Dec 24, 2008

        I don’t know how to start this little project so I’ll just say I’m writing this because I’m trying to decide if I’m going to kill myself or not. I’m not the type of person to journal unless I’m really stressed out. I like to write, but not about my own life. I might need this later, though. If I decide to live, I want to be able to read about why later on, maybe when I’m faced with this question again. If I decide to die then I can leave this for the people who care about me as an explanation. Things are happening and changing faster than I can keep in my head and I need a record of the decisions I’m about to make. I’m really scared.

        I just got done packing my things to go home for Christmas break. My grades ended up being okay this semester. Not good, but I passed all my classes with C’s or above, which is surprising considering how much I’ve fallen apart the past couple months. I found out about my ex’s new girlfriend the day before yesterday. She is still in high school. We’ve been broken up since September but have been hooking up until a week ago and I assumed we’d get back together again so I’m pretty sad and confused.

        I told my parents I was going to stay in my dorm through the break but instead I’m going home to my dad’s house in Lake of the Woods. He’s been at a power line job in California since September and will be away until Spring so the plan is to stay there by myself until break is over and no one needs to know where I am. I want to be away from everyone. I want to be 20 miles from town where my cell phone doesn’t work and there’s no internet. I want the dark and the quiet so I can finally think with no one watching me. If I decide to end things I can do it there, alone, where no one will probably see the aftermath except maybe the DNR or the police after they find my body.

My roommate just asked me where I was going for the holidays and I lied to her. I have to go now.

***

        I’m home, finally! The drive from Fargo feels so long. Everything in the house is in order but it’s very cold so I’ve turned up the thermostat. I wonder how long until my dad will need to get a new furnace. It makes the freakiest noises like some monster clicking its teeth together but since I was a kid I’ve associated them with warmth so they aren’t scary to me.

        I noticed something that is scary, though. There are vehicle tracks down our little road past dad’s house which means Scott, the neighbor and my old high school principal, is here. I was hoping he would be with family for the holidays like a normal person, but I must remember he isn’t normal no matter how much he pretends to be. I guess I don’t even know if his family still talks to him after the allegations came out last year and he lost his job at the school. I don’t know for sure what happened or if he’s guilty but it scares me that he’s so close. Maybe he will leave later tonight or tomorrow. He’ll see I’m here. I still have the same car as I did when I was in high school a couple years ago. He’ll remember it and he’ll want to talk to me. Do I want that? I should probably talk to him so he doesn’t call my dad at least. What to tell him?

        I’m upstairs in my room now and all my stuff is unpacked. This room hasn’t changed very much since I lived here not so long ago even though it feels like a lifetime ago. This house is really old so I have one of those rooms with the slanted ceilings and a little cove closet. It feels so much smaller than it once did when I was little and I would pose my hundreds of Beanie Babies wherever I could fit them. I still have those Beanie Babies. Everytime I come home to see dad he asks me if he can throw them away and I tell him no. Not because I ever think they will be worth something, but because I’m just not ready. I’m looking at the two large bins in my closet that contain them now. Should I take them out and play with them like I used to? Thinking about that makes me really sad. I feel too dirty to touch them.

        I’m sitting at my desk I used to do homework at. I had to find a new light bulb for the vintage green banker’s lamp I made my mom buy for me from a garage sale we went to when I was in middle school. I had a hard time focusing on my homework and I thought having something that looked professional and purposeful would help me. I think it did. I think it’s helping me now because I’ve already written a lot. I feel like I have more I should say but I’m pretty hungry and I want a drink. I’ve just gotten settled in and it’s about 7:35 pm. I’m hoping there’s food in the freezer in the basement or the cupboards for the rest of the week because I just brought a couple bags of canned soup and snacks. I’m pretty broke right now since I spent most of my student worker money on cigarettes and booze. I really need a drink.

