Sunday morning we had to ride back to Burlington. We both had classes Monday and Tuesday, then Susanna left to spend Thanksgiving in Canada with Damian. The dorms were going to be closed, so I went home for the holiday. I had the usual hassles with my grandfather about how I looked and how I acted, and the usual indifference from my parents. I could hardly wait to get back to school, even though there was nothing there for me except the chance of seeing Susanna.
When I got back to school I went right over to Converse looking for her. I was afraid that she might not come back at all. Damian might have persuaded her to stay and I would never see her again; or she might just come down to get her stuff and split, just like that.
I called up to her room from the lobby, hand over my mouth and the receiver. She answered.
"You’re back," I said, but I couldn't wait, to let her speak. "Can I come up?"
"Okay," she said, in too even a tone.
Susanna met me at the top of the back stairway. When we got to her room I flopped down in the overstuffed reading chair and she sat at her desk, chair crossways, facing me, with her arm propped on the desk.
"I missed you." I said breathlessly. It was certainly true, but the wisdom of saying so was less certain.
"Hello."
"Hunh?"
"Can't you at least say hello first before –"
"Hello – Hello – Hello –" I said it like a man trying to catch his breath after sprinting up a flight of stairs, which I had. I leaned back, took a deep breath. "I missed you."
"I’m touched, but can’t you please get it through –"
"Come on," I leaned forward again. "I'm just trying –"
" – your head that –"
" – trying to be upfront with you."
"I'm taken?"
"Okay. Okay." I sat back in the chair, arms on its arms, hands wrapped around their ends, and closed my eyes for a moment. I tried to imagine what she was looking at, what she was thinking.
"How was your vacation?" I said at last, opening my eyes slowly and deliberately.
"It was okay. Damian got his own apartment."
"That must be nice."
"It's really small." I sensed disappointment in her voice. "And he's working a lot."
"Really."
"Waiting tables at night; working at the Resistance during the day – and they don't celebrate the same Thanksgiving in Canada that we do here."
"So what did you do? "
"I read a lot. Wrote in my journal. Went for walks, just to get out, but it's not a very nice neighborhood."
"But still..."
"Nobody said it would be easy. Not for him and not for me." She paused. She looked tired, worn out. "How about you?"
"Nothing. Kelly didn't come home, just like I figured, and my grandfather was a pain in the ass." It was all I could do not to pull myself forward in the overstuffed chair and take her hands in mine. "All I could think of was getting back here and seeing you."
"Quit it! You have a girlfriend."
"I told you she doesn’t write me. I’m sure she’s got a new boyfriend…some rich jock preppie from LA or whatever."
"You don’t know that."
"I don’t not know that either."
"Then find out."
"I don’t want her; I want you."
"You’re crazy. Slow down and think what you’re saying."
"What if I went to Canada?"
"You?" She turned full toward me. "Emigrate? To Canada?"
"Yeah. What if I did?"
"You can’t. You won’t. Go to California instead. See Kelly."
"That wouldn’t do any good. They’d still get me."
"You don’t know that. I’ve heard there are places out there where people are hiding. Waiting it out."
"So you’re telling me to run away?"
"I’m telling you to stop thinking about me and start thinking about your own girlfriend."
"But what if I did? What if I do?"
"What what?"
"Go to Canada? Would you..."
"Me? I'm practically engaged to Damian."
"He's asked you to marry him?"
"No. But he's asked me to come to Canada, and live with him."
"And?"
"And we've been going out for a long time."
"But he doesn’t want to get married."
"Have you asked Kelly to marry you?"
It was clear I wasn't getting anywhere, so I threw myself out of the chair, to my feet.
"I'm outta here."
"That scares you off?"
"No. I could ask her to marry me, and if we had a kid I could even get a deferment maybe, but there is no way she is going to give it all up for me. She's the one with the prospects. I mean it's one thing for your parents to disapprove of Damian's background, but at least in their minds he could probably take care of you —"
"I don't need anybody to — "
"I'm talking about them. What they think. Kelly's parents don't just disapprove of me, they are dead set against her getting together with some deadbeat son of a half ass liberal artist …I mean forget it!"
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't be so hard on you. Sit down."
I hovered, unsure.
"Please."
"Thank you." I did.
We sat a few minutes like that, not saying anything. I was incapable of saying anything.
"Chuck," she took my hands, in the same way I had been afraid to take hers. "I like you, I really do. You're basically a good person."
"Then let's you and me get married." I hadn't planned on saying that. I had never even occurred to me. It just came out.
"What?"
"Married. Let's get married."
"You're not serious."
"Your Damian won't ask you, but I will. Marry me."
"Shut up." She threw down my hands and turned away, toward her desk. Her portrait, the one I took, was there, on the wall, next to the one from the demonstration.
"I’m the one who wants you."
"No! No!" She put her hands to her face and started crying. I should have thought about what I said before I said it.
"Out," she sobbed through her hands, elbows on the desks. "Get out! Leave."
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