Forgive Me (20 page)

“When are you coming back?” she says instead of hello when she answers.

“In a few days. We just got back to Oklahoma and I want to make sure he can manage on his own.”

“In a few days, like when? Are you guys coming to the Spring Formal?”

“Definitely not. Jason can’t fly and is in no shape to go to a dance. I might be home in time, but I’ve missed too much school,” I say. None of this is my fault. “I know it’s sold out so if you hear of anyone who still wants to go, the tickets are in my jewelry box. They can have them,” I add.

“I’m sorry. It’s not a big deal. I mean, I really want you to go, but Nick showed me the video and I’m sure you’ve had a tough week.”

“Yeah. It’s been a long one,” I say, and look down at Jason, who even in this condition is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever laid eyes on. “I’ll keep in touch, okay?”

“Call whenever. I’m here,” she says, and we hang up.

I consider texting Noble, but I owe him a call. I’ve e-mailed twice from the hospital, where I never wanted to make a peep for fear of being asked to leave, but now there’s no reason not to talk to him.

“Hey,” he says, and his kindness holds me tight through the phone.

“Hey. How’s it going?”

“Better here than there, I suppose,” he says. “I talked to Professor Bryant for you. He wasn’t moved until I showed him the video. Then he said since you’ve scored nothing below a ninety-eight all year, he would make an exception.”

“Thanks, Noble,” I say with heartfelt gratitude.

“When did you become so wicked smart?” he asks, laughing at me.

“I’m just a gifted statistician.”

“Among other things,” he says, and I forget the stress of the last week. “When are you coming home?”

“It’s not going to be an easy trip,” I say, and look at Jason as his eyes open slightly, his arm casted and resting on a pillow beside him. “He meets with the doctor down here tomorrow and then starts rehab. I’m going to see what that brings before I leave him.”

“Exams are in two weeks,” Noble states.

“I know.”
I just don’t care.
“Thanks, Noble,” I say, and hang up, questioning if I’ll ever truly get back home. Jason turns his head to me.

“Was that Sinclair?”

“Yes. What are you doing up?” I ask as I take his hand in mine and raise it to my lips to kiss it.

“He loves you, Annie.”

“I love him, too,” I say thankful for Noble in my life. “He’s one of my best friends.”

“No. He’s in love with you. I can tell the difference,” Jason says, and I burst out laughing. My eyes find the prescription bottle on his night stand. These drugs are working on him.

“What gave it away? The way he has been nothing but a good friend or the parade of girls he’s banging at Rutgers?” I quietly laugh some more. Noble would think this is funny, too. I’ve told Noble I love him a hundred times in this life. We hold hands, and play together. He’s even shared my bed a few drunken nights at Rutgers, but it’s never been anything but friendship. He is a teddy bear.

“The way he looks at you. It may not be exactly love, but it’s something like it.”

“Go back to sleep, you crazy cowboy,” I say, and Jason’s eyes roll shut once again. I crawl under the covers next to him and lay my head on his good arm and drift off to sleep happily for the first time in almost a week.

J
anine has strep throat,” Violet says as she plops down on my bed. I’m still getting used to being back in New Brunswick. Last week changed me, and not for the better.

“That’s terrible. Did she go to Hurtado?” I ask, and try to remember if the Rutgers’ health center is open on Saturdays.

“She went yesterday and they gave her antibiotics, but she’s still contagious
and
feels like hell.” I begin pulling my abandoned school books onto my desk, fearing I’ll never catch up on the last week before finals. “So she has a ticket to the formal tonight and Nick is supposed to be her date,” Violet adds.
We’re still talking about this?

“Can she sell it?”

“It’s too late. But you already have a dress. And you know Nick, so it seems like the universe is telling you to come to the ZTA formal with me tonight.” Even this conversation is exhausting me. There’s no way I’m up to a date night.

“I can’t. Believe me, I can’t.”

“Is this about Jason? Because he doesn’t even have to know.”

