanks.”

  “I wasn’t sure if you’d stop by. Ever come in here?”

  “Sure. Sometimes. I was just passing by tonight.”

  She nodded and smiled.

  I sat down at the table and picked up the book she had been reading. “Advanced Techniques through the World of Play. Looks like a fun read.”

  “I just finished my Nancy Drew book.”

  “Are you a teacher?”

  “Actually, I’m studying to be a counselor for children.”

  “You look more like a counselor with your glasses on.”

  “Oops,” she said, slipping them off. “I only use them when I read.”

  “Or watch movies.”

  She smiled. “Sometimes.”

  “They don’t look bad on you.”

  “They just make me look like a counselor,” she joked.

  “Is that what your master’s is in?”

  She nodded. “Only one more semester left. I can’t wait. It feels like I’ve been going to school all my life.”

  “I feel like I’ve been away from school for half of mine.”

  “Really? How so?”

  “Just took some time off. That’s all.”

  Genevie nodded and looked at me to see if I was going to say any more. I didn’t.

  “So did you go to the movies this past Friday?”

  I nodded, knowing she hadn’t. I had been looking for her.

  We talked about the movies they had shown. I resisted the urge to tell her how little I had enjoyed them since she hadn’t been sitting next to me.

  “So no movies for you?” I asked her.

  “No. Out with friends.”

  I wanted to ask which friends, which male friends in particular, but I resisted that urge too. I didn’t want to be so obvious.

  “So you remember being in my class?” I asked instead, changing the subject.

  “Yes.”

  “Did we meet at all that year?”

  “No. I was just a freshman. I lived on campus and studied all the time.”

  “Looks like you still do.”

  “Remember, only one more semester.”

  “So are you looking for jobs around this area?”

  “Yes and no,” she replied. “I’ve got opportunities around here and some other places.”

  “Where would you like to end up?”

  “That’s hard to say. I have a lot of friends here. But my family is mostly in California.”

  “You grew up there?”

  She nodded. “My parents were originally from the Philippines, though.”

  “Have you ever been there?” I sipped my still-hot coffee.

  “A couple of times. When I was little my parents took me to see where my grandparents lived. I would love to go back.”

  Genevie told me a little more about her family, her home in California, her first days in Chicago. She was refreshing to listen to; she spoke about herself and her family without any reservation or hesitation, as though her life was an open book.

  “So, Mr. Sheridan Blake,” she finally said, “I’ve been yapping about myself, but now it’s your turn. Tell me about you. You go see movies on Friday nights. Go to an occasional show at the aquarium. Occasionally visit the bookstore.”

  “Exciting life, huh?”

  “Sounds good so far.”

  “That’s about the extent of the excitement, unfortunately.”

  “Oh, I don’t believe that.”

  Her dark eyes locked onto mine. I smiled and muttered a few words, but they really didn’t matter. I felt a peace inside of me. I felt happy for the moment. The coffee and the soothing background music and the quiet setting helped. But Genevie was the reason why.

  I almost could forget about everything else. Almost.

  “My life was a little more exciting in my first three years at Covenant,” I told her. “A little too exciting.”

  “Exciting how?”

  “Well, I was big into the party scene.”

  “You can have fun and excitement without all of that.”

  “Yeah, I just didn’t know that at the time.”

  “So,” she asked, “are you enjoying Covenant more this year?”

  I laughed.

  “What?”

  “More than what?” I asked.

  “More than when you were here before.”

  “I used to hate the school.” I paused. “No offense.”

  “That’s okay. I only work and live and take classes at Covenant.”

  “You like working at the college?”

  “It’s fine. I’ve been working in admissions for several years.”

  “Bet you’re ready to move on.”

  “Yes. For the most part anyway. So why did you used to hate the college?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I got in a lot of trouble my first few years. I’m surprised you didn’t hear about me.”

  She didn’t respond to that directly. “Can I ask a question?”

  “You’ve been doing a good job at asking so far,” I replied with a nod.

  “If
you got into a lot of trouble, why did you even want to go to Covenant in the first place? There are so many other places that don’t have so many rules.”

