Jen knows it’s stupid, knows she shouldn’t let Rosemary’s words sit so heavily upon her. They’re adults, not high schoolers. She doesn’t need to be sitting below deck with Peter right now. She doesn’t need to ‘even things up.’ But she’s haunted by a night years ago that was a defining moment in her friendship with Saint. A betrayal of sorts that left its mark on them both.
It wasn’t really a night at all, which was part of the problem. It was five-thirty in the morning, a summer morning when she should have gone to bed about a bottle ago. She’d first moved in with Saint after failing to find ‘la dolce via’ in the big city, saddled with student loans after finishing her BFA and sinking deeper into debt daily.
Saint was making good money as a factory rat but was bored with life. They’d both thought Jen’s coming home and moving in would be cause for adventure. They just hadn’t known what that adventure would look like.
This night had been an adventure gone wrong. On a bar-hopping juggernaut through a resort town up north, they’d picked up two hapless low-lifes who now somehow were back here in their home.
Jen was fumbling with the car keys, heading down the driveway, after a heated argument with one of them about politics. He seemed like a redneck and talked like a criminal. She had the same sick, shaky feeling she’d had the night in her freshman year when her jilted boyfriend tried to kill her.
Saint came roaring out of the house, drunk, clearly insane. She grabbed Jen’s arm and dug her nails in.
“Do this for me.” she spat.
“Look,” Jen said, “Nobody’s thinking straight tonight. I’ve gotta go for a drive. Do what you want, just don’t expect me to go along with it.”
“You fucking hypocrite! Little miss pure. Look what you used to sleep with!” Saint narrowed her eyes and shook her white fist at Jen.
“Right. Why do think I’m like this? Why am I here? Use your head, Saint! I’m done with nights like this,” Jen said.
“I need this Jen,” Saint slurred.
“Great, so kick his slimy little friend out and fuck your brains out.” Jen gave her a vicious smile and wrested her arm away. Relentless, Saint grabbed her again as she pulled away.
“You cunt! You know I can’t. Don’t ruin this. You have to stay.”
“I’ll ruin it more if I stay.” Jen’s dead serious now. Maybe it’s the drink, but she’s feeling surly, fed up.
“You didn’t have to fight with him,” Saint pouted.
“He’s stupid. He a closed-minded bigot who never finished high school. He’s fucked.” Jen’s voice is starting to go.
“Who cares if he’s stupid. Like that’s ever stopped you before.”
“That was then, this is now. I don’t live like that now. Besides, if I want to sleep with trash, I’ll pick my own, thanks.”
“You’re just afraid to fuck anyone in case they try to kill you,” Saint laughed. mocking.
“No, maybe I’m just in love.” Jen said, hot tears starting to stream down her face. She kept trudging toward the car but Saint had a grip on her like a dog with a bone.
“Bullshit. You’ll never be with Marty. How can you when you’re here? You don’t love him, you would have fucked him, you wouldn’t have left town. You don’t even take his calls. He’s just an excuse. You’re shit scared, that’s what you are. You let MacDonald psych you out. Now you think every guy you can’t control is going to kill you.” The spite in Saints voice breaks Jen.
“And knowing all you know, how can you ask me to do this? You selfish bitch!” Jen swats away her tears, trying to erase the errant mascara that is stinging her eyes. She leans against the car and turns to face Saint.
“This isn’t about the guys, Jen, come on! I want us to be eighteen again.”
“Get with the program, Saint, that was then, this is now.” Jen wanted to be driving. Fast. On a winding road. She can’t think, or breathe. She just wants outta here, out of this.
“You don’t understand,” Saint cries. “I fucking sat here in this city, alone, year after year while you were wandering around Toronto lamenting about your lost creativity, you’re unproductiveness, learning more than I’ll ever have a chance to. I’d go to my no-brain job day after day, nothing changed. Sometimes I’d wake up and couldn’t breathe. I was dying here! Then things get a little tough for you in the big city, so you come running back here.”
“You asked me to.”
“Yeah, well, so now you’re here and nothing’s changed, I still wake up and can’t breathe.”
“And that’s my fault? Hey, you picked your life, okay. Don’t blame your life on me.”
“I had to.”
“No you didn’t. It was your pride. Or the fear that your Daddy wouldn’t think you were tough enough,” Jen said. She knew it was cruel, but she also knew it to be true.
“Oh, fuck you. Why do I bother. You don’t deserve it.”
“I don’t deserve what.” Jen is flushed, but won’t let her get away with this. Won’t make it easy.
“Me. Your life. All your little psychodramas. Then you’re ice queen when I have one of my own,” Saint said
“It’s a little stale for me okay. I’m somewhere else now,” Jen said, and unlocked the car door, sliding into the driver seat. Saint came up and grabbed the door before she could close it.
