Read Online The Collected Stories of Deborah Eisenberg by Deborah Eisenberg - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Deborah Eisenberg
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old enough now to think about what you’re doing.” And I remembered I had never been alone with him before, except in his car.
“Yes,” I said into the dead air. whatever I’d been waiting for all that time had vanished. “It’s all right.”
“It’s all right?” Chris said furiously. “Well, good. It’s all right, then.” He was still lying on his back with his hands over his eyes, and neither of us moved. I thought I might shatter.
Sometime in the night Chris spoke again. “Why are you angry?” he said. His voice was blurred, as if he’d been asleep. I wanted to tell him I wasn’t angry, but it seemed wrong, and I was afraid of what would happen if I did. I put my arms around him and started kissing him. He didn’t move a muscle, but I kept right on. I knew it was my only chance, and I thought that if I stopped I would have to leave. “Don’t be angry,” he said.
Sometime in the night I sprang awake. Chris was holding my wrists behind my back with one hand and unbuttoning my shirt with the other, and his body felt very tense. “Don’t!” I said, before I understood.
“‘Don’t!’” echoed Chris, letting go of me. He said it just the way I had, sounding just as frightened. He fell asleep immediately then, sprawled out, but I couldn’t sleep anymore, and later, when Chris spoke suddenly into the dark, I felt I’d been expecting him to. “Your parents are going to worry,” he said deliberately, as if he were reading.
“No,” I said. I wondered how long he had been awake. “They think I’m at Maureen’s.” And then I realized how foolish it was for me to have said that.
“They’ll worry,” he said. “They will worry. They’ll be very frightened.”
And then I was so frightened myself that the room bulged and there was a sound in my ears like ball bearings rolling around wildly. I put my hands against my hot face, and my skin felt to me as if it belonged to a stranger. It felt like a marvel—brand-new and slightly moist—and I wondered if anyone else would ever touch it and feel what I had felt.
“Look—” Chris said. He sounded blurry again, and helpless and sad. “Look—see how bad I am for you, Laurel? See how I make you cry?” Then he put his arms around me, and we lay there on top of the bed for a long, long time, and sometimes we kissed each other. My shirtsleeve was twisted and it hurt against my arm, but I didn’t move.
When the night red began finally to bleach out of the sky, I touched Chris’s wrist. “I have to go now,” I said. That wasn’t true, of course. My parents would expect me to stay at Maureen’s till at least noon. “I have to be home when it gets light.”
“Do you?” Chris said, but his eyes were closed.
I stood up and buttoned my shirt.
“I’ll take you to the train,” Chris said.
At first he didn’t move, but finally he stood up, too. “I need some coffee,” he said. And when he looked at me my heart sank. He was smiling. He looked as if he wanted to start it up—start it all again.
I went into the bathroom, so I wouldn’t be looking at Chris. There was a tub and a sink and a toilet. Chris uses them, I thought, as if that would explain something to me, but the thought was like a sealed package. Stuck in the corner of the mirror over the sink was a picture of a man’s face torn from a magazine. It was a handsome face, but I didn’t like it.
“That’s a guy I went to high school with,” Chris said from behind me. “He’s a very successful actor now.”
“That’s nice,” I said, and waited as long as I could. “Look—it’s almost light.”
And in the instant that Chris glanced at the window, where in fact the faintest dawn was showing, I stepped over to the door and opened it.
In the car, Chris seemed the way he usually did. “I’m sorry I’m so tired, honey,” he said. “I’ve been having a rough time lately. We’ll get together another time, when I’m not so hassled.”
“Yes,” I said.
“Yes,” I said into the dead air. whatever I’d been waiting for all that time had vanished. “It’s all right.”
“It’s all right?” Chris said furiously. “Well, good. It’s all right, then.” He was still lying on his back with his hands over his eyes, and neither of us moved. I thought I might shatter.
Sometime in the night Chris spoke again. “Why are you angry?” he said. His voice was blurred, as if he’d been asleep. I wanted to tell him I wasn’t angry, but it seemed wrong, and I was afraid of what would happen if I did. I put my arms around him and started kissing him. He didn’t move a muscle, but I kept right on. I knew it was my only chance, and I thought that if I stopped I would have to leave. “Don’t be angry,” he said.
Sometime in the night I sprang awake. Chris was holding my wrists behind my back with one hand and unbuttoning my shirt with the other, and his body felt very tense. “Don’t!” I said, before I understood.
“‘Don’t!’” echoed Chris, letting go of me. He said it just the way I had, sounding just as frightened. He fell asleep immediately then, sprawled out, but I couldn’t sleep anymore, and later, when Chris spoke suddenly into the dark, I felt I’d been expecting him to. “Your parents are going to worry,” he said deliberately, as if he were reading.
“No,” I said. I wondered how long he had been awake. “They think I’m at Maureen’s.” And then I realized how foolish it was for me to have said that.
“They’ll worry,” he said. “They will worry. They’ll be very frightened.”
And then I was so frightened myself that the room bulged and there was a sound in my ears like ball bearings rolling around wildly. I put my hands against my hot face, and my skin felt to me as if it belonged to a stranger. It felt like a marvel—brand-new and slightly moist—and I wondered if anyone else would ever touch it and feel what I had felt.
“Look—” Chris said. He sounded blurry again, and helpless and sad. “Look—see how bad I am for you, Laurel? See how I make you cry?” Then he put his arms around me, and we lay there on top of the bed for a long, long time, and sometimes we kissed each other. My shirtsleeve was twisted and it hurt against my arm, but I didn’t move.
When the night red began finally to bleach out of the sky, I touched Chris’s wrist. “I have to go now,” I said. That wasn’t true, of course. My parents would expect me to stay at Maureen’s till at least noon. “I have to be home when it gets light.”
“Do you?” Chris said, but his eyes were closed.
I stood up and buttoned my shirt.
“I’ll take you to the train,” Chris said.
At first he didn’t move, but finally he stood up, too. “I need some coffee,” he said. And when he looked at me my heart sank. He was smiling. He looked as if he wanted to start it up—start it all again.
I went into the bathroom, so I wouldn’t be looking at Chris. There was a tub and a sink and a toilet. Chris uses them, I thought, as if that would explain something to me, but the thought was like a sealed package. Stuck in the corner of the mirror over the sink was a picture of a man’s face torn from a magazine. It was a handsome face, but I didn’t like it.
“That’s a guy I went to high school with,” Chris said from behind me. “He’s a very successful actor now.”
“That’s nice,” I said, and waited as long as I could. “Look—it’s almost light.”
And in the instant that Chris glanced at the window, where in fact the faintest dawn was showing, I stepped over to the door and opened it.
In the car, Chris seemed the way he usually did. “I’m sorry I’m so tired, honey,” he said. “I’ve been having a rough time lately. We’ll get together another time, when I’m not so hassled.”
“Yes,” I said.
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