Love Her Madly (4 page)

“Are you sure you can trust this guy?” I ventured, predictably. Drugs had been a frequent conversational topic throughout our intensive crash course in best friendship. Cyn's view on drugs was overwhelmingly pro-experimentation and pro-legalization. She'd read tons of books and scientific studies about the profound effects different chemicals had on consciousness, mood, and perception, and more to the point, she made getting high sound like a fucking blast. Having had no personal experience with drugs, I was intrigued by her tales of chemical adventures past, but because she was honest enough to include both the highs and the lows, I was wary enough for both of us.

“Of course we can! Everybody does. He's ‘the guy' for the whole school. You know how many kids here do drugs, and so far, other than people stupidly mixing stuff, there've been no incidents with the product.”

“Incidents with the product? You sound like a sixties-era mafioso.”

“Maybe.” She studied my face. “Okay, full disclosure, there have been two suicides, but no one blamed them on the drugs.”

“Suicides? Are you kidding me? Cyn—”

She mockingly mirrored my horrified expression and fell backward on the bed, laughing. “Glo! No one commits suicide after a little smoke, okay?” She slowly pried a small plastic Baggie filled with something green out of her too-tight jean shorts pocket and tossed it at me. “Check it out.”

I caught the bag and tossed it right back. She grinned, amused by my discomfort. My fears made me too spooked to even handle the Baggie, but inside, my curiosity was churning. I wanted to experience the strange visions and new perspectives that Cyn rhapsodized about. Also, pathetically, I was terrified to
suddenly be left out. If my friends were doing it, prudence be damned. I wanted in.

“Fine. I'll try it. Then we can all jump off the bridge together.”

Cyn smiled widely and crammed the Baggie back into her pocket. “So dramatic, Glo.”

“And you have to look out for me. Make sure I don't do anything stupid.”

She opened her mouth to respond with the wisecrack that I'd carelessly set myself up for, but I was faster. “I mean
too
stupid. You know what I mean.” I shoved her, and she rolled off my bed and onto her feet.

“Sunset at the quad. Be there, and you'll no longer . . . be square.”

“Get out,” I said, tossing my pen after her as she darted out the door.

After Cyn left, my misgivings began thundering away like jackhammers. I tried to finish the essay I was reading, but the words just blended together, my consciousness only tightening into focus when I'd think about sunset. I shut my eyes, hoping that a quick nap might clear my mind. Across the room, Annie had nodded off, the rumble of the air conditioner muting her soft snores. I turned my face toward the wall and tried not to think of anything.

The dream that followed was as softly textured as a watercolor. I was by the bay, surrounded by people. Someone was repeating “Isn't It Great?” over and over again until it seemed that
Isn'tItGreat
was the voice of the surf itself. A blond, Cyn-like figure appeared; her smile, when she flashed it, startlingly jagged and overly toothy. “Isn'tItGreat,” she hissed, before turning away and disappearing into the crowd. The faceless pastel throng that had surrounded me abruptly vanished, leaving just me and the flat silver sea. In a flash, the water surged forward,
rushing around my ankles and quickly rising. It was astoundingly warm, and I felt pieces of slimy filament wrap around my bare legs as the tide rushed in. The water continued to rise, its surface churning with foam. I turned to look for Cyn but saw only tiny figures on a distant shore, miles of water between us. I wanted to yell out, but the roar of the surf drowned my voice. I wanted to move, but the water had stiffened around me like concrete. The sea rose to my neck, and then to my lips. A piece of driftwood appeared at eye level, rushing toward me on the tide. I watched in horror, unable to move as it spun wildly on a crash course for my forehead. I couldn't duck, couldn't even close my eyes. I stared in frozen terror, awaiting the devastating impact of coarse wood into flesh.

“Gloria! Hey. Gloria, wake up.”

I opened my eyes and discovered Annie nudging my shoulder. I sat up quickly, the dream image of the log still careening dangerously in my mind's eye. Annie was already backing away to her side of the room.

“You were having a nightmare,” she explained, redundantly.

