I'm Thinking of Ending Things (15 page)

A hand touches my leg. “I'm glad you came.”

“Me, too,” I say.

“Really, it means a lot. I've been wanting you to see that place for a long time.”

He leans in and kisses my neck. I'm not expecting it. I feel my body tense and brace against the seat. He moves closer, pulling me in. His hand is up my shirt, over my bra, back down. It moves over my bare stomach, my side, my lower back.

His left hand strokes my face, my cheek. His hand is around to the back of my head, brushing hair behind my ear. My head falls against the headrest. He kisses my earlobe, behind my ear.

“Jake,” I say.

Jake pushes my coat aside and pulls my shirt up. We pause as the shirt blocks us. He rips it the rest of the way over my head and lets the shirt drop at my feet. He feels good. His hands. His face. I shouldn't do this. Not when I'm thinking of ending things. But he feels good right now. He does.

He's kissing near my bare shoulder, where my neck and shoulder meet.

Maybe it's too soon to know. It doesn't matter. God. I just want him to keep doing what he's doing. I want to kiss him.

“Steph,” he whispers.

I stop. “What?”

He moans, kissing my neck.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing.”

Did he call me Steph? Did he? I lean my head back as he starts kissing my chest. I close my eyes.

“What the fuck!” he says.

Jake tenses, recoils, and then leans over me again, shielding me. A shudder runs through me. He rubs his hand on the window, clearing some condensation away.

“What the fuck!” he says again, louder.

“What?” I'm reaching now for my shirt on the floor. “What's wrong?”

“Shit,” he says, still leaning across me. “Like I said, there's someone in the school. Sit up. Quick. Put your shirt on. Hurry up.”

“What?”

“I don't want to startle you. Just sit up. He can see us. He was looking.”

“Jake? What are you talking about?”

“He was staring at us.”

I feel unease, a pit in my stomach.

“I can't find my shirt. It's down here on the floor somewhere.”

“When I looked up, over your shoulder. I saw someone. It was a man.”

“A man?”

“A man. He was standing at that window, there, and he wasn't moving or anything, just staring, right at the car, at us. He could see us.”

“This is creeping me out, Jake. I don't like this. Why was he looking at us?”

“I don't know, but it's not right.”

Jake is rattled, upset.

“Are you sure there was someone there? I can't see anyone.”

I turn in my seat toward the school. I'm trying to stay calm. I don't want to upset him further. I see the windows he's talking about. But there's no one. Nothing. If someone had been there, they could have seen us, easily.

“I'm positive. I saw him. He was . . . staring at us. He was enjoying watching us. It's sick.”

I've found my shirt and slip it on over my head. The car is getting cold with the engine off. I need to put my coat back on.

“Relax; let's just go. Like you said, probably some bored old janitor. He probably hasn't seen anyone out here this late before. That's all.”

“Relax? No, this is fucking bullshit. He wasn't concerned. He wasn't wondering if we were okay. He wasn't bored. He was staring at us.”

“What do you mean?”

“He was leering. It's fucked-up.”

I put both hands over my face and close my eyes. “Jake, I don't care. Let's go.”

“I care. He's a fucking pervert. He was doing something. I'm sure of it. The guy's fucked up. He liked looking at us.”

“How do you know?”

“I saw him. I know him. Or guys like him, I mean. He should be ashamed of himself. There was a wave or a movement of his hand, a wavelike gesture. He knows.”

“Calm down. I don't think he was doing anything. How can you know for sure?”

“I can't just ignore it. I can't. I can see him.”

“Jake, can we please just go? Listen, I'm asking you. Please.”

“I'm going to give him shit. He can't do this.”

“What? No. Forget it. Let's go. We're going.”

I reach over but Jake shoves my hand, not softly. He's shaking his head. He's mad. It's his eyes. His hands are trembling.

“We're not going anywhere until I talk to him. It's not right.”

I've never seen Jake like this, not even close to this. He pushes my hand away, violently. I need to calm him down.

