I remembered it all one night in the middle of February. My family had moved away to Virginia, and though my mom had asked me to visit, the thought of being beside them all while I felt like I didn’t belong anywhere was unbearable. Instead, I was in my hometown alone. It was cold outside, but a heat crept up my back because I was embarrassed that I had come – no one knew me anymore. As I walked, I kept imagining ice-cold water funneling down into bottomless depths.
It was a surprise to see Thomas reading a book on the caved-in couch of the town bookstore. When he saw me his face changed. He did not jump up to hug me right away, just searched my face, figuring out how he knew me. I’d gained enough weight to look entirely different from before, and the white-hot embarrassment of this realization brought back the sensation of Frank leaving me, sneering as he turned to go.
A snap. Thomas sprang to his feet.
“Susan!” His smiled forced me to smile back. “Thomas! How are you?” My mouth shook like it had when I spoke to David Hemmings back in 9th grade – an involuntary tremor that had allowed him to cut right into me.
Thomas did not seem to notice the tremor; he looked at my face the way he always had, his eyes a dazzled smile. I noticed he was married, the ring fat and glinting on his finger.
He asked me what I was doing in town and I lied that I come to see a friend.
“Let me buy you some food.”
He drove us, passing the church where I used to go with my 12th grade boyfriend to make-out. I told him the story of the time a cop caught us.
“He let us go, but when I got home, mom was waiting. She shook her head and told me that my dress was inside-out.” I reddened as I reached the story’s punch-line, I must have told it a thousand times.
He laughed as we pulled into the diner parking-lot.
As we sat, he told me about his life – his wife, their kids, the happiness it brought him and the disappointments that he was able to put into perspective. I was jealous of him. Disappointments always seemed to crush me flat, made me want to give up.
As he went on, I found myself wishing that he would reach for me across the table and tell me that I was going to be all right. I hadn’t thought of him much before tonight, but I felt a desperate need for him to say, “I love you, I’m greedy for you.”
Instead he kept smiling, telling me jokes. He chuckled at his own jokes, and I found myself jealous that he could laugh so easily.
Toward the end of the meal, he grew quiet, looking thoughtful as he played with a straw- wrapper and asking me questions about myself. I answered, trying to steady my tremor.
When it came time to say goodbye, I felt glad to see him go – he had seen enough of me. As I turned to leave, he grabbed my hand, looked straight into my face, and said:
“You’re one of my oldest friends. I want you to know that you’re going to be all right.”
My tremor grew fierce, radiating in my chest. What had I let him see?
But as he walked away, something took root; the water swirled more slowly.
Later, in the amber light of the train station, a trickle of warmth ran through me. I remembered that once twenty years ago, Tom had looked at me just the way he had tonight – no dazzle, his eyes were steady. He had brushed my hair behind my shoulder, telling me to relax and come dance with our friends.
Suddenly, I remembered Tom, my friend. I remembered love.
A burst. The tremor shifted into a brilliant, steady pulse.
I rose from the wooden bench and changed my ticket for one bound for Virginia, quietly promising myself that this time I would allow the warmth to bloom and settle in my bones.
Anna Barcy