Kristina went to have a shower after taking another sip of Southern Comfort. Her hand holding the bottle was steady.
The hot water felt wonderful on her aching body but miserable on her shoulder, so she turned it off. Washing under cold water felt only marginally better. Every once in a while she would try to move her left arm and wince from the pain. But she didn’t feel like screaming, Kristina told herself. It wasn’t that bad.
When she was trying to dry herself, another student, Jill, entered the shower rooms. They nodded to each other, and Kristina continued to pat her body. Jill looked over at Kristina and stared.
‘Hey, what happened to you?’ she said.
‘Nothing, why?’ Kristina said quickly. Rather, she tried to say it quickly, but the words came out dead slow, methodical and precise. It was more like Nooo-thinnnn-ggg. Whyyyyyy? Alcohol always made Kristina walk and talk slow but think she was walking and talking fast.
‘I don’t know,’ Jill said. ‘You look… terrible. You need help or something?’
‘Thanks, but you know, I just gotta get to my room, and I’ll be all right. Really,’ she said, staring into Jill’s disbelieving eyes. ‘Honestly.’
‘What happened to you?’ Jill repeated. ‘Did you get hurt at a game or something?’
‘Yeah, that’s it,’ said Kristina. ‘That Cornell, they’ll do anything to win.’
Jill smiled thinly, helped Kristina dry her back, and then went and got her a bucket of ice and carried it to Kristina’s door.
* * *
When Kristina opened the door to her room, Aristotle greeted her. Albert was sitting on her bed, looking at her accusingly. Is that really accusingly? she thought, trying to get a better look at his expression. What did I do now?
‘God, what the hell happened to you?’ he said, getting up and walking over to her.
Kristina pondered his question as she put down the ice bucket and threw the towel off her body. Albert was in a bad mood. His tone was inflammatory, not distressed.
She didn’t reply. He’s mad at me. He doesn’t realize I almost died. Kristina decided to tell him.
Albert’s tone softened. ‘What happened, Rock?’ he said, standing up and coming close to her. His fierce-tender way of looking at her usually made her crazy. This time it nearly made her cry.
‘What are you upset about, Albert?’ Kristina asked quietly, putting three ice cubes on her shoulder.
‘Everybody’s been waiting for you for two hours. You said you were coming back at six.’
‘I don’t know if you noticed,’ she said slowly, rubbing the ice over her arm, ‘but I’ve been hurt. My car was totaled.’
‘I didn’t know your car was totaled.’
‘No, how could you?’ said Kristina tearfully.
Kristina sat nude in front of him. He looked at her breasts and then at the big black bruise on her side. The expression in his eyes made her feel better.
‘Look at you,’ he said in a throaty voice, coming closer to her. ‘You look so - what is that?’
She rubbed her side with the ice. That’s nothing, she thought, and said so.
‘God, what happened to your face? And your shoulder? It’s bleeding.’
She shook her head. ‘It’s nothing. It’s not bleeding,’ she said, not even wanting to look at it. ‘It’s just… discolored.’ Then, ‘It could be worse, you know.’
‘I don’t see how. How?’
‘I could be dead.’ Should be dead, she thought, and stood up.
‘You’ve been drinking.’
‘Not then.’ Kristina thought he meant she was drinking and driving, but then he didn’t even know what had happened to her.
‘Not then, when?’
‘Just now. I drank a little now. To take the edge off.’
‘The edge off what?’
‘The edge off the pain.’
‘What happened to you?’
‘My car turned over.’
‘God, how?’
‘An oncoming car hit me.’
‘Hit you? Where?’
‘On the side of the Mustang.’
Albert stared at her perplexed. ‘No. I mean, where?’
‘Route Ten.’
‘It swerved into your lane?’
She vaguely remembered the other car’s headlights, being caught in them, trying to avoid them.
‘No,’ she said. ‘I swerved into his.’
‘Why?’
‘Why? I don’t know,’ Kristina said slowly. ‘It seemed like a good idea?’
‘Kristina!’
‘He seemed really close.’
‘I see. So you drove into his lane to get farther away from him?’
