Fragmented (6 page)

My friends and I had arrived downtown earlier in the day, and for the past few hours we’d stayed in our spot near the Michigan Avenue bridge that offered an unobstructed view of the Chicago River. Local vendors and artists sold their wares in an outdoor market, and the smell of cooked meat filtered from the numerous food trucks ready to serve the tens of thousands of Chicagoans who’d made the trip downtown for the weekend spectacle. I’d held off the advancement of latecomers for the past few hours, even holding down the fort when Lauren had had to go to the bathroom. Downtown was more packed than I’d ever seen it, even for major city festivals like St. Patrick’s Day or Pridefest.

Three Victorian-style mansions floating on the Chicago River in the heart of downtown were the centerpiece of the festival. They were to be lit on fire, burning away to reveal a symbol of the city, followed by an extravagant fireworks display. There was just one problem—the houses wouldn’t burn. The event organizers couldn’t get the one thing to happen that we’d all been waiting hours to see. Every time they set one of the houses ablaze, the fire would smother itself out moments later.

“I can’t feel my feet,” Lauren complained.

I wiped at my nose with the sleeve of my jacket. “We’re going to get pneumonia just to see someone set a floating house on fire.”

Kelley hopped up and down on the balls of her feet, trying to stay warm. “F-f-fuck.” Her teeth chattered. “I should have worn real pants.” Her black leggings and knee-high boots were fashionable, but provided little protection from the unseasonably cold and damp weather.

“If they’d built homes in 1871 of out the same material they used to build those floats,” Maia sniffled beside me, “there would never have been a fire in the first place.”

The local media
had billed the festival as the not-to-be-missed event of the season. But after spending the past few hours patting feeling into my arms and hopping around to keep the blood flowing through my booted feet, I was starting to wish we’d stuck to our original plan to rent romantic comedies and paint each other’s toenails. The temperatures had dropped dramatically over the week, and my jacket was heavy with the light mist that refused to break. I had been hoping for a long Indian summer to extent the warmer months, but the drizzling rain had been non-stop, and the sun hadn’t made an appearance all day.

“I think I’m gonna head home you guys,” I announced. “I don’t think anything’s catching on fire tonight unless there’s a riot.” I could sense that the crowds were getting anxious and annoyed by the numerous delays, and I really didn’t want to be around when that frustration boiled over.

“I’ll go with you,” Kelley said, hopping down from the railing. “You guys coming?” she turned to Lauren and Maia.

The two made eye contact and shrugged.

“I kind of want to stick it out,” Maia admitted.

Lauren shrugged. “We’ve been standing here all day; might as well stand a little longer.”

The explosions started on our walk to the nearest L stop. In another neighborhood I would have worried we were being shot at, but Kelley and I both paused and looked to the sky. Around the silhouettes of the downtown skyscrapers I could see flashes of colored lights in the direction from which we’d just come.

“Looks like they gave up on the fire and went right to the grand finale,” Kelley said.

“Do you want to go back? We can probably still catch most of the fireworks.”

“No.” She turned on her heel and continued toward the train. “The sooner we get out of this rain, the better. Plus we can beat the crowds.”

When our train arrived, I collapsed onto the bench seat, grateful for the ability to sit down. We’d been standing for too long in the cold, and my body was feeling its affects. The Green Line was nearly empty at this late hour. Only a few people rode in the car with us, and most of them were sleeping or deeply engrossed in whatever was on their handheld electronic device.

Kelley blew into her hands. “Well, that was a bust.”

“Agreed,” I nodded. “And after all of that mounting anticipation, I feel like we should set something on fire, or I’ll be dissatisfied the rest of the night.”

“Isn’t that what your girlfriend is for?” Kelley said with a knowing smile.

I cleared my throat. “I guess so.”

“Are we ever going to meet her?”

“She would have been here tonight,” I said, “but she had to go to her grandma’s birthday party.”

“Sounds wild,” Kelley chuckled.

“Uh huh,” I agreed. “Although I’m kind of wishing I’d done that tonight instead of standing around in the cold.”

“Yeah, at least you would have gotten some cake out of the deal,” she laughed. “Hey, do you want to come over? Maxwell is supposed to be out with his friends tonight, so we’d have the place to ourselves for a while.”

Kelley lived on the first floor of a three-level brownstone that she shared with her twin brother, Maxwell. Their parents lived out in the suburbs and paid their rent so they could focus on being fulltime college students. I should have begrudged her for having such a stable home life, but she was sweet and grounded and never took her parents’ generosity for granted.

“No, thanks. I think I’ll go home, take a long, hot shower, and get into bed.”

“That sounds dreamy,” she murmured, still rubbing her chilled hands. “I think I’ll probably do the same.”

The train announced the next stop, and Kelley hopped up from the bench seat. “See you Monday at lunch,” she waved.

“Yup. Be safe walking home,” I routinely voiced.

“I will. You, too.”

The doors chimed and opened and Kelley slid out of the train and onto the elevated platform. She continued to wave at me until the train lurched forward and continued to the next stop.

I pulled my phone out of my jacket pocket. My fingers were still numb from being outside in the cold all evening, and they clumsily worked over the text keyboard to send Jenn a message.

Are you back from your grandma’s yet?

Her response came, moments later.
No. I’m staying out here tonight
.

Can I convince you to come over instead? I’d make it worth your while
, I replied.

I saw her typing and erasing and typing again as if she was struggling to come up with an answer. It was unfair of me to ask her to come back from the suburbs so late, but there was no harm in asking.

