Forgive Me (9 page)

“He is such an ass, but that was nice. He’s always nice to you,” Sydney says bitterly.

“He’s just misunderstood.” Jason is silent. “Can we get a table? For three; Julia is meeting us.”

“Fun. Why do I always have to work? When are you coming back?” Sydney asks, and I’m sad. Now that I’m here I want to come back, but it will make it impossible to see Jason. I won’t be able to get that many weekends off. It’s no longer about the money. The insurance and settlement made sure it will never again be about money. Looking around at all my coworkers I realize it never was about the money. Sydney leads us to a four-top in the bar area, her section of course, and leaves us to peruse the menu I’ve got completely memorized. Jason doesn’t even open his.

“Who’s your friend?” He says, and I realize I didn’t introduce him to Barry.

“I’m sorry I didn’t introduce you. He’s nice.”

“Sydney doesn’t make him sound nice at all.” Jason’s voice has an edge to it. As if anger is creeping in, but he’s not sure where to put it.

“He’s misunderstood. He’s not here for school. He was born here. He’s in his forties. He’s lived a hundred lives, none of them very easy,” I say, and reach across the table to touch Jason’s hands.

“Barry has scars all over his hands and I asked him once what they’re from and he said, ‘knives.’ His life is not that of a college student, so he has very little time for our nonsense. This is his job; it’s our time to party. He walks me home every time we have a closing shift together.” Jason’s eyes harden, his anger finding a home. “I’m usually carrying a lot of cash. I appreciate the company.”

“You check out the menu,” I tell him. “I’m going downstairs to the office.” Jason seems even more annoyed. “To resign.” At this he softens and I get up. “Order me a drink when Sydney comes back.”

I return to find Sydney sitting at the table with Jason. I have no idea what they’re talking about, but she’s hanging on every word. Sydney can make anyone talk. It’s her gift. I sit down and they both look at me.

“Jason just told me you’re resigning.” I can’t even be mad at him. I left him here, with her, unprotected. I lean in and try to slide past an elderly woman speaking Russian to what must be her granddaughter, but I need an inch more space.

“
izvinite
,” I say in Russian and Jason’s eyes bulge. The grandmother nods kindly and moves her chair in, letting me by.

“Yes. I just told Tony. I’m regrouping,” I answer Sydney.

“Hey! You resigning?” Barry asks, poking his head out from the kitchen.

“For now, Barry. I might be back, but I need some time.” I turn to Jason and he is staring at Barry’s hands. “I’ll still be in here all the time. I’ve got to eat,” I add, and Barry huffs and retreats to the kitchen. That’s about as well as it’s going to go with him.

Julia comes in, toting Noble and his roommate Wes. They engulf us. Apparently, Jason met Wes in Salem County last summer so introductions are unnecessary. Sydney brings out ecstasy fries and bolis without us ordering. “I knew what you’d want,” she says, and we all dig in. Noble is explaining the campus layout to Jason. He’s concerned with the inter-campus bus system and any classes I might have off of College Avenue. There are plenty, most across the river on the Busch Campus this year. Noble offers to drive me, since most of his business school classes are there, too. Judging from Jason’s face, this does little to appease him.

“Are you guys going out tonight?” Noble innocently asks. Why does this question feel like the start of a fight?

“I’m not sure. We’ve got a long ride tomorrow and the next day,” I explain.

“Where?” Julia asks, confused.

“We’re driving to Oklahoma. I’m flying back Sunday night.”

“What? You’re leaving? I thought you were here to stay. You’re coming back, right?” She’s just this side of frantic.

“I’m coming back.”
Not because I want to, but I’m coming back.

We walk back to my house. It’s garbage day tomorrow and the businesses have the curbs lined with cans and bags. The smell mixed with the humid air form a heavy cloud of yuck over the street.

My room, our room, Julia’s and my room, seems tiny with Jason in it. Every inch of him from his boots to his giant hat seem larger than life and for the first time I see him the way Sydney must have seen him. He is an amusement ride, a history museum, and a romantic movie all rolled into one.

“We can go out if you’d like,” he offers, and a chill runs through me. I go to him and look directly into his eyes, just the way he likes it. I know he recognizes it’s intentional.

“I think you hate it here.”

