Anatomy of a Boyfriend (21 page)

All of a sudden Mom dashes to the bathroom, and we can hear her crying over the running water. Dad knocks on the door but she doesn‘t respond. He and I keep looking at each other, as if we‘re hoping the other will give some clue as to what we should do. Soon we go back to the living room where he explains to me that Grandma‘s cleaning lady, who lets herself in twice a week to straighten up her bungalow, found her this morning in bed, not breathing. She called 911

but it was too late to do anything. Since Mom talked to Grandma yesterday evening, the coroner suspects she had her heart attack sometime last night in her sleep.

Mom eventually emerges red-faced but collected. True to her schoolteacher pragmatism, she immediately picks up the phone and starts making arrangements. Then she calls Amy‘s mom, asking if I can spend the day over there so I don‘t have to be home alone while she and Dad are out with the funeral director.

I sit on the couch and watch her helplessly. I can‘t imagine losing my mom, and it‘s heartbreaking seeing her so sad. I just wish I felt worse about Grandma‘s death, if only for Mom to see me reacting appropriately, but I don‘t. Grandma hadn‘t been the lovable lady I knew in a long time—she was just sort of deformed by her grief, I guess, and I feel like I mourned her passing years ago.

I really want to talk to Wes about it, but he has an English paper due at midnight and a history take-home final due in two days, so I don‘t want to take up his time when he‘s so stressed out.

That evening when I come home from Amy‘s, though, I send him an e-mail. I reason if the situation were reversed, I‘d want to know immediately no matter how busy I was.

The next day begins with a small memorial service. I‘m standing near the grave with my parents, Amy, the four widows Grandma used to play cards with, and a small group of her neighbors. It‘s unseasonably warm, and it‘s strange to think about death when you‘re surrounded by swaying palm trees and blue skies. It should be cold, windy, and gray, like it was for my grandpa‘s burial seven years ago, just a few feet from where we are right now. Not even the weather‘s sad for her.

Mom would be horrified if she knew I was spending most of the funeral thinking about how in two days Wes and I will be making love again. Amy says her mom believes that dwelling on sex is a perfectly normal strategy for coping with death, since sex is the ultimate affirmation of life.

That makes me feel better about zoning out during the pastor‘s eulogy, but it also makes me wonder why Wes didn‘t want to make love the day Jessica died.

That afternoon Mom, Dad, and I go to Grandma‘s to start going through her things. While they‘re in the living room deciding what to keep and what to give to charity, I go to the kitchen and take down all the prom photographs she stuck on her fridge. Just looking at them gives me butterflies in anticipation of Wes‘s homecoming, and I catch myself smiling.

This isn‘t right. I need to feel sad. I want to feel sad. I walk down the hallway to Grandma‘s room and stop at her door, scared to look inside. It‘s hard to believe she died in there. When I peek in, it looks the same as it always did except for the rumpled bed. I can smell a faint trace of her Chanel No. 5.

I walk to her bureau and look through the drawers. In the top one there‘s a collection of cards and pictures I made for her when I was little. It takes both hands to scoop them up onto the window seat, where I shuffle through them one by one. There‘s a card made from pink construction paper, decorated in blue and purple swirls. In a child‘s scrawl it reads ―Happy Birthday, Grandma.‖ I find a picture drawn in Magic Marker of the ocean with stick figures of the two of us on the beach. It reads, ―I love you, Grandma.‖

―Dommie, what are you doing?‖ Mom‘s standing in the doorway.

―She kept everything.‖ I hold up a picture I drew of the bungalow. ―I don‘t even remember this stuff.‖

―I‘m not surprised. She saved it all because it meant a lot to her. She really loved you.‖

―I wish I‘d spent more time with her now. I took everything she said too personally.‖

―She didn‘t make it easy on you, or us for that matter.‖

―That‘s no excuse.‖ I leaf through the cards again.

―Her unhappiness was of her own making. We had only so much power to change that. I‘m just grateful you have so many good memories of her with Grandpa.‖

Then Mom goes to Grandma‘s jewelry box and takes out the emerald ring she lent me for prom.

