A Small Town Dream (19 page)

“Don’t get me wrong,” he said, “I had fun sometimes. I have friends I’ll stay in touch with forever, but we didn’t have the happy-happy, giggling, hug-fest of a time here that you did. You probably looked forward to coming to school every day, didn’t you?”

Yes
, she thought,
I used to
. She loved it, coming to school, seeing her friends, learning.
Yes
, she thought,
I
used
to love coming to school
.

“I went to the state prison and saw Parker Levitt,” she said suddenly. “He told me that, because he believed I loved him, he killed Connie for
me,
and when I told him I didn’t love him, he said her death was all my fault. I
used
to like coming to school but, the last part of this year has been... Paul, it’s
sucked
.”

She heard herself, then stared at him. He got on his knees and pulled her into a hug. She’d been hugged all day long, but all the hugs had been done with a delicacy she had noted and loathed. She was being treated like a victim. She had hated it and thought if one more person hugged her like that, she would explode and probably slap them.

Paul’s hug was different. It was strong, and solid, and he did not treat her like a doll. After a second, she wrapped her arms around him and held on. Suddenly, she started to cry. She buried her face into his shoulder and wept. He held her silently, and she cried. When she collapsed, he supported her. Soon, she was curled into his lap, and he was holding her like a little girl. She didn’t struggle, just stayed there, crying and holding on.

They stayed that way for a long time. Neither made a move to disengage. Neither one said anything, either. Eventually, she ran out of tears. Once she did, she sat up. He released her, didn’t try to keep her in his arms. She sat back against the wall, her body still touching his. She wiped her nose on her sleeve. He handed her a handkerchief.

“My mom taught me always to carry one,” he said, reacting to her surprise. “She said a gentleman always carries one so...”

A gentleman always carries…something
, she thought.
Where did I hear that?
The memory wouldn’t come, so she took Paul’s hanky and wiped her eyes and her nose again. She tried to hand it back.

“No, you keep that. I get half a dozen for my birthday and Christmas every year, and this is the first time I’ve ever used one.” She held it in her hands. “Parker Levitt is
not
a nice person,” he said very simply. “Connie’s death isn’t your fault. Even if you
did
love him, even if you only
said
you did, and then changed your mind. Even if you slept with him, and then said no to him, none of that—
none
of it—is enough of an excuse for murder.”

“I
thought
I did. Love him, I mean. I never slept with him. I kissed him, but I didn’t do anything else. He gave me this book,
On the Road
—”

“Ah, yes, Kerouac. When I first read that, man, I wanted just to get on a bus and run.”

“Why didn’t you?” she asked, surprised and thrilled that he had read the book, too.

“Because it was a great book, and his was a voice that changed a generation, but I’m not Jack. Nobody is. You can’t
re
-live an experience that you’ve never lived before. You know what I mean?”

“Parker wanted to be him,” she said. Paul chuckled. “What?”

“Jack would
never
kill a woman, Anne, not even for love.” Annie knew he was right.

She suddenly stood, grabbed Paul’s hand, and pulled him to his feet. She pushed him hard, and he slammed against the brick wall, yelping. “What the—?”

Before he could finish, Annie kissed him. She pressed her entire body against his, pushed him against the wall, and kissed him deep, hard, and long. When he was good and kissed, when she felt satisfied that she had expressed everything she suddenly felt for this strange boy, she broke away and stepped back.

“Well,” he said, “that was
much
better than your speech.” She laughed.

“I’m sorry, Paul.”

“For what?”

“For talking
over
you. For not talking
to
you. For not taking even one minute to know. For being in school with you for four years and not being your friend. I’m sorry.”

“Look, Anne, it’s not your fault. It’s just the way life is. Hell, I didn’t know what you were going through, either. I didn’t make the effort. I just assumed your life had no room, no need for a guy like me so...” He shrugged, and they stood facing each other in silence. “Funny,” he said after a moment, “if we had just talked once, like this, we could have been friends.”

“I hope it’s not too late,” she said, and he smiled, held out his hand to shake hers.

“Hey, there, I’m Paul Jenks. I just graduated, and I’m heading off to MIT to get a degree in engineering. I’m an introvert, a science geek, a pot smoker, an only child, and I love Jane Austen. Nice to meet you.” She shook his hand and laughed.

“Hello, Paul,” she said, “I’m Anne Stewart. I just graduated, and I’m going to Davenport. But I’m still going to live at home, get a useless degree, and then find a husband, have kids and live the rest of my life in this town—” She stopped herself. “Only, that’s not really me anymore.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Anne, and let me say, I’m rather glad to hear that’s
not
you anymore.”

They dropped hands and headed back into the building. “You know what, Anne? You should talk to that guy who was here, the grief counselor. He really knew his shit, a real straight shooter, had good advice. No bullshit. He’d probably be good to talk to. Do you know who I mean?”