She wanted to answer him, but turning her head away from him, she caught their reflection in her full-length mirror. She was standing naked in front of him. He was dressed in black jeans and a black sweater, black-headed, pony-tailed, black-eyed. They stood a foot apart, arguing about semantics. Is this what my life has become? Kristina thought. A bad Marx Brothers movie. Grotesque, ridiculous. Aristotelian theater where the absurd is the norm and the norm does not exist.
Kristina shook her head and moved toward the closet. ‘I gotta get dressed,’ she muttered.
‘You have to get that shoulder checked out. Can’t you move your arm?’
‘I can move it okay,’ she said. ‘I just choose not to.’
He stood solicitously next to her. ‘Maybe it’s fractured.’
She shook her head again. ‘The sockets would be popping out of the skin. It’s swollen. I think it’s just a sprain.’ She was trying her best to minimize it.
‘You don’t know anything. You should get it looked at. Go to the infirmary.’
‘No!’ she said. ‘No doctors. You know how I hate them.’ Kristina didn’t want to tell him how scared she was. Basketball meant nothing to him, but to her it was her whole life. That, and Red Leaves. And him.
Kristina walked over to the bookshelf and sifted through the pile of books until she found a soiled paperback copy of the Family Medical Encyclopedia.
She handed the book to Albert and said, ‘Look up “shoulder.” ‘
He scanned a page. ‘Doesn’t say anything useful.’
‘Now look up “joints."’
After reading for a few moments, Albert said, ‘"Sprain… painfully twisted or wrenched joint… following some kind of violence… “ ‘
‘Perfect,’ said Kristina.
Albert continued, ‘"Violence may dislocate or fracture the ends of the bones that make up a joint."’ He looked up at her. ‘What did I tell you?’
‘Thank you, Dr Maplethorpe,’ she said. ‘Read on.’
‘"X-ray pictures from several angles should be taken to make sure the bones have not been fractured or dislocated."’ He stopped reading. ‘See?’
‘Go on, go on,’ she said impatiently.
‘"Blood may seep out and discolor the skin,"’ he read aloud. ‘"… The synovial membranes are inflamed and reacting by pouring out fluid."’
‘Gee, that all sounds so nice,’ said Kristina, bending down to take more ice. She groaned. Bending down hurt her ribs.
Glancing at her, Albert went on, ‘"The immediate treatment for a sprain is application of cold wet bandages or ice bags to keep down the swelling…” ‘ And louder, he finished, ‘"Medical attention and x-rays should be obtained to make sure a sprain is just a sprain."’
‘Well, I’m not going,’ Kristina said stubbornly. ‘It’s fine. It’ll be much better tomorrow. Tomorrow, we’ll go and get some kind of infrared massager for heat treatment.’
‘Tomorrow you’ve got to go to the police.’
‘I’m not going to the police,’ Kristina said. ‘If the police want me, they’ll come to me.’
‘When they come to you,’ Albert pointed out, ‘they’ll bring handcuffs. Why are you being so stubborn about this?’
‘Who’s being stubborn? I don’t remember you going to the doctor when you broke your toe.’
He stared at her, perplexed. ‘When?’
‘Two years ago.’
A look of recognition passed over his face. ‘There is nothing they can do for toes. Besides, I had no money.’
‘So? I had money.’
‘I didn’t want your money!’ Albert yelled. ‘Do you understand?’
‘Perfectly!’ said Kristina. ‘Better than you think.’
‘Look, I don’t care what you do.’
‘I’m sure of that, Albert,’ Kristina retorted.
He ignored her comment, ‘don’t go to the doctor. Don’t go to the police. See if I care.’
‘I see already.’
Falling silent, Albert sat down in the lounge chair. Aristotle sidled up to him, dragging his tongue over his hand. It was a loving gesture, and Kristina, looking at them both, thought, Aristotle loves Albert. He’d gladly spend all his days with him if I weren’t around.
Bending down, Albert patted the dog on the head, and Aristotle, encouraged, licked his other hand. Albert sat next to the window and stared at Kristina with his impenetrable eyes.
