The Nights Were Young (2 page)

             
‘Cause I was the only blonde
,’ Marie thought.

              “So don’t worry,” James said. “You don’t have act different to keep being with me. You’re mine.”

              She laughed softly. “James, that’s not at all what I was doing.”

He studied her, but it appeared he’d given up trying to understand the conversation.

              “I’m going to take a shower,” he said. He kissed her on the cheek. “You’re going to look beautiful once you get dressed.”

Then he left her.

              Marie stood still. She noticed again, as she had countless times in their relationship, that James was about as good at listening as he was speaking sweetly: he was awful at both. After a few moments, she walked into the living room and looked around. She heard the water running from their bathroom. Staring towards the window, she could not help but think back on the man she thought of often.

She was eighteen once, sitting on her bathroom counter in her parent’s house. He was eighteen, kissing her madly and driving his hands over her. Sighing, she drifted back to reality, the reality where she was alone in James’s living room.

              Marie’s cellphone rang. She walked into the kitchen where her phone rang on the counter, and in the interments of its song and silence Marie felt a strangeness looming in the atmosphere. 

              She answered. “Hello?”

              “Hi, is this Marie Wrangler?” a woman asked.

              “Not Wrangler for much longer, but yes, that’s me.”

              “Marie – it’s Kate.”

              “Kate?”

              Kate? What Kate? She didn’t know a Kate. She didn’t know anyone these days… but, suddenly the name sparked in her memory, and she could imagine a face in front of her.  The face of:

“Kate Sanders?”

              “Yes,” Kate said.

              Marie’s breaths were shallow; her eyes wide and staring forward. It was a ghost on the other end of the line… at least, a ghost to her.

“Wow,” Marie said softly, “it’s uh – it’s been a while.

              “Yes it has.”

              “How… how are you? Damn, it’s been… seven years.”

              “I know, I know. It’s been a long time.” Kate paused, and Marie could hear her heavy, short breaths. “Marie – I never, ever wanted to call you like this.”

“What do you mean? I’m not mad. It’s good to hear from you. How are you?” Marie’s nerves changed quickly to excitement.              

“I mean, I wish I had a better reason for calling.” Kate paused. “Look, Marie, I have some bad news.”

              Marie became quiet. She looked around the room, and she noticed the silence of it, the stillness of things in that museum of a home.

“What happened?” Marie asked.

              “It’s… it’s about Travis, Marie,” Kate said, her voice shaky.

              Everything froze, and the sound of his name made her body shake and her heart beat so strong she felt her throat and head pulse. She stood still, not breathing -- she glanced toward the bedroom, making sure she heard the water was still running in the shower, and then she placed both hands shakily on her phone and whispered. “What happened?”

              “Marie, I… I don’t know how to say this.”

              Marie trembled. “What happened, Kate?”

              “Marie, I’m so sorry.”

              “Where is he?” Marie asked quickly.

              “Marie --”

              “Where is he?” she cried.

              Silence.

“He died, honey,” Kate said. “He died. I’m so --”

              Marie dropped the phone. It crashed on the floor with such force that the battery fell out, and Kate’s voice was gone. 

              That silence, that stillness. It did not move slowly; it crashed into her, knocking her against the wall. What was set in motion was unstoppable; a force powered by seven years of never hearing his name, Travis’s name, and now hearing it in the same sentence that told her his life was over. It was set in motion, dragging her along, heading forward into the oncoming night.  

II

Seven years ago, the Wrangler family, Marie and her parents, moved to the small, country town of Crossfalls.

Marie was eighteen. She sat in the backseat of her mother’s Suburban next to a stack of boxes filled with the family’s things, and her mother was in the passenger seat. Their fourteen hour journey was finally nearing its end. Through the window she saw it was a nice town, even quaint. There were strip malls and local franchise restaurants that were no more in home in the area than the Wranglers were, though when the family passed through the town square, Marie saw a place that seemed frozen in time. Brick buildings and statues of town heroes stood tall and still.  She thought they must have been from the previous century, and time had worn down their pride. The parts of these buildings that were metal were rusted, and the feet of the statues were gripped in vines that crept up through cracks in the sidewalks. It was obvious to Marie; this part of Crossfalls was the less cared for, the part of the town that its people could let fade into the past. 