They continued into the school, into the gym, still crowded, music playing, people dancing, posing for pictures. They stood at the edge of it all and just watched. She felt better. Not just because of the pot, but all of it, the talk, the cry, the truth. She felt present in the moment, the distance gone.

Ellen materialized out of the crowd and grabbed her hand.

“Where have you been?” she said, out of breath. “Are you all right?” Paul started to walk away, but Annie grabbed his arm and held him in place.

“I’m fine, Ellen. I was just talking with Paul. He gave me some honest feedback about my speech.”

“It was awesome, don’t you think?” Ellen asked him. Before he could speak, Annie interrupted him.

“No, El, it wasn’t,” she said. “I didn’t speak to everyone. So it wasn’t
awesome
.” She looked at Paul, and he smiled. Ellen looked back and forth between them, confused.

“You know what, Anne?” Paul said. “You do speak well, however. Have you thought about politics?” She laughed and hugged him. “Nice meeting you,” he said to Ellen, and then he vanished into the crowd.

“What was
that
all about?” Ellen asked. Annie just shook her head. Ellen shrugged and hooked her arm under Annie’s, pulling her back into the party. Annie gave in and mingled, laughed, smiled, took pictures, and accepted congratulations on her speech. She was present. She was better, more focused.

“So, Anne,” Ellen's father said as the gym party broke up, and people started to move out to new places. “What will you be doing now?”

“Me?” Annie thought for a moment.

“Well, Mr. Lane,” she said at last. “I think I’m going to do something very, very important.”

She was by no means a veteran of the process but, she did feel more at ease this time. Nothing was at all different. Nothing was shocking. In fact, the well-oiled machine of the state penitentiary system was absolutely predictable. Right down to the length of time she had to wait before she was allowed into the visiting area. She didn’t feel as on display as she had her first time. She was still uneasy, and she still struggled with her reason for being there. However, the logistics of the place didn’t trouble her as much this time.

The only moment when things seemed strange was when she moved to the guard who checked her pass. She tried to go to the left, like the last time. But this time, she was told to go to the right with everyone else. She protested, saying that last time she had been told to go left.

“Last time your friend wasn’t behaving all that nicely,” the guard told her, “but he’s been a good boy lately so, he gets good boy rewards.” She gave him a very confused look, and he chuckled. “See, we’re here to rehabilitate.” At first this sounded good to her. “Just like dealing with any other kind of animal,” he continued, “you treat them a certain way, they respond a certain way. It’s just animal training in here.” At that, she feigned a smile but was now feeling sick. So she just followed the others who had been in the waiting room with her.

She walked into an open room filled with metal picnic tables. Other inmates were sitting with family members or whoever was visiting. There was no thick glass panel. There was no phone. They sat face to face, some of them even holding hands across the tables.

She stopped and suddenly, the fear taking hold. Parker would be able to touch her if he wanted to. Parker would be able to leap over the table and kill her if he wanted to. How long would it take a guard to grab him off her throat or pull him away from her if he stuck a homemade knife in her chest? She started to back away, move toward the door, when she heard his voice.

“You came back,” he said, his voice full of surprise, and sounding much kinder than he did before. She turned and saw him sitting at a table under a window. She had not noticed him when she first came in because he looked different.

His pale skin was now ruddy. He looked like he had put on some of the weight that was lacking last time. He also looked more muscular. His hair was now jet black and his left eye was swollen to the point of almost being shut. He stood up and smiled at her. She took a breath and then crossed to his table.

“May I hug my friend?” he asked a guard and before the guard could answer, she said
no
.

She stood on the opposite side of the table from him, and he stared at her. His smile did not falter. He did not seem angry about being refused the hug. He made a
never mind
gesture toward the guard and then, he sat. She waited and then sat as well.

“It's just not a hugging situation, Parker,” she said, feeling the need to explain herself. “I don’t feel safe or comfortable right now and I certainly do not feel like hugging you.” He nodded.

“I get it,” he said to her, trying, apparently, to make her feel more at ease. “It took my mother five visits before she hugged me, and she’s supposed to love me no matter what. You—”

“I still don’t love you, Parker,” she said sternly, then checked the room to see if she had said it too loud. No one seemed to be paying attention to them.

“You’re just a
friend
, I was going to say.” He finished his thought despite her interruption. “I didn’t expect you to be
ready
to hug me but, I thought I’d take a chance.” He smiled. She felt a little embarrassed. “So,” he said, working hard to change the subject, make her feel more at ease, “I’m really glad you came back.”

“And why is that, Mr. Levitt?” she asked, sounding like a schoolteacher, hating her tone but, feeling at a complete loss as how to act. He laughed at her use of his last name and made a show of sitting up straight in his seat. This struck her as amusing, and she laughed at him and at herself.

“Because I was a complete fucktard the last time you came,” he said and she winced. Even though she had used the word herself, and she thought back to her friends having a sort-of intervention for her shortly after graduation, she still didn’t like to hear it. She certainly didn’t like to hear someone like Parker, once smart, driven, and going places, using that kind of profanity.