Hatechu
.

Does that mean you’re on your way?
I prodded.

Can’t. Had too much wine with dinner. Stuck at my parents’.

I frowned.
Too bad.

I know. What are you wearing?

I jerked my head up and scanned the train to see if anyone had seen the message, but the car was still mostly empty and no one was paying any attention to me.

I’m on the train
, I typed back.

So?
she challenged.

I shoved my phone back into my coat pocket and ignored its vibrating alerts for the rest of the train ride. My stop was next anyway.

I walked home at a quick pace. I’d warmed up a little on the train, but I was still numb and in need of a hot shower. I wished I had a bathtub so I could soak the ache out of my bones. My pocket continued to vibrate all the way home. I ignored the incoming messages until I reached my apartment. Only when I was finally in my pajamas and in my own bed did I consult the missed messages. I didn’t only have texts from Jenn; there was a message from Kelley letting me know she’d gotten home safely and an unexpected text from Raleigh.

Sorry to bug you so late,
her text said,
but what chapters are due on Monday in psychology? I can’t find my syllabus.

I had been a little disappointed that she hadn’t contacted me earlier about coming to the Great Fire Festival, but I wouldn’t let myself dwell on that emotion. I had a girlfriend. I didn’t need to become emotionally invested in this new person whose sexuality was a mystery to me.

We need to have Chapters 3 and 4 read for Monday,
I typed.

Thanks,
she replied.
Hopefully I won't keep missing classes because of physical therapy.

My phone continued to rattle with one message after another from Jenn.

Babe?

Are you there?

Harper?

Don't ignore me.

Why don’t you call me?
I wrote her back, annoyed by the onslaught of messages.
It’s easier.

Can’t. Thin walls. My family would hear.

Why do you care if your family hears you talking to me?
For someone annoyed by my own reticence to be more public with our relationship, I didn’t understand where this was coming from.

Because I was hoping our conversation would be more of us grunting and panting tonight.

Oh.

Are you really trying to have phone sex with me over text message?

Sure. Why not?

How are you going to type when your fingers are otherwise preoccupied?

You could always send me a picture.

I snorted, reading the request.
Hell, no. Don't you know how dumb that is?

It would just be for me,
her words promised.

And all of the world when the Cloud gets hacked,
I responded.

You're not any fun.

You're just realizing this now?

A new message from Raleigh jumped onto my screen.
How's your weekend?

I momentarily ignored my persistent girlfriend for a less annoying text conversation. Her libido combined with the insistence that I wasn’t any fun was a blow to my ego.

Wet and cold,
I wrote Raleigh back.
We were at the Fire Festival tonight, but the fire wouldn't start.

That’s too bad. But now I don't feel so bad about being cooped up at my aunt's.

You were missed
, my fingers typed out. I stared at the words on the screen and erased them.
At least you won't get pneumonia like the rest of us
, I sent instead.

Another message from Jenn jumped on my cell’s screen. But instead of more words, she’d taken a photograph of herself in nothing but bra and panties. I didn’t think myself a prude, but I was more embarrassed than turned on. I deleted the image rather than letting it reside in my phone’s data plan as if its presence would get me in trouble.

But Jenn was stepping up her game, and I felt the challenge to do the same. I might not have been as brazen as my girlfriend, but if nothing I was competitive.

Why don't you show me what's hiding underneath that underwear?
I typed out.

As soon I hit send, I realized my mistake. My chest tightened, and I couldn’t breath. I’d texted the wrong person.

My hands shook as I fumbled to send Raleigh a new message:
OMG. That wasn’t for you.

I held tight to my phone, willing it to talk back.

I didn’t think so
, came the eventual reply
.

I’m so sorry
, I apologized
. I had the wrong text window open. I'm absolutely horrified.

It’s okay. It happens. It could have been worse.

I wanted to destroy my phone because of my mistake, but I needed it to keep apologizing. With any of my friends, I would have been embarrassed, but I could have laughed it off. But I hardly knew this girl.

While I continued to apologize and try to save face, I ended up missing more texts from Jenn.

Was that too much?

Babe?

Where did you go?

Are you traumatized or doing something else?

I hope everything is okay over there, and that I didn't insult you or something.

Okay, well I'm gonna get to sleep, I guess. Have a good night.

I sent a text message of goodnight to Jenn before I set my phone to silent and stored it on the bedside table. I probably needed to think of ways to make up for being absent at her grandmother’s birthday, and now I had to add disappearing on her in the midst of sexting to the list of things I needed to apologize for. But for now I was too tired to dwell on my shortcomings as a girlfriend, and I fell asleep.
 

+ + +

The sky was overcast, and from my bed I could hear the continued patter of raindrops against the windowpane. I wondered if it had ever stopped raining throughout the night. It was the kind of day that made living off campus a danger to my GPA. If I had lived in the dorms I could tumble out of bed, pull on a jacket over my sweatpants and T-shirt, and go to class. Having to catch a bus to get to school necessitated that I at least brushed my teeth, although the majority of my fellow CTA riders didn’t do the same.

The walk from the bus stop to the life sciences building took me only a few minutes, and I arrived at the classroom lab before most of the other students in my class.

Raleigh was already at the elevated table with her textbook open in front of her on the long lab table. The room’s overhead lights were unflattering to most skin tones, but she looked like she was professionally backlit. She wore minimal makeup because she had nothing to camouflage. Her hair was softly curled and fell to her shoulders. I mentally cursed at my bad luck. Maia had been right; she really did look like an angel.