***

        I’ve had a couple drinks and I’m sitting in my room having a cigarette break. I have the window open and a fan in the sill and I’m making sure to ash in the ash tray. It scares me to smoke in here because this place would go up like kindling if I dropped a cigarette, but it's really cold and dark out and I’m afraid to turn on the yard light. I think Scott could see it through the trees and he would know someone’s here. I don’t want him to call my dad. Would he come here first? Do I want that?

        Our basement is really scary. I had to go down there since the big freezer is there. When my dad is gone for a long time he doesn’t keep much in the upstairs fridge and freezer, which I guess makes sense. The door that goes into the basement is sort of between the kitchen and living room…you would think it's just a pantry closet or something but it's a portal to a horror movie, like the room that guy was in at the end of the Blaire Witch Project. My mom’s family used to live in this house before my parents got married and inherited it from them, so the floor is dirt and the walls are creepy brick and there’s one little light bulb and the switch is almost at the bottom of the narrow wooden stairway.

My mom told me that her dad used to keep live snapping turtles down there and he would butcher them to make stew, and when I was little she would mess with me and tell me they were still down there hiding when she’d have me get stuff out of the freezer. So I tip-toed down there with my shoes on and I almost lost my balance on one of the steps before I could turn on the light. Then I checked out the freezer and tried not to look around me except where I placed my feet with each step. I half expected to see one of those giant, primordial turtles.

        I found some venison and frozen vegetables. There are venison steaks, ground venison, and even some sausage. I wonder if my dad shot this deer or just butchered a road kill. He’s on that list where the DNR will call him when they see a fresh corpse by the roadside. I’m waiting for the ground venison to thaw, then I’ll brown it and add some cream of celery soup and some of the frozen sweet corn from my dad’s garden last summer. Since I don’t really know how to cook, it will have to do for my Christmas eve meal. It beats potato chips or pretzels. My mouth is already watering thinking about it.

        I’m drinking whiskey and water since I’m poor and can’t afford mixers. It isn’t the worst thing in the world and at least I’m staying hydrated, or so I tell myself. I haven’t eaten yet today so it’s hitting pretty hard if I’m being honest. It feels nice. This is the first time I’ve felt warm since I left NDSU this morning.

It feels so long ago since I was there…the college is another world. I’m tearing up a little bit. Do I miss it already? Did I make a mistake? I would be just as lonely there, and I would just delay answering my question. None of my few friends were staying over break, and it costs more money and you have to give advanced notice, which I did not do, so staying there wasn’t an option anyway. Last year Paul and I stayed with his mom and her husband in Wayzata.

I wonder if his high school girlfriend, Gianna, is there with him now. They’re probably sitting in his mom's elaborately decorated living room opening presents together. Paul’s mom gave me a handmade quilt last year. I wonder what she’s getting. I wonder if his parents are impressed that they met working at fucking Subway together and she isn’t even in college yet. Such a captivating love story. They make me sick!

I can’t believe he borrowed my car the other day to give that bitch a ride to work while his truck was in the shop. Unbelievable! Of course she’s an idiot who doesn’t even have her license even though she’s 18. I got mine when I was 16 because I’m not stupid! Anyway, he didn’t tell me what he’d used it for until I found a hairbrush (with dry, dishwater hair snarled up in the bristles) on the floor and I asked him where it came from since it sure as hell wasn’t mine. That’s when he told me everything. I hate him so much! I’m glad my cell phone doesn’t work out here so I won’t message him when I’m more drunk later.

I’m getting sad and angry again so I really should have dinner before I drink too much on an empty stomach and do something stupid. The cut on my leg from last night still stings. I don’t wanna do that tonight. I don’t wanna do that ever again but I don’t know if I can help it. I’m sick of being in between…I’m tired of hurting myself with no real goal or direction. I need to decide if I’m gonna commit to it or not.  

***

So things have changed again. I think I might have made a mistake, but I’m also a little excited? Maybe nothing I do matters…anyway, I’m drunk right now. I haven’t gotten around to making dinner yet because Scott ended up stopping here just as I was preparing to cook.

