Uncross My Heart (23 page)

I explained that his grandson had gotten no counseling and was still in my class harassing me, and that I’d just come from my office where a slur about my sexuality had been painted across my wall.

“Do I need to call the police to feel this matter is being handled?” I shouted.

“The police? Dr. Westbrooke, are you in the habit of calling police over graffiti whose origins you can’t trace? For all we know, the janitor could have done it. I’m sorry about the experience, and we’ll send maintenance over to eradicate it and repaint. If you’re feeling that unsafe, then perhaps you need a leave of absence. Anything else, Dr.

Westbrooke?”

I stared at him in disbelief.
How could this man treat this issue
so lightly and get away with it? Yes, Roger is a relative, but couldn’t
he at least appear shocked? A little shock might be called for in this
case.
The thought must have been lurking in my subconscious, creating righteous indignation, because the words came out, startling even me.

“I know about you and Hightower…and the panties.”

Thurgood’s expression never changed. He didn’t flinch. But he did stop talking altogether.

“You got Hightower off. Twice. Obviously in exchange for the school’s viewing your grandson’s behavior as youthful peccadilloes.

Well, they’re not. He was caught peeping into girls’ dorms, he attacked me with a weapon, and he’s harassing me.”

At that moment, Dennis escorted Roger into the room, looking unkempt and out of breath.

Thurgood seemed to freeze, his mind crunching on the grave granola I’d just fed him. Finally, seeming to have come to a position on the matter, he said sternly, “You vandalized Dr. Westbrooke’s office and you’ve been threatening her in class.” His fervor was a result of my threats rather than any real indignation, but Roger didn’t know that and he blinked, obviously unaccustomed to being spoken to in this tone by his grandfather. “You will report for counseling and you are suspended for an indefinite period. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

When Roger didn’t answer, his grandfather waved him off. As the boy left the room, he turned to me. “Now, is that all, Dr. Westbrooke?”

His voice sounded like a large metal door slamming shut.

“That’s all,” I replied, and left.

I should have been either incredibly vindicated or alternately concerned for my career, but I was unable to focus on either emotion because I was having dinner with Viv tomorrow. At the moment, despite everything else, that’s what I cared about.

One last duty
, I thought as I parked at the hospital clergy parking spaces and locked my car, then headed inside to see my father. I walked the long corridor to his private room with a box of his favorite chocolates in hand and an okay from the nurses’ station to share them with him.

It was awkward. Nothing to say to each other, really. The things we needed to talk about were so incendiary that they could only contribute to his poor health or mine. And so we met to talk about nothing. He asked about the weather and the ball scores and when he could get out.

I talked about class and students and Dennis. He seemed very lucid, and I was always surprised by the way he could slip in and out of reality like it was a pair of worn house slippers.

Finally he asked what I had planned for this weekend and I hesitated, knowing I could make up a partial truth or simply start the weekend with Saturday, skipping Thursday night and Friday morning.

But this might fall into Viv’s test to see if she could trust me, so I told him I had invited Viv out to the farm.

“Why on God’s earth?” His voice rose but not too much, as he was weak.

“Because…I’m a gay woman…and I’m attracted to her.”

“I don’t want to hear that again.”

“Not hearing it won’t change it. I can talk to you about my life or I can
not
talk to you about it, your choice.” I spoke quietly.

“I prefer the latter. And by the way, the woman in question attacked your seminary.”

“Perhaps our seminary deserved it.”

“Rubbish. Hightower is—”

“Gone. Fired. For driving around at night wearing nothing but women’s underwear.”

“What? You’ve got that wrong. Why would he do something like that? Obviously, blatant character assassination. Because of some perverted lie about Hightower, you’re seeing her?”

“I’m seeing Viv because…I really like her.”

“Go
like
someone else. How in hell would you know anyway?”

“Exactly. I’m so rusty at it, how the hell
would
I know? Best question of the day.”

