September 25th, 2005
Grandfather coughs suddenly, a dry and wretched sound. Mother rushes to his side with a glass of water.
"Drink, Clem," her voice is soft and gentle. He reaches for the glass with a large, vein-mottled hand.
Mother peers at Grandfather through long, dark lashes. Slim and tall, my mother is the pinnacle of beauty with her olive toned skin and thick, black curls. Mother's grandparents arrived on American soil from Armenia along with the first wave of immigrants wanting to flee genocide.
With my dark eyelashes and deep blue eyes, I look like Mother. But my wheat-colored hair and physical stature are from Father, who is short and round and bland. Father sits next to me, a silent and bland boulder.
"Can I get you anything else? Do you need your medicine?" Mother asks.
"Ah, don't fuss over me, Lydia," Grandfather gives her a watery smile.
Mother flushes and begins to busy herself at the sink.
"She reminds me of your Gran, you know," Grandfather says, his voice wistful and sad.
Gran passed a year ago, after which Grandfather came to live with us. According to Grandfather, he and Gran had a timeless romance that spanned nearly sixty years. In all the pictures I've seen of my grandparents, their love is apparent. I see it in the way Grandfather clutches Gran's narrow waist, which is dainty and trim even after birthing five children. And I see it in the way Gran looks adoringly into Grandfather's eyes, like he is the sun. My parents hardly ever show affection towards one another, and when they do their expressions are modest and minimal.
"Oh, tell us about you and Gran again, please?"
My younger sister Arielle drops into the empty seat to my right. Arielle is lean and tall like Mother, with light brown curls that she wears in a ponytail. She and I share the same blue eyes – the only evidence we are related – but beyond that, our similarities end. A freshman this year at Copper Hill, Arielle has all the eagerness and naiveté of a puppy; nearly everything about college excites her. I try not to roll my eyes at her enthusiasm but it's difficult now that I'm in my fourth and final year at this stupid school.
Grandfather shifts in his chair. His eyes are bright with memory.
"Anything for you, my treasure. You already know I met Jennie when I was eighteen," his face changes as he says Gran's name. He's softer, younger. "Of all the ladies dancing that night, your Gran had the lightest feet. I can still hear her laugh. The moment I saw her, I knew... she'd be the only one for me."
"Jennie and I were smitten. For three months, I wooed her with letters until I finally asked her to marry me. We married in a little stone church and took our vows before God. It was the best day of my life. Your uncle Jack was born the next year. Uncle Richard came not nine months after Jack. Then your aunts Sandra and Mary, and then of course your father Paul. And when your father brought your mother home to meet us for the first time, he had the same look in his eye," he chuckles. "My Jennie... she was the love of my life."
"There's no one like Gran," Arielle sighs.
I nod, recalling her as the bright, energetic woman from my childhood. Gran's health had been in decline for the past decade, and it was a bittersweet affair when she finally passed.
Grandfather takes a handkerchief from his shirt pocket and wipes his thick glasses.
"There's nothing more important than duty and love. Your Gran remained faithful and true through our hardest years. I was working long hours at the firm, and she stayed home to raise our children. It's my wish to see the two of you find such a love before I die," he smiles at both of us.
Arielle's eyes shimmer with hope and I nearly gag. Like every girl I've ever met, she dreams of a nonexistent, imaginary man who will come to sweep her off her feet.
"I can't wait to get married," she sighs.
"You have a while yet, young lady," Mother smiles, setting a plate of wafers in front of us and takes the last open seat at the small kitchen table. "Let's get through college first."
"I know, I know," Arielle chafes. "But wouldn't it be amazing if I met my future husband in college? Just like you and Dad did? I want a wild romance like the one you guys had... I can't imagine going on a first date and knowing right away you were destined to be together, only to get married three months later!"
"Yes," Mother hums, placing a hand lightly on Father's arm. "Things worked out for us that way, but we were lucky. The good Lord placed us together at the right time. Be patient, love."
"Fine," Arielle pouts. "Besides, if one of us gets married first, it should be Aram since he's older," she gives me a pointed look and nudges me in the arm. "Senior year could be your lucky year!"
