Monsoon Season (2 page)

My parents were wrong about one thing. More than a year would pass before I made the long trip home.

I closed my book as the bus pulled into the Springfield station. I hadn’t got very far in the two hours. It was some piece of fiction set in New York City, as all good fiction is. Nothing of interest happens in Ohio or Massachusetts or Arizona.

My parents were waiting for me when I got off the bus. They’d have had to pay the dollar to park in the lot and walk over to greet me.

My mom hugged me first. ‘It’s so good to see you, kiddo.’ She looked me over, checking for signs of wear, as if I were a treasured belonging she had loaned out grudgingly.

I hunched my shoulders against her knowing appraisal. ‘You didn’t have to park. I would have found you.’

‘We know, but we were excited to see you.’ She slipped her fingers through my hair, sliding them down the strands that hung between us. ‘It’s grown so long.’

My dad hugged me next. His hugs have always been endearingly awkward. He tries so hard.

‘Where’s your tan?’ my mom asked.

I held my arm in front of me, noticing for the first time that it was paler than usual. ‘It gets too hot in July to spend a lot of time in the sun.’

‘It just got sunny here last week,’ my mom said, making a face to convey she was half serious.

‘Which one is yours?’ my dad asked, as the driver pulled the last few bags from the compartment under the bus.

‘These two.’ I pointed, and my dad picked up the big duffel bag, leaving me the smaller suitcase on wheels.

‘Wow. You used to be such a light packer,’ my mom said.

‘I guess I lost my talent for it. I just couldn’t decide what to bring.’ I tried not to sound defensive.

A handful of dim stars lit up the night as we pulled into the driveway. I’d been feeling more at ease the closer we got to the house, and now I wasn’t even fidgeting in the back seat. A warm glow poured out of the windows onto the lawn, and the pond out back was visible only as a representation of the sky.

I was tired. I had left Tucson early that morning and had been travelling all day. With the time difference, it seemed longer than it was. I wanted to curl up in my bed and sleep for a thousand years, not have to make any more decisions. I didn’t want to be able to determine the outcome of anyone else’s life. I didn’t even want that much power over my own.

That first cigarette took the edge off my anxiety faster than four or five beers would have. I stood in the Quickie Mart at one a.m. doing the math. A six-pack of the kind of beer I drank was three bucks more than an entire pack of Marlboros. Smoking was cost effective.

I hadn’t smoked since high school, but I didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t call her. There was nothing to say. I couldn’t even think straight. That was an expression I’d never understood in such a literal way. But that was how it felt. My thoughts were colliding at diagonal intersections. I couldn’t formulate full sentences. Just directing the guy at the register toward the right pack on the wall behind him took actual concentration. He didn’t check my ID, and even though I had my licence in my wallet, where it always was, I was relieved to avoid that simple interaction.

I rushed out of there with my heart pounding, as if I’d stolen something, like the time when I was a kid and pocketed some penny candy on a dare.

I didn’t know where to begin to fix things, didn’t even know if it was my job. It felt like I was in someone else’s dream and had no control over any of it. I couldn’t even say I missed her. I didn’t know where I stood. I just couldn’t pin myself down.

So I started smoking. It made about as much sense as the rest of it.

At home, I sat on the couch, smoking and watching infomercials all night. I ashed on the carpet because I didn’t have an ashtray and because I didn’t care, sinking into the couch cushions, my mind spinning. I couldn’t stop picturing her half of the bed. I wondered whether I had enough money in my account for the chicken rotisserie. Once, I got up to take a piss, only to return to my spot on the couch, light another cigarette and squint into the television.

I stared at the picture of us at Saguaro National Park that Riley had roped an elderly couple into taking for us. We were holding hands, standing in front of a boulder. The framed photo sat on top of the television set, catching some of its glow. It was the only picture she had left behind – the only one of us. It probably meant something, but I had no opinion about it. Riley beamed for the camera. Her dark hair fell past her shoulders and her dark eyes caught the light. She’d squeezed my hand as the flash went off. I was making the face I usually make in pictures. She asked me later why I hadn’t been smiling.

