Escape

Published in The Memoirist

Escape

“Wait, I missed it. You’re doing what?” Susie put the brownies down, pulls four paper cups from under her sweatshirt.

“Hold on, I’m getting a quart of milk. Do NOT say another word,” Barb hops up, runs across the hall.

What could I say? Reeling in confusion, how could I explain what I didn’t understand. Susie, Barb, and Sandy stare, waiting for me to talk. Distracted by scent of brownies, I take one from the pan with a knife we’d “borrowed” from the dining hall. Crumbs drop onto our prized garage sale find: an oval shag rug. Barb said its color was chartreuse, it wasn’t. Puke green was more like it. I’m sure it looked better in the driveway when we’d bought it. But we might’ve all been stoned. Our plan was to live off campus next year. Rod Stewart’s Every Picture Tells a Story played repeatedly; no one put the arm up down on the record player.

“Well, um, I’m not exactly sure about what I’m doing for spring break,” I lean forward and pick up pieces of brownie between the stringy long pile of the rug. The truth was, I didn’t know what I was doing: period. I find more and more crumbs. Cleaning is my default mode; it’s when I feel most in control when I’m upset. But it would take me years to figure that out. I’m unsettled and disturbed, as I search for invisible crumbs, on the cusp of making a decision upon which my life would hinge.

“Okay, I’m going to Nag’s Head for spring break,” Sandy butts in as just I start to talk. “Her parents have a humongous house on the beach. There’s room for one more, party time!” Her voice nasal. I’m relieved she wasn’t my roommate. I’d been her lab partner in biology, and noticed, when she was concentrating, she breathed through her mouth. “Barb’s going home ‘cuz her brother is back home from Viet Nam,” Sandy lurches over and hugs Barb. “And Susie, you’re going to your friends at George Washington… hanging out in Georgetown, right”? Susie nods. “So jealous, tons of guys at GW since it just went coed last year. The ratio is like 25 guys to one,” she sighs, her eyes roll upward like a soap opera actress. “My mom wanted me to go to Sweetbrier or Hollins, but I said no way I’m going to an all-girls college and…”

“Zip it Sandy,” Susie motions zipping her own mouth, I notice her yellow fluorescent fingernails. I was with her when she bought that color at Woolworths. She sips her milk glaring at Sandy. “Jane was in the middle of telling us about her spring break.”

That might’ve been the only time all year I was grateful for Sandy’s babbling. I felt the attention shift to me like a rolling wave. I put brownie crumbs into my empty paper cup feeling empty of words. Still, I had to say something. The silence lingered, hung heavy in space. “I’m going to Dad and Jan’s; I haven’t seen them for over a year. They moved from Indiana to Kentucky and I’m dying to see their house and they’ll get to meet Rob too,” I stop and take a breath.

“Whoa! Slow down, taking him to meet your dad?” Barb giggles. “Sounds serious.”

“Yeah, I can’t believe it. It’s like I’ve known him my whole life.” As soon as the my words tumbled out, I know I sound like that hideous new author: Danielle Steel, embarrassed that I’d read the whole book.

“When did you meet him ?” Barb asks.

“The end of January. His parents are so neat and they really like me. They sorta remind me of The Waltons. They’re a super close family.”

“Sound like weirdos to me…” Sandy said wiping her thick glasses but they stayed smudged.

“No, not weird at all. His mom makes everything from scratch, cans all the food from their garden. Every dinner they light candles, even when there’s no company. She hikes all the time and is an expert birder. And Dr. Clark is his dad. He’s not grumpy like he looks in biology class. He builds furniture, and grows plants I’ve never seen before, crazy plants from seeds. And his brother, Chris, isn’t half as good-looking as Rob, but he’s so smart. He’s taking a year off from Emory. He’s majoring in Ancient Greek and Latin?” I stop again to take a breath, feeling like a wind-up toy.

“Then why’s he taking a break from school?” I can’t remember who asked, but I feel defensive. “He got pretty into drugs last semester and instead of taking finals he tripped for three days,” I laugh. No one else does. “He’s getting himself together now. He was an Eagle Scout too.”

“Not quite The Waltons then?” Susie smiles, but in a kind way. “And how old is Rob and why’s he in freshman classes? That’s what I don’t get.”

“He was going to get drafted anyway, so he joined the Navy. But he didn’t have to go to Viet Nam,” I answer, feeling edgy and annoyed.

“Then why isn’t he still in the Navy? Think about it. He’s three years older Jane, that’s a big difference.”

“No, it isn’t. Not really. I don’t even notice. Plus, it wouldn’t matter anyway. It doesn’t when you’re in love.” I hear myself turning into that romance writer! “Have you seen his pottery or his sculptures? He could teach art. He’s so talented. Did I tell you he has a 1958 purple Corvette?”

“No shit!” Barb said.

“I’ve never seen it,” Sandy added.

“That’s because it’s still in pieces, he’s restoring it. That’s why he drives the Opal. Cool, huh?” I need to get up and walk around, get out of this suffocating dorm room away from all their idiotic questions.

“Still, how’d he get out of the Navy early?” Susie asks again.

