Abnormal Psych has got to be one of the craziest classes on this campus, I think the next day. It's Friday, 9 a.m., and most of us are just sitting around, feeling majorly under-caffeinated. (There's a rumor that the dinning hall workers make decaf and put it in both coffee urns to save monet. Sometimes, I think that it might just be true.) Dr. Buchannan, our professor, is up front, rambling on about a paper due in two weeks. Most of us, though, aren't paying any attention: he's been reminding us about this paper for at least a month; if we don't get it by now, we're already screwed. I'm sitting in the back, reading a psych magazine to see if there's anything that I can use, but coming up empty.
"Ooh key, class. I gess our tei-hmm es oop. See yew ell on Thuresday." Dr. B booms from the front of the class.
I walk out of class slowly, my head feeling full of cotton from last night's shots. My cell buzzes in my hand, like I've caught a bee in my fist, and I jump, startled. The back cover flies off, skidding across the floor to stop in front of some guy's Converse. He picks it up, smirking, and hands it to me. I smile weakly, mouthing a thank you and glancing at the screen, fully expecting Jess or Kent.
I don't immediatly recognize the number and my heart jumps into my throat: what if it's Val? What if Grant hurt her? He did leave fairly tipsy last night, well on his way to drunken la-la land.
"Hello?"
"Where the hell do you get off?" a voice roared in my ears.
"Excuse me?" I reply, shocked by such a rude welcome.
"Where do you get off telling my girlfriend that I'm some kind of monster and that you're protecting her? Just 'cause I dumped your ass doesn't mean you can go spreading crap about me. That's slander."
"Oh. Hi, Grant." I intone, my voice automatically dropping an octave.
"You know that I treated you like a fucking queen while we dated and this is how you repay it? Somehow I thought that you were more mature than to paint me as the big, bad wolf just because you're hurt that I dumped you."
"You are the big, bad wolf, Grant. I just thought that it was fair to tell her that you're not all butterflies and rainbows. So, goodbye, Grant." I click off the phone, feeling as if I can't catch my breath, and sit on the steps, putting my head between my leg and taking deep breaths.
Once again I've escaped to the kitchen during shift: I have a Spanish final coming up and have used all of my spare time to cram. Sitting on the floor, Jeff and I try to converse only en espanol, when Lynnie rushes in.
"Baby, I think that you need to come out here." she says softly, patting the dark brown hair falling out of her usually smooth ponytail.
"What's wrong, Momma?"
"En espanol, por favor!" Jeff sings from the stove.
"Ay, Dios, Vito." I cry, rolling my eyes.
"See," he laughs, "you're getting better."
Lynnie ignores our bickering, looking on with an indulgent smile. "Carrie's ex is here and she's got him out in the parking lot." She shrugs: this sort of thing happens all the time and, over the years, she's gotten more or less used to it. "Anywat, now all we got is me, and these old bones don't move the way they used to."
I stand up, already tying on my apron. "Kay, Momma. Gracias, Jeff."
In between the drunk gulping down whiskey like there was no tomorrow and the blonde-apparently on the lookout for men-sipping a Cosmo, I spot a dark head duck into the bar. Back at the bar, while I refill the whiskey glass yet again, I'm confronted by a tearful Val.
"You look terrible." I blurt, unsure of what the protocol is for this. I'd never quite understood the subtle nuances of being a teenaged female, but was sure that if you told your boyfriend that his ex has called him a monster, you don't go apologize the next day; that is, unless you're a Drama Queen, which, honestly, Val seems way too timid to be.
"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry." she blubbers, mascara streaking down her face. "I begged him to just leave it, to not make a big deal about it. I didn't even know that he had called you until about an hour ago and I didn't have your number and I felt so terrible." she stops to take a breath and I hold up my hand.
"Ok. Well, when we left, Grant was pretty drunk, and it was late, so I figured that I'd just take him back to his dorm and stay the night-you know, to make sure that he was ok." I nod, my memory assaulted with the memories of all the times that I had done the exact same thing for the exact same reasons. "Well, when we got back, I put him on the bed and I go to put on one of his shirts to sleep in, and I guess that while I was changing the paper fell out of my pocket. He asked why I had your phone number and...well, it all went downhill from there." she stops, spluttering out, and sees me axiously looking her over: no bruises that I could see. Good.
"He didn't...hurt you...did he?" I ask, quietly.
"No!" she replies, shocked, "He would never hurt me. Would he?"
"He might, but I seriously doubt it." I answer, trying to sound confident and sure of myself.
"Cecillia?"
"Yeah?"
She sounds torn, as if she both wants to know and, at the same time, doesn't. "Did he ever hurt you?"
"I'm worried about you 'cause I know that he's not a nice guy." I reply.
When Val leaves, I hug her tightly. Despite being so timid and shy, she is incredibly strong-it takes that kind of strength, both to apologize and to believe what I am telling her.
"There goes one hell of a strong woman." I sigh to Kerr when she leaves.
"Why's that, hon?"
"Takes some kind of crazy strength to believe what I'm telling her." I answer. "I sure wasn't that strong when I was dating Grant. If some ex of his had told me half of what i've told her, I would have called her nuts and left it at that. But I feel...I don't know. Almost like I have some crazy obligation to her, like I have to help protect her."
Kerr put his hand over mine, squeezing it in a comforting, almost paternal way. "That shows a lot of strength, Baby. It takes strength to fight the evils that we see."
That night, after last call, I drive down to the beach. It was about a quarter after one, windy and cold, but still beautiful and peaceful. The cool, white slips between my toes as I settle, about three feet from the water. A lightning storm was starting up, far out in the Gulf, lighting up the whole sky like some giant, cosmic being is taking a picture. It is beautiful.
Suddenly, I want desperatly to swim out in the water, out to where the lightning hit, and save a piece, keeping it in a jar to keep the beauty. Stripping off all of my clothes, I pile them on the sand and wade out into the water, wondering if this was how Virginnia Woolfe started. After another flash lights up the sky and water around me, I turn and head back to the shore: beauty is so fleeting; if you can catch it, will it, somehow, still be beauty?
I sit, shivering in the sand, trying to light up a cigarette as Val's words keep playing in my head: Did he ever hurt you?
The phone is ringing. Six times, seven tmes, eight times, nine times.
"Hello?" a sleepy voice cracks over the line. Thank you, God.
"Am I crazy?"
"What? Cecillia? What time is it?" I can hear Maggie groping around for her glasses.
"Little after two my time. So, am I?" I realize, maybe a little too late,that this is not the best question to ask right now.
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