You Deserve Nothing - Alexander Maksik [71]
There was a moment then when it was as if my exhaustion were only physical. I took a deep breath and walked out into the hall, down the stairs, and along the field toward the cafeteria.
I saw in the eyes of those people passing that there were things happening around me, things beyond my control, and I was tumbling forward.
I bought a sandwich and smiled at Jean-Paul, who waved at me from the back of the kitchen. I felt a sudden tenderness for him. I wanted to put an arm around his shoulder. But I knew it was only nostalgia for my first days in Paris when Jean-Paul and his terrible food were novel pleasures.
The morning fog had burned off and the high clouds were gone, there was bright sunlight on the field. I stood at the far side, where the bare poplars lined the fence. From there I could look back at the school. Sitting on the grass, still damp from the morning’s dew and fog, I felt the cold moisture soaking through my jeans.
I ate and watched faculty and students come outside. The younger kids ran screaming out of the buildings, girls clutching each other.
Now there were kids everywhere, chasing, reading in the sun, studying for exams, all of us dreading the bell sure to ring.
I looked out at the picnic benches, and the stream of students flowing between the school and the cafeteria. And then I closed my eyes.
Soon, I felt someone touch a warm hand against the back of my neck.
Mia said, “I’ll see you at lit mag and if you want to have a beer tonight. Or whenever, I’m around.”
“Thanks,” I said, keeping my eyes closed. “I’d love to. We’ll do it.”
After a moment I opened my eyes and squinting into the sun, I watched her walk away.
The bell rang and the field emptied, the students funneled dutifully back inside as if drawn by some great magnet and I stayed there as long as I could, until my next class began fifty minutes later.
MARIE
I don’t know what happened to make him change his mind for the second time. But one day he said yes. I mean just like that. And that’s when it really started. The two of us. I mean we were a couple in our way. Lovers anyway. Real lovers.
I came after school. On the weekends. Whenever he let me, I’d come. I’d sit clutching my phone like an idiot, waiting for him to send his permission. I hated him for that but by then I was his. Long before then really. Like I said, I’d have done anything he asked.
We had a routine. I’d walk up those fucking stairs. We’d lock the door. Sometimes it was gentle. Other times it was rough. I guess like any other couple. And that’s the thing really. For a while, it felt as if we were just like any other couple. Sometimes I’d bring bread, or a bottle of wine. I liked the idea of shopping for him. I used to pretend that it was our apartment, that we lived together, like it was our normal life. It was easy to do that. For a while it was easy, anyway. We’d make love or fuck or whatever we were doing, and eventually I started to have orgasms with him. He was very patient. He was always whispering in my ear. He hypnotized me that way. He was always encouraging me to tell him what I liked. This? This? Like this?
You have to talk to me, Marie, he’d say. Just let yourself go. Tell me what you want, he’d say, like I had any fucking idea what I wanted. But, still, I felt like a queen the way he treated me in bed. He was so delicate, so precise, so, and this sounds strange but it’s right—he was elegant. He gave me so much attention and eventually I just gave in, just came unlocked, you know? I was loud and wild and happy.
Afterward, with my face all flushed, he’d tell me how beautiful I was. And I loved it. I did. Really. But I started to have the impression that I was making love to a ghost or a phantom or something. And more than once I felt that I could have been anyone. Anyone at all. As if what he was doing with me there in that apartment