Read Online The Cranberry Hush: A Novel by Ben Monopoli - Free Book Online
Authors: Ben Monopoli
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yeah.” I looked into the fire. “It’s like the camera
somehow saw what we really were, you know? Like a mirror does to vampires. I
remember the look on your face when I came up to you at graduation. You looked
like I was back from the dead. You wanted to know what happened.”
“Yeah, I did,” he said. “I was confused. But all that stuff was a long time ago.”
“Not to me.” I gestured at the wall, at the photos. I could
feel my throat tighten up and I laid my head back against the cushion.
He nodded. He zipped his hoodie higher, slowly, obviously
taking care not to snag any chest hairs, and resumed hugging himself. I almost
offered to go get him a blanket, but didn’t.
“So I guess at some point we should probably talk about why
you stopped acknowledging my existence,” he said. “I kind of feel like it’s the
elephant in the room. Maybe it’s the elephant in the decade.”
I didn’t say anything.
“We don’t have to,” he added. “I came here to hang out with
you, not interrogate you.”
“I don’t know, Griff, it happened because I was embarrassed.
I was embarrassed .” The word came out
one biley green syllable at a time, each one burning my throat on its way up. “I
was never really able to get past that fucking email. It was easier just to
stop talking to you.”
“What email? Wait—you mean the Truman email?” He sat up straight. “You’re kidding. Is that what
this has always been about? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Um. Embarrassed?”
He closed his eyes for a moment. “So asking me out on a date
when we were teenagers is an unforgivable sin in your book? Is that in
Leviticus or something?” He looked at me and I rolled my eyes and felt just like
the teenager I’d been. “No,” he said, reading my face, “just embarrassing.
Huh.”
“I was afraid that you were always wondering about my
motives.”
“Motives for what?”
“I don’t know. For being close to you. For being your
friend.” I feared that every glance he would think I was mentally undressing
him, every handshake an excuse to touch him. That when he came out of the
bathroom wearing only a towel, I— Or when we sat side-by-side at the
movies—
“Then apparently you didn’t know me as well as I thought you
did, Vince.” He was angry, but in his eyes there was also relief. At least now
he knew it hadn’t been his fault. “I told you it was cool and I wasn’t lying.”
“I know you weren’t. It’s my problem, not yours.”
“Well Vince, man, you need to fucking get over yourself.” He
bounced his fist like a gavel on the plump arm of the chair. He got up and kneeled
down on the brick hearth, worked busily at the embers with the poker. I watched
his shoulders rise and fall with a deep sigh. Finally he put the poker down and
slid across the floor, leaned against his chair. “OK,” he said, looking up at
me, “if the email was the problem, let’s just go through it. Let’s just get it
all out in the open. Isn’t that what I told you the night I figured out your
little secret? Maybe if we’d gotten it out a long time ago we wouldn’t have all
these—” He looked from me to the fire. “Whatever. How did it start? You
saw me in some class we had or something.”
“Rebellion in Literature,” I said.
“Ah, that’s right. Rebellion in Literature.” He gestured come here with a wag of his fingers, and
my living room became a time machine.
***
Spring semester of my freshman year—that’s
when, as they say, the magic happened. It really did seem like magic that first
day of class. Magic, lightning, fate—whatever you want to call it, it was
it. It was magic when he came through the door, backpack slung over his shoulder—magic
when he strode across the scratched tile with a cocky swagger I’d later
understand was a clever disguise for his shyness. The chairs were arranged in a
circle, filling slowly as students trickled in. He took a seat on the other
side of the circle
somehow saw what we really were, you know? Like a mirror does to vampires. I
remember the look on your face when I came up to you at graduation. You looked
like I was back from the dead. You wanted to know what happened.”
“Yeah, I did,” he said. “I was confused. But all that stuff was a long time ago.”
“Not to me.” I gestured at the wall, at the photos. I could
feel my throat tighten up and I laid my head back against the cushion.
He nodded. He zipped his hoodie higher, slowly, obviously
taking care not to snag any chest hairs, and resumed hugging himself. I almost
offered to go get him a blanket, but didn’t.
“So I guess at some point we should probably talk about why
you stopped acknowledging my existence,” he said. “I kind of feel like it’s the
elephant in the room. Maybe it’s the elephant in the decade.”
I didn’t say anything.
“We don’t have to,” he added. “I came here to hang out with
you, not interrogate you.”
“I don’t know, Griff, it happened because I was embarrassed.
I was embarrassed .” The word came out
one biley green syllable at a time, each one burning my throat on its way up. “I
was never really able to get past that fucking email. It was easier just to
stop talking to you.”
“What email? Wait—you mean the Truman email?” He sat up straight. “You’re kidding. Is that what
this has always been about? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Um. Embarrassed?”
He closed his eyes for a moment. “So asking me out on a date
when we were teenagers is an unforgivable sin in your book? Is that in
Leviticus or something?” He looked at me and I rolled my eyes and felt just like
the teenager I’d been. “No,” he said, reading my face, “just embarrassing.
Huh.”
“I was afraid that you were always wondering about my
motives.”
“Motives for what?”
“I don’t know. For being close to you. For being your
friend.” I feared that every glance he would think I was mentally undressing
him, every handshake an excuse to touch him. That when he came out of the
bathroom wearing only a towel, I— Or when we sat side-by-side at the
movies—
“Then apparently you didn’t know me as well as I thought you
did, Vince.” He was angry, but in his eyes there was also relief. At least now
he knew it hadn’t been his fault. “I told you it was cool and I wasn’t lying.”
“I know you weren’t. It’s my problem, not yours.”
“Well Vince, man, you need to fucking get over yourself.” He
bounced his fist like a gavel on the plump arm of the chair. He got up and kneeled
down on the brick hearth, worked busily at the embers with the poker. I watched
his shoulders rise and fall with a deep sigh. Finally he put the poker down and
slid across the floor, leaned against his chair. “OK,” he said, looking up at
me, “if the email was the problem, let’s just go through it. Let’s just get it
all out in the open. Isn’t that what I told you the night I figured out your
little secret? Maybe if we’d gotten it out a long time ago we wouldn’t have all
these—” He looked from me to the fire. “Whatever. How did it start? You
saw me in some class we had or something.”
“Rebellion in Literature,” I said.
“Ah, that’s right. Rebellion in Literature.” He gestured come here with a wag of his fingers, and
my living room became a time machine.
***
Spring semester of my freshman year—that’s
when, as they say, the magic happened. It really did seem like magic that first
day of class. Magic, lightning, fate—whatever you want to call it, it was
it. It was magic when he came through the door, backpack slung over his shoulder—magic
when he strode across the scratched tile with a cocky swagger I’d later
understand was a clever disguise for his shyness. The chairs were arranged in a
circle, filling slowly as students trickled in. He took a seat on the other
side of the circle
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