“Jake. Come on. Look at me for a second. Jake?”

“We're not leaving until I talk to him.”

I watch in disbelief as he opens his door. What's happening? What's he doing? I reach over, grab his right arm.

“Jake? It's a snowstorm! Get back in the car. Forget it. Jake. Let's go, seriously.”

“Wait here.”

It's a command, not a suggestion. Without looking back at me, he slams the door shut.

“What? So stupid,” I say to the empty, quiet car. “God.”

I watch him march around the side of the school until he's out of sight. Almost a minute goes by before I even move. What just happened?

I'm confused. I don't understand. I thought I knew Jake better, thought I could at least predict his moods and reactions. This seems entirely out of character. His voice and language. He doesn't usually swear.

I had no idea he had a temper.

I've heard about people with a short fuse, road rage and things like that. Jake just had one of those moments. There was nothing I could say or do to bring him back to his senses. He left all on his own and wasn't going to listen to me.

I don't get why he needed to talk to this guy, or yell at him, or whatever it is he's going to do. Why not just leave it? The guy saw a car out front and wondered who was in it. That's all. I'd be curious, too.

I guess I didn't realize Jake was capable of such emotion. It's actually what I've wanted, I think. He's never shown any sign of it. He's never shown extreme anything. That's why it's so weird. I should have gone with him. Or at least suggested it. That might have made him realize how stupid it was to go storming in there.

I find my jacket on the floor of the backseat and put it on.

I could have tried to relax him more. I could have made a joke or something. It just, it all happened so fast. I look toward the
school, the side where Jake went. Snow still falling. Heavy and windy. We shouldn't even be driving, not when it's like this.

I guess I can understand why it upset him. He did have my shirt off. We were going to have sex. We could have. Jake felt vulnerable. Vulnerability makes us lose our ability to think straight. But I was the one with my shirt off. And I just wanted to leave. Just drive away. That's what we should have done.

Jake saw the guy. If I'd looked up and seen a man staring at us through the school's window when we were like that, in that position, regardless of what the man was doing, maybe I would have lost my temper, too. Especially if this guy was a weird-looking man. I definitely would have been freaked out.

Who is this guy?

A night worker? A janitor, as Jake suggested? That's the only thing that makes sense, but seems outdated somehow.

What a job, night custodian. In there all alone, night after night. And especially this school. Out here in the country, no one around. Maybe he likes it, though, enjoys the solitude. He can clean the school at the pace he wants. He can just do his job. There's no one to tell him how or when to do it. As long as he gets it done. That's the way to work. He's developed a routine over all these years and can do it without even thinking. Even if there were people around, no one would notice the custodian.

It's a job I can appreciate. Not the cleaning and sweeping. But being alone, the solitude. He has to be up all night, but he doesn't have to deal with any of the students, doesn't have to see how careless they are, how messy, sloppy, and dirty. But he knows better
than anyone because he has to deal with the fallout. No one else does.

If I could work alone, I think I'd prefer it. I'm almost certain I would. No small talk, no upcoming plans to discuss. No one leaning over your desk to ask questions. You just do your work. If I could work mostly alone, and was still living alone, things would be easier. Everything would be a little more natural.

Regardless, alone in there all night, especially in such a big school. It is a creepy job. I look back at the school, dark and quiet, like inside the car.

The only book Jake has given me, and he gave it to me about a week after we met, is called
The Loser
. It's by this German author, somebody Bernhard. He's dead now, and I didn't know about the book until Jake gave it to me. Jake wrote “Another sad story” on the inside cover.

The entire book is a single-paragraph monologue. Jake underlined one section. “To exist means nothing other than we despair . . . for we don't exist, we get existed.” I kept thinking about what that meant after I read it. Another sad story.

I hear an abrupt metallic clang from somewhere to my right, from the school. It startles me. I turn toward the sound. Nothing but the swirling snow. No sign of movement or light, beyond the yellow flood. I wait for another sound but it doesn't come.

Was there movement at the window? I can't tell. I definitely heard something. I'm sure I did.

