Love and Other Things I'm Bad At, page 16
Mary Jo went to help with some chore, so I went inside and sat down next to Mr. Johannsen at the kitchen table. Brother who refuses to speak came in, nodded awkwardly at me, grabbed a sandwich and ran out of the kitchen.
I was trying to be polite, so I asked Mr. Johannsen about what it’s like to have his own business and whether he knew about that bovine hormone.
He started telling me all about how factory farms are taking over; how thousands of family farms have closed or gone out of business in the last 30 years. He told me about how hard it is to make a living. (Man was just looking for an opening, apparently.) He told me about a famous historical milk strike, where farmers dumped out all their milk to protest the low prices, and how they were planning another one soon. Didn’t have the heart to tell him that I’ve been on my own milk strike for years. I started feeling really guilty. Maybe people like me are the reason family farms are going under. I had him pour me 2 glasses of fresh whole milk and drank them right away.
Now Mr. Johannsen thinks I am a “great gal,” and Ed is even more in love with me because I hit it off with his dad.
I, however, have stomach cramps.
11/26
Got back to campus tonight. I can’t believe it. Grant was here while I was gone. He drove the whole way, hung out for 2 days waiting for me, and then left.
There are 7 increasingly despondent messages from Grant on the answering machine, and he left this very very sweet letter for me:
Dear Courtney,
I don’t know where you are, and it’s killing me. How can you not be here? I risked speeding tickets, I risked getting stuck in snow drifts, and I risked sleeping in the hallway of this dorm of yours that apparently has no heat.
[Good thing Grant keeps that sleeping bag in the car, the one with a tiger print on the inside that I’m always making fun of because he’s had it since 4th grade? Or 6th grade, as he claims.]
This campus is deserted and the whole town is sort of shut down. I looked for you at Bagle Finagle, but it was closed. Ended up having a turkey dinner at some place called Brat Wurstenburger, which I think you told me about once. The very nice people there all thought I was left on campus by myself for Thanksgiving and insisted on buying me dinner.
This campus (not including unheated Rankin Hall), despite 3-foot-high snowbanks, is pretty nice, actually—small, but old, nice brick buildings, lots of history, lots of trees. But with you not being here the place seems like a dump. Where are you? I finally tracked down your mom and Bryan in Nebraska. She said you went to a friend’s at the last minute, but she couldn’t remember which friend’s. I didn’t know if that was true, or if she was just mad at me, which is entirely possible. But you’re obviously not here, and I’ve already filled up the memo board on your door, not to mention your answering machine tape, so . . .
So I’m left here sitting in the freezing cold hallway, with my Discman on, listening to the CD you made me, wondering: where are you? Why aren’t you here? I missed you like crazy before. Now that I’m here, where you usually are—where you live and sleep every single day—I miss you even more. I’ve got 100 things to say to you. I want to make things right between us. I love you.
And I guess I have to leave today if I want to get back to CSU for classes Monday, which I have to do. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I missed you. It would have been great. Next time I’ll call first, and next time you’d better be here. Please call me as soon as you’re back so I know you’re okay.
Love,
Grant
Read letter and collapsed on bed, woozy from emotion. Mrs. Johannsen ran to get me a cold washcloth from the bathroom, and Mary Jo fanned me with her bio textbook. “I’m okay!” I said. “Really.” It’s just that I forgot how great Grant could be. I’d been trying to forget. And remembering all of a sudden was a complete shock.
Mary Jo keeps pacing around the room, telling me I’m crazy if I don’t call Grant this second, if I don’t get back together with Grant immediately. Look at all he did, read that letter again, listen to all those sweet messages!
“Do you have any idea how much that means? What he did? Driving out here when he only has a four-day break, and I’ll bet he had to take time off from work, and do you have any idea how much homework someone in his program would have over Thanksgiving break? And he risked it all to come see you, and then sat here in town and worried about you for two days straight and—”
“Okay, okay! I’ll call him,” I said. “Tomorrow.”