“I do hate it here,” he says quietly, without a hint of humor. “What I hate more is the thought of you here,” he adds, and I lower my forehead to his chest. It clunks down on the rock. “But you needed to come back. You’re different here, Annie, It feeds you. I can tell you love it and it loves you.” I wrap my arms around his neck and rest my lips at his jugular. “I think you’ll love Oklahoma, too. It’s quieter,” he adds as a series of sirens blare outside my window. “No matter where you are, I need you to be safe.” Jason holds me tighter and I can barely breathe.
I am safe.

J
ason gets up early and showers, leaving me in my bed, staring at the glow in the dark star stickers Julia and I decorated our ceiling with. I needed to get away. Away from Salem County, away from their house, away from the road they died on.

Away.

He returns to my room wrapped in a towel that barely covers him and I swallow hard at the sight of him.

“How much do you pay for this place?” He runs the towel through his hair. It’s the color of a wet road in the darkness.

“Five hundred. Why?”

“Five hundred? And there are ten of you?” he asks in disbelief. “And two bathrooms?”

“We don’t all pay the same amount and there’s a half bath in the basement. Are you trying to make some point, or come to some conclusion?”

“Ten girls, two bathrooms. I’m just not sure you’re getting your money’s worth.” Jason crawls into bed naked, leaving his wet towel on the floor next to my bed.

“We have a long ride today,” I say, and add, “Maybe we should start the day with another long ride.”

Jason pulls me on top of him and I straddle him, sitting naked on top of him. Without the hat, and the belt buckle, and the boots, he could be any other guy lying in this bed. His thumb finds me and the chill runs from my groin to the tops of each of my shoulders, swirling around my nipples. I raise my head to the ceiling and open my mouth for air.

“Lean back,” he says gruffly and I lean back, resting my hands on his thighs. I am exposed. Jason’s thumb never leaves me as his fingers find me. He finds the one spot that promises something extreme is about to happen. But I can’t stop the train from the crash. My chest heaves as I fight for air and he stops.

“No,” I whimper.

He lifts me up and slides out from under me at the same time. “Make yourself come, Annie.” His eyes haunt me with their darkness. He is leaving me.

“Did I do something wrong?” I ask, questioning my punishment. Jason smiles, erasing my thoughts, and stands erect at the end of my bed. My mouth waters at the sight of him. He is the devil.

“No, but I’m not going to be here for weeks at a time. You’ll need to take care of yourself.” The thought of being away from him for weeks rips through me. The sadness is crippling.

Jason comes to me and takes my nipples between his fingers, and then between his lips. He kisses the side of my face and trails his lips to my own. “I can’t have you walking around campus angry, searching for an orgasm,” Jason says, hovering above me, and his playfulness infects me.

“I often bump into people rambling around, searching for an orgasm.”

“Are they angry? I’ll bet they seem very angry. I don’t want that for you. Now play,” he commands and stands beside me again. Watching me.

I try my thumb as Jason always does, but it’s awkward, as if I am not using my dominant hand. I switch to my finger and find a rhythm. Jason’s eyes never leave me. Light gray this morning; they are now a deep, swirling pool of darkness. The sight of them, of him, returns the chill to my nipples and with my free hand I grab them. He watches me from the side of my bed and as I arch my back slightly, he reaches out. He returns his hand, grabbing himself. I want to touch him. I want him in my mouth. I lock my eyes on his lips and wish they were on me. I close my eyes and give in to my hands and my heart, and the memories of every orgasm before. I come as Jason pushes the hair from my face and whispers in my ear, “I almost came just watching you. You make my blood boil, Annie O’Brien.”

My body shakes two more times and then I rest. My chest heaves, trying to recover, but the period is interrupted by Jason hauling me to the edge of the bed. He plunges into me without any warning.

“I can’t wait,” he says hungrily. “I can’t wait, Annie.” Jason enters again and I swallow him every time, my body needing him inside of me. The craving reminds me of the first time we were together. It has no meaning outside of a murderous need and I want to touch him. I reach out and Jason pulls me to him by the wrists. He continues and my body tenses again, bracing itself for another release.

“Lie down on the floor,” I demand, breathless. Jason pulls out and carries me to the floor, pulling me on top of him. I straddle him and ride him without any consideration of his needs, my own clouding my civility. I come, exploding around him, and continue to move up and down to the extent my legs will rise. Jason’s heartbeat thumps in his chest and I rest the side of my face against it.

