Charmed Thirds_ A Jessica Darling Novel - Megan McCafferty [63]
Me: . . .
Marcus: And so I've decided to embark on a silent meditation.
Me: A silent meditation? Marcus? What?
Marcus: It's not that complicated, Jessica. I'm just going to shut up for a while.
Me: Are you not talking to me or not talking to everyone?
Marcus: Everyone. Including you.
Me: Starting when? For how long?
Marcus: Tonight. After we say good-bye.
Me: For how long?
Marcus: I don't know yet. I don't want to put a limit on it before I even begin.
Me: Do you have an idea?
Marcus: At least a month. Or two. Maybe more.
Me: Is this because of what I told you the other night?
Marcus: Maybe. Yes. No. Neither. Both.
Me: Well, that certainly clears things up.
Marcus: See what I mean? Words make a mess of things.
Me: So do actions . . .
Marcus: Yes, they do, too.
Me: I really didn't mean to hurt you . . .
Marcus: There's something else. I've volunteered for Gakkai's World Without Web project. The concept is quite simple, really: to disconnect with the Internet and reconnect with real life. I'll be offline once classes start on January 20.
Me: So I can't talk to you or e-mail you.
Marcus: We can write letters . . .
Me: I don't want to write letters! I'm already tired of writing letters to Hope. Now I have to write to you, too?
Marcus: Then don't.
Me: Why don't you just break up with me?
Marcus: Because breaking up with you sounds so permanent.
Me: How can you be with someone when you don't see or hear from that person for months at a time? How is that a relationship?
Marcus: Our relationship is what we let it be.
Me: I am so sick of your Buddhist wisdom! It's bumper-sticker wisdom! T-shirt wisdom! My thoughts create my world. I'm so tired of being scrutinized though your goddamn third eye.
Marcus: I'm sorry you feel that way.
Me: You've changed.
Marcus: Maybe I have. I don't expect you to understand why this is so important to me. Just the idea of it helps me feel more centered and focused. For the first time in my life, I see a future where I won't need anything—T-shirts, getting high, having sex—to define who I am.
Me: You won't need me, either.
[Pause.]
Marcus: I still love you, Jessica.
Me: I . . .
Marcus: . . . ?
Me: Nothing. I . . . nothing. It's my turn to shut my mouth.
[I take off the middle-finger ring and thrust it at Marcus. He takes it and puts it in his pocket. We go our separate, silent ways.]
The End
* * *
June 1st
Dear Hope,
You haven't been the only one to point out how my impatience with the human race might get in the way of my job as a shrink. I have to learn how to be a better listener. I'm usually too busy planning what I'll say next to focus on the person I'm supposed to be listening to. I would argue that this is because most people are boring, but my faculty adviser says that's a pretty narcissistic point of view.
So that's why I'm working for Columbia's Storytelling Project this summer. It's an interdisciplinary study of historical narratives. Basically, I'm being paid to sit in the park all summer with a sign that says TELL ME A STORY. When a freak takes the bait, I videotape him/her telling me whatever he/she wants to tell me. Among other things, the Psychology Department will review the tapes to analyze the storytellers' gestures and facial expressions to see if there is a “universal unspoken language.” I'm just psyched that my fellowship covers my room and board for the summer and I didn't have to move in with Bethany again. Or go home. I don't know which would be worse.
Of course, none of this is as exciting as a summer in France studying at l'École des Beaux-Arts de Saint-Étienne. Les voyages forment la jeunesse, non? The way I see it, this experience will not only improve your own global outlook, but it might even boost our entire nation's approval ratings abroad. I mean, if there's anyone who can improve the Gallic opinion of Americans, it's you. Maybe you'll realize that the French