“We’re Not So Far From There” by Mary Jones
My wife has this friend she used to go with. They were high school sweethearts, and then they broke it off just after he went to school in New York City. Charles was the one who ended it. She told me all about it. He’d said he needed to be free for a while, make something of himself. It was that kind of thing. Maybe someday it would be the right time for them, he had told her, but right now it wasn’t the right time. She took it hard, my wife. She’d already given it up to him. She was not herself for a long time after—her mother told me this part.
But through the years they kept up communication, and managed to stay friends. Even after we got married. He’s an actor now. Or, what I should say, trying to be. Sometimes when we’re watching TV at night, a commercial will come on and flash his face. Every time it’s that same “I had her first” smile.
When he calls she goes in the back room. Sometimes she gets to laughing so loud I can’t hear the television. I usually just go for a walk.
Last week after they talked she came out of the room and put her eyes on the TV, but she wasn’t watching anything, I could tell. When the commercials came on, her face didn’t change.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
She stayed quiet. I watched the commercials. “Charles got married this week,” she said finally.
“Oh, did he?” I said. “I didn’t know he was seeing anyone, even.” I tried to hold back from smiling.
“No, me neither. He’s only known her for a few months. Went to Vegas.” she said. “Figured he’d make it real before he lost his nerve.”
“Sounds familiar,” I said.
“They’re coming to town next weekend,” she said. “He wants to tell his family in person.”
I went and got us two Coronas. I put hers on the table in front of her, and then took a cigarette from her pack and lit it. “You seem sad,” I said, and sat back down.
“Sad?” she said. “No—I don’t know what it is. It’s just weird, you know?” She was scratching the back of her neck and looking at the carpet.
“I guess.”
“I told him we’d have to get together, the four of us, to celebrate.” She looked around the apartment. No lights were on. Just the TV. “You’ll have to fix that wallpaper in the kitchen, okay, and get your hair cut.”
“Okay,” I said. “No problem.”
“And I’d like us to go out for a change. I’d like to take them someplace special. As their gift,” she said. She walked over to her purse, took out her wallet, and started to count her cash. “What are you doing,” I said. “I told you,” she said. “I want to take them someplace nice, and I want us to pay for the whole thing as a gift. I told them we’d take them out to celebrate.”
“Beth,” I said. “You know I’d love to do that. You know I wish we could do that, but it’s not a good time right now,” I said. “We have to cut back on things, not the opposite. Besides, do you really think Mr. Hollywood needs us to pay the bill?” I took a sip of my beer. I looked at the TV. She knew the score. I’d been out of work for six months, and her job at the restaurant was hardly going to leave us room for extras like this.
“Maybe it’d be better if you cooked anyway,” I said. “You could do up that roasted chicken with the gravy and the potatoes. It’s better than any restaurant food anyway.” She liked to hear that sort of thing about her cooking.
Beth put her face in her hands. She didn’t say anything.
“What is it?” I said.
She didn’t answer. She walked into the bathroom and closed the door. She stayed in there for a while with the water running. I couldn’t hear anything. I turned the TV back on, but my show had gone off. I changed the channels. The news was on over and over. They were talking about that goddamned arsonist again. Someone had been set- ting crack houses on fire over in the black part of town. They had set another one just now. This made eight. The houses were close together over there, and the fires would catch. Once it got started, there was no stopping it. Entire blocks were going up in flames. People were getting hurt. Two had died. The families were living in shelters, but the shelters were overcrowded with children. Someone brought cots to the school, and people were sleeping there at night now, in the cafeteria.
It was a crisis. The people needed clothing, food, homes, and medical care. The reporters were asking everyone to give fifty dollars. We had put our fifty aside and we were waiting for someone to come by and collect it. The arsonist left no clues; they had no leads. The police patrolling the neighborhoods saw nothing, and then bam, another house would go up. There were rumors. People were talking. They were saying that the police were starting the fires themselves, to burn the crack up from the inside, so that they could take the neighborhood down and then rebuild it. That was the only way to do it once things had gone so far—to start from scratch. It was what people were saying, but I didn’t believe it for a minute. It was crazy talk.
Beth had been in the bathroom for a time and I thought I’d better check things out. I knocked on the door and called to her but she didn’t answer. I tried the knob but it was locked, so I grabbed a butter knife from the kitchen and undid it. I opened the door and saw her standing in front of the mirror with a tweezers, pulling away at some white hairs on the top of her head. Her makeup was off; she had been crying; but she was finished up with it now, I could tell. Our eyes met in the mirror, but neither one of us said anything. I stared at something that was swelling on the side of my nose.
“The arsonist struck again,” I said.
“Christ,” she said. “Again?”
“Yep. And no one saw a thing.”
“This makes eight?” she said.
“Eight,” I said.
“Christ,” she said again. “We’re not so far from there. Pretty soon they’ll be burning things up over here.”
“I don’t think so,” I said. “I don’t think you need to worry about that.” I finished up with the pimple, and leaned against the sink. I looked at her, but she kept on with what she was doing. “What is it Beth?” I said, putting my hand on her shoulder. “Is this about dinner? Is that what? We’ll figure it out. We have that fifty dollars we’d set aside, and there’s at least that much in the bank.”
“It’s not dinner,” she said.
“What then?” “I don’t know really,” she said. She put the tweezers down. “I’m scared. I’ve been feeling scared for a long time, and I don’t know what it is.”
“What is it? What are you afraid of, Beth?” I said, and leaned into her. “We’ll get through this. I’ll find another job. It won’t be long now.”
“Is this what you pictured when you were younger—like when you were eighteen? Did you think your life would be this way?”
“I don’t know what I thought,” I said. “I suppose I pictured it something like this. Things aren’t so bad. I’ve got you. We’ve got our home. It’s not so bad. Is it?”
She didn’t answer me.
“Someday we’re gonna—”
“Don’t,” she said. “Someday means never.”
Something inside of me got hot when she said that. “This is about Charles, isn’t it?” I said.
“Jesus,” she said. “Not everything is about Charles.”
“Oh come on,” I said. “You do this whenever he calls. You get all shaken up and you don’t look at me for a week. You think I can’t tell when you’re thinking about Prince Charles?” Something came over me. All through their first time she said they held hands. “Well guess what,” I said. And this was a thing I’d been wanting to say to her since the day I met her. “He ain’t comin’ back for you lady,” I said. And when I said this, I moved in toward her real close so that my face was right in front of hers.
She didn’t say anything. Just kept looking at me. It felt like something. I could tell something was about to happen here, something was about to change. Something was on the tip of her tongue and she couldn’t say it. For a long time, she couldn’t say it.