The kitchen has this little window that faces the driveway that Scott has to drive on to get out to the highway to get to town. I suppose he saw the lights in the house were on and that my car was here and my dad’s wasn’t so he pulled his black F150 in front of the garage. After he dimmed his headlights I could see his face behind the windshield and he smiled and did the little one-handed Minnesota wave. I set aside the pan I was about to put on the stove and walked out the door to stand on the porch and I realized quickly that I didn’t put on a jacket and I was just wearing a Bison hoody.

He opened the truck door and hopped out. He’s kind of tall, maybe six feet, and his hair is dark and a little messy with some random grays that weren’t there when I was in high school. He also has facial hair now even though he used to always be clean shaven and even though it's dark I think I could see dark circles beneath his eyes that look almost black. It’s like he’s aged ten years since I graduated, but he’s still young, late 30’s or so. I suppose losing your job and being accused of terrible things will age a person.

To properly describe Scott I feel I have to describe my concept of a “slate man.” It means this “type” of man that I like and it’s hard for me to explain. I call this type the “slate man” because he looks solid, gray, unassuming, smooth. Like some man you’d see and instinctively trust because he seems so unremarkable and unblemished. Scott is the man who first defined this “type” for me but I’ve met many of them since I’ve been in college. Professors, counselors, co-workers, male peers. These men have been important to me in the most administrative but impactful ways and I’m grateful to them. Often I’m attracted to them but to touch them, to get closer, would either not be possible or void whatever helpful “contract” I have with them.

I felt a little flustered as he approached me but I smiled. I’ve always found Scott attractive, but in this new state he wasn’t just attractive, but accessible? I felt for the first time like I could reach out and touch him, because he wasn’t the squeaky clean man of morality I’d thought he was, and my touch wouldn’t smudge him anymore than he already was. He was real and capable of making mistakes, just like me.

“Hey, Christine. I hope I’m not bothering you,” he said with an uneven smile framed by little dimples. His voice is soft and warm for a man who lives up here. There’s no gruffness about him and I’ve always admired that he’s like that despite the other men here likely assuming he’s weak.

I switched on the yard light and descended the creaky wooden steps so I was level with him. “You’re not bothering me. I’m uh…just here for the holidays between semesters.” It was cold so I hugged myself as I tried my best to keep eye contact with him. It felt easy to look into his eyes but I tried to remind myself not to get taken in since he might be a predator and all.

“Ah…is Ray coming back to spend Christmas with you?” he asked as he looked around the yard, probably for dad’s truck.

I smiled and grimaced at the same time, shrugging. “Um…no. He doesn’t know I’m here. Please don’t tell him…I’m not doing anything wrong. I just needed somewhere to go because I couldn’t stay in the dorms. My other holiday plans didn’t work out.”

He narrowed his eyes but was still smiling. “Why can’t you tell him that?”

I sighed and my teeth started chattering. “I just don’t want him to worry about me. It’s my fault…I could have stayed at the dorms but I didn’t fill out the paperwork in time. I just don’t want him to think–”

“It’s okay, Christine. It’s none of my business anyway. I won’t say anything.” He paused and looked me over. “I didn’t mean to make you come out here and freeze,” he said.

I shrugged. “It’s my fault for not putting a jacket on.” I paused. “Are you doing anything for Christmas?”

He looked down at his boots and crossed his arms. “No…not really. I’m uh…not much of a holiday guy these days.”

I nodded. “So you’re just gonna hang out here at home? By yourself?”

“That’s the plan,” he said.

I waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t and just shifted his weight from foot to foot and looked out into the woods behind my house where a small white cat emerged from.

“Oh, a cat! I don’t know its name since I haven’t been here for a while,” I said, happy for the diversion.

“There’s a few more around. That’s the only white one. I doubt Ray names them now that he’s hardly here. Maybe you should name them,” he said.

I began walking towards it and it darted back into the brush where it blended in with the snow. “It’s feral,” I said.

“They all are,” he said.

We stood in silence for a few seconds and I wasn’t sure how to proceed. Many people might invite their neighbor inside to chat for a bit, but he wasn’t really my neighbor anymore…and he had allegations…but I was cold and kind of buzzed and talking to him felt…exciting?

