Forgive Me (15 page)

Jason looks at me, concerned. It’s late to be getting a text not from him.

“Julia,” I explain. “She’s thrilled I left date night and made it here okay.” Jason pulls me to him again. I give Harlan’s birthday party about thirty more minutes.

I
am definitely not going to see you next weekend?” I ask, frustrated I’m on the phone rather than in his bed.

“Are you okay with that, Annie? I’ve got a lot to do.”

“I’m fine. Valentine’s Day is not a big deal to me. I just want to make sure. I might go see Jenn at East Carolina State.”

“How you figuring on getting there?”

“The train. That’s one of the advantages of civilization. Mass transit.”

“Let me know if you go. Don’t go by yourself. Take Julia; make up date night to her. How long is the train?”

“About seven hours, I think. It will give me time to write you.”

“I’d rather have you safe than the letter.”

Jenn calls with a change of plans. She convinces us to meet her at East Carolina State and drive to New Orleans for Mardi Gras. It’s more of an explicit order than a question. Jenn has a way of making things seem perfectly logical even when you know they are not. I used to always use the “if I told my mother this plan would it sound okay” test, but since she died I just go with it. Julia was on board as soon as she heard about it. The old Charlotte would have jumped at the chance, but this Charlotte has to answer to a cowboy. There is no upside to being an orphan.

I’m tapping my fingers on the car window as we cross the Louisiana state line, fifteen hours after we left Jenn’s apartment. I’m glad we didn’t try to do this all in one day. Margo’s roommate has a friend that goes to Tulane and she thought we might be able to stay with him, but halfway here she called and said it fell through. Needless to say the hotels are booked and I am in Jenn’s eight-year-old Jetta careening toward the largest party in the world with no place to stay. Jason is going to be thrilled.

“Nervous about something?” Jenn asks.

“Just figuring out what, and when, I am going to tell Jason about this,” I say.

“Do you ever think he’s a little controlling?”

“Yes!” Julia yells from the backseat, obviously not sleeping.

“No. I never do. He’s protective of me, but in some ways we’re hanging on to each other for dear life. I couldn’t bear anything happening to him, either. He just doesn’t understand Rutgers, or cities, or cultural diversity, or…never mind.”

“Yeah, I get the point,” Jenn says, and leaves me remembering how she had to pretty much force me to come here today and yet I am so excited for it. I have wanted to come to Mardi Gras since I knew it existed.

We stick to the original plan and follow the signs to Tulane University. Even though we have no place to stay here, it’s the only lead we’ve ever had so we may as well follow it through. To nowhere, that is.

“Any suggestions on a place to stay?” Jenn asks, and we all laugh at the ridiculousness of this question just coming up.

“I could really use a shower,” Julia says.

“I think you’re setting your expectations a little high. We might be sleeping in this car tonight.”

“Ugh. I’m not going to feel pretty without a shower.” I laugh at Julia as my phone rings.

“Hello.”

“Hey, where are you?” His voice across the line makes me shift in my seat. He’s happy.

“I’m in Jenn’s car.” I look at Jenn and she’s nervous for the big reveal. “We’re actually looking for something. Can I call you back in a little while? When we find it?”

“Sure. Be careful,” he says, completely unworried.

“Okay, ’bye.” I hang up the phone. I should have written him a letter before I left Rutgers. Some news is better not told over the phone. Or ever. He is going to flip. Which is ridiculous. He goes to rodeos every weekend, driving long distances, on highways, with Harlan. I’m sure they’re not one hundred percent sober every second. Harlan oozes recklessness. And I am supposed to sit in the library all day, every day. Jenn slows down at the sight of three guys walking on the sidewalk.

“Ask these guys if they know of a place to stay.”

“Really? You want me to ask these three guys if they know of a place to stay in New Orleans during Mardi Gras?” She stops the car next to them and puts my window down. I slowly turn my head, glaring at her the whole time until I face the victims, then I smile my sweetest grin.

“Hey guys,” I start out, and I’m sure their instincts are telling them to run. “Do you know of a place to stay for a few days around here?”

“It’s Mardi Gras,” the mean one says, but his friends are kinder.

“Everything is booked. Sorry.”

“Oh. We were supposed to stay with a guy that goes to Tulane, but he ended up renting out his apartment. Do you go to Tulane?” They’re not getting off that easy.

“Yes.”