Kristina hated fighting with him. Nowadays making up was harder and harder, and nothing felt worse to her than knowing they had argued and then weren’t kind to each other.
‘What are you looking at?’ Kristina asked him.
‘You,’ Albert replied. ‘God, you’re so beautiful. You’re amazing. Look at you.’
‘Yeah, look at me,’ Kristina said plaintively. ‘I’m a mess.’ ‘No, you’re all right. You could’ve died.’ His voice was peculiar. ‘You’re lucky you’re alive, you know.’
‘I know,’ she said weakly. ‘I know that better than anyone.’
Slowly she walked over and stood in front of him. He reached out and touched her lightly on the ribs. She flinched from his fingers. ‘It hurts a little,’ she said, trying to keep her voice even. ‘Albert, can you imagine it? Me, dying?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘I can’t. I can’t imagine living without you.’ Kristina wanted to tell him again that he was going to have to, but thought this wasn’t a good time.
‘Is the car a total wreck?’
She shrugged. ‘Who knows? You think I stuck around to find out how the car was?’
Quietly he said, ‘You should’ve gone to the hospital.’
‘What, and be even later?’ she asked. ‘I mean, they would’ve probably kept me there overnight. And look at what I got just for being two hours late. Can you imagine if I was away somewhere overnight?’
‘I would’ve thought something terrible happened to you. I would’ve been worried sick.’
‘Yeah, sure. You look really worried, sitting there.’
‘I’m sorry, Rock,’ he finally said. ‘I know you’re upset with me. Listen, please, let’s go to Canada. I’m asking you. Please.’
‘Albert, no. You, please. You have Conni, remember?’
‘I’ll work it out. Maybe I’ll pick a big fight.’
‘I don’t believe you,’ she said. Crouching in front of him, still naked, Kristina whispered, ‘Albert, please. I want to stop.’
He looked her over. ‘You’re naked.’
She got up and backed away from him. ‘I mean it.’
‘Let’s go to Canada and then you’ll tell me if you mean it.’ He smiled sexily.
‘No. I’m serious. I’ve had enough. I want us to be done. Okay?’
Kristina wasn’t smiling, and Albert stopped smiling.
‘You’re still naked,’ he repeated.
‘Clothes aren’t the problem, Albert. I can get dressed.’
‘Please,’ he said coldly.
‘The problem is us. We. We’ve got to stop.’ She looked away from him. ‘I want us to get over each other.’ She coughed, causing severe pain to her head. ‘I want to get over you. I want you to go with Conni to Long Island, and I don’t want to think about it anymore. I don’t want to lie, I don’t want to sneak around, I don’t want to worry about Howard. Or anybody.’
When he sat there impassively, Kristina said, ‘We’re not meant to be together.’
‘You’re wrong.’ His tone was flat. He could’ve been saying, ‘You’re right.’
‘We were never meant to be together,’ Kristina said firmly, knowing she didn’t sound firm, knowing she couldn’t shield herself from his eyes. She was stuck in front of him with nowhere to go.
‘You’re wrong,’ Albert repeated, in the same tone.
Kristina continued, undaunted, ‘Never. We screwed up real bad, but there’s still time to have a life - good lives. Don’t you want one? Conni loves you so much.’
‘I know. So? Jim loves you so much.’ He sounded bitter.
Shaking her head, Kristina said, ‘No, he doesn’t. No, he doesn’t. Not the way Conni loves you. And you know that.’
Albert got up out of his chair and stood, loomed, before her. ‘Kristina, this is absurd. I cannot not have you in my life.’
She rubbed her face with her good hand, but it was more like closing her eyes at the sight of him. ‘Albert - please. We can’t. We can’t continue.’
‘You’re wrong.’
She sighed deeply and then groaned from pain. She wasn’t wrong, she was just so tired of standing, of being naked, of this conversation falling again on his deaf ears.
There was a knock on the door. Albert looked at Kristina and sat back down in the armchair. Kristina looked at Albert. Aristotle barked once and started to wag his tail.
‘Hold on!’ Kristina said loudly.
‘Kristina?’ The door opened a notch. It was Jim.
‘Jim, hold on!’ Kristina repeated, throwing some clothes on.