“It’s cold out here. Wanna come inside? I can make you a drink,” I said as my teeth chattered.

He looked back at his truck and hesitated. “Yeah…I suppose I could come in for just a bit. I was about to go into town and get some things before everything’s closed tomorrow but I have a little time.”

We stepped inside and the immediate relief of the warmth washed over me. I pulled out a chair to the dining table and gestured for him to sit. He took off a black Carhartt coat and was about to drape it over the back of the chair.

“I can hang it up for you,” I said and extended my hand.

He smiled and nodded, looking a little embarrassed. “Thanks,” he said as he handed it to me.

It was surprisingly heavy. I walked it over to the closet by the door and I studied the coat as I maneuvered it onto an old wooden hanger. It looked clean although I could tell he hadn’t actually washed it in a while. It smelled like the oil from a man’s hair. I had the intrusive thought to press my face into it and inhale deeply, but of course I didn’t do that.

“I have whiskey and that’s all,” I said and I felt my face getting warm. “It’s not like…the good kind. I’m kind of poor.”

“That’s alright, Christine. I’m not picky. I remember having a college budget.”

I filled a Ball jar with ice and poured from the Black Velvet handle until Scott chuckled.

“That’s good. I have to drive.”

I smiled sheepishly and made eye contact with him for the first time since we were inside the house. His eyes were warm and easy and I thought he looked genuinely amused with me. “Sorry. I don’t want you to get a DWI. Do you want some water in it?”

He chuckled again and shook his head. “That’s alright.”

I handed it to him and then refilled my own Ball jar before sitting taking the chair next to him. Stupidly I held up my glass. “Cheers to a lonely Christmas,” I said.

He grinned, took up his glass, and clanked it against mine. “Cheers.”

We both sipped our drinks before a short silence. He took in a little breath, as though he was about to say something and thought better of it, before shaking his head and committing to the question. “Are you even old enough to drink?”

I smiled and shook my head. “I’ll turn 21 in March. I think that’s close enough. It’s not like I’m going anywhere.”

He nodded slowly. “This is…um…” he trailed off and looked at the floor. His slightly chapped lips remained parted as he contemplated what he was about to say. “This is really the last thing I expected to happen to me today.”

I sipped my drink. “Is that good or bad?”

He continued staring downward and his thick eyebrows narrowed. “I dunno. I think I’m a little stunned. I haven’t processed…this,” he said and gestured broadly.

“Like that you’re having a drink with me on Christmas eve, or…what?” I asked, playing dumb, but I knew exactly what he meant. The last time we had interacted with each other he was in a position of authority over me. A role model. Now we were peers. Both adults and technically there was nothing wrong with this interaction except I was a few months under the drinking age. But it felt wrong to him, I think. I don’t know why…well, I think I know why…but I was determined to make him feel at ease.

“Yeah,” he said. “But I’m happy about it. Pleasantly stunned,” he said as he looked back up at me. “So you’ll be here for your whole holiday break?”

I hesitated, feeling like answering this question would commit me to something I hadn’t anticipated, but there was no getting around it. If I was here he would know. “Yeah. In a way I think it will be nice, being away from everything. School’s been stressful and I have some choices to make. I guess I’m hoping that coming home for a couple weeks will help me with that.”

Scott sipped his drink and shook the ice around in the glass. “There’s something to be said for cutting out the noise when you have life choices to make. Are these choices related to school? What are you majoring in, anyway?”

I crossed my legs and rotated my chair to face him. I took a drink and looked inside my glass as I rotated the ice around. Obviously I wasn’t going to tell him about the choice. “Um…yeah, school’s part of it. I’m majoring in English right now. I didn’t know what to choose at first so I chose something I genuinely enjoy…but I’m not sure I’ll be able to find a job without going to graduate school, and my grades aren’t turning out to be good enough to do that. It’s so much reading and it’s really hard to keep up. I’m thinking of changing to something else but I’ll end up graduating later than I planned and having to take out more loans.”