I wasn’t really surprised when I came home to find her gone. No, I can’t say I was surprised at all. I noted each missing object with total detachment. The framed print that had been on the wall above the couch. Her CDs. A vase. The bookcase I’d bought for her at Wal-Mart for twenty dollars stood empty. It seemed a shame that she hadn’t taken it with her. It wasn’t like I had any books of my own.

Yeah, that was the shame of it.

If I felt anything at all about it, I was really just relieved that I wouldn’t have to talk to her, wouldn’t have to think about what to say. What was there to say? There was nothing to say. There was no reason to go to bed. No reason to get up when the sun began seeping through the windows. There was nothing for me to do. Besides, I couldn’t convince her of anything I didn’t believe myself.

When Riley and I had started dating, neither of us had a lot of money. She’d just moved here from the east coast and I was working two jobs to pay for some necessary car repairs. I passed long days up on the roofs of houses I’d never be able to afford. Weekends were generally spent inside, laying floors with a buddy. The relief from the sun would always wane by Sunday night as the pain in my knees and back took over.

Riley was really cool about it. She didn’t expect me to take her out and pay for everything. She was a feminist, but she didn’t hate men. She explained to me that people who think feminists are man-haters are really stupid and should read more books. She thought men and women should be equal, that was all. She questioned things and if the answer was ‘Because you’re a girl’, well, she just thought that was bullshit.

A lot of the time we took turns renting movies or playing Scrabble. I always beat her and she never seemed to mind. She was the best loser I’d ever known. At first I thought she was letting me win: she’d been to college and I hadn’t. But that wasn’t it. Winning didn’t seem to matter to her. It was like she really didn’t care if she was losing because she enjoyed my company. That was how she made me feel.

We were sitting on the couch at my place, watching a video, when she kissed me for the first time. I think it was our third date. I never usually waited so long to kiss a girl I was dating, but being around Riley made me so dizzy I’d chickened out both of the previous nights when I’d taken her home. I’d stood back with my hands in my pockets, reminding myself to breathe, while she fumbled with the lock. She’d turn back, her hand on the doorknob, tilting her head and smiling at me. She’d glance up at me through her eyelashes. She has the longest eyelashes I’ve ever seen. ‘I had fun,’ she’d say softly. I’d tell her I’d call her, backing up, the expectation of a goodnight kiss making me physically queasy. I would rush back to my car as soon as she disappeared inside her apartment, kicking myself but feeling at the same time like I’d just narrowly escaped my own death.

We’d been watching the movie for about ten minutes when she reached over and took my hand. Just holding hers made my heart race, and my forehead was actually sweating. I didn’t know what was wrong with me. As soon as the credits started rolling, her other hand began sliding up my chest. I was looking straight ahead but I could feel her eyes on me in the dark. She had to actually turn my face toward her, seemed to search my eyes for some kind of clue as to what I was thinking. I don’t know what she found there, but she kissed me anyway.

We’d fall asleep in my bed most nights, spooning. But during the night we’d revert to our usual habits. I’d sleep on my side with my back to her and she’d sleep on her back with her arms across her chest. She slept like a log, no tossing or turning, her steady breathing all that let me know she was alive. She slept soundly, never so much as grumbling when I rolled around, tugging blankets, unable to get comfortable. I’d never slept straight through the night in my entire life. I’d wake up groggy in the morning to the feeling of her arm sliding over my ribs and squeezing me tightly. She’d pepper my back with her kisses, and if I didn’t start waking up fast enough, she’d press her teeth lightly into my shoulder.

I turned to her one morning and asked her to move in. We’d been dating about three months. We hadn’t even said good morning. I just rolled over and said, ‘Move in with me.’

Her sleepy eyes flew wide open. ‘Are you serious?’

‘Sure. If you lived here, we could wake up together every morning.’

