Chapter 13: Conversations
by Emmet
The connection between us was not ambiguous, anymore. It was there. But I had a class full of other students to teach, and I had to teach. I liked to teach. How would Grace be tomorrow? Would I fluster away and say stupid things, as I had done in our past few encounters? Why was I feeling like the one with the adolescent crush here? So much was at stake for me; I don’t think Grace really had a sense of it. She was at the “love conquers all doesn’t it” stage in her life. Truth, truth and feelings were all that mattered. I, on the other hand, was at the “in reality love cannot conquer all” stage of my life. Truth was difficult to fathom, to discern, amidst the certainty of law, job, rent, experience, adulthood.
And tomorrow was Friday, I reflected as I drove home. Writing conference day. How would that be? Would it even happen? I pulled into my driveway, went into the kitchen. There was a message on my machine, and I felt my heart beat fast. Grace? Would she have called me? But what would she say? What was there to say without entering dangerous places? Already we had. I pressed the play button, both hoping and fearing to hear Grace’s voice.
The message was from Chris. “Hey, Gus. Sorry about last night. I had no idea. She was totally different when we talked on the phone. August, I have to talk to you. Call me as soon as you get this message.”
Did I want to talk to Chris right now? It would get my mind off what just happened. Yet part of me wanted to relive the moment, that moment when Grace said, “Why?” and my world turned upside down, the longest, most tortuous, most wonderful ten seconds of my life. I closed my eyes, a last indulgence, a vision where we were parked in a place with no one else, where no necessary interruption came, because interruption was not necessary, where lips and souls met, embraced, loved without impunity.
I opened my eyes, reached for the phone. Chris picked up on the first ring. “Bronson! Hello!” she said in a loud, falsely cheerful voice.
“What’s up, Chris?”
“Oh fine, fine.”
“You can’t talk at the moment.”
“Got that right. Hold on – Jazmynne? This is a client, private call. I’m going to take it in my office.” I waited while I heard her walk into another room, shut a door. “August! Thanks goodness! I don’t know what to do.”
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s Jazmynne. She doesn’t like me.”
“Chris, you’re not marrying Jazmynne. Everyone goes through relative troubles when they get married.”
“We didn’t. Your sisters loved me. Your parents loved me.”
“We didn’t get married, remember?”
“I know, I know. Okay. But, I mean, I think she wants to sabotage the wedding. In front of Barry she’s fine – well, no worse than last night. But she does all these passive aggressive things…”
She continued, giving me examples of incidents that had happened in the two days since she had met Jazmynne. I zoned out, happy to hear her voice, but not really interested in hearing her about her predicament, when I had mine to think about. Although we had managed to remain friends, I found paying attention was difficult, maybe because our breakup had involved the issue of marriage. Even though I knew now I did not want to be married to Chris, being the soundboard for her trials and tribulations regarding planning her wedding was not a role I wanted to play.
The role I wanted to play was the role I couldn’t play. To be or not to be. With Grace. But I thought, I could accept where we are, be her teacher, mentor, Gay/Straight Alliance advisor, and enjoy her company to the extent of my ability in those roles. My mind kept returning to the moment, that eternal moment in the car, when time seemed suspended, when the world seemed far away, when nothing stood between our eyes, and I looked at her with full honesty, and she saw my look, she met my look, she returned my look. My lips felt warm again at the memory, and I pushed them together to feel a pressure, imagining it was her. Letting that go…
“… you know what I mean? August? You there still, August?”
I snapped back to the phone, to the moment, and realized I could not listen to any more of Chris’s concerns about her wedding. “I’m here still, Chris,” I began.
“So what do you think?”
“Chris, I think I am not your best girlfriend.”
“What?”
“Chris, you know I love you dearly. But I used to be in love with you. Even though it was a long time ago. And I am happy to listen to your work woes and employee woes and political woes and even triumphs. But there’s a line somewhere. And marriage planning difficulties – that’s the line. No can do. Talk about it with Stacy. Or Margie even. Or your cousin. Just keep me out of the loop.”
“Whoa,” she said, after a moment’s silence. “I guess this has been brewing.”
“I guess so.”
“Okay then. Well, I guess that’s all I have to say now.”
“Chris, I still want to come to the wedding.”
“I know. But I’ll ask someone else to be my maid of honor.” At least she laughed, so I did as well. We both said goodbye then, and hung up.