Why I Love Singlehood: (35 page)

Despite my anxiety about returning to the classroom, especially with so little time to prepare, Ed’s prediction of its ease came true. Stepping into the familiar smells of wood and musty air felt like a step back in time, perhaps through Kenny’s fictional portal. The students’ short stories ranged from historical Carolina settings to Midwest white, upper-middle-class protagonists to plots of Mexican migrant workers hiding from the INS. I felt somewhat like a fraud, my only creative writing in years consisting of suddenly stupid and insignificant ramblings about singlehood. After my first day, I’d gone home intending to draft a short story of my own, but came up blank.

Just as class finished five minutes after six o’clock, I exited the building with four of Jenna’s students—two on each side of me—and crossed the quad heading towards the parking lot. The discussion from the workshop had spilled over into the hallway and during our walk. I had always liked when this happened, when the story was too intense to put down, to let go, to stop discussing.

Clouds and a chill had set in, and a group of students ran from the student center in the direction of the residence halls, some looking panicked.

“What’s going on?” I asked as a student nearly collided with us on his skateboard.

“Dorm’s on fire!” he yelled and swerved, pumping with his foot to gain speed.

32

Fire

THE STUDENTS AND I
exchanged glances, in shock for a moment. At first, I thought of Shaun as well as my colleagues from the English department, then Minerva, as if my brain was performing a database search of people I might know who could be affected—or worse, involved. When thoughts turned to the horrid image of students, I gasped.
Susanna!

I dropped my briefcase and took off toward the residence halls as one of Jenna’s students called out, “Professor, wait!” But I didn’t. I must have run three-quarters of a mile before I came to one of NCLA’s oldest dorms, a hulking brick monstrosity designed to stand up to hurricanes but faltering in beauty. Light orange flames and putrid, sooty smoke spat out two of its windows on the second floor. Shattered glass littered the sidewalks and grass like a mosaic. Students were running around, crying, covering their mouths, searching for roommates and friends, and talking frantically on cell phones. The sirens practically deafened me as firefighters and campus police rounded people up, led them to safety, and maintained order using bullhorns and two-way radios. I called out Susanna’s name and stopped students. “Susanna Swanson? Do you know Susanna Swanson? Is this her dorm?” I shouted at anyone who would listen. As I pushed through like a New Yorker on a subway platform, a campus police officer blocked me and took my arm.

“That’s as far as you go, ma’am. This area ain’t secure.” His accent was thick, his voice baritone.

“You don’t understand.”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, I just cain’t let you through.”

About a hundred feet to my left, I spotted Shaun gathering students and elbowed my way to him.

“Shaun!”

He whisked around. “Eva?”

“I can’t find Susanna! She’s my employee at The Grounds.”

I lost my breath and leaned over to catch it.

“Easy, Eva,” I heard him say. He held my arm and placed a hand on my back to steady me.

“They won’t let me through,” I said between gasps.

“They won’t let anyone through. There are at least three people trapped, and they’re pulling them out.”

“Oh my God, Shaun. They’re just
kids
.”

“It’s gonna be all right,” he said in a resolute, yet wavering voice.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, knowing the question wasn’t rational, but rationality had been trampled by sneakered feet and screaming sirens.

“Same as you—making sure the kids are OK.”

I picked my head up, still breathing heavily, and saw him: the Shaun I was once in love with. Ages ago. Eons. Lifetimes.

And then I saw Susanna.

They were taking her out on a stretcher, an oxygen mask strapped to her face. I shrieked when I saw her and ran like gangbusters toward the back of the ambulance, its doors open, ready to speed off. I reached the stretcher and called her name. Her face was smudged with dirty gray ash mixed with sweat and tears, her right arm burned.

I blocked the EMT. “Please, you have to let me ride with her. She’s not from around here. Her mother is in Virginia. I’m the next best thing.”

“Out of the way, ma’am,” the EMT said, his voice monotone and commanding.

Susanna pulled down her mask. “Let her come, please,” she sputtered. The lead EMT nodded and barked instructions at the others. First they carefully boarded her, and then I climbed into the back before the doors were pushed shut. Once inside, the ambulance sped away.

