All the Ugly and Wonderful Things(101)

I didn’t wait to hear what Amy said. I just hung up.

“Do you want me to go look for her?” Darrin said. He squeezed my hand, which surprised me, because I wasn’t sure at what point we’d started holding hands.

“No, if she’s mobile, she’ll be alright. You wouldn’t believe some of the crazy shit she’s survived.”

“Do you want me to leave, so you can get some sleep?”

“I’m too awake to go to back to sleep,” I said.

Darrin’s hair was mussed from sleeping on the couch, and that early in the morning, his beard stubble was coming in. I’d thought he was so baby faced when I met him, but without the close shave, he looked kind of rugged. When I scooted closer, he put his arm around me.

“Yeah, I don’t think I could sleep either,” he said.

Thinking about how close I’d come to sacrificing my dignity on the altar of Joshua’s good looks, I took a thorough accounting of Darrin. He was single, in school, and gainfully employed. He had come through for me out of the blue, and he was still there. If I wanted to stop getting my heart broken, it wasn’t enough to stop being self-absorbed. I needed to stop chasing after guys as self-absorbed as I was. I leaned in so that my mouth was in kissing range.

“Maybe we’d both get some sleep if you got in bed with me,” I said. If he’d pulled the taking advantage number again, I don’t think I could have forgiven him, but lo and behold, he kissed me.

*

Of course, we didn’t go to sleep until dawn. I had finally drifted off, with Darrin’s arm around me, when I heard the front door open. I thought about getting up to see what Wavy was doing, but I was naked and comfortable, so I stayed in bed. Then there was a thumping sound, and the front door opened and closed. A few minutes later the door opened and there was more thumping.

I got dressed and went out to the living room, where a pile of large library books was forming next to the coffee table. I picked up a blue, leather-bound volume marked “State Penal Code, 1981 to Present, Volume XXIV.” On the spine was a sticker that said “LAW REF Non-Circ.”

While I was trying to decide what it meant, Wavy came through the door carrying more books, stacked up almost to her chin. She dropped them next to the other books, and went down the hallway to her bedroom.

“Are these reference books from the law library?” I yelled. “You can’t check these out, can you?”

“The janitor smokes.”

“You went to the law library, snuck past the janitor on his smoke break, and stole books?”

I could almost hear her shrug.

She came back with a spiral notebook and a pen, picked up the top book, and hauled it to the kitchen table. From there it looked like any other homework assignment. She ran her finger down the index, thumbed into the book, and started reading. Every once in a while, she would stop and copy something into her notebook.

I left her to it, and went back to bed.

When Darrin and I finally got up, she was still working. It was the kitchen table, after all, so I cooked brunch around her. I was worried it would be awkward, but she said, “Hi,” to Darrin, and shifted some of the books, so there was a place to eat. Honestly, I was the only one who seemed uneasy, but that’s because I was trying to figure out what was going on with Wavy. She’d gone from destroyed to driven overnight, but driven by what? She hadn’t put her ring back on, and there was a gap of paler skin on her hand where it usually was.

When she took a bathroom break, I reached across the table and grabbed her notebook. “No Contact Order” was the header on the first page. Below that was a series of bullet points. Expiration of civil orders. Automatic NCO in cases of DV. Imposed by parole board. Imposed by parole agency. Imposed by sentencing judge.

The header on the next page was “Process for removing NCO imposed by parole board.” The pages after that had headers for different scenarios, waiting for Wavy’s notes.





13

WAVY

June 1990

For a few days afterwards, I could press my fingers up into myself and find the raw spot Kellen had left. The swelling in my wrist went down after a few days, and left a bruise in the shape of his fingers. Then that faded, too.

I put the ring away in the velvet box the lady in the jewelry store had given me, because I couldn’t wear it anymore. Kellen had made me keep the ring, but he hadn’t put it back on my finger. That meant it wasn’t my wedding ring. When I pressed it to my mouth it was just a rock. The difference between a meteor falling through the atmosphere and a meteorite lying in the dirt.

I didn’t regret kicking my electric typewriter down the stairs. Aunt Brenda had given it to me for my high school graduation, and whether she intended it or not, gifts take up space in your heart. I needed that space now. I finished my Spanish essay on a computer on campus. For the letters I needed to write, I had the manual Underwood that Grandma taught me to type on. It was Army green and weighed almost thirteen pounds. It worked fine, and Grandma didn’t take up any more room in my heart than a floor takes up space in a house.

When Renee wasn’t complaining about the sound of me typing, she was hovering anxiously. I don’t know what she thought I would do if she left me alone too long. Get high on correction fluid? Or maybe she thought I would do what I did: write a letter a day to Kellen’s parole officer until his supervisor wrote me back.