Can’t sleep. Very excited about the Grant letter. Very, very, very excited.
11/27
7:30 A.M. Just called Grant. Woke him and roommate Matt up. Told him how sorry I was that I left town without telling him where I was, told him about my trip with Mary Jo and what a good time I had. Told him I loved his letter. He sounded groggy but happy. Still tired from the drive.
All I kept telling myself while he talked was “Grant doesn’t know how to lie.” So he must be telling the truth when he says nothing really happened that night except a really dumb kiss. But no matter how many times he says it, I still have my doubts. And it’s like, how am I supposed to trust them when they are living within an hour of each other, and I’m on the other side of Nebraska, and then some? But then Grant drove out here. So that means something. Maybe it means that he is extremely guilty. But no. Just looked at letter again. Seems to be an act of love.
Oh crap. Have to run—late for work now, and I’m still on probation.
10:45 P.M. When I got to work, Jennifer was standing by the door waiting for me. “Remember what I said? One more strike and you’re out?”
“So how was your Thanksgiving?” I asked as I took off my coat, scarf, hat.
“Oh, uh, fine,” she said.
Totally threw her off by being exceedingly polite. Trying to act like Mary Jo and her mom. I gave her a big smile, hugged Marcus, hugged Ben, put on my apron and immediately got to work.
“Three strikes?” Marcus said under his breath as we restocked cheese bins. “What does she think this is? Jail?”
“Isn’t it?” I said, laughing.
“No, this is one of those hospitals for the criminally insane,” Ben said.
Then funniest thing to date happened. Thyme came in. But I didn’t even know it was her. She was waiting in line with her sister, both wearing lots of makeup, leather coats, skirts, leather boots, leather everywhere. But I honestly didn’t recognize her until Ben said, “So Thyme. How was Chicago—uh, I mean Sheboygan?”
“Hello, Benjamin,” she said. “Hello, Courtney. Mark.” No emotion registering on her face. She had lipstick on. She had a purse dangling from gold chain with a cell phone hanging off it. Disgusting.
“Thyme?” I said. “Oh my God, how are you?”
More like: oh my God, WHO are you?
“Morgan, are you getting anything to drink besides a triple cap?” Her sister was down by the cash register, flashing a fresh 20, or maybe it was a 50. Tricia was making coffee drinks and chatting about the latest weather front with her.
“Would you grab an OJ for me, Thornton?” Thyme replied.
I was standing there thinking: Morgan? Thornton? What the hell? Thyme’s ordering coffee drinks and a bagel with cinnamon cream cheese? I was unable to even speak.
“Did you guys hit the Anne Klein outlet yesterday?” Marcus asked as he prepared her bagel. “Or wait, maybe you have more of an Ann Taylor look going. Well, some Ann anyway.”
“I was thinking Donna,” Ben said as he looked at Thyme with this expression of complete disbelief.
“DKNY?” I said.
“More like DKWI,” Ben said. I was starting to laugh.
“Or how about DWI,” Marcus said. “Dressing while impaired.”
Thyme narrowed her eyes at us. “Nice aprons.”
Ooh! Cruel!
“Morgan. Your triple cap is getting cold,” her sister said from a table by the window.
“Coming, Thornton! Talk to you guys later!” Thyme called over her shoulder.
Marcus, Ben, and I left standing there, stunned. Even Tricia came over and joined us.
“I told you she was a complete phony,” Ben muttered.
“Does this mean she’s going to shave now?” Tricia asked. “Because I really wish she would.”
Then Jennifer came out, caught us all “clumping,” and reminded us of company policy: only the batter is allowed to clump at Bagle Finagle!
I’ve got like 17 strikes now, but she is still allowing me to play.
Oh joy.
11/28
I heard Thyme saying good-bye to her sister this morning, so I immediately went across the hall to get the scoop. “So Thornton’s gone, now. You can go back to being yourself,” I said.
No response.
“Did your parents make you act like the way they wanted you to?” I went on. “Because I know how hard that can be.”