As the scene shrank from our sight, I did my best to assure Susanna that she was going to be all right. When the ambulance arrived at Cape Fear Hospital, I jumped out while the EMTs wheeled her in, leaving me behind. I pulled out my cell phone and called Minerva, forcing myself to speak slowly when she picked up on the first ring.

“Min? Everyone is fine, but I need you to come to the hospital. Susanna’s been hurt in a fire on campus, and I want someone here who can speak to the doctors.”

“I’m on my way,” she said in the same manner as the EMTs. The phone beeped to signal that she’d clicked off.

I stared at my iPhone, still clutched in my white-knuckled grip, until the screen dimmed into power save mode and went blank. My finger hovered over the power button as I mentally Rolodexed through a list of friends, family, anyone to call. The names spun before me, but I called none.

Sinking into a chair in the far corner, I felt invisible as the world swirled around me. The sounds of the ER doors churning open and closed seemed filtered, dulled and distorted, otherworldly. Meanwhile, the waiting room filled with a small collection of college students in jeans and trendy sloganed T-shirts, some already armed with flowers and little teddy bears.

I closed my eyes for a moment. The scent of disinfectant—sharper than the smoke that clung to my clothes—transported me to hospitals from another lifetime, an adolescence long gone, waiting rooms I’d frequented until they’d felt like home, beds I’d sat vigil at. It was not unlike the sour smell of sterile cleaners that invaded our house-turned-hospice even after my parents were gone. Those rooms had been still, frozen in the limbo of people who had nothing left to do but wait.

Here, however, the air jangled with activity, vibrated with noise, pulled taut by people weaving past each other as they set about busy tasks that swam around me. Nurses squeaked by in crocs of every color, leaving behind blurs of medical lingo and codes and snappy matching scrubs. Phones rang, receptionists tapped pens, a troupe of policemen escorted a stretcher, the sheet turned down beneath a face mostly hidden by tubes. Was it always like this? I wondered. Above me, the news and weather cycled on a lone TV hanging from the corner: a rash of Christmas-shopping-related thefts, increases in rush-hour traffic, and an unusual cold snap approaching.

I closed my eyes again and sat among it all, invisible. Or so I thought, until I jumped at the sound of Minerva’s voice.

“You wouldn’t believe how jammed it is out there. Otherwise we’d’ve been here sooner.”

I stood up and hugged her. She held me tight, seemingly impervious to the chaos around her. Or was it only chaotic to me?

“Eva, you’re shaking.”

“One minute I had this great class; the next minute someone yelled that the dorm was on fire.”

“Do you know anything?”

“The EMTs were talking all medical-speak, and none of it to me. I think she just has smoke inhalation, but she may have burned her arm.”

“Did you call her mother?”

“I don’t have her number.”

“One of my professors is a resident here,” she said. “Let me see what I can find out.”

“In maternity?” I asked.

“I’ll be right back.”

Moments later, Jay entered the ER.

“You wouldn’t believe the commotion out there…” he started. “Where’s my wife?”

“Trying to find someone who knows something, I think.”

He clapped his hands together and rubbed them like the villains do in the movies. “Excellent,” he said in a cool, Montgomery Burns voice. “Now we’re getting somewhere.” Then he turned to me. “Are you OK? Your face is a shade of green I’ve never quite seen before.”

He took off his coat and draped it around my shoulders before we sat down.

“She’s really in her element,” said Jay of Minerva. “I’ve missed her.”

I didn’t answer him, but I knew what he meant.

Fifteen minutes later, we spotted Minerva as she made her way to us. We stood up, and she curled against Jay; surprise flickered across his face as he folded her in his arms.

“What’d you find out?” he asked.

“Not much, actually. You were right,” she said to me. “She has smoke inhalation and a second-degree burn on her arm and part of her hand. Nothing too serious, but she did pass out, so they’re keeping her overnight. We’ll be able to see her soon, though—I got around the family-only thing, at least.”

“You rock, Min.”

She shrugged modestly and said softly, “Thanks.”

The waiting room filled with friends of Susanna’s, some of whom I recognized as customers of The Grounds, and the two other girls pulled from the fire. They were trying to piece together the events based on hearsay. The stories ranged from a tipped-over candle to a bong gone bad to the building’s faulty wiring to a conspiracy theory of the school committing arson in order to get the insurance money to build an on-campus apartment complex in its place.