"I don't believe in luck," I mutter, staring at the plate of wafers. "And I've yet to meet a college girl who takes herself seriously enough for me to consider any type of future relationship with. All the girls on campus are the same. So, thanks, but no thanks."
"Now wait a minute," Grandfather says, brushing wafer crumbs from his mouth. "What about that nice young lady, the one we saw in church this morning who just returned from missionary work in... in..."
"Are you talking about Esther Brady? Kim and Earl's daughter, who just came back from India?" Mother asks.
"Yes, Esther," Grandfather nods. "She's an upstanding, righteous young woman and she comes from a good family. Her grandpa Dennis and I went to seminary together. I could give him a call and arrange a meetup for the two of you?"
"I'm not interested," I say, feeling suddenly tense.
"How do you know? You haven't even met her," Father remarks, speaking for the first time. "If you had come to church with us this morning instead of going to the gym, you would have met her."
I clench my jaw. My lack of religious participation is a sour and ongoing point of contention in our household.
Mother glances nervously from Father to me. Clearing her throat, she attempts to pivot the conversation away from my drab love life and religious disinterest. "Aram, how are classes so far? Your senior year sure came fast."
Her smile is expectant and hopeful, but I don't want to tell her that I dread everything about my last year at Copper Hill.
"Fine."
My leg jiggles restlessly. As graduation looms closer, I am less and less certain about my future.
"Have you given any more thought to pursuing an internship?" Father asks. "Research experience can be foundational to your job search."
"Yeah, you've only mentioned it a bunch of times now," I mutter acridly. "I'll figure it out. Don't worry about it."
"Aram, I'm trying to look out for you. And it's my job to worry—"
I rise, cutting him off.
"Look, I'm not you, okay? Maybe I don't want an internship or research experience. Maybe I don't want to be stuck in an office like you all day! Let me figure out my own life. I've got in under control!" I exclaim.
An awkward silence spreads through the kitchen. Father shifts in his chair but holds his tongue. Mother gazes at me uncertainly, and Grandfather avoids eye contact.
"I'll be outside waiting," I retort to Arielle before leaving the kitchen. My sister's voice trails behind me as I stomp out through the front door.
"You know, Grandfather, Esther might be too good for him..."
I leave my parents' home and walk outside towards my dusty blue Dodge Neon. Even though it's the last week of September, summer does not seem to be going away, especially with this horrible heat wave. I open the car door and sit in the driver's seat. What the hell am I doing with my life?
I've never been particularly ambitious. My grades are average in just about every subject. The career counselor advised me to try a diverse array of subjects, but none of the history, psychology, and philosophy classes sparked my interest. I've switched my major more times than I can count. In the end, I stuck with biology because the academic office informed me that if I didn't settle on something soon, I'd be prolonging my years as an undergrad, and the thought of being a super-super senior was too depressing. At this rate, I'd graduate with a useless degree in biology and spend the rest of my life holed up in a monotonous lab like my father. What an unfulfilling prospect.
What is the point of college, anyway? The system grooms us for the workforce like a pig is raised for slaughter, and at the end of it all I'll not only be in debt but also trapped in a job I hate until I die.
I chuckle out loud with disbelief as the meaninglessness of it all weighs down on me. Everyone my age seems to have accepted this absurd reality. "Follow your dreams, do what you love," they told us, like it would set us on a pristine path of success. And what good did this ever do for me?
Growing up, I lived for the soccer field, and I was a damn good player. But a serious concussion in high school forced me to reevaluate whether I could really make a living playing soccer – and the likelihood that I'd go pro became less and less likely with each injury I accrued. So, bye-bye soccer dream.
The one thing I really wanted to do in life was to join the Army and fight for a worthy cause, just like Pops and his brothers did. I breezed through the most rigorous parts of basic training but came home after realizing I wouldn't be able to stomach killing another person. In the end, I wasn't strong enough to make the cut.
Grandfather's words drift into the back of my mind. It's my wish to see the two of you find such a love before I die. I snort and shake my head – he's almost as soppy as Arielle, and Arielle has never even been on a date.