Scott contemplated this for a moment. “The competencies you develop with an English major can complement pretty much any other major but on its own won’t mean much aside from simply having a degree. Why don’t you see if you can double major so the classes you’ve taken so far still count towards graduation? What did you have in mind to switch to?”

I sighed and took another swig of my drink. “I really don’t know. Something in STEM probably? Maybe civil engineering or computer science? Something I don’t have to go to grad school for.”

“Isn’t it sad that people your age are expected to decide what you wanna do for the rest of your lives when you don’t even know what any of those jobs actually are?” He paused and sipped his drink. “Do you know what a civil engineer or software engineer does day to day? And you’re considering these things because you want to be done with school faster. It’s really a shame and too much pressure for young people,” he paused and smiled at me. “In my opinion.”

I sighed and began twisting a lock of my hair around my fingers. “But like…I need to make money so I don’t really care what those jobs mean as long as I can do them. It can’t get much worse than being broke all the time and having to rely on my parents, can it?” As soon as I asked the question I felt my face get hot.

Scott’s parents own the gravel pit down the driveway from my dad’s house and I’m pretty sure they’re the ones helping him out now that he’s out of work and he’s living in an old house that they moved out of to get a nicer place out of state somewhere. Probably somewhere warm like Florida, but I’m not sure.

After a short silence we looked at each other, smiled, and I think he knew what I was thinking. He laughed and shook his head. “Yeah, depending on parents sucks. I don’t recommend it if you can avoid it.”

I shrugged. “Yeah. I wanna avoid it. I don’t think my parents like me very much. I don’t wanna burden them.”

Scott looked incredulous. “What? I’m sure they love you and don’t see you as a burden,” he said.

“Loving and liking are two different things. Love is like…an obligation to your kid, isn’t it? It doesn’t mean they like me and I don’t want them to feel like they have to support me.”

I thought he would say something but he looked down at his hands in silence.

“I’m sorry, Scott. I’ll figure it out and I’ll be okay,” I said. I felt awkward like I could lose control over what I was saying, and I was really hungry, but I didn’t want Scott to leave just then. “Hey, I was just about to make some dinner. Would you like to stay? For dinner?” The question felt absurd but I was in an absurd state.

He looked at me then looked to the kitchen. “You’re…inviting me to stay for dinner?”

I could tell the whiskey was hitting him. He spoke slower and more deliberately than he had been when he first arrived.

I walked to the kitchen and picked up the pound of ground venison from the sink as if to prove myself and showed it to him. “Yeah, that’s what I said. I was making something like…venison soup. Do you want some? What were you going to town for anyway? I um…I have stuff, like if you were going for food…”

He drained the rest of the whiskey and stood. “I’m sorry, Christine. I should go. You don’t need to cook for me or give me food or anything like that. I really do need to get going.” Even though he’d just finished his drink he suddenly sounded clearer, like he was trying to correct a mistake.

Embarrassed, I went to the closet and handed him his coat. “I’m sorry…I didn’t mean to sound weird. I just…I dunno. I’m really happy you’re here. Don’t mind me.”

He took his coat and slipped it on. He paused by the door and looked at me. “I’m happy you’re here too.”

I was drunk, dizzy, and felt like I couldn’t just let him go. I stepped closer to him and opened my arms to suggest a hug. He hesitated before putting his arms around my waist, lightly at first. I hugged his shoulders then found one of my hands was in his hair and my face was close to his neck. He smelled like sweat and soap. I wanted to breathe that smell in deeply but I didn’t want to make him any more uncomfortable than he likely was. We stood there like that for a few moments before he pulled me closer to him and we embraced for a completely inappropriate amount of time. I think I could hear his heart beating.

I had crossed a boundary but he was allowing me to. I wasn’t sure what to do next or how much further to push things. “Would you like to do Christmas together tomorrow?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Um…yeah, why not,” he said, his voice cracking a little, before pulling away from me. “Do you just wanna call me in the morning and we can make a plan?”

I nodded, breathless.