“I’m guessing by the speed of your heart rate that you came.”

“You are a greedy lover, Annie.” He’s right. I am.
This is the animal you’ve created, Jason Leer.
“I love that about you.”

“How long does it take to get to Stillwater, Oklahoma?” I ask, and the hilarity of the question hits me. I laugh out loud.

“It’s going to take about a day, as in a whole day. Maybe longer since first we have to get out of this hellhole you call home.” The traffic on Route 1 has ruined Jason’s mood. Everything happens so quickly with Jason. He reacts faster than I comprehend. I unbuckle my seatbelt and move closer to him. I buckle the middle one and lean on him, my hand between his legs. “How Great Thou Art” comes on the radio and I turn it up. It’s beautiful and I close my eyes and lean into Jason as the music covers me with the safety of my past.

The traffic subsides and Jason pulls onto I-276 West, speeding away from Rutgers University.

“Have you been to church since your mom died?” I ask Jason, the song feeding my courage.

“Why are you asking that? And no.”

“We went our whole lives. Your mom was my Sunday school teacher. Don’t you think they’d want us to go?”

“I think I wanted her not to die.” My courage retreats. Jason turns off the radio and we ride in silence.

“I’m pretty sure you’re either in or you’re out,” I say, remembering Pastor Johnson’s invitation to both Jason and me. I look at Jason as confusion spreads across his face. “You have to believe. Nothing else you could possibly do ‘good’ will ever replace believing. At least that’s what your mother taught me, taught us,” I explain, and he pulls me back toward him, kissing the top of my head, and ending the conversation.

We settle into our ride. Every four hours we stop to fill the truck with gas and switch seats. Driving his truck is terrifying. I’ve barely been driving anything, and certainly not something as large as this rolling house. Once we pass Frederick, Maryland, things simplify; the traffic dies, and Jason and I ride. When we run out of snacks, we stop for dinner in Columbus and Jason mounts me in the restaurant parking lot. It’s still light out, but the sun is falling, signaling a new day. One less day we’ll be together.

By Indianapolis, the sun has set and Jason is back at the wheel. I lean on my door and look at the stars, the millions of them eclipsed by the city lights coming into view as we head west, careening toward our separation.

“Those stars tell you anything?” His voice breaks my sadness with the reminder he’s here. “I’ve never seen anyone look up as much as you do.”

“I love the sky. It’s different every day, but always impressive.” I turn my head back toward it and notice the bulging moon, a few days shy of full. “I also like that it’s the same moon all over the world. I like knowing Margo, and Jenn, and the rest of the world are going to see the same moon. And now I’ll think the same thing about you.”

“I’ll never look at it the same way again,” he says, looking out his window.

“I know,” I say, and close the space between us, leaving the moon for the others. It doesn’t compare to Jason Leer.

“Jason?” He stays silent. “Was it your intention to have sex with me the day of my parents’ funeral?” Jason lets out the breath he was holding.

“No. I just wanted to get you out of there, Annie. I couldn’t watch you smile at those people. They didn’t deserve your kindness and you didn’t owe it to them,” Jason says, and I feel protected. “You’re so strong. I figured if anyone could survive this, you could. But when I looked into your empty green eyes in the kitchen I realized you were as lost as I am.” The tears fill my eyes. “And so I took you.” His words lessen the pain. He did take me and I let him, and I would let him do it again.

We would have been here sooner. Could have been if we hadn’t stopped to have sex two more times. Each time more desperate than the one before, a needy reminder I would leave him soon. We crossed into the central time zone and the extra hour did little to calm me. But when we finally arrived in Stillwater, Oklahoma, something was settling, almost exciting to me.

“It’s so green here,” I say, noting the lush grass and abundance of trees, both of which were not part of my mental picture.

“What did you expect? The desert?”

“Yes,” I admit, nodding my head and still in awe of the scenery.

“From Stillwater east is green. Things change to the west and into the panhandle.”

“Why?” All I can think of is how different north and south Jersey are, but something tells me the differences here have nothing to do with Manhattan and Philadelphia.