  “I think I just had this conversation with my roommate not long ago.”

  “So what’d you say?”

  I wondered if I should be honest. How honest could I be with Genevie? She didn’t know anything about me except that I watched movies and seemed a bit introverted. And I had made her laugh a few times. That was it.

  I wanted to start off on good ground. With a clean slate.

  But you can’t, and you know that, right?

  “I knew some people here,” I finally said. “I guess I followed them here.”

  “ ’Some people’? Who are ‘some people’?”

  “Different people.”

  “I bet it was a girl, right?”

  I only smiled. Genevie looked as if she might continue to question me about this, but then decided not to. That’s okay, her smile said. No pressure.

  Over the next two hours, I learned many things about Genevie. Her parents had moved to Southern California from the Philippines right after their marriage. Since then they had divorced and she had lived with her father and his family most of her life in the San Francisco Bay area. She talked about both of her parents with love and respect but also with sadness. The divorce obviously had hurt her deeply.

  She brought up her conversion to Christianity as easily as she might have been talking about a cup of coffee. She talked with an inner sense of strength and hope I hadn’t been around in a long time. It didn’t seem forced, nor did it seem trite or superficial.

  “I became a Christian during my senior year of high school,” Genevie said. “That’s when I decided to go to a Christian college. There was a small Bible college back home I could have gone to, but Covenant was more the kind of place I wanted to be. Also, it got me away from my parents, who aren’t Christians.”

  I nodded, unsure of what to say.

  “It was strange, coming to a college where a lot of kids had been Christians all their lives. They’d been raised in Christian homes, and yet they didn’t act or appear any different than any other kids I’d met in school. I was surprised and even shocked by that.”

  “Sometimes people can take things for granted when they’re raised with them.”

  “Were you? Raised as a Christian, I mean.”

  “Yeah. Well, sort of. My parents go to church on and off, but it’s more of a social thing. My sister was the one who really got serious about religion.”

  “How old is she?”

  “She’s thirty-one, three years older than me.”

  “Does she live near here?”

  “No. She lives in Washington State. She’s a lawyer, married a few years with no kids. My parents live here, though—out in the suburbs.”

  “So your sister was the good example?”

  “Yeah. I actually became a Christian in fourth grade because of her.”

  The words came out of my mouth as a statement. A statement of truth. So easily. I actually became a Christian in fourth grade.

  Of course, when I was growing up, most people probably didn’t know this. Especially the older I got. Especially when I was in college doing my own thing. I didn’t tell Genevie this part of my testimony. I was actually surprised at how casual and firm I was in my statement.

  She tilted her head, a wistful expression on her face. “I’ve always thought how wonderful it would have been to grow up in church.”

  I nodded. I couldn’t say anything more. I couldn’t tell Genevie how growing up in my particular church had only helped turn my heart to stone. How I eventually had stopped going, and how I had tried running away.

  How I was still running.

  Genevie continued. “Church always makes me feel better, like I’m going to a place to renew my strength. What I would give to have had something like that when I was growing up.”

  And that was the way the conversation went. We shifted from topic to topic, each more interesting to me than the next. I wasn’t sure where this was leading. All I knew was that she was personable and genuine and that it had been a long time since I’d engaged in this kind of conversation with anyone. Even the simplest details of her life seemed fascinating.

  I wondered if she felt even remotely the same about me.

  “So tell me what you do besides school,” she said. “Do you work?”

  “I teach kids piano on a part-time basis. Mostly grade-school kids. I used to teach more, but I just kept a handful since I have to drive out to their homes in the suburbs. I didn’t want to abandon the students I’d been with for a while.”

  “Any really good ones?”

  “Most are pretty good. I’ve got a little girl named Nita who is almost as good as I am. She’s incredible.”

  “The little blonde-headed kid you were with at the aquarium?”

  “That’s right; you met her. She’s really talented.”

  “How long have you played piano?”

  “I don’t know—most of my life. I grew up playing it. I can play the guitar and keyboards, but my parents wanted me to stick with the piano.”