Grandfather was younger than I am now when he met Gran. How did he do it? How was he so clear-minded about his future at such a young age? I've never had a girlfriend, and the only romantic encounter I'd experienced up to this point was a tragic disaster.
During senior week, a group of us rented a house in Dewey Beach, several hours away in Delaware. I didn't have any interest in going but a few friends from the soccer team convinced me it would be a "good time." Their idea of a good time involved plenty of debauchery and recreational drugs – not really up my alley, but I went along with it. There was a girl there, Emily – and one night, after a particularly long night of partying, the two of us decided to hook up in the hammock on the outdoor porch. I remember the way her perfume mixed with the heavy smell of alcohol; how her hair tickled my face while we kissed, hot and heavy and pure lust, and how desperately I wanted her even though I didn't know her at all.
At one point in my life, I had bought into the ideal that I'd lose my virginity with someone I loved. But isn't that what senior week is supposed to be, just a total loss of moral compulsion and control? All I knew in that moment was that I had lost all shred of inhibition – but as luck would have it, Emily was so drunk she fell asleep before we actually had sex. She lay there in front of me, her hot pink Victoria's Secret push-up bra askew and unbuttoned jeans scrunched down to her knees, and out cold. As I lay there with her snoring in the hammock, I felt an emptiness I'd never felt before. Somehow, I don't think that's what Grandfather meant when he talked about love.
I'm graduating at the end of the year with no clear direction in life, and zero romantic experience. What have I been doing with my life?
"You were dramatic today," Arielle quips as she pops open the passenger door to sit down. She clutches two large containers of leftover casserole and a tote bag full of yarn.
"And you weren't?" I retort, starting the engine.
"There was no need to be rude," she sniffs.
"Look," I sigh, peeling away from the curb. "You just turned eighteen and everything in life seems shiny and bright, so I don't expect you to understand. But wait till the last year of college. Life doesn't work the way we want it to work. And college isn't all that great. College is disappointing."
"Well, with that attitude, you'll never get a girlfriend," she jibes, staring out the window.
I inhale slowly and bite my lip. There aren't many people in this world I'd consider close, but my little sister is one of the few. She may be immature and entertain ridiculous fantasies about love, but I don't need to pretend I'm someone I'm not when she's around. The light ahead turns green, and I exhale.
Arielle is quiet as I speed up on the ramp getting onto the turnpike.
"What is it?" I grunt, keeping my eyes on the road.
She sighs. "Can you tell me... why you don't come to church with us anymore? You used to love going to church. And you used to be so involved. Why did you stop? It... it makes Mom and Dad sad."
My shoulders tighten as I grip the steering wheel. I don't remember the last time God felt real to me. Last time I checked; he was busy helping everyone else find purpose and figure out what to do with their life instead of me. What's the point of believing in God when nothing ever works out in my favor?
"I'm working through some things," I finally reply.
Thankfully, Arielle leaves it alone and spends the rest of our drive back to campus chatting about her classes. As I pull into the big parking lot behind Swan Hall off Waverly Avenue, I'm reminded of my own freshman year, when I lived in Swift Hall with an acid-tripping roommate named Ricky who liked to go to sleep naked. I moved off-campus after that year and never looked back. Arielle, however, has a normal-enough roommate in Sparrow Hall, which is a short walk away from the parking lot. I pull up to the curb and shift the car into park.
"I'll pick you up next Sunday," I call out to Arielle as she slams the car door.
I drive slowly through campus after leaving the Swan Hall parking lot. Despite it being my fourth year at Copper Hill, none of the fixtures of campus – from chaotic Church Street to the prestigious buildings along the Lawn – feels like home to me.
Feeling disconnected and vexed, I drive past Church Street and up onto Crescent Drive towards the CHU student gym nicknamed the "Little Crow." My mind is a brewing storm of negative thoughts thanks to the unhelpful interactions with my family over dinner. I need to get in control before I lose control.
When I arrive at the Little Crow, I hang my pack up on one of the wall hooks at the front of the gym and walk over to the weight room. I ignore the inane music videos playing on the many screens around me –pop music is all trash anyway – and swipe a heavy pair of dumbbells from the rack.