‘Is everything okay?’
Jim couldn’t see her, for she was behind the door and out of his line of vision, but she knew he could see Albert sitting in her chair. Thank God he wasn’t sitting on her unmade bed. Aristotle ran to the door, and his behind started to move from side to side just like his tail.
‘I’m fine,’ Kristina said. ‘Come in.’
Jim came in, looking at them suspiciously. But Kristina knew Jim wouldn’t act on an emotional impulse; he didn’t trust emotional impulses. Jim glanced at Albert,.then at Kristina again. She was wearing her pink tank top and a pair of pull-on Dartmouth green shorts. At first his gaze was hard, but then he saw her face. Kristina knew she was a sight. There was a bloody gash where the glass had been, and her eyes had a glazed look that she knew was from alcohol. Jim could easily have mistaken the look for signs of concussion. Her tank-top collar was dark with dried blood.
‘God, what happened to you?’ Jim said, giving Albert a stare that made Kristina suspect Jim thought Albert had beaten her.
‘Nothing,’ she answered, touching her face. ‘I was in an accident. My car crashed. Everything’s okay. I’m fine.’
‘You look terrible.’
She felt terrible. The alcohol was wearing off.
‘I feel pretty good,’ she said, trying to smile.
‘Did you go to the hospital?’
Kristina remembered clambering up the hard ground, just to avoid going to the hospital. ‘No, I felt okay, so I came home.’
Jim became agitated. ‘You felt okay so you came home?’
Kissing Jim on the cheek, Kristina said in her nicest voice, ‘I’m okay, Jimbo.’ But her arm, swollen by her side, betrayed her. She tried to move it to show him, and failed. ‘Really,’ she said. ‘I’m fine.’
Albert got up. ‘I’d better go and see how Conni’s doing.’
‘She’s okay,’ Jim said, not looking at Albert. ‘She’s waiting for us. Maybe we should all go down.’
Kristina managed a pasty smile. ‘Why don’t you two go on ahead? I’ll be right down.’
Albert didn’t say anything, nor look her way; he just walked out of the room, taking Aristotle with him. Jim looked at her accusingly for a second and said, ‘Yeah, fine,’ and then left, too.
Kristina waited a few seconds to make sure they were way down the hall and coul
dn’t hear her before she locked the door and collapsed on the bed.
She lay there for what seemed like hours. Her eyes were opening and closing and she was looking at the lightbulb burning in the middle of her ceiling and wishing it would shut itself off, so the room could be dark, dark like it was in the car, in the middle of nowhere, when she thought she was dead. Now as she lay on her bed, she wondered why God had spared her, why he had spared her certain death in a collision of such suddenness.
It was the closest she had come to death. The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse had come to her, looked into her face, and galloped away. It wasn’t the first time she had seen them. When she was twelve, she had fallen off a wall into cold water. She was a good swimmer, but fear paralyzed her. She couldn’t move her arms or legs, couldn’t even scream for help. She just went down without a fight, gulping for air and feeling her lungs fill with water.
And last year she had seen them again on her bridge, when she tumbled down to what she was sure was certain death. She had survived that too, but lived her life prepared at any moment to meet God, adding up the tally of her life every time it snowed, and she, drunk beyond reason, praying under her breath, walked the ledge on the bridge, her hands outstretched.
She didn’t want to die. However, most of all, she was scared that it wouldn’t be God’s face she would see upon meeting her master. ‘I have only one master on earth,’ she whispered, ‘and I’m trying to exorcise him from my life because he’s no good for me, but he won’t let me, he’s stronger than me, and he won’t let me leave him.’
She opened her eyes and touched the temple that had had the piece of tempered glass wedged in it. I feel pain, she thought. Do dead people feel pain? Do they feel tenderness, anger, regret? Profound regret?
Do they feel love? A love more overwhelming than summer air?
I’m alive, Kristina thought, because I still feel pain. ‘I’m not ready to die,’ she whispered. ‘I’m not done living, I don’t want to die…’
I need a drink. I need another, and another and another. I need to pour it all over my wounds to numb them, to forget them, to not feel pain.