  “So you’re a music major?”

  “Sure. Why? Does that surprise you?”

  “No. You just don’t look like the musical type.”

  “What type do I look like?”

  Genevie appeared to be in deep thought. “Hmm. That’s a good question.”

  “Maybe I should put on your glasses. Maybe I’ll look like more of a musician.”

  “Good one,” she replied. “Were you teaching after you quit college?”

  “Yes, that and working other jobs. I was a waiter for a long time. Just what I wanted to do with my life—wait tables.”

  “So what do you want to do once you graduate? What do you do with a music degree?”

  “I don’t know. For a long time I didn’t think I’d graduate at all. Regarding the music, I don’t know. I wanted to be a composer, but I stopped writing music some time ago. Right now I’m studying music theory.”

  “Why’d you stop writing?”

  “Not enough time and energy. That sort of thing.”

  But it wasn’t that sort of thing at all, was it? Something inside of me died years ago. There was no way I could begin to tell this to Genevie.

  We talked until I realized that the bookstore would be closing soon. I was amazed I had lost track of the time so easily. “You’re very easy to talk with,” I said as I stood up to go.

  “Thanks. And remember—next time you buy.”

  “Next time?”

  “Sure. If you’re passing by this area, that is.”

  “You don’t mind?” I asked. For some reason I was thinking of her soccer friend.

  “If I mind, I’ll tell you. Trust me on that.”

  She grinned, and I thanked her for the coffee again.

  As I walked out, Genevie called out my name. “Excuse me, Mr. Blake?”

  I turned around.

  “I’d really like to hear you play the piano sometime. Think you could come up with the time and energy to play something for me?”

  I smiled, and for the first time since coming back to Covenant—since a long time before that, actually—I felt like my old self. “Maybe,” I said. “And maybe, if you’re lucky, I’ll even compose something special for you.”

  November 4

  Dear Amy,

  Winter cold hasn’t come yet. Odd how November can still feel like the end of summer. But I know the chill is on its way. It always comes eventually.

  The semester and the year move on. And something is happening in me—a part of me is changing. Could it be that God waited all this time for everything to suddenly change? Or is it happening because I decided to go back to Covenant to finish what I started?

  I often wonder how this year will end. For the first time in a long time, though, I find myself not dreading looking into the future.

  Sheridan

  six<
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  A tiny figure seemed to tiptoe over a sea of black and white, each step precise and elegant, running and walking with confident grace. Nita’s slender fingers moved up and down the keys with a natural flow that made the big instrument seem just an extension of her tiny body.

  A wave of wonder washed over me along with the rippling music as I sat in the immense, ornately decorated living room of the Primrose mansion and listened to Nita play a Beethoven nocturne. I realized, not for the first time, that I had helped this young girl achieve something remarkable. And even though I knew that she would eventually move on, that I had done all I could with her, I was reminded of someone else when I witnessed her talent and determination.

  Sheridan Blake.

  “How was that?” a miniature voice asked.

  “Excellent. Go ahead and play your final one.”

  She was ten years old and already had developed an impressive mastery of both technique and interpretation. The pieces came so naturally to her. I wondered what her future held. Would she be labeled as quickly as I had once been? Would people use the prodigy word as they had used it with me?

  I forced myself to concentrate on Nita. When she finished her piece, I nodded. “For once I’d like to be able to say what a bad job you did,” I told her. “It’s getting just a little boring always having to tell you what good work you’ve done. But that really was great. I like what you’re doing with the allegro section.”

  She grinned, still a little girl despite her incredible poise. “Thanks. I thought of that last week. I thought it sounded cool.”

  “I think you can play that piece better than I can.”

  “No I can’t. I just practice longer.”

  I glanced on top of the piano at the large framed pictures of the Primrose family I had grown accustomed to seeing: Dennis and Gail in a tropical setting, a baby picture of Nita with her bold blue eyes, a family picture taken in front of a glowing fireplace, and a picture of a much younger Mrs. Primrose in her wedding dress.