February 9th, 2006
Sabrina is a shell, her light dim and frail since her return from Martinique.
The tiled floor of our room is cold beneath my bare feet as I return to our room. Water drips down from my damp, freshly showered hair when I move to shut the door.
I shuffle over to my dresser and dig around for a change of clothes. A soft rustle sounds from the top of the bunk bed, but I know she won't rise for another few hours.
She's been sleeping a lot since she came back.
It's not jet lag, I think worriedly to myself. Martinique sits in the same time zone as the East Coast. Did something happen to her while she was abroad?
I tug on an oversized sweatshirt and wriggle into some jeans. There are so many questions I'd like to ask her, mostly pertaining to love and relationships and why it feels like I'm constantly doing something wrong when I'm with Aram. She would be able to tell me if I've unknowingly committed some relationship faux pas due to my lack of romantic experience. And she'd also be able to tell me if what I feel for Aram is real love, like the kind she has with Greg.
She'd be able to tell me all these things and more, if only she were in a talking mood.
Snapping the buttons on my coat, I glimpse over to Sabrina's sleeping form once more before heading out the door.
I hope she's okay.
Outside, the morning winter air is numbingly cold. Despite the frigid temperatures, students shuffle in and out of Pelican dressed in thin pajamas and sandals. Breakfasts have become a solitary affair for me without Sabrina, Ranjit, and now Zac. But I ignore the loneliness and locate a corner in the dining hall to drink my coffee in peace.
I gaze out the big, foggy window and sigh. Spring semester marks the return of my arch nemesis, the Hahn from Hell and her harrowing class and lab write-ups. What I wouldn't give to take another class with Dr. McLeish and spend my days in the gorgeous atrium of Crane Recital Hall, meeting friends in practice rooms, and rehearsing in that breathtaking concert hall...
What a fool I was to take that composition class.
Not only did Dr. McLeish give my original compositions her highest praise, but she also invited me to consider auditioning to the music program next year. Without meaning to, she had dangled my dream right in front of me, not knowing my hands were tied behind my back.
That dream ended when I realized Ba would not love me if I didn't pursue a worthy career, and I cemented its death the moment I ripped up my admission letter from Eastman.
A tear squeezes out of the corner of my eye. I've made a terrible mistake by letting myself hope.
I wipe my face with my arm and drain the rest of my burnt coffee. I'll need all the fuel I can get if I want to survive another thrilling morning with the Hahn from Hell.
---
The honors chemistry classroom in Cassowary Hall is emptier now than back in the fall.
Apparently, Dr. Hahn is more effective at weeding out stragglers than Ba's luxury weedkiller in the spring. I pick out a seat in the third row and wait for the lecture to begin.
Seconds after I sit down, a pair of sturdy, brown arms encircle me from behind. I smile instantly at the spicy, woody cologne and spin around.
"Ranjit!!"
I hug my friend fiercely and squeeze my eyes shut.
"Missed you too," he grins, tousling my hair. "Were you at the dining hall this morning? I didn't see you!"
"Oh, I sat in a different spot than usual," I say. "How was India?!"
Ranjit takes the seat next to me, looking as dashing as ever in a mint green collared shirt and dark wash jeans.
"It was awesome, Cass," he smiles. "I think I gained ten pounds from all the food my family forced me to eat."
"And you loved every moment of it!" I laugh, remembering with fondness the way my aunts and uncles would shove countless dishes in front of me whenever Ba and Ma brought us back to Taiwan for extended visits.
"How's your mom? How's Randeep?" I ask.
"Randeep had a bit of culture shock, but he got over it fast. The best part of the whole trip was seeing how happy my mom was to be reunited with her family," he muses. "You know, I can appreciate my parents' sacrifice a lot better now that I see how insanely hard it's been for my mom to not be around her family all these years. It can't have been easy for my parents to leave the country and people they love with very little possessions, and try to make a better life here," he pauses to look at me.
I hold his gaze, surprised by the strength of emotion I feel towards Ba and Ma in this moment.
"That's why we try to hard to make them proud, isn't it?" I ask softly.
"Yeah," he replies.
We are interrupted by the clacking of heels as the Hahn from Hell strolls into the classroom.
"Good morning! I hope everyone did the reading for today. Who can name the types of polymerization?"
The morning drags on as I listlessly copy notes from the chalkboard. I try my best to pay attention to the lecture, but every fiber of my being wishes I was elsewhere.
Like in a dusty classroom with green chalkboards and instruments, and a whimsical Scottish professor.
With immense effort, I shutter my emotions and force myself to heed Dr. Hahn.
I am my father's daughter, and I will do what is right so that he will be proud of me.
---
Things with Aram have been tense since our big fight in the car a few nights ago. So, when he suggests that we go study at the library together, I sigh a breath of relief and quickly agree.
