Rachel Glaser - Paulina & Fran

On the flight back, Fran and Nils watched an action movie on the TV above their heads. Paulina sulked next to a stranger. In the van back to school, when everyone sang along to “Bohemian Rhapsody,” Paulina just stiffened.

Back on the ordinary streets of their little college town, Fran felt that childhood feeling, that the world was shrinking down to normal after stretching out before her. She and Paulina passed the pizza place where the employees were brats, where she and Gretchen used to eat dinner after 3-D Design. On Ridge Street, she turned toward Wilson Street, but Paulina grabbed her sleeve. “I’m down this way,” Paulina said, pointing down Ridge.

“Oh, this is where we say good-bye and are never friends again,” Fran said.

They laughed and embraced, Paulina’s breasts pushing against Fran’s.

Julian and Paulina walked to the thin canal that cut through town. Swans made it seem special. A huge mall rose in the distance, but they walked toward an abandoned area of grass. Julian hummed a few notes from an Ennio Morricone score, quietly so Paulina wouldn’t hear. Then louder, so she would. It excited him to be around her. Her moods were so erratic. He could not control her. He looked at the deformed shadow she cast in the grass and smiled. He looked at his own shadow, expecting it to be noble, but it too was foreshortened and grotesque.

Behind the rusted shell of a school bus, they lowered themselves to the ground and pulled off each other’s clothing. The grass poked and itched them. Watching Julian kiss her pale breasts, Paulina felt like an empress, one who didn’t protect her people. Julian pushed his pants down and she guided him into her. She felt nailed to the universe, in the spell that made things work. They both moved at the same time. They were impatient. There was no rhythm. The irrelevant voice of a child floated across the canal like a runaway balloon. They stopped.

“You go,” Paulina said, trying to stay graceful. Julian moved back and forth like a swimmer. Paulina felt she would never reach her orgasm, that it was continents away and unknown to her. A train hooted in the distance. She got on her hands and knees. “Like this, so you can. .” They did it that way for a while and Paulina sensed the orgasm and strove to meet it. She grabbed her breast and imagined it was someone’s. Her orgasm was drowned out by his.

Julian lay back on the grass, caught his breath, and kissed Paulina. She scrunched away from him. He kissed her again.

“I don’t want to date you anymore,” Paulina told him.

“You love me,” he said.

“Nah, not really. Not lately.”

“What am I, your discarded plaything?”

Paulina felt his semen pool in her underwear. She had wanted one last time. As she’d told Sadie more than once, “Brains can fuck.”

The breakup sex reminded her of her semester at Smith. That had all started with Sally in the yoga shack by the lake. But Paulina couldn’t avoid her feelings for Audrey, who gazed at Paulina unabashedly in the dining hall, forcing Paulina to eat in a rugged, macho way to impress her. Then, in a steamy room at the Smith botanical gardens, she felt up Susan Bradley, a girl preoccupied with sustainable living. Later, in her dorm room, a knock.

The girls at Smith had been naturally drawn to Paulina, whose critical gaze held weight. She followed each loaded stare to its giggling, passionate realization. But, by midterms, the girls revolted, led by Audrey. Sally looked on, stunned out of her heartbreak, as one of them punched Paulina in the face. The girl’s fake sapphire ring left a scar. After, Paulina tried to punish the girls by seducing the male teachers they all lauded. Only one was weak to this, and he was the worst looking of all. The scandal led to Paulina’s transfer.

“Did you stray from me on your trip?” Julian asked. His choice of words, his measured speech, his expression of defeat annoyed Paulina. He took everything too seriously. He silently buttoned, zipped, and belted his pants. “Was it James?” he asked glumly.

“God, no!”

“Nils?” he asked incredulously.

Paulina was ashamed that she hadn’t slept with anyone on the trip. It was unlike her. Fran had kept her occupied. She scratched hard at a trapped hair on her leg, while her lips quivered into a smile.

“I didn’t want to tell you,” said Paulina, “but me and Fran,” she paused thoughtfully, “I mean Fran and I met. .” She laughed. “You are never going to believe this, but we met this huge Viking named Blood Axe.”

“Shut up,” Julian said with disgust.

“No, really. I mean, it’s possible it’s not his real name, but we met this huge hulking guy and were swept away. Fran lost her virginity to him, to Blood Axe,” she said. “On his zebra-skin rug.” Julian stared at the water, looking hurt. “Don’t tell her I told you,” Paulina said. “Really, I wasn’t going to say anything, because I knew you wouldn’t believe me. And you know me, I wanted to be good, but it promised to be such a unique experience.”

“Bullshit,” Julian said.

“It’s how I got this,” she said, showing him the black-and-blue mark on her arm. “He’s unaware of his own strength,” she said, as if defending him. Paulina’s face was stoic, while inside she felt glee.

Julian cringed. “You weren’t going to tell me?” He examined her coldly.

“We’ve been drifting apart for some time,” Paulina said. “Blood Axe just sealed the deal.”

“Which one is Fran?” Julian asked. “Curly hair?”

“Yeah,” said Paulina. “Nice girl.”

“She’s a virgin?”

“Not anymore.”

Julian sighed. “Leave it to you to find some—”

“Viking,” she interrupted.

“Viking poser.”

“Like I said, a Viking. From long ago. He was divine. I don’t expect you to understand.”

“Fuck off,” Julian said and left Paulina in the grass.

She felt a stab of longing as he grew smaller and smaller in her sight and wished he’d turn around and walk her home. Even if he just wanted to fight about it some, Paulina would have fought some. She tried to salvage the glee, but now there were only a few glittery bits that dissipated once she noticed them.

The Junior Painting Studio was a large room divided by white drywall partitions. Students worked late nights in their studios and idolized the artists of the past, especially the lesser-known ones — Dubuffet, Guston, even Morandi and his underwhelming little vases and bowls. The painters glued pennies and trash and family heirlooms on to their paintings. They painted their friends making out with old television stars. They painted their friends nude in the streetlight. Nude at the Pyramids. They thought of a concept and created a series exhausting the concept.

Some of the studios were clean, like a gallery showing work. Others, like Fran’s, were stuffed like a locker with clothes, books, broken mirrors, pill bottles, doll heads, candy wrappers, stiff brushes, old glue, and stray stretcher bars. Her paintings were thought to be strong — she’d been compared to Elizabeth Peyton and Bonnard — but she didn’t work as hard as the others. She was slow and took breaks. Spring semester, her studio was across from Marvin’s. Other love has felt normal, but my love for Marvin feels like a wilderness, Fran wrote in the margin of her art history handout. I don’t just love him. I like everything he does. Everything he touches seems lucky. It is painful to watch him.

She drifted toward him naturally, like a dog. He seemed to like her, but had never asked her to do anything, even go to the cafeteria. People were perturbed by Marvin, who had no definite social allegiance and would cruise into a party, then leave wordlessly. He didn’t need anything from anyone. Once, in the computer lab, Fran clicked on a file saved to the desktop and read an artist statement: My work affects my relationships with people. Sometimes a painting will change my relationship to my parents, even though the painting is completely abstract and mostly one color with some texture. There was no name on the document, but Fran felt drawn to whoever wrote it, and was sure it was Marvin.