Paullina Simons - Tully

‘Yeah, but unlike with Coming Home , we’re actually able to read something into it,’ said Tully. ‘I agree with Jennifer. Deer Hunter will win.’

‘When are the Oscars?’ asked Julie.

‘Monday, April ninth,’ said Jennifer.

‘Well, we’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we?’ said Julie. ‘And the loser buys lunch.’

Julie was dropped off first, and when Jennifer parked in front of Tully’s house, she folded her hands across her chest, hung her head, and said, ‘Maybe you like me too much, Tully.’

Tully turned her face away from Jennifer. The fog around Tully was so dense, she could not see well. She blinked, trying to blink back the aching that, like anchors, weighed down her eyes. Shaking her head in short, convulsive strokes, Tully said quietly, ‘I definitely like you too much, Jennifer, I definitely like you way too much, but…’ Tully paused, ‘what does that have to do with anything ?’

‘I wish,’ said Jennifer, ‘that maybe you wouldn’t like me quite so much.’

Tully’s head did not stop shaking. ‘Don’t be so concerned. Do we seem close to you? We’re close with Julie, too.’

‘Not that close,’ said Jennifer. ‘You and me are too close.’

‘What’s wrong with close?’ whispered Tully. ‘Everything will be okay, Jen.’

‘I just wish you wouldn’t be so attached to me, Tully,’ said Jennifer a little stridently. ‘I just wish you wouldn’t be.’

‘Okay, Jen,’ said Tully, ‘I won’t be.’

‘Promise me you won’t be?’ said Jennifer.

‘I promise, Jennifer,’ said Tully, her throat so tight she was surprised any words could get through, even little ones. ‘I won’t be.’

Saturday, March 24, Tully, Jennifer, and Julie went to watch Tom pitch his first baseball game of the season. His team won 11 –9.

Jennifer was talkative and cheerful. She narrated Tom’s game, much to Tully’s superficial amusement, and afterwards ate a double scoop of strawberry and chocolate ice cream. Even when she saw Jack with Shakie Lamber on his arm, Jennifer did not flinch. Tully watched her. Jennifer did not say hi or look Jack’s way. Only her unblinking eyes gave away the remains of her soul.

Sunday, March 25, Jennifer as usual picked up Tully and drove her to church, and then to The Village Inn. Rather, Jennifer let Tully drive the Camaro to St Mark’s and to The Village Inn.

‘I really like my car, Tully,’ said Jennifer. ‘Don’t you?’

‘Great car,’ said Tully. ‘Great fucking car.’

‘I’ve really come to like it,’ said Jennifer.

Yes, all the Stanford jocks, Tully wanted to say, will go crazy over you in your Camaro, shiny and baby-blue.

Sunday night, Jennifer sat between her mom and dad and watched the ‘ABC Sunday Night Movie’ with them. Afterwards, she said, ‘Mom, Dad, I’m sorry, but I’m just not going to make valedictorian this year.’

Lynn and Tony exchanged looks. ‘We know. We understand. It’s okay, honey. Honestly,’ said Lynn.

‘I haven’t been feeling very happy, lately,’ continued Jennifer. ‘As I’m sure you’ve noticed. And my grades have suffered.’ She breathed in deeply.

‘Are you okay, Jen?’ Lynn asked. ‘Do you want to go see…someone?’

‘Like who?’ said Jennifer.

‘Like Dr Collins. Your breathing…it sounds…not so good.’

Jennifer smirked. ‘Maybe. Yes. We could do that. I am having a little trouble catching my breath.’

Tony said, ‘What about maybe talking to him about, you know, to see if, you know –’ he broke off.

‘If I’m slipping back again, Dad? Don’t worry. You guys love me so much, and I love you back so much, I’m sure I’ll be fine. Teenage blues, you know.’

‘Oh, honey, don’t we know!’ exclaimed Lynn. ‘We’ve all been there. You’ll be all right.’

‘I know I will, Mom,’ said Jennifer. ‘And anyway,’ she added, ‘the good news is that I haven’t lost any of my hair like Dad.’

‘Good news indeed.’ Tony smiled.

Jennifer then kissed her mom and dad good night and went upstairs. She brushed her teeth and washed her face. Then she took a long shower, washing her hair four times and deep-conditioning it. She shaved her legs, from her ankles to her thighs, and her underarms, too. After the shower, she put on Oil of Olay all over her body, taking particular care of her face. When she put on an extra long T-shirt and a fresh pair of underwear, she got on the scale. The two-digit number above the black line read 89.

She was having trouble sleeping. So she spent the next two or three hours quietly cleaning up her records and books, picking up her strewn-about papers, putting away her magazines, and throwing out dirty paper plates from months ago when she was still eating. Around two in the morning, Jennifer opened the window, moving the curtains out of the way so that the fresh air could get through, and got into bed. She lay on her back, hands under her head, looked up at the ceiling, and remembered that she hadn’t called Tully tonight. Just as well, she thought. Reaching under the bed, she pulled out her notebook journal and flipped it open.

Tully , wrote Jennifer in the dark,

It breaks my heart to break your heart, my Tully, my Natalie Anne Makker, my faithful friend. But Tully, I assure you, you would not have wanted me to live my life out with my soul such a screaming raging zoo. You would not have wanted me to live my life out in such pain. You taught me all I know about caging the animals that run rampant inside me, for the monsters have been running rampant inside you for years. But strength is not like a will: you cannot will it to me. And though you tried to teach me, you could never give me any of your strength. Which is really good, because now God is going to call upon you to summon all your strength, all your iron-clad, gritted-teeth, clenched-fisted will to pull through. And pull through you will have to. Cope you will. I’m sorry, though, Tully. It seems that we all have done nothing but break your poor heart…

She scribbled a few more lines and then shoved the journal back under the bed, flinging her head back on the pillow. Jennifer started counting sheep, and sleep came before the twenty-seventh sheep jumped over the fence.

Monday morning, March 26, Jennifer was not in homeroom. After homeroom, Tully pulled Julie aside and said, ‘Jennifer was not in homeroom.’

‘I know. I’m in the same homeroom, remember?’

‘Where is she?’ said Tully.

‘How should I know? Home sick.’

‘Let’s call her,’ said Tully.

They called from the downstairs cafeteria. Tully let it ring twenty times before she hung up. ‘Let’s call her mother,’ she said tensely.

‘Oh, great, Tull!’ exclaimed Julie. ‘Let’s call Mrs Mandolini and tell her her daughter is not home and not in homeroom.’

‘Well, where is she, then?’ asked Tully.

‘Maybe she’s taking a shower,’ replied Julie. ‘Maybe she has the music on so loud that she doesn’t hear us – ’

‘Impossible,’ interrupted Tully. ‘The stereo is unplugged.’

‘Why is it unplugged?’

‘She says because she doesn’t listen to it that much any more and she doesn’t want it using passive electricity.’

‘Passive electricity?’

‘That’s what she says,’ answered Tully. ‘What are we going to do?’

‘What’s the matter with you? I don’t know what you’re going to do, but I’m going to Health.’

‘Julie.’

‘Tully! What kind of a face is that? You are out of your mind! Listen to me. She is taking a shower. She is listening to music. She plugged it back in. She went shopping. She went for a drive. She went to Kansas City. She’s a big girl.’