Girl at War(38)

One night Brian and I ate Chinese takeout in his bed. He was reading an anthropology textbook, and I held Black Lamb and Grey Falcon open on my lap but could not concentrate. I was running out of time to decide whether we should live together. The dreams showed no sign of letting up, and I continued to pull away from Brian in every moment I most needed him.

“Do you think two people are meant to stay together forever?” I said.

Brian looked up with a tentative smile. “Did you read Us Weekly in the supermarket line again?”

I glared at him and he mumbled an apology.

“Some people do it,” he said. “My parents are still married. Yours, too. I mean, your parents in Gardenville—”

“I know what you mean.”

“So what’s got you worked up then? Trouble in Rebecca West paradise?”

“I’m not worked up,” I said with a sharpness that suggested otherwise. “It’s just, housing deposits come due next week. I don’t know what to do.”

Brian closed his book and moved closer to me on the bed. “I’ve got an idea.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“So you have bad dreams. We’ll deal with them. Maybe they’ll even go away. Is that really what you’re worried about?”

“Worrying isn’t rational. No one makes a conscious decision to freak out about something.”

“Look, you’ve got a lot on your mind. And you’re not sleeping, and finals are coming up. I get that. But these nightmares—all this stuff—it’s no reason for us to put our lives on hold.”

“Yeah, that’s it. I’m overreacting.” I was being unfair, I knew, but could not stop myself. I was so tired of his being even-keeled in the face of all that was upsetting and ugly and illogical. I wanted a reaction out of him. “Maybe I’m even hysterical. A hysterical woman,” I said.

“Whoa, Ana, I didn’t—”

“I know you didn’t. You didn’t have to—I can tell you’re thinking it.”

Brian dropped his chopsticks into his carton of noodles and stood. “You know what? Fine. I have been trying and trying with you, but you just refuse—I’m not sure I can take this anymore.”

“I think we need some time apart.” When I saw the words reflected on his face I wished I hadn’t said them. “Maybe we could just take a break, and talk again in a couple weeks.”

Brian didn’t say anything.

“Brian, I’m sorry. Really.”

“Okay. Can you just—” He nodded toward the door.

—

I left Brian’s room and walked Fourteenth Street all the way to the Hudson. In the gutter someone had dropped a pen and I eyed it uneasily. For years I had forgotten about the mines disguised as litter, but now I was staring at someone’s trash half-expecting it to explode. I cursed Sharon and the UN for stirring up trouble. Telling my story was supposed to be a good thing but it had just made everything worse. And now I’d been terrible to Brian and lost him, too.

“What’s wrong with you?” I said. I yanked at the necklace Brian had given me, but it held fast and my neck stung where the metal dug into my skin. I unclasped the chain and balled it up in my fist. The river glowed auburn with the lights of Manhattan and Jersey City. I considered throwing the necklace in the water. Had I died in the forest, at least I would be with my family and ignorant of such profound loneliness. But then there was Rahela. I dumped the chain in my coat pocket. Not knowing what else to do, I called my mother.

Laura answered in a groggy voice. “What’s the matter?”

“Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize how late it was. Did I wake you?”

“No, no, it’s okay. What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know.” I could feel my voice cracking.

I let Laura whisper placations into the phone but knew she could not console me.

“I think—I want to go home.”

“Do you want me to come get you?”

“No. I mean I want to go back to Croatia.”

“What?”

“Just for the summer.”

“Honey, I’m not sure that’s a good idea. It’s dangerous.”

“The war’s been over for ages.”

“Only two years since Kosovo.”

“So what am I supposed to do, hide out in Gardenville forever?”

“But a trip like that—do you think it makes sense to open old wounds?”

“Open them?” I almost laughed.

“I just don’t want to see you hurting again.”

“I’m already hurting. I am at a standstill with this shit. I’m never going to get better. Not like this.”

“Look. You’re upset. Take a day to cool off and we’ll talk more—”

“I’m not asking your permission,” I said. “I just need you to send me my passports.”

I hung up and kicked the curb until it hurt through my boot. “I’m sorry,” I said to the river. The wind off the water was frigid, and I turned up my collar against the cold.

In the dorm Natalie was asleep, and I got into bed, too, staring through the dark at the speckled drop-ceiling tiles. I hadn’t slept more than a couple hours a night for over a month, and the dream bodies were encroaching on my consciousness. Even before I’d dropped fully into sleep I felt their cool, rubbery skin against mine as surely as I did the cotton weave of my sheets. I threw back the blankets and stood too quickly, setting the darkened room spinning.