We both sat silently watching the ball game. Grown men in striped suits, chewing, spitting, and yanking at their crotches, then performing rituals with their hands before batting. One man tugged on his cap, slapped his thigh and face, jumped up and down three times and looked right and then left before he took the pitch. I realized genuflecting and crossing oneself might be sensible by comparison.

I awoke in a state of electrified bliss, singing and talking to the animals and treating the most mundane task as if it were heaven in the making. Tonight was Thursday and Viv’s visit. This time I was prepared. I had food, drink, a clean house, and an even cleaner dog. I’d laid out a nice outfit and left time to shower and change after work. No pressure, since this was a platonic, “prove-myself” evening.

Actually, I was great at those. Giving platonic, charming evenings was my specialty.

At eight a.m., the phone rang. Joyce in Vivienne’s office apologized, saying something had come up suddenly and Vivienne wanted me to know that she regretted having to break our dinner engagement. I gave the appropriate response—quite all right, hope it’s nothing to do with a family illness, and thank you for calling. Then I sank into a heap on the bed and put my face in my hands. I stayed in that position so long that Ketch came over and punched them with his nose to see if I was still behind the fingers.

“Hi, Buddy.” I patted his soft fur. “She cancelled. Sometimes when things are too hard, well, they’re just not meant to be.” He climbed up on the bed beside me and I didn’t ask him to get down. We huddled together in the morning light, forlorn and forsaken.

When I could force myself to get up, I thought about going to the hospital to see my father. I envisioned making an effort at small talk, moving his eyeglasses closer so he could reach them on the table, going down the hallway to find more ice for his water, helping him change the TV channel, and finally plopping down into a chair beside his bed, noting the time and how long I had before I could politely leave.

I envisioned my father noticing that I was unhappy and inquiring into the problem and then determining it was my wanting to be with Vivienne and expressing his sympathy, but of course none of that would occur.
This is like living it twice. Get over it and get on with it. Go see
him after class.

I jumped into the shower, dressed, and drove to campus. I pulled into the parking lot not realizing I had made the trip, only vaguely remembering weaving in and out of lanes. My mind was out of my body and I was shocked to be in a parking space.

After gathering up my papers, I put the top up on the convertible, wanting to shroud myself from the world. I trudged across the commons and the wind picked up, blowing cold air around my shoulders and down my back.

I was only vaguely aware of being in class or teaching from my lecture notes. When the bell rang, I left hurriedly, unable to conduct a conversation. I headed back to my office to check my mail and, visible down the long corridor on the floor in front of my office, sat a vase of orange roses. My mind did backflips as I reached for them, unlocked the door, and put them on my desk. The note was written neatly, perhaps even in her own handwriting.

So sorry. I’ll make it up to you. Viv.

Never had I experienced such incredible highs and lows. If my mind had been my heart, the spiking blood pressure would have blown my brains out. I read the note again and had no idea what it literally meant, but it made me happy. She might have stood me up but she was sorry. And she would do something with me, to me, for me that would make it up to me. What more could I ask?

I was so happy that I headed for the hospital nearly euphoric. The puke green walls trailing down to the gray medical floor seemed almost cheery, enlivened by my own joyful state. I breezed past the reception desk and into room 811, where my father was propped up in bed sipping juice through a bent straw. He cut his eyes to observe my entrance but didn’t move his head or stop sucking.

I inquired about his health and what the doctors had said. He replied they seemed uncertain about what had caused his attack.

“Stress, perhaps,” he said in a tone that transmitted mental images of him falling off my porch after having shouted that hell was lined with the heads of gay priests, so incendiary a statement that my face flushed in anger at the remembrance. “Stress” was unmistakably my cue to apologize for having upset him, but I couldn’t. Apologizing about feelings I had for Vivienne seemed almost sacrilegious so I sat down and picked up the paper, pretending to read the sports page.

“Did you water the plants?” he asked of my visits to his house for various items he needed.

“I did.”

‘You cancelled my dental appointment?”

“I did,” I said, and didn’t tell him he’d never had a dental appointment.

