by Julia Hoban
“Are we done here?” Willow asks roughly.
“Well, done with the books anyway,” Guy says. He sounds subdued. “Look, why don’t we sit down for a while.” He tucks the monograph under his arm. Willow notices that he deliberately turns her father’s picture away from her. His thoughtfulness irritates her, it seems staged somehow.
“You didn’t plan this little jaunt as some kind of test, did you?” she bursts out. “Just to see how far you could push me or something?” Maybe she’s wrong about him. Maybe she misinterpreted his behavior on the walk. Maybe he kept changing the subject out of boredom, not consideration for her feelings. She crosses her arms over her chest defensively and glares at him.
“Of course not,” Guy says. “I really needed this book. I honestly forgot for a moment what it was. I mean, who wrote it. I guess I should have found it on my own.”
He looks stricken, and Willow knows, deep inside, that she hadn’t been wrong about him. He isthat considerate.
“I’m sorry,” she says after a few moments, embarrassed that she could repay such kindness with hostility. She drops her arms and attempts a smile. “You’ll like the book. It’s good.”
“How could it not be?” Guy is quick to agree. “You know . . .” He hesitates. “I heard your father give a lecture once.”
“Really?” Willow is intrigued. “Where? When? Do you know if my mother was there too?” The questions tumble out of her. “What was it about?”
“It was about this,” Guy says, gesturing with the book. “About the trip they took to Guatemala. And yes, your mother was there. It was at the museum, late last winter.”
“Oh my God.” Willow claps a hand over her mouth. She’s going to lose it, she’s really going to lose it right here in the stacks. She is shocked by the sudden rush of bile that fills her mouth. But she supposes in a way that it makes sense. She has so conditioned herself to transmute emotional pain into the physical realm, that without the razor to blunt her feelings, her body is responding the best way it possibly can. She is literally making herself sick.
She knows exactly what lecture series Guy is talking about. She hadn’t bothered to go, because why should she? She’d heard her parents speak a million times before, and she’d hear them a million times again. Except that late last winter was the last time they ever gave a lecture. Because it was only a few weeks after that that Willow decided to take them for a drive.
“Oh my God, oh my God! I’m going to throw up!”
The lights click off at just that moment. Guy hits the timer with his fist.
“Willow!” He places the books down on the floor and grabs her by the shoulders. “Do you need me to hold your hair back? Should I see if there’s a garbage can around? Will you be okay if I leave you for a second and go and look for one?”
“No, no,” Willow manages to gasp. “I’ll be fine, really. I’m just a little . . .” She presses her hand against her stomach. “Give me a second.”
“Of course. Here, let me . . .” Guy positions her so that she’s resting with her back against the stacks. “Is that any better?”
“Uh-huh.” Willow nods; she’s grateful for the support. “Thank you,” she says when she finally catches her breath. “Thank you. Really. I’m sorry about what just happened. I just . . . I was sort of overcome. I can’t believe that you’d be willing to hold my hair back!” she exclaims as the absurdity of the situation hits her.
“No? Haven’t you ever had someone do that for you before?”
“Well, sure. Who hasn’t done Jell-O shots with their best friend? But c’mon, you’ve got to admit, it’s kind of hard-core with someone you’re just . . . Well, someone you’re just getting to know.”
“Hey, I’m not saying I was going to enjoy the experience.” Guy starts to laugh. “But at least getting sick is a reaction that I can understand.” He stops talking and looks at her closely. “Willow, I’m sorry.” He’s no longer laughing. “I should never have brought any of that up.” He lets go of her shoulders.
“No!” Willow is quick to reassure him. “I’m glad you did.
Really! And I want to hear more. I was just thrown for a little bit, that’s all.”
“You want to hear more?” Guy asks dubiously.
“Yes.” Willow is insistent. “Maybe that’s hard for you to believe, but I do! David nevertalks about them with me. Cathy either. That’s his wife. It’s like my parents never even existed.” Willow pauses and tries to think of how to make Guy understand. “You know, so much of what my parents were about was preserving other civilizations, keeping lost memories alive. It’s just so ironic that David doesn’t mention them. It only makes it so much worse.”
“All right,” Guy says slowly. “But if it gets to be too much, let me know—promise?”
“Promise.” Willow nods.
“First of all, let’s move. C’mon, this has to be the least comfortable part of the stacks.” Guy picks up the books and leads them over to a far corner. He sits down cross-legged in a small patch of sunlight that filters down from the high mullioned windows and motions for her to do the same.
“We don’t have to keep worrying about the lights here either,” he explains.
Willow sits down next to him and picks her father’s book up off the floor. It’s a small volume, bound in light blue linen. She has always loved the feel of her parents’ books—textured, rough almost, so different from the glossy hardcovers for sale in the bookstores. She turns each page by its top corner carefully, the way her parents taught her. Willow examines them slowly, looks without flinching, pausing to read certain descriptions. Guy is silent while she does so. After a moment she puts the book down and looks at him.
“Will you please tell me about the lecture?”
“What do you want to know?” Guy says. He picks up the book and begins leafing through it. Willow is struck by how he handles it, even more respectfully, if possible, than she herself did.
