Nocturne (10 page)

Nathan grabbed my shoulders as I staggered back a step. “What? Are you okay? You look pale.”

“I’ve told you everything, Nathan.
Everything.
Oh my god.” My knees gave out and I collapsed, cross-legged in the snow-covered grass. Squeezing my eyes shut, I placed my head in my hands.

“What?” Nathan sounded irritated as he stood in front of me. “Get up, Savannah, you’re going to get soaking wet.”

“We hold hands, you kiss my head, I kiss yours … we dance…” I breathed for a few more seconds until I felt Nathan sit next to me. Looking over, I found his knees bent, arms resting on them as he looked ahead.

“I’m sorry…” He shook his head and looked at me from the corner of his eye.

“You’re sorry? For not being gay? Wait. I’m confused. Why the hell didn’t you ever tell me you weren’t gay?”

Nathan scoffed. “I didn’t realize it was an issue.”

“You never talked about any girls, Nathan.”

And then he said it again, the words that made me feel like I’d been punched in the gut. “No. I never talked about any
other
girls, Savannah.”

Looking over at him, I found Nathan pinching the bridge of his nose. “What are you talking about?” My voice was barely a whisper.

When he finally opened his eyes to look at me, he didn’t say anything as he stared at me, apparently waiting for something to sink in.

It did.

I squeezed my eyebrows together, certain I was misinterpreting.

Nathan shrugged and cocked his head to the side as he took a deep breath.

All of my dizziness and guilt I felt for assuming my friend was gay for the last ten years was instantly replaced by anger.

“You’re a bastard,” I hissed as I stood up. Brushing snow from my jeans, I took off in the direction of my dorm.

“Excuse me?” Nathan shouted as he ran after me, catching up to me. “You’ve spent the last decade thinking I’m gay and
I’m
a bastard?”

“Jesus
Christ
, I’ve told you
everything!
You knew about my first kiss, when I got my fucking period, and … fuck! I told you about when I lost my virginity to that jackass of a trumpet player during our last summer at camp together! This whole time you liked me, or whatever, and you just let me spill my guts to you over and over again?” My mind played over every secret I’d told him, every tear I cried on his shoulder over every boy that had broken my heart.

“We’re friends, Savannah, that’s what friends do.”

“It’s different and you know it! Why didn’t you ever say anything?” I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly feeling exposed. “Were you hoping to learn all of my weaknesses, all of my insecurities, and play off of those in order to get me into bed, or something? Fuck, Nathan!” I covered my face with my hands as tears streamed down my cheeks.

“Do you honestly believe that about me, Savannah?” His tone turned about as vile as mine. “Why didn’t you ever ask me if I was gay?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Nathan, maybe because I have class? Damn it, you were my best friend at camp, I knew that if you wanted to tell me, you would. I figured you weren’t ready. Why didn’t you ever
say
anything to me if you’ve liked me this whole time.” I placed my hands on my hips and took a cleansing breath, waiting for his response.

“I didn’t
like
you.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, looking a bit like he might pass out.

I opened and closed my mouth a few times, trying to find words to express the sheer confusion I was feeling, as ten years of assumptions just blew up in our faces. “You just said,” I managed, trailing off.

“I didn’t like you, Savannah. I don’t
like
you.” His nose crinkled as he strung out the word
like.
“I love you.”

“You … you what?” My throat started to close around my words.

Nathan grabbed my shoulders, took a breath, and bent down so we were nearly nose-to-nose. “I love you, Savannah. I have from the moment I first heard you play at camp that summer, and fell harder when I heard you laugh three minutes after that. I know I was only twelve then, but, still, I knew. I knew that someday … I just knew. Each summer it only got worse. And I got nervous. You were so gorgeous, so carefree, and so fucking
nice
to me. The nicer you were, the more nervous I got. Then, you told me about how Danny Perkins kissed you behind the tree that summer we were thirteen. The look in your eyes … I knew you thought I was just your friend.”

“You were fourteen, Nathan, what stopped you from saying something?” My chin quivered as I replayed even more memories over what I considered ten years of friendship.

He sighed. “I figured you’d get the hint eventually. I ignored all the other girls, and only hung around you.”

“Yeah,” I nodded, “you were fourteen, and one of two boys in the flute section, surrounded by gorgeous girls. You ignored all of them and you’re pissed that I thought you were gay?”

Nathan shook his head, trying to come up with something to say.

“What about the last three years, then?” I asked. “You’ve dated … right?” I rose my eyebrow, trying to scan through all of our conversations and all the parties we went to, trying to pinpoint a moment, any moment, where I might have seen him with a girl, or heard him talk about one at least.

“Yeah, but …” He clenched his jaw.

“You never said anything to me, Nathan. How was I supposed to know? God, when I broke up with Mark last semester, you let me cry on your lap until I fell asleep! You’ve just hung around waiting for me to figure it out? That’s total shit.”

“No … I mean … there’s never been anyone worth telling you about. You know how wrapped up I am in my coursework and practicing all the time. I’ve had dates and … whatever. But there was never anyone worth mentioning. And, by now I’ve resigned myself to being your friend. I love you, and I care about you, and … I don’t fucking know anymore.”

I shook my head, trying to backtrack to where this conversation derailed. Unfortunately, that was at the beginning. “So why are you telling me this now? Because I thought you were gay? Sorry about that, by the way.”

“That, I guess … and it’s been driving me insane watching you fall in love with someone else.” His lips formed a straight line as I watched him swallow hard.

I looked around the empty space surrounding us, certain I was standing in the middle of a different conversation than the one I’d started in. “Is this about Mark? We broke up last year. You were there…”

“Oh come on, Savannah, I know you’re in love with Fitzgerald, and it’s fucking ridiculous!”

