A Brief Chapter in My Impossible Life Read Online Free PDF Page A

1988 Volvo. I think it may be louder in his car than it was at the party. He’s talking about his summer at the Rhode Island School of Design again and how much cooler all the people were there than they are at Twelve Oaks and how he can’t wait to go off to college in New York City and get out of this town. I know why he has this fantasy about going to college in New York. James had his first boyfriend over the summer, and Patrick is starting his freshman year at NYU. He broke up with James at the end of the program at RISD and told him that there is just too much happening in New York City and he doesn’t want to be thinking about someone who lives far away.
    Poor James. Darius’s party was far from the antidote he needed tonight for his broken heart.

    When we pull up in front of my house I say, “Want to come inside?”
    “So that whole thing about me getting lucky wasn’t a joke?”
    “Of course it was a joke, you homo. I want to know if you want to come inside and eat some ice cream and see if there’s any stupid girly movie on cable.”
    James takes a minute to think it over and then takes a pass. I don’t push him on it. I have a pretty good idea of how he’s feeling tonight. So I kiss him goodbye and stand on the sidewalk in front of my house watching the one working taillight on his Volvo fade into the night.

FOUR
    You know how they say that after women give birth, a chemical is released in their brains that causes them to forget the pain of childbirth so they’re able to face it again? That’s sort of what it’s like for me with winter. Even though I know that the turning of the leaves is just a harbinger (one of my favorite SAT words) of the endless months of snow and slush that lie right around the corner, I just love this time of year. Our street is lined with fire-engine-red trees, and when I stand on the sidewalk, it’s literally as if I am viewing the world through rose-colored glasses. I’m waiting for Cleo to pick me up for school.
    She’s late. Typical. When she arrives she seems totally frazzled. She has a mug of coffee in her hand—not even a travel mug, just a white porcelain mug with hearts on it that says SOMEONE IN SAVANNAH LOVES ME —and a brush sticking out of her damp mass of curly hair.
    “Hold this.” She hands me the mug and shifts gears, and we’re off.
    She’s yanking at her hair with the brush, muttering obscenities, and finally she just gives up and tosses it in the backseat. She sees me eyeing the mug.
    “My grandma, obviously. But I think it pushes the boundaries of cheesy to such an extreme that it actually cycles all the way back around to cool. Don’t you think?”
    “I buy that.”
    Then Cleo launches into the daily Darius report, which mostly involves her making excuses for his poor behavior. I’m getting a little talked out on the whole Darius thing, and I don’t mean to sound uncharitable or to imply that Cleo is totally self-absorbed, which she’s not. Cleo’s a great friend, and we’ve probably spent as much time talking about my situation with Rivka as we have about her situation with Darius. But there just doesn’t seem to be a lot of change in the daily soap opera that is Cleo and Darius, and yet we dissect each exchange like it’s a passage from
The Great Gatsby
(which I did finally read and which is a kick-ass book). Here’s what’s important to know: They’re “going out,” although he doesn’t call her his girlfriend—much to her annoyance. They don’t hold hands or anything like that at school because he thinks that stuff is stupid. I have to admit that I kind of agree with him on that one. And, most importantly, they haven’t had sex yet. There’s a lot of behavior that pushes the boundaries to the extreme, as Cleo might say, but they haven’t had actual old-fashioned sex, or what they might call “intercourse” in sex ed. I’m glad because I don’t trust Darius to stick around for long and I worry about Cleo getting used,