“Well, everything, really. What were your impressions of them?”
“Hmm.” Guy puts his head on one side and considers this carefully. “About your father? Brilliant, of course.”
“Okay.” Willow nods encouragingly. “But don’t just tell me what you think I want to hear.”
“Umm . . . All right. Well then, he tells really bad jokes.”
“The worst! I know. David and I always used to make fun of him. I mean, he had a good sense of humor, he’d laugh at funny stuff, but his jokes . . . forget it.”
“Seriously, I mean he needed to get out of the ivory tower and into the real world once in a while. I distinctly got the feeling that he hadn’t done too many Jell-O shots in his time.”
“Absolutely right.”
“But he was just so compelling.” Guy sounds admiring. “He really got excited about what he was talking about. He lovedhis subject.”
“And my mom? What did you think of her?”
“Not so exuberant about the topic maybe, but more in touch with the audience if you know what I mean.”
“I know what you mean.” Willow closes her eyes for a second.
“They talked a lot about the trip. The one to Guatemala. I have to say, they made fieldwork sound like the most amazing thing in the world.”
“Right!” Willow snorts.
“It isn’t?” Guy looks at her in disbelief.
“Maybe for some people.” She shrugs. “But what always stood out the most to me were the mosquitoes. There were alwaysmosquitoes, didn’t matter where we went, and really bad showers.”
“You’re killing me!” Guy truly does look crushed. “I don’t think I can handle that kind of thing.”
“Oh, you’d love it,” Willow reassures him. “You’re the type who would be really good in that kind of situation. And I’m not just saying that either.” She holds up her hands as if to ward off his protests. “David said that you were really smart. Hardworking too. Believe me, he doesn’t say that about many people.” Willow pauses for a second as she consider
s her own impressions of him. “You’re careful about things, I can tell, and you’re thoughtful. . . . That’s the way you need to be if you’re going to do this kind of stuff. . . . You probably think that I’m just spoiled,” she concludes after a moment.
“Spoiled is about the last way I would describe you,” Guy says slowly. “And don’t be so sure about me either. I have to say, I like my showers.”
How would you describe me?
Willow has to bite her lip to keep from asking the question out loud. She’s shocked that she even thought it, that she actually cares, quite a bit, what he thinks about her.
“But I have to say, I’m surprised,” Guy continues. “I would have thought you’d want to go into the family business.”
“Oh no, that’s David’s thing, not mine at all.”
“You really didn’t like fieldwork? I mean, all that traveling around and everything?”
“Traveling around can be fun, especially if you’re just taking a vacation, but if you’re asking me why I’m not interested in doing the kind of work my parents did, then I’ll tell you something. I much prefer the kind of places that you can only visit in your imagination.”
Willow shrugs her shoulders, a little embarrassed. She glances at Guy, half expecting him to be laughing at her or looking bored, but in fact, he seems anything but that. He looks . . . well, maybe fascinated is too strong a word, but . . .
“Tell me about an imaginary place,” he says, leaning closer. “I don’t know any.”
“Okay,” she says slowly. “I’ll tell you about an actual place, but even though it existed, Ithink that you can only really know it in your mind.”
“Go on.”
“It’s called Çatal Hüyük.”
“Whosit whatsit?”
“Çatal Hüyük.” Willow laughs. “It’s in Turkey, or wasin Turkey. I’ve never been there. Well, the whole culture was wiped out about seven thousand years ago. I mean, I’ve never been to the site, but my mother wrote her dissertation on it. You want to know what they had that makes it so interesting to me?”
“Yes.”
“They were the first people to have mirrors. They were made out of polished black obsidian. That’s what my mother wrote about. That’s what a lot of people write about. They want to know howthey made them, what tools they used to polish the stone, how long it took to make them. But don’t they know that those aren’t the interesting questions? I want to know whysomeone made the first mirror. Oh, I know that people must have seen themselves before, in water or whatever, but that’s not really the same thing, is it? What did the first person who saw themselves in an actual mirror think? Were they embarrassed, or did they like what they saw? I want to know the things that you can never learn by carbon dating or digging around, I want to know the things you can only imaginethe answers to.”
“Those areamazing things to think about,” Guy says thoughtfully. “And I’d really like to know what you think—sorry, what you imaginethe answers might be.”
“Oh, but I don’t think about things like that anymore.” Willow shakes her head. “Now I just think about the day in front of me, and if that’s too much, I think about the hour.”
And if that’s too much, then I know just what to do.
She stops speaking. Guy too is silent; he appears to be mulling over what she told him. Willow is surprised at the turn the conversation has taken. She never thought when he told her that they had to talk, that she’d end up telling him about this kind of thing. She’s never even talked to Markie about this stuff. She’s surprised too by how peaceful she feels, and she realizes how frightened she’d been of having some big scene.
But Willow isn’t prepared for what Guy does next. “Don’t you want to stop?!” he bursts out, shattering the calm. Willow doesn’t need to ask him what he’s referring to.
“I mean, how can you do it to yourself? Listen to you! You’re so . . .”
