Left Drowning(38)

I grin. “You’re a nightmare. Hey, we should probably start cleaning up. It’s already close to midnight.”

I move to slide off the counter and he stops me with his hands moving to my waist. He looks mischievous. “Just one dance.”

“Christopher! Look at this mess. I’m tired, and we’ve got so much to do tomorrow, too.”

“C’mon, Blythe. Dance with me!”

“You’re a menace, and I think you’re trying to get out of cleaning.” But with the goofy look on his face and the way he’s shaking his hips at me, I can’t resist.

So we dance.

We spin around crazily, we hold tight to one another and sway back and forth, we hold hands and scream out lyrics at the top of our lungs. We stand on the two chairs and lift our arms high while we move to the rhythm.

We don’t even think about the dishes for another hour.

***

When we’re finally done cleaning up, we’re both exhausted. For once, it actually feels okay to separate from Chris at the dorm stairs and head alone to my room to get some sleep.

The sound of the door shutting wakes me and I glance at the clock: it’s 3:26 in the morning. Estelle must really be into this mystery guy of hers. I haven’t asked her about him yet. It just feels off-limits for some reason. Maybe it’s that I’m still nervous about having a friend. I’m scared to push, unsure of the boundaries in our friendship. I roll over and peek out into the dark room. I just make her out as she strips off her clothes and crawls into bed. I am about to drift off again when I hear her whispering to herself. And I hear the tremble in her voice and the near panic.

“Forgive me my sins, O Lord, forgive me my sins; the sins of my youth, the sins of my age, the sins of my soul, the sins of my body; my idle sins, my serious voluntary sins… .” Her words bleed together in manic praying, and I am frozen in bed. “… I am truly sorry for every sin, mortal and venial, for all the sins of my childhood up to the present hour. I know my sins have wounded Thy Tender Heart, O My Savior; let me be freed from the bonds of evil through the most bitter Passion of My Redeemer. Amen. O My Jesus, forget and forgive what I have been. Amen.”

I have no idea what to do. My impulse is to wrap my arms around her, but I think that if she wanted my help, she would have asked. I feel like I am invading her privacy by hearing her prayers, especially since she hasn’t invited me into her emotional world. And I know what it’s like to want to be alone when you’re upset, so I do what I can to block out her words.

I squeeze my eyes shut, but then I hear a familiar phrase that pulls me from the possibility of immediate sleep.

“In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.”

I roll over quietly. I really don’t want to hear this.

“I believe in God, the Father Almighty, Creator of heaven and earth; and in Jesus Christ, His only Son, our Lord; Who was conceived by the Holy Spirit, born of the Virgin Mary …”

I pray that Neon Jesus will fly across the room and knock her unconscious.

“Our father, who art in heaven; hallowed by Thy name; Thy kingdom come; Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven …”

These words are recognizable to almost everyone, and I am swept up by their lyrical familiarity and romanticism. The moment is so dramatic I practically expect to hear a Hollywood movie sound track suddenly fill my room.

I hear a small clicking. It’s the sound of rosary beads.

“Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee …”

Suddenly, I am flooded with emotion by Estelle’s words, and I miss the hell out of my father. He loved the traditions and the rituals of the Catholic Church. While I never took to Catholicism as he did, I cannot help clinging to Estelle’s words, even though her voice is shaking.

“Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now, and at the hour of our death. Amen.”

She starts again, repeating the words over and over, and I am disgusted with myself for finding solace in mouthing the words along with her. Yet it’s a few minutes in which I feel close to my father, and I get to have a taste of what it’s like to lean on a higher power, to believe someone is watching out for me.

Tomorrow, however, I know I will wake up in more ways than one. I will again be grounded and know that there is no higher power in the real world, because it’s a place where there is no good reason why our souls are ripped apart or why we’re challenged in ways that nobody needs to be challenged.

For now, though, I listen to her prayers. Her voice calms and slows, and she falls asleep halfway through one of six thousand Hail Marys.

I, however, am left awake, wondering what the hell is making her run to Jesus for forgiveness.





CHAPTER THIRTEEN


Smashed Up


There is a good possibility that I’ve had a touch too much wine, but I don’t care. I’m of legal drinking age, and if I want to get a little happily tipsy after Thanksgiving dinner, then I will not feel guilty about it. Not now that I’ve given up the hard-alcohol binge drinking. The wine is enhancing my already good mood, and I take another sip of the chardonnay. It feels just right to be way too full and sitting on the floor of the dorm lounge wrapped in a soft shawl while Chris, who is behind me on the couch, occasionally touches my hair and rubs my shoulders.

Sabin is sitting on top of the half-cleared dinner table where we spent most of our afternoon eating and drinking, and he’s got his guitar. For the past few hours, we’ve been yelling out song requests and trying to find something that he doesn’t know. And every ten minutes or so, Chris hollers a succession of song titles, “Freebird! Cat’s in the Cradle! Yesterday! Wild World!” and doesn’t stop until I swat his leg enough to shut him up. Fortunately, we seem to be the only students left in the dorm this holiday, so no one else has had to endure our constant noise.