He finds us a quiet study room tucked behind stacks and stacks of books on the second floor. The room is designed for groups to use, complete with a large table and chalkboard along the wall. He walks on ahead and pulls the glass door open for me.
"Thanks," I murmur, entering the room.
Like Sabrina, he isn't saying much to me these days either. I glance around nervously and randomly pick a chair. Aram takes the chair diagonally across from me and begins to fish his textbooks out of his backpack. He tosses a Power Bar onto the table before dropping into his seat and starting his work.
I suppress the urge to sigh. Things between us used to be so easy and exciting -- but lately, it feels as though I say all the wrong things, do all the wrong things. I know Aram is stressed about the future, but the last time I brought up his plans after graduation, he stormed out of my room.
I watch him from the corner of my eye and wonder if he's happy with me. He's been so distant and morose. The only times it seems we are okay is when we are making out, but we can only make out for so long before things progress further. Maybe I should try to lose some weight? Or maybe Karina and Clark and Violetta were right, and I should just let him take my virginity--
No. I'm not ready. I'm not ready for that with him.
"Aren't you going to say anything to me?"
I startle. His cobalt eyes remind me of glaciers moving slowly in an arctic river.
"What... would you like me to say?" I hedge, fearful of incurring his displeasure.
For a moment, the ice in his eyes break and disappointment flashes across his face. But he recovers quickly and shakes his head.
"Nevermind," he mutters. "You're just... acting different today."
"How would you like me to act?" I ask carefully.
"That's just it!" he exclaims with loud exasperation. "I don't want you to act! I want you to just BE! I feel like you've turned into this entirely different person, into someone who's not my girlfriend but just a vapid stranger or something!"
He presses the heels of his palms against his eyes, a sign of thorough and certain vexation. My anxiety begins to spike -- I don't want to fight again.
"I'm sorry," I whisper.
"Stop apologizing!" he demands. "It makes me feel like the bad guy."
I am frozen, torn between saying the wrong thing and saying anything at all. It's eerily similar to how I felt whenever Ba would get into his moods.
"Please," I say softly. "Please tell me how I can make it better for you. How I can be better for you. I want you to be happy."
"You want to know how to make me happy?" he chuckles. "Truly?"
I nod, desperate to make things right between us again.
"Then be honest, because I need to know if you're as serious about me as I am about you," his tone is sober. "Eventually, you'll have to tell your parents about us. I get that you need more time. I don't understand why you continue to drag me on, but I've given you my heart completely. God put us together for a reason. So, if you want to make me happy, then say you'll come with me wherever I go when I graduate," he says, voice low and yearning. "Tell me you'll spend the rest of your life with me. Tell me I'm the only one you'll need. Be with me, Cassie. Forever."
I'm too stunned to speak. Is this his idea of a proposal?
He can't be serious because it's too much, and too soon...
"You are exactly the kind of woman I want by my side," he continues, excitement brimming in his eyes. "I know you'll be great with kids, and that you're probably good at baking in the kitchen." He's rambling now, because I've never baked anything for him in my life. "So, there. I've put my whole heart out on the line for you. What do you say?"
There's an odd ringing in my ears as I feel my mind come crashing back down into my body. Nothing about this makes sense.
"I... I don't know," I finally say, gazing at him openly. "It's not that I don't want this future with you, it's just that... we haven't been together for very long. I'm still figuring out what I want. I mean... I'm eighteen years old!"
His expression is unreadable. A terrible silence fills the space between us, and my heart begins to pound with fear.
He asked for my honesty. Was it wrong of me to say those things?
Aram throws his books and binders into his backpack and snatches his jacket from the coat hanger on the wall. A violent, black tempest rages across his face as he regards me with coldness.
I've done it again. Made him angry.
"Aram! Please don't leave. Wait--" I call desperately, reaching out to him.
But it's too late -- the study room door swings shut as he exits.
I take one, long shuddering breath before I stand calmly to my feet. I pack my things slowly and deliberately, ignoring the panic rising inside. I hit the light switch before leaving the room, and make my way out of the library.
Aram is nowhere in sight.
My feet carry me down the steps of the Burnie and out onto the Lawn. My mind is blank as I walk, and I don't realize where I am going until I spot the music buildings on the Round.
I have no time to appreciate the lively and vibrant music and laughter in the atrium of Crane Recital Hall today. My breaths are coming fast and short, and I am in need of someplace to hide.
I tear through the familiar hallways looking for an empty practice room.
Please, please, please, I beseech. Please let there be a room for me.
But the music students have returned for spring semester and they are occupying all of the rooms -- rehearsing, doing homework, eating bags of chips, taking naps -- please, God, I just need one room!