“I would never keep that from him,” I say sternly. Violet should know better. She’s been with Blake for years. She’s the girlfriend type. “And it’s not about him. I’m exhausted and I have so much work to catch up on. I missed all my classes last week and now exams are going to start on Thursday.” I am frantic. I looked over the notes Noble sent me, but they make less sense than I’d hoped they would. I’m going to have to teach myself the last three chapters of
Statistics for Economics
. Good times.

Julia walks in carrying an envelope for me and my dress hanging under a plastic bag. “I found this in the hall closet. I thought I’d bring it in just in case you change your mind.” I roll my eyes. “I’m sure your handsome Noble can look fantastic in minutes,” she adds.

“I’m sure I’m not going, but I love you for trying.” I sit on my bed and open my letter from Jason. I just left today and he didn’t overnight it so he mailed while I was still there.

Not really, Jason.

I refold the letter and place it back in the envelope. The nine other girls in my house are blowing, buffing, plucking, and fastening so loudly I couldn’t study right now if I wanted to so I take out a notebook and write the most terrifying person in my life a return letter.

Fuck Annie. Charlotte’s back in town. Boys start to file in and flowers are exchanged, and I’m glad I at least changed out of my sweatpants and put on some lip gloss. This scene could depress a girl. They look beautiful. The spring formal is the dressiest event of the school year and the ZTAs go all out. Their gowns range from long to too-short, beaded to simply chic, and everything in between. For a second, I think of running upstairs and donning my black maxi dress with the neckline that practically touches my belly button, forgetting everything I have to worry about for the next four hours. But even after choking in the mix of perfumes and cologne, I stay in my shorts and oversized sweater knowing I don’t belong there tonight.

The crowd leaves and I can hear them all the way down the street. They have a block to walk to the bus and they are an absurd parade of high fashion and loud voices. The house is dead without them. Not an ounce of life left behind. I place a stamp on Jason’s letter and walk it to the mailbox hanging on the front of the house. As I close the lid on it, I see Noble walking up Hamilton Street, whistling as he comes, with his backpack hanging over one shoulder. I smile at the sight of him and watch as he walks right up the front steps of my house.

“What are you doing here?” I ask as he hugs me tightly.

“I came to teach you statistics, and any other subjects I can help with.”

“You did?” I’m frozen in a state of disbelief.

“You’re a smart girl, Charlotte, but I can teach you in one night what will take others a lifetime to figure out.”

“Come in, I’ll order us dinner,” I say, and pull Noble into the house.

Noble’s tutelage doesn’t disappoint. He’s right. This would have taken me a long time to figure out without him going line by line through the notes with me. He’s a patient teacher and quite hilarious, even when discussing statistics. We eat bolis from Stuff Yer Face and both lean back on the couch at the same time, full and tired.

“Do you want to smoke?” Noble says as he pulls out a joint and holds it in front of our eyes. My intuition says no, but why? I stare at the joint and turn my head to see Noble smiling at me, and then he winks, erasing my unfounded internal conflict.

“Sure,” I say, and Noble lights it as I open the windows wider.

We smoke and smoke until we’re laughing so hard I finally lick my fingers and pinch it out, not wanting to waste Noble’s weed. I lie back on the couch next to Noble and put my feet up next to his on the coffee table.

“Have you talked to Julia lately?” I ask.

“I talked to her a lot while you were in Kansas and Oklahoma. We exchanged information daily, trying to find out what was going on with you,” he says. “And Jason.”

“Do you think she’s mad at me for not going to the formal?”

“Probably,” he says, and laughs, “but we never talked about that.”

“Think she’ll get over it?” I ask, hoping she already has. If they all have a spectacular time tonight maybe they won’t even notice I’m not there.

“It’s astonishing what a person can look past,” Noble professes as if he’s talking about me, instead of to me. I sit up and look at him, melting into my couch.

“Do I have some huge blind spot?” I ask with exaggerated concern.

“No. You’re perfect,” Noble says, and we both laugh. “Sometimes we let ourselves be consumed to the point of blindness.”

“Ah, abandonment. You prefer to be tethered to reality rather than give-in to the fairy tale.”

“When you say it like that it sounds boring. There’s a certain invulnerability to unclouded sight,” he says, and I ponder his words. Noble has always had a beautiful way of seeing things. An invulnerability, as in, incapable of being wounded or immune to the attack.

