Lily King - The English Teacher

“Did you tell anyone?”

“You’re the first.”

“Now that’s a lie.”

“You have serious problems trusting people.”

“Why would you tell me of all people that story?’

“What do you mean you of all people?” She lay back on her elbows. From his angle on the floor her breasts nearly blocked out her face. Even when they were horizontal they were huge.

“We’re not exactly close friends.”

“What do you mean? We grew tomatoes and leeks together.”

“That was in sixth grade.”

“We canoed down the Pawcatiqua River.”

“Piscataqua. In seventh. With everyone else in our class.”

“But we collected firewood together the first night.”

“We did?” Was it possible there was a moment with her he’d forgotten?

“And we got lost and had to sleep curled up next to each other all night for warmth.”

“That definitely did not happen.’

“No, but I wanted it to.”

“Really?”

“C’mere,” she said, patting a space beside her. C’mere, cutie was what she said to Brian.

He lifted himself up onto the bed. His heart was cracking his ribs.

“Lie down,” she said.

He lay on his side and she rolled over to face him. Their knees touched. He was trembling all over — even his lips were trembling — but she didn’t seem to notice. The only way he knew she was still very drunk was that she would never be this close to him otherwise.

Her eyes hooded over. She had very thick eyelids. And Belou earlobes. A smile came to her lips. “Are you thinking about sex?”

Peter laughed. “No.”

“What are you thinking about?”

“Earlobes.”

He knew he could kiss her, should kiss her, but he wanted to wait till his nerves calmed down a bit. Otherwise he wouldn’t feel it. And he might bite her or something spastic like that.

“Earlobes,” she said without curiosity. Then her eyes opened and she tilted her head up. “You know what I think about sex? I think we only know a fraction of all there is to know about it. It’s like in psychology, how Freud said our consciousness is only the tip of the iceberg. I think we only understand the tip of our sexual urges and how to fulfill them. What our parents’ generation knows about sex, what they do, depresses me so much. Is that all there is? Kissing, feeling up, feeling down, then sex. Peg in the hole. Guy on top or girl on top. It’s so completely limited. I think there’s another universe — many universes — waiting out there for us, and we have to find them.” She was breathing heavily now; all those words had taken a lot of effort.

He saw at that moment that they hadn’t just taken different paths; she had traveled around the sun and the moon and was bored, while he hadn’t begun moving yet.

“What do you think?” she asked.

“I think, with the right person—”

“Oh spare me. You sound like my mother.”

“You talk to your mother about all this?”

“Of course not, but if I did that’s just what she’d say. ‘Brian’s just not the right person for you. Wait for the right.’” She had slipped into her mother’s accent. “‘Then you know.’”

Through the mockery Peter could sense some hope that her mother’s theory was true. He knew he should kiss her, that she was waiting, that she was ready to believe. But he also knew that he would fail. It would be like going to the Olympics with no training. Why hadn’t he taken the practice when it had been offered to him — Jill at last year’s class movie night, Amy at the fall dance? Even Jenny Mead on the love seat would have helped him practice for this moment. He hadn’t because he was waiting for the right person. There had only ever been one right person but he never realized that when she finally lay beside him he’d wish that he’d kissed all those wrong ones first.

She was looking at him, though the alcohol made her eyes sink repeatedly down to his shoulder and it seemed to take a great deal of effort to raise them up again. Her breaths through her nose were short and loud. If he kissed her now, even managed to travel to another universe with her, she’d never remember it. He couldn’t think of a time in the past two years when she hadn’t been drunk at a party or a dance. It had started in eighth grade, at their very first dance. Billy Chesney had gotten his brother to buy a case of beer and leave it in the woods. He remembered Kristina coming into the gym that night. She looked so happy, like she’d just gotten really good news. He doubted he’d have had the the courage to ask her to dance, but he didn’t even get the chance. She just went out onto the floor and started dancing. All the other girls stood around the edges waiting to be asked but Kristina just danced with whoever came to her. He knew she was different that night, but he didn’t find out why until the next week when Lloyd discovered the empty carton in the woods. After that there was always drinking outside of school. He used to like watching her get happier, goofier. Sometimes he could even get her to smile at him across a room. But this year she seemed to skip the happy stage and go right to blotto. He doubted she’d even remember the swimmer or those guys at the dining room table tomorrow.

“Kristina?”

Her eyes swam up slowly toward him. “Mmm?”

Her hands were gathered under her chin. He took one out and held it in both of his. It was warm and sticky. “Do you think you might have a problem, a problem with drinking too much alcohol like this, at parties?” Oh God, why had he said it? She had a vicious temper. She would bolt.

But she didn’t move. She just squeezed his hand hard. “Sometimes I think I might,” she whispered. “Oh God, Peter, I don’t want to be drunk right now. I wish I could just take a pill and feel normal. I don’t know what happens. The idea of going to a party and not being buzzed — and now my father’s going to come and—”

“Damn.” Peter looked at the clock. “It’s eleven-thirty-seven.”

“Shit!” She sat up as he knew she would. “Holy fuck. He’s here. He’s never late.” She slapped her face. “And he’s going to know. He’s going to know.”

Out in the hallway her name was being called.

“See? He’s incapable of being late.”

“There’s a back staircase. There has to be. C’mon.” He yanked her up, unlocked the door, and led her down the hall, away from the way he came. People were yelling her name outside and in. He released his grip on her arm and took her hand. It felt familiar already. Why hadn’t he kissed her?

They came to a stairwell. He’d kiss her there at the bottom, before he delivered her to her father. With her free hand she wiped away tears and patted her face. “Sorry, I was in the bathroom,” she said to herself, practicing.

The steps bent around to the kitchen. Sarah was at the bottom looking up. “Jesus Christ. There you are. Your father is having a shit fit out there.”

Kristina let go of Peter, pushed past him, as if he’d been in her way this whole time. “Daddy, I’m right here, ” he heard her call out, irritated, as if the only trouble had been her father’s eyesight.

From the front hall window, Peter watched them walk out into the driveway. Her father was examining her and she was pretending not to notice. When he had decided she was sober, he put his arm around her shoulder and guided her to the green Mercedes whose license plate, 210514, Peter knew by heart. She rolled down the window and waved to people on the grass as her father turned the car around. She didn’t look toward the house. Perhaps she had already forgotten him.

Carla came at midnight, and when they got on the highway, Jason leaned into the front seat. “Can you turn it up a bit?” This meant he wanted to talk. He sat back and waited for Peter to ask.