“Don’t patronize me, you bitch. You’ll never be better than me. You don’t have it in you. So don’t ever patronize me.”
“It’s the booze talking, Saint. Go hang with your new friends, we’ll talk about this sober.” Saint stands back a little. Her arms are crossed, she is thinking of something to say.
“Yeah, at least I get drunk when I drink.”
“No kidding. So what’s your point?” Jen really felt like punching her.
“You’re so fucked up, you’re so inside yourself that you can’t even get drunk. I feel sorry for you,” she says.
“Look, I’m getting over a rough time, not that it’s any of your fucking business. You just want me to be what you need, not what I am. I’m sick of this. I never would have come back here if I knew it’d be like this.” Jen speaks quietly now, not shouting, which seemed to frighten Saint more.
“So go back to your dramatic little life in T.O., throw some paint on a canvas and cry all night because you never want anyone to love you like MacDonald did, but no one will love you like MacDonald did. Including Marty. You can forget Marty.”
“MacDonald didn’t love me. He wanted to consume me. And you don’t even know Marty. So leave him out of it.”
“Consume! Oh, fuck, get a grip Jen. He was hurt and he got mad. He figured out you were a cold bitch and didn’t give a shit about him. You got what you deserved. You never should have played house. Or that friendship game with Marty, he’s likely still stalking Marty even now, you know.”
“I know. Fuck. You don’t get it. Listen to yourself. But you want me to pretend I like some asshole so you can offer your precious virginity to swine. Swine Saint! Why now?”
“Because I should have then, when I was eighteen, but I was too busy…too busy…”
“Too busy judging me? Too busy letting me live out everything you were above? What’s so different now? We just traded places. I do what you want, then you change the rules. I can’t talk about this now…” Jen’s throat feels swollen and she can’t breathe through the hot tears.
Saint’s crying now too, drink will do that.
“Please…” Saint said, but Jen closes the door and reverses, then speeds down and around the winding Lakeshore drive for all the world like someone who meant to crash.
Jen’s mom knew that summer that something was wrong with her, with Saint. Saint was her mom’s favorite, easy to be around. If you weren’t Jen. The rules were different for Jen.
In the I Ching there’s a passage about fire and wood, the yin and yang. Fire clings to wood, has all the brilliance, but cannot exist without the dark, passive wood. People used to look at Jen, dazzled by the bright flames, and never saw she was nothing, nothing but change, wood transforming to air. Confident, in control, Jen shone until one day she noticed she wasn’t real. Things are never what they seem.
Fast forward through the years and here she is, drifting now aboard the Bounty on an ill-considered tour, and the wind together with the memories has made her numb. Part of Jen wants to be home. She wants to hug Jace. She can’t stand this feeling, not just guilt but the injustice. It’s not fair; she has no business being here, flirting. Jen seems to suffer for her actions before the fact so maybe in a way Saint was right, that she likes it. Maybe she’s in love with guilt and suffering.
Rosemary and Paul are standing very close, wind rippling their hair, clothes, so that they almost blur into one another from Jen’s vantage inside the cabin where Pete has lured her with single malt scotch. Pete hovers, alternately giving off that dejected air that men in bars get at last call thinking about going home alone, but then rallying with a new tact. Jen hopes Rosemary and Paul get it together, fast, because she doesn’t want to have to see Pete again. She has a feeling it won’t go this way though, they’re still pretending to be intrigued strangers. Rosemary gives so many mixed signals that guys are just plain scared to make moves. Little wonder they’re above board, while she and Pete are below.
“Why do I have the feeling you’re anywhere but here?” Pete says.
“I’m sorry, lost in thought I guess.” He seems much more real to her now, harder to dislike. She’s a sucker for that tone guys get when they’re feeling vulnerable, but trying to keep it together. That was the thing about Jace. It made her want to run like hell, but somehow she ran toward him instead of away.
“You’re not happy,” Pete says, lightly running his fingertips down her face, cupping her chin.
“I’m not happy because I’m here. No offence. I just shouldn’t be here.” What is she doing, making this real, talking about this? She feels sick but a little exhilarated. Honesty does that to her, makes her feel like flying, running, jumping. Wait. Maybe that’s the scotch.
“No. You’re not happy because you think too much,” Pete raises his glass and takes a long swallow.
“You sound like a shrink I once went to,” Jen says, swirling the ice in her glass and reaching for another shot.
“I mean it. We could be having a great time. Are you gonna live you’re whole life worrying about other people’s feelings?”
Jen laughs. “I don’t think my husband would agree with your assessment.”