She smiled. ‘That would be nice.’

‘So? Come on.’

‘It’s so tempting but . . .’ she looked up at the ceiling as though it held the answer ‘. . . I can’t do that to Donna. She’s been so good to me.’

‘Haven’t I been good to you?’ I slid my hand up the back of her T-shirt and kissed her neck.

She pushed against my chest and looked at me. ‘I can’t, Ben. I can’t.’

I pulled away and folded my hands over my stomach.

‘Maybe when our six-month lease is up,’ she offered.

I turned my head toward her again. ‘When is that?’

‘December.’

‘That would be cool. Just in time for Christmas.’

‘Could we decorate a cactus?’

‘If you want.’

When Riley moved in with me, Donna decided to move into a one-bedroom apartment. I think she’d grown tired of losing roommates to their boyfriends. I helped carry the heavy stuff the day she moved. We made a party out of it, celebrating that night by going out for margaritas. It seemed to make Riley feel less guilty.

It was hard for me to believe Riley and Donna hadn’t known each other longer than they had. They acted like sisters. They were really loyal and defensive of each other. Like, once I said something to Riley about Donna being fat and Riley flipped out. She told me she was disappointed in me because she’d thought I was different from the rest of the men in our society. I hate it when people say they’re disappointed in me. My mom used to tell me that when I was growing up, and it was so much worse than if she’d just grounded me.

No one likes to be a disappointment.

I’d left three messages and smoked as many packs since she’d gone. It’s amazing how quickly old addictions are renewed. I’d started smoking when I was sixteen – back when being young gives you an excuse to be stupid. I smoked my last cigarette at nineteen, for some girl I was dating who said it was gross to kiss a smoker. It kind of hurt, the way she said it. She was pretty harsh. I quit for her and she dumped me about three weeks later for her ex-boyfriend. I didn’t start smoking again after that. It wasn’t like I was in love with her or anything, so getting over her didn’t require nicotine. I didn’t start back up because I just didn’t ever want some girl to say that to me again.

I took a shower this morning and felt like two days without sleep didn’t make all that much difference. I felt awake and aware. I stepped out of the shower and dried off with one of the green towels. Riley had made the bathroom all girly after she moved in. When I’d lived here alone, nothing matched. Now it was all shades of green and lavender. She’d bought the really soft kind of towels. Mine were the green ones and hers were lavender. We’d never talked about it – that was just how it had worked out. It was understood. That was how we were.

Riley had done the laundry on Tuesday. I’d helped her fold it that evening while we watched
Entertainment Tonight
. The towel I dried off with this morning should have been clean but it already smelt of smoke. There’s just no getting away from the smell of it.

When Riley came back, she’d be pissed. We’d have to air the place out and rewash all the laundry she’d just done. I was pretty sure I could stop smoking as soon as she came back. It had been only a couple of days. I had to admit I liked it, though, liked having something to do with my hands when I got nervous, liked the ritual of it. And the way it connected me to strangers. Nicotine: society’s true great equalizer. I remembered being a tough young kid smoking on sidewalks with nothing in common with the grey-haired businessmen or Spanish-speaking day labourers who would stop and ask for a light. Or the pretty girls, too old for me, too well dressed, talking to me just so they could bum a smoke. And I’d always give them one, even though I knew I didn’t have a chance, that once I got it lit they’d be moving on down the street, meeting up with their boyfriends. Pretty girls never have to buy their own cigarettes.

Yeah, I liked it, but it really was a nasty habit.

Donna had to have caller ID. That was why she wasn’t answering the phone when I called. I wondered if she’d had it back when Riley lived with her and we’d just started dating. I used to call there a lot and hang up when Riley picked up the phone. At the beginning, being around her made me feel like I was thirteen. Back when I was all too-long limbs, acne and awkwardness. Before the hormones broadened my shoulders, squared and stubbled my jaw, and transformed me from gawky and quiet to strong and silent.