the best case scenario

pryor left class early, most everyone did, if they came at all that day, and picked up her friend donald from the bus station. in the car driving down vermont towards her house, in the twilight, they spoke over each other like two addicts whose next fix was in sight. they knew it was going to happen- they knew it intuitively, could sense it like a charge in the los angeles air (her windows were down as they drove, as they usually were), but they also knew it was going to happen because they watched the news, they read the polls, they listened to the pundits, they went to a major university and not a single professor would have told you otherwise. that undeniable truth they sat on a like an egg was going to hatch in a matter of hours, and their lives would change, the country would change, they would throw champagne bottles at the sky and dance down the hill, where they would meet other tear streaked dancers, and they would sleep well when they finally let themselves.

the party at pryor's house at hardly even been discussed. she and her two roommates had hosted parties to view the debates, parties to raise money, and parties to get drunk on hope. their house was huge and furniture-less, and they had a balcony that overlooked the hollywood hills, a wooden balcony that they all knew would eventually collapse. each one had envisioned it happening, a sort of fantasy, and though it could end in injury or maybe death (could it? it could...) they all hoped they would be there when it happened. a story that would be retold throughout their lives. their friends assumed correctly that they would be hosting the actual election party, and when pryor and donald pulled up to the house there were already a dozen cars parked outside, the door open and every light on within the house. pryor ran inside, a bag of bottles in one hand and the keys in the other, giving a staccato war cry as she bounded past javier's bedroom, past the guest bathroom that had no toilet paper, no soap, no towel, past her room (she saw that someone had opened her doors and plugged in her christmas tree lights that she kept up year round, and it made her feel so glad she knew she would cry soon) and down the stairs to graydon's floor, the vast space that was designed to be a living room, but that was converted to his bedroom, in order to be used by everyone as a living room. his bed faced the wall of french doors that opened onto the deck (which would be the first to go if the balcony did one day collapse) which opened onto the tangled mess of their back yard. she almost tripped half way down the stairs and when she turned the corner the tears came, she saw fifteen of her friends, drinking and laughing around the TV, knowing that tonight would be marked by nothing but celebration, knowing that tonnight would be a story to rival the balcony collapsing, they had already dogeared this day for stories, for memories, for sustenance in the years to come.
and there was her boyfriend as well, scott, awkward with his can of beer, wanting to listen to the news and getting almost discernibly irritated with the chatting. she rushed to him, wrapped her arms around his waist -- the push of her openness, her wantingness, against the pull of his distaste for emotion, his clean metal surface refusing to give into her plushness. she loved him, or liked him for the time being, because he was smart and rational and it felt to her like a relationship she had had over and over throughout her life- since she never knows how he feels, the projection of her best case scenario becomes the reality. in this case, pryor's reality was that his love for her was too much for him to bear and thus he retreated. he was amused by her, not frustrated, he was in awe of her, not annoyed. he wished he could be more like her, more ready for life; he wasnt disdainful of those simple emotions like happiness, excitment, giddiness. and perhaps it was that indefatigable push and pull that kept their physical interactions so incredibly electric. every time they had sex was better than the last, and the chasm between them in real life became less and less important as the sexual connection began to grow.

how excited are you? tell me.
we'll see...some states are starting to come in and they look promising. you just can't tell.

the first time they went out together as a couple was at the debate party, and her heart fluttered like it did in 8th grade when he put his arm around her, stiffly, like he was a little nervous. she and her roommates and donald got drunk off rum and said that if the debates were any indication, we were in the clear. scott would never make a statement like that, not until victory was declared.

more and more people came, jubliantly, wearing hats and carrying protest signs from anti-war marches, more and more polls were being reported. things were looking good for awhile, for an hour or two, but then something changed, some tone of voice deepened, the lights stopped glowing and became florescent and menacing, the house was too hot and she started to feel sick. this wasnt supposed to happen.