“It’s safe,” I say, and force myself to stop thinking about this.

Safety is overrated.

E
xams end and summer begins, but all I care about is getting to Oklahoma. It’s been two insufferable weeks since I left Jason. The escalator feels like it’s running backward until I see Harlan waiting for me, then it seems to stop. Fear strangles me. He sees me and smiles, and I relax a little, but I’m still confused.

“Where is he?”

“Therapy. He didn’t tell you because he was afraid you wouldn’t let me come get you.”

“Well, this is ridiculous. It’s a complete waste of your time.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” he jokes.

“How is he?” I ask, and Harlan stops laughing, but starts off toward the parking lot. “Harlan, what?”

“He’s miserable. I couldn’t wait to come get you today. I’m hoping you can pull him out of this. He can’t seem to accept he ain’t gonna be bulldoggin’ for six months.”

“Would you be able to?” I ask because I’ll never understand why someone would want to in the first place. Harlan ignores me and takes my backpack off my shoulder while he holds the door open for me.

We pull into Jason’s driveway to the sight of him fumbling with his keys in the door. His frustration is obvious, even without stepping out of the truck. Jason drops the keys and instead of picking them up, he kicks the door in. Harlan looks at me and raises his eyebrows.

“Thanks for the ride,” I say, and watch Jason take deep breaths to calm down.

“Call me if you need any help,” Harlan says. “And good luck,” he adds as he puts the truck in reverse and I close the door.

Jason is standing just outside the now broken door when I get to him. His cast has been replaced with the special range-of-motion brace which makes him look like he has a robotic arm, permanently bent at the elbow. I run my hand over it, barely touching him, but having to examine it for myself. Jason watches my hand move up his arm to his face where our eyes meet in a torrent of need.

“Trouble with the door?” I ask.

“No. Opened right up,” he says, and we both look at the damaged trim by the lock. I walk past him and enter the loft, which looks completely different now that Jason is on his feet again.

“I would have been here sooner, but Harlan doesn’t drive as fast as the car services,” I say, and turn to face him. His eyes flicker with a hint of his old wicked self. I close the door, as best I can, and stand in front of him. His face is almost completely healed and I run my finger across the fresh skin covering the cuts and thread my hands in his hair at the back of his head. His chest heaves and I turn my attention to his t-shirt. I want it off of him, but guessing he feels the same way, I pull my tank top over my head and throw my bra across the room. He awkwardly leans down and takes my nipple in his mouth, licking it and sucking it as if it brings him something necessary to sustain life. I pull his shirt up and over his good arm and neck and let it hang on his left shoulder.

“How about we just leave this here? In case we want to put our clothes back on today, it’ll be there,” I say, and look at his smiling gray eyes again. He doesn’t seem miserable at all. I pull off the sweatpants I bought him before I left and marvel at the fact he’s wearing them. I’ve never seen him in anything but jeans. Zippers and buttons must be a particular nuisance with only one arm to work with. I kneel down and take him in my mouth, squeezing my thighs together at the taste of him. It’s been too long. Jason’s hand is on the back of my head, but he never moves it as I lick, suck, and swallow him whole. His body reacts to the attention and he comes, faster than he ever has before, surprising me and relieving him.

I stand up and lead him to the kitchen chair. I gingerly sit him down and retrieve a pillow from the bed to rest his arm on. Once I think he’s secure I climb on top of him and ride him with my forearms resting on his shoulders, his good hand on my bottom. I am so selfish. I can’t even look at him for fear he may want me to stop. I continue with my heady ride until my body reaches the release I’ve waited weeks to achieve. I come and continue to ride him, letting the convulsions tear through me, until my legs give out. I rest on top of him, my head on his good shoulder, my lips touching his neck, as I try and recover.

“You have no idea what that just did for me,” he says, low and gruff in my ear.

“I think I have every idea.”

“I’ve been useless. Unable to do anything here.” I lean back and play with Jason’s hair as I consider his sad face.

