Read Online The Double Bind by Chris Bohjalian - Free Book Online
Authors: Chris Bohjalian
Tags: Fiction
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Speedo!”
Talia folded the paper and stretched. “Speedos on women are suitably modest. Speedos on men are unsuitably…instructive. Too much information. And, somehow, the package always looks a little off. Know what I mean? It all looks so lumpy. What kind of turnout do you expect at the funeral today?”
Laurel had told her about Bobbie Crocker and the photographs he had left behind, and they were both worried about the attendance at the cemetery because the man hadn’t any family that they were aware of.
“I think it will be okay. Small but respectable. If nothing else, there will be a group from BEDS big enough to pack the van.”
“Good. Intimate, but not lonely.”
“No, not lonely,” Laurel said, sitting across from her. Talia started to hand her a bagel, but Laurel was too fast and grabbed one herself. Sometimes, Talia knew, she treated her roommate like an invalid. She tried to do too much for her. “Still, I’ll be very interested to see who else will be there,” Laurel went on. “I might learn something. Maybe there will be someone who can help me make some sense of the photos we found.”
Her friend picked up the local section of the newspaper and glanced at the headlines. After a moment, Talia brought up the subject that was most on her mind that morning: “So, are you doing anything a week from Saturday?”
“That’s pretty far away,” Laurel said. “Probably the usual, I guess. Take some pictures. Maybe swim. See David.”
“Want to play paintball with me and the youth group?”
“What?”
“Paintball. You know, get in touch with your inner child?”
“My inner child is not a Green Beret. Why in the name of God—”
“Careful.”
“Why in the world would you take your church youth group out to play paintball? What possible theological lessons are there to be learned from running around the woods shooting one another?”
“Absolutely none. But it’s early in the school year and I want the group to start bonding and working like a team. I want them to get to know each other. And—and this is no small
and—
it’s always good to show the kids there are adults out there who care enough about them to give up a Saturday to play paintball with them.”
“Couldn’t we just go for a hike? You know, woods. Squirrels. No guns.”
“Oh, come on, they aren’t real guns. And this is something that will build a little camaraderie and juice up the boys. The truth is, I need an activity right now that will get the kids’ engines’ running.”
“Can I think about it?”
“Nope. I need another chaperone and I know the group adores you.”
“Is this your way of trying to get me to go to church more often?”
“If it gets you there the next morning, fabulous. But no, that’s not my agenda. I just don’t think you get out enough.”
“I get out plenty. You’re the one who’s boyfriend-less at the moment.”
Talia ignored this, but only because it was true. “You might get out,” she said simply, “but not with a Piranha-brand automatic paintball rifle and a couple hundred marble-sized pellets of paint. Now
that’s
getting out.”
Talia knew that Laurel found it hard to say no to her. The reality was that most people found it hard to say no to her. She took pride in her powers of persuasion. In the past, Laurel had joined her when the youth group had built giant slingshots to hurl water balloons at each other across the UVM rugby pitch, accompanied the group to an alarmingly creepy community theater production of
Jesus Christ Superstar
( Judas was hanged from the ceiling over orchestra row M), and been among the chaperones when they built a raft for a regatta across Lake Champlain to raise money for the local food shelf. The catch was that all the boats had to be homemade and the materials weren’t allowed to cost more than $150. Their boat cost nowhere near that much. It was built largely of plywood and old oil drums (though they did paint them an attractive
Talia folded the paper and stretched. “Speedos on women are suitably modest. Speedos on men are unsuitably…instructive. Too much information. And, somehow, the package always looks a little off. Know what I mean? It all looks so lumpy. What kind of turnout do you expect at the funeral today?”
Laurel had told her about Bobbie Crocker and the photographs he had left behind, and they were both worried about the attendance at the cemetery because the man hadn’t any family that they were aware of.
“I think it will be okay. Small but respectable. If nothing else, there will be a group from BEDS big enough to pack the van.”
“Good. Intimate, but not lonely.”
“No, not lonely,” Laurel said, sitting across from her. Talia started to hand her a bagel, but Laurel was too fast and grabbed one herself. Sometimes, Talia knew, she treated her roommate like an invalid. She tried to do too much for her. “Still, I’ll be very interested to see who else will be there,” Laurel went on. “I might learn something. Maybe there will be someone who can help me make some sense of the photos we found.”
Her friend picked up the local section of the newspaper and glanced at the headlines. After a moment, Talia brought up the subject that was most on her mind that morning: “So, are you doing anything a week from Saturday?”
“That’s pretty far away,” Laurel said. “Probably the usual, I guess. Take some pictures. Maybe swim. See David.”
“Want to play paintball with me and the youth group?”
“What?”
“Paintball. You know, get in touch with your inner child?”
“My inner child is not a Green Beret. Why in the name of God—”
“Careful.”
“Why in the world would you take your church youth group out to play paintball? What possible theological lessons are there to be learned from running around the woods shooting one another?”
“Absolutely none. But it’s early in the school year and I want the group to start bonding and working like a team. I want them to get to know each other. And—and this is no small
and—
it’s always good to show the kids there are adults out there who care enough about them to give up a Saturday to play paintball with them.”
“Couldn’t we just go for a hike? You know, woods. Squirrels. No guns.”
“Oh, come on, they aren’t real guns. And this is something that will build a little camaraderie and juice up the boys. The truth is, I need an activity right now that will get the kids’ engines’ running.”
“Can I think about it?”
“Nope. I need another chaperone and I know the group adores you.”
“Is this your way of trying to get me to go to church more often?”
“If it gets you there the next morning, fabulous. But no, that’s not my agenda. I just don’t think you get out enough.”
“I get out plenty. You’re the one who’s boyfriend-less at the moment.”
Talia ignored this, but only because it was true. “You might get out,” she said simply, “but not with a Piranha-brand automatic paintball rifle and a couple hundred marble-sized pellets of paint. Now
that’s
getting out.”
Talia knew that Laurel found it hard to say no to her. The reality was that most people found it hard to say no to her. She took pride in her powers of persuasion. In the past, Laurel had joined her when the youth group had built giant slingshots to hurl water balloons at each other across the UVM rugby pitch, accompanied the group to an alarmingly creepy community theater production of
Jesus Christ Superstar
( Judas was hanged from the ceiling over orchestra row M), and been among the chaperones when they built a raft for a regatta across Lake Champlain to raise money for the local food shelf. The catch was that all the boats had to be homemade and the materials weren’t allowed to cost more than $150. Their boat cost nowhere near that much. It was built largely of plywood and old oil drums (though they did paint them an attractive
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