“I’m so what?” she can’t help asking. “I’m so what?”
“Never mind.” He looks away from her, clearly making an effort to compose himself.
They’re both quiet for a few minutes. So quiet that she can hear him breathing. Somehow the sound is reassuring. She wishes that she could just sit there with him and do nothing but listen to him breathe and watch the small particles of dust that float by highlighted by the sun streaming through the windows.
“Don’t you want to stop?” he says once again, only this time he isn’t shouting.
Willow doesn’t want to talk about her cutting, not with him, not with anyone. But it’s an interesting question, and one that not everybody would think to ask. Most people would assume that if she wanted to stop she would. But Willow knows it’s not nearly that simple, and apparently Guy does too.
She decides that after all he’s done for her—not telling her brother, offering to hold her hair back—she owes him an answer.
“If things were different, and I don’t mean if my parents were alive, but if things were different, then yes, I would want to stop.”
“What would have to be different?”
“I can’t tell you that part.”
Guy doesn’t say anything to this. He just stares at her, his expression inscrutable, but Willow can tell that he feels uncomfortable, nervous even. This isn’t what she was expecting. A lecture maybe, or even him yelling at her, but not this steady gaze, this unwavering focus directed straight at her.
He never takes his eyes off hers as he reaches for her hand. She’s moved by how tender he is, and just for a moment she allows herself to imagine that things are different. That he doesn’t know she’s a cutter. That she isn’t a cutter.
What if the reason he’d bandaged her hand was because she’d fallen Rollerblading? How innocent that would have been! What if they were up here now because they wanted to be alone together, and not because they couldn’t risk anyone overhearing their unwholesome pact? What if they could just keep talking and laughing like they had been and not have to deal with the gruesome and gritty?
Guy rolls up her sleeve and she thinks he wants to check to make sure that his bandage is holding, but instead he peels back the Band-Aid and stares at the cut.
“It’s so ugly.” His tone is matter-of-fact.
Willow jerks her hand away. She can’t believe that he said that and she can’t believe that she cares. She knows the cuts are ugly, and she’s not interested in his opinion, but still, she’s horribly insulted. Hurt and insulted. It’s almost as if he said that her face was ugly.
Guy tears his eyes away from her cuts and looks up at her. He must see from her stricken expression that his words have had an impact, but he doesn’t apologize. “Getting back to what I said before,” he continues. “I really did call your brother. And not just about when you would be working either.”
Willow is stunned. Did he tell David after all? What happened? She’s at a loss for words, but Guy goes on unperturbed.
“I called him last night. After I left you. I did.” He starts drumming his fingers on the floor. “The thing is, though, I had no idea what to say. I just hung up after a few seconds of heavy breathing.” He sighs deeply. “I wanted to tell him, but . . . I kept thinking about what you said. I mean, that it would kill him. What if you’re right? Look, there’s no way you can make me believe that he’d totally fall apart, but what if me telling him caused some kind of . . . I don’t know what. Also, what if my telling him made you fall apart? What if it made you cut yourself so badly that . . . well, worse than you ever have before?” He chooses his words delicately. “Besides, I did promise you.” Guy reaches for her arm again. This time he keeps his eyes on her face as he fixes the Band-Aid and rolls down her sleeve. “And I just figured, and maybe I figured wrong, that you would be okay, that between when I last saw you and now you wouldn’t be able to, to well, do it. I mean, I kept wondering. Whenwould you be able to do it? Not at home with your brother and his wife around, not at school either.”
An image of the gir
ls’ bathroom flashes through Willow’s head, but she doesn’t say anything.
“Still,” Guy continues. “I kept going back and forth between thinking I should tell him and deciding against it. I couldn’t sleep all night, just wondering what to do.”
Now Willow knows why he has those circles under his eyes. He does look completely wiped out, and she feels terribly guilty. She never meant to give anyone elsepain.
“Will you tell me something?” Guy has a guarded expression on his face, as if he’s afraid of her reaction.
“I might,” Willow says thoughtfully. It occurs to her that she doesn’t have to hide in front of Guy anymore. This isn’t like hanging out in the garden with Laurie and the other girls. She doesn’t have to worry about saying the wrong thing, she doesn’t have to pretend anything.
“Why do you do it? I’m not asking why you’re so unhappy, I think I got that. I mean why go this route?”
Willow nods thoughtfully. She should have seen that one coming. After all, it’s the first thing she would ask. “It’s not something that I can just explain so easily.”
“When we were walking here . . .” Guy starts, then trails off and looks away.
“Yes,” Willow prods gently.
“I was worried that Laurie was going to say something that would set you off. Of course, it turned out that I was the one who set you off. I mean when I told you that I’d heard your parents’ lecture. I was the one who said the wrong thing.” He sounds unhappy with himself.
“There is no wrong thing,” Willow says. She means it too, she can never tell what it is that will send her scrambling for the razor. “There is no right thing either.”
Guy considers this for a moment. “Will you tell me something else? Can you tell me where you do it? I don’t like thinking about it, but I can’t stop, and I’m driving myself crazy.”
“You mean where on my body, or where I am when I do it?”