Thyme just shrugged and gave me a bright smile. “This is me, Courtney. I don’t know what you’re trying to say.”
I just stared at her long enough so that she did. “You used to lecture me about not staying true to ‘the cause,’” I said. “You got mad at me for serving cream cheese.”
“I was confused,” Thyme said. “Anyway, I don’t know who you’re trying to be, but I’m embracing my roots. Did you see my new Honda yet?” Okay, that’s not exactly what she said, but that was the gist of it. Apparently she had a breakthrough with her parents and has now decided to accept who she is, blah blah blah. I think it’s more a case of: parents threatening to cut her off unless she toed their line. It’s very disgusting. Instead of Zen Buddhist quotes, she now sounds like she’s spouting lines from mugs with smiley faces. What happened to former best friend here? It’s like she joined a cult. The cult of Economic Inevitability. I knew her family donated that econ building and that they never lost her money. Or else why did she never have to work, was able to spend so freely, etc.? Can’t wait to discuss this with Annemarie, but she took an extra week of break to check out LA club scene. She picked a good week to be gone. My classes are impossible all of a sudden. Professors just realized that semester ends in 3 weeks and have shifted into some higher gear without warning. Papers due left and right, must read an entire book tonight.
Should have worked ahead like Mary Jo on Thanksgiving break. But was too busy watching TV with Ed, Eric, Dan, Peter, Jim . . . crap, still can’t remember 6th name. Man Who Does Not Speak. Either Karsten or Horst or Soren or . . . Kierkegaard.
11/29
Saw Wittenauer tonight for the first time since bowling trip. Very awkward at first. He pulled me aside and said he couldn’t stop thinking about one thing during break, it almost ruined his entire vacation back home in Iowa. I thought from the way he was looking at me, and the way he’d asked me out and I’d turned him down, he meant me. That he couldn’t stop thinking about me. Got very uncomfortable and pretended that an alum was calling me back, grabbed the phone, etc.
But then he said, “I couldn’t stop thinking about how I need to tell Dean Sobransky the truth. About how I need to out myself.”
Nearly dropped my stack of index cards. Wittenauer is gay? I was thinking. I rejected him and now he is rejecting the female species? Or maybe he was never asking me out, and stupid me assumed, which was a very dumb assumption. “Well, yeah, there comes a time in a person’s life, you know. Like my sister, Alison, she didn’t come out of the closet until last year—”
Wittenauer rolled his eyes. “I was talking about coming out of the costume. I feel really guilty for hiding behind Corny. I feel like I’m being dishonest to Dean Sobransky, who deep down is a pretty good guy, by not telling him I’m behind the whole school change concept, plus I’m letting you take the flak, which isn’t fair to you—”
Was trying to talk him down from the ledge, tell him not to stress so much, when Dean S. came into the offices. First he invited us all to an end-of-semester party at his house next Sunday night, the 10th, to thank us for all our hard work. Then he encouraged us all to make an extra push because people get more generous during the holiday season.
“Why don’t you have us stand downtown in Santa suits, accepting quarters in a can?” I asked.
“Courtney, please,” Dean S. said. “Do try to take this a little more seriously. Our future is at stake here. Alumni giving is down thirty-nine percent from last year.” He pointed to the giant ear of corn on the wall that measures our fund drive. “The kernels should go up to here,” he said, illustrating by pointing with a pool cue he was mysteriously carrying around. “They’re way down here. What we have here is an undergrown ear of corn.”
“Maybe it was genetically engineered,” I suggested.
Everyone laughed—except Dean S. “This is a very serious matter. We need to up our endowment. Tell the alumni you reach that our endowment is slipping,” Dean S. said.
“You want me to say that we’re not well endowed?” Rachel asked. “You’re kidding, right?” He wasn’t.
Then he cornered me and said he hoped I had a nice Thanksgiving. And wasn’t it nice that the seasons had changed, and football was over, and so that meant of course that my little protest group had ended for the season as well?