“The Gulf of Mexico. Its tropical, warm air flows north to Stillwater. The western side doesn’t get it. The difference in the climate here is dramatic. That’s one reason why we get such nasty storms.”

We pass a sign:
WELCOME TO STILLWATER, WHERE OKLAHOMA BEGAN
. Jason turns onto North Washington Street and I see a lake.

“Boomer Lake, huh? I like the name.”

“I’m not surprised. There’s Lake McMurtry not far up the road, too. Lots of lakes out this way.”

“No ocean, though,” I say, unsure of what point I’m making.

We pass what might be the prettiest firehouse I’ve ever seen. It’s all brick with four big bays out front. This town is quaint. Japanese, Chinese, and Mexican restaurants line the road and Stillwater’s culinary options make me laugh. The athletic field commands my attention as we pass it and I wonder again about Jason turning down a football scholarship. I look at him driving with his cowboy hat on and try to understand his passion for the rodeo.
It’s better than competitive eating, I guess.

There are people walking everywhere.

“How many students are there?” I ask.

“About 16,000. It’s nowhere near as big as Rutgers.”

“Few are, but anything over one hundred and seventy sounds big to me,” I answer, remembering our graduating class from Salem County. I notice everyone walking the streets, at least right now, is white. Not one black person anywhere. “Everyone is white.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Jason’s question confuses me.
What is wrong with that?
“You do realize you’re white, right?”

“I do. I’m just not used to—”

“Annie, not every place in the world is your little slice of diversity heaven. The majority here is white, but there are people who are not,” Jason says as if I’m ridiculous to want anything else.

“I know it sounds strange.”
Not really.
“But I think the people at Rutgers are the real education.”

“Are there any other languages you speak besides Russian?” he asks, and stresses
Russian
as if he’s not even sure that’s what I was saying.

“It was Russian and I don’t even speak it. My roommate freshman year was Russian. Nice girl. She taught me a little. It comes in handy waitressing.”

“Waitressing in New Brunswick. Probably not necessary here. See how much easier things are?” Jason asks, knowing I’ll never agree. We pass a sign declaring Oklahoma State University a Land Grant School established in 1890. Rutgers was founded one hundred and twenty-four years before that.

“What does it mean to be a land grant university?” I ask, never having heard of it.

“It means we’re good people; that we’ll use our educations to improve the world.” He pulls into the driveway of a small house with an adorable front porch. I’m excited to see where Jason lives. We pass the house and he pulls the truck up close to a cottage in the house’s backyard.

“We’re home,” he says, and looks at me hungrily. I jump out of the truck and stretch. It’s mid-afternoon. We missed lunch. We missed nighttime and now my body wants to reclaim it. I look around the landscape. There’s a tree in the yard of the main house. No hills, no mountains in the distance, no horns, no sirens, no airplanes in the sky, no black people. I have landed on Mars. I turn to the back of the truck and Jason is leaning on the quarter panel studying me.

“You gonna be okay?” he asks. I walk to him and lean into him, letting his body settle me.

“I’d follow you anywhere. Obviously,” I say, and kiss him. “What I would really like to do is follow you to the shower.” Jason throws his hundred-pound bag over his shoulder and leads the way to the front door of his curious little cottage. He unlocks it and the hot air escapes the front door into the humidity surrounding us. I follow him inside and the heat suffocates me. Jason hurries to open two windows and turns on an air conditioning unit in the third.

“It’ll cool off. I’m just going to let the heat out and then I’ll get it cool in here.” It’s one room. One large room. Directly in front of us is a kitchen, or a counter with a sink and an oven. There is a small refrigerator at the end of the counter—my instincts tell me to not open it. There are two unmatched wooden chairs and a table covered in what looks like peeling linoleum past the refrigerator. In the far corner is a wood-burning stove the likes of which I have not seen since the cold winters of my childhood. There’s an old television on a wooden stand awkwardly pushed against the side wall as if it’s never turned on.

To our right, up two steps, is a large bed with small tables to each side of it. The lamps on each table are white with gold leaf designs and ornate fringed shades. I fall in love with them immediately. My cowboy with his fancy lamps. There’s a bar hanging in the corner for clothes and a door I assume leads to the bathroom. I guess I should be thankful for the door. The entire room is covered in a musty dust, but it is ours.