******

in the morning she sat on her bed watching the tv, a dry toothbrush in her mouth. the day was rotting, too hot, nothing was alive. graydon left a note under her door that said "don't wake me up. i took a sleeping pill. can't do breakfast." she took her toothbrush into javiers bedroom and sat on the foot of his bed as he slept. "are you awake," she said. without moving he said "yes. i don't want to go eat." "should we have done something" she said. "like what, pryor? like throw a molotov cocktail at a cop car? at the fox building? no. there was nothing we could fucking do." his eyes were open. "it cant be real." "it is. i need to go back to sleep." she shuffled back to her bedroom where scott was drying off.
"you are the most thorough dryer-offer i've ever known" she said. every inch, every joint, rubbed dry.
"whats that supposed to mean?"
they had had sex that morning, by rote. she couldnt stop thinking about the face of the man who should be president, his long equine face, saying that he wished he could wrap his arms around all of his supporters. saying that no, it wasnt supposed to happen. she realized that morning, as scott was inside of her, that her relationship with him began on the day that the country changed, the day of those debates. scott had really mattered so little, the ins and outs of him, his stiffness, his dryness. it was that she had someone smart to share this with, someone who could, with one "it looks promising" send her reeling to a world where everything is different -- where the wrongs are righted, where people stop dying for oil and power and arrogance, where that thick sauce of anger that had been poured over every hopeful person gets drained out, and the hope returns. his reluctance to be excited made those remarks so much more powerful, but that reluctance saved him from the ditch that the rest of them found themselves in that morning. looking up at a thick hazy toxic sky. looking up at nothing.

******

they went to breakfast at the brite spot, to meet two of scott's friends from princeton. she had met one of them before, a frat boy named chase, who wasn't as cute as he convinced people he was. with him was a girl named bitsy, a girl who worked at a diamond distributor. pryor couldnt eat, though she ordered chocolate chip pancakes in an attempt to make herself feel better. after she had to get the waiter to take it away for fear of vomiting, she ordered coffee and drank it black, for the first time in her life.
"clinton will run, and mccain will run, and mccain will win," chase said.
as always, scott was less definitive. "i agree that if its the two of them against each other, clinton doesnt stand a chance. i just wonder if she can get the nomination."
bitsy spoke, over her egg white omelet - "i wouldnt vote for clinton. shes an opportunist."
chase and scott looked at each other, in that condescendingly narcisstic way men do when they think women have said something they dont quite understand.
"i would vote for clinton because im a democrat."
"pryor, come on. that makes no sense. you of all people, saying that you would vote for someone just because of their political party -"
"yes, that is exactly what i said, and what i meant, and it makes perfect fucking sense. are you all not democrats? did it change from being ok to not ok since fucking yesterday? did you vote? did this matter to you?"
chase and bitsy looked at each other.
"what?" pryor looked at scott. "what?"
"chill out pryor."
"oh fuck" she started cry, holding her coffee cup in both hands, her head hanging like a marionette. "i cant believe im here." her shoulders were bouncing up and down, she was letting herself cry. "i feel like someone has died. like someone i loved died."
without touching her scott said, "shes really emotional. sorry."
pryor looked up. her face was swollen and the red patches from crying only showed off how translucently pale her skin was. she put her coffee cup down and pushed scott with both hands so that she could leave the booth. she walked out of the diner and onto sunset, towards her house, which would be littered with the remains of what started as a party. she had walked two blocks when scott pulled up, his face red with anger leaning down to speak to her through the open window.
"pryor get in the car. that was so fucking embarassing."
she got in the car and let him tell her why that was just completely unacceptable, how offended and weirded out chase and bitsy were. she said nothing, and when he pulled up to her house she got out without saying anything. she should have stayed asleep too.
when he realized she wasnt going to respond or look at him, scott drove away. he wasnt going to follow her, he didnt do that sort of thing. she was hysterical, being truly hysterical, and she would get over it like she had gotten over other things before.
when pryor walked inside she heard people talking and followed the voices to the balcony. sitting, leaning against the house, looking out at the murky landscape of LA, were javier and graydon.
"i wonder when this thing will finally collapse," she said, and took her place next to them, to wait out the day.