―Grandma wanted you to have it.‖ Mom‘s voice cracks and her eyes mist over as she hands it to me.

―Oh, Mom…are you sure?‖ I look at her. ―I mean, don‘t you want it?‖

She shakes her head. ―She was planning on giving it to you for your birthday tomorrow.‖

I slip it on my left ring finger and hold out both my hands. My mood ring looks dark and lifeless compared to the emerald, which sparkles like green fire.

35

I
t‘s almost ten by the time we get home from Grandma‘s house. I didn‘t bring my cell to the funeral since it seemed disrespectful, but the first thing I do when I retreat to my room is check e-mail and voice mail. Still nothing from Wes, but I‘m not even sure he‘s reading e-mail, what with his take-home final due tomorrow. I console myself with this thought until Instant Messenger‘s ―invitation to chat‖ window suddenly appears. I don‘t recognize the screen name, but I have a pretty good hunch. I‘m grinning as I accept the hail.

NYUTrackie:
Hey Dom.

DominiqueBaylor:
Wes?

NYUTrackie:
Yep.

DominiqueBaylor:
Hey! XOXOXOOXXOOXOXOXOXXOXOOXXOXOXOOXOXXOX Did you just change your ―The100MeterDash‖ screen name?

NYUTrackie:
I changed it a couple weeks ago, since I made the track team.

DominiqueBaylor:
Really? Nice to tell your girlfriend.

NYUTrackie:
Sorry. Anyway, I haven‘t been on IM lately because of exams. I‘m really sorry about your Grandma. How are you doing?

DominiqueBaylor:
I regret I didn‘t get to see her one more time since coming home for winter break, but I‘m also thankful that she lived as long and as full a life as she did, even if the last few years weren‘t that great.

NYUTrackie:
That‘s a good attitude.

DominiqueBaylor:
The strange thing is I was supposed to call her the night she died. My mom told me I should, but I didn‘t. I wish I had, though. Last time we talked, she was getting on my case about, I don‘t even remember what, but it was annoying. I wish we‘d had a better last conversation and that I‘d gotten to give her her Christmas present.

NYUTrackie:
I‘m sorry.

DominiqueBaylor:
Yeah. Can you believe our birthdays are tomorrow? I‘ll feel kinda bad celebrating, though, when Mom‘s mourning, especially on a Sunday. We usually spend Sunday mornings at Grandma‘s.

NYUTrackie:
Yeah, that‘ll be hard.

DominiqueBaylor:
Anyway, how are your finals going? When does your flight get in on Monday?

NYUTrackie:
Actually, I‘ve been here since last night. I handed in my take-home early, so I was able to cut out.

DominiqueBaylor:
Wait, you‘re in town?!

NYUTrackie:
Yeah.

DominiqueBaylor:
Well, congrats on being done with finals. But, Wes, am I wrong for thinking it‘s a little strange you didn‘t let me know you were coming home earlier than planned?

NYUTrackie:
I knew you were going to be busy with funeral stuff, so I didn‘t want to intrude.

DominiqueBaylor:
Calling to let me know your plans isn‘t intruding, Wes. I really needed you today. You could have come to the funeral.

NYUTrackie:
I‘m sorry. I thought that might be awkward for your parents.

DominiqueBaylor:
I don‘t know why—they‘re well aware you‘re my boyfriend. But hey, that‘s water under the bridge. You‘re here! Now that we‘re both in town, why don‘t we ring in our birthdays together tonight? We can spend all tomorrow together too. That‘d probably be better for my mom, so she can rest.

NYUTrackie:
Actually, I‘m pretty tired right now. And I‘m not sure what my parents have planned for me tomorrow. Arthur‘s also in town, so I want to make sure to hang out with him. I haven‘t seen him since Thanksgiving.

NYUTrackie:
You there, Dom?

DominiqueBaylor:
Yeah, I‘m here. Wes, I don‘t want to sound whiny, but you haven‘t seen me since Thanksgiving either. And to be honest, I‘m still sort of weirded out you didn‘t let me know you were coming home early.

DominiqueBaylor:
Are *you* there?

DominiqueBaylor:
Wes?

NYUTrackie:
I‘m sitting here with no idea what to write.