“Did you ever think of renting your place?” They look at each other. I almost feel bad for them. I’m the nice one. If I unleash Julia and Jenn on them they won’t have a chance.

“How much are we talking?” I look into the car and Jenn clearly has no idea. Julia slides over to the car door and puts down her window.

“We’ll give you $300 to stay until Monday.”

“Follow us. We’re right around the corner.”

We are going to be raped and killed. Although, as we watch these three seemingly nice guys who I think I could take in a street fight, it does seem unlikely. We didn’t get their names, but Jenn forced one of them to give her his key. I’m almost sure we could be arrested for some of this. It seems like we kidnapped them. It might be a hostage situation. Julia has the mean one wrapped around her finger shortly after arriving, and he is going over the map, parade routes, and schedule. Jenn’s made it pretty clear we are not hanging out together, just living together. Jersey girls really are sweet. I walk out back and find a tree to sit under while I listen to Jason completely freak out over the phone. As I dial his number I hope he doesn’t answer. I will cowardly leave a message and not pick up my phone the rest of the trip. He’ll never find me here. For the first time I understand the ease of lying. This entire conversation would be so much easier.

I shouldn’t have to hide.

I’m twenty-one.

“Hey baby,” he says, and fear grips me.

“How’s it going?” I ask. I’m not going to lie, but I’m not going to say anything unless he brings it up. Is that lying?

“Besides missing you, it’s fine. I can’t wait for our week at Cedar Creek. Less than a month left. How’s North Carolina?”

“It’s probably fine,” I say, and I can feel his eyes turning dark, his silence conveying his understanding.

“Where are you, Annie?” he asks, his voice on edge.

“New Orleans.” I brace myself.

“What the hell is in New Orleans?” I pause and he answers his own questions. “Jesus Christ, Annie. You’re at Mardi Gras!” he screams, and I hold the phone from my ear. I’ve never heard him so angry. “What the fuck are you doing?” I take a deep breath and avoid my initial reaction of screaming at him. I know it’s not going to help the situation. “Answer me, Annie!” His command pushes me over the edge. I’m not some dog.

“I’m en-joy-ing myself. I am attending one of the biggest parties in the world with some of my best friends,” I defiantly spit out, and the words surprise me. “I’m living my life,” I say, and exhale.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” I say, and hold back the tears.

“Well, live it without me.” Jason Leer hangs up the phone and I cry in the back yard of three guys I don’t know, at Tulane University. How can he be so awful? I could be hit by a car in Stillwater, or killed by a tornado. He’s kidding himself if he thinks this is all just worry for my safety. We are never going to make it. Julia walks out the back door and hands me a beer. I take it from her and wipe the tears off my cheeks as my breath still catches in my throat.

“I know it’s different between you two,” she says so tenderly for her. “But I hate that it makes you cry.”

“He does too, I’m sure.” I drink my beer and wonder when I’ll see him again. If I could be there with him we could get through this, but without being able to touch him I have no idea how to fix it. I look at the back of this little house in New Orleans and vow to myself that I am not going to Oklahoma this weekend. It will have to wait.

Charlotte is headed to Mardi Gras.

Jenn must be manning the music because reggae floats out the windows, followed by her yelling out, “Stir it up, ladies.” Julia and I exchange the look that signals it’s time to buckle up. I’m sure the guys inside the house are doing the same. “We’re headed to Vieux Carré!” she yells.

“What the hell is that?”

“The French Quarter, my lovely. Leave your bra at home.” I completely ignore Jenn. She is insane. I consider calling Margo and asking what to do about Jason, but I opt for a good cry in the shower instead. Once dressed in the only shorts I could find in my drawer in February, we head to the French Quarter, having only images from magazine pictures to prepare us. It takes about ten seconds to discover nothing can prepare you for Mardi Gras.

There are people everywhere. As in every inch of my body is touching another person. I have never been so thankful for my height. My petite little Julia is staring straight into the shoulder blades of the girl in front of her. She gives me the “this is fun” look and I try to see if there is any relief, anywhere. I grab her hand just as the crowd begins to chant “show your tits, show your tits,” toward the balcony above us. There is a group of five people on the balcony with beads decorating their necks. As the crowd reaches frenzy, two girls lift their shirts and sure enough, show their tits. Instead of shock I am in awe of the space around them. I couldn’t lift my elbows to show anybody my tits if I wanted to. Beads are thrown and I catch sets for all three of us. The crowd moves down the street and we fight it until we’re standing with room to breathe right behind it. The chant now focuses on a balcony a few doors down. I get it. The crowd follows the tits.