“Well, as usual, you do me just fine. Don’t sell yourself short.” I say, and kiss him on the lips, so thankful they are no longer cut or bruised. I kiss him until my body wants more of him. And then I ask, “Do you want to try it on the bed?”

“You’re a greedy girl, Annie O’Brien.” He’s playful and relaxed, and I know we’ll spend the day trying different places, different positions. What a great way to catch up with my one-armed man.

The ease of the first few day wilts in the summer heat of New Jersey. Jason is increasingly angry and frustrated by his lack of mobility. He’s a grump and hard to be around. By the second week in June I can’t even mollify him with sex. It’s always been our safe place, so I’m at a loss. I hate seeing him like this—demoralized. I want the old Jason back. I want him strong and powerful. I want him to be happy. We came home because it’s home and without the rodeo there was no reason to stay in Oklahoma, but even home does little to heal him.

I hear him drop something in the kitchen and by the time I get there he’s throwing the frying pan against the wall.

“What is your problem?” I yell, sick of being a passenger in his misery.

“I’m a goddamned invalid, that’s my problem,” he says, and snorts air from his nose.

“It’s not permanent,” I say, and pick up the pan. “But how you’re acting could leave a mark.”

“You know what today is?” I look at the calendar on the wall; it’s June 13th. Jason sees my probe. “It’s the College National Finals. You know what I was ranked going into Kansas?” I hold still, realizing this is a monologue not a conversation. “Second, Annie. I was second going in. Well in range to take it all.”

I lower my eyes to the pan in my hand, trying to think of something to say other than “Good,” which I know will get us nowhere.

Instead I leave him to his misery and go back to the bedroom.

At six I find him on the back deck lying in a lounge chair and I climb on top of him. He’s on his back with his braced arm resting on the arm rest, looking out at the fields, and he looks lost. To me, he is exactly where I want him to be, but for him he has no idea where or who he is. Jason looks at me with his confused gray eyes and I just want him to be happy.

“I need you to know that no matter how I feel about you getting hurt, I’m sorry you didn’t go to finals,” I say, and he studies me trying to judge my honesty. “I don’t lie, remember? I’m not ready to see you back on a horse, but I’m also not ready to watch you decay in my house all summer.” Jason starts to say something and I stop him with a kiss. One which takes on a life of its own and I wonder if I should abandon this plan and go with Plan B. I lean back and rest my hands on his stomach.

“I want you to take me to the rodeo tonight,” I say, and he doesn’t move a muscle, not even in his face. “I want you to go and sit with me and explain everything that’s going on and what you love about it. I’ve been to a half dozen now, but never one with you.” Jason pulls my face back to his and kisses me again, comprehending the enormity of the gift I am offering, the acceptance of a murderer.

And so I learn that college rodeo makes no distinction between amateur and pro; they compete for money at both venues. That steer wrestlers get one jump to the steer, if it gets loose the dogger may take no more than one step to catch it. That a steer is only down when it is lying flat on its side, or on its back, with all four feet and head straight, and that the wrestler must have a hand on the steer until the flag is thrown.

He explains the steer have to be a minimum of 400 pounds, but can’t weigh more than six hundred and that at most of the big, televised events the steer weigh at least five hundred. I block the memory from my mind of the steer stomping on Jason’s head.

I also learn the horns on the steer must be blunted to the size of a dime and this gives me some comfort.
Not really any.
The bulldogger exits from the left of the steer, the hazer to the right, and the steer gets a head start.

Jason is patient and pleasant as he explains the rules to all the events and sprinkles in stories he’s collected from a lifetime of rodeos. I sit to his right and hold his good hand in my lap and marvel at the fact I’ve never asked him all these questions before.

For bareback bronc riding he shows me where the cowboy’s legs have to be as he comes out of the chute. I’m pretty sure I couldn’t stay on a horse with my feet above the break of its shoulders even if it wasn’t bucking. Even more impressive is the rule that the rider’s free hand cannot touch himself or the horse or else he’s disqualified.

“Why are there two guys riding around in there, too?” I ask.

“They’re pickup men to help him get off his horse.” Sure enough, they help each rider. “I’d rather ride a bull than broncs. They kill my back.” I take a deep breath. I’m here to learn, not break down in tears and beg him to never set foot in an arena again.