About an hour later, a woman who knew Minerva escorted the three of us to Susanna’s room. Her face had been cleaned off, and the oxygen mask hung around her neck so that she could use it if needed. Minerva and I stationed ourselves on opposite sides of the bed like security guards after taking turns hugging her.

“Sweetie, is there anyone we can call?” I asked.

“They called my mom. She’s on her way. Boy, is she going to be pissed.”

“Hardly,” I said.

Her expression turned to one of worry. “What if my insurance doesn’t cover this?”

“Don’t you worry about that,” I said. “We’ll take up a collection at The Grounds if we have to. Hell, we’ll throw a bake sale that will make the Halloween party look like a church social. And don’t you worry about your shifts, either. Min will take over for you, right Min?” I glanced at Minerva, who nodded in response. “And Norman’s probably training a super full-timer as we speak.”

Susanna smiled and nodded in acknowledgment before closing her eyes.

“We should go,” said Minerva to Jay and me. We each kissed her good-bye and left one by one; I smoothed her hair and squeezed her hand.

In the hallway, I took slow, deep breaths and touched the wall to recover my balance after a light-headedness passed as quickly as it came.

“Hey, can you guys give me a ride?” I asked Jay, returning his jacket.

“No problem,” he said, then left us in the lobby while he got the car. While we waited, I suddenly gasped, startling Minerva.

“What is it?” she asked.

“My briefcase. I dropped it before I took off.”

“I’m sure someone’ll find it,” she said.

“I was with a couple of my students when it happened.”

“So they probably have it. Really, Eva. Don’t worry about it. In the scheme of things, what does it matter?”

“You’re right,” I said. “I’m being ridiculous.”

We stood in silence as Jay rolled up and pulled over to the curb.

“It’s good to have you back,” I said to Minerva.

33

The Key

IT WAS CLOSE
to ten p.m. when I got home from the hospital. Shaun’s car was in my driveway, and he hopped out as we pulled in.

“What’s he doing here?” asked Minerva.

“He was there,” I answered, tired.

Thanking Jay and Minerva, I trudged zombie-like to the front door and unlocked it. Shaun followed me.

“Where were you?” he asked, worried. “I left messages for you. I called The Grounds, I even called the hospital…”

“Turned my phone off,” I replied.

“Your friend—is she OK?”

“She’ll be fine. The other two girls are OK as well.”

“I’m glad,” he said.

“I’m going to bed now.”

Shaun looked at me, slightly dazed himself. “OK. Do you need anything?”

“Bed.”

“Oh, um, I have your briefcase. I found it on the way back to the faculty parking lot.”

Of all the people to find my briefcase, it had to be Shaun. He went out to his car and carried it back. It felt heavier than usual when he handed it to me.

“Thanks,” I said, setting it down.

“Are you sure you’re OK?” he asked. I lifted my head to look at him, concern seeming to crinkle the edges of his eyes. Hesitating only for a beat, we drew to each other like magnets and kissed.

How quickly it all came back—the way our kiss felt, the angle we tilted our heads, the positions of our hands and lips, how good it all was. How good it felt to breathe him in, to let my shoulder support his head as he broke the kiss and lingered in my arms. As Shaun’s hand remembered its way down my back, I found myself wondering if he touched Jeanette this same way. Did his hands take the same route? Did his lips pucker the same way? Had mine when I was with Scott? With Kenny?

I opened my eyes and pulled away.

“You’d better go,” I said, smoothing my blouse and crossing my arms. “Jeanette is probably worried.”

“Eva…” he started.

“No. She’s feeling the same way you and I are. It could’ve been any of us.”

He remained frozen.

“Go,” I said, pushing him toward the door. “Really, you need to go.”

He turned and slowly marched back to his car while I closed the door without watching him drive away. I left the briefcase leaning by the door and peeled off my clothes piece by piece as I made my way from the foyer through the hallway and into my bedroom. Rather than the all-too-familiar smells of coffee and vanilla extract, tonight they smelled like charcoal and disinfectant. I crawled under the covers. The room had never been so eerily silent. Or dark.