finished the first one,” Bren said, gesturing toward the two bottles by the window.
“Do you want it?”
“No. I want to hug you and make you feel better.”
“I wish it was that easy,” Erika said.
It was clear to Bren that any notions he might have had of warm entanglements on the couch would have to be abandoned. He had been missing this sort of thing and wondered why she, apparently, had not. Still, the message was unmistakable. She was not only refusing physical consolation, she was refusing any consolation at all. He should take himself off, gracefully if possible. He gave her a small mock salute. “We strive to please,” he said, “and seldom succeed.”
“I’m sorry,” Erika said again.
“Never mind,” Bren said. “Maybe when this damn play is over, we’ll get some time to just fool around or do something like the dance program. Who knows? If we live that long.”
“Let’s hope we won’t have to wait till the play is over to have some fun,” she said with a wan smile. She was drifting toward the door, and he followed her reluctantly. “What about Saturday? No, I’ve got to paint the battlements.”
“And I have to start focusing,” Bren said. “Sunday, then.”
“We can live in hope.” Erika opened the door into the hall, where, by a bit of bad luck, the elevator had just stopped.
“Going down?” the elevator man asked, and Bren was cheated of even the hope of a parting kiss.
“See you tomorrow in the slave market,” he called as the door slid shut. Erika waved listlessly and turned back into her empty apartment.
She wandered into the living room again and stood staring at the two half-empty beer bottles standing deserted on the window seat. Depression was rapidly turning to rage, and she contemplated throwing one of them across the cold perfection of the room.
“What’s the
matter
with me?” she said out loud. “I finally meet someone I really like, and I turn into some kind of shrinking violet.” No boy she had ever known before would have put up with such behavior for two minutes, and surely even Bren’s patience and understanding could not be limitless. “He’ll think I’m hopelessly neurotic,” she mumbled. “Not neurotic-interesting but neurotic-boring, and he’ll be right.” Instead of throwing the beer, Erika decided to drink it. She consumed both half bottles, staring moodily out the window, and felt her spirits faintly but perceptibly revive. He had not, after all, said anything that wasn’t hopeful and encouraging. They would find something fun to do. They might even spend Sunday together. Erika put a favorite blues record on the stereo and lay down on the couch. It crossed her mind that if she had a dog like Shadow to come and lay his shaggy head on her chest, this solitude would be bearable. It was a short step to thinking about Bren’s house, seemingly so full of people and animals. That’s where we should have gone, she thought, even at the cost of a little privacy.
Erika was aware that Bren was not enthusiastic about taking her home. He had evaded her broadest hints, but boys were like that. They always tried to give the impression that they had been born, not of parents, but by some remarkable manufacturing process that presented them to the world fully formed, just as they were, without roots or antecedents. At least most boys did. This wasn’t really fair to Bren, who talked quite a lot about his home, but always in a mysterious way, as if he had something to hide. Erika’s curiosity began to revive, and with it came a trace of optimism. She got up and went to look out the window again, this time with eyes full of dreamy speculation. The music, sad but beautiful, crept into her bones, and she began to dance.
Chapter Twelve
Contrary to his gloomy predictions, Bren found that the next two days in the theater were more fun—more what he had imagined in the beginning. He was working on the stage, for one thing, hanging and focusing the
“Do you want it?”
“No. I want to hug you and make you feel better.”
“I wish it was that easy,” Erika said.
It was clear to Bren that any notions he might have had of warm entanglements on the couch would have to be abandoned. He had been missing this sort of thing and wondered why she, apparently, had not. Still, the message was unmistakable. She was not only refusing physical consolation, she was refusing any consolation at all. He should take himself off, gracefully if possible. He gave her a small mock salute. “We strive to please,” he said, “and seldom succeed.”
“I’m sorry,” Erika said again.
“Never mind,” Bren said. “Maybe when this damn play is over, we’ll get some time to just fool around or do something like the dance program. Who knows? If we live that long.”
“Let’s hope we won’t have to wait till the play is over to have some fun,” she said with a wan smile. She was drifting toward the door, and he followed her reluctantly. “What about Saturday? No, I’ve got to paint the battlements.”
“And I have to start focusing,” Bren said. “Sunday, then.”
“We can live in hope.” Erika opened the door into the hall, where, by a bit of bad luck, the elevator had just stopped.
“Going down?” the elevator man asked, and Bren was cheated of even the hope of a parting kiss.
“See you tomorrow in the slave market,” he called as the door slid shut. Erika waved listlessly and turned back into her empty apartment.
She wandered into the living room again and stood staring at the two half-empty beer bottles standing deserted on the window seat. Depression was rapidly turning to rage, and she contemplated throwing one of them across the cold perfection of the room.
“What’s the
matter
with me?” she said out loud. “I finally meet someone I really like, and I turn into some kind of shrinking violet.” No boy she had ever known before would have put up with such behavior for two minutes, and surely even Bren’s patience and understanding could not be limitless. “He’ll think I’m hopelessly neurotic,” she mumbled. “Not neurotic-interesting but neurotic-boring, and he’ll be right.” Instead of throwing the beer, Erika decided to drink it. She consumed both half bottles, staring moodily out the window, and felt her spirits faintly but perceptibly revive. He had not, after all, said anything that wasn’t hopeful and encouraging. They would find something fun to do. They might even spend Sunday together. Erika put a favorite blues record on the stereo and lay down on the couch. It crossed her mind that if she had a dog like Shadow to come and lay his shaggy head on her chest, this solitude would be bearable. It was a short step to thinking about Bren’s house, seemingly so full of people and animals. That’s where we should have gone, she thought, even at the cost of a little privacy.
Erika was aware that Bren was not enthusiastic about taking her home. He had evaded her broadest hints, but boys were like that. They always tried to give the impression that they had been born, not of parents, but by some remarkable manufacturing process that presented them to the world fully formed, just as they were, without roots or antecedents. At least most boys did. This wasn’t really fair to Bren, who talked quite a lot about his home, but always in a mysterious way, as if he had something to hide. Erika’s curiosity began to revive, and with it came a trace of optimism. She got up and went to look out the window again, this time with eyes full of dreamy speculation. The music, sad but beautiful, crept into her bones, and she began to dance.
Chapter Twelve
Contrary to his gloomy predictions, Bren found that the next two days in the theater were more fun—more what he had imagined in the beginning. He was working on the stage, for one thing, hanging and focusing the
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