After team roping, we get up and walk toward the back fence to look at the cattle. I watch as dozens of fans stop Jason to talk about the rodeo and his injury. They all love him and loved to watch him compete. He’s a local hero and there’s not a person in this arena not pulling for Jason to bulldog again. Except for me. When he’s engulfed by some of the older men I slide onto a nearby bleacher and let him bask in it. He’s suddenly full of life, beautiful again. If it weren’t for the brace I wouldn’t know a thing has happened to him. As their conversation wears down I hear him promise to come back next week and help with some of the events. He catches sight of me while they all carefully shake his hand. He is light, and joyful. He is restored.

“Thank you, Annie.” We wait for the traffic to clear out of the lots. It doesn’t feel like gratitude. It feels like a clear placement of me behind rodeo on the list of his needs. I realize it’s not a demotion; I’ve been here all along. I slide over and huddle next to him, unable to have his arm around me because he needs it to drive now.

“You know it’s been over a year since the first time you drove me home from the rodeo.”

“I know,” he says. “You’re different, Annie. You’re strong again.”

“Do you prefer me weak?” I ask, and Jason watches me.

“Would it matter?”

“You wouldn’t want me weak, but I don’t feel any stronger. I still need you as much as I did last summer.” It’s desperate, but true. “You know that, though.”

It’s an odd summer routine. We both take online classes to lighten the load during the school year; Jason in anticipation of returning to rodeo, and me with the hopes of getting an internship in the spring. Jason has lots of questions about the internship, all of which I ask him to put on hold since I’ve barely thought of it myself.

I meet Sean for lunch a few times, always at the Corner Bar, which seems odd. He and Michelle took Jason and me out for dinner one night, but other than that I’ve had little contact with the people of Salem County.

I look at my watch as I park in the lot next to the Corner and again find it strange we’re here, but everything is strange these days. We sit at the bar and order hot roast beef sandwiches and fried pickles.

“Why don’t you just come to the house?” I ask, and Sean raises his eyebrows as if the answer is obvious. “What?”

“Every time I go by there Jason’s truck is in the driveway.” I nod understanding. He doesn’t want to interrupt. I should tell him he’d be okay at lunch time, but that’s not true.

“Do you not like him?” I ask as our beers are delivered.

“He’s fine.” I stare at him, trying to pry the truth from him.

“I think you consider him temporary,” I say.

“He is, isn’t he? You’re not planning on marrying anytime soon, are you?”

“I’m not interested in a wedding but I want to be with him.” We both stare into our beers and shell peanuts. “Forever,” I add and Sean seems shocked. How could he not know how I feel about Jason? Am I so accustomed to the person next to me knowing every emotion I have before it registers with me that I’ve forgotten what it’s like to actually communicate?

“Seriously?” he asks. His voice is taut with annoyance.

“That’s what I mean. You don’t seem to like him.”

“He’s a bull rider, Charlotte.” When he says it like that, yes it sounds ridiculous.

“Steer wrestler, mainly.” I quiet, realizing it’s a small distinction with Sean.

“Is he moving home after graduation?”

“He’s not graduating. Five-year plan. I’m moving to Oklahoma in May, after graduation. Aren’t you happy that’s part of the plan?” I ask, hoping to pacify Sean.

“This is an actual plan?” he asks as the bartender brings out our food.

“Yes. Believe me, I don’t want to live in Oklahoma, but I want him and he’s there.” I realize he could live in the Arctic Tundra and I would follow him there. Sean and I eat our sandwiches with only the sound of the TV behind us. He’s hungry. That’s a good sign. The news didn’t make him sick. Although, I’ve never seen Sean miss a meal.

“Sean, what do you think we owe the dead?”

“The dead, or our dead parents?” He clarifies what’s been torturing me. What I think we owe the dead, or what other people owe the dead, is completely different than what I owe my mom and dad.

“Mom and dad.”

Sean considers the question and looks at me, searching for the least painful answer, but still unsure of the source of the question.

“I think we should spend every day trying to make them proud. The same way we would if they were still alive.”