Sarah St.Vincent - Ways to Hide in Winter

“Well,” she replied brightly, “you were almost finished when you left, right? You’d probably only have to do it for a few semesters.”

I avoided her eyes. It hadn’t really been my choice to drop out in the first place, something I’d never seen fit to tell her, but which she probably suspected. At any rate, it didn’t matter now. “I don’t know,” I said, looking for a way to change the subject.

“Okay, but promise me you’ll think about it?”

Without answering, I pretended to concentrate on my next shot, finally sitting on the edge of the table and swinging the cue behind my back in defiance of my protesting joints. The five ball rolled into the pocket, and the bartender applauded. I smiled and shook my head.

“Show-off.” Beth touched my shoulder gently as she walked toward the jukebox. “Well, whatever you decide, you know I love you. Although I still think you should give it some thought.” Pinching her wallet from her purse, she flipped through the song list. “By the way, you heard from your brother lately?”

“No, not for a while. He’s still near a place called Kandahar. That’s all I know.” I studied the balls that were left on the table, then glanced up at the car posters. There were women in many of them, of course, with long hair and tanned legs, sitting on the hood or leaning over to polish a strip of chrome, backs arched and breasts perfect. Somehow, I thought, they were never in the driver’s seat.

“His wife doesn’t call?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Ugh, what a witch.” She chose another song, poking at the buttons with a long, polished fingernail.

I laughed. “I don’t really blame her. What would we talk about if she called, besides him? She doesn’t know us, and it’s not like there’s ever any news up here.”

“Truer words were never spoken. You could die waiting for something to happen here that’s actually, you know, an event.” She looked at me from the corner of her eye. “Not that that’s an excuse, in my opinion.”

For a moment, I thought about telling her about the stranger who had so mysteriously appeared on the mountain, but, looking down at the billiard balls that were scattered across the table, I decided against it. There was no reason to mention him. He was no one and he would soon be gone.

With a sharp, hard shot, I sent the thirteen ball down the edge of the table, but my aim was off and it ricocheted dumbly back toward me. I picked up my drink and finished it off, letting it reach my feet, making me hover above the ground as the room softened and grew. A group of men walked in, their boot heels striking hard against the linoleum, descending on the bartender in a blur of striped shirts and black cowboy hats. Beth wandered off to the bathroom, leaving an invisible trail of perfume behind her. The music changed to the deep, thudding chords of classic rock.

One of the men in the crowd glanced over his shoulder and, seeing me, kept looking, his round face shadowed by his hat but still familiar. It was John, I suddenly realized—the trucker I knew from childhood. He kept watching even as the bartender began to slide drinks across the counter, her chest shaking as she laughed a laugh I couldn’t hear, the lines in her cheeks deepening as she smiled.

My back stiffened, but I turned on my heel, pretending not to see. I didn’t care, I thought. Let him watch; let any of them watch. I wasn’t even there anymore, anyway: I was miles away, in a world created by the single green-shaded bulb that hung over the pool table, a place none of them could ever reach. I was no longer myself, I was someone else—just a woman in a bar, anonymous, leaning on her cue stick, her hair falling onto her shoulders, no scars, no mended bones, no rumors that followed her. A woman who was whole and complete and mysterious, someone no one had ever tried to look through with their prying eyes or their X-ray machines. A woman with no name, or rather, any name she wanted. Who decided who could see her and who couldn’t, who was able to vanish with a snap of her fingers. Here before you and then gone.

I knew it was the liquor that was giving me this illusion. I didn’t care.

“Your turn,” I told Beth when she returned, floating over to the bar on my suddenly weightless legs, cutting through the cloud of men with their wide backs and shining belt buckles as if they didn’t exist, putting down my money, ordering another drink.

The next morning, before work, I called my parents. It was early, and I knew they would still be asleep. Fighting a sense of reluctance as I dialed the number, I rubbed my palms against my sweatshirt, shifting my weight in my shoes. My head ached and my eyes felt dry.

My mother picked up; I could see her rolling over in bed to grab the phone, her black hair disheveled and streaked with gray. “Yeah? What?”

“Hi, Mom. It’s Kathleen.” I waited, knotting the cord around my fingers.

“Oh.” There was a pause. “Yeah? Listen, honey, could I call you back later? We were up—”

“No, sorry. The phone still isn’t working at the store. This’ll just take a minute, though. Listen, yesterday—”

She made a muffled sound, and I heard her mumbling something to my father in the background.

“Mom,” I said patiently.

“Yeah?”

“I had to take Grandma to the E.R. yesterday for her breathing. I thought you and Dad would want to know.”

“Oh.” She seemed to be waiting for me to go on. When I didn’t say anything, she asked, “Is that all?”

“Well, yes, that’s all, but—”

“Yeah, yeah, okay. Let me talk to your dad about it. She’s his mother. He might be able to swing by after work, but I don’t know. The shop’s been giving him later and later hours. And honey?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t call so early.”

“All right, Mom.” I hung up, rubbing my face with both hands. There were some Aunt Jemima pancakes in the freezer, and I pried two off the stack, heating them in the microwave. I didn’t particularly want to go to work. I didn’t particularly want to do anything.

I took my coat from its hook and grabbed my book from the dining-room table, poking my head into the living room to look at my grandmother. She was asleep on the couch under a blanket, her mouth slack.

The keys jingled as I pocketed them. I opened the door, wincing as the cold air struck my skin.

“Kathleen,” my grandmother said.

Surprised, I stuck my head back into the living room. She was lying in the same position as before, but her eyes were open. “Yes?” I said, in case she couldn’t see me. It was sometimes hard to tell just how bad her vision was these days. “How are you feeling, Grandma?”

She ignored the question. “I want to have dinner tonight.”

“You mean with me?” We had dinner together nearly every night, or if not together, then at least in the same household, her staring at her TV shows, me perched on the edge of the mattress in my room.

Something in my expression seemed to pain her. She turned her face away. “Bring a ham from the grocery store. And some potatoes.”

I did some mental calculations, remembering the pile of bills I had pulled from the mailbox the day before. “Okay.”

“And green beans. Or peas. Canned.” Speaking seemed to tire her. She shifted under the blanket, settling further into the cushions.

“All right. I can do that.”

Grimacing, she closed her eyes. I left, forgetting to tell her that my father might stop in, although I doubted he would. Generally, they left it to me to take care of things. And I did.

“They’re finally putting up the sign!” Martin enthused over lunch in the store. “I was starting to think they weren’t going to do it, but when I walked out this morning, there they were, digging a hole for the post.”