“But there’s basketball teams, right? And hockey is really big here,” I said. “Isn’t it? Men’s and women’s teams? And then there’s swimming—”
“Courtney! We’re not changing the name of the college!” Dean S. cried, banging the pool cue against a file cabinet.
The whole time, Wittenauer staring at us, biting his nails, racked by guilt, not helping.
“We don’t want you to change the name of the college,” I said.
Dean S. looked at me as if I had just kissed him and offered to bear his children. Ugh. “You don’t? Oh, well, then what do you want?” Smiled at me and looked very greedy all of a sudden, sort of like the Grinch.
Suddenly I realized I had no idea. Have not been spending any time on this lately, and lost my train of thought. “We, uh, want, um, our voices to be heard,” I said.
“That can be arranged. I suppose,” Dean S. said.
“When?” I asked.
“Let me get back to you on that.” Sounded very much like he did not mean that at all.
Later on, Wittenauer made me promise I will go to the Badicals meeting this Sunday and asked me to bring anyone I can round up—Annemarie of course, and even Thyme. Told him that Thyme had been transformed/ morphed into Morgan, that she is wearing makeup over neck tattoo and getting French manicures and enrolling in business classes for next semester. I told him that when I asked her what’s going on with her, how she can just turn her back on her entire personality, she said, “I realized I needed to be in the system to fight the system.”
“How establishment is that? What happened to her?” I asked Wittenauer.
Thought he would laugh, but he didn’t. “She’s just like everyone else,” he said bitterly. “You’re really naïve if you think anyone actually cares about changing this place, or the world, or anything.”
Whoa. Might go slip my Mental Health Resources brochure under Wittenauer’s door. Only I can’t remember where he lives exactly.
Told him not to stress out so much, that obviously there are people who care. So we’re a little aimless right now, but we’ll pull it together.
Feel like everyone around me is cracking under the pressure of coming exams and massive amounts of work. Mary Jo and Joe are not speaking due to some notes-borrowing misunderstanding. Tricia snapping at a customer for taking too many pennies from the “Take a Penny!” cup. Marcus showing up at work in ratty T-shirt; Ben studying at every spare moment and getting all the orders wrong.
Good thing I cracked 2 weeks before now and am able to be there for people. Mostly this means they yell at me.
11/30
I have not seen the sun for days. Keep expecting to see polar bears on my way to class. Instead, layers and layers of fleece pass by. Largest coats I have ever seen. Boots also.
I don’t understand how people ended up settling here, how they survived, unless this is warmer than Scandinavia? Or do they have different skin from me, like animals who have evolved, adapted? I have definitely not adapted.
Dear Mom,
In case you are wondering what I might like for Christmas and if you can take a break from chat room and have time to shop online, I could really use a new winter coat. Something large and thick and preferably not bright yellow or orange.
In all seriousness, I hope things are going well, and I can’t wait to see you in a couple of weeks.
Love,
Courtney
Hi Courtney!
I was online when you wrote—not in a chat room, don’t worry. It’s so good to hear from you! I can’t wait to see you at Christmastime. I hope we can spend lots of time together. How are things with Grant? Did you settle things?
Mom,
Everything with Grant is okay. I’m really too busy here right now to even worry about that.
Yeah. Right.
Grant emailed me from computer lab tonight, where he and Melinda are working on writing some big report. Tried to tell myself this was no big deal, Mary Jo has a lab partner, too. Joe. And they sleep together, so, you know, what am I worried about???
12/1
Got Christmas card from Mary Jo’s family today. Reminds me I still haven’t sent thank-you note, and am in possession of world’s worst manners.
December 1st. Christmas is coming up way too fast, like some high-speed bullet train. Usually it’s the fallen-behind-on-shopping that gets to me. This year it’s the . . . what is going to happen when I get home? Things with Grant seem okay, but we are not talking as often and I have flashes of jealousy when we do. Like for instance why does he need a lab partner? Melinda should partner up with someone else. Grant can do the work on his own, he’s smart enough.