Bodybuilding is something I discovered a few years ago. At the time, the thoughts in my head were so dark and consuming that I nearly ended my life. Even now, I struggle to find meaning and purpose in who I am – but with each breath and movement, I can exorcise the negative voices from my head. And by maintaining a strict diet and following a workout regimen, I feel some semblance of control over my destiny. No salt or seasoning on any food, and lean cuts of chicken only. Protein bars throughout the day to sustain my muscle growth. And of course, no caffeine, teas, sugars, or anything to alter my finely tuned system.
I alternate my movements, honing on the deltoids, triceps, and biceps. I throw the weights to the ground and pick up a barbell as I begin to work on my lats, sweat already pouring down my face. I cycle through different repetitions for my legs and core, wanting to hit as many muscle groups as possible. As I work out, my inner demons come out to play, whispering terrifying things to me in my head.
You're useless and weak.
You can't even figure out your future.
Not even Esther Brady would want you.
I grunt aloud, exerting as much strength as possible to rid myself of these infectious thoughts. They are especially ruthless today.
No one cares about you. You're going to be alone forever.
Sweat drips down my face and I shake my head, trying to clear my vision. I drop the barbell and catch a break, chugging water. Don't lose your shit now, Aram. Get it together. The last rep nearly always burns, but I welcome the pain. The weight clangs to the ground as I finish, panting from the exertion. The voices in my head fade as endorphins rush in, and I close my eyes in blessed peace.
I tighten a weight belt around my waist and stare at my reflection in the mirror on the wall. My hair is plastered over my forehead like a sweaty mop and my shirt is drenched from the neckline down to my waist. Sweat shines over my skin, highlighting the pronounced musculature of my hard-earned work. On the exterior, I look strong and powerful. But I know it's a lie – inside, I feel like a stranger who doesn't belong.
I spend a few minutes doing a cooldown stretch on the mat before disinfecting the equipment I touched. When I'm done, I leave the gym feeling better than I did when I first arrived.
Outside, the fresh air is a welcome breeze compared to the staleness of the gym. I breathe deeply, feeling more hopeful as I walk to my car.
"Aram! ARAM! Hey, brother!"
My eyes open with surprise as I see my old high school friend. Towering well above six feet with wild, bushy brown hair and a goofy grin, Malcolm Walsh is hard to miss.
"...Mal?"
His name hangs in the air. I was a junior in high school the last time I saw Mal, at his graduation party right before he left for the Army. I turn slowly to face him.
"It's me!" he laughs. "Been a long time! How are ya?"
"Wh...what are you doing here, Mal? I haven't seen you in four years!" I say with disbelief.
"I go here now!" he responds, grinning. "I'm a freshman!"
"I-I thought you were overseas in Iraq," I stutter.
Mal shakes his head, sending his loose locks back and forth around his big head. "Nah, brother. I'm back. For good. I spent the last four years with the Rangers. Saw things I never thought I'd see. And now, I'm a student again," he explains with a shrug.
"It's... it's really good to see you," I say. "Truly. I'm glad you're back."
"Me too," he sighs. "Never thought I'd be here, of all places."
"This is great!" I grin. "With you around, it'll just be like old times. This place was getting too boring!"
Mal grips the straps of his backpack and blows out a breath. As he moves, I notice various scars on his arms. What are those from? There are nicks and lines around his face that I don't remember, either. And though his eyes are bright with the future, it seems as though he's staring at something far away that I can't see. Come to think of it, the Mal standing before me is different from the Mal I remember from high school. How could he not be, after spending the last four years in hell?
I shake my head. "You seem different, Mal. I mean, of course you're different, it's been four years for Christ's sake. I don't know how to explain it... but something about you just seems different. What happened out there, Mal?"
He turns to face me with an expression shining with emotion.
"That's because I am different, Aram," he says, his voice full of excitement. "I had a spiritual reawakening when I was in the desert with the Rangers. Aram... I found God. And He gave me a purpose. That's why I'm here at Copper Hill... to do God's will."
I gape at my old friend. What the hell does that even mean?