Emma Rathbone - Losing It

“Oh, just around the corner?” said Allison.

“Yup. I told them—‘I wanna look like I have a lot of fun. ’”

Allison smiled.

Every guy has a different way about him, I thought. Like this guy Michael Turner, from elementary school. He’d had a serious manner, almost like he knew about some catastrophe that was going to happen in the future and was always staring ahead at it with a troubled expression, like the burden of this responsibility was too much. Eddie had been friendly, with his soft brown eyes, and a foot-forward, confident way about him that assumed everything was going to line up, and perhaps it was this quality about him that caused things to do so. Then there was someone like Kramer, who was rigid beneath all his forced jocularity. He was probably a tyrant to his wife, though maybe not in any way that was technically illegal, and took everything for himself. That was the type of guy he was — he got out in the front and took everything. What would it be like to be with Elliot? He wouldn’t be a tyrant, not in big ways or small ways. I pictured him leaning back in his chair — world-weary but game. He’d look at you with knowing warmth. You’d maybe be at a gas station, in the middle of nowhere, run ragged and tired from driving, and you’d be paying for something at a cash register and you’d feel Elliot’s gaze on your back like a soft rain.

Wes came in with Caroline. We all watched uncomfortably as he helped her into a chair, her dress riding up against his arm. When she was finally positioned, she looked around angrily as if the whole world itched.

Jeannette was usually really good at putting people at ease with a salty and hilarious remark, but even her powers were no match for the silence that descended on the kitchen after we sang “Happy Birthday,” and Elliot said, politely, “Thank you,” and smiled at everyone impersonally, and all the activity of handing out pieces of cake was finished.

The fridge stopped humming. Ed coughed. I started picking at a sticker on the side of the microwave. Elliot furrowed his brow at his plate.

“That’s a great platter,” Allison finally said, referring to the plate the cake was on, which was shaped like a large sunflower.

“Thanks, hon,” said Jeannette. “Just, Elson’s Crafts, down on Comstock Road.”

I’d been picturing the cave piano a lot, since I’d had that conversation with Elliot. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, nodded at Ed. I wondered what it would be like to be there with him — where everything was absolutely still, and absolutely quiet, and there was a pond with the surface like a mirror. A cave was the most inside you could be, the most private place. Maybe it would be completely dark, like I couldn’t even see my hand in front of my face. I’d wave my arms around and touch his chest, that place where his work shirts fell in a relaxed way. I’d stumble over there and into him and against the weight of his body.

I was thinking these cave thoughts, and eating my cake, when Ed, motioning with his fork, said to Elliot, “How’s that pretty wife of yours? You all still out there in Callan Mills?”

Elliot quickly looked at me. “Fine, yes,” he said, turning to Ed.

I stopped chewing.

“That’s been a good investment for you all?” said Ed.

“Sure, yeah,” said Elliot.

I looked at his left hand. He was wearing a ring.

“Nice area,” said Ed. “Looks like a great place to raise kids.”

How had I not noticed it? Elliot cleared his throat. “Yes,” he said, a little louder, committing himself to the conversation. The finest strings of discomfort pulled in his face. “It is. It’s got a great pool, and it’s close to a lot of hiking trails.”

“Is Devon still out there at the Raleigh aquarium?” said Jeannette.

“She is,” said Elliot, glancing over at me again with a scattered expression. “She’s still program director. They’re keeping her busy.”

“I’ve been meaning to take you up on that free pass,” she said. “Take the grandkids. See that new, what is it — y’all got a new manatee over there?”

“Yeah, no, it’s a hammerhead,” said Elliot. “They have a hammerhead shark now.”

“I wonder if those get depressed,” said Allison.

We all speculated on that for a little while, and then the group broke up into separate conversations. I tried to concentrate on my plate and arrange myself in a normal way. I spoke to Allison a little more about where she grew up, and me and her and Jeannette commented on the new sandwich place a few streets over, and whether we’d been there or not. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Elliot put his plate in the trash and check his watch and walk out of the room. I could feel him glance over at me as he did so, but I kept my head turned toward Allison.

People dispersed and I helped Jeannette clean up. I don’t think anyone noticed that anything was wrong with me, except for Caroline, who was sitting there, and gumming her third piece of cake, and staring right at me, and I could swear the old bitch knew exactly what was going on.

—

“So how’s it all going?”

It was later that day, after work. I was standing in a park and talking to Grace.

“Really, really good!” I said.

I hadn’t felt like going back to Viv’s yet, so I’d decided to go for a walk. In the middle of a wide, bright stretch of grass was a scratched-up metal sculpture, a dragon’s tail coming out of the ground, about knee-high. I sat down on a bench close by.

“It’s really hot here,” I said. “Sometimes I wish I could unbutton my skin and take it off.”

“It’s hot here, too,” she said. “We get these heat-sick little kids and they’re just over it.”

I missed Grace. I missed her faint Southern accent and her languorous manner. She was just bobbing along in her life in her fully formed way, and every time she had a problem or needed to talk something out, I wanted to tell her that she was going to be fine, because all she had to do was continue being the way she was and everyone would just naturally give her the benefit of the doubt.

I wanted to tell her about Elliot and how I’d felt when I heard he was married — the stomach-dropping disappointment of it. How I’d sat and methodically unbent all the paper clips in the drawer and then dragged the point of one along the underside of the desk, scratching as hard as I could.

“There’s this guy at the place I work,” I said.

“Okay.”

“I have a crush on him.”

“Yeah?” she said hopefully.

She was with a guy named Chad, a nice guy who got stoned a lot and was studying to be a vet. I’d been at their apartment once and I’d studied them — their togetherness — like it was a rare organism. He was tossing a paperweight back and forth while talking to me. He put it down when Grace came up to him and he put his hand on her chest, kind of fit his fingers above her collarbone as if it was a ridge on a rock face and he was going to climb her. I’d thought about that for a long time.

“He has a ponytail.”

“Okay.”

“But he’s handsome. I think so, anyway. He’s kind of New Age — y.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, he has this poster in his office of a mystical Native American children’s book. And, I don’t know. I just get that sense.”

“Well, it’s not the end of the world.”

“No, but, actually he’s married.”

“Oh, man.” Her voice seesawed. I could feel how genuinely disappointed she was for me.

I got up and started walking along a path. It was humid and the sky had a shiny haze to it.

Grace cleared her throat. “Well,” she said, “stay away. There’s a lot of drama here about that. The academic curator, she and the associate director of programming and education got involved, but he’s married, and his wife is the community relations vice liaison, and she’s the ex of our junior associate of senior outreach. You know what? Never mind.”