Chapter 27

“In the desert there is no sign that says, ‘Thou shalt not eat stones.’”
—Margaret Atwood, The Handmaid’s Tale

25 JANUARY 2019

Why are relationships so difficult? You’d think that with the amount of experience I have, I wouldn’t do stupid things like forget a date with one woman in order to talk to another. Even if it was important. I didn’t set out to hurt anyone.

I’ve been forgiven. At least she says so. I really need to do something special for her and don’t know what it should be. It’s not like I want her to think we have a future together. We both know that’s not in the cards. But I also don’t want her to feel like she’s nothing more than a receptacle when needed. It’s changed somehow. She started visiting me to help me out, not expecting anything in return. But now, with other options potentially open to me, it seems more like me helping her out. And I’m willing—I’m excited to do that. I can’t imagine what it must feel like to have a basketball in your belly that keeps getting bigger every week.

But when I touch that bump, rub lotion on her, caress her curves, I have such a feeling of tenderness toward her that I’m near tears. I always thought girl hormones made them moody and emotional while boy hormones just made a guy horny. Maybe it’s my ‘old soul’ that is so emotional as I think about how many things I’m still missing because I fail to see their importance.

Tuesday, I did everything in my power to make Francie feel like a princess. Who came and came and came. I massaged her. I caressed her. I kissed her. And I did anything she wanted. Finally, I held her against my chest while she silently wept.

“I know we’re not together like a boyfriend and girlfriend or even lovers, really,” she sniffed. “I want you to have a real relationship and a real girlfriend. I don’t want to tie you down to a fat cow. And still knowing all that, I just felt so abandoned. I thought you were never going to want me again.”

“I want you, Francie. It was stupid of me not to think of you first.”

“That’s just it, though. You shouldn’t have to think of me first. You should think of your girlfriend first.”

“I wish we shared the same lunch period,” I sighed. “I’d make you one of them.”

“That’s sweet, but even though Rachel is willing to accept me, I wouldn’t be so sure about the other three. Girls get jealous over the silliest things.”

“I need to wash you off so you can get dressed before Pey gets here,” I sighed. “I wish we had more time.”

“It’s hard enough to leave after an hour. It would be impossible after two,” she laughed. “Thank you, Jacob. Thank you for taking care of me.”

Making things right with Em wasn’t so easy. She fucked Tony.

I should have seen it coming, even before my fiasco with Francie. He met her every morning when I went in for my early workout. I’d long since been abandoned on the treadmill since I was spending forty minutes walking in gym the next period. Tony spent all his time helping Em get fit and strong before National Service Basic. She dutifully took Francie and me home on Tuesday and Thursday, but expected me to find my own lift home the other days of the week. Fortunately, either Joan or Rachel was always available and each day included a bit of making out with one or more of my girlfriends. I only ever gave Beca a little kiss on the cheek but she had some pretty serious kisses with Joan.

The night I found out about Tony—Friday after I’d had a very nice night out with my four girlfriends—the nightmare hit with a vengeance. I’d cried myself to sleep after Em stopped in my room and told me she’d gone all the way with Tony.

“God, he knows how to get a girl’s motor purring,” she said. “How was your date?”

I admitted I’d had fun and she left to go to bed. I rolled over to cry.

The pressure came. I knew where I was this time. I was dead at eighty years old and they were burying me. I felt the pressure grow with every shovelful of dirt they piled on. Of course I couldn’t breathe. Of course I couldn’t hear. I couldn’t feel anything but the growing pressure. I was dead. I needed to just let go. There was nothing there on the other side of death but the absorption of my body into the pressure of earth. Maybe one day, like dinosaurs of old, I would become oil trapped in a layer of shale, pumped out to fuel a car or its equivalent eighty million years from now. Memory. Life. Family. Friends. Lovers. It all faded into that inky blackness as the pressure on my chest drove me into the ground and into oblivion.

I woke, feeling air rushing into my lungs as I gasped. Early morning light came through my window. I lay flat on my back staring at the ceiling, wondering why I was alive. Beside me, Em stirred and I felt her hand in mine. She wore a long sleepshirt but I could feel the softness of her breast pressed into my arm.

