Read Online The Collected Stories of Deborah Eisenberg by Deborah Eisenberg - Free Book Online
Authors: Deborah Eisenberg
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closed my eyes and leaned back against Chris, who folded his arms around me. When Chris finished his story, everyone laughed except me. Chris blew a little stream of air into my hair, ruffling it up. “Want to take a ride?” he said.
We drove for a while, fast, circling the city, and Chris slammed tapes into the tape deck. Then we parked and Chris turned and looked at me.
“What do you want to do?” Chris asked me.
“Now?” I said, but he just looked at me, and I didn’t know what he meant. “Nothing,” I said.
“Have I seemed preoccupied to you lately, honey?” he asked.
“I guess maybe a little,” I said, even though I hadn’t really ever thought about how he seemed. He just seemed like himself. But he told me that yes, he had been preoccupied. He had borrowed some money to start an audio business, but he had to help out a cousin, too. I couldn’t make any sense of what he was talking about, and I didn’t really care, either. I was thinking that now he had finally called me “honey.” It made me so happy, so happy, even though “honey” was what he called everyone, and I had been the only Laurel.
Chris talked and talked, and I watched his mouth as the words came out. “I know you wonder what’s going on with me,” he said. “What it is is I worry that you’re so young. I’m a difficult person. There are a lot of strange things about me. I’m really crazy about you, you know. I’m really crazy about you, but I can’t ask you to see me.”
“Why don’t I come in and stay over with you a week from Friday,” I said. “Can I?”
Chris blinked. “Terrific, honey,” he said cautiously. “That’s a date.”
I arranged it with Maureen that I would say I was staying at her house. “Don’t wear underwear,” Maureen told me. “That really turns guys on.”
Chris and I met at Jake’s, but we didn’t stay there long. We drove all over the city, stopping at different places. Chris knew people everywhere, and we would sit down at the bar and talk to them. We went to an apartment with some of the people we ran into, where everyone lay around listening to tapes. And once we went to a club and watched crowds of people change like waves with the music, under flashing lights.
Chris didn’t touch me, not once, not even accidentally, all during that time.
Sometime between things we stopped for food. I couldn’t eat, but Chris seemed starving. He ate his cheeseburger and French fries, and then he ate mine. And then he had a big piece of pecan pie.
Late, very late, we climbed into the car again, but there was nothing left to do. “Home?” Chris said without turning to me.
Chris’s apartment seemed so strange, and maybe that was just because it was real. But I had surely never been inside such a small, plain place to live before, and Chris hardly seemed to own anything. There were a few books on a shelf, and a little kitchen off in the corner, with a pot on the stove. It was up several flights of dark stairs, in a brick building, and it must have been on the edge of the city, because I could see water out the window, and ribbons of highway elevated on huge concrete pillars, and dark piers.
Chris’s bed, which was tightly made with the sheet turned back over the blanket, looked very narrow. All the music we had been hearing all night was rocketing around in my brain, and I felt jittery and a bit sick. Chris passed a joint to me, and he lay down with his hands over his eyes. I sat down on the edge of the bed next to him and waited, but he didn’t move. “Remember when I asked you a while ago what you wanted to do and you said ‘Nothing’?” Chris asked me.
“But that was—” I started to say, and then the funny sound of Chris’s voice caught up with me, and all the noise in my head shut off.
“I remember,” Chris said. Then a long time went by.
“Why did you come here, Laurel?” Chris said.
When I didn’t answer, he said, “Why? Why did you come here? You’re
We drove for a while, fast, circling the city, and Chris slammed tapes into the tape deck. Then we parked and Chris turned and looked at me.
“What do you want to do?” Chris asked me.
“Now?” I said, but he just looked at me, and I didn’t know what he meant. “Nothing,” I said.
“Have I seemed preoccupied to you lately, honey?” he asked.
“I guess maybe a little,” I said, even though I hadn’t really ever thought about how he seemed. He just seemed like himself. But he told me that yes, he had been preoccupied. He had borrowed some money to start an audio business, but he had to help out a cousin, too. I couldn’t make any sense of what he was talking about, and I didn’t really care, either. I was thinking that now he had finally called me “honey.” It made me so happy, so happy, even though “honey” was what he called everyone, and I had been the only Laurel.
Chris talked and talked, and I watched his mouth as the words came out. “I know you wonder what’s going on with me,” he said. “What it is is I worry that you’re so young. I’m a difficult person. There are a lot of strange things about me. I’m really crazy about you, you know. I’m really crazy about you, but I can’t ask you to see me.”
“Why don’t I come in and stay over with you a week from Friday,” I said. “Can I?”
Chris blinked. “Terrific, honey,” he said cautiously. “That’s a date.”
I arranged it with Maureen that I would say I was staying at her house. “Don’t wear underwear,” Maureen told me. “That really turns guys on.”
Chris and I met at Jake’s, but we didn’t stay there long. We drove all over the city, stopping at different places. Chris knew people everywhere, and we would sit down at the bar and talk to them. We went to an apartment with some of the people we ran into, where everyone lay around listening to tapes. And once we went to a club and watched crowds of people change like waves with the music, under flashing lights.
Chris didn’t touch me, not once, not even accidentally, all during that time.
Sometime between things we stopped for food. I couldn’t eat, but Chris seemed starving. He ate his cheeseburger and French fries, and then he ate mine. And then he had a big piece of pecan pie.
Late, very late, we climbed into the car again, but there was nothing left to do. “Home?” Chris said without turning to me.
Chris’s apartment seemed so strange, and maybe that was just because it was real. But I had surely never been inside such a small, plain place to live before, and Chris hardly seemed to own anything. There were a few books on a shelf, and a little kitchen off in the corner, with a pot on the stove. It was up several flights of dark stairs, in a brick building, and it must have been on the edge of the city, because I could see water out the window, and ribbons of highway elevated on huge concrete pillars, and dark piers.
Chris’s bed, which was tightly made with the sheet turned back over the blanket, looked very narrow. All the music we had been hearing all night was rocketing around in my brain, and I felt jittery and a bit sick. Chris passed a joint to me, and he lay down with his hands over his eyes. I sat down on the edge of the bed next to him and waited, but he didn’t move. “Remember when I asked you a while ago what you wanted to do and you said ‘Nothing’?” Chris asked me.
“But that was—” I started to say, and then the funny sound of Chris’s voice caught up with me, and all the noise in my head shut off.
“I remember,” Chris said. Then a long time went by.
“Why did you come here, Laurel?” Chris said.
When I didn’t answer, he said, “Why? Why did you come here? You’re