“I don’t want to fight!” I said, doing my best not to shout but knowing I’d failed. I turned away, trying to keep my anger in check, but when I spoke again, I could hear the ominous undercurrent in my voice. “I just want things to be like they were. Like last summer.”
“What about last summer?”
I hated this. I didn’t want to tell her that I no longer felt important. What I wanted was akin to asking someone to love you, and that never worked. Instead, I tried to dance around the subject.
“Last summer, it just felt like we had more time together.”
“No, we didn’t,” she countered. “I worked on houses all day long. Remember?”
She was right, of course. At least partially. I tried again. “I’m not saying it makes much sense, but it seems like we had more time to talk last year.”
“And that’s what’s bothering you? That I’m busy? That I have a life? What do you want me to do? Ditch my classes all week? Call in sick when I have to teach? Skip my homework?”
“No . . .”
“Then what do you want?”
“I don’t know.”
“But you’re willing to humiliate me in front of my friends?”
“I didn’t humiliate you,” I protested.
“No? Then why did Tricia pull me aside today? Why did she feel the need to tell me that we had nothing in common and that I could do a lot better?”
That stung, but I’m not sure she realized how it came across. Anger sometimes makes that impossible, as I was well aware.
“I just wanted to be alone with you last night. That’s all I’m trying to say.”
My words had no effect on her.
“Then why didn’t you tell me that?” she demanded instead. “Say something like ‘Would it be okay if we do something else? I’m not really in the mood to hang out with people.’ That’s all you would have had to say. I’m not a mind reader, John.”
I opened my mouth to answer but said nothing. Instead, I turned away and walked to the other side of the room. I stared out the patio door, not angered so much by what she’d said, just . . . sad. It struck me that I had somehow lost her, and I didn’t know whether it was because I’d been making too much of nothing or because I understood all too well what was really happening between us.
I didn’t want to talk about it anymore. I was never good at talking, and I realized that what I really wanted was for her to cross the room and put her arms around me, to say that she understood what was really bothering me and that I had nothing to worry about.
But none of those things happened. Instead I spoke to the window, feeling strangely alone. “You’re right,” I said. “I should have told you. And I’m sorry about that. And I’m sorry about the way I acted last night, and I’m sorry about being upset that you were late. It’s just that I really wanted to see you as much as I could this trip.”
“You say that like you don’t think I want the same thing.”
I turned around. “To be honest,” I said, “I’m not sure you do.”
With that, I headed for the door.
I was gone until nightfall.
I didn’t know where to go or even why I left, other than that I needed to be alone. I started for campus beneath a sweltering sun and found myself moving from one shade tree to the next. I didn’t check to see if she was following; I knew that she wouldn’t be.
In time, I stopped and bought an ice water at the student center, but even though it was relatively empty and the cool air refreshing, I didn’t stay. I felt the need to sweat, as if to purify myself from the anger and sadness and disappointment I couldn’t shake.
One thing was certain: Savannah had walked in the door ready for an argument. Her answers had come too quickly, and I realized that they seemed less spontaneous than rehearsed, as if her own anger had been simmering most of the day. She’d known exactly how I would be acting, and though I might have deserved her anger based on the way I’d acted last night, the fact that she hadn’t appeared to care about her own culpability or my feelings gnawed at me for most of the afternoon.
Shadows lengthened as the sun began to go down, but I still wasn’t ready to go back. Instead, I bought a couple of slices of pizza and a beer from one of those tiny storefront places that depended on students to survive. I finished eating, walked some more, and finally began the trek back to her apartment. By then it was nearly nine, and the emotional roller coaster I’d been on left me feeling drained. Approaching the street, I noticed Savannah’s car was still in the same spot. I could see a lamp blazing from inside the bedroom. The rest of the apartment was black.