The snow is everywhere. It's hard to see the road we came in on. It's only about fifty yards or so away. It's frigid in here. I instinctively
put my hand up in front of the vent. Jake turned the car off. Took the keys with him. He did it without thinking.

Another loud clang. And another. My heart skips ahead, beating faster, heavier. I turn and look out my window again. I don't want to look anymore. I don't like this. I want to go. I really want to go now. I want this to end. Where is Jake? What's he doing? How long has he been gone? Where are we?

I am someone who spends a lot of time alone. I cherish my solitude. Jake thinks I spend too much time alone. He might be right. But I don't want to be alone now. Not here. Like Jake and I were talking about on the drive, context is everything.

There is a fourth bang. It's the loudest yet. It's definitely coming from inside the school. This is stupid. It's Jake who has to work in the morning, not me. I can sleep in. Why did I agree to this? I shouldn't have come with him. I should have ended things long ago. How did I end up here? I shouldn't have agreed to visit his parents, to visit the house he grew up in. That wasn't fair. But I was curious. I should be home, reading, or sleeping. It wasn't the right time. I should be in bed. I knew Jake and I weren't going to last. I did. I knew from the beginning. Now I'm sitting in this stupid, freezing car. I open my door. More cold rushes in.

“JAAAAAAAKE!”

No answer. How long has it been? Ten minutes? Longer? Shouldn't he be back by now? It happened so fast. He was obsessed with confronting that man. Does that mean talking to him, or yelling or fighting or . . . ? What's the point?

It is almost like Jake is upset about something else, something
I'm not aware of. Maybe I should go in and look for him. I can't wait here in the car forever. He told me to stay here. It was the last thing he said.

I don't care if he's mad. He shouldn't have left me out here all alone. In the dark. In the cold. Thinking of ending things. It's crazy. We're in the fucking middle of fucking nowhere. This is really unfair and shitty. How long am I supposed to sit here?

But what else can I do? I don't have many other options. I have to stay. There's nowhere to walk to from here. It's too cold and dark, anyway. There's no way to call someone, because my stupid phone is dead. I have to wait. But I don't want to just sit here in the cold. It'll just keep getting colder. I have to find him.

I turn around and run my hand along the floor behind the driver's seat. I'm trying to find Jake's wool hat. I saw him put it there when we first got into the car. I feel it. It'll be a bit big for me, but I'll need it. I put it on. It's not too big. It fits better than expected.

I open the car door, swing my legs out, and stand up. I shut the door without slamming it.

I move slowly toward the school. I'm shivering. All I can hear are my feet on the pavement, crunching snow. It's a dark night. Dark. It must always be dark out here. My breath is visible but evaporates around me. The snow is falling on an angle with the wind. For a few seconds, a moment, I'm not sure how long, I look up at the sky, all the stars. It's unusual that I can see so many stars. I would have assumed the storm would bring clouds. Stars. Everywhere.

I get up to the school window and peer in. I visor my eyes with my hands. There are blinds, from floor to ceiling. I can't see anyone through the cracks. It looks like a library or an office. There are bookshelves. I knock on the cold glass. I look back at the car. I'm about thirty feet from it. I knock again, harder this time.

I see the green garbage can. I walk over to it and remove the lid. Jake was right. It's half full of beige salt. I replace the lid. It doesn't fit. It's dented and warped. I can't go sit in that car again. I have to go look for Jake. I walk toward the side of the school where Jake went. I can still make out his steps, barely.

I was expecting to find a play structure out here. But this is a high school; they wouldn't have one. I turn the corner, following Jake's path. I begged him to stay in the car with me. We don't have to be here.

I see two green Dumpsters up ahead, and beyond them, more darkness, fields. Those must be the Dumpsters where he got rid of the cups. Where is he?

“Jake!” I call, walking toward the Dumpsters. I'm feeling uneasy, skittish. I don't love it here. I don't like being here alone. “What are you doing? Jake? JAAAKE?”