Nan Rossiter - The Gin and Chowder Club

Nate smiled gently and thanked him. Asa obediently turned to Noelle, and she searched his eyes, wanting to take him in her arms and explain everything, but it was not the time or place. There was nothing she could do. Asa hugged her stiffly and turned away. He leaned against the mantel and silently watched Nate hang the new Christmas stocking on the hook that had been his, and then he looked at Noelle once more. This time the look on Asa’s face was one she had never seen before; it was almost as if he were wearing a mask. The eyes that had once smoldered with tender desire now burned with unforgiving bitterness, and both of their hearts shattered.

Winter had a firm grip on the New Hampshire countryside when Asa returned to school. The campus was blanketed in deep snow that drifted across the walkways. The bare trees moaned and shivered in the darkness, and the ice on the river boomed and echoed in the night. The icy fingers of winter also gripped Asa’s heart.

After Christmas Eve, he had not seen Noelle again. The opportunity to be alone, if only to talk, had never come. Even if it had, Asa had nothing to say, and whatever s he might say, he had no interest in hearing. In his mind, there was no room in her life now for a relationship with him, and the hope he had clung to had been crushed.

Asa’s classmates noticed a change in the introverted student from Boston. He began to turn up at parties, drank excessively and, more than once, was seen kneeling in a snowbank after drinking too much. His grades continued their free fall as well, but Asa no longer cared-about his grades, his future, or his well-being. He stopped running and frequently drank to oblivion. Gin, as was tradition-or so he told himself-was the poison of choice, and he drank it straight out of the bottle.

Asa didn’t need a party to drink either. By February, he was barely making it to class. On the second Tuesday in February, Asa woke with a pounding head and realized he had already missed his first class, not to mention breakfast. He looked at the empty bottle on his desk and decided if he went into town, he could grab breakfast at the diner and then replenish his supply. He reached for a bottle of aspirin, shook it, and realized he needed that too. He didn’t bother to shower; he just pulled on his jeans and hiking boots, which smelled faintly of vomit, threw a jacket on over his T-shirt, and trudged out into the snow.

It was another raw, gray New England day, and by the time Asa pulled open the door of the diner, he was frozen. He was grateful to just sit at the counter and wrap his hands around a steaming cup of coffee. He ordered eggs and bacon, and as he waited, he looked around and noticed that the diner was decorated with red cardboard hearts. He strained his eyes to see the date on the calendar behind the coffee pot: February 14.

It figures. He shook his head. He discovered that his thoughts were constantly lined with bitter sarcasm now, there was no escaping it. He thought of Noelle and how she might look-surely she was showing. Maybe by now, Nate wasn’t getting any satisfaction either. It served him right, the son of a bitch.

The cook in back had the radio playing, and the waitress at the counter called for him to turn it up, saying, “I love this song!” She sang along softly with Elvis as she wiped down the counter and then smiled at Asa. “This song’s number one, you know.” She continued to wipe and sing the sad song about being lonesome, and Asa cradled his hands around the warm cup and closed his eyes.

A truck driver at the other end of the counter caught her hand as she walked by and, with a wink, said, “As a matter of fact, I am.” She laughed and refilled his cup. Slowly but steadily, Asa’s mood deteriorated further. He picked at his food, paid his bill, and finally left the diner, heading down the street to the package store.

The owner of the store eyed him with mild concern as he put the bottle in a bag. He wondered what was going on with this kid. This was the second time this week. Asa avoided his eyes as he paid, mumbled a “thank you,” and pushed open the door. He had bought aspirin, and as he stepped out onto the street, he opened the bottle of pills and the bottle of gin, washed one down with the other, and trudged through town toward the river.

There wasn’t much traffic on Ledyard Bridge that morning. Asa stood on the eastern bank of the Connecticut River and looked across to Vermont. The ice flows crept along, deceptively promising safe passage by foot. Asa watched and knew better. He wandered over to an old tree stump and sat down, pulled up the collar of his jacket, and opened the gin bottle again. He drank without removing the paper bag and didn’t care if he looked like a derelict-no one was watching, and no one cared anyway.

He chipped at the frozen stump and remembered the story he had once heard about Dartmouth student John Ledyard, for whom the bridge was named. According to local history, in 1773, Ledyard had dropped out of Dartmouth to become an adventurer. He had cut down a tree, carved a dugout canoe, and set off down the Connecticut River to explore the world. The idea intrigued Asa, and he took another long swig and wondered if the stump on which he sat was the remains of that tree.

The periphery of Asa’s vision grew darker as he drank. Tears burned at his eyes, and he ran his hand through his hair in anguished frustration. He didn’t want to remember, but the memories kept flooding back into his mind. He had convinced himself that drinking helped him forget, but today as he stared at the icy river, the alcohol only seemed to intensify the images that played through his mind. In a blur of confusion, the images flashed before his eyes like scenes from a movie that had no script, a movie in which he had played a part but now only watched from outside…

Noelle painting the house, laughing, smiling at him, reciting the books of the Bible. Without realizing it, Asa murmured, “Genesis… Exodus… Leviticus…” Then a dark choir loft, a figure hovering over her. Nate putting his arms around her, kissing her neck, soft curtains billowing in the summer breeze, candles flickering, Noelle lying beside him. It was so real that his hand reached out to stroke her smooth skin. Firelight dancing on the wall, her body intertwined with his, her hair falling softly around his face… Sarah sitting alone in the dawn light… Martha watching him go, waiting for him, waiting… standing on the beach in the darkness, alone, praying… “Please come,” he whispered out loud. “Please come.” It’s not because I don’t love you… “Please come…” Asa squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again. Nate standing by the mantel, smiling. Turning away, Noelle searching his eyes, pleading, and then darkness all around him…

Asa got up suddenly and lurched toward the bridge. The road swayed before him, and he held on to the railing, lunging forward and stumbling out to the very center of the bridge. He looked down at the dark ice gliding slowly below him and shivered uncontrollably. Taking the bottle from the bag, he held it up in a toast and slurred incoherently, “Sure as the stars return again after they merge in the light”-he paused, shook the bottle, and tipped the last drops back into his throat and continued-“death is as great as life…” Asa leaned precariously over the railing and shouted at the wind, “Ha, maybe death is better than life!” His hands shook from the cold, and the bottle slipped from his grasp. Asa watched it spiral downward and shatter across the ice, echoing like a gunshot, and then he crumpled to the ground and sobbed.

Asa did not remember the pickup truck that pulled up next to him. He did not remember the blond-haired farmer’s son who steadied him and guided him to the passenger side of his truck. He did not remember the blanket that the boy threw on top of him or the conversation the boy had with a student outside the dorm. Asa had no recollection of the two boys bearing his weight and stealing through a side door into the dorm. The only thing he remembered was being asked for his key and then swaying in the doorway.