Chapter 12: Crossroads
by Emmet
I used the chance to remind her of the meeting we had that afternoon with Mrs. Gonzales, had been hoping to use that to transition into a small discussion of what happened, but Katie lingered, and Grace perfunctorily agreed to meet after eighth period.
Her plea for a Gay/Straight Alliance dance was well presented and convincing; Mrs. Gonzales was obviously impressed. But Grace breezed out of that classroom quickly afterward, ignoring my call, “Grace,” as she disappeared down the hall, leaving me standing, alone.
I don’t think I fully appreciated, until then, the role Grace had come to play in my life. Would she no longer participate in class, would she no longer want to discuss her writing with me? I couldn’t let matters hang as they were, with implications and misunderstandings and cloudy impressions. But what could I do? Call her up? Tell her to stay after school?
While I was putting papers together back in my classroom, getting ready to leave, Mrs. Gonzales stopped by. “August!” she said. “I’m glad you’re still here. You can let the Gay/Straight Alliance know the dance has received a green light. Grace Manning really gave quite a presentation, and the board approved the funds.”
I was pleased, glad for gay students, glad the school was doing the right thing. I wondered, though, if Grace would even care at this point. It had become obvious to me that she was active in this group not for strong beliefs in the necessity of making high-school life easier for gay students, but for being closer to me. Working with me, a role I was happy to have her play.
As I got into my car, I saw Grace heading out of the parking lot by the buses. Without thinking, I drove to where she was and pulled up beside her. She looked at me through the windshield, her eyes forlorn but resigned. She got in the car. We rode silently. I knew I needed to initiate the conversation, but could not think how until I had pulled up in front of her house.
We both sat there. She made no effort to get out of the car. I cleared my throat and began, “Thank you for doing such a great job today. You were very persuasive.”
Staring straight ahead, she muttered, “I don't even know what I said.”
Still trying to, I don’t know, flatter her, extend an olive branch, beat around the bush? I continued, “Well, trust me. Thanks to you the Gay/Straight Alliance will get the funding to have that dance.”
Grace, on the other hand, went for honesty. She turned and looked at me directly. “I don’t care about the stupid dance. I don’t care about the Gay/Straight Alliance.”
Now I looked away, looked down, said softly, “I know you don’t.”
I struggled with what to say next when Grace said, her voice fading to a whisper, her eyes turned away,” What else do you know?”
I took a breath and faced her, words unplanned came tumbling out, “I know you took my book.” Her face froze. “It was stupid of me not to just let you borrow it. The thing is, Grace, we’re not friends.”
Her eyes full, shining, she said, bravely, “I know that.”
“I mean, you can’t just drop by my house like that.”
She nodded, as if I were setting rules to a game she wanted to play, and if she would agree willingly, we could keep playing, “I know,” she promised.
And then all I wanted came out as what could not be between us. “If circumstances were different, I'd like nothing more than to be your friend. I’d want you to drop by my house. I’d lend you my book of poems I wrote when I was in my twenties which I'm now embarrassed by. I’d want you to call me August and not Mr. Dimitri and we would sit and talk for hours, but we can’t do that. We. Can't. Be. Friends.” There I’d said what needed to be said, hadn’t I?
Her voice breaking, eyes starting to spill, she wiped them with her fingers and said, pleadingly, “I know, I know. Just stop saying it. Please.” I nodded, said no more. Still, she sat in the car, neither of us made a move for her to get out. And then she said, “So, that was your girlfriend last night?”
I looked at her, annoyed, emphasized, “And you shouldn’t be asking me questions like that!”
Her voice broke, her breath caught, and she turned away fully, so I wouldn’t see her crying. I could have left things that way, let her believe Chris was my girlfriend. It would mean no more connection, likely no more rapport – though we had gone beyond simple classroom rapport, hadn’t we? But if I let her believe what she thought now, nothing more that shouldn’t happen between us would happen. That would be it. But her pain was palpable, and the need for honesty with Grace of all people was essential to me, even if there was selfishness involved. But how to explain exactly what Chris was, or had been to me? In a soft voice, I said, “She was my girlfriend, a long time ago…” When? Explain that we lived together until four years ago, children, marriage, not, the odd, rather adult “arrangement” we had until her engagement.... For now, I kept it simple; if there ever was a later, I could tell her the whole story. I continued, “…in college. Now we’re just... friends.” I smiled at the use of that word, the word I had just denied Grace.
And now she looked at me, tears gone, sniffed, and said, “Oh,” looking me directly in the eyes.
And now I looked back, and could not look away, gazing at her face, her lips, her soft lips, her dark eyes, deep eyes, lonely, seeking, beautiful eyes.… And now Grace’s eyes flickered to my lips, which felt suddenly full and tingling, back to my eyes again, and a kiss suddenly seemed much more important than anything I had said or was going to say, would say so much more, so precisely. Eyes still locked with hers, instead I said, “You’d better get out of the car now.”
Not moving her head, not shifting her gaze, barely moving her lips, Grace said, “Why?”