A short story
about life’s most complex arrangement – loving another human being.
by Christina
Carson
It was the dog days of summer, the heat and humidity of July
causing even the most motivated to sink into lethargy, sulky and brooding. Jill
was a fine example. She lay stretched out on the sofa of her grandmother’s back
porch shaded by two huge old maple trees. She was trying to finish one of the
ten books she needed to read before her junior year in Literature began in
September, but she was distracted. The heat had stuck her T-shirt to her like a
second skin and her naturally curly hair now looked like Orphan Annie’s, but
today she hardly noticed. She doodled on her legal pad where she had been
taking notes on Ulysses. She drew a
big “M” thickening the lines with each pass and thinning out to curlicues on
the ends. She spoke her thoughts to the steamy air, “What has happened with him?”
The him referred to her boyfriend of
two years. Matt and she had seemed such a
great fit she thought. They had the same sense of humor, the same dreams
and seemed so compatible. Then he got a grant to work on a science project this
summer and rather than encourage her to stay and seek work in the adjacent
town, he suggested they take the summer off.
“Off from what,” she asked confused.
“You know.”
“No I don’t know.” She could feel her stomach knotting up.
“Sometimes it’s good for two people to have a break from
each other.”
“Explain to me why? I’m not seeking a break from you. So
that seems to leave you who need a break, I guess, from me. What’s going on?”
“I’m just feeling corralled.”
“I thought we were enjoying each other, that we both liked
being together. How did I get that wrong?”
“I just need some space that’s all…” each word accented by
his frustration. His face twisted in annoyance as he shoved himself away from
the table with a force that pushed the table toward her. Somewhere between apologizing
or being miffed, he chose to walk out with no reply.
That night, Jill packed up
her belongings, loaded them in her friend, Judy’s car and left school for the
summer holiday. She asked Judy to drop her off in another small college town
where her grandmother lived. Jill, a child of divorce, found living with her
grandmother the best of her options. So late that same evening, she unloaded
her belongings into her attic bedroom at her Granny Bette's and prepared to
live there for the summer, alone.
***
Jill got up from the sofa, picked up James Joyce’s heavy
tome and walked back into the house to find Granny Bette in the kitchen. She
stood in the doorway staring at Bette. She hadn't noticed before just how
young-looking this 62 year-old semi-retired English Lit professor was, but she
had noticed how enigmatic. Usually old people walked about embarrassingly unmasked
for Jill, like they didn't care anymore what you noticed about them. But Bette, she displayed an air of dignity
that made Jill comfortable in her presence.
Bette turned from the stove where she was making curry and
stared back at Jill. “Is it Ulysses
that’s proving in tolerable or just life in general?"
Jill smiled, the kindness
in Bette’s eyes softening her frustration.
“Life is beginning to make Ulysses look like child’s play.”
“Ooh. Sounds like heart disease to me.”
Jill chuckled this time, then asked, “Granny Bette, what do
you know about men?”
“The worst and the best, my darling child, yes, the worst
and the best.” Her gaze drifted off for a second as if she was recalling it
all.
Jill didn't know where to start with that reply so she stuck
to her present problem. “Matt says he needs space. I don’t understand that
statement. Why would someone need space?”
Without a pause, Bette starting reeling off the reasons. “Possibility
one, the most obvious, he’s flirting with another relationship. Possibility
two, he’s getting nervous about the seriousness of his relationship with you.
Responsibility scares him. Possibility three, he’s a cad and a liar. Let’s hope
that isn't the case. Possibility four, he’s a dolt who truly can’t separate
uncut gems from beach pebbles.”
“How many possibilities are there, for god sakes?”
“You don’t really want an answer to the question, do you?”
“What scares me most is that I never saw any of this coming.
Am I that obtuse that I actually thought we were in love with each other, only
one of us wasn't? What are the rules here? What about fair play?”
Bette considered her, studying the face of this sensitive, dark-eyed young woman. She reminded Bette of herself at that age, a believer in
goodness rewarded, but she knew Jill’s understanding of men and women in love,
however, was a fool’s tale at best.
“Dear girl, there is no greater treachery than the affairs
of love. Anytime humans are attempting to complete the cosmic equation of one
plus one equals one, stresses and strains abide. It’s then that each
participant’s true character is revealed, often as surprising to oneself as to
the other. Which way do they lean under pressure – toward kindness and
tolerance, inflexibility and control, blame and judgment or do they just jump
ship? It’s the ultimate gamble.”
“Is it worth it? I mean what’s the point if it’s so
difficult and the odds seem against you from the start? You’re single and your
life looks full and satisfying.”
“Does it?”
Jill stopped dead when Bette said that. She suddenly
realized she didn't know the first thing about Granny Bette’s life other than
the obvious.
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