justin, part two

the clouds were white against the navy sky. we were 5 nights into our trip. will grant had a house in the dominican republic complete with a maid and guards with guns that stood watch outside his one story villa, and he had invited 10 of us there for spring break. i had been dating justin for almost three months, consistently unsettled but saved by his sporadic bursts of sweetness, like the note he wrote me in mr. porter's class, or when he told reddiker to get out of the front seat so i could sit there. these moments were tiny, they should have been expected. but when someone is treating you with such a regular indifference those things become better, more satisfying than the nicest thing a nice person does.

we had been standing out on the golf course. i was upset with him for blatantly ignoring me at the bar, for talking to that girl while i had to sit, embarassed with mrs. grant and molly, pretending i didnt notice. i never got mad with him. i tried to be always stable, always understanding. i thought if i was those things he would concede, he would let me finally see what i knew was alive underneath the facade- the little bud pushing through the soil.

he acted exhausted and threw up his hands. he told me why didnt i just go kill myself. he would say things like that, sensational things i knew he didnt mean, just to get a rise out of me. just so i would get mad at him and scream and yell. i never did.

my mom's first husband used to tell her she had peasant ankles. from what i gather he was always saying things like that- things cloaked in carelessness but rooted in jealousy or spite. she never yelled at him, she never screamed until the blood rushed to her face, until the glass broke surrounding the anger she kept inside of her. and when she divorced him, and finally did scream, he said to her
if you had only done that while we were married.

but that night, night five of the trip, as everyone else was out in the back patio playing drinking games, trying to get greg so drunk he did that jabbering nonsense speak, he won. i gave in, i gave up. i still was warm and encompassing, i didnt let him see anything other than the hurt i hoped would hurt him. we went back outside and patrick looked at me. he had understood all along more than the rest of them. we had been friends before they were friends, he had more of an allegiance to me than justin.

i sat on the periphery of the game as justin lit a cigarette and opened a beer. patrick said he was out and he walked into the kitchen. i followed him and as soon as we were both safe within the confines of the faded floral wallpapered room, i started to cry. he hugged me and said,

"how could you do this to yourself. you of all people."

"i dont know, i dont know. i dont know what it is. i keep telling myself that its better to be this way with him, to take all his shit, than to be without him. to have to go back to school and see him and not be with him."

"how could you say that. how could you say that" he whispered.

"what do i do now? just tell me what to do, tell me how is all going to work itself out..."

"thats the thing thats so strange- you always know what to do. you always have. but with this...its just so scary to watch you disappear."

there was a simon and garfunkel song that i had been listening to the whole trip- slip slidin away. the line that made me close my eyes was "my love for yous so overpowerin im afraid that i will disappear." i knew this wasnt love. but patrick was right, i was dissolving into sand with everything he said or didnt say. i was letting myself.

that night i went into justins room and i said it isnt working out and he said no its not. and i left and didnt cry, i wasnt even sad i was just numb and sunburned and drunk and hungover and tired.

and he came into the room i was sleeping in with molly in the middle of the night and stood in the doorway and whispered my name. i awoke with a start and looked at him and i shook my head and he slid down the doorframe and sat there as i fell back asleep.

i spent the next day avoiding him, and by evening the three girls- molly, allen and i, were taking shots of rum and chasing it with peanut butter. they were proud of me, it was cause for celebration they said. i had bought this ring that day at the lip of a giant outdoor auditorium. i was there with tommy, it was right before sunset, and there was this little cart filled with turquoise jewlery. this ring was reversible- on one side there was a tiny turquoise stone, and when you separated the two silver bands and flipped it over, there was a tiny brown stone. the brown stone was ugly and sad, but i loved that i could wear it with the turquoise facing out and never let anyone know what was underneath it.

that night as we were piling into the two dae woos, drunk already, i hadnt said anything to justin since the night before. we were all working out who went in what car- justin said he called shot gun but i had already, and molly was in the front of will's car, so i, without looking at him, ran for the front seat of patricks car and opened the door. justin was right behind me and as i was trying to get in without letting him in, he slammed the door on my middle finger. i screamed, i screamed so loud.

his face turned white.

"oh shit oh god are you ok?"

my finger was immediately swollen. i sat in the passengers seat, squeezing it to make the pain stop. everyone from the other car was now standing around me, molly saying she would go get ice and patrick trying to see if it was broken.

fuck this hurts.

there was a huge goose egg between the top and middle knuckle. it was beginning to turn blue already, it was pulsing and the pain was threading its way down my hand. justin just stood there with his hands clasped behind his neck. molly came out with the ice and put it on my finger.

"say youre sorry, justin" she said. they were all waiting for it but i hadnt been- i had never expected that from him. it was quiet for a moment, the ten of us gathered around the car, dunked into sobriety. i looked up at justin. he had dark cirlces under his eyes, i wondered if he had stayed in my doorway for the entire night.

"im sorry. i really am. i really didnt mean to."

i couldnt say anything back. patrick took the ice off my finger, lifted it up into the light of the moon, and said

"its not broken."