Spotting a darkened room, I sprint past a trio of chamber musicians as tears begin to blur the edge of my vision. I wrench the door open and shut myself inside, sinking to the floor in a heap. And when I am finally safe and alone, I lose myself in a sea of tears.
I cry until I can't cry anymore.
---
It's past ten o'clock at night when I finally emerge from my first chem lab of the spring semester. Defeated and weary, I trudge slowly back towards Swan Hall, not noticing the searing chill of the February night air.
I'd taken a wrong turn in Solitaire Lab, causing me to be late to class tonight. By the time I found the classroom, everyone had already chosen their lab partners, leaving me with slow, distrusting Simon Banks, who reviewed my calculations four times and re-sterilized equipment I had sterilized before letting us proceed with the titration experiment.
I sigh with humiliation. I guess it's no secret even to Simon Banks how bad I am at chemistry.
Arriving at the top of the second floor, I turn right and unlatch the door into our room. The lights are off, except for the soft glow from the clip-on reading lamp above Sabrina's top bunk. I drop my bag onto the floor and stretch my lower back.
My ears perk up when I hear the muffled sob.
"Sabrina?" I call out hesitantly, slipping off my shoes.
There's no response. I loosen my coat and drape it over my chair before climbing the railing up to her bed. When I reach the top, I find my friend curled up in the fetal position and crying into her pillow.
"Brina!" I gasp, scrambling towards her. "What's wrong?"
She ignores me and squeezes her pillow even though fresh sobs overtake her body. I scooch behind her and lay with her, full of concern and alarm. Stroking her hair, I murmur into her ear.
"I'm here, Brina. Please talk to me," I soothe. "You've been different ever since you came back from Martinique. Please tell me what's going on."
A few minutes pass as I listen to her cry. Eventually, her breaths become steady and she is calm.
"Greg and I broke up."
It takes a second for the weight of her words to sink in.
"Oh Sabrina," I whisper, as pain lances my heart. "What happened? Why?"
The bedsheets rustle as she turns to face me with red-rimmed eyes, puffy with tears. Her voice is small and quiet.
"We... actually broke up around Christmas. Before I left for Martinique."
"But that was... that was two months ago," I stutter.
"I know."
I sit up, trying to process this new information. Sabrina sighs and closes her eyes.
"He thought it would be best for us to break up before he went away to Boston," she says quietly. "He said being together would be too distracting for him during his first year at college," she sniffles. "I think... I think he wants the freedom to meet other people, and not be tied down to me."
"Why didn't you tell me?" I ask.
She looks at me with sadness.
"I wanted to tell you when I came over to watch a movie with you in your basement, I really did," she says, her eyes shining. "But... you were so happy to start dating Aram, and I didn't want to ruin your joy."
"You wouldn't have been able to!" I insist. "I would have been there for you, regardless of what was happening in my life!"
"I know that, Cass," she chuckles softly. "You'd bear anything for the people you love. You don't often seize the joy that's right in front of you, and you deserve to be the happiest. It's why I didn't say anything."
My heart squeezes as she speaks. Sabrina blows out a long, shaky breath.
"I was a wreck when we landed in Martinique. The first few days, I couldn't really sleep or eat," she admits. "But a week into the trip, something about being surrounded by palm trees and the sea started to feel like a gift."
"Well, now I know why you didn't write to me," I say sullenly.
She glances at me.
"I thought about staying there forever, Cass."
My eyebrows knot with confusion.
"Wait. Stay there, as in... you thought about staying in Martinique, forever?"
Sabrina nods.
"I didn't want to come back," she confesses. "Being here is so much harder now that I know Greg isn't going to be waiting for me at the end of four years."
She begins to cry again, but this time I pull her into a hug and hold her.
"He chose Boston," Sabrina wails into my shoulder. "Greg is going to Harvard, while I'm stuck here at Copper Hill. This wasn't part of the plan... he's going to find someone else. I know he will! Oh God, my heart... it just hurts so fucking much..."
"Shh," I say, brushing her hair. "It's okay. Let it out."
I rock her in my arms until she exhausts her tears. When she quiets, I tuck the blanket over her and stroke her hair until she falls asleep. When she does, I shimmy down from her bed and quietly change into my pajamas with chaotic thoughts racing through my head.
Aram's intense blue stare and rugged face drifts into my mind. Immediately, I can taste the rough of his tongue, the breathless surge of desire in his touch, and feel his eager palms over my body. I think of the wild, desperate look in his eyes when he semi-proposed to me, and the purple fury he exuded when I told him I didn't yet know what I want.
How can someone whose lips kiss like the swells of the ocean and also say the most confusing and hurtful things? Is ours also a love doomed for failure?
I'd always regarded Sabrina and Greg as a vision of what true love is supposed to look like. To me, their love seemed unshakeable, immovable, and permanent.
But if they can't endure, then what chance do the rest of us have?