“Some of these places have been here since the wild west days,” Marie’s father said as they drove through it.

“Cool,” Marie responded apathetically.

Business areas of the town were located around the main attraction of Crossfalls, Lake Crossfalls. Marie gazed through her window and over the waves of it as her father drove them across a long bridge. It was the main bridge that ran across the lake and connected the business district with Crossfalls suburbia. Behind them were the shopping areas and the square; in front was suburbia and, somewhere in the vastness of those cookie-cutter neighborhoods, Marie’s new home. She couldn’t help but notice, across the lake, seemingly outcast from the rest of the town, an area of run-down buildings and rusted grain silos.

“What is that?” Marie asked.

Her father glanced across the lake. “What is what?”

“Those buildings over there.”

“That’s an old wheat mill. This used to be a farming town.”

“What happened to it?”

“Bad drought back in the 60’s. A lot of farmers lost their homes and left. Jay said the town was dirt poor until they built the lake, which brought in people from the cities. Apparently, now that’s the old side of Crossfalls.”

“Who’s Jay?” Marie’s mother asked.

“A guy I’m working with. I’ve told you about him,” her father said.

“Oh.”

It didn’t surprise Marie that her mother hadn’t remembered what her father said. It was rare that they ever genuinely listened to one another.

“Do people live there, in the old Crossfalls?” Marie asked.

“I think so, but it’s nothing special – just a bunch of trailer parks and white trash. That’s what they say at work, anyway,” her father said, shrugging his shoulders.

Her father’s cellphone rang. By reflex, he snatched it up out of the cup holder and answered. “This is Dan.”

And like it was often, her father was lost from any conversation with Marie and her mother to someone at the office.

Marie was quiet.

Her mother turned around to her and smiled. “Don’t worry, sweetie. We’re not going to live there.”

They carried onward, into the wealthier neighborhoods of the “right” side of town, the new Crossfalls. Most of the houses were two or three stories. They were beautiful, a celebration of social status for the people that lived in them. Marie could not help but notice the yards – they were lush and green, neatly kept, with a seemingly endless string of flower bushes. For a few minutes she scanned the flowers to see if any held her favorite, lilies. Only a few of them did; it mostly roses and daisies.

Marie rolled down her window and held her hand out under the bright sunlight. The air was cool, and it was easy to feel the changes of autumn sauntering forward into the atmosphere.

“Marie, roll up your window please,” her mother ordered.

“I just want some air,” Marie said. “It smells like too much leather in here.”

“That’s what the AC is for, and get over the smell – it’s a new car, it will go away.” Marie’s mother pressed the button on her armrest that rolled up Marie’s window before she could argue further.

Minutes dragged quietly onward, but they finally arrived at the new house.

Her parents unpacked, and though Marie knew she should have been helping, she was immediately distracted by her reflection in the car window. She groaned when she examined her chubby stomach and hips, a trait that was amplified in the curved metal of the door. Her dirty blonde hair was in a boring pony tail, and whatever beauty was in her blue eyes was hidden by her thick-framed glasses.

              “We’ll get unpacked quicker if you help, Marie,” her father said. He reached into the backseat and picked up a box.

              “Sorry.” She grabbed the smallest box in the stack and turned around to take it in, but stopped to take another look at the house.

It was a two story home made out of red bricks. The drive-way made a circle up onto the hill on which it stood, towering like a fortress, and in the center of the drive, fifteen feet from the front door, was a large rose bush, still no lilies. Her father’s cars were parked around it, his black Mercedes and white Bentley. Marie’s car, which her parents bought for her, was already in the garage, a grey Mustang. The house was on the edge of Lake Crossfalls; from a balcony on the second floor, one could perfectly look out over the water. It was daunting, and it made her nervous. She wasn’t sure if she belonged there, but she had no choice. Marie took a deep breath and forced herself to walk forward.

              The inside was already well furnished; the movers her father hired had done much of the work. The Wranglers’ leather couch sat in the living room, their beds were moved in, and Marie saw her mother hanging up some family photos. Her mother was a tall, skinny, pretty woman in her late forties, and Marie couldn’t help but notice how much more at home she was in their new house than Marie was. Her cashmere sweater, her jewelry, it all seemed to match perfectly with the French doors and trimmed borders along the walls.