My anchor. She was why I was alive.

I turned my head toward her and watched her sleep. She always slept in on Saturday morning after her big date nights. I hadn’t had a nightmare on a Friday night in quite a while. I’d had one the night after my mess-up with Francine a week ago and woke up with Peyton holding my hand. But Em was here with me now and when I tried to pull my hand away, she gripped it tighter. Her eyes squinted open at me.

“Never let go,” she mumbled.

“I thought ... I was dead.”

“Just a dream. Don’t let it bother you. It was just a dream.”

“It’s not a dream, is it, Em. I died.” Her eyes flashed open and stared at me.

“Don’t go there, Jacob. Please don’t go there. I can’t stand it. It was just a dream and I’ll never let you go.” Tears sparkled in her eyes and I wrapped my arm around her to hold her against me.

“I thought you let go last night,” I whispered.

“Tony?”

“Yeah.”

“You felt abandoned?”

“Yeah.”

“Like Francie?”

“Em...”

“Jacob, I didn’t fuck Tony to get back at you.” She rolled farther toward me and kissed me gently.

“You won’t understand until you’re a senior and turn eighteen. All of a sudden you start seeing people as a lost opportunity. You think, ‘I’ll never have a chance to see if we could be a match.’ Or even, ‘I wish I’d fucked him before it was too late.’ Everything changes when you turn eighteen.”

“The National Service?”

“Yeah. It’s easy to ignore until you get the letter. It was a stupid idea passed into law by hateful old men who knew they’d never have to serve. And now we’re stuck with it and when we become hateful old men ... or women ... all we’ll think is that we endured it, our children can do it.”

That smacked me into silence. I was one of those hateful old men who had espoused a mandatory national service as V1. I’d talked about how it would teach discipline and straighten out our youth. But I knew I’d never have to serve. I was eighty fucking years old. I wondered if this life was simply punishment for things I advocated in the other.

“So, what are we doing next weekend?” Beca asked Sunday afternoon. “We get Friday off for that teacher in-service thing. We should do something fun.” The five of us sat at our table with books still spread open. Desi, after a little establishment of the pecking order, had fit in just fine. Pey had finally gotten tired of the fact that we were actually studying and went to play with a friend. I guess Em had, too.

“It’s so stupid that they have it this week instead of next week,” Joan complained. “One week difference and we’d have a four-day Valentine’s weekend with President’s Day the next Monday.”

“Should we celebrate Valentine’s early?” Rachel asked. “We could do something special together. Or separately.”

“I have such a cool V-Day outfit this year,” Desi said.

“Does it involve you wearing any clothes?” Joan asked sarcastically. Desi had shown that she didn’t wear a wild costume every day. Although she sure had a lot of low-cut blouses that showed off her cleavage. I understood Rachel’s desire to suck on her tits.

“Yes,” Desi responded. “I still wear more clothes than you do, slut.”

“Yeah. I’m learning a lot about how to attract insects from watching you.” Desi had been hit on once nearly every day since she joined our group. The warrior queen cosplay she’d worn last Wednesday resulted in three date requests which she declined by saying she had a boyfriend, thank you. They all looked around at our table and got headshakes from the other girls. The guys slunk away.

“Girls, don’t start bashing on each other. The rest of us are stuck with you, too, you know. So, who’s in favor of our own Valentine Dance this weekend?” Beca asked.

“Uh, does that mean we don’t go to the school dance next week?” Rachel asked. Beca turned to her and smiled before kissing her on the cheek.

“No, honey. It means you get to take Jacob to the dance and the other three of us will stay out of your way,” Beca said. Rachel grinned broadly and turned to me. I just loved her smile.

“Want to go to the school Valentine Dance with me, Jacob?” she asked sweetly.

“I’d love to,” I answered.

“It also means,” Joan broke in, “that Desi and I get to take turns on him ... I mean with him ... at our private dance this weekend.” I blushed and saw Desi blush, too.