“Yeah. I was. Thanks for the rescue. I think I was about to die.” I closed my eyes, struggling to review the dream images before they faded completely. “I couldn't move, I couldn't scream, and I was about to drown. Did I scream?”

“You were moaning.”

“Oh.”

I stared at my desk, my sneakers on the rug, my dirty coffee cup, taking in all the real things around me, trying to sort myself out. My mind kept returning to the sensation of being sucked into the warm, quicksilver waters. But that wasn't what had filled me with terror, nor was it the spinning driftwood. What truly chilled me was the indifference of the people on the shore, toothy Cyn included, who couldn't be bothered to notice me die. I could discount the dream as a meaningless specter
born of worry, but I wondered if there weren't some truth in it. Perhaps my subconscious was giving me a little heads-up that my treasured new social stature wasn't as secure as I believed. In truth, the sum total of my life experiences suggested that I was past due for a huge social takedown. I felt my dormant terrors shake to life and rise like hungry zombies.

It'll happen tonight
, taunted a too-familiar voice.
Those people you think are your friends see your selfishness, your sad vanity, your fear and every other failing you think you've hidden. It's coming, it's coming . . .

I shook my head violently, trying to clear the voice away, and locked eyes with Annie. She averted her gaze and sunk deeper below the rim of her textbook.

My gratis shrink from Big U would nail this emotional whirligig as a negative thought pattern. Back in treatment, she said the best way to handle it was to do something positive to counteract all the negative thoughts.
Actions are key
, she repeated over and over,
actions and self-compassion
. Since I couldn't toss out my paranoia like a busted pair of flip-flops, or generate much in the way of self-love, I decided the next best thing was to see Cyn. She was compassionate. She said she'd be there for me, and as much as I desperately wanted to trust her, I had to be sure. I told Annie's textbook that I was going out for some air, and I'm sure she was relieved to see me go.

Moments later, as I was climbing the stairs toward the psychedelic toad, Cyn's roommate, Joan, emerged, slamming the door behind her. Cute in a mousy sort of way when her forehead wasn't contorted with repressed rage, Joan was a poor roommate match for Cyn. As Cyn explained it, Joan had essentially disliked her on sight (as had I, it amused me to remember), her disdain escaping in passive-aggressive snorts at Cyn's conversation and the rearrangement of dorm furnishings in Cyn's absence. Joan was engaging in what Cyn described as a one-sided silent turf
war. That Cyn tended not to notice Joan's timidly malevolent antics stung her all the more.

She didn't like me much either, as to her, I was an extension of Cyn. But because I was among the more orthodox of Cyn's visitors, she was passingly polite.

“She's in the shower,” Joan said, throwing her abundant brown mane over her shoulder. It was long enough that she could sit on it, and though it was shampoo-commercial thick and shiny, it gave her a strangely rural air, as if she might have just escaped from a cult in Texas. “If you're lucky, she'll be out in an hour.”

I entered Cyn's room, heard the water running, and crossed to the floor-to-ceiling windows that covered one wall, overlooking the palm-studded pavilion that was the social hub of campus life. It was an enviable room. My own sweeping windows faced a brick wall.

The shower turned off, and Cyn appeared a moment later, wrapped in a towel, with her hair in a tight emerald turban that made her look like a fifties movie star.

“Hey, what's up,” she said, always unsurprised to find visitors on her bed. “Joan leave?”

“Yeah.”

“Wonderful. I've been entertaining the idea of keeping a water pistol handy to shoot at her when she misbehaves. She's like a mean tabby. I think it might work.” She smiled over her shoulder while she shimmied into her underwear. “Something wrong, babe?”

She walked over to me, and seeing her concerned expression, I suddenly felt stupid.

“Yeah, kind of.” I felt my face flush.

“Oh no. What is it? Is it the weed? You know you don't have to do it if you don't want to.”

This statement was so after-school-special obvious, I almost laughed. “I know. No. I want to. I want to try it with you. I
guess I'm just nervous, because sometimes I have strange reactions to things and I guess I'd feel better if I knew I had someone looking out for me.” It felt so raw to say the words, I could have died of shame.

“Aw, Glo,” Cyn said with a soft laugh. “Of course I'm going to look out for you. What kind of friend do you think I am?”