DominiqueBaylor:
Okay, so call me, then. This isn‘t the kind of conversation we should be having online, anyway.

NYUTrackie:
I would, but I‘m over my minutes.

DominiqueBaylor:
Oh, really? And to whom have you been talking so much that you‘ve exceeded your minutes? Certainly not to me.

NYUTrackie:
Please don‘t be angry. I was going to call you. But I‘ve been confused, and I wanted some time to think.

DominiqueBaylor:
Okay. What are you confused about?

NYUTrackie:
I wasn‘t planning on talking about this tonight. I just wanted to check in about your grandma.

DominiqueBaylor:
Well, things don‘t always go the way you plan them, do they? So again, what are you confused about?

DominiqueBaylor:
You there?

NYUTrackie:
I don‘t know how to explain it, or why it‘s happening. But, Dom, I feel different.

I never wanted to feel different. It‘s just happening.

DominiqueBaylor:
You feel different about what?

DominiqueBaylor:
About what, Wes? Us?

NYUTrackie:
yes

DominiqueBaylor:
You want to break up? Is that it?

NYUTrackie:
I don‘t ―want‖ to break up. But, I don‘t know.

DominiqueBaylor:
Well, I do know. I know that you are a liar! On the day we got our college acceptances, you specifically told me that you WANTED to stay together with me!

NYUTrackie:
Yes, and also on that day, you said that no matter what, we‘d always be friends.

Can I count on you to keep your word?

DominiqueBaylor:
Wes, how can you expect me to revert to friendship when you aren‘t acting like a friend? Obviously, you‘ve been having these feelings for a while, and you didn‘t even tell me until now. Strike that—you didn‘t tell me at all! I had to force it out of you! I can‘t even trust you to be honest with me!

NYUTrackie:
I‘m sorry. But it‘s a painful thing to tell someone.

DominiqueBaylor:
Not nearly as painful as being strung along for the last God knows how many weeks! When did you stop caring for me? Certainly not before Thanksgiving. You certainly wouldn‘t accept a blow job from someone if you were thinking about breaking up with her.

NYUTrackie:
I still care for you a lot, Dom. And I was truly happy to see you over Thanksgiving.

DominiqueBaylor:
―Happy to see‖ me? Just happy to see me? Happy to get head, is that it? But not happy enough to have sex.

NYUTrackie:
That never went through my mind, I never thought of you just physically. But I started to feel different then too. I didn‘t want to, so I tried to ignore it. I just didn‘t want us to mess around this vacation until I had it sorted out. I guess that‘s why I didn‘t call you earlier.

DominiqueBaylor:
Yeah, but, Wes, isn‘t it normal to feel that way after being apart for so long?

I mean, wasn‘t that the purpose of winter break? For us to see a lot of each other again and get reacquainted and get as close as we were before? In my opinion, everything you‘re feeling is normal and fixable.

DominiqueBaylor:
Wes???

NYUTrackie:
Dom, I really don‘t think so. You see, it used to be like a craving, wanting to see you again, but now it just doesn‘t occur to me as much. I don‘t know exactly when it started happening. Maybe if we had gone to the same school things would have been different.

DominiqueBaylor:
YOU FUCKING ENCOURAGED ME TO GO TO A DIFFERENT

SCHOOL!! YOU WERE THE ONE WHO CREATED THIS SITUATION!!!

NYUTrackie:
I didn‘t mean for any of this to happen, Dom. I‘m really sorry. But look at it realistically—we‘re just teenagers.

DominiqueBaylor:
―Just teenagers.‖ Well, excuse me for thinking like a mature adult and not an overgrown adolescent.

DominiqueBaylor:
There‘s someone else, isn‘t there?

NYUTrackie:
No. Well, no one in particular.

DominiqueBaylor:
Do you have any idea how many dates I turned down these last four months because YOU told me you wanted to stay together?

NYUTrackie:
I feel bad about that. I guess I should have handled things differently.

DominiqueBaylor:
You know, it‘s so fitting that in track you‘re a sprinter and you suck at distance running. You can‘t go the distance! If I hadn‘t confronted you like this, would you even have had the guts to break up with me this vacation?