Sarah Mlynowski - Monkey Business

And that’s when I blow up. “Not everything is a joke! This isn’t funny! What were you thinking?”

He crosses his arms in front of his chest. “I didn’t plan it.”

“It was an accident?” Please tell me it was an accident.

“It was research. For an article. Affirmative action was a hot topic and I thought it would make an interesting study. I applied to ten different schools, five as a male and five as a female.” He’s talking quickly, the words pouring out of him like water on full blast from the tap.

“But why male versus female? Why not pretend to be Hispanic or African-American?”

“Because people always think the name Jamie is female. If the only discrepancy was my gender, then I could keep my name and get my college to send my real grades.”

“But what about the rest of the application?” Someone in the hallway smashes into the side of the room and laughs. We both ignore it, and I continue pacing.

Jamie sighs. “I wrote the essays, the GMATs-that’s all legit.” He pales. “But I had to write my own letters of reference.”

Holy crap. “That is so illegal.”

“I know, I know, but I couldn’t ask former professors to write them, could I? People normally use gender pronouns in their letters.”

“And you got in.”

“Yeah.”

“You took advantage of the system.”

“Maybe the system is wrong,” he says.

“An MBA class is stronger when it’s diverse. Just as our learning groups are stronger when we’re not five engineers, our class is stronger if it’s not a hundred white men. So what if diversity needs a little help? But that doesn’t mean you have the right to take advantage of it.”

“I didn’t see it as that big a deal. I thought, why not?”

“Why not? Because it’s wrong!” I yell.

“Why is it wrong? Why shouldn’t I get the chance to be here?”

I feel dizzy. “How has no one noticed? How is that possible?”

“You’d be amazed how irrelevant gender is in school life. My only problem was my student card. The picture ID says female or male on it. And we need to bring those to exams.”

I feel nauseous all over again. “And that’s when you asked me to change the F to an M so you could get a new student card.”

“Yeah. Thank you. I don’t know how I would have written my exams otherwise. I guess I could have risked it, but I was nervous one of the proctors would look at it and start wondering.” He pauses. “You don’t look so good. Are you okay?”

No, I’m not okay. “How could you do that to me? You asked me to commit a felony! What if I had gotten caught?” I’m pacing again, this time faster. “What if Dorothy thinks I’m an accomplice? And I get expelled? What if you ruined my life?”

He leaps off the bed and puts his arms around me. “Calm down.”

I push him away. “Don’t you dare tell me to calm down. I can’t believe you would do that to me. Put my future at risk.”

“It wasn’t that big of a deal. It’s really kind of funny, when you think of it.” He smiles hopefully.

Why is nothing ever a big deal to him? “It is a big deal. Not everything is a joke, Jamie. I could be in front of the tribunal with Russ and Kimmy. I could lose my job at Silverman.”

“You don’t even want your job at Silverman,” he points out.

“What I want is not to be manipulated.” What I want is to get out of his room. “You’re no better than Russ.”

I jerk the door open and storm out. I hear him protesting from inside, but I don’t care. I’m angry. Furious. Steam-shooting-out-of-ears pissed off. And I’m feeling something else, too. Something really familiar.

Relief.

Sunday, April 11, 6:20 p.m.

I’m lying on my bed picking my face. It’s gross, but I don’t care. I need to. I can see the blood on my fingers. I look in the mirror and see how ugly I am. There are patches of raw, red skin on my chin, on my forehead, around my nose. Disgusting. Just how I feel.

The phone rings and I quickly pick it up. “Hello?”

“How is it possible that for the six months we were still dating you never once answered the phone and today you answer practically before it even rings?”

“Hello?” I repeat. “Who is it?”

“How do you not recognize my voice? It’s Sharon.”

“Oh, hi.” Her voice sounds so soft and I feel empty, and I realize how much I’ve missed her. “I didn’t expect to hear from you.”

“Hi. I didn’t expect to call you. How are you?”

“I’m all right.” I reach my hand back to my face and continue picking.

“That’s good. Are you coming back to Toronto this summer?”

“No, actually, I accepted a summer position in New York.”

Pause. “I thought that might happen now that we’re no longer together.”

“There’s a lot of opportunity in the U. S.,” I say. “And because of the MBA I have a visa to work here for a year after I graduate. But I’m having a few issues…” I want to confide in her even though I know I have no right.

“I need to tell you something. I don’t expect you to come home, but I hope you’ll contribute financially. It’s up to you how involved you want to get.”

What is she talking about? “Involved with what?”

I hear her take a deep breath on the other end of the line. And then, “Shit.” The next thing I hear is the sound of her puking.

What, did she drunk-dial me?

“Involved with your baby, Russ. I’m pregnant and I’m keeping the baby.”

10:45 p.m.

L ife’s a bitch and then you die.

Oy. Beer has made me feel even worse. Instead of drowning my pain, I’m now just drowning. Should have stuck to my nondrinking guns. Now all I can think about is how useless getting up in the morning is. What’s the point? What’s the point in anything? Why bother living when life is filled with so much unhappiness? I lean my head back against the leather cushion of the booth in the back of the Monsoon. Suddenly I have nothing. There’s now a massive hole in my life. An emptiness. What’s the point in going on with this kind of pain? I swallow another gulp of beer.

Why am I feeling so pathetically melodramatic? I’m all joked out. Even trying to lose myself in a movie doesn’t help. I can’t stay focused. I tried calling my sister, Amanda, but she wasn’t helpful. “You dated her for two seconds. Snap out of it.”

A blast of cold air blows in as the door opens. It’s Russ. He steps inside and looks around, confused, as though he has no idea how he got here. Kind of how I feel. His eyes are wide open like saucers.

He sees me, looks baffled, as if he doesn’t recognize me. Maybe he’s been hitting the bong too often. He orders a beer at the bar and then approaches the table, sliding into the seat across from mine.

“Oh, man,” he says.

Exactly. I don’t have much to say to him. I think what he’s doing to Kimmy is shitty. How he can take advantage of her makes me sick. I take another sip of the beer. Not that what I did was any better. Oy. Am I really no better than Russ? I lied to the woman I love. I used her to get what I want. Might as well drown in my own pain. I chug half of my beer and wave at Glenda for another. Then I go to work on the remaining half. I wonder if there’s a limit to how much beer a person can drink before exploding.

Russ runs his thumb around the rim of his beer. “I’m going to be a father.”

I spit the final mouthful back into the bottle. “What?”

“I’m going to be a dad.”

Holy shit. “Kimmy’s pregnant?”

“No. Sharon.”

Oy. “What did Kimmy say?” I ask.