“Tell the doctor I am leaving here on Monday regardless of whether he approves or not.”

“I’ll tell him.” I smiled but he looked blankly ahead at the TV screen.

My cell phone rang and I answered. Vivienne’s voice asked, “Did you get my message?”

“The uh…message you left, among other things.”

“Yes. I take it you can’t talk.”

“No, I can. I’m just here in the hospital visiting my father.”

“Oh, I’ll call you la—”

“No, don’t hang up. The flowers are beautiful. I’m so glad you called and I can’t wait to see you. What happened that you had to cancel?”

“My brother was in an auto accident—”

“I’m so sorry. Is he okay?”

“He’s fine. He lives out of state and we were trying to determine if I should fly there. But he’s going to be all right.”

“I want to hear about your family and everything about you.”

A pause and then her voice held a smile. “Could I come see you Saturday night? Am I still invited?”

“Yes.” I glanced at my father and stepped out into the hallway.

“You are so invited you have no idea how invited you are.”

She chuckled. “Good. I may even come early.”

“Ahh.” I let out a sigh. “I have all kinds of things I could say about that.”“Really? Well, you can tell me in person. See you then.” She hung up and I blinked to get the hallway back in focus before returning to my father’s bedside.

“Who was that?” he asked.

“A friend.”

“It was her,” he accused with amazing clarity.

“Yes, it was Vivienne.”

“You love her.” He turned his head away and stared out the window. “I can hear it in your voice.”

How could he hear it in my voice? He can’t hear me when I ask
him the time of day. He’s tuned out half the time, so how has he tuned in
to this? What do I say? There’s nothing to say.

I kissed him on the top of his head. “I’m going to head on home, Father. I love you.” He didn’t respond. I’d made it almost out the door when he stopped me.

“You can be court-martialed for this. The end of a brilliant career. Is that what you want?”

When I turned to reply he was placidly watching television as if he thought I’d already gone. And so I left him.

* * *

I would have given up twenty-four hours of my life to get to Saturday night. My entire being was directed to Saturday night.

Saturday night was a flame, a light, a beacon, and my soul was drawn to it and it was finally here. Having prepared twice for Vivienne’s arrival, I was an expert at it now. And I moved through the house detailing it with confidence and ease. I felt so good about how ready I was that I even agreed to have coffee with Dennis, who claimed he was coming out my direction for a soccer game.

I met him halfway, having driven thirty minutes toward the city, and he puffed into the café in his soccer shorts and T-shirt, virtually too sweaty to hug.

“Do you smell as athletic as you look?”

“You decide.” He threw his arm around my shoulder, positioning his armpit at nose level.

I pulled away in mock disgust. “Did you win?”

“God was on our side.”

“Funny, that’s what the other team said.”

“No, they said, ‘We have just suffered an ungodly loss.’”

He plopped down at a small table and a waiter took our order.

Dennis ordered French toast, bacon, juice, and an egg. I ordered toast and coffee.

“Let me guess, you’re on a diet brought on by love?”

“Enough about me, let’s talk about you,” I said.

“You’re far more interesting lately. Have you come to know her, in the Biblical sense?”

I felt myself blushing. “I will not satisfy your prurient mind.”

“Are you satisfying anything of your own?”

“I’m determined to try.”

He burst out laughing. “It appears you’ve reached your decision.”

“My body, my mind, and my very soul seem to have taken over any logic my brain can supply and are directing all my actions.”

“It’s the best feeling in the world, isn’t it? And since I don’t have it myself, I play soccer.”

“You could have it, you know.”

“I could. But no one I’ve met is worth the effort…or the risk. My work is my love. When do you see her again?”

“Tonight.”

“Tonight. Well, you’re just killing time until the magic moment, and here I thought you really cared about seeing me.”

“I do care about you, Dennis. I love you. You’re the only kind soul in my life who listens to me and advises me.”

“If I were a woman I’d go after you.” He sighed softly. “Gotta run.” He leapt from the chair, striking a Superman pose. “There are games to win and souls to save.”