“Then he’s a fool. Who buy’s their wife shoes for an anniversary anyway?” Pete rolls his eyes.
“He’s not polished that way,” Jen says. Pete ignores the pun and makes his case.
“Know what I’d do? I’d blindfold you, and take you to the resort. When I took the blindfold off, you’d see a room full of wild flowers and wine and brie. There would be a rose for each year spread out along the bed. We’d sit in the hot tub and look at the stars.” He’s pleased with the image, Jen sees, proud.
“That’s the edited version, I take it.”
“Yeah. Would you like the x-rated version?” He’s a little red-faced.
“No, because it’s shitty of you. You’re just trying to up-sell.” Jen’s feeling mean, hoping to make him squirm.
“What’s so bad about that? Are you afraid of a man who knows what he wants?” Pete smirks.
“I’m afraid of a man who doesn’t know what other people want.” Jen gives a tentative smile of her own.
Pete laughs. He does have a certain charm about him, Jen thinks. She’s feeling a little thrill. On one hand, she doesn’t really like him very much. If anyone’s her type, it’s Paul. Guys like Paul never ask her out, though, it’s always the Petes, the bold ones. She’s not sure what makes them so bold, has always suspected stupidity was the culprit, too stupid to see what they’re up against. Jace was the exception—nice guy, bright, quiet, coming out of a long line of silly young girls with loopy handwriting. Easy girls, easy to ask out, to please. Then he meets Jen. It took him a long time but he got up the nerve. She just never quite figured out why. He wasn’t stupid either, he knew what he was in for, wanted it. In fact, he was surprised to learn that she had such a domestic side. Softness. That was when they were still new, now he expects it. Now her old self is in a box with his letters and poems, something he likes to have around the house if he’s feeling nostalgic. Or drunk.
Jen used to think that what men like most is to tame a shrew. So many guys she’s gone out with, MacDonald the worst, were drawn to her because of her independence, of what she was doing with her life. Then they’d fall in love and try to take away everything they liked. Her career, her art, her personality. They never seemed to figure out that that was the number one way to kill love. Zap. Gone. And they’d be scratching their heads, wondering why one of them was looking at someone new, exciting, independent. Like the true meaning of imperial nostalgia, the longing for something you’ve personally ruined. Ruined by shaping it to remake it in your image. Paradise lost.
Jen is startled to find Pete stroking her hair. Suddenly, she feels like a little girl. She realizes she’s crying, it’s not just the wind from the open portal, but real, sad tears streaming down her face. She feels so incredibly lonely.
“It’s alright. Come here,” Pete whispers to her in that fatherly way.
Jen shakes her head and sits still with her arms crossed against her chest. He has bent down to her eye-level, and still has his fingers tangled in her hair.
“Look, you don’t have to talk about it. I understand. Come here and get out of the cold,” he says, reaching to draw the cabin blinds.
Jen looks out at Rosemary and Paul. He has his arm draped over her for warmth and is pointing at something on the horizon.
“Come on,” Pete insists, taking her hand.
Too tired and numb to resist, she lets him lead her to the inner chamber of the cabin. All she can think is why couldn’t she do this for Saint so long ago. Go along with it and let things unfold. Maybe Saint wouldn’t have married him, maybe she’d have gotten it out of her system. She ended up with the other guy, the one that was supposed to be for Jen. He must have impressed her that night. She liked the fact that he was opinionated. Told Jen so. She wanted babies, she said. Anything can happen in a night, in a moment. At some point they you just say fuck it, and throw the chips on the floor.
Jen feels sick because she thinks she knows what will happen, how the scotch, the talk, the touching will end up. Pete is leaning over her, saying the right things. Jen is forgetting herself. It’s like she’s in a trance, completely out of control, has had resistance trained out of her over the years. Pete is no fool, he’s good at this, has figured her out in the space of a morning. He knows what it will take, and is fully prepared to deliver. He must do this a lot, she thinks. Why not. Married women are easier targets. A little tea and sympathy. Something old, something new, something borrowed, someone blue.
Inside, Jen is careening across the sea, a gull, free, no home, only instinct driving her, hungry for this new skin, this new smell, the thrill of a new touch. Yesterday and tomorrow slide away like a silk robe falling to the floor. These moments of sick sadness and joy are all she can take with her into the cold ground, she tells herself, as Pete pulls her on top of him in a tangle of slick fury. She will be alone as they lower her down, her and her stolen moments. Nothing matters because nothing matters. She has forgotten herself. She can’t hang on anymore, holding the bed sheets to ground her while her lightness seeps out, vaporized into the sky, the gull, the sea. Poof, she is gone.