“Alright. Yeah. Good. Do you…should I get anything special from town?” he asked, his hand on the doorknob and his eyes looking out the window at his truck.

I shrugged. “Just…whatever you want. Whatever you think sounds good.”

He nodded. “Okay. Good. Goodnight, Christine,” he said as he quickly walked out the door and shut it behind him, before I could get the chance to respond. I watched him out the window as he got in his truck, started it, saw me watching him and waved goodbye as he backed out and made his way towards the highway.

I grabbed my jacket from the closet and went outside to have a cigarette. My heart was racing and as I lit the cigarette my fingers trembled. Why had I done that? My intention was to come up here, have time for myself, and contemplate my life and if I even wanted it anymore. Now I was dragging this man into the picture knowing full well he could be dangerous to me or influence me. We’re both out here, alone, far from help with no phone service except landlines. Do I even care, though? Does anything matter?

He didn’t seem dangerous, and I’ve known him for a long time. He’s always been good to me. I probably wouldn’t have graduated high school if it weren’t for him being lenient to me in several situations. But was he lenient for nefarious reasons? At the time, as a teenager, I’d wanted that to be the case. I’d wanted him to think I was special, pretty. Since he first started working at Lake of the Woods when I was in ninth grade I’d had a crush on him. I think I still do, despite how stupid that feels. He has allegations.

I took a long drag from the cigarette. The night was crisp and still and I walked along the driveway a little ways and looked up at the cloudless sky. The brightness of the stars is surreal without all the light pollution Fargo has. I circled around and contemplated the sky from various angles.

When I think about Astronomy and the vastness of space it enforces both my sense of nihilism and of meaning. Nihilism because of how pointless anything I do feels and meaning because of how rare my existence is. I learned last year in my Introduction to Astronomy class that through most of the universe’s existence nothing will happen for an unfathomable amount of time because everything will devolve into black holes. Should I carry on for the sake of being part of this sliver of time where things happen?

All at once the silence became unsettling and I realized I’d walked some distance away from the yard light and I couldn’t see into the woods on one side of me or much of the open field on the other side. I stood very still, listening and watching. I stared off into the woods. Stillness, silence. Then suddenly I heard twigs snapping and adrenaline surged through me and I ran back towards the house, slipping a little on the packed down snow. I ran into the house and closed and locked the door. I smiled to myself and shook my head. I was getting jumpy for no reason.

I didn’t end up making dinner. I put everything away in the fridge and I’ve been eating from a large bag of pretzels as I’ve been writing this and they’re almost gone. I’m listening to Britney Spears’ new album, Circus. My favorite song so far is “Unusual You.” It’s kind of soft and dreamy and it's reminding me of him. Not Paul, but Scott. Why am I like this? I should go to bed soon but I feel stupid and giddy like a dumb teenage girl. I wonder if I’ll feel the same when I wake up in the morning or if I’ll regret this.

I heard his truck drive by like a half an hour ago, around 11 pm. It seems like he was out for a while…maybe he stopped at the muni for a drink or maybe he drove around for a little while before coming back. I wonder if he hangs out in town at all or has any friends. I wonder if there are any women, women closer to his age, that feel for him the way I do. He’s never been married and he doesn’t have any kids. That’s kind of weird, isn’t it?

I think most women would be put off by the allegations. I’ve been trying to figure out what’s wrong with me. Why don’t I care about it the way I should? I believe something happened–he didn’t actually get charged with anything and he didn’t actually get fired. To my knowledge he resigned voluntarily, and that alone seems to be an admission of guilt for…something. But what?

I’m choosing not to think about it even though I can’t stop thinking about it. I’m excited for tomorrow. I’ve been thinking about hugging him before he left and I don’t think I’ve ever had such an emotionally charged hug. I keep thinking about how he smelled, how he pulled me closer to him, how I could hear his heart beat. Do I want more than that? I guess it just feels good to feel excited about someone, especially someone I used to dream about in this very room for years as a teenager. So many dreams, so many mornings feeling disappointed to wake up…I should really go to bed.