“A great one, I think. But, I might as well just lay it all out now so you'll at least know what kind of a head case you're dealing with.” My words came out sounding strangled and weird, but I pressed on, determined to get the humiliation over with in one go. “I haven't really had many good girlfriends, at all. I mean, ever. There were a few way back who said they were friends and turned on me, and I basically gave up after that. So I spook easily, and I get paranoid. But I don't want that to happen with us. So . . . that's my deal. Just so you know.”

Cyn's eyes glittered with understanding. “Girls can be total nightmares for each other, can't they?”

I shrugged and nodded, unsure if I'd be able to speak normally. She hugged me tight, and I had to swallow hard and concentrate on the absurdity of Joan's vintage
Phantom of the Opera
poster to avoid tearing up. When Cyn released me, her face was thoughtful.

“I'm really glad and touched that you told me that. And you're right. We don't have to be that way. We just fucking won't.”

“We'll be nice?” I ventured, managing a smile.

“Fuck no. We'll be real, and true, and kind. We'll love each other.”

She straightened up to her full height, put a hand on her heart, and pronounced, with a full, Castilian lisp:

“I Thynthia Dawn Williamth do tholemnly thwear to alwayth be your friend and treat you with the utmoth't rethpect and thintherest affection. Do you, Gloria, whatever your middle name is—”

“Melissa,” I said, hastily placing my hand across my own heart.

“Melissa? Really? Huh. Do you, Gloria Melitha Roebuck, vow thimilarly?”

“I thwear.”

She gave me a hug. “Ugh. We do belong together. We're equally ridiculous.” She went to her dresser and pulled out a tank top. “But I am glad you said something. It's like, we make these solemn pledges with guys to treat them a certain way when we date them, but with other women, it's all fast and loose, and loyalty is totally in question until it happens to be tested. But just so you know, I would have had your back anyway, pledge or no pledge. That's just how I roll.”

“I believe you. I think I knew that or I wouldn't have said anything about my fucked-up psyche. I'm just scared of the world, I guess.”

She blinked. “You don't seem to be. But I guess a lot of people are.”

“You aren't?”

She examined her reflection in the mirror, adjusting the spaghetti straps on her tank top. “I'm missing that gene, I guess. Or maybe my curiosity is bigger than my fear. It's probably not a good thing.”

I shrugged, wishing I were so lucky. Cyn tossed two pairs of cutoff shorts onto the bed and stared down at both, comparing. “I've been thinking about the infinite. Things that are limitless.”

This was typical Cyn, her mind reeling toward the metaphysical while trying to decide between jean shorts.

“Okay,” I gamely responded.

“There aren't many things that can be infinite, in my opinion. Time, maybe. Energy perhaps, but I'm not entirely sure of the math. Hope, certainly. Love.”

“Mm-hmm.” I offered. No telling where this was going.

Cyn decisively selected one of the near-identical shorts and stepped into them.

“I guess what I'm saying is love is one of the few things we've got that is absolutely, unquestionably infinite, yet our nature is to be pretty goddamn stingy with it. Why is that?”

“Takes energy to love? Energy might be infinite, but you aren't sure of the math.”

“Glad that you're listening,” Cyn snarked, tossing her damp hair towel at my face. “It's always puzzled me, why it's our nature to exclude and reject. What does it costs us? There may not be enough natural resources, but there is enough love. Something is just deeply wrong with our programming as a species.”

“That's fucking deep, professor.” I collapsed backward onto Cyn's pillow and examined the constellation of glow-in-the-dark stars scattered across the ceiling. “Probably competition screwed our chances for a love-based society. It's not productive to love someone if you might eventually have to kill them and eat their bones to ensure your own survival. Must have caused angst in caveman times, so we turned away from it, closed ourselves off, trained ourselves to assume enmity. That way, if we're wrong, it's a nice surprise.”

“Darwinism. That's depressing.”

“Consider your source. You just concocted a friendship pledge because I fear everyone.”

Cyn smiled. “If I can save you, then maybe that's one small step forward for humanity.”

“Now
that
's
a depressing idea.”