My mouth flew open as I tried to determine if he’d actually spoken those words. His face was stone cold serious, though.

Nathan continued before I could reply. “You blush every time he looks at you, and you spend more time watching him than the words he writes on the board. You challenge more things he says than you do in any of your other classes, and it’s obvious that’s so you can have more interaction with him.”

“Wow,” I spit out, “you’re awfully sure of yourself, aren’t you?” Dropping my arms I continued my trek toward the dorm, not wanting to give Nathan the satisfaction of engaging in the most ridiculous conversation that I’ve ever had.

“It’s not just you, you know,” Nathan called after me, stopping me, once again. “He feels something for you, too, Savannah. I can see it.”

“You’re delusional,” I said as I walked back toward him, until we were standing toe-to-toe. “Just because I’m not with you, and just because you know my entire sexual history, doesn’t mean you know anything about who I’m in love with. And, I promise you, it’s not Gregory Fitzgerald.”

“Whatever,” he scoffed, looking quite self-righteous. “Keep telling yourself that. I tried that for ten years, Savannah. To tell myself I wasn’t in love with someone. Let me tell you, it’s fucking useless torture.” His dark brown eyes lowered to mine, and they looked empty. Furious.

“Let's talk about this later.”

“Tell you what. Let's not talk about it
at all.
” Nathan brushed past me, fuming.

“Nathan!” I called after him, but he didn’t turn around.

For the first time in our friendship, he ignored me.

Savannah

I
’m not gay.

Oh God, of
course
he isn’t gay. It was glaringly clear to me as I tossed and turned that night. Marcia was out late practicing again.
Maybe I should do the same.
I was awful to him, I thought as I sat up, running a hand through my hair. Honestly, though, who is in love with someone for ten years and says
nothing?
Resigned to a sleepless night, I threw on sweats and my coat before grabbing my flute and heading to the twenty-four hour practice rooms. I needed to think. To process. I called Nathan two or three times, but he didn’t answer

Trying to sort out the largest can of worms anyone had ever dumped on me, I began to tear up again. I’d trusted Nathan with every secret, every insecurity, every emotion. Okay, fine, it wasn’t
his fault
that I thought he was gay. But … ugh. On top of
not
being gay, he was in
love
with me?

Sighing as I clumsily put my flute together and ran through a few scales, I tried to think about the situation rationally. Fact: Nathan and I
had
been friends for more than ten years. Fact: I never actually got the feeling from him that he was coming onto me, or the feeling that he was trying to get me to tell him things for his benefit. Fact: Nathan Connors was my friend and I’d hurt him yesterday in more ways than one.

As the threatening tears escaped, and rolled lazily down my cheeks, I had to look at some other facts, too. Nathan, who possessed more graceful confidence than most people I’d met, never bothered to mention in
ten years
that he had feelings for me, let alone that he loved me. Further, we had severely lax boundaries with each other. He always had his arm around me, sometimes we held hands, and for the love of God, his lips have been on my forehead and cheek more times than I could count. He wasn’t gay this whole time, knew damn well I wasn’t gay, and was pushing those boundaries with me. Where the hell did he think it would all lead? We would need to have a discussion about that … but not now.

Then, there were the accusations Nathan made about Gregory Fitzgerald and me. I stopped playing, incensed at the idea, and sat down, setting my flute on its stand.

I know you’re in love with Fitzgerald.

I don’t know what was more infuriating—that Nathan thought that, or that I found myself wondering what it was he saw. Nathan knew me well. He’d known about nearly every boyfriend I’d ever had, and spent summer upon summer watching me flirt and be flirted with. He wiped my tears when a boy broke my heart, or, worse, never liked me in the first place.

I huffed, placing my forehead in my hands. It was completely absurd that I was considering the possibility that I was in love with someone and I didn’t know it. Of course I wasn’t in love with Gregory. Mr. Fitzgerald. Not only was I not in love with him, I couldn’t stand him. If emotional ideology around music could be placed in a straight line—which I’m sure would please Fitzgerald to no end—we would be at opposite ends of that line. I saw music as sights, sounds, colors, scents, lives, births, deaths, all rolled into a breathing, living thing that could be passed down through generations. Music gave life beauty. Music spoke the language of the human spirit for all to hear and understand.

Gregory, on the other hand? Not only did he appear to view music as a
thing
, he seemed to have little regard for the effect his own music had on people. The first day of class when he’d played that simple Bach suite, I was swallowed by goosebumps. Tears stung my eyes as I’d watched his forehead scrunch at certain parts and relax at others. His body swayed and his tight shoulders moved against his breathing.

He was living music and didn’t even know it. Tragic.

Lifting my head, I sat back with my arms crossed over my chest. I had no intentions of practicing at all. I just needed a change of scenery. What the hell was I supposed to do? About … everything? Nathan hadn’t answered my calls, and it was just as well. The kind of conversation I needed to have with him would indeed be a lengthy one, and it would need to be done in person. It would surely chase the sunrise and be filled with yelling and crying. I didn’t even know what I was going to say to him, or what I wanted to ask him. Certainly there would be things I didn’t want to know, but I needed a few days—or more—to figure that out. I knew I didn’t want to hurt him any further, no matter what it was I decided to say. He was my friend … right? Suddenly, I wasn’t sure. I could almost feel him slipping away.

He feels something for you, too, Savannah. I can see it.

What the hell was
that
supposed to mean? I knew for a fact that Nathan had precisely zero interaction with Gregory outside of the classroom. Nathan had put off his last theory class so he could take it with me, and I knew he needed the grade to be decent. He wasn’t in any ensembles that Gregory was involved with, so … what? What was it that he saw? Because, honestly, all I saw when I looked at Gregory Fitzgerald was a lonely, sad, angry man who lived alone with his cello. That was it.