“Geez, I don’t know all the details, but he got an honorable discharge. I’m pretty sure. It doesn’t matter anyway. What’s the big deal? What are you, the FBI?” Everyone was bugging me. I gather the paper cups, put them in the over-flowing trash can, stomp it down hard to make them fit, rage rises and I feel my cheeks get hot. I’ve got to take this trash out, no one else ever does. Cleaning up all the mess calms me down. No one asks anymore questions. “What’s everyone’s deal with him, with me?”

“I gotta say just one thing.” Sandy never said just one thing. “I heard he ‘gets around.’ And I happen to know it’s true because he was coming on to someone I know in my ceramics class a couple weeks ago.”

“That’s a bunch of bull Sandy. You’re just saying that because you never have any dates.”

I stand at my closet, pull clothes. A wire coat hanger clangs to the floor, I leave it there, feeling mean, hating her. But I couldn’t never stay mad very long. “I’m sorry. I’m just so hassled right now, tired from finals and I gotta pack. Rob’s picking me up in an hour.”

Something had been niggling at me, but I was good at ignoring anything that made me uncomfortable. Still, I remembered something… A few weeks ago, I got his wallet out of his back pocket when he had an armful of groceries. His wallet was good leather, soft and worn. I fingered it and noticed a permanent round half-dollar sized imprint, making a lighter chestnut color like a bas relief. A tobacco can? No, too small. That night, while he was sleeping, the wallet sat there right on top of his jeans. I scolded myself for snooping as I opened it. Inside, with the dollar bills: a condom. Not old, as if it’d been there long. He must’ve always carried one or two to make that permanent round circle. Well, I reasoned, he was a Boy Scout and followed the motto of course. So that was a good thing. I slid back into bed and felt the warmth of him, listened to his steady breathing. In his sleep, he reached out an arm laid it across my shoulders. Protected, is how I felt. Safe.

“Is Nashville close to where your dad lives? That’d be so cool to go there. You’re gonna have so much fun Janie.” Susie said, perky. Trying her best to change the mood.

“It’s only a half an hour away. I’m thinking we might get married there, we’re not sure yet.” There, I did it. I dropped the bomb.

“Tell me you are shitting me!”

“Why? Why on earth? Are you dropping out? You’re not pregnant, are you? What about all four of us living together next year? You cannot do this! Why not live together this summer?” A barrage of questions. This is why I didn’t want to say anything.

“We wanted to, but his dad said if we shacked up, he’d never set foot in our place and we wouldn’t be allowed to cross the threshold of his door.”

“What did his mom say?” Sandy asks.

“No, she’s softer about it, but she’s old fashioned too.” I realize how much I wish I’d had a mother like her. Marian epitomized the mothers of the 1950s, warm, open armed with hugs. She even wore an apron. I thought about Mom’s letter last week, the one I’d torn into tiny pieces. What a coward’s way out: a letter, to not tell me in person.

The gist of it went something like this: ‘Now that I’ve finished my doctorate, I’m selling the house and moving to California this summer. You’re eighteen now and it’s time for me to live my own life and I cannot do that here in Virginia. Sharon and I had a small ceremony last weekend to celebrate our new life together. We love each other and want to live together. I decided it best to write this so you can read and absorb it, so when you come home for spring break, we can discuss things.’

I ripped the letter within seconds and watched it float piece by piece into the metal trash can, feeling a mixture of rage, embarrassment and shame. I felt more ashamed of this than when my father drank too much at the club, slurring his words. Mostly, I felt alone. I had to keep this secret from everyone. If this happened in the 21st century, it might be a cool thing: my mother’s new lesbian life, but not in 1974.

Not one of my friends saw me on that first day of freshmen drop off. Every single freshman had parents, chests, homemade quilts, crocheted Afghans, posters, pillows and hot plates. They had dads and brothers lifting heavy boxes, mothers running up and down the stairs carrying clothes and snack food. They had everything.

My mother didn’t drive me to college. My sister drove me because she wanted the car. Jennifer dropped me off on Fairfax Street, she’d double parked, so I had to get my bags out fast. She might have wished me luck, I can’t remember. But I do remember after I found my dorm and my room, I locked the bathroom door and cried.

“Are you going to tell your mom?”

“No. I’m going to show her.”

Sandy, Susie and Barb jump up, take turns hugging me, they run around pulling dresser drawers open, flinging dresses on beds. Finally, someone turns off the album. Susie found her Music Appreciation class box set, put on Tchaikovsky’s Romeo and Juliet. I loved her for that.

“Here, take this,” Sandy proffers a light blue polyester dress. “Then you’ll have the something borrowed and something blue part.”

“Did you make it?” I ask.

“I did. That’s how I know it’ll fit you perfectly,” Sandy says. Ten years later her name would be first on the list Rob wrote on the yellow legal pad, the most devastating words I’d ever read.

I pick up my American Tourister suitcase, the one my grandmother gave me. It wasn’t new. But as Grammy would say, “it’s still perfectly good.” I look at my friends, set the bag down. We all hug. On the verge of tears, if I stay a minute longer, the whole dam would burst.