Her mother was modest, though whether or not it was genuine was debatable. Marie had once walked past her while wearing short shorts; the woman told Marie she was not a slut and would never leave her bedroom if she wore them again. But her mother came from a family with such expectations. Her mother’s mother had been the same, and that woman’s mother had taught her that way, too. So it seemed that was the family’s traditional behavior – overbearing mothers with great expectations, and distant fathers.

Marie walked by her mother carrying the box.

              “What’s in that one?” her mother asked.

              “It’s just some of my stuff.”

              Marie walked up the carpet-covered staircase, past the sitting area overlooking the first floor, and then to her room at the corner of the house on the second floor.

              Marie did what she could with the room, fighting with her mother mostly on the colors. There were deep red curtains, violet bed sheets, and a black lamp on the nightstand. Her mother hated black, but Marie liked dark colors. Her books were on her desk, her clothes already neatly hung in the closet. She put the box down on her bed and looked through it, some CD’s and other things that her mother had insisted she throw out. Her parents had bought her an iPod, and they argued that her old things, like her CD player, were trash.

              Bored, she paced around the room. This was her new home, though it would be a short-lived one.

             
‘It’s going to be a long year,’
she thought
.
It was her senior year, her last year before moving out, going to a university, and, in her wildest hopes and dreams, becoming someone else, someone more adventurous, or someone prettier like the older girls she would see on the television. Just someone… different, different than the boring, ugly girl she saw all the time in her reflections. 

She ran her fingers over a small pile of college brochures on her desk, all from out of state. None of them was more appealing than the others, just pictures of another step in her life, one that was not optional. She would leave for a university at the end of the year; there was no doubt of it because it was her parents’ will, and their will was unbreakable. 

              There was a window in the corner of the room, and through it Marie looked out onto the lake. Beyond the real lake was another “lake,” at least to Marie, a lake of other two-story and three-story homes that were part of the neighborhood. Beyond them, she could see the broken buildings and vague forms of trailers and small homes grouped together. Then, beyond them was nothing that she could see clearly, -- just the horizon and the setting sun.

              “Knock, knock,” her mother said. She entered the room with another box. “Here’s your old band stuff.”

              “You can just throw it in the closet,” Marie said. She sat on the edge of the bed.

              “You know,” her mother said, putting the box in the closet, “I think you really should try and join the band here. They won third place at a contest last year.”

              “I don’t care about contests, Mom. I’m only here for a year anyway. There’s really no point.”

              “Well, okay. Huh, you brought this thing? I thought we sold it.” She picked up Marie’s guitar from the corner of the closet.

              “Hey, don’t touch that!” Marie grabbed it from her. “Of course I didn’t sell it.”

              “I don’t see why not. I never see you play it.”

              “I do – sometimes.” Marie delicately placed the guitar against her bed.

              Her mother went to the window and looked out. “It’s such a gorgeous view.” she said, waiting to see if Marie would agree, but Marie did not say anything. “They need to tear down those old buildings out there. They almost ruin it.”

“Mom, people live over there.”

“Well, then they should move.” She said it so nonchalantly, like it was her right to demand a good view at the expense of someone’s home. She looked away from the window and at Marie. “Are you nervous?”

              “Not really,” Marie answered, lying.

              “It’s okay if you are, honey. Going to a new school is hard for anyone.”

              “Especially their last year,” Marie said.

              “I know. I know. I feel terrible about uprooting you like that. But you know this meant so much for your father’s career. It was now or never.”

              Marie did not care about her father’s career. They were fine where they were, but the promotion meant more money, and a new car, and a bigger house – this house.

              “I know,” Marie said. “I understand.”

              “We moved during my junior year in high school, you know,” her mother said. “It wasn’t easy of course, but I made friends and the neighborhood was definitely an upgrade. You’ll be fine. Plus, this place is gorgeous.”

Her mother patted Marie’s knee. “Just keep those grades up and you’ll get into any college you want.”

Her mother walked to the door. “Who knows,” she said before leaving the room, “maybe you’ll meet a nice boy here.”