“Girls, you need some beads,” an insanely inebriated man says, and tries to put a strand over my head, falling to the side in the process. I catch him right before he takes Julia down with him.

“Are you okay?”

“You’re an angel,” he says, and looks above my head as if he sees something. Something that’s not actually there. He puts the beads over my head.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” I ask again as he dusts himself off, and starts to move toward the sidewalk.

“Oh yeah. You should have seen me this morning. I was wasted!” he slurs, and disappears. Jenn walks over with three hurricanes and we all take a big gulp.

“So when’s the first parade?” I ask, waiting for some floats to come by.

“Tomorrow we go to the parades,” Jenn says.

“Tonight we get to know 1.2 million people better,” Julia adds, and we all toast.

We hit a side street and find a man sitting on the sidewalk charging $10 to pee in his yard. Gross, but necessary. I look down at my feet in their flip flops and they are scratched up and black with dirt. When I finish I rejoin Jenn and Julia, using the Clorox Wipe that’s included in my $10 purchase. There’s probably a video of my bare ass peeing being uploaded to the Internet as we speak. That should placate Jason.

We walk back to Bourbon Street and buy yet another round of hurricanes. Eck, rum. May I never drink it again.
This is Bourbon Street, isn’t it? Where’s the freakin’ bourbon?

“Where you from?” some guy asks.

“Jersey,” I answer flatly, waiting for the next guy to ask me if it’s above the Mason Dixon Line. If you don’t know where the Mason Dixon Line is, why do you care?

“Jersey, huh. You should wise up and come to the South. The confederates are superior in every way.”
What an idiot.

“Oh yeah, who won the big one?” I ask, and this really smart confederate has to think about it for a while.

“You need some beads,” He says, suggesting something he’s not going to get. I turn toward him. “How about you show me your tits and I’ll give you my big balls?” He directs my attention to a strand of beads each the size of my fist. At least I think that’s what he’s talking about.

“Jersey girls don’t do that,” I say educating him on the poise and class of those residing “above the line.”

“Do they do that?” he asks, pointing to Jenn, who is mooning a guy across the street. I sigh.

“Apparently.”

By 4 a.m. I can barely stand any longer. My feet have been cruelly tortured and my eyes hurt from being open too long. I want to go home, or at least back to the house we’ve taken over at Tulane. We walk one block over and hail a cab. As soon as I close the door I lay my head on the headrest and exhale. I check my phone and there is not one text or message from Jason Leer. A crowd begins to form around the cab and the driver inches forward trying not to hit anyone. I lock the door next to me and tell Jenn to do the same. The crowd starts rocking the car and the driver continues to move forward. They are yelling something and I look at Julia between us. I can see people climbing onto the trunk out of the corner of my eye. The cab driver seems unaffected and continues. I’m reminded of the sign at the Copper Penny touting the power of a collection of stupid people. I think they’re going to flip this thing and kill us in the process, but whatever. I’ll be dead and Jason can write “I told you so” on my gravestone.

As the cab breaks free of the crowd—or as I call it in my head, the mob—Jenn proclaims, “I love Mardi Gras.”

“Yeah and we haven’t even been to a parade yet,” Julia adds.

“Everyone loves a parade,” I say, and wish I was going home to Jason Leer.

I rally in time to explore the city. We steer clear of Bourbon Street, expecting it to smell worse than trash day in New Brunswick, and mosey through the historic streets of New Orleans. We stop for catfish po’ boys and beers when we’re hungry, and as long as the conversation remains I don’t think about Jason Leer. Well, I am actually consumed by thoughts of him, but if we keep talking I can keep it together.

By 3 p.m. we find St. Charles Street and realize many people are already lining up for tonight’s Bacchus Parade. We find second row spots in front of a bar and decide to stake it out. Having been raised on Salem County’s Fourth of July Parade, I’m not prepared for Bacchus. As in, I am in shock. The Salem County parade is fire trucks, and horses, and tractors decorated in red, white, and blue. Children line the streets, in which there is plenty of space, to catch candy thrown from the floats. It is gentle, and quaint, and entirely Main Street.